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The little smirk playing at the corners of Dirk’s mouth hitches a little higher as you jerk him down by the collar. He nuzzles your cock through your jeans, mouthing lovingly as if he thinks sheer enthusiasm will garner forgiveness for having teased you all evening.
It’s no secret in the community that he’s your pet; your familiar circle thinks it’s a riot, that he looks just like you, but with the last twenty years taken off. You’ve been ribbed more than once,
“I’m not saying you’re the same guy, but no one’s ever seen you two at the same munch!”
Nonetheless, you’re both distinctly popular among the BDSM crowd, Dirk simply because he’s a hot young switch who bruises like a peach, and you not least for the regular demos and education sessions you run. Nobody in your local scene is going to be doing dumb shit with the excuse of ignorance.
Dirk attended this particular party with Jake English holding his leash and pre-laid plans to go home with you. You like Jake; he makes his own tools, and he knows how to handle them. He’s not your preferred brand of company, but he’s chatty and popular and shamelessly flirts back with the ladies at events, a trait not shared by you and your doppelganger. It’s also pretty hard to dislike a guy with a lap so broad Dirk has to sprawl across it like a twink pornstar in his chest harness and little orange briefs.
You tilt Dirk’s head up with your fingers in his hair, slowly feeding him your cock, pulling him onto it. He takes it like a gift, still on his hands and knees between your legs, mouth soft and slack and face serene. When you feel the back of his throat, you slow, leaving your hand fisted in his hair but letting him take the pace. He inches his way down, a little up, a little further down, fucking his throat on your dick, until he can swipe his tongue over the base of your balls and you can feel that he can’t breathe around you.
Having shown off his trick, he pulls up, and he kisses and worships the head of your cock until you pick him up bodily and toss him on the bed, determined to wreck him.
At the party, you caught Dirk in a hallway as he staggered after Jake, fresh off the St. Andrew’s Cross and wobbly-legged from coming loudly around Jake’s fingers post-flogging. He gave you the sauciest look he could manage without physically changing his expression, and Jake took one look at your expression and handed you the leash with a snigger. So you bore Dirk up chest-first against the wall, fingers at his throat, and pressed your thigh up between his legs until he purred like a queen and stuttered out, “Yours,” when you gave him with a slap hard enough to leave a stinging handprint on his ass.
“You will be.”
Jake handed you a beer when you returned Dirk and Dirk’s leash with a polite word of thanks.
Dirk mutters something that could be a whimper when you push his knees up to his chest, spreading him wide so you can clip the leather cuffs on his thighs to the rings on his chest harness. With his wrists clipped to the outside of those same cuffs, he’s rendered a mostly immobile fucktoy, perched ass-first on the edge of your bed, and he’s so hot for it his cock has flushed nearly purple. You admire the stretch of muscle up the backs of his thighs, and ask him if he doesn’t think there are enough bruises on him yet.
You like him, genuinely. When he stays overnight, he gets up early and uses up all your hot water, but he spends the rest of his time tinkering and coding and he can hold his own in tech talk the way not many others you’ve met can. Dave gives you shit for playing with someone only three years older than he is, but each time you remind him that he bones his best friend and he shuts right up. And anyway, it’s not often that you happen upon a near-perfect doppelganger of yourself--Dirk likes to make jokes about cloning, and the two of you muse on the relative ethics of fucking your hypothetical clone versus, say, a conscious android incarnation of yourself. You find out later that Dirk has tried the latter, and he doesn’t say a word when you ask where that ‘bot is now.
Dirk’s breath hisses in between his teeth as you brush your fingertips over the rising welts on his thighs and ass, as if your slender nylon cane isn’t his professed favorite toy, as if his cock isn’t dribbling precum all over his stomach.
“You up for fucking?” You drag your hand up the length of his cock, making him shiver.
“Please, yes.”
“Please what?” As if it’d be that easy.
“Please fuck me,” he recites.
His voice like that, pitched low with arousal, does all kinds of things to you. You were already half-hard still after having his mouth on you, now you’re pressed painfully up against the front of your jeans--again--so you hitch those down and lean over him, letting your cock press against his ass through your boxers, and fitting your fingers neatly around his throat.
“One more time, I didn’t hear you.”
“Please,” he grits out again, swallowing hard against your hand, and you love it when he lowers his pretenses at being impassive, “put your fucking dick in me.”
It’s not much work to prepare him when he’s been worked over once already, but you lube him well anyway, relishing the way his breath hitches and his cock twitches when you’ve got three fingers knuckle-deep in him. He squirms when you press the head of your cock against him, condom slicked with the excess lube from your hand, and he squirms even harder, spine arching, hands flexing, as you push into him, as fast as you know he can take it. The harsh, growling yell he makes is well worth having to give him a moment to adjust before you drive in hard, hips slapping hard against his abused skin, and he gives up playing quiet entirely, whimpering and writhing, his chest and stomach heaving, and damn, you drag your nails down his thighs just to hear him cry in dry little sobs. Dirk’s balls are drawn tight like he’s so close it hurts, and you don’t need much more, not with him hot and slick and the way his toes are curling against your shoulders. You lean close over him, pressing your hand hard over his throat again, and wrapping the other around his dick, stroking hard and fast, and he comes with a choked-off rasp, rippling around your dick as his cum spills over your fingers and his stomach, and you thrust your last few jerky thrusts, pressing as deep into him as you go as you lose it, too, orgasm rolling over you in sweeps.
Kissing is sloppy afterward, but when Dirk has finished twitching through his aftershocks, you free him from his bonds, rubbing the stiffness from his legs and shoulders. Your room is chilly when you untangle yourself from him to trash your condom and fetch a washcloth from the adjoining bathroom to clean you both off, so when you’re done you shove him up onto the bed properly and tuck both of you tightly under the blankets. Dirk folds himself back first against you and mutters something that might be a thanks and might be a go fuck yourself you crusty old cuddlemuffin; you don’t really care because he’s tucked his heels under your ankles and tugged one of your arms around himself, and he’s sticky with sweat, but so are you, so you just bury your nose in his stupid mussed-up, gel-sticky hair and close your eyes.