My hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in counterpoint to my thrusts, bringing him to the edge and then deliberately retreating until he trembled beneath me, his cock leaking against his stomach.
"Please," he whispered. "Let me come."
"Say it properly," I instructed, rhythm never faltering. "Who am I to you?"
He blinked slowly, his eyes refocusing as he caught his breath.
"Please, Daddy," he whispered. "Please let me come."
I groaned deeply. "Good boy," I praised, thrusts deepening, angling to hit his prostate with each stroke. "My good, perfect boy. Come for me."
He convulsed and let out a cry that sounded almost mournful. Hot ropes of cum painted his chest, his body clenching as his cry echoed. His release took my breath, pushing me over the edge. I came hard, driving deep inside him.
His sobs echoed as I held him, face against my chest, still joined.
"Sweet boy, why the tears?" I asked softly, stroking his hair. "Did I hurt you?"
He shook his head against my chest. "No. I don't know why. It's too much. Everything. Like something old is breaking apart inside me."
I continued stroking his hair. The tears had a purpose. His old self was dissolving, making room for what I would shape him to become.
"I'm yours," he whispered between sobs, gripping my shoulders tightly. "I'm yours forever."
For a long moment afterward, neither of us moved, joined in perfect stillness. His body trembled slightly, aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him. The vulnerability of this moment—physically joined, emotionally open—created the deepest imprint, the strongest bond. It was supposed to be symbolic. Just another layer in the design. But the way he clung to me, the way his breath slowed against my chest—it felt like something else. Something dangerous. My cock remained buried inside him, a physical manifestation of the claim I had staked.
When I finally withdrew, my cum leaked from his ass, sending a jolt of pride through me. I cleaned him, wiping away sweat, semen, and tears.
"Look," I said, helping him stand before the full-length mirror I had strategically positioned for this purpose.
The person reflected back appeared both familiar and transformed. His body gleamed with sweat and cum. His eyes widened as he studied his reflection. His lips parted in a silentgasp, then curved into a smile I'd never seen before. Not his usual hesitant half-smile, but something confident and hungry. Something sharp and unfamiliar stirred in my chest. I hadn't planned for pride to feel like this.
He reached up to touch his own face as if confirming the person in the mirror was truly him. "What happens now?"
"Now you rest," I said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Tomorrow, we continue your education. Your becoming."
He slid under the covers without complaint. I curled around him, one arm draped over his waist. Micah sighed softly, his muscles relaxing as he pressed back against my chest. He drifted quickly into sleep, his breathing deep and regular.
The night had succeeded beyond my expectations, but tomorrow would bring a greater test. The private collection. The unvarnished truth about Able and the others before him. The question of how far Micah would follow me into the darkness.
I traced the outline of his sleeping face with my fingertip, careful not to wake him. So perfect in his surrender. So eager to please.
Still unaware of the role he'd come to play. Or how much of myself I was sacrificing for him.
Micah
I jolted awake inthe darkness, unsure what had pulled me from deep sleep. Beside me, Ezra rested peacefully, one arm still draped possessively across my waist.
My body ached in unfamiliar places. The rawness inside me burned with each subtle movement, a wound that marked the threshold I had crossed. Purple bruises bloomed across my skin where his mouth had claimed me, each mark a testament to something beyond ordinary desire.
The stump of my little finger throbbed beneath its healing bandage. I slipped out from beneath the sheets, careful not to wake him. The moth on the nightstand glowed as I picked it up, its soft light guiding me in the darkness. I found a white robe draped over a chair and pulled it on, my bandaged finger making the simple task of tying the sash difficult.
The house creaked softly as I moved through the hallway. I didn’t have a destination in mind when I stopped in front of the workshop door. I wasn’t even thinking about my amputated finger. But once I was there, the stump throbbed as if it were calling out for the missing joint. I wanted to see it, needed to know what had become of that piece of myself. Had Ezra transformed it yet? Made it part of something greater?
The door creaked open. The workshop lay still and dark beyond. The moth's glow cast strange shadows across brushes, blades, and specimen jars aligned in perfect rows as I moved through the space, searching.
Then, I brushed against a section of wall I'd never noticed before. It was covered with clear plastic sheeting, the kind used to protect spaces during renovation. During my previous visits, I'd assumed it concealed unused equipment or unfinished work. Now, as the moth's light played across its surface, I noticed the outline of a door behind it.
Hesitation gripped me briefly as Pastor Morris's voice echoed in my memory: "Curiosity was Eve's downfall, boy. Some doors are closed for your protection." But that life seemed distant now, belonging to someone else. Ezra—Daddy—had shown me a different path, one where curiosity led not to damnation but revelation.
