“Yes, Sir. Very much.”
“Good, just relax now, sweetheart, and let me take care of you.”
His shoulders drop and his pelvis tilts downward, allowing me to set the pace. The rhythm builds, the press and the friction, a lovely give and take between us. He’s quiet but not worryingly so. His moans of pleasure are muffled by the pillow, along with soft pleas to keep going. “Use me,” he murmurs. “Please, use me, Sir.” I’m quiet too, wanting to hear every utterance and make sure he’s consenting every step of the way.
“You feel glorious, Gio.” Tight grip and a warm slide of flesh, like driving a luxury automobile, he’s responsive in every way. I want sex to be pleasurable for him and thrilling too. To know this is a safe place for him to lose himself to his primal urges and desires.
I reach for his dick, gently stroking, testing his reflexes to see how much stimulation it will take. “Valentin,” he moans, and then he’s spurting off, beating me to the finish line yet again. I can hardly hold it against him. We’ll work on orgasm control later. After a few more deep strokes I’ve caught up to him anyway. I spread his legs wider so I can pin him in position before unloading, one hand splayed across the V of his back, so he knows I’m not done with him yet. His channel squeezes me tightly, clenching my cock through the final pulses of my orgasm, and I appreciate the thoughtful gesture. He pays attention.
“Marvelous.” I pump my hips a few more times, basking in the immense satisfaction of breeding a very good boy. “Thank you, Gio.”
“Thank you, Sir, for blessing me with your magnificent cock and filling me with your seed.”
Gratitude, something else we’ve been working on. When I’ve softened completely, I roll onto my side, gripping him close so that he’s couched by my body. I kiss his hair and the side of his face.
“I’m a real boy now,” he says dreamily. “You’ve brought me back to life.”
“You were always a real boy. But now you’remyboy.”
“Will you keep me forever?”
His forever and my forever are so vastly different, it’s a promise that’s impossible for me to keep. There are so many reasons why it won’t last, but I’ll not focus on eventualities. He’s here with me now, safe and sober, and that’s enough.
“I’ll keep you for as long as I am able.”
“Forever,” he says again.
It’s a lovely thought.
8
In many ways Giovanni is like a virgin, newly deflowered and just discovering the pleasures of the flesh. It’s exciting and arousing to shepherd him through his first full bloom, but I am not a young man by any measure, and my boy isinsatiable.
I stock up on little blue pills—I’m going to need them to keep up with his libido—and bring in a personal trainer to work with him twice a week in the building’s gym. The goal is twofold—build up his strength and stamina for our athletic pursuits and tire him the hell out.
Now, he’s riding me reverse cowboy on the chaise in front of my mirrors, his erection bobbing and flopping carelessly, his eyes unfocused and with a sex-crazed look about them.
“Aren’t you going to touch me?” he asks when he senses I’m getting close. He’s sweating profusely and can barely breathe, but the boy is focused on the goal.
“If you want to come, you must do it hands-free.”
This is one way to delay him, even if my dick is getting raw from overuse. Instead of being deterred by this restriction, Giovanni sees it as a challenge and begins milking me with his rectal muscles on every downstroke, which prompts me to thrust even harder because he feels so fucking excellent. Thank God for the marvel of modern medicine that allows me the staying power to outlast a nymph.
“Ohhh,” he moans and clutches me so tightly I fear he’ll tear off my dick.
“Yes,” I murmur as my own orgasm builds. Full-bodied and flush with heat, my entire life force concentrates in my groin to push it out of me. Have I ever climaxed with such vigor? Have my limbs always trembled and shook this much? My heart races so fast I can hear it in my temple, and I may have pulled a hamstring for my efforts, but my bodily aches and pains all melt away when I’m erupting inside him.
“Valentin,” he cries as his cock spurts joyously and indiscriminately. It’s a loose firehose, spraying all over my furniture and the mirrors. I’ll need to get the carpets cleaned too.
“On your knees, ass up,” I tell him, and he slides down on all fours. His head drops between his shoulders from the physical exertion of having just completed the equivalent of roughly a hundred squats in rapid succession. He raises his ass and pushes it out so I can see his hole still pulsing, spilling cum like a saucer.
“Stay right there,” I tell him.
I rise and go to the bathroom to wipe myself off, then catch my reflection in the mirror—my skin has a healthy glow and my cheeks are ruddy. Even my wrinkles appear less stark. Sex has always been my stress-reliever and having an eager boy at my beck and call has greatly improved my overall disposition, my fountain of youth made flesh.
When I come back to the bedroom, he’s still in position, watching me intently while I go about my routine of dressing for work. He doesn’t look embarrassed in the least. If anything, he’s reveling in his subjugation, posing for me like a pornographic pin-up model, even while my pearly ejaculate snakes down his thigh.
“Do you like that?” I ask. “Being a receptacle for my cum.”
