He obeyed, couldn’t have looked away if he’d tried. I brought my hands up, slicked with the leftover oil, and began to massagemy chest—palms gliding over my pecs, rolling over my nipples, pinching and twisting until the sensation made my abs flex. I let my head tip back for a moment, savouring the sensation, knowing how every movement looked from Cal’s angle—body stretched, every muscle tensed and shifting under my own hands.
Then I opened my eyes again, fixing him with a stare that pinned him to the spot. I dragged my hands lower. I gripped the base of my cock, squeezing, stroking up the length in a slow, torturous motion. My thumb circled the head, smearing precome, hips rolling in a rhythm that was as much for him as it was for me.
“Is this what you want?” I taunted, pumping myself slow and hard, letting him see the strain in my arms, the control in my every move.
Cal’s chest heaved, sweat gleaming on his skin, every muscle in his body taut with need. But still, he didn’t speak. I saw the struggle—the way his pride kept his jaw locked, even as his whole body ached to give in.
I sped my hand up, the slap of flesh obscene in the quiet room. My other hand pinched one nipple, twisting hard, making my own breath stutter and my body arch. I let out a low, guttural moan, letting him see how good it felt, how much I wanted him to watch.
I flexed for him, rolling my shoulders, letting every inch of me tense and release, showing off the strength I knew he craved. My hand worked my cock harder, faster, hips bucking into my own grip. I watched him fall apart, watched the defiance blur into hunger, into helpless, wordless longing.
“Beg,” I whispered, voice wrecked and desperate. “Just once. Tell me you want it. Tell me you want me to come for you, or inside you, or on you—I don’t fucking care, just give me something, Cal. Give meyou.”
He tried to hold on. God, he tried. But the fight was lost—written in the tremble of his thighs, the glint of tears in his eyes, the shattered sound that tore from his throat.
“Please,” he choked out. “Please, Dom, I—fuck, I need—please.”
And there it was. That perfect, broken surrender. That beautiful collapse.
I didn’t move at first. I just watched him, studied the flush across his cheeks, the way his eyes glistened in the low light—wrecked and shining, every last scrap of control given over to me. I cupped his face, thumb brushing along the strong line of his jaw, coaxing him to look up, to really see me.
“Look at me, Cal.” My voice was gentler now, heat and pride threading through every word.
He stared up at me, throat working, jaw clenching and unclenching. I waited, patient, my thumb tracing circles over his cheek, anchoring him. He blinked once, twice, trying to find the words. I could see it there—the want, the shame, the raw honesty trembling on the tip of his tongue.
“Tell me,” I urged. “You can have anything. You just have to ask.”
His lips parted, and for a long moment, nothing came out but breath—ragged, desperate. Finally, he swallowed, forcing the words out rough and shaking.
“I want…” He shuddered, closed his eyes as if the dark would shield him, then opened them again. “I want you to piss in my mouth. I want to feel it. I want to know I’m yours. All the way.”
For a heartbeat, the world held perfectly still.
I bent, pressing my forehead to his, breathing him in, making sure he knew—absolutely—that this was real. “You’re sure?”
He nodded, breath stuttering out of him. “Please, Dom. I want it. Need it.”
Pride and hunger surged together, molten and wild. I stood, the chair creaking beneath me, and stroked his hair back from his forehead, gentle as a lover, fierce as a god. “You’ve got it, Cal. You’ve fucking earned it.”
I moved to stand directly in front of him, close enough that the heat of my skin radiated against his cheeks. My cock, twitched under the weight of his gaze. I curled my fingers into his hair, steadying him, tipping his head back. His mouth opened, eager, tongue out—inviting, begging,hischoice.
I fisted the base of my cock, guiding it to his lips, making him feel the weight of it against his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. I watched his eyes—wanted him to see how much I worshipped him for asking, for surrendering so honestly. There was no humiliation in this. Only offering. Only need.
“Keep your eyes on me,” I told him, my voice roughened with emotion. “Let me see you take this.”
He held my gaze, unwavering, as I let go, loosening the last of my control. The hot stream hit his tongue, and he took it without flinching, drinking me down like it was what he was made for. The sound he made—somewhere between a moan and a sob—broke something open in me. He swallowed around me, greed and relief and awe warring in every muscle, every sound.
I watched him, cataloguing every reaction, every shiver. My free hand stroked his cheek, gentle and possessive. “That’s it, Cal. That’s so fucking good. You look perfect like this—so strong, so fucking brave.”
He kept swallowing, tears slipping down his cheeks—no shame, only the intensity of what he’d just given me. His body shook, raw and open, hands clutching at the restraints as if to ground himself.
I wiped the tears away with my thumb, then ran my fingers along his jaw, gentle and reverent. “You did so fucking well forme,” I whispered, letting the pride cut through the roughness of my need. “But we’re not done, are we?”
He shook his head, lips parted, eyes shining—utterly wrecked and beautiful, hungry for more.
I gripped the base of my cock, sliding the swollen head over his lips, painting them with the mess I’d already made of him. “Open up, Cal. Take it. All of it. Show me what you can handle.”
He obeyed, mouth wide, tongue flat and eager. I fed him my cock, slow at first, letting him adjust to the size, to the weight and the taste and the stretch. His lips wrapped around the crown, then the shaft, inch by inch disappearing as I pressed forward. The heat of his mouth made my vision blur; the sight of him, still cuffed, still held, but meeting me with nothing but trust and defiance, nearly undid me.
