doomed romance
8 November 2020 15:55![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
m_d_hAugust 14, 2059
They never told me the date, never even mentioned the exact year, and I didn't ask. I was afraid off forcing them to lie, or make up a reason for not answering.
Spending time snuggling with and talking with Tate was a beautiful endless dream. Touching his flushed, naked skin, looking at the patterns of infrared colors steaming from his body, as though he were made of dry ice, but remained warm to the touch.
And they never told me the time of day. But now that I had picked a day to orgasm and die, they kept me apprised of the countdown. Days of snuggles, cocktails, drinking cups of Tate's semen, my hardening cock straining inside its metal cage. Listening to Tate tell me about his life, until he ran out of stories to tell and we spooned quietly on the sofa or the mattress.
Tate liked teasing me and keeping me horny, keeping me hot with desire for him. Fucking him on that last day was going to be so sweet. Men always joke that they want to die in bed while fucking a hot date. This was my fate. With Tate. I'm going to write fucking poetry about him while I'm fucking him, I'm going to sing his name while I'm cumming, taking that name with me into my next world, "Taaaaaaaaaaaate!" as everything goes dark.
I'm more worried about Tate than myself. He's basically a hospice sex worker at this point, easing my path along the stages of grief, putting up with me when I get angry and depressed, even when I ranted loudly about how all of them were lying to me.
I know they're lying to me! Chris, Tate, Mama Bo, they're all lying. Mostly lies of omission, I think.
I accused Chris of lying to me, screamed at him, demanded he tell me the complete truth, and Chris said, "The 'complete truth' would take longer to tell than you have left to listen. Be thankful we've spared you some of the details. But your situation is truly dire, we're not lying about that."
Tate would just get more playful and teasing when I asked him too many questions. Calling me "sassy", that's his favorite complaint about me, that I'm "sassy".
Mama Bo pretty much ignored me, having told me enough to secure my consent that I should delete myself (and her) from the universe before it is too late, before the time bomb reaches into the past and figures out how to take control of me again.
That's the main part of this entire story that makes no sense to me. That all this effort is to keep me from being controlled by a future sentient stochastic time bomb that doesn't exist yet. Nobody will tell me what the extent of this control had been, nobody will explain how I escaped it. But it is clear I have escaped it. But there's zero faith this happy freedom will last. So ... we must destroy "me".
-----
We put away the mattress, set up the sling, set it up so the head side is lower than the ass side, because Tate is shorter than Chris and I want to suck Tate while Chris fucks me, but then I'll want them to switch holes, so, I'll just flip around 180 degrees in the sling. They're playing with my nipples while spit-roasting my body, and I wonder whether I really can cum while caged -- we haven't removed the cage yet. I'm dripping wet from precum, so much precum, but precum is not an orgasm, so we continue playing.
I'm begging for release, to cum, but Chris says there's still 15 minutes until we hit exactly one week from when I first woke up, so they continue the fucking, sucking, teasing, and I get closer to cumming while caged, I figure I'm 95% of the way there, and I tell them so.
Tate shouts, "Let me know when you hit 99%!" But this is also the saddest sex scene ever, because they're literally fucking me to death. But we're all on the appropriate drugs to remain hard, to enjoy touching, like a combo of Viagra and Ecstasy, I grab Tate's ass while sucking him, while Chris fucks me, then they swap positions, then they swap again.
"OK, one minute left," Tate proclaims as he removes his cock from my ass to grab the key from the other room.
He can only remove the tube portion of the cage, because I'm instantly too hard to remove the ring.
"I want to stand up now, and fuck Tate to pieces," I announce, so they help me to get up, hold me while I'm dizzy from the blood rushing to my feet, and now my hard cock is ready, ready to fuck this beautiful young man who loves me so, who I love, while Chris reaches around me from behind to twist my nipples, tease my ass with his cock, tease my right ear with his tongue,
Damn, I want this to last forever, but I haven't cum all week, and despite my horrible hunger pangs my cock is roaring ready. I've found the pace that will push me over the cliff, I'm maintaining that pace,
"Mama Bo, I'm sorry,"
"It's OK, Marco, fuck your boy."
So I fuck my boy, and he's moaning, and Chris whispers, "It's OK, I'll catch you, we'll catch you, we'll take care of you, let it go"
I'm 99% there, I'm starting to yell Tate's name, I'm 99.9% there, I can feel a wad of semen ready to shoot,
"HONK, HONK, HONK, HONK," a super loud honking like a fire alarm is going off, and even through the blindfold I can see a bright light is flashing in tune with the honking.
"Shit," Tate said, "we forgot to turn off the emergency broadcast alarm down here,"
Mama Bo says, "It's OK, Marco, fuck your boy."
Chris says, "It's OK, Marco, fuck your boy."
"HONK, HONK, HONK, HONK,"
Tate yells over the siren, "Fuck me, Marco!"
So I do. I roar the loudest I've ever roared as my body shakes loose volleys of cum into Tate's young asshole. And then everything goes dark.
They never told me the date, never even mentioned the exact year, and I didn't ask. I was afraid off forcing them to lie, or make up a reason for not answering.
Spending time snuggling with and talking with Tate was a beautiful endless dream. Touching his flushed, naked skin, looking at the patterns of infrared colors steaming from his body, as though he were made of dry ice, but remained warm to the touch.
And they never told me the time of day. But now that I had picked a day to orgasm and die, they kept me apprised of the countdown. Days of snuggles, cocktails, drinking cups of Tate's semen, my hardening cock straining inside its metal cage. Listening to Tate tell me about his life, until he ran out of stories to tell and we spooned quietly on the sofa or the mattress.
Tate liked teasing me and keeping me horny, keeping me hot with desire for him. Fucking him on that last day was going to be so sweet. Men always joke that they want to die in bed while fucking a hot date. This was my fate. With Tate. I'm going to write fucking poetry about him while I'm fucking him, I'm going to sing his name while I'm cumming, taking that name with me into my next world, "Taaaaaaaaaaaate!" as everything goes dark.
I'm more worried about Tate than myself. He's basically a hospice sex worker at this point, easing my path along the stages of grief, putting up with me when I get angry and depressed, even when I ranted loudly about how all of them were lying to me.
I know they're lying to me! Chris, Tate, Mama Bo, they're all lying. Mostly lies of omission, I think.
I accused Chris of lying to me, screamed at him, demanded he tell me the complete truth, and Chris said, "The 'complete truth' would take longer to tell than you have left to listen. Be thankful we've spared you some of the details. But your situation is truly dire, we're not lying about that."
Tate would just get more playful and teasing when I asked him too many questions. Calling me "sassy", that's his favorite complaint about me, that I'm "sassy".
Mama Bo pretty much ignored me, having told me enough to secure my consent that I should delete myself (and her) from the universe before it is too late, before the time bomb reaches into the past and figures out how to take control of me again.
That's the main part of this entire story that makes no sense to me. That all this effort is to keep me from being controlled by a future sentient stochastic time bomb that doesn't exist yet. Nobody will tell me what the extent of this control had been, nobody will explain how I escaped it. But it is clear I have escaped it. But there's zero faith this happy freedom will last. So ... we must destroy "me".
-----
We put away the mattress, set up the sling, set it up so the head side is lower than the ass side, because Tate is shorter than Chris and I want to suck Tate while Chris fucks me, but then I'll want them to switch holes, so, I'll just flip around 180 degrees in the sling. They're playing with my nipples while spit-roasting my body, and I wonder whether I really can cum while caged -- we haven't removed the cage yet. I'm dripping wet from precum, so much precum, but precum is not an orgasm, so we continue playing.
I'm begging for release, to cum, but Chris says there's still 15 minutes until we hit exactly one week from when I first woke up, so they continue the fucking, sucking, teasing, and I get closer to cumming while caged, I figure I'm 95% of the way there, and I tell them so.
Tate shouts, "Let me know when you hit 99%!" But this is also the saddest sex scene ever, because they're literally fucking me to death. But we're all on the appropriate drugs to remain hard, to enjoy touching, like a combo of Viagra and Ecstasy, I grab Tate's ass while sucking him, while Chris fucks me, then they swap positions, then they swap again.
"OK, one minute left," Tate proclaims as he removes his cock from my ass to grab the key from the other room.
He can only remove the tube portion of the cage, because I'm instantly too hard to remove the ring.
"I want to stand up now, and fuck Tate to pieces," I announce, so they help me to get up, hold me while I'm dizzy from the blood rushing to my feet, and now my hard cock is ready, ready to fuck this beautiful young man who loves me so, who I love, while Chris reaches around me from behind to twist my nipples, tease my ass with his cock, tease my right ear with his tongue,
Damn, I want this to last forever, but I haven't cum all week, and despite my horrible hunger pangs my cock is roaring ready. I've found the pace that will push me over the cliff, I'm maintaining that pace,
"Mama Bo, I'm sorry,"
"It's OK, Marco, fuck your boy."
So I fuck my boy, and he's moaning, and Chris whispers, "It's OK, I'll catch you, we'll catch you, we'll take care of you, let it go"
I'm 99% there, I'm starting to yell Tate's name, I'm 99.9% there, I can feel a wad of semen ready to shoot,
"HONK, HONK, HONK, HONK," a super loud honking like a fire alarm is going off, and even through the blindfold I can see a bright light is flashing in tune with the honking.
"Shit," Tate said, "we forgot to turn off the emergency broadcast alarm down here,"
Mama Bo says, "It's OK, Marco, fuck your boy."
Chris says, "It's OK, Marco, fuck your boy."
"HONK, HONK, HONK, HONK,"
Tate yells over the siren, "Fuck me, Marco!"
So I do. I roar the loudest I've ever roared as my body shakes loose volleys of cum into Tate's young asshole. And then everything goes dark.