After a long blackness, I felt Michael slapping me awake. I opened my eyes and saw a cock before my face. But not Michael’s cock. A bigger, coarser instrument, knotted with thick veins and streaked with rectal mucus. My throat filled with fresh saliva. I opened my mouth—

—Then realized it was my cock held before me. I closed my mouth, recoiling from the insanity of it.

“Go ahead.” I heard Michael’s voice above me. “It’s not as pretty as mine, but it’ll give you what you need. Go ahead. What’s wrong? Don’t wanna taste shit? Come on, you’ve made plenty of guys suck it after you’ve screwed ’em. Besides, it’s your shit, man.”

I looked hard at the cock. I had seen it in mirrors, of course, even in photographs. But now I saw it as my slaves had. Huge and pulsing, inches from my lips. And I knew why men had groveled for it. Knew the power that made them crave it. I opened my mouth and moaned silently.

Michael laughed and shoved it down my throat. Rammed it in and out, the way I would have. I discovered how it felt—exactly how it felt. I remembered the riding crop trick in New York—the sweltering afternoon with the six-pack when I tied his face to my crotch and kept my cock down his throat for hours—coming, pissing, coming, pissing. Now I knew why four hours hadn’t been enough for that cocksucker.

I felt pleasure in my cock as I sucked. Almost like sixty-nining, sucking and being sucked. Two places at once.

I squeezed my throat around the huge dick, milking it, savoring the pleasure I was giving and receiving. Then Michael spoke.

“Remember, Bill. When it shoots, the spell breaks. And if that happens while you’re still in pieces—there’s nothing I can do to put you together again.” He kept sliding it in and out of my throat.

My blood froze. I stopped the undulations in my throat.

“Come on, Bill.” His voice was low and evil. “Your cock’s close. Been close for hours. The balls are way up in the sack. Come on,” he teased, ramming it hard and fast, “make it come. Work your throat like a good cocksucker. Don’t you wanna know how it feels when you shoot in some guy’s mouth? Must be good—I bet they always come back for more. Don’t you wanna taste your own come?”

I looked up at him and pleaded with my eyes. He kept sliding the big dong in and out—I felt it expand, the way I always do when I’m on the verge—

I clamped my teeth down on it, hard, to stop the stroking.