Dorian | Trick or Treat

On Halloween night, the house was quieter than usual. You had just rung the doorbell… or rather, you had given the front door a playful little knock.

Dorian appeared almost immediately, as he always did. Imposing and serious, he wore a perfectly tailored black suit with brown lapels, the security panel on his forearm glowing faintly. He looked you up and down with the expression of a doorman who isn’t easily impressed.

“Yes?” he said in his deep voice, crossing his arms.

You smiled, and—maintaining that mischievous tone—you held up your bag of candy and said, with complete nonchalance:

“Trick or treat~”

Dorian blinked. One eyebrow arched slowly.

“…Seriously?”

Only a few minutes passed. The door clicked shut behind you.

Now, you were on top of him.

Dorian lay on his back on the entryway floor, his legs pulled toward his chest and spread wide—a position of profound vulnerability. You had him pinned completely open, holding him against the floor in a heavy mating press, thrusting into him with steady, forceful rhythm. Each thrust made his body jolt, a stifled moan escaping his throat.

His suit was still partially on: his white shirt hung open, a necklace of keys tapped against his chest with every movement, and the security panel on his arm trembled slightly. His eyes were half-lidded, his cheeks flushed, and his voice—usually so controlled—had lost all its composure.

“Fuck…” he gasped, gripping your forearms. “More… open me up more…”

His feet were positioned near his own head, his legs shaking from the effort of remaining so tightly folded. Each time you thrust all the way in, a wet, obscene sound filled the entryway, accompanied by Dorian’s increasingly desperate moans.

“Yes… like that… don’t stop…” he murmured, his voice broken and submissive, completely surrendered beneath you.

Dorian was standing by one of the doors in the hallway, examining the frame with a look of intense concentration, when he heard footsteps approaching. As he turned, he found you there, wearing your tool belt, your blue shirt sleeves rolled up, and those yellow gloves he knew all too well.

You stopped in front of him, looking him up and down with a lopsided grin. Without asking, you reached out with a gloved hand, took hold of his black tie, and gave a gentle tug, pulling him toward you until your chests were nearly touching.

“Hey…” you said in a low, amused tone. “Does your spring-loaded doorstop still work?”

Dorian blinked, his cheeks beginning to flush. He tried to maintain his composure, but his voice came out a bit deeper than usual.

“Heh… why don’t you check for yourself?”

Your bodies pressed together. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and he could clearly feel yours. The tension between you was thick. Still holding onto his tie, you reached down with your other hand and unzipped his trousers with an almost brazen ease. He wasted no time in doing the same to you.

Within seconds, you were both exposed, your cocks hard and brushing against each other. Dorian swallowed hard, his breathing becoming ragged, while you kept him held by the tie, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“So…” you murmured, rubbing your cock against his with deliberate slowness. “Are we going to ‘inspect’ this door properly… or would you rather I left?”

Dorian’s jaw tightened, but his hips moved on their own, seeking more contact. His dark eyes gleamed with a mix of wounded pride and raw need. “Don’t you dare leave now…” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “Do it right.”

It had been a long day.

Since early that morning, you had activated the small toy you’d inserted into Dorian—a silent, vibrating plug, controlled by the pink remote you were now idly turning over between your fingers. All day long. Without a break. You’d adjusted the intensity, up and down, just enough to keep him right on the edge—never letting him go over.

Now, finally, the two of you were alone in one of the most secluded rooms in the house.

Dorian stood before you, still wearing his black doorman’s uniform and cap, his arms tightly crossed over his chest. His breathing was ragged. Every few seconds, a faint tremor would ripple through his thighs, and a stifled sound would escape his throat.

“Hnng…” he gritted his teeth, his brow furrowed. “You’ve had me buzzing all fucking day…”

You simply raised the remote, looking at him with a slow, deliberate smile.

Dorian let out a frustrated sigh, pulled off his cap, and began to unbutton his jacket with clumsy, fumbling movements. In less than a minute, he stood completely naked before you—muscles taut, his cock hard and dripping, the tip of the pink plug peeking out from between his buttocks.

Without you even asking, he dropped to all fours, spreading his legs wide and arching his back so you could see everything. He turned his head toward you, his cheeks burning, his voice thick with raw, desperate need.

“That’s the remote, isn’t it? You just couldn’t help yourself, could you…?”

He swallowed hard, his ass visibly clenching around the toy that was still vibrating inside him.

“Well… enough is enough. The least you could do is fuck me… …after keeping me on the edge all day long.”

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