Priorities (2/2) M/m; D/s; control; minor violence - Heartstopper fanfic

 

Naked on his knees, between my spread legs as I squat over a toilet bowlful of filth is, I think, the most natural place in the world for Nick. It’s his home - not Charlie Spring’s camp boudoir of a bedroom, as I imagine it. In fact, I should ask Charlie for a picture to confirm.

His scrumming thighs, folded at my feet, are thicker than they were in the changing room at Truham, and I credit Nick for not skipping leg day in his university gym routine. Physically he’s much more of a man than the confused dweeb I hooked-up with on the down-low after that fight in the cinema that left both of us with surprise erections. But kneeling on my bathroom floor, adoring and worshipping and giving me everything, he’s reduced to a whimpering boy, and honestly that’s the Nick Nelson I love.

Using both of my hands flat against the back of his neck, I leverage Nick’s head forward and onto a deeper oral penetration by my dick. The touch of that neck – the breadth of it, his slippery perspiration and the scruffs of hair awaiting a fresh trim, sliding under my clammy fingers – is enough to keep me rock hard.

As I’ve trained him, Nick pays attention to me during deepthroat sessions, being careful to look up and into my eyes to receive my feedback. Does it feel good for me? Should he be using his tongue to stimulate me more with detailed lapping – or am I looking for a simple, speedy throat job? Consideration of me before him, always, didn’t come easy to Nick, but over time I flipped his mindset 180 degrees such that now he’s a drone, working from my commands and focused on my sexual satisfaction. Well, most of the time, anyway – Nick’s a far from perfect slave boy.

For the ninth time, Nick attempts a passable kiss-n-hold at my dick root, where my pubes are thoughtfully trimmed down to a manicured lawn for the convenience of passing girl and boy mouths. The attention of his tongue to the sensitive base of my prick has it spasming, and the jabbing of my uncut crown at the very back of his cavernous throat has it leaking precum on touch.  

Instinctively he’d use hands on the floor to anchor himself, but I’ve denied him that security – that flexibility – by trussing his wrists, tight. My ‘ropes’ are improvised – my old Truham Grammar school tie and his, donated enthusiastically once he clocked my intended purpose of ‘fun’. In diagonal stripes of alternate dark and light blue, our tattered school ties draw Nick’s wrists together in the small of his back, squirming futilely.  

The kids at the mixed comprehensive across town, rated Inadequate by the school inspectors at their last visit, joke that the boys of Truham Grammar are massively gay. The barbs never stung me, obviously, but there’s a proper fuckin’ faggot struggling on my big dick right now. Our boys’ school made queers out of some of the lads, for sure.

Nick gags hard, choking on my quivering meat. His eyes are in panic mode, pleading with me, but why? He doesn’t want to stop, and I won’t let him anyway.

I nod back at him with a self-satisfied smile, but no words. By his neck, I force him onto me further. He’s so close to hilting me for the penultimate cycle, but drool is starting to spew again from the corners of his mouth, uncontrolled like a saucepanful of rice boiling untended, and his fingers and toes agitate furiously. I accept he’s trying very hard for me, but a wall has been hit.

Nick overcomes the opposing force of my hand grip and tears himself off my shaft, left throbbing wet and useless mid-air. His chin slumps to his chest as he gasps, hard, almost wheezing. He can’t look at me yet, because he knows he’s a disappointment.

I gather my own drool and roll it into a pellet in my mouth. I’m highly skilled at this.

Tentatively he looks up, facing the music. He’s still panting.

My ball of spit travels with such velocity that it hits Nick’s left eye before he’s able to react. His upper body jolts backwards and, far too late, he closes the lid on my goo, now foaming across his cheek. I’d love to say I’m able to hit an eyeball square, every time I spit in anger, but in truth my aim isn’t that reliable, and this was a fluke, though it couldn’t have happened to a nicer boy.

I’ve stung him, and not just literally. He wants to wipe away my spit, but his hands are tied.

‘Fuck, Harry,’ he groans, but there’s no anger in his tone, just failed resignation.

‘You need to be much quicker, mate,’ I laugh.

‘Yeah,’ he sniffs.

‘Or a more reliable submissive, in the first place,’ I say.

‘Okay,’ he notes, sullen.

‘You think I’m mean, Nick? Like, unfair?’ I ask.

He looks straight back up at me, even though it’s inviting danger were I inclined to launch a second gob bomb on him – and he knows I’m unpredictable. His spit-lashed eye has felt the assault and is bloodshot.

‘I think you’re mean, but also fair,’ Nick says with confidence, giving me one of his hedged university-standard responses that tend to wind me up.

‘Still the two face fucks to complete, then,’ I remind him.

‘Definitely,’ Nick agrees, hungrily.  

**

Our horseplay competitiveness started with school rugby, I suppose. Always bigger than me physically, Nick had the edge in the rough and tumble of scrumming and was tricky to up-end in the tackle, but I was quicker in the sprint and less clumsy with my feet, so found I could dance around his lunges, frustrating him as he chased after my disappearing greyhound legs.

We’re fighting again on Nick’s tenth and final throat fuck, which I’ve made special for him because I know he loves to finish in ecstasy – and so do I. Using his strength Nick tries to wriggle off my veiny dick, but with my stamina, I’m determined to keep him impaled by his mouth for as long as it takes.

It’s not an equal contest: he’d arrived fatigued, and servicing me perfectly – or attempting to, at least – has sapped Nick’s energy further. Now he’s drained, I dial-up the pressure: Okay, I admit it, I’m mean with gay boys.

I tug Nick by his hair and yank him by a shapely ear or two – anything necessary, to stop him writhing away from me. It hurts him, and he makes deliciously muffled yelping noises around my fat dick meat. Outwardly he wants this to stop, now, but I don’t. I reckon a large part of him won’t want it to stop, either – I get Nick Nelson too well.

It will feel as though he’s starting to suffocate on my engorged prick. When able, I move a hand to the front of his neck and press down, firmly, on top of his Adam’s apple. This distresses and disorientates him but his pretty gingernut dick, bobbing semi-hard, shows me his confusion of sensations in the moment.

Like suction pads Nick’s lips are mashed into my abdomen, taking me to my girthy root. I have hold of him by his scalp, and the colour in his face has changed from his natural strawberries and cream wholesomeness, through flustered raspberry to something approaching blackcurrant. His neck, though, remains pale.

For throat fucks 1-9 the deal was that he’d hold at my root for a measly four seconds, counted, but deepthroat round 10 is freestyle, to be held to my whim indefinitely.

In the end it’s Nick’s desperation that accelerates my climax. I burst down his throat to the sight of his rope-like vascular tension and the cacophony of his wild gagging. My cum spurts in four intense pulses, shot to the rear of his throat, cramming a mouth already swirling with his drool, and his regurgitated puke.

Nick’s eyes are at their most beautiful when they’re loaded with his free-flowing tears. One last time I stab him with my dick, brutal.

He gurgles on my precious seed. I know he wants it – who wouldn’t? – but right now he hates it, and me, and himself. I fucking love breeding throat.

A lava-like mess spills wherever the seal of his lips is broken, seeping stickily, occasionally orange.

Well broken, Nick’s choking splutters that once roared from his core, die in a steady decrescendo. His beetroot cheeks drain of colour at pace, but his eyelids droop closed in slow motion. I pull him by his hair until I, too, am drained completely.

He hasn’t bitten down on my dick once, throughout, and that’s a totally awesome achievement by Nick. When he deserves that praise, he’ll get it.

I drag him off me vigorously, and vault over his slumping body so he can collapse onto the rim of the toilet where – with great violence and noise – Nick heaves-up my spunk with his sick, layering it onto my filth festering in the bowl. 

I stroke his sticky back and make soothing noises for as long as it takes him to feel slightly human again. It’s several minutes but there’s no rush, now.  

Once his need to puke has become less urgent, Nick straightens himself on his knees in front of the toilet, gasping between cummy coughs originating from his tickling throat, still partially clogged.    

‘Wow!’ he puffs. (That’s definitely accurate – not Fuck! or Shit! but Wow!)

‘I need you to clean my dick,’ I say, pointing to my flaccid shaft and a stray string of cum dangling from the head, halfway to the bathroom floor.  

**

‘What’s eating you, Harry?’ he asks. ‘There’s something, I can tell.’

It’s highly unfair of him, because I’m caught in a mellow comedown mood.

I need a rest so I’m back on the toilet seat puffing a menthol flavoured vape, to chill with. Nick’s standing (as instructed), taking drags of a bubble gum vape: I’d found it in the convenience store and thought of Nick who, I’d heard on the ex-Truham grapevine, has a passion for bubble gum flavoured milkshakes. Totally, pathetically, tragic – it’s like he’s 9.

His is a rude question I don’t have to answer, and I shouldn’t, but I do, because I feel the need to share.

‘You’re the only person I see professionally – boy or girl – who I don’t charge,’ I say. ‘And yeah, that gnaws at me.’

He blanches, having opened Pandora’s fucking box in his well-intentioned but naïve Nick Nelson way.

‘Well, in principle I’d be happy to pay to see you, but you know what it’s like for money, as a student,’ he stutters.  

He has failed to understand.

‘Nah. What nags at me is that I don’t even want your money. It feels like we relate in a much deeper way than any of my other clients. But that’s our history, isn’t it?’ I say.

He gives the shyest smile that starts to arouse me again.

‘We had three difficult years, but working through that sexual tension with you, session by session, taught me a lot about myself,’ Nick says. ‘And honestly, I am grateful you see me for free.’

He’s perceptive, for sure, but I’ve often wondered whether Nick is too smart for his own good. Him doing psychology at university isn’t something I’ve ever got comfortable with or approved of. I would have preferred him to become a personal trainer, or a builder maybe – anything useful that wouldn’t involve trying to drill into my head as an academic case study, every time he reappears. Still, it is what it is.

‘I may have learnt a bit from you too, mate,’ I say. ‘Over the years, anyway.’

‘Cheers,’ he shrugs, embarrassed.

‘And I thought you did okay today, right? Not brilliant, and there’s always room to improve a throat fuck, but your… devotional technique… has come along fine.’

‘Absence makes the dick throb harder,’ he jokes, but I don’t laugh along with him: too familiar, and I need to keep distance.

‘Come to me,’ I tell him, pointing to the floor whilst snapping my fingers. Obediently he leaps to it, laying down his vape on the bath top then stumbling back onto his knees, one each side of my feet and close to the point of hemming himself in.

‘Charlie tells me you’ve put up your rates. £150 an hour?’ Nick checks, with an undercurrent of concerned surprise on behalf of his boyfriend.

‘Yep. It’s the same rate everybody else pays, to see me. Charlie has to empty his fuckin’ piggy bank each time he needs to get off on his submission!’

‘Right.’

‘Charlie Spring… piggy bank…get it?’ I rock with laughter. ‘Oink oink!’

‘Sure,’ Nick says, in serious mode, and it disturbs me when he fails to appreciate my humour. So I decide to rub it in.

‘Mate, I’ve had Charlie’s face shoved deep inside this toilet bowl, right onto my shit and used toilet paper, whilst I gave him really nasty verbals, and he fuckin’ loved it! He was sick everywhere, but as we know, Char is used to being randomly and abundantly sick. Also… I had the toilet brush handle shoved right up his ass… mate, I wish you’d seen it!’

Nick’s head has flopped, and he looks directly to the floor. I’ve touched a raw nerve, taunting him because I can satisfy Charlie sexually in the way his own boyfriend can’t, even if he were around, which he wasn’t for the ten weeks of term. My power dynamic is working sweetly just as their relationship becomes a distant one, for large parts of the year.

‘He says he’s seen you three times, whilst I’ve been up in Leeds?’ Nick checks.

‘Four times,’ I snap back, sure of the number. It’s no lie.

‘Okay… well… maybe one of us lost track… or I mis-remembered the conversation,’ Nick agonises.

‘Maybe,’ I say, taking care to add a slice of incredulity to my tone.

I wonder what he’ll do next. Break down in tears? Have a go at me for being morally repugnant? Storm out? Grab his phone and text Charlie in a rage?

Nick raises his head.

‘Thanks for… y’know… sorting out Charlie, whilst I was away,’ he says.

‘It’s always a pleasure. But you and I have a problem we need to resolve, Nicholas Nelson,’ I say, ruffling his damp hair like he was my pet dog.

**

Fucking Nick hard up the ass is special.

Number one – he’s tight, and though I’ve done my bit to loosen his boy cunt, he’d benefit from serving as the party pass-around at an end of season rugby bash, fuelled by drink and lowered inhibitions. Basically, Nick is an anxious bottom prone to complaining that it hurts, though he self-controls his whining with me because I find it irritating, and I couldn’t care less that he’s sore when his hard dick tells me I’ve got it right.

The easiest way to turn Nick charmingly bashful? Tell him his destiny is to power bottom.  

Number two – I use minimal lubricant. Dryish is the way I like to fuck, boy or girl. Sorry, not sorry.

Number three – as stated, I choose to tap Nick’s ass in irregular places where he’s uncomfortable, mentally and (usually) physically. It was fun to breed him on the tabletop in his mum’s dining room, and because I had the horn too badly, we didn’t even bother to clear all the cutlery away, before we started: he wanted to, but I forbade it. The laid silver canteen rattled like mad as I ploughed his ass; Nick on his back on the tablecloth, legs folded-up to his flanks as I held his ankles for leverage. The grimacing of his face as I shafted him with my full length was a sight and, yes, there were a few boy tears which didn’t discourage me.

I pulled-out quickly, post-orgasm, and my cum backflushed over the delicate cream tablecloth from John Lewis. Yes, Nick’s mum had a dinner party arranged for that evening and – no – Nick had no idea how to launder a tablecloth in four hours, and neither did I. The icing on the cake was Nick’s excellent relationship with his mum: he was absolutely mortified by the cummy mess he’d made before her special occasion, and it was too funny. Helpfully, I told him that if all else failed, he should blame Charlie Spring for overexuberant bottoming. The ludicrous thing being that we believe mummy Nelson is of the understanding that her son fucks!

Anyway, where I get to is this: Tonight, I spent myself in Nick’s throat pussy, and he only has an hour in my diary which isn’t enough time for me to get the horn back and have another run at his ass. But I do need that warm clench, because I’ve missed it and I’d be seriously pissed if he took the anal opportunity elsewhere, so we need to have a bargain.

I ask Nick to excuse me for a minute or so, during which time he mustn’t move. In fact he’s very self-disciplined, and where most lads would reach for their phone and scroll social media in a vacuum of ninety seconds, Nick remains rooted to his position of supplication in front of my toilet throne, head bowed.

I settle back.

‘If you genuinely respected me…’ I start, letting my sentence tail-off.

‘Harry, you know I respect you.’

‘And, if you actually loved me…’

‘Well, Charlie is my love interest, but I suppose, in a way, I…’

‘Then, you’d consent to me being your keyholder, Nick.’

And from the small cardboard box I retrieved from my bedroom, I flourish the cock cage in silvery, skeletal steel in which I intend to imprison Nick’s dick, for an unbearable sentence.

‘Chastity…’ he twigs, like he’s slow.

‘Yep. To be worn until the next time I’m available to drill your ass. Then, I promise you, it will come off.’

Nick frowns, balancing competing emotions, I hope. He is, at least, taking me seriously.

‘Hmm. I dunno, Harry. I’m really not sure this is a good…’

‘We make a bargain,’ I cut through his prevarication. ‘You save your sweet ass for me, and only me. In return I give you your pleasure back, as a priority, the day after I fly back home. I promise.’

‘You’re going away?’ he asks in a higher pitched surprised tone.

‘Sure. Me and my dad are going to Dubs for ten days. It’s gonna be fuckin’ lush, mate.’

I swagger a bit on the toilet. It’s the holiday of a lifetime, so far.

‘You’re going to Dublin?’

‘Ah, no! We’re going to Dubs… Dubai, you fuckin’ pancake!’ I gloat through my putdown.

‘Oh, right. Nice,’ he concedes, sounding unconvinced. I don’t think Dubai is a Nick Nelson sort of vacation destination – he’s more of a caravan in Skegness with factor 50 sun lotion type of loser.  

‘But don’t worry, I’ve thought of everything,’ I tell him. ‘In case I die during the desert 4x4 experience, or sink my jet ski, I’m going to leave a spare key for your dick cage back home. With Ben. Obviously, I’ll explain the situation to him and ask him to keep things discreet, cos it’s sensitive.’

I watch anger rise again from Nick’s thick neck, flushing his face afresh.  

‘Umm, I’d rather you throw both keys down a fucking well, than leave one with Ben Hope!’ he rants.  

I laugh. ‘That’s a bit extreme, mate!’

‘Seriously, Harry, it’s totally out of order to involve Ben in our…’

‘Relationship?’ I finish his sentence. ‘You know, you should be thanking me, Nick? Not only do I let you see me for free, but I’ve actually spent my own money investing in you, with the cock cage. Like, how proud does that make you feel? Who else takes that much interest in your future?’

‘Plenty of people!’ he blurts, riled.

‘Also – this cage was pretty much a bespoke order, for you. Not many fetish suppliers stock male chastity in size XS, to suit your weeny peanut dick.’

I roll back on the toilet seat, howling.

‘Oh please, Harry – give it a rest. You know my dick is barely smaller than yours! I’m bored of your shit, now.’

I’m sure Nick senses what’s coming, and perhaps he was actively inviting it? I even give him a pause during which time he could shuffle backwards on his knees or turn his head, but his poise stays rigid between my feet. He’s prepared and accepting. Dare I say it, welcoming? 

Nick appreciates the fact I’m an ambidextrous slapper. This time, it’s his right cheek that takes the force of my open palm, and now his head does spin in recoil at the hefty clap.

‘Matching stripes, huh?’ I suggest of the second handprint, though my first on the opposite cheek has faded.

‘Yep,’ he agrees, weedy. Inevitably, Nick has watery eyes again.

‘Look, the time will pass quickly,’ I reassure him. ‘And the Saturday I get back, we’ll go for a curry at the Truham Tandoori, maybe, and have a proper catch-up whilst you’re still locked-in and sitting opposite as my wifey. We’ll come back to my place, I’ll fuck your desperate ass on the pool table, I reckon, and then that chastity comes straight off, I absolutely promise.’

‘Harry, it could be hot, but please just give me some time to think…’

‘You know, it would be great to hang-out with you, over the summer,’ I say. ‘Like, spend quality time with you… talk more… not just sex. We probably should have done that more, ages ago.’

Nick looks stunned – totally wrongfooted. He wasn’t expecting this conversation to turn leftfield, but I needed to strike whilst he felt pressure.

He clears his phlegmy throat, emotionally choked.

‘Um, I only see you, Harry. I hang-out with Charlie and our friends. I’ve never, ever, wanted to hang-out with you and your bunch of twats.’

And now it’s my turn to be stunned by the definitiveness of his rejection. It was brutal, and he’s the very opposite of a brutal character.

‘I meant, just the two of us,’ I say. ‘My twattish mates are just as dispensable as Charlie’s alphabet mafia crowd, right? Like, what is Isaac claiming to be this week? Ace, or is it incel, because he’s honestly too fat to fuck?’

I’ve pushed Nick hard, and it’s like I can feel the heat of his fury down there in his submissive position. Most boys would lash-out but Nick remains very still aside from his sexy pensive blinking, collecting his thoughts, thinking before saying.

This is literally the first time I’ve shown a glimpse of my torment to a client, and I know I’ve fucked-up royally. Submissives don’t see me to give me therapy, though it often works the other way around.

‘You’re lonely, right?’ Nick says. In his honey-smooth tone, there’s no sense he’s judging me.

Of course he’s right, nail-on-head, but I can hardly admit it. His sexual needs are intense, and I know Nick’s had his own tortured anguish over the years, but in every sense he’s always been a good boy: straightforward, honest, trusting, hard-working – the best sort of qualities. I can’t claim any of those attributes, and that makes me feel so fucking low.

I’m mute, for once, and rely on him to break the suffocating silence.

‘So, I won’t be hanging out with you…’ he declares, solemn.

‘Look, it’s okay. Let’s just move on,’ I say quickly.

‘But it would be an honour to have you as my keyholder,’ he says. ‘And, if you’re willing to get harder and darker with me, when you’re back from holiday…’

‘Of course I am, you doughnut!’ I agree, fast.

‘Well then, in that case, would you like to kiss, before I clean your bathroom and get going?’

The right answer is no, but my guard rails have already fallen, so is there any point in continuing my act?

‘Yes,’ I say.

I fidget back on the toilet seat, tap my knee to shepherd him, and he straddles me facing the cistern. The plastic groans under our combined weight, twisting.

Nick hesitates, taking sharp breaths. Moving at the same time we wrap arms and hug.

My dick and asshole have been swiped by Nick’s tongue on countless previous occasions, but never my own tongue, and he’s been monogamous in reserving his most intimate affections for his lover, Charlie. 

Joining lips then probing, I extract fragments of cum deep inside Nick’s mouth and remember it’s my own juice I’m retrieving from the awkward gaps between his imperfect teeth. Memories aligned, still powerful, we’re all over each other at once, greedy as fuck.

**