The Game

Warnings: Flogging, CBT, and sensory deprivation.


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It takes longer than I thought it would to get to Jordan’s apartment. Mostly the fault of the security guard at the complex’s gate who insisted on calling him to verify who I was, but I also got lost in the labyrinth of similar-looking buildings and parking lots. What kind of escort lives in a gated community?

As a result of the delay, I don’t catch him by surprise as I’d intended to. He’s waiting for me with a faint smile on his face, all traces of the submissive nature I thought I’d detected last night gone. I step inside, drop my jacket on a stool, and jump slightly as a hand rests on my shoulder.

“You startle easily, fairy boy,” Jordan says as he looks down at me, his smile seeming more predatory than friendly for an instant.

“How did you know I was half pixie?” I’m startled at how easily he seems to have picked up on my heritage. Not many people can tell without hearing it from me.

He chuckles. “I didn’t until you said it. I called you that because of your last name, that pendant you wear under your shirt, and your attraction to men. Bad humor, really, but I like wordplay. Learning that you really are a fairy, half anyway, just adds to the amusement.”

I can’t help but laugh. Gabe didn’t put the whole thing together until I told him that a seven-pointed star is sometimes referred to as a “fairy star”, the day after he looked up the meaning of my last name and six weeks after we first hooked up. And a relative stranger did it in a night. Impressive. “The gods have a sense of humor when it comes to me, it seems,” I tell him while relaxing on one of the two deep brown recliners in the living room.

“No worse than my parents giving me an androgynous name and having me grow up to look like this. I have to keep my hair reasonably short or at least half the world mistakes me for a very tall female.” Jordan tugs at my curls after he finishes his statement, then plops in my lap. Even though he has to be around 6’3, he’s not as heavy as I would have guessed and the weight is only moderately uncomfortable.

Slender fingers run down the side of my neck before he tugs the pendant out of my shirt and looks it over. “Silver or pewter? Probably can’t be iron because it kills fairies. Not sure of its effect on half-breeds. And stop looking at me like that, Damien. Just because my job is to have sex with people doesn’t make me stupid. Wanted to be a xenobiologist before life dropped me on my ass.”

I just shrug at his remark about whatever look I may have been giving and brush a finger along his jawline. “It’s silver. My father gave it to me when I was seven. And iron is just very irritating unless you’re a full-blooded fairy. Do you want to ask me more questions or are we going to have a repeat of last night’s entertainment?”

“One more question before you can think with your dick again: Who is the guy that paid me to catch your attention?”

“My relationship with Gabriel is complicated. We’re a bit more than just fuckbuddies, but we certainly aren’t a couple even though we’ve been fucking for nearly a year. ‘Couple’ would imply that we trust each other with personal histories and secrets along with a certain amount of commitment, whether it be monogamous, admitted swingers, or polyamorous. All we ever reveal is what we say when we’re drunk and we each sleep with whomever we feel like, no permission needed and no interrogations afterwards. Neither of us wants to admit to caring for the other. There’s something there, though, however marginal. We wouldn’t play tonsil hockey otherwise.” I sigh as I finish. There’s more, of course, but I don’t trust my voice. Telling about The Lemon and implying dark kinks could very well lead to me revealing the game. That simply can’t happen.

A minute passes by silently before Jordan says anything. “Bit of a short explanation. It’s good enough for now, though. Later, you’ll tell me why he paid for me, but sent me after you instead.” There’s something he’s not telling me, I can hear it in the way his voice wavers for a second or two. But I’ll get curious about that later.

I smirk. “You think you can make me tell you something like that?”

He licks his lips devilishly. “Oh, I think I can get you to tell me anything once I get you in my room of goodies and you’re restrained. I only play obliging bottom when I’m on the job.”

“Love to see you try. Been a long time since anyone was able to get me in that position.” The last was a redheaded assassin, Adrian I think his name was, about six months ago. I let him because it was the only way I’d get to touch that flawless ass.

It’s a bit of a surprise when Jordan gets off my lap, grabs a large handful of my hair, and pulls hard. My eyes water and I have no choice but to walk with him, head lowered, as he keeps his grip steady. We head down the hall to a door on the right. I can hear him unlock it and walk in slowly before he has a reason to yank my hair even harder.

I don’t get the chance to look around at much in the room, because he kicks the back of my knees so I stumble. When I try to get up, I feel the distantly familiar sensation of a riding crop against my ass.

“If you really don’t want this, Damien, tell me. You strike me as the type that’ll do nearly anything for another good lay, though, so I think you’ll be staying right where you are. Right?” He lifts my head and I groan despite myself at the look in his eyes. Jordan might have played his part well last night, but I can tell this is where he feels more comfortable. And he’s right – I want him again and I’ll let him have his fun so that can happen.

“Right. My safe word is ‘angel’ and my slow word is ‘devil’ if you plan on hurting me,” I tell him. Now that I can look around, I dart my eyes to try and see everything he has in his other bedroom. There’s a wooden cross standing in the far right corner, around half a dozen floggers hanging from a rack, a couple other benches, and a table with two bags that probably hold all of his smaller implements. Impressive collection, but mine’s better. Only thing I can see that he has and I don’t is the cross.

He nods, still staring down at me. “I’m not sure yet what I’ll do to you. Take your shirt off.” I wish our positions were reversed right now, but I listen to him anyway because he’ll probably kick me out if I object. Adrenaline makes my hands shake a little as I tug the navy T-shirt over my head and drop it on the floor next to me.

The cool leather of the crop caresses my spine as he steps around me in a slow, deliberate circle. From here, I have a good idea of how much he’s already getting turned on. I wait for him to tell me what to do and try not to let myself tremble too much.

“Get up, take off the rest of your clothes, walk over to the cross, then face me.” He begins rummaging through the bags while I remove shoes, socks, pants, and boxers. I can’t see what’s Jordan picked, though, because he keeps them hidden underneath a black cloth. I step over to the sturdy wood, which is stained dark gold, and turn to face him. My hands rise to rest on the top beams instinctively.

Silently, he stands there and looks me over. I swallow loudly and try to memorize all of his delicate, part-Asian facial features to pass the time until something actually happens. High cheekbones, wide hazel eyes with long lashes, lips a little fuller than most men’s, and skin that I remember as being powder-soft, though I doubt he was wearing makeup last night. Overall, one of the prettiest humans I’ve ever seen.

He grabs padded leather cuffs from under the cloth, puts them on my wrists, and clips one to each eyehook in the cross so I can’t really move my arms. The process is repeated with my ankles. Now virtually immobilized, I tense up and start really anticipating what’ll happen.

“Anything that really gets you going, fairy boy? You’re kinda limp and that needs to be changed.”

I’m not expecting the question, so I blurt out, “CBT. I only like pain when it’s in that area,” before mentally slapping myself. It’s an unspoken rule that Gabriel only lets me choke him and I only let him hurt my sensitive parts. Guess I just won’t tell Gabe about it and it’ll be fine.

Jordan picks up a leather blindfold and pulls it down over my eyes, where the fur lining tickles until I remember to close them so I really can’t see anything. Next, he taps my cheek until I open my mouth and I taste the plastic of a ball gag as it gets shoved in, the strap fastened at the back of my head. A large pair of earmuffs, probably the type construction workers use, covers my ears after I hear him whisper, “Tug at your right cuff three times and I’ll take out the gag.” Now I can’t see, hear, or speak. Not exactly my kink, but wondering what might be coming is enough to start getting me turned on.

Something – a lot of somethings, actually – stings my chest and I try to pull back before remembering that I’m against the cross and there’s no avoiding what’s most likely a flogger hitting me. The blows come randomly, from left and right, hard then soft, and I writhe as much as I can despite knowing I can’t get away. This was the only way I’d get anything with Jordan today, so I have to enjoy it. That’s the only reason I’m getting hard from his practiced hand swinging leather across my upper body.

It stops suddenly. He pulls off the earmuffs and whispers huskily, “Why are you enjoying this, Damien? You said it wasn’t the pain, so is it the restraints, the deprivation, or are you telling yourself that you were pretty much forced into it and have no choice but to react? Oh, that’s right, you can’t answer me yet because of the gag.” The muffs are thankfully gone now. I can hear him moving and predict when something’s about to be done.

The flogging starts up again and this time I can hear the falls when they hit my stomach. I try not to move around, to just let myself feel what’s being done, but this isn’t what I want to have happening anymore. He won’t get me to beg or ask for it, though. That’s a barrier nobody’s managed to cross.

A little bit of drool drips down my chin since I can’t swallow well gagged. Jordan wipes it off with his hand, then squeezes my balls roughly. My hips rock up into the treatment and I moan behind the plastic ball in my mouth, mind cheering.

I’m not sure what he uses to start hitting my genitals, just that it’s probably rubber and it stings like hell. I start panting and try not to give in too completely to my hips’ desire to jerk around and lift so that more delicate skin can be manhandled with each tingling blow. But I know it’s pointless to control how I act; Jordan seems practiced enough that he’ll make me do what he wants whether I admit to wanting it or not.

When the pain stops, I whine before realizing it. A new feeling replaces it seconds later. My eyes widen behind the blindfold as cold metal rests against the tip of my oozing cock. And I react by tugging at my right cuff three times as I was told. I might want to stop this play very soon, so I’ll need my voice.

He strokes my cheek as the gag is removed and then wipes off my chin. I swallow a few times, gather my thoughts, and ask, “Is that a knife?” “Angel” had been on the tip of my tongue, but for some reason it wouldn’t come out.

“A dull one, yes. It can’t cut you, Damien.” To demonstrate that, he glides it across first the head and then the underside of my shaft. I don’t feel any pain, just cold, and I feel myself twitch a little when his warm hand strokes the area afterwards.

The alternation of cold steel and warm flesh continues at a steady pace. It makes my body relax and my mind float, only a little at first but then more and more. Everything grows hazy – touch, sound, temperature, even my sense of time – until I can’t even say for sure what he’s doing to me. All I know is that I’m enjoying it. A dull blade can’t cut me, yet part of my brain insists that Jordan’s lying and that he could slip at any moment, cutting the most sensitive part of my body.

I’m only vaguely aware of how much it hurts to be this close to orgasm without being given the final push it takes for bliss to arrive. The knife and hand have stopped. Fingers are inside me now, carefully coating my anus with something slick that smells like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon. Not one I’d expect a man to keep or use, but I’m beyond caring. I just want what those fingers promise, even though I can’t make myself say anything to that effect.

Jordan moves my hair from my face, smoothes it down, and whispers once more. “I know I’m clean and odds are that you are, too. So I’m not going to waste any time with protecting myself.”

I shake my head furiously. His words are enough to get the world to stop spinning somewhat. I try to tell him that he has to wear a condom and why, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth. The blindfold comes off, my eyes try to focus on his face, and he rocks up into me hard, dressed except for the pants and boxer briefs I notice around his ankles.

The world nearly unfocuses again when he starts setting an almost painful pace. I don’t think he cares how close I am to getting off, only on having his own orgasm. For the first time, I realize what being used is like. I hate it, but I can’t do anything about it since I’m still restrained.

My hips rock with him, trying to get some friction between our bodies so my dick will stop hurting. He laughs when he sees that, stops their motion with one hand, grabs the knife again with the other, and lightly digs its point into that spot where shaft connects to body. It hurts, but that, combined with two quick thrusts, is what it takes to make me come. Stars dance in front of my closed eyes as my entire body trembles and I feel hot, sticky semen coat my lower stomach.

Several tears run down my cheek when he starts his ravishing once more. It’s humiliating to be treated this way and I don’t think I’ll be calling Jordan for a third encounter. Yeah, he’s a good S&M top – better than Gabe, to be honest – but I don’t want him fucking me again. Is this what everyone I’ve played the game with feels like when I’m doing them? Gods, I hope not.

He arches a brow when he spots the tears and wipes them away, but he doesn’t ease up. His head rests against the curve of my neck and his hips keep moving in an increasingly erratic pattern until I feel my insides being flooded with warm seed. That makes me cry a little more, oddly enough.

I hang my head as the clips are undone. Once the cuffs come off as well, Jordan moves me to lie down on a large blanket, concern visible all over his face once another covers me. “Fuck, what’s wrong? I didn’t really force you, did I? I was just playing a little…if you gave me an outright refusal, I would have let you top.”

“Asshole. It didn’t feel like you were playing. I’m even more pissed at you for not using protection. If you know as much as you claim, you know that some men with fairy or elf blood carry a gene that can alter their anatomy and make them pregnant if conditions are right.”

The look on his face changes from “I kinda screwed up” to “holy shit” in less than a second. And as much as I appreciate his efforts at aftercare, I can calm down at the Lemon before tonight’s escapade with Damien. Right now, the only thing I want to do is get the hell away from this idiot who seems to think he can play a game with me, no matter how small, and get away with it. I refuse to think about the odds of this leading to me being a pregnant man. So, I stand up, look for my clothes and pull them on as I walk out.

Warnings: Flogging, CBT, and sensory deprivation.


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It takes longer than I thought it would to get to Jordan’s apartment. Mostly the fault of the security guard at the complex’s gate who insisted on calling him to verify who I was, but I also got lost in the labyrinth of similar-looking buildings and parking lots. What kind of escort lives in a gated community?

As a result of the delay, I don’t catch him by surprise as I’d intended to. He’s waiting for me with a faint smile on his face, all traces of the submissive nature I thought I’d detected last night gone. I step inside, drop my jacket on a stool, and jump slightly as a hand rests on my shoulder.

“You startle easily, fairy boy,” Jordan says as he looks down at me, his smile seeming more predatory than friendly for an instant.

“How did you know I was half pixie?” I’m startled at how easily he seems to have picked up on my heritage. Not many people can tell without hearing it from me.

He chuckles. “I didn’t until you said it. I called you that because of your last name, that pendant you wear under your shirt, and your attraction to men. Bad humor, really, but I like wordplay. Learning that you really are a fairy, half anyway, just adds to the amusement.”

I can’t help but laugh. Gabe didn’t put the whole thing together until I told him that a seven-pointed star is sometimes referred to as a “fairy star”, the day after he looked up the meaning of my last name and six weeks after we first hooked up. And a relative stranger did it in a night. Impressive. “The gods have a sense of humor when it comes to me, it seems,” I tell him while relaxing on one of the two deep brown recliners in the living room.

“No worse than my parents giving me an androgynous name and having me grow up to look like this. I have to keep my hair reasonably short or at least half the world mistakes me for a very tall female.” Jordan tugs at my curls after he finishes his statement, then plops in my lap. Even though he has to be around 6’3, he’s not as heavy as I would have guessed and the weight is only moderately uncomfortable.

Slender fingers run down the side of my neck before he tugs the pendant out of my shirt and looks it over. “Silver or pewter? Probably can’t be iron because it kills fairies. Not sure of its effect on half-breeds. And stop looking at me like that, Damien. Just because my job is to have sex with people doesn’t make me stupid. Wanted to be a xenobiologist before life dropped me on my ass.”

I just shrug at his remark about whatever look I may have been giving and brush a finger along his jawline. “It’s silver. My father gave it to me when I was seven. And iron is just very irritating unless you’re a full-blooded fairy. Do you want to ask me more questions or are we going to have a repeat of last night’s entertainment?”

“One more question before you can think with your dick again: Who is the guy that paid me to catch your attention?”

“My relationship with Gabriel is complicated. We’re a bit more than just fuckbuddies, but we certainly aren’t a couple even though we’ve been fucking for nearly a year. ‘Couple’ would imply that we trust each other with personal histories and secrets along with a certain amount of commitment, whether it be monogamous, admitted swingers, or polyamorous. All we ever reveal is what we say when we’re drunk and we each sleep with whomever we feel like, no permission needed and no interrogations afterwards. Neither of us wants to admit to caring for the other. There’s something there, though, however marginal. We wouldn’t play tonsil hockey otherwise.” I sigh as I finish. There’s more, of course, but I don’t trust my voice. Telling about The Lemon and implying dark kinks could very well lead to me revealing the game. That simply can’t happen.

A minute passes by silently before Jordan says anything. “Bit of a short explanation. It’s good enough for now, though. Later, you’ll tell me why he paid for me, but sent me after you instead.” There’s something he’s not telling me, I can hear it in the way his voice wavers for a second or two. But I’ll get curious about that later.

I smirk. “You think you can make me tell you something like that?”

He licks his lips devilishly. “Oh, I think I can get you to tell me anything once I get you in my room of goodies and you’re restrained. I only play obliging bottom when I’m on the job.”

“Love to see you try. Been a long time since anyone was able to get me in that position.” The last was a redheaded assassin, Adrian I think his name was, about six months ago. I let him because it was the only way I’d get to touch that flawless ass.

It’s a bit of a surprise when Jordan gets off my lap, grabs a large handful of my hair, and pulls hard. My eyes water and I have no choice but to walk with him, head lowered, as he keeps his grip steady. We head down the hall to a door on the right. I can hear him unlock it and walk in slowly before he has a reason to yank my hair even harder.

I don’t get the chance to look around at much in the room, because he kicks the back of my knees so I stumble. When I try to get up, I feel the distantly familiar sensation of a riding crop against my ass.

“If you really don’t want this, Damien, tell me. You strike me as the type that’ll do nearly anything for another good lay, though, so I think you’ll be staying right where you are. Right?” He lifts my head and I groan despite myself at the look in his eyes. Jordan might have played his part well last night, but I can tell this is where he feels more comfortable. And he’s right – I want him again and I’ll let him have his fun so that can happen.

“Right. My safe word is ‘angel’ and my slow word is ‘devil’ if you plan on hurting me,” I tell him. Now that I can look around, I dart my eyes to try and see everything he has in his other bedroom. There’s a wooden cross standing in the far right corner, around half a dozen floggers hanging from a rack, a couple other benches, and a table with two bags that probably hold all of his smaller implements. Impressive collection, but mine’s better. Only thing I can see that he has and I don’t is the cross.

He nods, still staring down at me. “I’m not sure yet what I’ll do to you. Take your shirt off.” I wish our positions were reversed right now, but I listen to him anyway because he’ll probably kick me out if I object. Adrenaline makes my hands shake a little as I tug the navy T-shirt over my head and drop it on the floor next to me.

The cool leather of the crop caresses my spine as he steps around me in a slow, deliberate circle. From here, I have a good idea of how much he’s already getting turned on. I wait for him to tell me what to do and try not to let myself tremble too much.

“Get up, take off the rest of your clothes, walk over to the cross, then face me.” He begins rummaging through the bags while I remove shoes, socks, pants, and boxers. I can’t see what’s Jordan picked, though, because he keeps them hidden underneath a black cloth. I step over to the sturdy wood, which is stained dark gold, and turn to face him. My hands rise to rest on the top beams instinctively.

Silently, he stands there and looks me over. I swallow loudly and try to memorize all of his delicate, part-Asian facial features to pass the time until something actually happens. High cheekbones, wide hazel eyes with long lashes, lips a little fuller than most men’s, and skin that I remember as being powder-soft, though I doubt he was wearing makeup last night. Overall, one of the prettiest humans I’ve ever seen.

He grabs padded leather cuffs from under the cloth, puts them on my wrists, and clips one to each eyehook in the cross so I can’t really move my arms. The process is repeated with my ankles. Now virtually immobilized, I tense up and start really anticipating what’ll happen.

“Anything that really gets you going, fairy boy? You’re kinda limp and that needs to be changed.”

I’m not expecting the question, so I blurt out, “CBT. I only like pain when it’s in that area,” before mentally slapping myself. It’s an unspoken rule that Gabriel only lets me choke him and I only let him hurt my sensitive parts. Guess I just won’t tell Gabe about it and it’ll be fine.

Jordan picks up a leather blindfold and pulls it down over my eyes, where the fur lining tickles until I remember to close them so I really can’t see anything. Next, he taps my cheek until I open my mouth and I taste the plastic of a ball gag as it gets shoved in, the strap fastened at the back of my head. A large pair of earmuffs, probably the type construction workers use, covers my ears after I hear him whisper, “Tug at your right cuff three times and I’ll take out the gag.” Now I can’t see, hear, or speak. Not exactly my kink, but wondering what might be coming is enough to start getting me turned on.

Something – a lot of somethings, actually – stings my chest and I try to pull back before remembering that I’m against the cross and there’s no avoiding what’s most likely a flogger hitting me. The blows come randomly, from left and right, hard then soft, and I writhe as much as I can despite knowing I can’t get away. This was the only way I’d get anything with Jordan today, so I have to enjoy it. That’s the only reason I’m getting hard from his practiced hand swinging leather across my upper body.

It stops suddenly. He pulls off the earmuffs and whispers huskily, “Why are you enjoying this, Damien? You said it wasn’t the pain, so is it the restraints, the deprivation, or are you telling yourself that you were pretty much forced into it and have no choice but to react? Oh, that’s right, you can’t answer me yet because of the gag.” The muffs are thankfully gone now. I can hear him moving and predict when something’s about to be done.

The flogging starts up again and this time I can hear the falls when they hit my stomach. I try not to move around, to just let myself feel what’s being done, but this isn’t what I want to have happening anymore. He won’t get me to beg or ask for it, though. That’s a barrier nobody’s managed to cross.

A little bit of drool drips down my chin since I can’t swallow well gagged. Jordan wipes it off with his hand, then squeezes my balls roughly. My hips rock up into the treatment and I moan behind the plastic ball in my mouth, mind cheering.

I’m not sure what he uses to start hitting my genitals, just that it’s probably rubber and it stings like hell. I start panting and try not to give in too completely to my hips’ desire to jerk around and lift so that more delicate skin can be manhandled with each tingling blow. But I know it’s pointless to control how I act; Jordan seems practiced enough that he’ll make me do what he wants whether I admit to wanting it or not.

When the pain stops, I whine before realizing it. A new feeling replaces it seconds later. My eyes widen behind the blindfold as cold metal rests against the tip of my oozing cock. And I react by tugging at my right cuff three times as I was told. I might want to stop this play very soon, so I’ll need my voice.

He strokes my cheek as the gag is removed and then wipes off my chin. I swallow a few times, gather my thoughts, and ask, “Is that a knife?” “Angel” had been on the tip of my tongue, but for some reason it wouldn’t come out.

“A dull one, yes. It can’t cut you, Damien.” To demonstrate that, he glides it across first the head and then the underside of my shaft. I don’t feel any pain, just cold, and I feel myself twitch a little when his warm hand strokes the area afterwards.

The alternation of cold steel and warm flesh continues at a steady pace. It makes my body relax and my mind float, only a little at first but then more and more. Everything grows hazy – touch, sound, temperature, even my sense of time – until I can’t even say for sure what he’s doing to me. All I know is that I’m enjoying it. A dull blade can’t cut me, yet part of my brain insists that Jordan’s lying and that he could slip at any moment, cutting the most sensitive part of my body.

I’m only vaguely aware of how much it hurts to be this close to orgasm without being given the final push it takes for bliss to arrive. The knife and hand have stopped. Fingers are inside me now, carefully coating my anus with something slick that smells like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon. Not one I’d expect a man to keep or use, but I’m beyond caring. I just want what those fingers promise, even though I can’t make myself say anything to that effect.

Jordan moves my hair from my face, smoothes it down, and whispers once more. “I know I’m clean and odds are that you are, too. So I’m not going to waste any time with protecting myself.”

I shake my head furiously. His words are enough to get the world to stop spinning somewhat. I try to tell him that he has to wear a condom and why, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth. The blindfold comes off, my eyes try to focus on his face, and he rocks up into me hard, dressed except for the pants and boxer briefs I notice around his ankles.

The world nearly unfocuses again when he starts setting an almost painful pace. I don’t think he cares how close I am to getting off, only on having his own orgasm. For the first time, I realize what being used is like. I hate it, but I can’t do anything about it since I’m still restrained.

My hips rock with him, trying to get some friction between our bodies so my dick will stop hurting. He laughs when he sees that, stops their motion with one hand, grabs the knife again with the other, and lightly digs its point into that spot where shaft connects to body. It hurts, but that, combined with two quick thrusts, is what it takes to make me come. Stars dance in front of my closed eyes as my entire body trembles and I feel hot, sticky semen coat my lower stomach.

Several tears run down my cheek when he starts his ravishing once more. It’s humiliating to be treated this way and I don’t think I’ll be calling Jordan for a third encounter. Yeah, he’s a good S&M top – better than Gabe, to be honest – but I don’t want him fucking me again. Is this what everyone I’ve played the game with feels like when I’m doing them? Gods, I hope not.

He arches a brow when he spots the tears and wipes them away, but he doesn’t ease up. His head rests against the curve of my neck and his hips keep moving in an increasingly erratic pattern until I feel my insides being flooded with warm seed. That makes me cry a little more, oddly enough.

I hang my head as the clips are undone. Once the cuffs come off as well, Jordan moves me to lie down on a large blanket, concern visible all over his face once another covers me. “Fuck, what’s wrong? I didn’t really force you, did I? I was just playing a little…if you gave me an outright refusal, I would have let you top.”

“Asshole. It didn’t feel like you were playing. I’m even more pissed at you for not using protection. If you know as much as you claim, you know that some men with fairy or elf blood carry a gene that can alter their anatomy and make them pregnant if conditions are right.”

The look on his face changes from “I kinda screwed up” to “holy shit” in less than a second. And as much as I appreciate his efforts at aftercare, I can calm down at the Lemon before tonight’s escapade with Damien. Right now, the only thing I want to do is get the hell away from this idiot who seems to think he can play a game with me, no matter how small, and get away with it. I refuse to think about the odds of this leading to me being a pregnant man. So, I stand up, look for my clothes and pull them on as I walk out.

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A/N: Under most circumstances, I hate the idea of male pregnancy. But I thought it would make for a fun possible plot device in this story, so it found its way in. That, and it’s a favorite thing of the person it was dedicated to. The briefly mentioned character Adrian belongs to my “kitten”, Tiff. If people are curious enough about what that encounter was like, I may write it.