The view coming back was as good or better, because it was easier to see the line of his cock, the weight of testicles. Particularly when the former was aroused as Marcus' cock was at this point, straining the fabric, making Thomas swallow the excess saliva pooled in his mouth.
Marcus had chest hair, the finest layer of down over the pecs and a narrow point arrowing down to his navel. Thomas wanted to reach out and touch, rub his face against it. Lick Marcus' nipples to hard points, close his palm strong and sure over the prominent arousal, feel the steel of it, grip the length and be awed at the privilege of touching it.
Marcus would snort at that, of course. Call him a fucking idiot even as he'd let Thomas do it, the green eyes disappearing as his head dropped back to his shoulders and he let Thomas work him.
Marcus straddled his back now, his calves and feet on either side of Thomas' thighs.
Reaching under him, he took hold of his cock without fumbling. Thomas bit down on the inside of his cheek, trying to hold onto his control at the touch of bare hand to bare skin. He felt straps and the metal of a chain a moment before they bit into his flesh, the cock harness cinching tight at the base of his cock and the second loop binding his balls.
Marcus had never used a cock harness on him. It gave a different edge to this moment than they'd shared before. It made Thomas remember that he'd left Marcus and had stated practically from the moment he got out of the car he intended to do it again.
So Marcus was going to make him suffer, and God help him, all Thomas felt was an overwhelming flood of response in his loins, his chest, in the tightening of every muscle of his body in reaction, in the desire to be with him. His arousal ratcheted up exponentially.
Marcus ran his hand over his ass. Taking hold of the left buttock, he squeezed hard, his fingers deep between the cleft, brushing the rim. Thomas shuddered and was thankful for the cruel pinch of the harness on him. God, please fuck me. It would hurt, because it had been awhile, and Marcus was well endowed. Not to mention Thomas knew he was a tight fit, but he welcomed the pain. Wanted it with a savagery he couldn't explain. Punish me. Hurt me.
It made him think of places Marcus had taken him, just to watch. Club dungeons they had visited where Marcus fondled him under the table or in plain sight while others performed. Slaves stripped and flogged, muscles tightening against pain even as the slave groaned with the pleasure of it, begged for more. For the release that pain brought, to be just who they wanted to be. The slave of their Master, the beginning and end of who they were, because everything they wanted was within that boundary, and the pain reminded them of it.
"You want me to beat you. Stripe your ass raw. I can feel you trembling for it. " Marcus' voice, husky, capable of pulling Thomas over the edge with just the intonation, a simple uttered command. "But I won't let it be that easy, Thomas. " Thomas heard the unfastening of the belt, the tongue coming loose. The unzipping of the slacks was a sound that skittered down his spine, the soft rush of clothes falling to the ground, being kicked to the side. The yellow shirt was abruptly before him and Marcus folded it over his eyes, tying it behind Thomas' head, as if immersing him in a sun-drenched room. A room that smelled like Marcus' heat.
Thomas wanted to weep. He wanted to roar. He wanted to turn and take hold of Marcus with both hands, tear at his flesh with teeth and sheer ferocity until he could get inside of him.
Marcus would have made a good horseman. He anticipated everything. Like the knotting of Thomas' shoulders as he tried to thrust himself up from the floor and turn on him. Before he could do it, Marcus had a hand firmly on the back of his neck, gripping as he knelt, pushed his weight against Thomas' ass so he hissed through his teeth, trying to push up, but Marcus had all the leverage.
Before he could think to roll, Marcus parted his buttocks and thrust home. Rough, non-lubricated, raw and painful possession that burned like the fire in Thomas' chest and stomach.
"Stay still and take it, or I'll make it much rougher, farm boy. " Jesus, Marcus was big. And Thomas wanted more. Despite the command, Thomas pushed back, tilting up, telling Marcus he wanted it, telling the bastard he could take anything he could dish out. Even with his dick tied in a knot in that harness, unable to release. Thomas already felt like he was in the throes of an orgasm, he was quivering so intensely.
"There you are. Rock that ass, fuck my cock. Tell me how much you missed me and I might let you come. "
Thomas sobbed in his throat, snarled and shoved back against him, hurting.
Marcus' hand curled in his short hair, held him with brutal efficiency as he slapped himself against Thomas' ass, hard. Again. And again. Fast, then slowing it down, making Thomas feel every inch of that cock deep inside of him, burning down his shields, leaving raw exposed flesh inside and out.
"Marcus. . . Master. " He said them both, breathed them both, and he had Marcus' answer in an unintelligible noise that meant nothing in words, but spoke directly to something inside him. A harsh breath, and Marcus kicked his knees out wider, dropping Thomas down almost on his face as Marcus held his hips with both hands now.
Thomas cried out at the pain, a pain matched only by the agony in his balls, drawn up so tight and wanting to spew come everywhere, mark all of Marcus' scattered things. The book his hands had touched, the wineglass where his lips had been, the pillow he'd put his head on. He wanted to give it all to him. But Marcus wasn't going to allow it. Not yet.
His Master came in a sudden explosion of brutal force, jetting into Thomas. The heat flooded him, stroked that gland inside so sensitive to such stimulation. He wondered if Marcus had intentionally not used a condom, and why he didn't care, even though he knew they were both being stupid bastards.
But this moment had nothing to do with any of that. It was raw, primitive, and would have been as appropriate in the forest outside, perhaps more. Which made him imagine Marcus as a lion, hunting Thomas down, fighting with him, taking him down.
Marcus withdrew, drawing a quiet moan from Thomas. He was so close to orgasm he knew he would have come without the restraint.
"Up on your knees. Ass on your heels. "
As he obeyed, Marcus inserted a lubricated dildo into him Thomas hadn't even seen him bring out. It was a good size, filling him tight. "Jesus. . . " It whistled out between his clenched teeth, and Marcus' sexy low laugh made Thomas want to do all sorts of dark, deadly things.
"Now sit back on your heels, holding that in. "
Thomas wondered if a person could die from withheld release, for if it was possible he was going to have a meltdown. Only Marcus could do this to him, take him beyond thought or reason, desiring only to release, to please his Master. In the nastier, more insecure moments, he'd wondered if it was just the advantage a slick New Yorker had over a country boy with little experience, but he'd held his own.
From the first time Thomas had seen him, he hadn't known who or what Marcus was, just that he wanted him. Wanted to be his. And the fact Thomas had thought of it that way should have given him a clue to the hidden craving
in his own makeup. An unexpected sexual preference. Preference. There was a grimly amusing word. As if any need this elemental was a choice. Just as Marcus had always said.
As Marcus trailed his fingers along Thomas' shoulder, the blindfold loosened and fell away. "Hands behind your back now, pet. Lace your fingers and let me see you pull your shoulders back. "
Oh God. The position squeezed his buttocks together more tightly, stretched his cock up in the restraint as if he were some sort of overly endowed fertility god. He couldn't see him yet, but Thomas could feel Marcus looking.