“Nah, dude. I want you to fuck me on your bed.”
“Why there?” I asked suddenly intrigued by his confession.
He hesitated and looked down. He looked adorable, vulnerable which didn’t fit his physicality, his quiet, brooding persona. He shrugged and mumbled, “It’s where you fuck your wife.”
I recoiled slightly. “Really? Is this a kink or something, kid?”
He was still looking down. He mumbled again, “I just want you to.”
I snickered. “Ok, but why? Use your words, kid.”
He looked up at me, the bill of his ball cap shading his eyes. He was embarrassed that I snickered. His face blushed. “I want to know what it’s like, dude.” I don’t know if he added the ‘dude’ to remind me he was still a 19-year old bro, or because it was second nature. Either way, it was hot.
“What what’s like?”
“To be your wife.” He paused to see what my reaction would be. I just slightly tilted my head in unexpected surprise. He saw the expression and knew he needed to expound. “I want what she has.”
My eyes were opened wide and I nodded. I smiled. “I never expected you to ever talk like this. Trying to get you say more than two words at a time is a challenge. Except during sex.”
He shrugged those big shoulders and blushed again. “I’m not good at talking… about stuff like this. During sex, it’s different.”
“You do seem more… expressive and open when you’re getting fucked.”
He winced at the crude statement. “Yeah, dude, can you not say it like that?”
I smirked. “But it’s the truth, kid. I know it and you know it. You need to just accept it.”
“I’m not ready for that.”
“I know. And that’s what makes you so fucking hot.”
He gave me a cute, crooked smile. “Stop,” he pleaded quietly.
I chuckled. “Ok, kid. I like making you blush.” I put my hand on the back of his thick neck and squeezed softly. He closed his eyes at my touch and took in a deep breath. It was like as if my touch was like crack to him. “Tell me what you want,” I said softly yet firmly. He didn’t like to tell me what he wanted. He thought it was too demeaning that I wanted him to verbalize this side of himself. But I wanted to establish my dominance because it thrilled me to no end that I had so much control over this seemingly strong, powerful, younger man with the body to intimidate, the strength to overpower, the athleticism to impress, and the toxically masculine persona he portrayed to everyone but me. I knew the real him. The negative of the photograph that he pretended to be.
He looked at me with pleading eyes. He knew he was going to have to say it out loud. I’ve made him do it before. His shoulders sagged like his masculinity had just been yanked from his body like a ghost.
“Why do you make me say it every time?” he asked, almost like a whine.
“Tell me,” I repeated.
He swallowed hard. “I want you…” He paused but the hunger in his eyes overcame his will to stay silent “I want you to fuck me.” And the word ‘fuck’ was emphasized with a low snarl like his animal instincts were talking over.
I sneered at him. He looked at me as he tried to hold his composure. His corded forearms where trembling all the way down through his fingers. His breathing had accelerated. I swear I could see his heart beating through his snug fitting shirt.
“Good boy,” I said with direct eye contact. He gasped quietly at the words. I loved how he reacted to that every time I said it. ‘Good boy’ always made him react like he was cumming in his pants. And it always made my dick hard. The feeling of power I had was exhilarating.
“You make my dick hard, boy,” I said. He swallowed like his mouth was dry. He was addicted to me. “You know what to do.”
He scrambled and got down on his knees in front of me. He quickly unfastened my pants and unzipped me. He released my hard cock from the confines of my boxer briefs. He skimmed it a few times with his big, warm hands. He licked his lips. Then he did the thing he does every time that makes me have to stop myself from shooting all over this face: He spun his ball cap around, so the bill was in the back allowing him to suck me unobstructed. He was getting down to serious business. Then he opened that beautiful mouth wide and sank down onto my cock, all the way down in one swoop until his nose was touching my abdomen. He kept it there, trying to get as much as he could down his throat. Then the next sexist thing that he does: he looked up at me with those baby blue eyes that were watering as he tried not to gag. I looked down at him with mix of pride and excitement that he was so good at this because he looked like the last guy on Earth who would suck dick.
“Fuck,” I growl at him. I clasped my hands on the side of his head. Too assert my dominance, I pulled him in closer until he gags. Then I pulled his head back to the tip and then pulled him back in. He was groaning and grunting around my cock. I pulled his head off of me completely. He looked up at me with spit covering his mouth and chin. I took my cock and I smacked it against his mouth, then his cheek. His tongue was out. I smacked it against his tongue while he made hungry little sounds with his mouth. He was a hungry faggot. In his jock mind, that’s what he thinks of himself. It’s derogatory. He knew he was being a faggot, and it both turned him on and disgusted him.
I slapped my cock on his tongue a few more times. I felt his hands on my thighs. “Fucking faggot,” I growled quietly. He looked up at me with contempt but also obedience. This is what he wanted though. He’d told me before. He craved to be treated this way.
As if I was disgusted with him, I yanked his head onto my cock until it was down his throat. He made a muffled noise. His hands squeezed my thighs. He looked up at me, and I began to fuck his face. I had control over every movement. His face was bright red, his eyes filled with tears, his lips were clamped down around my cock. I fucked his throat and heard the wet squish of his spit on my cock and the gulping sound when I buried to the root. I continued to fuck his impossibly handsome face until he started to push away.
“Breath through your fucking nose, faggot,” I snapped. I heard a muffled reply, and I could hear him breathing heavily through his nose. I sneered down at him. I could tell he was struggling. Seeing him do this did nothing but take me to the edge. I could feel the cum surging to my cock. I suddenly pulled his face in, held it and convulse a load of cum down his jock faggot throat. He was saying something, but it was muffled. He was pushing away from me. I held him until I was finished, and then I pushed him away forcefully. He fell back onto his heels, coughing. He wiped away spit and cum from his chin. Then he wiped tears from his eyes. His muscular chest heaved to catch his breath. He looked at me not in anger, but with hope that he did good.
“Fuck, you suck cock so well,” I said. He nodded and smiled.
“Thank you,” he said with a raspy voice.
“Cock sucking faggot,” I add.
He nods again. “Yes, Sir.”
“You must really hate yourself right now.”
He nodded.
“You must feel like shit after every time you act like a cum addicted faggot.”
He nodded again, his eyes still wet.
“And that’s what you like about me. I make you feel that way.”
He nodded again.
“Good boy.”
He gasped. “Yes, Sir.”
“Someday, you won’t want to feel that way.”
He sniffed and wiped his eyes.
“Until then, I love making a kid like you behave the way that would humiliate you if anyone knew about the real you.”
He nods.
“You should see yourself. The way you look when you’re down there feasting on my cock, your ball cap spun around, that square jaw opened wide, those lips stretched around my cock, looking like a slut, cumdump, it’s fucking pathetic.” As I degrade him, I can see him palming his cock. Whoever fucked with his head and made him have a need to feel this way should have the shit beat out of them. But I was reaping the rewards. One of my biggest fantasies were being fulfilled. To have my own closeted, jacked up, incredibly handsome, uber-masculine, football jock at my beck and call, who wanted nothing more than to be another dude’s bitch. I know I am his fantasy come true; an older man, person of authority, gym-built body, bisexual, married man to use him and fuck him like a mistress. His alpha disintegrates in my presence. My alpha personified.
“Get out of those fucking clothes and get on the bed.”
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
