After another grueling day at work spent yelling and hyping people up, Carson was left drained and impatient to go home. His own muscles were sore and satisfied. The quick shower he had taken before throwing himself into his car with a sigh of relief hadn’t been enough to empty his mind of all the tension he had accumulated throughout the day.
He drove one-handed, the engine of his old sports car roaring as he arrived on the dirt path leading to the house he shared with Owen, his boyfriend and the man he swore he’d serve and obey.
For all the confidence he displayed at work and in life in general, Carson always had this need to please. It was only when he met Owen that he understood what it meant and why he hadn’t been able to quench this thirst before meeting him two years ago.
Carson grabbed his gym bag, and he stepped out on the gravel. The moist summer air hit him in waves, and the shower seemed even more pointless. As a personal trainer, he was more than used to sweat and the feeling of clothes sticking to his skin, but he also knew that Owen liked his boy clean and dry, unless they were in the midst of an intense training session.
The front door was open, and Carson locked it after taking off his shoes and switching off the porch light. The white walls of the entryway welcomed him, dozens of pictures of him and Owen hung on the wall, happy and smiling faces greeted him, and Carson couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face.
He left his bag at the bottom of the stairs and made his way through the corridor leading to the kitchen, where he could hear the clinking of pans and the sound of boiling water.
Owen’s broad back came into view, a red apron tied around his slim waist, and his black hair sticking out in every direction. He obviously hadn’t bothered combing it; he had this habit of letting it dry and just rolling with it. His focus was on the large cookbook Carson had gifted him on his birthday the month before, so much so that Carson was able to sneak behind him and wrap him in a hug before Owen even had the time to notice his presence.
“Shit!” Owen jumped and relaxed as soon as he felt Carson’s lips on his neck. “Man, I really should be more careful. I’ll get murdered one day.”
“Probably,” Carson said, kissing his jaw. “How was your day?”
“Pretty shit, we cleared out this patch at Mrs. Sheridan’s place. It was such a fucking mess, I swear.” Owen threw some thyme into the red sauce, stirring it in front of them. “I know she’s old, but she always waits until things get out of hand.”
“She’s old, she probably spends her days knitting or something.”
“Old people love gardening, too! But it was her husband’s thing; I don’t think she likes flowers that much.”
“Who doesn’t like flowers?”
“Her, apparently,” Owen laughed, and turned to face Carson. “And you?”
His brown eyes were full of love, and his pink lips reached out to kiss Carson, who only mustered a smile. “Pretty good, I’m tired.”
“Too bad, I had some plans for us tonight,” Owen teased, grabbing Carson’s crotch.
“I’m not that tired.” Carson licked his face, and Owen feigned disgust. “Please, we’ve done worse.”
They had indeed done worse, and they loved it.
It took them a while to lean into their routine, and from the outside, they looked like any other happy couple. Playful, always up for a laugh, but behind closed doors, Carson was quick to assume his position as Owen’s obedient submissive.
His cock hardened in his pants, and Owen dragged his hand over it.
“So responsive,” he hummed. “Can’t wait to take you tonight, when’s the last time you came?”
“Five days ago,” Carson swallowed. “Five days, sir.”
“It’s been a while, then. And why’s that?”
“Because I needed to be punished.”
“And why’s that?” Owen whispered and bit Carson’s earlobe.
“Because I came without permission last time.”
“Yeah, that’s why,” Owen kissed the corner of his mouth. “You’d better behave this time, or I won’t be as forgiving this time.”
Carson shuddered, not out of fear, maybe apprehensive, but most of all out of excitement.
Dinner was good, as usual, and they enjoyed the bolognese while soft music played. Then, they shoved all the dirty plates in the dishwasher and headed to the bedroom. Their sanctuary, and the place where Carson felt most willing and free to partake in their little games.
It was a big room with an ensuite bathroom; the king-size bed was the centerpiece, perfectly tucked in, with dark green sheets. There was a large flat screen in front of it, and a sizeable collection of books on the shelves surrounding it.
“You know what to do,” Owen said without looking at Carson.
Carson undressed, folding his clothes neatly on the gray bed runner before kneeling on the hardwood floor. He kept his head down, and Owen unlocked the not-so-secret part of their wardrobe.
“Look at me,” Owen ordered. He was already naked and held out a cockring and a ball stretcher for Carson to see. “Get up.”
Sharpness replaced kindness, and Carson’s cock throbbed; it curved slightly downward and to the left, and the fresh circumcision scar was still pink and sensitive.
The cold steel of the ring that Owen fitted his cock and balls with was soothing, and Carson twitched when he felt the pull of the rubber stretcher on his heavy nuts. Owen’s fingertips were warm and deft; they knew when to squeeze and when to tickle, and how to make Carson beg for mercy.
They moved on to his cockhead, now permanently exposed after Owen had him circumcised. They had talked about it multiple times before and had agreed to it for Carson’s own good. His foreskin had been too tight, and before he was cut, Carson had never seen his cockhead fully. He didn’t know why he hadn’t been cut; most men were in the country, but his parents had, for some reason, decided against it.
So, Owen had made the decision for him, and Carson, though hesitant at first, loved it.
“It’s clean, looks much better,” Owen kissed the tip of his cock. “Look how pink it is, and fucking big.”
He then traced the long vein thumping along Carson’s thick shaft and finally took it all in his mouth.
“Fuck,” Carson breathed.
Owen sucked him off, his tongue wandering along the tightly circumcised head, where the frenulum used to be, where the still puffy scar was too tender for Carson to bear without biting his lips.
His balls were tight already, ready to blow their load. But Carson had been trained to fight this primal urge; his pleasure didn’t matter, his needs didn’t matter; all that mattered was how much pleasure he could give Owen. How could he please him as a subservient top and earn the right to cum?
Because it had to be earned.
There was no other way to his own release.
“You’re so good, beautiful,” Owen commented, tracing Carson’s chiseled abs with his hands. “I love you so much.”
He rose and kissed Carson roughly, teasing his nipples with one hand while stroking his massive cock with the other. Owen, himself, was hard. His dick was smaller but big enough to make Carson choke.
“I love you, too!” Carson said earnestly, humping his boyfriend’s hand.
“I don’t think so.” Owen removed his hand. “The only thing you’re allowed to fuck is my ass.” He then reached down and took out an anal plug he had buried in his hole, and he threw it to the floor. “I’m ready for you already.”
Owen put his hand over Carson’s muscular chest and forced him to back away until he hit the mattress. Instinctively, Carson repositioned himself in the middle of it and waited for Owen to secure his wrists and ankles with the straps they had attached to the bedposts. They were high-quality leather, smelled good, and were soft to the touch. They could be worn for hours without hurting.
Once restrained, Carson tugged on them.
No escape.
His cock was more rigid now, leaking with anticipation over his hard stomach. He worked really hard on his body, and while Owen was slim and toned, Carson was huge and muscular. He knew he could take on Owen easily, flip him over, and fuck him senseless without fearing to be overpowered. But that was the beauty of it; Owen had him wrapped around his fingers, and all his muscles couldn’t do a thing about that.
He had accepted his role a long time ago.
He was meant to be Owen’s property, and the little jump his heart made when Owen straddled him was what he lived for.
“I love you,” Carson said again like a big sap.
“Baby,” Owen whispered and kissed him, while aligning Carson’s cockhead with his entrance. “You belong to me.”
“Yes, sir!”
Owen sank on his cock; it slid in easily, and Carson let out a long sigh, the tight squeeze of the hole swallowing him, taking control of his manhood. He kept his hips in place, going against his instinct to fuck and pound.
Instead, he admired Owen impaling himself on him. Carson was only a pole for him to use, and he relished his position. He was no longer the fuckboy he once was; he couldn’t even imagine going back to his old ways anymore. He’d rather give up on sex altogether.
The up-and-down motion edged him nicely; the intermittent squeezes stole pleas from him and kept him on his toes, which curled uncontrollably as Owen adjusted his rhythm. He had mastered the art of keeping Carson on edge, even if there were accidents from time to time.
Mistakes were always Carson’s fault; he had to know when to ask for a break, since Owen could only read the signs of an upcoming orgasm to a certain level.
The pace quickened and brought Carson dangerously close to an orgasm.
“Sir, I’m close!” He winced.
“Easy, boy,” Owen sat on his cock, motionless, and leaned forward to kiss him. “You’re doing amazing so far.”
Owen started moving after a while and moaned each time Carson was buried to the hilt. Owen gave himself a few strokes and stared into Carson’s blue eyes, caressing his light brown hair lovingly.
These little shows of affection were risky; they could cause a spill that Carson couldn’t control. He was a slave to them, and he craved them more than his own orgasm.
“Thank you,” he breathed, lost in his own mind.
“Start pounding, do some work,” Owen commanded, slapping Carson across the face lightly.
Like the good boy he was, Carson obeyed and drilled Owen until he was whimpering and thrashing around. Not once did Owen get off him; he was used to his cock, its shape, its girth, and length, and he could take it for hours without taking a break.
He was insatiable, and before they even knew it, Carson had been brought to the edge multiple times. This was the only reason why Owen was forced to either let Carson’s cock slip out of him or stop moving.
Tentatively, Carson glanced at the clock on the wall.
One hour.
Owen had been using him for one hour, and he could feel his seed rising in his shaft; he wouldn’t be able to take it for another hour.
Not tonight.
“Sir, please, may I cum?” He asked, desperate and polite. “Please…”
“Fuck, baby, already?” Owen thumbed his cheek. “I wanted you to go for another hour at least.”
“No, please, sir! I can’t take it! I won’t be able to hold it, I don’t want to disobey!”
“I know, I know,” Owen kissed him on the mouth and placed another kiss on his forehead. “You have fifteen seconds to blow your load, or else…”
Fuck.
Did he have a choice?
Nope.
“Understood, sir,” Carson said anxiously.
“Good boy,” Owen grabbed Carson by the neck with both hands. “You’re allowed to pound my hole.”
The seconds flew by, and each thrust carried weight. Carson did his best to cum. He focused on the ball stretcher and how tight it was, on how sensitive his newly exposed glans was, on the slapping of his testicles against his boyfriend’s plump ass.
“Shit, shit, shit!” He repeated.
The ten-second mark passed.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Cum rose in his shaft and then shot out of his slit, spraying the walls of Owen’s hole, who, happily, stroked his cock to an orgasm as well. He hit all over Carson’s tense body, marking his territory as Carson bred him. They both panted, exhausted but not yet ready to break apart. Carson could feel his seed oozing out and dripping down his too-tight balls.
He complained as Owen continued riding him.
“Sensitive, sir,” Carson groaned.
“Good boy,” Owen said, intent on torturing him. “Do you think you could cum again?”
“I could, sir!” Carson replied, genuinely hoping for it.
“I know you could.” There was mischief in Owen’s eyes, and his pale skin was flushed and gorgeous. “But I think I’ll be edging you over the next few days instead, no cumming at all.”
“Nooo!” Carson whimpered. “Why?”
“Because I said so,” Owen kissed him and hugged him. “My big, beautiful boyfriend.”
Carson was still buried inside Owen when he heard the first snore. He should wake him and ask to be freed. But the restraints were comfortable after all, and what better way to spend the night but by falling asleep in the arms of the man he loved.
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Patreon.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
