“Are you going to be a good boy, or am I going to have to ruin you more?” I ask, gentle.
He sobs, just once, then: “I’ll be good.”
I smile, wipe the tears from his cheek with my thumb, and press his face down into the leather. I move behind him again, twist the toy, pull it out halfway, then slam it home. He screams, a broken, angelic sound.
“Louder. Show me who you belong too. Show me who is the only person that can make you feel like this.”
He does. He lets go, the sound echoing off the concrete. I work the toy in and out, faster, harder, until the wet noises are the only thing in the room. His hole is slick, gaping, hungry for more. I switch toys, the next size up, and he whimpers when I push it in. This time, the stretch is real. I can see the tremor in his arms, the sweat pooling under his chin.
“You’re doing so well,” I say, stroking his back. “So fucking perfect.”
He shakes his head, but doesn’t protest.
I grab his hips, line up the toy, and fuck him with it. The rhythm is relentless. I don’t stop, not even when his knees start to buckle, not even when he screams for me to slow down.
“I can’t,” he cries, “I can’t, I can’t—”
“You can,” I say, voice sharp. “You will. Because I want you to. Because you want to please me.”
His cock is leaking cum now, despite his best efforts not to give into the urge and all I want to do is fuck him and give him what he so desperately needs.
I pull out, toss the toy on the bench, and watch his hole pulse, red and open. Not able to control myself anymore, I grip my cock at the base. I don’t need lube. I’m already leaking for him.
I press the head to his hole and push. He tries to fight it, but he’s too open, too ruined. I sink in slow, inch by inch, until I’m buried to the hilt.
He screams again, but this time it’s pure sensation.
“Shhh,” I lean over him, mouth at his ear. “You belong to me now.”
I fuck him hard. Not rough, not animal—just relentless. I want him to feel it for days, want every movement to remind him who owns him. His ass grips me, the heat and pressure driving me right to the edge.
But I hold back.
Because this isn’t about me. It’s about him.
I reach down, grip his cock, and stroke it in time with my thrusts. He sobs, begging, “Please, please, please—”
“Not yet,” I say, and fuck him as hard as I can until I explode in his ass. My cock throbs, emptying and I love the way I look buried inside him. I pull out, watch my cum drip from his ruined hole. I grab the biggest toy on the tray, coat it in lube, and shove it in to the hilt.
He comes undone, bucking against the bench, screaming my name.
“Is that what you needed?” I ask, pulling his head up by the hair.
He nods, but it’s barely conscious.
I fuck him with the toy, hard, then pull it out and shove my still-hard cock back in. This time, I don’t hold back. I poundhim, the noise wet and obscene, until I feel him tighten around me, milking me for everything I’m worth.
He cums, a jet of white splattering the bench and landing on the floor. The second he does, I let go again, shooting deep inside him, filling him up until it leaks down his thighs.
I collapse over him, breath hot at his neck.
For a long moment, there’s nothing. No sound but our breathing.
I pull out and stare at the mess we’ve made. His hole is ruined, gaping as cum leaks out of him. Satisfied, I leave him twitching, and walk around to unclip his wrists and ankles.
He collapses onto the bench, limp and helpless.
I crouch in front of him, lift his chin.
