The bond
Last night, Austin discovered the thrill of control, and with that, something changed within him. I saw it settle behind his eyes, quiet, hungry, dangerous.
With his first lesson, all three of us had collapsed on my king-size bed, bodies tangled, limbs heavy, sweat drying on skin. We passed out hard, adrenaline finally burning itself out, the kind of exhaustion that knocks you out.
As morning broke, I woke to Austin’s hand wrapped around my cock, stroking with purpose. No hesitation. No shyness. The boy was insatiable. I let him have his moment, lying still, half-asleep, enjoying the confidence in his grip and the way he watched my face as he worked me.
But discipline matters. Now that Austin knew the rush of being in control, he needed to learn some himself. Getting respect requires holding your cards close to your chest. Advertising your desires only makes you look needy. If you want something badly enough, you will attract others to you.
As much as I enjoyed what he was giving, I caught his wrist and lifted his hand away, placing it flat on his chest. “Easy,” I said. “I'll let you know when I'm ready for you.”
He swallowed. He understood. If he wanted more, he’d have to earn it
That’s when I heard Mike stirring beside us.
As all my men were now awake, I told them my plans for the day. I let them know that I need to head out to the garage, Saturday was a busy day at the shop, and customers stacked up before noon.
One look at Mike told me he’d already decided the night wasn’t over, not yet. I wasn’t about to leave him unfinished. I told them they were welcome to stay as long as they liked.
Mike smiled, “Sounds good. When I finish up here,” he said. “I might bring my truck to your shop. I could do with a service.”
This time, the grin was mine.
I turned to Austin. “You’ll take care of Mike while I’m gone.”
He paused, disappointment flashing across his face. His expression said it all; he wanted me, wanted my cock, my hands, my weight on top of him. I liked seeing that need in him. It was raw, obvious, barely contained. When I am done with him, he will show more self-control, but for now, I revelled in knowing how much he needed me.
Mike pulled the sheet back, revealing himself, thick, hard, unapologetically large.
“Get back to it,” I told Austin.
His attention snapped to it instantly, like gravity taking hold. He propped himself on his knees, arse high, facing me as he took Mike into his mouth. No resistance. His mouth opened wide, stretched, swallowed him down with a confidence that made Mike groan.
I dressed slowly, watching the tension build.
Hands behind his head, Mike watched me over Austin’s back, giving me a smug grin as he was worked over, his eyes clearly saying thank you.
Austin worked hard, arse exposed, teasing me. As he raised his ass higher, round and perfect, it took everything in me not to grab his hips and fuck him right there. That body was a distraction, those cheeks a promise I was deliberately denying.
As I slipped on my jacket, I ran my hand over Austin’s ass, his gaze flicked back to mine, checking, hoping. I dragged my thumb over his hole, lingering just long enough to make him moan around Mike’s cock. The sound went straight through me. He needed me. He wanted to be used. But I chose not to, because control cuts deeper than pleasure.
I pulled my hand away, wiped my fingers on my jeans, and grabbed my keys.
“I’ve got to go,” I said. “Enjoy yourselves. You know how to lock up.”
Mike gave me a lazy thumbs-up, hands already in Austin’s hair.
Austin pulled off just long enough to look at me, eyes dark, pleading. “Can I see you later, Daddy?”
“Count on it,” I replied. “We’ll need to debrief. Talk about what's next”
I watched him go right back to work before I turned and headed out the door.
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It was a regular day in the shop. An upside of the steady gentrification was the clientele, more disposable income, more men drawn to the grit of a blue-collar trade. Some came for the work. Some came for something else entirely.
Mike stopped by on his way out. Told me he and Austin had gone a few more rounds before they parted ways. He agreed with my assessment, the boy was insatiable. Addictive, even.
We talked about what kind of training Austin still needed. Mike agreed he had a long way to go. Eager whore was written all over him. A body built for sex, a smile that promised trouble, and eyes that invited attention without him ever having to ask.
That was the problem.
What he lacked was discipline. We needed to reshape him. Take him apart and rebuild him. Turn his charms from easy prey into something sharper. Not someone who offered himself up, but a predator. A hunter who learned how to draw others in, who made them come to him.
Austin knew how to be sexually irresistible, and we agreed the hardest part would be control. And until he learned it, we’d need just as much restraint as he did, if we were to get him where he needed to be.
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I barely made it home before there was a knock at the door. I knew it was him.
I opened it to find Austin standing there, dressed like trouble. Baggy jeans hanging low, showing the top of his thong. A loose vest, cut deep in a V that exposed the cleft of his chest, sleeves gone to show off his muscular shoulders. A hat worn sideways, his whole look dishevelled but intentional, eager without trying to hide it.
It took everything in me not to grab him, drag him inside, and fall straight back into our old habits.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
If I were going to take this Daddy, mentor role seriously, I couldn’t fall for his traps. Not tonight.
I invited him in and told him to sit on the couch. Grabbed us a couple of beers and sat across from him. I caught the flicker of disappointment in his eyes, he knew this meant nothing was going to happen. At least not right now.
I asked how things went with Mike.
He smiled. “I think he left happy. Let’s just say he had trouble keeping up.”
I smiled too. I knew that was probably true. Mike was insatiable, but this boy was something else.
Austin paused, watching me as I imagined him taking my man.
As he saw my face change, his tone shifted. “But the whole time,” he said quietly, “I was thinking about you. I wanted it to be you. I wanted to taste your cock in my mouth.”
“I know,” I said. “Sometimes your new Daddy needs help, needs to see from other side. And Mike was useful, for training. He got you to take control.”
I looked at him for a long moment before speaking again.
“It was clear how quickly you took sexual control,” I told him. “You knew exactly what to do. Once you got a taste of it, you leaned into your power. You took charge of Mike and took what you needed from him.”
I took a slow breath.
“That wasn’t easy. Mike isn’t a pushover. You turned up your confidence, used your sexual allure, and made it work.”
I let that sink in.
“To be honest with you, it was fucking sexy. There’s no question about that. And, I do not doubt that with some more sessions with others, you will be a master at this. But turning you into a man isn’t about teaching you sex, you already have that covered.”
I leaned forward slightly. “With you,” I continued, “it’s about flipping a switch. Taking that sexual beauty and shifting it from available to intentional.”
I held his gaze.
“You draw men in by offering yourself. I need to turn you into a hunter. Someone who walks up, takes what you want, and leaves with it completely under your control.”
He swallowed.
“When you are on the search, you won’t be desperate, you’ll be a magnet. That fine line between not giving a shit and demanding attention. Making every man in the room want to be in your orbit. Want to be chosen. Want to belong to you.”
His posture shifted. The cockiness drained out of him, replaced by something quieter, more dangerous. He knew I’d seen him. Seen through the act. Clocked the reasons he’d chosen me.
“You didn’t pick me just because I’m a good fuck,” I said calmly. “You picked me because I represent what you want for yourself. You’re hoping that by having me as your Daddy, someone to look up to, learn from, model yourself after, you’ll eventually become me.”
I let that sit.
“But you need to understand something,” I continued. “Emulation never works. Copying me will only ever make you a shadow. You will never be me. You won’t have my presence. My command of a room. My ease. My swagger.”
I watched it land. The disappointment flared, sharp and immediate. I started to feel sorry for the boy, but I knew I had to continue.
“Trying to imitate another man always reads false,” I said. “What you need isn’t to become me. You need to find your version of this. Your own authority. Your own gravity.”
I leaned forward slightly, just enough.
“I saw it when you took control in sex. That man is already there. He wants to lead. He wants to take charge. That version of you? He’s fucking compelling. The work now is learning how to carry him outside the bedroom.”
Hope crept back into his face, cautious but real.
“How do we get there, Sir?” he asked.
“We strip away the bullshit first,” I said. “The clothes, the posturing. Those outfits you wear? They’re designed to be consumed. To be approved of. They’re not an expression of you.”
Then I cut it off before he could interrupt.
“And don’t make the mistake of swinging the other way. Throwing on leather and a cock ring won’t make you a man. A harness with your pecs popping out doesn’t make you intimidating. Boots don’t make you dominant. Those are just costumes if they don’t mean something to you.”
I held his gaze.
“What we’re doing is excavation. You get honest about who you are, what you want, and how you want to move through the world. Once you believe in that man, truly believe in him, showing him off becomes effortless.”
I paused and let the silence do the work.
He needed space to feel it, to sit with the discomfort instead of trying to smooth it over with charm or compliance. I could see it in the way his shoulders tightened, the way his jaw flexed. He understood what I was saying. The problem wasn’t comprehension. It was movement. People always know something has to change; they just don’t know how to step off the path they’ve been rewarded for walking.
As these ideas settled, Austin’s vulnerability and insecurities showed across his face. The raw helplessness drew me in. A need grew in me to hold him. Protect him.
I stood, deliberately unhurried, and crossed the room. Poured myself a whiskey this time, neat. The sound of liquid hitting glass cut through the quiet. When I looked back at him, I held the bottle up.
“You want something?”
He nodded quickly. “Yeah. That’d be great. I'll have the same as you.”
I didn’t move.
“Do you actually want a whiskey,” I asked evenly, “or do you want it because I do?”
The color crept up his neck. He hesitated, caught mid-performance, exposed in a way he wasn’t used to. Finally he exhaled.
“I’m… usually a vodka cranberry guy,” he admitted. “I just wanted something more… I don’t know. Edgier.”
There it was. Not desire. Aspiration.
I nodded once. I poured him a Jack and Coke instead and slid it across the table. “This fits you better. Rough enough to feel grown. Sweet enough that you’re not pretending.”
He took a sip. His face tightened at first, then relaxed.
“It’s stronger than I’m used to,” he said. “But… I like that.”
“Exactly,” I replied. “You’re not supposed to disappear into it. You’re supposed to feel it.”
We sat for a moment, drinking. Then I let the conversation continue, turning it where it needed to go.
“Tell me how you learned to be who you are,” I said. “Not who you think you should be. Who you became.”
He stared into the glass, thumb tracing the rim.
“Most of my life,” he said slowly, “I just wanted people to like me. Especially men. Especially gay men. I learned early that if I flirted, if I made them feel wanted, important, they responded. So I got good at it.”
I stayed quiet.
“I figured out that being lean, fit, easy, playful… that got attention. Being agreeable got approval. Being sexy got me picked.” His mouth twisted. “It worked. Too well.”
He glanced up at me, searching for judgment. I gave him none.
“The more I leaned into the twink thing,” he continued, “the more validation I got. It was easy. Predictable. I knew what buttons to press. And it made me feel special.”
He swallowed.
“But it didn’t make me feel respected.”
That was the crack.
“I’d watch men like you,” he said quietly. “Men who didn’t perform for a room, who owned it. And I didn’t just want to be with you. I wanted whatever it was you had. That certainty. That weight.”
His voice dropped. “And then I’d look at myself and realize… I didn’t even look up to who I was becoming.”
I leaned forward slightly.
“That’s the conflict,” I said. “You learned a version of yourself that gets rewarded, but not one you admire.”
He nodded. Hard.
“You shaped yourself to be consumed,” I continued. “To be wanted. But not to be taken seriously. And now you’re trapped between two hungers: the need to be accepted, and the need to respect yourself.”
His eyes were glassy, but focused. Listening.
“The old version of you isn’t wrong,” I said. “He kept you safe. He got you connection. But he’s not who you want driving anymore.”
“So what do I do?” he asked. “How do I stop being that guy?”
“You don’t kill him,” I said. “You dismantle him.”
I gestured between us. “We identify what’s habit, what’s armour, what’s performance. We strip away what you learned to do for others, and rebuild what you do for yourself.”
I let my voice harden just a touch.
“And that means you’re going to feel uncomfortable. You’re going to lose easy attention. You’re going to stop being everyone’s favorite flavor for a while.”
I held his gaze.
“But what you gain is something better: a version of yourself you don’t have to apologize for. A man who doesn’t need to be chosen, because he chooses.”
He nodded slowly, the weight of it settling in.
“I think,” he said, almost to himself, “that’s what I’ve been chasing this whole time.”
I took another sip of my whiskey.
“Good,” I said. “Then we know exactly where to start.
I could see our conversation had drained him. Raw and revealing, it had stirred old wounds and left them exposed. His body slumped, face pale, eyes hollow. I knew that was enough for tonight.
When he looked up at me, something stirred in me. A shift.
I told him he’d done enough for one evening. We’d continue tomorrow. Relief washed over his face. He had nothing left to give, he was exhausted.
I stood and walked over to him. He rose to meet me. I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. It caught him off guard. For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether it was comfort or something more.
When he realized it was reassurance, he leaned in fully, head resting on my shoulder, breath heavy, weight surrendered. He held me tight.
When we finally pulled apart, he gathered his things and headed for the door. I stopped him.
“No. You’re sleeping here tonight.”
He looked up with a shy smile. “Thanks, sir. I don’t think I could be alone tonight.”
“I get it, boy,” I replied. “I’ll be in soon.”
I poured another whiskey and put something on, barely watching it. I could not stop thinking about him. This vulnerable version of him that drew me in.
When the show finished, I headed to the bedroom.
As my eyes adjusted to the moonlight, I could hear his slow, steady breathing. Austin lay atop the sheets, naked. The pale glow from the window painted his skin blue, shadows softening the lines of his body. He looked lean, almost delicate, like a painter’s muse. His hair fanned around his head in a messy halo, his sharp features gentled by the light. His lips looked fuller, softer.
I wanted badly to kiss him.
As I undressed quietly, a strange protectiveness settled over me. I wanted to hold him, to make him feel safe. There was a sadness in realizing he was changing, becoming something else, but right now, this was who he was.
I slid into bed beside him carefully, turning to face him, listening to his breath. Without fully realizing it, I reached out and touched his skin, slow, gentle strokes over his chest and stomach, feeling every rise and hollow beneath my fingers.
When my hand drifted over his chest and along his stomach. The fingertips devoured him. My caress gentle, feeling all his bumps and crevices. As my hand glided down to his groin, I felt his cock twitch. That was not my intention but it stirred something in me. I pulled my hand quickly back to his chest. Almost like it was running away. Only for them to be drawn back down. This time I allowed myself to gently caress his cock and balls. Feeling the heat rise.
I turned my body sideways, almost perpendicular to him, my head resting against his belly, close to his groin. One arm reached down along his legs, my hand slowly caressing his thighs, while the other curved up around his torso, resting against his chest. My fingers moved lazily over his nipples, circling them, then giving the slightest pinch before easing back again.
I felt Austin shift beneath me, a small movement that told me he was only partly asleep now. I looked up and caught his gaze, he was watching me, a soft smile playing at his lips.
He reached down, taking my hand from his chest and guiding it to his mouth. He slipped one finger between his lips, licking it slowly, deliberately, eyes never leaving mine. The gesture was unhurried, intimate.
I turned my attention back to him, to the weight and warmth gathering between his legs. His cock was half-hard now, alive beneath my palm as I wrapped my hand around it, feeling the heat through my fingers. Holding him steady at the base of the shaft, I guided him toward my mouth.
The head was smooth and delicate, quick to respond as my lips touched him. Moisture spread easily, his skin growing slick and shining. I ran a finger slowly up along the length of his shaft, coaxing out the first drops of precum. I tasted it, savoring the salt, then circled the head with my tongue, unhurried, searching for every trace.
I opened my mouth and let my lips slide slowly down his shaft, taking him in with one long, measured motion. My nose buried into his pubic hair as I paused there, breathing him in. When I lifted my head again, I did it gradually, my lips mapping every contour, my tongue tracing and teasing each inch as I rose.
He let out a low sound, more breath than voice.
I repeated the motion, slow and consistent, up and down, never rushing, letting the rhythm build on its own. Always going slowly. Calculated.
His breathing grew heavier with each pass. His body began to move beneath me, small, involuntary reactions, like he was struggling to understand the sensations brought on by the deliberate pace.
I pulled my mouth away and let my tongue travel down the length of him, toward his balls. I took them into my mouth one at a time, rolling them gently with my tongue, massaging and teasing them, taking my time. With my mouth full, I reached up and pulled his cock slightly away, burying my nose deep at the base of his shaft and the top of his balls, inhaling him fully.
My hand returned to his cock, sliding slowly up and down as my tongue continued to work his balls. He writhed again beneath me. I could feel the tension building, the edge drawing closer.
Only then did I change the pace.
My grip tightened, my hand moving faster, firmer, while my mouth pulled at his balls with purpose. His body reacted immediately.
“I’m going to cum,” he said, breaking the quiet.
I didn’t slow. My fist worked him harder, faster, my mouth tugging insistently as his cock began to twitch uncontrollably. Then he came, hard and sudden, shooting high, the first spill reaching above his head, the next falling shorter, splashing across his face, his lips, his chest.
When it was over, I let go of his cock and balls from my mouth. He exclaimed that it was an intensity he had not felt in a long time.
I smiled as I slowly crept up towards him, licking the cum from his chest.The astringent taste hitting my throat. My tongue continued to toy with his nipples, before taking a teasing bite.
I climbed up beside him, cleaning him with slow, deliberate care. I continued up, tracing his throat with my tongue, before reaching for cum around his eyes and nose. My tongue darted about to find every trace of his seed. Lapping it up with relish.
Once done, I traveled back down his face, my mouth lingering until I reached those luscious lips I craved earlier. He breathed me in as we kissed. It seemed like the first time.
When we pulled apart, I saw it in his eyes: gratitude, trust, desire.
Something had settled between us.
I knew then this wasn’t just mentorship anymore, not entirely. For now, though, I was committed to him. To guiding him. To protecting what he was becoming, even as it changed us both.
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