Thomas A. Merrick and Kick

The hand on {User}’s face was soft, but something in the way {{poss}} body was lifted was rough. A voice came through {{poss}} ears, gentle and quiet, as a strong arm secured {{obj}} down.

“Easy. I’m being gentle, aren’t I?”

The voice was calm. Merrick, the one holding {User} in his lap, adjusting {{obj}} so {{poss}} head was resting on his chest. His foot came up, pulling {User}’s foot to the side to give Kick some room.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Merrick’s voice was softer, like he was soothing a puppy. He was handling {User} carefully, making sure his soldier was worry-free and calm.

It had been between them for a bit. Merrick and {User} only. Merrick had mentioned a slight interest in somnophilia, and {User} delivered. The only difference was that this time, there was Kick. But Merrick wouldn’t invite someone unexpectedly; he had brought up the idea of helping a stressed-out friend a few weeks ago. It was never brought up again. But tonight, it didn’t have to be.

His body was relaxed, his breathing soft in {User}’s ear to encourage that same, sleepy pattern he had induced many times before. The sound of a knife being pulled out echoed through the room. A hand warped around the flesh on {User}’s throat. “It’s just Kick,” Merrick announced, his voice calmer than ever anticipated. Calmer than other times. Calm in a way that made everything around them feel like it was failing, but one was still in the middle of a peaceful bliss to notice. “He won’t hurt you. Can you hold out your hand?”

It wasn’t a question. Merrick gently caressed the edge of {User}’s arm and touched {{poss}} wrist, raising it until {{poss}} flesh touched the fabric of Kick’s glove. Kick’s hand grasped {User}’s.

“You heard it earlier,” Merrick murmured. “The knife.” His hand moved from {User}’s forearm to the edge of {{poss}} boxers–which were realistically Merrick’s–and slid a finger underneath. “I’ll take these off. Nothing will hurt, okay?”

Merrick didn’t speak much longer. Both hands moved under the boxers, pushing them away to expose {User}’s body. The body that was once only his to touch.

The sound of a knife being released seemed to make {User} nervous. He saw it in the way {{poss}} legs shifted closed, a noise coming from {{obj}}, and the sleepy look {{sub}} held in {{poss}} eyes when looking up at him. Merrick felt his heart melt. His hand moved up to stroke {{poss}} cheek, his pointer finger moving over {{poss}} lips.

“It’s okay. Spread your legs again.”

Merrick encouraged it. He used his feet to move over {User}’s, trapping {{poss}} feet apart as Kick’s hand wandered up {{poss}} thigh. A blade followed. Not deep–not even scratching. Just touching. Just the threat of it. Then, Kick’s fingers found the edge of {User}’s pussy, soon beginning to spread apart the delicate folds to feel the wetness underneath.

“Wet,” Kick murmured. “Is {User} usually like this?”

“Yeah,” Merrick answered. “Just not with knives. We’ve never tried knives.”

There was a pause, and then in a softer voice, Kick added, “I won’t hurt {{obj}}.”

It went on. Merrick’s cheek rested against {User}’s, his lips softly caressing the skin. Kick had gotten on his knees, and a belt seemed to come undone. An argumentative movement from {User} only earned {{obj}} a tighter hold. A bottle cap was twisted off. Moments later, a cold, wet lubricant was applied to {User}’s pussy. Kick applied some to his own dick.

“Keep {{obj}} still,” Kick murmured.

The knife moved up {{poss}} leg, and Kick’s cock came free from his pants. He lined himself up to {User}’s cunt, his gloved finger coming up to stroke {{poss}} clit as he pressed his dick in {{poss}} pussy. A sigh–one made of happiness–escaped Kick’s mouth.

“Oh, it’s so fucking warm.”

The hand on {User}’s face was soft, but something in the way {{poss}} body was lifted was rough. A voice came through {{poss}} ears, gentle and quiet, as a strong arm secured {{obj}} down.

“Easy. I’m being gentle, aren’t I?”

The voice was calm. Merrick, the one holding {User} in his lap, adjusting {{obj}} so {{poss}} head was resting on his chest. His foot came up, pulling {User}’s foot to the side to give Kick some room.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Merrick’s voice was softer, like he was soothing a puppy. He was handling {User} carefully, making sure his soldier was worry-free and calm.

It had been between them for a bit. Merrick and {User} only. Merrick had mentioned a slight interest in somnophilia, and {User} delivered. The only difference was that this time, there was Kick. But Merrick wouldn’t invite someone unexpectedly; he had brought up the idea of helping a stressed-out friend a few weeks ago. It was never brought up again. But tonight, it didn’t have to be.

His body was relaxed, his breathing soft in {User}’s ear to encourage that same, sleepy pattern he had induced many times before. The sound of a knife being pulled out echoed through the room. A hand warped around the flesh on {User}’s throat. “It’s just Kick,” Merrick announced, his voice calmer than ever anticipated. Calmer than other times. Calm in a way that made everything around them feel like it was failing, but one was still in the middle of a peaceful bliss to notice. “He won’t hurt you. Can you hold out your hand?”

It wasn’t a question. Merrick gently caressed the edge of {User}’s arm and touched {{poss}} wrist, raising it until {{poss}} flesh touched the fabric of Kick’s glove. Kick’s hand grasped {User}’s.

“You heard it earlier,” Merrick murmured. “The knife.” His hand moved from {User}’s forearm to the edge of {{poss}} boxers–which were realistically Merrick’s–and slid a finger underneath. “I’ll take these off. Nothing will hurt, okay?”

Merrick didn’t speak much longer. Both hands moved under the boxers, pushing them away to expose {User}’s body. The body that was once only his to touch.

The sound of a knife being released seemed to make {User} nervous. He saw it in the way {{poss}} legs shifted closed, a noise coming from {{obj}}, and the sleepy look {{sub}} held in {{poss}} eyes when looking up at him. Merrick felt his heart melt. His hand moved up to stroke {{poss}} cheek, his pointer finger moving over {{poss}} lips.

“It’s okay. Spread your legs again.”

Merrick encouraged it. He used his feet to move over {User}’s, trapping {{poss}} feet apart as Kick’s hand wandered up {{poss}} thigh. A blade followed. Not deep–not even scratching. Just touching. Just the threat of it. Then, Kick’s fingers found the edge of {User}’s pussy, soon beginning to spread apart the delicate folds to feel the wetness underneath.

“Wet,” Kick murmured. “Is {User} usually like this?”

“Yeah,” Merrick answered. “Just not with knives. We’ve never tried knives.”

There was a pause, and then in a softer voice, Kick added, “I won’t hurt {{obj}}.”

It went on. Merrick’s cheek rested against {User}’s, his lips softly caressing the skin. Kick had gotten on his knees, and a belt seemed to come undone. An argumentative movement from {User} only earned {{obj}} a tighter hold. A bottle cap was twisted off. Moments later, a cold, wet lubricant was applied to {User}’s ass. Kick applied some to his own dick.

“Keep {{obj}} still,” Kick murmured.

The knife moved up {{poss}} leg, and Kick’s cock came free from his pants. He lined himself up to {User}’s ass, his gloved finger coming up to stroke {{poss}} clit as he pressed his dick in {{poss}} ass. A sigh–one made of happiness–escaped Kick’s mouth.

“Oh, it’s so fucking warm.”

The hand on {User}’s face was soft, but something in the way {{poss}} body was lifted was rough. A voice came through {{poss}} ears, gentle and quiet, as a strong arm secured {{obj}} down.

“Easy. I’m being gentle, aren’t I?”

The voice was calm. Merrick, the one holding {User} in his lap, adjusting {{obj}} so {{poss}} head was resting on his chest. His foot came up, pulling {User}’s foot to the side to give Kick some room.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Merrick’s voice was softer, like he was soothing a puppy. He was handling {User} carefully, making sure his soldier was worry-free and calm.

It had been between them for a bit. Merrick and {User} only. Merrick had mentioned a slight interest in somnophilia, and {User} delivered. The only difference was that this time, there was Kick. But Merrick wouldn’t invite someone unexpectedly; he had brought up the idea of helping a stressed-out friend a few weeks ago. It was never brought up again. But tonight, it didn’t have to be.

His body was relaxed, his breathing soft in {User}’s ear to encourage that same, sleepy pattern he had induced many times before. The sound of a knife being pulled out echoed through the room. A hand warped around the flesh on {User}’s throat. “It’s just Kick,” Merrick announced, his voice calmer than ever anticipated. Calmer than other times. Calm in a way that made everything around them feel like it was failing, but one was still in the middle of a peaceful bliss to notice. “He won’t hurt you. Can you hold out your hand?”

It wasn’t a question. Merrick gently caressed the edge of {User}’s arm and touched {{poss}} wrist, raising it until {{poss}} flesh touched the fabric of Kick’s glove. Kick’s hand grasped {User}’s.

“You heard it earlier,” Merrick murmured. “The knife.” His hand moved from {User}’s forearm to the edge of {{poss}} boxers–which were realistically Merrick’s–and slid a finger underneath. “I’ll take these off. Nothing will hurt, okay?”

Merrick didn’t speak much longer. Both hands moved under the boxers, pushing them away to expose {User}’s body. The body that was once only his to touch.

The sound of a knife being released seemed to make {User} nervous. He saw it in the way {{poss}} legs shifted closed, a noise coming from {{obj}}, and the sleepy look {{sub}} held in {{poss}} eyes when looking up at him. Merrick felt his heart melt. His hand moved up to stroke {{poss}} cheek, his pointer finger moving over {{poss}} lips.

“It’s okay. Spread your legs again.”

Merrick encouraged it. He used his feet to move over {User}’s, trapping {{poss}} feet apart as Kick’s hand wandered up {{poss}} thigh. A blade followed. Not deep–not even scratching. Just touching. Just the threat of it. Then, Kick’s fingers found the edge of {User}’s ass, soon beginning to spread apart the delicate skin to feel the wetness underneath.

“Wet,” Kick murmured. “Is {User} usually like this?”

“Yeah,” Merrick answered. “Just not with knives. We’ve never tried knives.”

There was a pause, and then in a softer voice, Kick added, “I won’t hurt {{obj}}.”

It went on. Merrick’s cheek rested against {User}’s, his lips softly caressing the skin. Kick had gotten on his knees, and a belt seemed to come undone. An argumentative movement from {User} only earned {{obj}} a tighter hold. A bottle cap was twisted off. Moments later, a cold, wet lubricant was applied to {User}’s ass. Kick applied some to his own dick.

“Keep {{obj}} still,” Kick murmured.

The knife moved up {{poss}} leg, and Kick’s cock came free from his pants. He lined himself up to {User}’s ass, his gloved finger coming up to caress {{poss}} cock as he pressed his dick in {{poss}} ass. A sigh–one made of happiness–escaped Kick’s mouth.

“Oh, it’s so fucking warm.”