He smirks, dragging his thumb up the crease of my thigh, slicking the lube slow. “You wanna talk, pup?” he murmurs. “You wanna chirp something bratty now? Or just beg like a mess with that soaked mouth full of your own stink?”
I groan so loud it rattles the bedframe.
His fingers press closer, circling, teasing, not quite breaching. “I could keep you like this forever,” he whispers, voice suddenly quieter, hotter. “Gagged. Begging. My good boy.”
I twitch hard, whimpering through the gag.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “You hear me, Elias? I’m proud. Of how you played. Of how you listen. Of how you let me ruin you, day by day, into exactly what I want.”
My throat closes and I can’t speak, so I nod—desperate, pathetic—every cell in my body burning for him. And finally, finally, he presses slick fingers in, and I sob into the gag as they slide slow and deep and cruel. I arch against them with my hips twitching, the gag muffling the shattered sound that rips out of my chest while my thighs shake and my back bows, because I’m too slick and too open and too far gone already
He stretches me with that unbearable patience, watching every twitch, every moan I make around the gag, every tremble of my thighs as my body gives up more and more control. My arms yank at the sleeves knotted above my head, useless and straining, while my hips rock down like a desperate whore.
And still he doesn’t touch my cock. Doesn’t even look at it. He works his fingers deeper, scissoring, curling, sliding slow untilI’m gasping wet into the soaked fabric. My vision goes blurry. My whole body sings with need, thighs quivering open and wide and wanting.
Then, when I think I’m going to explode from the stretch of his fingers alone—he pulls them out.
I sob. I scream behind the gag. My whole chest arches off the bed in protest, but he’s already slicking himself up with lube, bottle tossed aside, eyes locked on mine. “Eyes on me, pup.”
I obey instantly, and then he pushes in—slow, so damn slow—until my vision blows out in stars. My mouth stretches wider around the gag as a moan rips from my chest. He fills me inch by inch, heat and stretch and pressure, until my back’s arched so hard the hoodie sleeves cut into my wrists.
“You take it so well,” he murmurs, almost a growl. “God, look at you. Look how good you are for me. So tight. So fucking mine.”
He keeps going deeper and deeper, one slow thrust at a time until he bottoms out—and then stills. All the air leaves my lungs and I whimper, tears slicking my cheeks, drool slipping from the gag, cock pressed wet between us, untouched and twitching.
He leans down, voice in my ear. “You feel that, pup? That’s me. Filling you. Owning you.”
I nod so fast it rattles the bed.
“You win my games. You wear my jacket. You kneel for me in showers, in locker rooms, in my fucking bed.” His hips roll slow, shallow, perfect. “You’re everything I ever wanted. You know that?”
I sob as he fucks me deeper, one long, slow thrust followed by another, each one dragging me further under. My legs shake, my cock leaks untouched, and my arms tremble against the binds—but I don’t care. I don’t need anything except him, his voice in my ear, and his body wrecking mine.
“I should keep you like this,” he murmurs. “Every night.”
I groan around the gag, so loud it echoes.
“You want that?” he asks, hips grinding in deep again. “Want to be my good boy forever?”
I scream yes with everything in me, and he fucks me slower, deeper, whispering filth in my ear the whole time. And I never want it to end. It hits so deep I think I blackout for a second.
One thrust. Just one, after minutes of slow, relentless, perfect pressure and my whole body combusts. My hips snap up on instinct, trying to chase the feeling, trying to get more, but Damian growls and grabs me by the throat. His palm firm around the base of my neck, his thumb dragging up my jaw, forcing my head back into the pillows as my back arches off the bed. “Stay still, pup.”
I can’t. I can’t not move, not when he’s inside me, not when he’s there, dragging me open with every roll of his hips, stretching me until I can’t breathe.
And then his other hand slides under my lower back and lifts me—just an inch—but it’s all it takes. The angle shifts, and the next thrust spears straight intothatspot, and my vision detonates. White heat slams through me as my thighs snap tight and my toes curl hard enough to cramp, and the scream that tears from my throat is pure, soundless pain-pleasure-chaos. I don’t even care that I’m gagged—I scream, the sound ripping out of me mangled and choked as my whole body jerks, seizing tight around him.
His hips don’t stop. They keep driving and his voice breaks rough and hoarse above me. “That’s it, pup,” he groans, buried so far inside me I swear I can feel him behind my ribs. “Scream for me. Let them hear who you fucking belong to.”
I can’t stop. Every thrust hits that spot again and again until I’m twitching so hard my restraints creak and the gag’s soaked straight through. My toes won’t uncurl. My cock leaks between us. I’m shaking. Gone. He fucks me right through it. Rightthrough every sob and shudder and writhing twitch I give him. His grip on my back holds me in place. His hand on my throat keeps me his.
He owns the sound I make when I come. Screaming through my teeth. The world tilts sideways. My body’s still twitching, my thighs useless, my hands numb where they’re tied above me. But the second he slows, the second his thrusts start dragging deeper instead of harder, I know he’s not done.
He leans down, chest flush to mine, heat sinking into me until I’m swallowed whole. His hand slides from my back to my cheek, thumb brushing over the stretch of my jaw where the fabric’s biting in. “Breathe, pup,” he rasps. “You did so good. Let me hear you now.”
The gag slips free. The soaked fabric hits the pillow beside me, slick with spit and wreckage, and I gasp like I’ve been drowning. My mouth stretches wide, trembling as I try to speak, but I can’t even find the words at first. Just a sob, sharp and high, ripped straight from my chest. “Sir—” It’s barely a whisper. “Please—”
He swallows the rest in a kiss. Gentle in that way that ruins me worse than anything else. His tongue slides past my lips, licking them clean. His mouth tastes like praise and sweat and home. I clutch at him, wrists pulling at the sleeves, breath stuttering into his mouth as I sob again.
