I know, from the way I told my story before, that the time I spent as Sakito's plaything must have come across as nothing but pain and bitterness and doom and gloom. All right, to be honest, most of it was, and we're both genuinely glad to be done with it. But there were some sweet moments too. Well, a few. Okay, one or two; but just remembering that one or two is enough to make my mouth go dry with desire, because they were so good. I'll never forget them, not if I end up having sex partners in the triple digits and live to be a hundred.
So, since I've managed to get myself all hot and bothered, I might as well tell you about one. Just to show you that when Sakito feels like throwing his dog a bone, he doesn't do it by halves.
Allow me to set the scene. It's my birthday, the legendary six-nine (yes, of course I know what it means!). Or at least it will be, in a month or so. Not that I've mentioned it to anyone but Ni~ya-chan, on whom I'm counting to buy me a suitably cheering and lowbrow present, possibly the Playboy calendar. But, somehow, Sakito has deigned to remember; I'm guessing that now I'm effectively his possession he has every one of my major life events logged away, in case they should come in handy for manipulating me.
“So. What do you want for your birthday?” he asks out of the blue as he's picking himself up off the floor and shimmying back into his jeans, wincing as the fabric brushes the bruised skin of his thighs. I blink; I've been furious at him for the last hour, hence the bruises, and in considerable pain for the past fifteen minutes where he punched me in the jaw in a fit of sexual enthusiasm. And now he's totally thrown me.
“Want? Me?” I say dumbly, clicking my teeth experimentally to check he hasn't dislodged anything. Sakito gives me a withering look.
“You mean a present? From you?”
“Have I started speaking Chinese?” snaps Sakito, pulling his hair back off his damp face with an elastic band. “I'm being nice to you. So just tell me what you want!” He slides his feet into his scruffy designer sneakers. I watch him, still boggling at the notion, as he smooths his jeans across his slim hips, and am momentarily distracted by his magnificent legs, long and model-slender and no doubt still tingling from the friction of my body between them. Shame about the crappy shoes, but...
“You know what?” he says, tossing his head, “forget it.”
“...Wait!” Hang on. Two thoughts just collided in what passes for my brain after mind-meltingly good Sakito sex, and I may be having an idea. “I think I know what I want.”
“Really.” Sakito stares at me narrowly, apparently already regretting his philanthropic offer. “Is it going to be a pain in the ass to get?”
“Tell you what,” I suggest eagerly, “why don't I buy it, then I can have it sent to you, then you can give it back to me?”
“Whatever,” says Sakito, clearly bored with the whole conversation. I try to look suitably grateful, despite my aching jaw and his maddening contrariness, and I think I manage it because, if he agrees to go along with this...well, it'll be the best present I've ever had.
Okay. Don't think I'm a weird kinky Akiba perv (actually, I don't care if you do, it's really the least of my worries and it's a free country, after all), but I love shoes. High, hot, elegant chicks' shoes. Oh, not in some Glen or Glenda way, before you get scared; it's not like I get off on prancing around in Manolo Blahniks. But I like to see women wear them, because I'm a very creative guy and good shoes can be works of art. Not to mention that feeling a girl brush my thigh with her high heel in bed will have me standing to attention like the National Anthem.
Anyway. That's my big idea, born when I saw Sakito's perfect pins, and his pretty feet shoved into those fraying sneakers. I'm willing to bet any amount you like that the combined sex appeal of Sakito and killer shoes would be hot enough to start forest fires. And since he's given me the go-ahead...well, sort of...it can't hurt to try and make the experiment.
Not that I don't have doubts about this brilliant plan: Sakito may be the most beautiful creature ever to emerge from the boondocks of Sendai, but he's not actually a girl and it's been some years since he last had to wear a skirt, never mind a foxy pair of stilettos. Which is why I decide to go ahead and find the perfect shoes without actually telling him what I'm buying or who I'm buying itfor. And once I've indulged long enough in drooling over footwear that may never come into closer contact with Sakito's elegant toes than him kicking me and my shoebox out the door, I'll have them sent to him. Then the ball will be in his court.
Hell, even if it never happens it'll be fantasy fuel for a month, and as birthday presents from one's master go you can't say fairer than that.
I know as soon as I pick up the phone that they've arrived: Sakito gives me his usual perfunctory greeting, but he seems rather distracted and I think I can figure out why.
“Er,” he says, for once without that scornful edge. “I just got this parcel. And if it's from you, I think someone screwed up the order.”
“Actually, I think it's probably right.”
“Yep.” I feel a little ripple of nervous excitement. Lame, but just thinking about him...
“Sorry to say so,” comes Sakito’s voice, sounding perplexed, “but I don’t think these are going to fit you, Ruka.” I pull a face at the image he’s just presented me with.
“They’re not for me, you berk,” I correct him, knowing I'll pay for it later; “they’re for you!” A moment of thoughtful silence.
“You are such a pervert,” he says at last, halfway between pitying and amused.
“Coming from you, that’s just funny.”
“This is really the best birthday present you could come up with.”
“Really,” I say stubbornly. I hear a sigh, then footsteps and some miscellaneous clattering.
“And they had to be so…well, so.”
“If you’re going to do something, you might as well do it properly.”
“I didn’t even know this was your – ow!!” Another clatter. “How do they walk in these things?!”
“Practice, I suppose.”
“Look at this heel! You could have someone's eye out!” I listen to Sakito recite a soft string of expletives under his breath, and try not to think too hard about how good he must look right now.
“So…are you gonna give me my present or not?” He makes an ambivalent noise down the phone, then a sigh of relief that I assume indicates he has taken the troublesome shoes off again.
“…I’ll think about it.”
Guess that’s the best I’m going to get.
Right up to my birthday I think it's the best I'm ever going to get, seeing as Sakito hasn't allowed one word on the subject since. And now it's my party, and I suppose I ought be grateful that he's relaxed his hold on my leash long enough to let me celebrate at all. He's not here, which isn't surprising; I doubt the sight of me having a good time with other people is top of his To Do list. And it adds a bitter, acid edge to my fun, just knowing that I wish he was with me.
Around two in the morning, when half my guests are sitting around engrossed in their iPhones and Yomi is asleep face-down in Ni~ya-chan's lap (this is the kind of party I throw, tragically), I feel the vibration of my phone through my jeans and am immediately on the alert. Seeing his name appear on the screen, I realise with a sour pang how tense I've been all night without even knowing it. All for him.
Sakito's message is short, insulting, and enough to give me an embarrassing semi in the space of about three seconds. It just says:
Obscure, and yet it has me on my feet and ready to go before I've even figured out where the hell it is I'm going. Clearly Sakito wasn't feeling helpful enough to tell me.
Ni~ya-chan lifts his head as I whisk past him in the direction of the door, and yawns hugely at me. I wave my phone at him briefly, and then I'm gone, still trying to imagine what Sakito would consider an appropriate setting in which to give me a birthday gift. Assuming that's what he's planning. Oh, please let that be what he's planning!
I flag down the first taxi I see, then immediately feel like a moron when the driver asks me where I want to go and I can only gawp at him stupidly. I know I'm blushing: while I'm totally used to it in private now, I still hate being embarrassed in public. Just as I'm about to jump out and beat an inglorious retreat, however, my phone buzzes again: another message. No text this time, just a picture of a numbered front door.
Really? Wow. It must be my birthday.
I finally give the driver his directions, and the fifteen minutes it takes to get there feels like an hour, but gives me plenty of time to be incredulous, and for good reason. Sakito's apartment.
Now, just to put this into some sort of context for you: Sakito never invites me to his place; we've done it everywhere from my apartment to the Shibuya AX bathrooms, but his home is his castle and since we began this thing I haven't been allowed inside. Apparently I'm just not a house dog. But there it is, the glowing, digital proof on my screen, and never has a photo of someone's door been such a compelling invitation.
I arrive in front of the real thing panting, practically quivering with anticipation (and the accompanying twinge of unease that invariably goes with it). I'm about to ring the bell when I notice the door is open a crack; I feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips hum with possibilities, flashes of the sights that might lie behind it. I could stand out here all night, aroused and drooling, because my fantasies about this moment have been so strong, and perhaps it's better not to have them shattered. But even I know what a waste that would be. I push the door open, and step in.
Sakito's place is tidy, which is surprising (you wouldn't think it to look at him, but he generates a lot of clutter). And dark. I imagine, as I fall up the genkan step, that he's left the lights off on purpose just to keep me off-balance, physically and mentally. It's the kind of thing he likes to do. It's not exactly a huge flat, but actually finding him in it feels rather like trying to get into Narnia, and by the time I've ended up once in the bathroom, twice in the kitchen (how??) and once in what is apparently a coat closet, I'm all turned around.
I mutter to myself, which makes me feel a bit better, and open a door I'm sure I've been through before, just on the off-chance. Then I stop dead as soft golden light hits my eyes. Hot damn.
Sakito is sprawled on the sofa before me, endless legs clad in tight supermodel jeans that hanglow on the soft curve of his hips; he’s wearing what is either a top or a dress (with chicks these days it’s hard to tell) in some filmy indigo fabric that manages to drape and cling at the same time, revealing tantalizing, barely veiled glimpses of flesh. He raises his lovely head, long hair scooped half off his neck and fastened with pins that glitter along with his earrings in the dim light.
“Evening,” he says serenely, resting an elbow elegantly on the sofa back and shifting his legs ever so slightly wider. I gulp, taking all this in with one heated, appreciative look before my gaze drops down the length of his body.
Ohh. I stare, not answering. All I can think is what good taste I have and what a great job I did, because I have never seen an ordinary pair of feet look so exquisitely erotic. Let’s be clear here: feet aren’t sexy. Shoes are. But Sakito, with his usual physical magic, has managed to fuse the two into an explosively arousing vision.
It's called Iron Fist, the brand. It caught my attention immediately, and once I'd looked up what the words meant I liked it even better: it's Sakito all over, the controlling bastard. I spent hours choosing the perfect shoes to match his perfect self, then wading my painful way through the English website to actually buy the damn things. But now I see them...it was so very worth it.
Sakito flexes one foot thoughtfully, and smirks at my expression. The shoes are open-toed, platformed, stilettoed. They shift in the light between charcoal and metallic pewter, a darker pattern of roses and bones contrasting sharply with his pale skin. Narrow straps wind their way around his slim ankles, a row of thin spikes just visible beneath the hem of his jeans. Nothing cute or fluffy for Sakito, that would be too misleading; no, they look wicked and beautiful as he is.
He crosses his legs as I watch, giving me a better view. The heels are so high that his lovely feet are arched almost to their limit, elegant geometric curves that press against the dark length of chain running from each ankle down the tender expanse of skin to his toes, which peek out, silver-painted and shy, from beneath a dark silk bow. Those heels must be six inches long, cruelly thin and sharp and looking quite deadly.
“You want a closer look?” he asks softly, as I stand frozen in the doorway, and the invitation sounds like a threat but yes, oh yes, I do. I approach him slowly, half eager and half wary, like a pet that wants to be stroked but is expecting a thwack from a rolled-up newspaper as well. He has a large, expensive rug which never used to be there covering the floor (Sakito is an odd creature: fetishes and mind manipulation, fine; breaking the no-shoes-in-the-house rule, obviously a worry), and my bare feet sink into the luxurious nap as I cross it.
I go down on my knees as I reach him, because if I want to keep him sweet I know I shouldn't stand above him. And, frankly...such a beautiful sight? It feels right to kneel. Sakito gives me a gratified little smile, looking so lovely I can't help but reach for him. It is my birthday, after all. But before my hand can get within caressing distance he gives me a languid glance, sets one foot against my shoulder, and the next thing I know I'm being tumbled roughly onto my back from the force of his push. He smiles again as he registers my scowl, then turns his attention back to the shoes, regarding them tolerantly.
Now, being the target of Sakito's aggressive attentions can be a deeply demoralising and unpleasant experience, as I've related at length in the past. But far, far worse is being ignored. Like it's just not worth his effort to engage with you, not even to hurt you. So I push myself up on my elbows, my smarting ego urging me to force myself into his awareness.
“Stay,” says Sakito absently, now examining his silver nails. I growl my displeasure at him. Perhaps he wants to be hurt tonight; he usually makes it clear right away if he does, and I'm more than willing to oblige at this moment. But...he's complied with my birthday wish, so far as it goes; and then there's the invitation into his home. It's baffling, and I don't quite know how to act. I ready all my muscles to spring at him, just in case. Sakito observes the trembling tension in my limbs with a practised eye, and just as I'm about to move he moves, flowing upright in one smooth motion. Before I can make a decision he's standing over me, one leg either side of my hips. He gives a pretty scowl of concentration as he finds his footing in the high shoes.
“I told you to stay, Ruka,” he says admonishingly, hands on his hips, the muscles of his legs taut and impossibly slender beneath his dark jeans.
“I am.” I don't try to sound insolent, I swear. But the particular tone of voice he's using antagonises me beyond belief and makes it very hard to answer him demurely.
Sakito sniffs and plants one light foot on my stomach, pinning me in place like a butterfly to a card.
“Don't...move,” he says, quite unnecessarily now. I catch my breath, because if he should happen to lose his balance I'll basically be skewered through the belly button with several inches of spiked heel and I can kiss my small intestine goodbye. He leans on me a little harder, and I feel a shiver of arousal as I look up at him, those beautiful legs stretching on forever.
“I must say,” comments Sakito levelly, sliding one hand beneath his dress/top/whatever and pushing it up to reveal his flat belly while the other eases open the button on his jeans, “you look pretty good down there. Kind of a stupid face, but good.” I make an unsuccessful attempt to get my glazed expression in check as he looks on, fingers inching aside more fabric teasingly while the diamond sparkles away in his navel.
“Saki...” I say plaintively, and slide my hand softly up his right ankle, tracing the line where the strap of the gorgeous shoe meets his even lovelier skin. I see his eyes close briefly, and I'm sure I caught a pleasurable little shudder beneath my fingers. I continue my supplication, smoothing my hand along the slim curve of his calf, the denim an intriguing contrast to the silk of his flesh.
“If I let you up,” he says, breath coming just a tiny bit faster, “what are you going to do for me?” I watch him raptly as he slides down his short zip. His fingers linger on his stomach, following the low waistline of his jeans, and as I make an unthinking attempt to move I feel the sharp dagger of his heel digging through my shirt.
“Well when you let me up, I'll show you.”
Sakito gives me a chiding look, but takes some of the weight off my stomach. I'm getting ready to breathe and sit up when he slides his foot down, past my belt buckle, tortuously slow and barely touching me; I freeze as the heel comes to rest over my crotch. Okay, that's not a safe sensation; I've taken slaps, scratches, punches from Sakito in the course of our twisted relationship, but this is too unnerving. And what's most troubling, I realise, is that I'm suddenly harder than I've ever been in my life.
“You are a sick puppy,” says Sakito, observing this with a superior raise of the eyebrows.
“Please.” I don't really care at this point how desperate I sound.
“Yes? What do you want?”
Sakito allows a triumphant little smile to curl across his face, and flushes, just a bit. He lets his heel linger over my erection another few seconds, then deliberately lowers his foot to the floor between my legs. I wriggle out of there before he can change his mind and inflict some serious damage, and clamber to my knees. My entire body is burning with nervous desire, and when I slide my hands up his thighs it feels like I must be scorching him.
“Sakito...” I hate the way I say it, the worshipful tone, but he deserves it, looking like he does tonight. Believe me, I know how shallow that sounds, and I can't bring myself to care. Not now. I press my lips to the pale jewel piercing his navel, his hand holding the fabric aside so I can kiss my way down his stomach unimpeded. He's silent throughout, as if it's only his due.
I whisper to him under my breath, all the compliments and wistful endearments I'll never say out loud because that's just not how the two of us work. I can tell he's listening curiously, but that doesn't stop his shivers as my mouth brushes his skin. I'm low enough to reach denim now, and I can feel his hard-on through the fabric as I kiss it; my cock perks up even further. I increase the pressure of my lips.
“Ohh,” says Sakito, and trembles. I take a firm grip on his slender hips, thumbs stroking back and forth over his skin.
“Not trying to toot my own horn here,” I tell him, “but you might want to sit down.” I slide up his body until I'm standing pressed against him, his heat radiating into me. In the shoes he's as tall as me, maybe even an inch or so above me. He likes that, I can tell; well, it's how he usually sees himself in relation to me, mentally, morally, sexually.
“You're that good.” Sakito looks me straight in the eye, quietly thrilled that he doesn't have to tilt his head back to do it, if his expression of ineffable smugness is anything to go by.
“You know I am.” We could stand about all night like this, competing over who's the bigger man, but I'm dying to get my hands and my mouth on him before I go crazy (also, I know I'll lose). So before he can give me any more backtalk I scoop him up in my arms; he's so light it's almost no effort at all.
Sakito makes an indignant noise, but I can tell his ego doesn't really object to being carried about like a princess; his arms slide around my neck, and I whirl him round and deposit him back on the sofa. He's laughing a little, breathless. I tug the jeans down over his ass, and he shifts his hips obligingly.
“Let me take them off,” I murmur, noticing that he's thoughtfully gone without underwear for my convenience. Sakito pouts.
“They won't fit over the damn shoes.”
“Then they'll have to come off too.”
“Pain in my ass,” he mutters impatiently, as I unbuckle the fiddly ankle straps and work the shoes off his feet. He takes the opportunity to wiggle his pretty toes in relief while I finish removing his jeans, dropping his head down luxuriously against the sofa back.
“Mmm,” he purrs, relaxing his feet. Then, “Oi, what're you doing?” This, I assume, is in response to my grabbing his ankle and sliding him back into the shoes.
“It's my birthday.” This is my answer to everything tonight.
“...All right, you deviant,” sighs Sakito, and holds still. I run my hands slowly up his legs, pale and smooth as satin beneath my fingers, and grab his hips to tug him in towards me. The tight, gauzy fabric of his top rides up with the movement, baring his white thighs and proving beyond a doubt how hard I've made him despite all his complaining. For a moment I just feel proud that someone like me can do this to someone like Sakito; then arousal takes over and there's nothing left in my head except the desire to please him.
“Go on then!” he says, with a little note of frustration I rarely get to hear because I've been trained to give him whatever he wants as soon as he wants it. I don't need telling twice. I sink my head between his legs, dropping kisses along the fine, easily bruised skin of his inner thighs, and the next thing I feel is his hand twining in my hair and urging me upwards, none too gently.
Sakito's cock is as beautifully proportioned as the rest of him, and even when I'm feeling so resentful that I want to throttle him I'll never refuse the opportunity to play with it. And I'm not about to start tonight. I glide my fingers teasingly up his length, catch his sharp inhalation of breath, then kiss the tip, my tongue flicking out to taste him. His hand tightens in my hair and I wince; it's a plea and a warning all at once, and as I pause his leg shifts closer and I feel a sharp heel drag threateningly along my ribs. I flinch away, a ripple of excitement washing over me.
“Ruka,” orders Sakito breathlessly, and I obey with alacrity, closing my mouth over the head of his cock and easing myself forward until he's touching the back of my throat. His entire body stiffens and I let my tongue go to work as I pull back. I chance a quick look up at him and see his eyes have dropped closed; his exquisite face is a model of concentration as he focuses on the sensations, so I start to move my fingers in tandem with my mouth, just to see each shift in expression.
Soon he's moaning through closed lips, as if he's afraid of what he might say if he opens his mouth. I've got one of his slim legs hooked over my shoulder to give myself better access, while the other is pressed close to me, the flesh of his creamy thigh soft and yielding against my neck. I'm as hard as he is, not because I'm getting any physical stimulation but because the mere thought of what I'm being allowed to do is dizzying; and because, dismaying though it may be, pleasing my master has become almost a reward in itself.
Sakito is breathing harder now, forgetting to look superior; his fingers have left off their painful grip on my hair and are clinging to the sofa upholstery beside his head, as though the pleasure is enough to tear him away from gravity and he has to hold on to stop himself spinning out of control. Which is gratifying. I reward him with more forceful stimulation, my tongue stiffening to work across the base of his cock. He's getting close now, and I waste several seconds wondering whether I should let him have his fun or keep him balanced tortuously on the edge. But a satisfied Sakito tends to be more pliable, especially if I'm hoping he'll do me a favour afterwards.
I increase the speed and the depth simultaneously, and hear him give an urgent gasp above me. Nearly there. Not letting up, I squeeze his balls lightly in one hand, sliding the other across the curve of his ass to slip a finger inside him, and he can't help but cry out as I push deeper, caught as he is on both sides.
“Ahh...Ruka, I...!” It's nice to hear him so incoherent, and even nicer when he comes, because to me it's the only time he really feels helpless, his muscles rigid and trembling with pleasure. I drink him down, wringing every last drop from him, and his amazed whimper makes me grin to myself. It's partly a thank-you, seeing as he's already given me the best present of my life; and partly to make sure he remembers this: that just for a moment he was at my mercy.
“Holy fuck,” pants Sakito, when I finally let him go. “That was...” He trails off, clearly not wanting to praise me too highly. I give one shapely buttock a firm squeeze to let him know I get it, and lick my lips. I love the taste of him.
At last I look up, and give a covert sigh; if I'd expected the warm aftermath of sex to make him look any more ordinary, I was wrong, because he's still so beautiful it almost seems alien, that flushed face cool and poised once more. Everything about him is a shimmering miasma of silver and blue, from his gleaming nails to the necklace sparkling in the hollow of his throat. Under the room's dim lights he looks like the night itself. I find myself gazing up silently, wearing what I imagine is a moonstruck expression of sheer admiration. For almost a minute neither of us move, and that feels like a damn long time when you're waiting for the usual insult or chilly look of disdain. At last he leans towards me, and still I'm waiting for it.
“Happy birthday,” says Sakito, and kisses me, hands cradling my face.
He starts to pull away, and I'm so surprised I almost let him, because it's a rare day that he'll kiss me and even rarer that he'll be sweet about it. I stretch up towards him in the nick of time, capturing his lips again, and he makes no complaint, just opens his mouth and lets my tongue brush his. When he wants to he can kiss as delicately as he moves, and he tilts his head to accommodate me, thumbs brushing my cheekbones as his legs curl around my waist.
“You taste like me,” he murmurs, amused, and I crush him to me, so turned on now I think I could come just from the press of his body against my cock. Sakito evidently feels no such urgency himself, having already gotten off, and I feel him smile against my lips at my ardour.
“I want you!” I exclaim, tugging him harder against me so there's no conceivable way he can miss the fact that I have a massive erection. Sakito removes one hand from my face and slides it deliberately down my body and into my jeans, then raises his eyebrows calmly as if to say 'oh yes, so you do'.
“What's the magic word?” he says. His fingers curl around my cock. I gasp against his neck, and he smiles angelically, rubbing his thumb teasingly back and forth over the slit.
“Please,” I whisper, kissing the pretty moles at the base of his throat.
“What was that?” His nails are trailing across the nape of my neck. I groan into his skin.
“That's better,” says Sakito, disentangling himself just enough that he can grab onto my belt loops and manhandle me onto the sofa beside him. He crawls into my lap, fingers already on my shirt buttons; I help him remove the offending garment as best I can, though it's hard because I don't want to leave off touching him.
“Come on,” I breathe. He's kissing my neck, my shoulder, his hair falling soft and shiny against my chest, and it tickles but somehow that just seems to make me even hornier.
“Patience,” Sakito informs me as his clever fingers unbutton my jeans to the sound of my excited breathing, “is a virtue.” I huff sceptically, and he leans down to rummage among the sofa cushions, emerging with a tube of very expensive lube; nothing but the best for Sakito. It has a bow on it.
“What a thoughtful gift.”
Sakito grins at my efforts to sound deadpan, and kisses me again. If you've never felt it...well, there's nothing like it: his mouth is shaped so precisely, so delicately, it looks like there's no way it could kiss with such voluptuous abandon, all heat and desperation. But it does.
He's so good, in fact, that it almost distracts me from the fact that I need to fuck him, and pronto, before my orgasm is wasted on his teasing hand. Eventually I remember where all this was heading; I fumble the top off the lube, coating the fingers of one hand while the other slides the tight fabric of his top up and over his perfect ass to keep it out of the way.
I push two fingers into him without preamble, and he's ready for it; he lets out a soft little whine and drops his gaze, grey and silver shadows adorning his eyelids, and his arms slide around my back. I give him a minute to get used to that, then add another, as deep as I can go, splaying my fingers inside him to open him up; Sakito likes it when I'm rough, true, but I don't want to damage him. Well, not right now, anyway. He shifts his hips cautiously as I fuck him, forehead resting against my shoulder, his breathing tremulous and happy. His nails dig into my back, and the pain is sweet.
“Ready,” says Sakito in a hushed voice; he's still tight around my fingers, but I guess he knows best. He presses himself against me, and I can feel he's getting hard again.
“...You're sure.” He doesn't bother with an answer to that, just twists me in his arms and pushes me down on my back; my head hits the arm of the sofa with a thud. I should have known better than to expect to be allowed on top tonight.
“If these shoes make holes in my upholstery,” Sakito tells me romantically, “you're paying.” I nod, which doesn't mean much; I think I'd give the nod to anything he suggests right now, up to and including grand theft auto, because he's suddenly poised above me, my erection in his hand as if it's his personal plaything, so astonishingly beautiful he doesn't look real. He eases himself down on my cock, and I forget about all the things that are wrong between us, all the times he's been an utter manipulative bastard, because I feel...oh, I just feel.
He bites his lip as I fill him, and I reach up to clasp his waist and balance him while he gets used to it. His hands cover mine briefly, gratefully; then he begins to move.
“More!” I growl selfishly, fingers biting into his thighs to encourage him; he's going so slowly, and I know it's because he likes to frustrate me.
“Calm...the hell down!” breathes Sakito bossily, wincing a little and batting at my hands as I push my way deeper thoughtlessly. I obligingly remove the offending fingers and run them lightly up his ribcage to attack his nipples. Sakito gives a pleased, irritated groan as I pinch at them, rolling the tender flesh between my fingers until they're deep pink and bruising beneath the sheer fabric, until he's so distracted that he starts to lose his rhythm.
“...Stop it!” he says, backing up the command with a painful tug at my hair. I do as I'm told and grasp his slim hips instead, blue gauze and smooth skin warm beneath my hands as I help steady him and get him back on course. Once he's recovered himself he looks perfectly in control again, registering my short snarls of pleasure with smug satisfaction.
“Saki...” I gulp, “I think I'm gonna...!”
“Don't you dare,” he snaps, as if I can turn myself off at the press of a button. And, sorry to say, I'm so obedient that I don't, though if my dick could talk it would be screaming blue murder right now at this cruel and unusual curtailment of its natural urges.
Sakito braces one hand on the sofa arm above me and rides me harder, head dipping with effort so the fragrant waves of his hair tumble against my cheek.
“Ahhh...Ruka...!” It's not like him to say how he feels, but the expression of pleasure on his flushed, beautiful face is intensely gratifying, and even though I'm incapable of replying at this point I let my hand slide up his spine to tangle in his hair and pull him down to kiss me. He allows it, not stopping the movement of his slender hips, and I have to stifle a full-body shudder of delight as he moans against my lips and drives one heel convulsively into my calf in a determined attempt to get more purchase. The spikes of his ankle straps stab into my flesh, and I'm going to be punched full of more holes than a sieve by the end of this but I don't care, I just grab his ass and drag him down further onto my cock.
“Fuck...!” Sakito grits his teeth and throws his head back, jewellery forming dancing arcs of light at the sudden motion, but this time he doesn't try to stop me, which is just as well because I think I'm actually in pain now from trying to hold back my climax. His glittering nails dig into the sensitive skin of my stomach and I have to suppress a yelp; I retaliate by doing my best to fuck him even harder (it's not exactly revenge because he loves it like this, but it makes me feel better), until his perfect little ass is wedged down securely against my hipbones with each stroke.
I hear Sakito make a faint sound that sends a thrill of triumph through me; I hear it so rarely that it's become like gold dust to me: it means he's losing control. His heel scrapes another strip of skin away on its journey down my leg, and god damn it hurts but it doesn't matter, because all of a sudden he's coming, making that angelic face that tells me he's finally given himself up to pure, straightforward pleasure, leaving my scratched stomach damp and sticky.
I wouldn't put it past him to skip off and leave me hanging now he's got what he wants, so I grasp his ass with both hands to make sure he can't go anywhere, and carry on. Sakito's expression wavers between bliss and a kind of sweet anxiety as I continue to ravish (well, sort of) his now hyper-sensitive body, and it makes a lovely change from the controlled look of superiority I usually get thrown at me. Now, I think, as I quicken the pace even more, now is the time to make up for all the occasions he's lorded it over me because I came before him.
“Ruka...” says Sakito in a pleasingly tremulous whisper, “come on...!”
“Say please!” I manage, through clenched teeth. Sakito leans down, biting his lip again as the angle changes, and presses his mouth ardently against mine.
“...No.” He kisses me again, a silent appeal. I know it's the closest thing to begging I'll ever get from him, and his lips are taking me perilously close to the edge. I stifle a low moan, unable to stop myself moving. “Let go,” murmurs Sakito, in the space between our breaths and the brush of our mouths.
And I do, white heat behind my eyes and crackling through my body as I come; I hear Sakito whimper faintly at the feeling, then give a soft sigh of satisfaction, his pliant frame sliding exhaustedly across mine to relax right on top of me. It's a good thing he's so light. I can feel his heart racing against me; one hand slides up to clasp my neck and he buries his face in my sternum, his breathing deep and laboured and matching my own. It feels...good, this rare moment of unity, even if it is all at the level of animal physicality and nothing to do with a meeting of minds.
“Saki...” I murmur, in an unguarded excess of feeling, and slide my hands around his tiny waist to the small of his back. He's completely relaxed in my arms, none of the wary tension of our usual encounters, and doesn't complain when I tip him over onto his side so I can get a full lungful of air. “That,” I say, once I've drawn a few good breaths, “was...” I can't think of the adjectives to do it justice, but then my brain isn't exactly functioning at full capacity right now.
“I know,” says Sakito quietly, his lips against my collarbone. He raises his head indolently and fixes me with a soft, complicated gaze. “Once a year, Ruka. You can play this kinky little game with me once a year. Okay?”
I reflect dourly that if I can put up with another year of painful sexual encounters as they normally occur between the two of us then I might as well convert and get nominated for sainthood. My expression must show exactly what I'm thinking, because he gives me a pessimistic smile and shrugs, bending his graceful neck to kiss my shoulder, a casual, consoling touch.
“Well,” I say, taking a covert whiff of his fragrant hair, “it's been a memorable day.”
“Quite so.” Sakito moves his silky leg lazily against mine, and again his heel sends exhausted stabs of pleasure all the way to my libido.
“You can keep the shoes,” I offer generously; I imagine he knows by now that he can cause enough pain with them to make it worth his while hanging on to them (here's hoping, anyway).
“Thanks a bunch. So...what do I get for my birthday?” he demands, propping himself up on his elbow as I stroke his smooth back beneath what remains of his clothing.
“What do you get the man who has everything?”
For a moment Sakito's gaze slips sideways and turns dark and odd, hungry, but I might well have imagined it because when I blink and look again his eyes are as cool and confident as ever.
“I'll think of something.”
“I won't like it, will I.” Stupid question, seeing as the things I don't like about my relationship with Sakito outweigh the things I do by about twenty to one. But it can't hurt to brace myself in advance.
“Ruka,” he says sweetly (always a worry), one slender hand shifting into my hair. “Stay.” I look at him narrowly, because if this is another offensive dog-training command I may well have to start biting. “I mean stay,” he tells me, and gestures to the darkness that leads to his bedroom. “With me.”
It would be a very sensible thing, right now, to say 'no thanks' and be on my way with nothing but good memories of this night and with my body and ego relatively unscathed. But when has sensible ever had anything to do with Sakito and the things we do together? I look at him, rosy and glowing with predatory, satisfied beauty, and I can see he already knows how I'll answer. It's too much; he's too much. I give in.