“God, you’re huge,” he muttered against my skin, voice wrecked. “Can’t get enough of you.”
He went back up, sucking hard, one hand squeezing my balls, rolling them gently and then not so gently, pushing me right to the edge without letting me fall. I thrashed beneath him, helpless, every nerve on fire, cock aching, desperate for release I wasn’t allowed yet.
Cal kept going. Relentless. Filthy. Rough.
My hips lifted off the bed again and again, chasing his mouth, chasing more, but he controlled the pace, the depth, the torment.
I was shaking by the time he finally pulled off, my cock slick and flushed and leaking, my body wrung out and desperate.
Cal was breathless above me, lips red and spit-slick, the lines of his body caught between tension and triumph. He pushed up on his knees, straddling my chest, his cock bobbing just above my face. For a moment he just hovered there, staring down at me, eyes wild and blown black with want. My mouth watered at the sight, the need to taste him eclipsing everything else.
“Come here,” I rasped, voice half gone, raw from begging. “Feed me your cock, Cal. I want you in my mouth.”
He cupped the base, lined himself up, and let the head drag across my lips—slow, claiming, painting my mouth with his scent.
I opened wide, tongue flicking out to taste him, and he groaned—one hand steadying himself on the headboard, the other guiding his length into my mouth. The first taste was pure sin: salt and musk and something that belonged only to him, slick with need and with the tang of everything we’d done.
He fed himself to me, slow at first, letting me adjust to his weight and girth. I relaxed my jaw, tongue cupping theunderside, and he slid in deeper, his hips rocking forward until the head nudged the back of my throat. My arms strained uselessly against the silk restraints, but all I wanted was to keep him there, to open wider, to give him everything.
He started to move, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, never breaking eye contact. His gaze was dark and hungry, pupils blown wide, teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he watched me take him—willing, eager, hungry for more.
He pulled back, just enough for me to breathe, then pressed the head of his cock to my lips again, smearing pre-come across my tongue. My own cock throbbed, desperate and untouched, leaking onto my belly. I swallowed around him, humming, and his whole body shuddered with the force of it.
And then, something in me broke free. The need to surrender, to be owned, to have him mark me in a way no one else ever had. I looked up at him, voice wrecked, and said, “Piss in my mouth, Cal. I want all of you. Give it to me.”
His eyes went wide—shocked, aroused, and then, in a blink, utterly feral. He gripped the base of his cock tight, breath coming fast and hard as he hovered over my mouth, searching my face for any sign of doubt.
“You sure?” he rasped, voice unsteady.
“Yes. Please.” My answer was nothing but truth, nothing but raw need.
He nodded once, then let go. The first hot stream hit my tongue, briny and wild, and I swallowed it down without hesitation, taking everything he gave me. The taste was primal, earthy, and it sent a shock straight to my cock—somewhere between humiliation and worship, between filth and absolute trust.
His cock jerked in my mouth, swelling even more as he emptied himself into me, his thighs trembling, body quaking with the force of it.
I swallowed it all, never breaking eye contact, letting him see the devotion, the surrender, the way I’d give him anything he asked for.
When the stream stopped, he nearly collapsed—hands braced on the headboard, chest heaving, sweat running in rivulets down his body. But the sight of me, ruined and hungry, only made him harder.
“God, Dom,” he gasped, voice shaking, “you’re fucking perfect. Fuck—let me?—”
He slid down, repositioning so his cock hovered over my lips, still slick, the taste of him still on my tongue. I opened for him, needy and eager, and he fed himself to me again—this time harder, deeper, barely giving me time to adjust before he was fucking my mouth in earnest.
I relaxed my throat, letting him slide in deep, nose pressed to his belly, jaw aching but uncaring. I wanted the ache, wanted the bruises, wanted the sound of him losing himself above me. His hands tangled in my hair, not gentle now, guiding me, setting the rhythm—fast, filthy, desperate.
He groaned, hips bucking, the head of his cock punching into the back of my throat, spit and piss and pre-come dripping down my chin, pooling at the corners of my mouth. I choked around him, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, but I didn’t pull away. I took it, all of it, wanting to be used, wanting to be his.
“Look at you,” Cal breathed, voice shaking, “fuck, you’re beautiful—taking it all, every inch?—”
I moaned around him, sucking harder, swallowing around his cock, wanting to feel him come undone. He let me, let me worship him with my mouth, my tongue, my throat, every part of me hungry for more.
He pulled out only when he was on the edge, panting, cock flushed and glistening with spit and lust.
For a second we just stared at each other—sweat-slick, breathing ragged, the room thick with the scent of sex and the impossible heat rising off our bodies. My wrists ached deliciously from where the silk bit into my skin, the restraint a reminder that, even now, I was willingly at his mercy.
But the ache in my gut, the want for more, was a living thing. I needed him wild. I needed him spread open for me, to taste and claim and devour him until there was nothing left but the pulse of his heart under my tongue.
“Turn around,” I growled, voice low and guttural, all dominance and need, even tied. “Let me see that perfect fucking ass. Kneel over my face—now.”
