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Uncle Peter adjusted the camera on the tripod.
Chase was already in place — kneeling in the middle of the mattress, facing the lens.
Naked. Hands behind his back. Legs spread wide. Waiting.
His cunt was already slick, already flushed.
He felt exposed — on display — but it wasn’t a surprise. They’d talked about this. He knew it was coming. He just didn’t know it would be tonight.
“You know why I’m doing this, right?”
Chase nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”
Peter stepped back, checked the frame one more time, and pressed the button to start recording. “Say it.”
“So you can watch it later. When you’re gone.”
Peter smiled as he walked over to his nephew
“Because I want something to take with me when I’m on the road. Something I can play in my truck when I'm half way across the country and hard as fuck for you. When I’m missing the sound of your little cunt whining for me.”
Chase’s breath hitched.
Peter reached up and brushed his thumb over his nephew's cheek.
“And maybe…” he said, voice dropping just a little, “if you’re really good, I’ll let someone else watch it, too.”
Chase shook his head fast. “You won’t.”
“I might.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I could,” Peter said, not teasing anymore. “That’s the fun part, baby. You’ll never know.”
His hand dropped to the back of Chase’s neck — steady, possessive.
And that was why Chase knew Peter would never really show it to anyone. He was too possessive for that. But the threat still made Chase’s heart skip.
“Now be good for me,” Peter said. “And perform.”
Chase whimpered. “Yes, sir.”
Peter leaned in, close enough to brush their lips together, something quick. “That’s my girl.”
Then he was gone.
Peter walked around the bed, grabbed an earbud and the dildo from the nightstand, then climbed up behind Chase and pulled him close — one arm wrapping across his chest, the other hand sliding up to rest at the front of his throat. Not tight. Just steady. Possessive. Control layered over care.
Chase’s breath hitched.
“Hold still.”
Chase didn’t move.
Peter slipped one earbud into his left ear, the other he kept clear.
A few seconds passed.
Then Chase heard it — his own voice from a previous session. Moaning. Breathless. Desperate.
“Please, sir, please don’t stop—”
Chase flinched as the moan hit his ear — his own voice, breathless and shaking.
From one of the calls. Late-night. Long-distance. Peter on the road, telling him what to do through a screen.
“Remember that night?” Peter murmured, voice close to his ear. “You were in bed, and I was halfway to Texas, making you say my name with your fingers inside you. I saved that one.”
His breath hitched. His body shivered.
Peter leaned in close, lips against his cheek. “That’s you, baby. That’s what you sound like when you beg for me.”
Chase whimpered.
Peter leaned in. “You ever squirted before?”
Chase shook his head. “N-no.”
Peter smiled, close to his ear. “Let’s fix that.”
He slicked the toy, lined it up between Chase’s legs, and pushed it in — slow at first, then deep.
Chase’s gasped as his whole body jolted — in his ear, he was already moaning, whimpering, “Please—please, sir—I can't—oh, fuck—”
The overlap made his thighs shake.
Peter didn’t let him fall.
That hand stayed firm at his throat, holding him right where Peter wanted him — upright, exposed, open.
“Don’t think,” Peter murmured. “Just feel.”
Then he started to move.
Long, deliberate strokes at first — dragging moans out of Chase’s chest — then faster. Deeper. Fucking him with full intention.
The first orgasm hit hard.
The moment he came, the recording did too — a high, broken sound through the left earbud that almost drowned out his own.
It pushed him over harder.
He couldn't tell if the moan in his head was past or present — didn’t matter. It was all him. It was all for Peter.
Chase’s body spasmed, knees shaking — but Peter held him there, kept him upright as the tremors rolled through.
“Good,” Peter said. “Again.”
The second came sharper.
Chase moaned — real and ragged — and the sound tangled with the ghost of his own begging in his ear. "Please… please… please…"
The third was almost a sob.
In his ear, his own words echoed around him.
He didn’t know if he was saying them out loud or just hearing them. Didn’t care.
Every time Chase’s muscles started to give out, Peter kept him up with a hand steady at his throat.
“Don’t fight it,” Peter murmured. “Let it happen. Let it take you. Let me take you.”
The sound of wetness was obscene — it dripped down his thighs. Onto the bed. Onto Peter’s hand.
But Peter didn’t stop.
He kept going, kept coaxing more out of him, more than Chase thought he had.
“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Peter growled. “Leaking all over yourself. My good little toy.”
Chase stopped trying to think. He couldn’t anymore.
His mouth was open, panting. His eyes glazed. He wasn’t even speaking — just making noise.
Each orgasm hit harder than the last.
The Chase in the recording was sobbing now — desperate, filthy, raw.
It bled into his brain, made his hips jerk harder. He couldn’t escape it — himself. Past, present — it all blurred into one thing. Him.
By the time the final one crested, Chase felt like he was barely conscious — a raw nerve, wrung out and trembling. He didn’t beg. Didn’t scream.
He just broke.
The orgasm hit like a collapse — full-body, unstoppable, loud. A sudden gush burst out of him, soaking the bed in one final, helpless squirt.
Peter let go and Chase fell forward like his strings had been cut — face-down into the sheets, body twitching, breath ragged.
Exactly the way Peter wanted.
Peter put the toy aside as the last wave ripped through Chase.
His body convulsed, still gushing hot fluid down his thighs. It soaked the sheets. Good thing Peter did laundry today.
“That’s my good fucking girl,” he said, brushing a hand over Chase’s spine.
Chase didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He was pliant now. Quiet. Boneless.
His breath came in soft, shallow gasps. His legs were trembling, cunt still fluttering, thighs slick and twitching.
Peter let his eyes linger on Chase’s wrecked body — trembling, soaked, perfect — then finally stood.
He crossed to the camera and shut it off.
No need to say anything. The footage spoke for itself.
Then he returned to the bed and laid a kiss at the nape of his nephew's neck.
“You’re fucking amazing.”
Peter lay beside him and pulled him close, letting Chase curl into his chest.
He held him for a while. Let him breathe. Let the shakes pass.
Peter’s fingers stroked his back, slow and easy. “You did so good for me.”
A kiss to his temple. “So messy. So perfect.”
Peter let the silence stretch. Closed his eyes and breathed in the scent — sweat and cum and skin. His boy. The room was thick with it. He wished he could bottle the smell and keep it forever.
That made Peter hum, “Hmm. I want to try something.”
A flicker of awareness passed through Chase — small, but there, a twitch in his thigh. He made a soft noise, uncertain but listening.
“Something small. Something special. Just for you.”
Peter’s voice was soft but low, the kind that didn’t ask for permission — just devotion.
“I won’t tell you what it is. Not yet.”
Chase blinked slowly.
“You’ll be so full, baby. And I’ll be right here.”
Chase made a soft noise — not quite an answer, but not resistance either.
Peter’s voice stayed low. “Just a little more, sweetheart. If you’ve got it in you.”
He didn’t move until Chase gave a slow, sleepy nod.
“Good boy.”
Peter guided him gently — onto his back this time. Legs open. Spent. Exposed.
He kissed his thighs, his hips, his belly. Took his time. One hand reached back, blindly snagging the kit he’d stashed beneath the pillow.
Then Peter settled in between his legs. Close. Focused. Calm.
His hands spread Chase apart — careful, reverent.
Chase was relaxed, still loose from the last orgasm. The kind of loose that only came from being wrecked and held through it.
“You’ll feel it. Not all at once. Just a little pressure. A little strange.”
Peter stroked a hand up his thigh. “You trust me, right?”
Chase blinked slowly, eyes glassy. “Yeah. Always.”
Peter smiled, soft and steady. “Good.”
He reached for the small metal sound. Clean. Ready. And slicked it with lube.
Then he leaned down — close enough to breathe him in — and let the tip of the sound kiss his slit.
Chase flinched at the contact — not from pain, just from how sensitive he still was.
Peter didn’t push. Not yet.
He rubbed his thumb gently along the inside of Chase’s thigh, grounding him, keeping him open.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” Peter murmured. “Just relax for me.”
Peter nudged the sound again, this time with a little pressure. No force. No sudden motion. The firm, careful press of metal against sensitive skin.
It didn’t take much. Chase was still fluttering, still stretched and softened by everything that had come before.
The tip slid in.
His body twitched. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt.
“Oh—fuck—”
“Too much?” Peter asked softly.
“No,” Chase breathed. “Just—feels weird.”
Peter smiled against his skin. “Weird’s okay. Weird is good. Let your body figure it out.”
Peter’s hands never stopped moving. Always stroking, always holding him spread open.
“Breathe through it, sweetheart. You’re doing perfect.”
Another millimeter.
Slow. Smooth. Controlled.
It was strange. Foreign.
“That's it, you're taking me like a champ, baby.”
Sharp and delicate all at once — not pain, not pleasure — but intensity.
Chase’s eyes fluttered. He let out a low, wrecked sound — not quite a moan, not quite a cry.
“You wanted to be my showpiece. This is part of the act.”
His breath caught.
Peter didn’t stop.
He let the sound sink deeper, the weight of it dragged something open inside Chase that hadn’t been touched before.
Peter hushed him immediately. “That’s it.”
Peter didn’t push. Not fast. Just steady. Just enough.
“Let it happen.”
Deeper.
“Let me in.”
A millimeter at a time, the sound slipped deeper until it was seated. And with it — Chase slipped further.
Into Peter’s hands.
Into his voice.
Into the warmth holding him together when everything else had come apart.
“There you go,” Peter whispered.
His thighs trembled. His lips parted in a helpless moan.
Peter pulled himself up so he could whisper this part into his boy’s ear. “There it is. That’s it. You feel that?”
His hand was warm against Chase’s thigh, pressing it open further. Peter’s finger tapped the sound fully seated and Chase let out a hollow moan from deep within his chest.
“That hole is mine now too.”
Chase squirmed, but not to get away — just to feel it. To understand it. To take in what was happening.
"I'll always be the first one in it."
Peter drew the sound back slowly — almost all the way — then eased it forward again, steady, careful.
"The first one to fuck it."
His boy couldn’t speak, so his body answered, twitching hard around the intrusion.
Then it began: in and out, slow. Smooth. A measured tempo, not fast, not probing, but deliberate — letting Chase’s flesh adapt, embrace, understand.
“Fuck, baby. You’re amazing the way you give yourself over to me like this,” he whispered.
Each pass in felt like weight. Like presence. Like something sacred pressing through.
Chase’s hips rolled without meaning to.
His body wanted it, even if his brain couldn’t catch up.
His hand curled seeking a grip. Peter saw and took it with his free one.
Peter could see the wetness starting to build again — small, slow pulses, slick pooling where it had already soaked through the sheets.
“God, look at you,” Peter whispered. “So open. So perfect for me.”
Chase keened, high and broken.
Peter slid the metal deeper, then eased out a breath before reentering. In. Out. Flicker. Pause. Push. Pull.
As the sound moved inside him, Chase felt fire and fluid — small spasms, tingles, stretches as the metal passed edges, touched parts of him that craved presence. Stuff that had never been touched before.
Chase’s body began to hum with a low resonance. Every nerve alight. Wetness pooled and his breath became ragged, shallow, high.
Peter let go of his nephew's hand to curl it over Chase’s belly, holding him still.
“I think you can give me another one.”
Chase shook his head, barely.
"I know it's in you."
Peter didn’t argue. He didn’t push harder.
“I can feel it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “It’s right there. Waiting.”
He just kept moving. Slow. Certain. Measured.
“Don’t fight it.
Slow, deeper. In and out. Each stroke more internal, more claiming.
"Don't think. Let me think for you.”
Chase’s knees trembled. His back arched. His body sighed.
“That’s it, baby. Look at you, fuck I feel like Davinci and you’re my Sistine chapel.”
Chase let out a choked sound — somewhere between a sob and a gasp — and came.
It wasn’t loud, not like before. Just a tight, convulsing pull deep in his gut, his cunt fluttering hard around the intrusion as wetness spilled down between his thighs again.
Peter held him through it, didn’t move the sound — just kept it deep, steady, letting the orgasm wrack through him as slow and controlled as the rest.
Then, once Chase started to settle, Peter pulled the sound back — slowly, deliberately — dragging it across hypersensitive flesh.
Chase’s eyes fluttered. His lips parted.
Peter drew it free fully, then slid it in again, filling him to the hilt.
“I think you’ve got one more in you.”
Chase shook his head, overwhelmed.
Peter leaned in. “Yes, baby.”
Peter matched the thrusts of the sound carefully with Chase’s internal tremors — letting the metal stir the lingering resonance of the orgasm, coaxing every last echo deeper. “Give it to me.”
They stayed there a long moment — sound held inside, bodies sticky, hearts pounding, skin slick against skin.
“Come on.”
Peter felt the moment Chase’s body started to shake — not from pleasure, but from too much.
His muscles locked, his thighs twitching like they were trying to close around the intrusion but didn’t have the strength.
“I know, baby,” Peter whispered. “You’re all wrung out, huh?”
Chase whimpered — a weak sound, barely a breath.
"You're almost done."
His hips rocked in Peter’s hands, but it was less need and more instinct.
“I know you can do it.”
He wasn’t sure if he could. Not really.
But Peter didn’t ask again.
“Let me have it.”
He just moved.
“Give it to me, baby.”
The sound eased in deep and slow, twisted just right, and pressed.
“Come on, give it to me.”
And pressed.
“I want it.”
And pressed.
And Chase came.
Barely.
He sobbed — not loud, but broken. A soft little sound like something folded in on itself.
A little more slick spilled out. Not much. Just enough. His body was done. There was nothing left.
Peter eased the sound free with infinite care.
Then he lay down beside him again. Pulled him into his arms.
Chase was shaking. Gone. Cum-drunk and quiet and warm all over.
Chase didn’t speak. Didn’t even open his eyes.
But he curled into Peter’s chest without hesitation.
Peter kissed the side of his face. “You’re fucking perfect.”
Chase was still twitching, too wrecked to speak, but he nodded against Peter’s chest.
“That’s it,” Peter said gently. “That’s all I needed.”
Peter shifted, cock still hard — untouched.
He could’ve taken him right then. Fucked inside him while he was still twitching from it.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
He kissed Chase’s temple, one hand stroking himself teasingly slow.
“Rest, baby,” he murmured. “We’re not done yet.”