“Do you like that, Mustang?”
“Yes sir,” Matt mumbled. He did.
“Show me how much you like it.”
“Sir?” Matt asked.
“Arch your back,” Garland said. “I want to see your hungry boy pussy in the mirror.”
Matt froze. He had momentarily forgotten the antique Cheval mirror behind him, which was fine—the mirror, that is. He could appreciate how seeing a guy’s hole in a mirror while having one’s cock orally serviced by that guy would be hot. Note for future self: buy a Cheval mirror.
It was those two words—“boy pussy”—that triggered him, for obvious reasons. Here he was nineteen years old and still scarred by something that had happened over five years earlier. Yeah, William had tried to warn him this might be a problem. Another note to self: listen to William next time.
As regarded the “boy pussy” stuff, Matt talked himself off the ledge. Garland wasn’t the youth pastor. This was just the “…and shit” part of what Matt had agreed to deliver: handcuffs, face fucking, slapping, and shit. Nothing more.
Still “boy pussy?” Really? It was a bit much.
Matt arched his back, spread his legs as much as he could—while kneeling and hobbled.
“Good boy,” Garland sighed. “You have a beautiful pussy.” He caressed Matt’s face.
Matt could not remember the last time he had felt so conflicted. He simultaneously wanted to bite Garland’s hand AND he felt pleased to have made the man happy. Felt pride in his pussy. Arched his back even more. Hated himself for doing so.
Garland freed his testicles from the underwear pouch. “Go ahead,” he directed. “Give them a bath.”
Matt licked and lapped at the balls. Nuzzled the puckered ball sack while gazing up at Garland’s still-shrouded cock.
Garland eased his cock out of the leg hole, let it spring free. A lone, clear droplet glistened from its tip, poised to fall.
Matt’s perception of Garland’s cock—from his kneeling, neck strained upwards, birds-eye view—was that this cock would be a choking hazard when it came to the face fucking part of their arrangement. The whole “objects in this mirror may appear larger than actual size” thing.
Matt’s tongue flicked out—bullfrog-like—trying to snag the droplet of pre-cum as if it were a fly perched on the tip of Garland’s dick. Flicked, but caught nothing because Garland stepped back a few inches.
Matt wobbled forward to catch the dancing dick, got slapped for his initiative.
“Now your pussy’s out of focus,” Garland growled. “There’s a reason I backed away from you. You’re not ready to taste my cock.”
Matt scooted backwards, aligned his ass with the fucking mirror. “Not ready?”
“Your lips aren’t coming anywhere near my cock until your cock stands down. This isn’t a sword fight.”
Matt sighed. The cuffs were biting into his wrists. This horse-whisperer-tames-wild-Mustang thing was wearing thin. In other words, he was ready to admit that this whole reckless decision of his had skewed into the 35% of such decisions that went disastrously wrong for him. He was about a minute away from reneging on the deal.
“And how exactly am I supposed to make my cock go soft?” Matt asked—not without sarcasm. “It’s always had a mind of its own, which is why I spent most of my middle and high school years with my legs crossed.”
Garland gave Matt a pitying look. “The only reason your cock is hard is because, somewhere deep inside, you are clinging to the desperate hope that you’ll get to squirt, too. As long as your cock is pointing north, I know that you aren’t properly focused.”
Garland stepped closer to Matt. “Try it. Try focusing solely on servicing my balls.”
Matt started on the balls again. Sent his tongue through every hairy scrotal trough. Memorized the landscape and the hotspots. Learned that the lightest of swirling licks at the South Pole elicited dewdrops of pre-cum that splattered on his eyelashes.
Soon enough, Matt’s own cock was in full stand-down mode, just a soggy meltedsnowman of a dick.
“Attaboy!” Garland praised him. “Now you can taste the shaft.”
Matt beamed as though he had just scored the winning goal for his team. Hungrily worked his way up Garland’s shaft, unfazed by the fact that his own was a wet noodle. He sucked Garland’s mushroom head into his mouth.
Garland slapped Matt’s cheek. “You’re losing focus,” he warned. “The compass is starting to point north again.”
