I Knelt Before My Landlord to Pay the Rent

—Kneel.

The command didn’t just enter through my ears. It reverberated inside my skull, ran down my spine, and disabled whatever defenses my mind tried to raise. One single word, spoken without raising his voice, and my body was already deciding for me.

My rational side, that little voice that sounded exactly like my father when he was disappointed, kept screaming. Get out of here. He’s going to use you. You’re a man, have some dignity. But there was another voice, much older and terrifyingly stronger, whispering from somewhere deep inside: obey, surrender, it’s easier if you let yourself go.

My knees gave way. It wasn’t a conscious decision. It was as if the gravity in the room had multiplied by ten and shoved me downward without giving me a choice. The impact against the marble floor was hard and clean. The cold of the stone cut through the fabric of my jeans—still ridiculously bunched around my ankles—and bit into my skin, sending a jolt through me that, in some strange way, helped me focus.

It was done. I was on my knees.

From that new perspective, the whole world changed shape. The penthouse looked like a cathedral, and Vela, seated in that leather armchair like a throne, was the idol I had come to sacrifice myself to. My eyes were level with his crotch. The dark gray suit strained over his spread thighs, and the crease of the trousers drew a straight line toward the bulge resting there, heavy and arrogant.

I felt tiny. And, most disturbing of all, I felt like I was exactly where I belonged.

—Good boy —he murmured.

There was no warmth in his tone. Only the dry satisfaction of someone watching the pieces move exactly where he had calculated them to. He had been calculating me for weeks. Three months of overdue rent, an eviction notice on the table, and then that proposal wrapped in a smile: “There are other ways to settle a debt, Bruno.” I had said no. I had said no three times. And there I was, on my knees.

The sound of my own breathing was the only thing breaking the silence. I was panting in short, quick bursts, like a thirsty dog. My erection, trapped inside the cotton of my briefs, throbbed hard against my stomach, a constant reminder of my betrayal. I was kneeling in front of another man, with my pants pulled down, and my body was reacting as if I were about to sleep with the woman of my dreams. It was sick. It was exciting. It was the same thing.

Vela leaned forward. The scent of his cologne hit me again, stronger this time, mixed with the smell of his skin: a warm, slightly sour note rising from his crotch. My nostrils flared on their own, searching for that smell, wanting to decipher it despite myself.

—It’s just a job —he said, as if reading my mind—. An exchange of services. You have a mouth. I have a need. And you have a debt you can’t pay any other way.

He reached for the belt buckle. The leather creaked. The metallic snap of the tongue freeing itself from the strap was crisp, almost clinical.

My heart pounded against my ribs. This is really happening.

He lowered the zipper slowly. Each metal tooth separating sounded like a countdown. He reached into his underwear, soft black fabric, and pulled it out.

It emerged in front of my eyes with a heavy, elastic motion. It wasn’t pretty in the classical sense, but brutally functional. Thick, with a broad dark head, a prominent vein running beneath it. It swayed for a moment, like a beast awakening from a long slumber, and then it stopped, pointing straight at my face, only inches from my nose. The heat radiating from it was palpable. I could feel it on my cheeks.

—Come closer —he ordered.

I crawled forward on my knees, ignoring the abrasive scrape against the marble. I stopped when my breath fogged the tip of his cock.

—Open up.

I opened my mouth. My lips were trembling. I felt clumsy, inexperienced, as if I were fifteen again. I had been with girls, of course, I knew what receiving felt like. But being on the other side of it terrified and fascinated me in equal measure.

Vela didn’t wait. He put a hand on the back of my neck. His fingers tangled in my short hair with a firm, possessive grip that left no doubt about who was in charge there. And he pushed.

My first reaction was pure panic. The head struck my tongue, salty and hot. The taste was a jolt: skin, clean sweat, something metallic and thick underneath. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was human. Too human for me to pretend there was any distance between us.

He pushed deeper. My lips stretched to accommodate the thickness. I felt the texture of the vein brushing against my palate, a rough sensation that made my whole body shiver. It filled my mouth completely, leaving no room for air, or thought, or anything that wasn’t him.

—Move your tongue —he said, his voice tight, guttural.

I tried. It was a clumsy movement, a hesitant lick along the underside. Vela growled, impatient, tightened his grip in my hair, and set the rhythm himself.

—Not like that. Suck it. Do it properly, Bruno.

I started to suck. My cheeks hollowed. The wet sound of saliva filled the room, a filthy noise that in any other context would have embarrassed me. But there, with his hand guiding my head and his smell filling my lungs, that sound was the exact soundtrack to my downfall.

Little by little, the initial panic gave way to something thicker. Submission.

I realized I didn’t have to think about anything. I didn’t have to worry about the rent, or the future, or proving I was “a real man.” I only had to be a mouth. Something hot and wet at that man’s service. And there was a dark, almost dizzying peace in that idea. A release I hadn’t expected.

Vela pushed deeper, aiming for my throat. I gagged. Tears filled my eyes, the reflex kicked in, and my throat closed around him in a spasm.

I thought he would stop. That he would pull away. But he did the opposite: he used the spasm.

—That’s it —he moaned, throwing his head back—. Tighten. Fight it.

Those words should have hurt. They should have been the last straw that brought me back to my senses. But when he rubbed against the back of my throat again, forcing another gag that made me drool over his thighs, I felt an electric spark shoot straight to my groin.

My own erection jerked violently inside my clothes. Pleasure mixed with suffocation until I couldn’t tell them apart. Tears ran down my face and blurred my vision, but I didn’t want to stop. I began to enjoy the pressure, the ache in my jaw, the feeling of being filled with something that wasn’t mine.

My hands, dead at my sides until then, rose on their own. I needed to anchor myself to something. I grabbed his thighs. The suit was soft, but the muscle underneath was hard as steel. I dug my fingers into the flesh, pulled him closer to me, asking for more without saying a word. More depth, more punishment, more of him.

Vela noticed the change. He noticed that I was no longer resisting, that I was participating.

He let out a low, dark laugh and started moving against my face with a slow, punishing rhythm. He slid in and out, turning my mouth into a sheath of warm flesh. I tried to keep up, moving my head, licking, swallowing the saliva and the liquid that had started to spill out, bitter and thick.

—You like it —he said through clenched teeth—. Look at you. Hear how you’re moaning.

It was true. I was moaning. A pathetic nasal sound, vibrating against him inside my mouth. I was aware of it, and still I couldn’t stop it. It was as if my body were confessing for me everything my mouth would never have admitted.

I felt him tense. His breathing turned irregular, his hips jerking in short spasms. He was about to come. I could tell by the way he throbbed, by how he swelled even more, preparing himself. And I wanted it with a ferocity that scared me. I wanted that ending. I wanted to swallow it, seal the pact, feel completely possessed and defeated.

I braced myself. Opened my throat as much as I could, waiting.

And then the world stopped.

The hand in my hair yanked violently backward, tearing me off him with a wet, obscene sound. I was left gasping, mouth open, a thick thread of saliva still linking my lips to his gleaming cock. The cold air entered my irritated throat and made me cough. I felt empty. Painfully, incomprehensibly empty.

I looked up, confused, my eyes red and my chest rising and falling at a frantic pace.

Vela was watching me from above. He was still hard, throbbing, dripping onto my chin, but his face had settled again, cold once more, though triumph burned in his eyes.

He hadn’t come. He had denied me the ending on purpose. He had denied me the release my whole body was demanding.

—You like it —he repeated, and this time it wasn’t a question. His voice cut through the air like a scalpel—. It turns you on to serve me.

I tried to catch my breath. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, suddenly ashamed of how much drool I had produced, of the tears, of all of it.

—I… —I began, looking for an excuse, trying to say it was because of the contract, the money, the debt. Anything that wasn’t the truth.

Vela leaned toward me and grabbed my chin hard, forcing me to meet his gaze. His fingers dug into my cheeks.

—Don’t even think about lying to me now —he hissed—. I felt your cock brushing the edge of my chair. I heard you moaning while you choked. You liked having it inside you.

He shoved my face away contemptuously and leaned back in the armchair again, leaving me there, on my knees, hard and aching, my mouth still tasting of him.

—Admit it —he ordered, with that absolute authority that made my foundations shake—. Admit it, or pull your pants up and get out into the street right now, with your debt and your dignity intact. Your choice. Say you like being my toy.

The silence stretched between us. I thought of the eviction notice. I thought of my father. I thought of the three months’ rent and the line I had already crossed, the one I knew there was no coming back from.

And, above all, I thought about how much I wanted him to put himself back in my mouth.

I lowered my gaze. Swallowed the little saliva I had left. And, in a voice I could barely recognize as my own, I said it.

—I like it —I whispered—. I like being your toy.

Vela smiled. For the first time all night, it was a real smile.

—Good boy —he said—. Now finish what you started.

And he pulled me toward him again.