My hands reach up to stimulate his nipples, not inflicting any real pain, simply bringing them to full arousal. I watch them peak and flush in the mirror like tiny blooms.
“That feels good,” he says, presenting his chest for my attentions.
“I bet you want to touch your cock, don’t you?”
“May I?”
“Absolutely not.”
He whines pitifully but continues to roll his hips, trying to fuck his fingers, a good sign. His trim torso ripples with every movement, his eyes drifting shut while his head presses back against my shoulder.
“Look at yourself,” I command, and his green eyes blink open to meet mine in the mirror, then dip lower, taking in his unbridled desire. “You are so very sexy,” I murmur into his ear, plucking at his nipples like violin strings. My other hand snakes around his torso to grip his throat. I don’t apply any pressure, simply let my fingers rest there.
“You can choke me,” he says.
“What have I told you about topping from the bottom?”
“You can do anything you want to me,” he says, and I believe he means it.
“You shouldn’t say that to anyone, Giovanni. And especially not to me.”
“Why not to you?”
“Because Iwantto hurt you.” Bruise him, scratch him, whip him, insert large objects into his orifices and watch him squirm, make him cry and make him beg me to stop.
“I know. I want that too.”
I don’t know yet if he’s truly a masochist or just very eager to please me. Only time will tell. “Then it’s a good thing we have limits. Are you ready for me to take over now?”
“Yes, please,” he says, so very polite.
I guide his hands so that they are gripping the fronts of his knees to spread his legs farther apart. His hole puckers and gasps, frothing with viscous lube.
“Why is it white?” he asks.
“It’s a different kind, used for fisting and birthing livestock.”
A shudder rolls through his body—arousal.
“Have you ever fisted someone before?”
“Many times.”
“Have you ever had it done to you?”
“Only once. I prefer to drive.”
I scoop two fingerfuls of lube and spread it around his hole before dipping both my fingers inside at once. His spine curls while his insides clench around my digits. So tight and nimble.
“Your sphincter is nice and firm.” I scissor my fingers so he can see the resistance of his muscle as it tries to clamp shut. “Tomorrow, I want you to start practicing clenching these muscles in intervals, just like you do your crunches and push-ups. Do you know why?”
“Because it feels good around your cock?” He squeezes my fingers, his sphincter taut as a thick rubber band.
“That’s right. And I’m going to want to stretch it regularly. With my cock and other toys. And I want you to have good muscle control.”
“Will you stretch it with your fist?”
Once his mind latches onto something, it tends to stick there.
