Work Text:
[Statement of Benjamin Cho, regarding-- a mind reader. Statement given April Fourteenth, 1998. Recorded by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins.]
Hello, Jon.
I thought about putting something at the start of this statement, just to keep up the pretense a little longer, but you’re already hooked, aren’t you? You can’t stop reading even if you wanted to.
Compulsion is a powerful tool, Jon. I know you know this, but it rather bears repeating, don’t you think?
Do you like the ink? I found it in Venice, it’s just the right shade of red, so dark it’s almost black. I thought it might catch your eye. If you’ll pardon the pun.
Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve gathered, this isn’t a normal statement. I have no doubt that Benjamin Cho did encounter a mind reader in 1998, but frankly, this seemed more important.
Martin is here with me while I write this. Do you think I haven’t noticed how you two dance around each other? It’s really quite charming. Of course I had to do something about that. Loose lips sink ships, after all, and Martin’s lips are rather looser than most.
Do you think about Martin’s lips often, Jon? I do. They really are very soft. Very… accommodating. I’m sure you know that, of course, but it was quite a pleasant surprise.
That’s what’s happening right now. I’m not quite sure where you are. Off doing something important and archival, no doubt, but I’m sitting in my office drafting this statement and Martin is--
Well, Martin is sucking my cock, Jon.
I’ll pause while you process that.
Can you imagine it? Is that what you’re doing right now?
Let me help you out. Jon. He’s kneeling on one of my cushions. The velvet ones. I don’t want to bruise his knees, he’s so fragile, you know. You have to treat him with care. I almost feel I should be wearing gloves when I touch him.
His hands used to shake when he unbuttoned my trousers. Not any more, of course. He’s had plenty of practice.
He doesn’t gag anymore either. He used to make the most beautiful sounds when he took me in. I used to watch the spit gather at the corners of his mouth. He’s much more professional about it now. Much neater. You know I hate mess, Jon.
Are you getting hard thinking about this? Would you like more details?
Very well.
His hands are tied behind his back with his tie. It’s the dark blue one, with the tiny moons on it. It’s much better quality than I imagined it would be, the way he ties it, all crooked and haphazard. It’s much neater wrapped around the fine bones of his wrists.
They’re quite lovely wrists, Jon. But again, I’m sure you know this. I’ve seen you watching him. I’m sure you know every inch of his body not hidden by the cheap suits.
I’m imagining your voice cracking as you read this. Rubbing at your cock with the heel of your palm, like it’ll help discourage your erection. Your restraint always has been admirable, Jon.
I mean, I assume that’s the only thing in between you and him.
He told me you’ve never so much as touched him anywhere but in a firm, businesslike handshake. The look on his face as he admitted that was wonderful. I wish I could put it in words. A delicious combination of shame and lust and something quite indescribable.
That was the first time he sucked me off, if you’ll pardon the vulgarity. There just isn’t really another way to put it. Blowjob is so vague, oral is far too scientific. Martin is many things, but experienced at this particular skillset was not one of them.
Was.
I worried he would vomit the first time my cock touched the back of his throat. I wound my hands into his hair and held him firm, felt his throat work around me as he tried not to choke. Slowly, slowly, he relaxed. It was exquisite, Jon, it really was. I felt like I could have watched his eyes well with tears forever, but alas. Time was not on our side.
Perhaps you remember, actually. You were out on an errand of some sort, and you knocked on my office door when you returned. Martin froze quite still. Like a beautiful, debauched statue, with come on his chin, cheeks flushed, hair mussed.
Do you remember that meeting? We discussed hiring another assistant, I believe, and replacing the kettle in the archive kitchen. Martin spent that whole meeting under my desk, kneeling between my feet, cheek on my thigh as he suckled on the head of my cock.
He has quite the oral fixation, when you get it out of him, does your Martin.
Well. He’s not quite your Martin yet, is he?
Right now, I think he’d be anyone’s Martin, if only he got to come. I don’t allow him to in my office, of course. Far too messy. I bought this device for him, quite subtle, very unobtrusive. You’d never know he was wearing it to look at him, but it prevents him from even getting an erection. It’s wonderful.
[here the ink is spattered, covering whatever was written underneath]
Apologies for the mess, Jon. It’s hard to keep your calligraphy perfect when you’re about to come down someone’s throat. I’m sure you understand.
Martin’s in the bathroom now, cleaning up. I can’t see him, of course, but I can see him. He’s stroking himself, that delightful cock ring on the cistern as he bites at the palm of his hand to stay quiet. I can almost hear the sound of skin sliding over skin, the small, muffled sounds.
You’re not too far away either, Jon. I can see you now too, in the kitchen, making a pot of tea. If only you strained your ears, maybe you’d hear Martin as he comes in fits and starts.
He really is very beautiful. I can understand your fixation with him.
I have a meeting soon, so I must finish this statement, though I could continue on for pages and pages about the look in Martin’s eyes when he submits to me, when he accepts defeat and gets to his knees, looks up at me with damp eyes and flushed cheeks.
But I think I’d rather leave the rest of it up to your imagination, Jon. You do have such a vivid one, after all.
Statement ends.