I wasn't going to make a big deal out of it, and I did my best to keep my yen for a dog to myself. I was having plenty of fun on my own. We did up a tree too, just a small thing that we cut down from the north pasture. Travis liked that it was from his property, I could tell.
That was the thing with Travis. He didn't get out of his office much, but he did love his spread. He really liked running it even. I could never keep all that in my head like he could. I need to get my hands in it, like Haley says. But Travis actually doesn't do well in real time. Which is why we don't make a bad team, in my opinion.
Ranching, I mean.
Anyway, we were doing up the holidays like nothing else. Cookies, cakes, stews and roasts, and little twinkly lights in the windows. Haley got into it too, bringing over these big gaudy red plastic bows to hang on the stall doors, and I admit, they looked nice, though the horses sure didn't care. Travis took me on a lot of what Haley teased me were “romantic rides.” In theory we were checking his precious fence, but mostly, yeah, we were just taking a nice ride. He was always on Chaucer, of course, and I ended up on Pepys.
It took me three weeks to figure out his name was not spelled “Peeps.” It turns out Pepys was some old diary writer who liked to fiddle under his maid's skirts. Chaucer had rung bells too, so I Googled. Apparently it was some important classic in Middle English. Travis said they were sometimes a little rude too.
“I thought you were a math guy, not a story guy,” I said.
He shrugged. “Riley was an English major. His horse was Rochester.” A smile flickered on his lips. “He liked to find the ‘naughty bits’ in literature, as he called them.”
I didn't care much for that smile, but I told myself to get over it. “You miss him? Riley?”
Now the smile flashed at me, for me, and the sore spot in my midsection eased. “Not lately, no. I'm content to be the ‘chatty’ one for a change.”
He found that funny, that I said he was chatty. But goddamn, he was.
Anyway. I was telling about the dogs.
I'd resigned myself to not having one. In fact, I reasoned, it was better. Because despite Travis's telling me he wanted me to stay, I wasn't some dummy thinking nothing was ever going to come between us. Something would. We were, I knew, in “a relationship.” But lots of things could tear it apart, and eventually one of them would succeed. It'd be hard enough not to be with Travis, and the thought had driven me to braid many, many leathers. I surely didn't need to be missing a dog too.
But then one night when Haley and I were working, Travis stuck his head into the kitchen and told me we were getting up early in the morning and to get my ass to bed.
“Where are you going?” Haley asked, covering a yawn as she packed up her computer.
“I don't rightly know.” I watched a second yawn follow, bigger than the first, and I frowned at her. “Listen here, if coming over here is making you tired—”
She waved a hand at me and shook her head. “It's these classes that are killing me. That and the cold. At least it's not supposed to snow again tomorrow.” When she rose, she bent over and kissed me on the top of the head. “You two be safe wherever you go, okay?”
Haley was always kissing me on the top of the head. It was ridiculous how much I liked it. “Will do,” I said.
I headed upstairs, where I knew Travis was waiting for me. Haley wouldn't have known what that extra little growl in his voice had been about when he told me it was time to go to bed, but I did. Before I headed to the bedroom, though, I hit the bathroom at the top of the stairs, did some business and some prep, and headed down the hall to meet him.
As I knew he would be, he was on the bed, lounging, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. He doesn't look particularly hairy when he's dressed, because he shaves close and generally wears long sleeves, but he's actually more than a bit of a bear. His gray-brown hair curls in a thick pelt across his chest and down his arms, and right then it caught the dim lamplight and made me want to jump onto the bed and bury my face in it. His right hand was tucked casually under the pillow, but that just thrilled me more, because I knew why he was hiding it, knew what he was wearing there. He had figured this out last week, and now he hid it to ramp me up.
I undressed without being asked, but I did it slow and extra clumsy, letting my eagerness and my nerves show, because I knew that ramped
him
up. But I was nervous, yeah. Because I saw the canister on the bed stand, and I saw the towel draped over the bed.
When I was naked, I went over to lie down on that towel. I waited a second, looking him in the eye, and then I pulled my legs back, held them open, and waited.
He pulled his hand—cased in a glove—out from its hiding place and reached for the grease.
It turned me on when we did this all silent, no questions, no instructions, just looks and sounds, but it freaked me out too. For him it added to the wickedness of it all, that he was greasing up with Crisco to shove his fingers way up my ass. I lay there, still and quiet, looking into his eyes as he worked the first finger into me. He watched my face for the first few thrusts, but because he couldn't help himself, pretty soon he looked down and watched. I did then too. It was fucking hot. He'd propped up a few pillows behind my head, but I leaned forward as much as I could to see his slicked-up fingers—two now—going inside me.
“We really are leaving early in the morning.” He kept his eyes on his work, speaking casually, like pushing his fingers in and out of my ass was just something he had to get done before he went to bed. It made my blood hum.
“Where we headed?” I wasn't able to be casual. My voice was thick, and my words were raspy. He liked this too.
He added a third finger, and I moaned.
“East.” He pushed his fingers in deep and twisted. “Going to check on something to see if it will work out.”
And that was all the information I was going to get about our errand tomorrow.
His pinky worked its way in beside the others, and I gave up, lay back, and sang.
He had not properly fisted me yet, but the mindfuck was that he could have, because my body and my mind were both ready. I was so fucking ready it wasn't funny. This game would end tonight, I knew, as it always did, with me red-faced and straining, looking up at him in a haze as I begged in slurred speech for him to please put his hand inside me and fuck me. I would tell him how much I loved his fingers scraping inside me. I would describe my insides with crude and ridiculous terms both, because he liked that—why the hell he got turned on by me saying I wanted him to stroke my velvet channel I don't rightly know, but Jesus did that make him bite hard on my lip. And let me tell you how I wanted that, no matter what you called it. I wanted so bad to look down and just see his wrist or even forearm showing. I wanted to know he was in me. I wanted to feel so vulnerable and safe at once. I wanted it like I had never wanted anything else.
He greased that hand like you would not believe, working each one of the fingers inside me, pairing them, dividing them, teasing them. Two days before, he had worked me over on the couch like this while we watched a porn where two guys interrogated a prisoner who had allegedly smuggled film canisters in his ass. Travis wore surgical gloves, but in the video it had been a black glove. That night Travis had just about made me climb the walls, digging around in my ass, biting my ear as he whispered, “You got anything in there I need to find?” And I'd said, “Yeah. Get in there and get it.” But he couldn't find it, he said, so he'd have to dig deeper, and pretty soon I was begging and clutching and
begging
, sure that was going to be the time he went all the way in. But no.
There was no way it was going to be tonight, with him telling me we had to get up in the morning and go “east.” But the game was that I begged, so I did.
“What do you want, Roe?” He had his hand cupped, thumb tucked, four fingers pushed in to the first knuckle. I was so well greased you could have rammed a silage tower up my ass.
“I want your hand in my ass,” I rasped, and tried to fuck myself on his fingers. “I want to feel your fingers at the back of my throat. I want you to fuck me up to your elbow, sir. I want you to tickle me from the inside. I want that big, bad hand punching at me, making me whine. I want you to fuck me with your fist, Mr. Loving.”
It took me a bit to say all that. Speeches are tricky when you are acutely aware of your ass being stretched. If he'd get that hand
in
, it'd be a fucking relief. I'd be full as fuck, but the pain would ease. But then his fun of torturing me would end. And it was my job to take what he dished out, so I told him what I wanted, then got ready not to get it.
But that night he leaned over me, looked at me with wicked, wicked eyes, and said, “You remember, boy, that I always give you want you want.”
And he pushed inside.
To say I screamed would make it sound a lot more girly than a man sticking his hand up another man's ass should. The sound started at the base of my spine and came out the top of my head instead of my mouth. And I will not lie to you. There was a moment of pretty significant pain. But it wasn't tearing or anything dangerous. Just stretching. Just my body opening to take Travis inside where he wanted to go. And then he was in.
In
. Inside me. I could feel him. It was alarming and arousing at once. It was like some kind of beautiful, terrible invader. I was very aware of my internal organs. It felt like I'd taken a demon in me, that all he had to do was open his hand, bare his claws, and snatch parts of me away. I had been waiting months for this, aching for the moment I could look down and see what it looked like to have his hand up me, but now that it was here, all I could do was look up at his face, caught like I have never been caught before.
He held my gaze. And then he turned his hand.
My cry was a moan this time. And when he started to thrust, it was like I was back in Iowa with the hogs, because all I could do was grunt, grunt, grunt, then moan-grunt again when he turned his hand. Oh, he
loved
turning that hand.
I loved and feared this act we were doing. On the one hand, this seemed like the dumbest fucking thing I could ever do. So dangerous. So
dangerous
. I was high the first time this had happened to me, and I knew I hadn't liked it, but I also didn't remember it, and I'm glad. This wasn't some game. This was huge, what I was letting him do to me. This was more than letting him at a few inches of my rectum. He was
in me
. This was more trust than I knew I had in me to give.
I realized then why I couldn't look away from his eyes, because there I could see that he knew all this too. He got what a big deal this was. And when I looked at him, I knew he was going to take good care of me.
He pushed in so deep that my eyes watered, and I licked my lips before opening them.
Go in me here too.
He did.
We kissed like drunken fools while he plunged his fist in and out of me. That actually gives the wrong impression of what happened—fingers always go in first, but the image in my head is of his hand pounding at me. Of his arm going deep inside me. Of my being so open that after the first few thrusts, he just slipped in. We had watched more fisting videos than I could count; Travis's favorite was this one where some guy all tricked out in leather and spikes rammed his fist deep inside this guy bent over on a bench, punching with these quick thrusts before he—and here I always started to twitch and squirm—pulled one hand out and shoved the other one in, then alternated hands thrust for thrust. They showed him putting on a lot of lube, but I'm here to tell you it takes more than what they showed for even the easy stuff.
I thought of that guy and his ass-reaming now as Travis's tongue tangled around mine and his hand moved seamlessly in and out of me, still dangerous, but so in tune with me now that I could feel it. My whole body gave over to him. My body trusted him, not just my mind. Trusted him with everything.
He had never done this before with anybody. He had only done this with me. It was selfish as hell, but I wanted so badly for me to always be the only one, that no matter what happened I'd be the man who let him in this deep.
That first time we did not do it long. I could have gone all night, but he only gave me a few minutes, which was smart, but it made me crazy nuts. I attacked him when he pulled out, slurring and begging, telling him I needed more fucking, that I was a slut, Mr. Loving, and I needed some fucking now, please fuck me Mr. Loving, and the next thing I knew, his cock was buried in my throat. He straddled my head, grabbed my hair, and fucked my mouth, and I took it like a greedy bastard, jacking off the whole time. I felt dirty and raw and wonderful, and when he pulled out and came all over my face, I grinned and opened wide, shutting my eyes because he went fucking everywhere on me. And then I went everywhere all over myself. It was great.
He was really gentle with me after, cleaning me up head-to-toe in the bathroom, and grilling me like a mother hen about the state of my ass.
“I'm fine,” I told him for the fiftieth time. “Sore, yeah, but fine. Abso-fucking-lutely fine.”
He kissed me and stroked my ass cheek. “You were so beautiful. I shouldn't have, because we should already be sleeping. But I couldn't resist anymore.” Another kiss, this one deeper. “Thank you.”
We made out for a while, but he didn't let it go on too long, herding me to the bed instead. Though he did spoon up against my back and play with my nipples a little. This was the other part of the game, and the fisting apparently wasn't going to cut this part out.
“I wish we could do that every fucking night,” I said, shifting so he could get better access to my chest. I knew he wanted to rile me up good before telling me I had to get to sleep, and I wanted it too. I had the fucking craziest dreams when he did that to me.
He nuzzled the back of my neck and pinched my nipple hard enough to make me gasp. “I'd like to keep you in a cage, legs tied open, ass strapped to a hole where I could come by and finger-fuck you any damn time I felt like it.”