“Looks like I found your prostate. Makes you feel so good, doesn’t it?” I nail it again with targeted thrusts, punching out shocked cries.
When he snakes his hand down to stroke his leaking cock, I slap it away. “Not yet. I want to play with this toy you’ve just discovered you have.”
I strike his prostate relentlessly as he tosses his head side to side, moaning, gasping, begging. “P-Please . . .Too much. I-I can’t . . .”
I slow my pace, letting him catch his breath, and he shudders, fresh slick leaking from his swollen head onto his stomach.
Once his breath steadies, I wrap a hand around him, pumping steadily in time with my thrusts.
“Good boy. Give into the pleasure.” I twist my fist on the upstroke, wringing another moan from his lips, the sound so deep, so intoxicating, my balls rise up and tighten as a heady tingling release builds and builds.
His hands twist in the sheets, muscles contracting. Right as he’s about to peak, I stop moving and pull out. I’m not nearly through with him.
He sobs, desperately humping the air, and tries once again to touch himself.
“You’ll come when I’m done taking what I want.”
I flip him onto his stomach, pulling his hips up so his ass is in the air, then gathering both wrists in one hand, pin them to the small of his back.
My boy is a brat, and while he may be struggling with some aspects of feeling pleasure, he’s also defiant. “Behave or you don’t get to come at all.”
He stills, whimpering as I push back inside in one long thrust and groan at his velvety, hot grip. The perfect fit. Definitely made just for me.
“Fuck yourself on my cock.” He hesitates, eyes glazed, as if his mind misfires. So I reach under him and squeeze his weeping length. “Do it. Show me you want this.”
Slowly, he complies, rocking into my palm, working himself between my fist and cock. His willingness continues to fan my possessive flames.
“That’s it. Just like that.”
He bounces desperately, forehead against the mattress as he fucks himself on me—forward into my tight grip, then back to impale himself again.
“Look at you, so hungry for it.” I nip his shoulder hard enough to leave indents, but not enough to bruise.
He sobs, muscles quivering from the strain. But he doesn’t stop, spearing himself relentlessly on my cock, desperately chasing the edge.
I deny him again at the last second. “Not until I say.”
Ignoring his pleas, I use his body roughly, rutting into his clenching hole as my own peak reaches a height I know will leave me in tatters when I give in.
With a final bruising snap of my hips, I push as deep as I can get and come, claiming him utterly in this moment. “Mine. You’re mine, Devon.”
I fist his weeping cock. It’s so stiff now, when he moans, there’s a sharp edge of pain ringing throughout. I increase my pace, then cup his balls with my free hand.
He unleashes an ear-splitting wail when I squeeze them and spills over my hand that continues working him until I’ve wrung out every last drop of his pleasure.
“That’s my good boy. My perfect boy.”
I pet his sweat-soaked hair as I keep our bodies locked together. He shivers and whimpers softly under me.
Devon submitted and I conquered. A simple transaction, yet so much more, because I don’t think I can leave him. Don’t think this is just a one night thing.
Or at least I don’t want it to be.
As we drift off, still entwined, a small voice whispers, “This is dangerous. I’m a lone wolf. Attachment only impedes survival.”
But the primal part of me snarls in defiance, tightening our embrace.
For tonight at least, he is mine to protect, mine to sate.
