BDSM Manor Ch. 13: Re Claimed

Literotic asexstories – BDSM Manor Ch. 13: Re Claimed by emilyagilbert

Rules of BDSM Manor – safety, respect, and consent.

Note to reader: You will get more from these characters if you read the stories in order, but it’s not compulsory.

Tess-O’Meter — Amber.

Note to rentturtle. Your (delayed) Easter Egg is hidden inside, enjoy ^_*

-X

A muffed “Arrghhh!” was forced out of Alex’s mouth as John pushed inside him. His monster cock stretching Alex’s hole painfully wide and already as deep as I could reach.

But John had a third again on my length, and more than twice the girth.

At the other end I pushed myself a little deeper. Alex’s tongue had been delighting my cock, but now that John had gained entry he was losing concentration.

Alex’s only comment was “Urghh,” as I pushed into his throat.

Behind him, John eased out and then slid back in. Still only two thirds deep, giving Alex a chance to adjust. It had been quite some time since Alex had taken John’s cock.

I watched a couple of thrusts and then pulled out, allowing Alex to choke and cough some air in, which he did gustily. Then he mumbled, “Please,” and opened his mouth for me again.

We were in the apartment. Alex was not bound, he was simply draped over the couch, a blanket had been thrown over it to protect it from the copious amounts of lube that were needed to assist Alex in sheathing John’s cock.

(Or mighty sword as he often likes to call it!)

Alex was hard, his cock leaking like a burst pipe. One hand gripping the back of the couch, the other my thigh for balance.

His legs were spread, feet firmly on the floor with John’s knees spreading him wide.

There had been a flood in John’s London flat and as he had meetings planned and could not return to the manor straight away, we had offered him our spare room.

Two days later and John was feeling feisty, missing Sadie.

“Do you want to fuck?” I asked John, once we had eaten and found nothing on three thousand channels worth watching.

“Not you, you pervert!” he replied, with a sniff, sticking his nose in the air.

“I wasn’t offering me, dickhead.”

John laughed, and then Alex, who had just returned to the room, stopped dead as we both turned and looked at him.

“What? What?” he frowned, looking between us. I let my eyes wander up and down his body. John shifted on the couch, making it quite obvious he was hardening. “Oh!” Alex said.

Still, he got hard so fast it made him wince and his clothes seemed to evaporate, so he wasn’t coy about being up for it.

Now John pushed a little harder and Alex semi-screamed around my gagging cock. His eyes squeezed closed and a couple of tears slipped out.

John, eased back, and in and a little deeper again.

I pulled back again and checked with Alex.

“You okay?”

“Fuck, I always forget how fucking big he is,” Alex gasped. “Please don’t stop, Arrghhh!”

John moved again.

“Fuuuccckkkkk!”

A few thrusts as Alex sobbed and moaned and then John went balls deep before holding still inside.

Alex’s mouth opened and he tried to pull in air, but struggled. He started to shake. Racking vibrations that tore through him. His eyes were wide and blind.

“Breathe, take a breath, you’re doing great,” I told him, pushing my fingers through his thick, damp hair.

He dragged in some air and let it out like a high pitched, “Eeeeeeee,” whistle, before his head dropped.

When I lifted his chin, I was surprised to see that he was still conscious. Alex very rarely manages to stay conscious when being fucked by John. It’s just too much.

“Good Boy,” I told him and smeared pre-cum around his trembling lips.

“Oh good, he just relaxed a bit,” John said, and started the low, slow fuck.

Alex winced, but when I caught his eye he actually managed a shaky smile, delighted that he hadn’t passed out.

“It’s so good,” he told me.

“Hurting?”

“So bad. Please don’t let him stop.”

I smiled reassurance and as Alex was doing so well, took his mouth again.

It wasn’t a hard fuck. Too high risk, and we had no handy medical backup as we do at the manor, but we thoroughly and carefully destroyed Alex between us. Leaving him a sweat soaked, limp, trembling rag.

Who had cum twice while John was inside him.

Once cleaned up, soothed and settled. Still trembling as his splayed open asshole slowly vibrated back into place, Alex sighed in my arms.

“Maybe John could stay like once a week?” he suggested.

I pushed my face into his neck and laughed, “Idiot. It would fucking kill you.”

“Yea,” he admitted, “Be fun though!”

-X

A couple of weeks after we got our privacy back, I arrived home to be greeted by one of my favourite smells. Fresh baked bread.

Surprised, as I had planned to cook tonight, I headed for the kitchen where Alex was stirring what looked like soup on the hob.

He glanced at me, then smiled as I pulled him down for a kiss, “Hey. Good timing.”

“Hey you. I thought I was cooking?”

He shrugged, “I was in the mood.”

“Cool. What-we-got?”

“Minestrone and rosemary bread.”

“You okay?” I asked.

“Of course, why?”

“You usually bake when you’re worried about something.”

Alex smiled slightly, “More curious then worried. I do need to talk to you.”

“Nothing bad,” he reassured me when I looked up, concerned, “It’s more like weird really. Dump your stuff and I’ll dish out.”

A few minutes later I was happily inhaling the scent of delicious food I hadn’t had to cook. Bliss.

“Okay then, what’s up?” I asked when Alex sat.

Alex thought for a moment as he chewed bread, then decided to dive straight in.

“I think I’m being followed,” he said.

“Followed?”

He nodded, “Yea. The last few weeks I keep picking up this hoodie in the park. When I go for coffee, and when I’ve been running. He doesn’t get too close and slips away if I try to head his way.”

“A hoodie,” I sniggered, “You think it’s a guy?”

“Oh yea. Either a young man or a drug addict. Sort of skinny and slouchy.”

I considered. I wouldn’t dismiss Alex’s instincts. If he thought he was being followed, then he was being followed.

“Well I doubt it’s a wannabe robber. No skinny guy is gonna pick a strapping more than six-footer if they’re planning a robbery. Someone plucking up the courage to ask you out?”

“Nah, I tend to get hit on by women more than men,” he reconsidered, “Apart from in gay bars. Obviously guy’s hit on me there!”

“Obviously!” I smirked and we both laughed.

“I don’t get that vibe,” Alex clarified, wiggling his fingers at me, “but at the same time it doesn’t feel especially friendly.”

“Hmmmm” I considered.

“I met Chris for coffee last week and the mystery chap turned up. Chris went over in his direction and he legged it.”

“There’s literally nothing threatening about Chris.”

Alex grinned, “Nothing at all.”

“Have you seen this guy around here?” I asked.

“Nope,” Alex admitted, “Only around the park. You know what,” he shrugged as if irritated, “It’s bugging me more than anything. I’ll just go somewhere else for a few weeks. Whoever it is will lose interest.”

“No,” I pondered, “don’t do that. I have another idea.”

-X

The following Tuesday I made my way to the park and the café, about forty-five minutes before Alex was due.

Strolling through the park in the sunshine, my hands shoved in my pockets, felt deliciously like playing hooky. The grin on my face made me think I should do stuff like this more often.

I grabbed a coffee and sat outside, messing with my phone and people watching.

I spotted Alex coming just before 10.30am. His laptop bag slung over his shoulder. Apparently distracted, texting while he walked.

Sure enough, about fifty yards behind him was a scrawny looking figure, although my money was on youth, not druggie.

Alex headed into the café without looking my way, and the hoodie youth perched in the middle of a bench still a good thirty yards away watching the door.

Once Alex came out and sat with his coffee, opening his laptop but ignoring it for now in favour of his notebook, the youth seemed to relax slightly, and sat back. Instead of watching, it was now frequent glances, to make sure Alex was still in sight.

I waited five minutes and then stood lazily and started off. Angling towards the path and the bench. Stopping within talking distance of the bench to give directions to a hassled mother.

The youth paid me no attention. He had lowered his head when the mother passed him and did the same to me.

He had already dismissed me and was glancing back to check on Alex when I sat on the end of the bench. Seeing him stiffen with the slight bump as I sat.

“I’m just curious,” I said quietly, “as to why you are following my husband?”

The lad braced as if to run and I merely raised my hand across his middle. Not touching him but blocking a quick exit.

“No one’s angry,” I reassured him, “We just want to know what’s going on.”

He huffed and slumped back against the bench. It was a purely teenage huff and made me smile.

“I’m not doing anything,” he grunted, head still low.

“Okay,” I said pleasantly, “So why are you ‘not doing anything’ in such regular close proximity to my husband?”

Another sigh and the hood was shoved roughly back. The young man’s hair briefly swept back before falling half over his face. One of those styles that most guy’s aged between fourteen and twenty-one currently had.

I call this dirty blonde. Mostly because it winds Alex up. He tells me either dark blonde or light brown, but not dirty blonde. He hates that term.

The lad shoved his fingers through his hair. Hair the exact same shade as Alex’s and twisted on the seat to look at me.

Just like Alex, his smoky lashes were thick and long. Although in this case he looked almost like he was wearing eyeliner and mascara. I had no doubt the girls sighed in envy and longing, and the guys took the piss.

The same defined cheekbones. The same slightly pouty lower lip. The same serious eyebrows.

He stared at me out of familiar dark denim-colored eyes and my breath faltered in shock. The eyes were familiar, but the expression in them was not. It was both suspicious and more than a little nervous.

“How old is he?” the kid demanded, “How old is your husband?”

I frowned but kept my tone gentle. I hadn’t missed the slight tremor in his voice. “He’s thirty-four,” I told him, “He can’t be your father, kid.”