Byron suddenly pulled his foot back, breaking the contact. Cory fell forward, his face nearly hitting the carpet, caught off balance by the sudden lack of resistance. He caught himself with a shoulder, panting heavily, his mouth tasting strongly of polish and leather.
"Good boy," Byron said, his voice oozing lust and satisfaction. He stood up, the movement sudden and imposing, towering over the kneeling boy. "You seem to have a talent for the degrading stuff. A natural born submissive cockslut."
Byron reached down and stroked Cory's hair almost gently, then gathered it into a fist and pulled the boy's head up to be level with his crotch.
"It's time for your throat training," he announced. "You did acceptable yesterday in the elevator—for a first timer. But as my slave, I expect nothing short of perfection and total subservience from you."
Byron’s his grip in Cory's hair tightened, tilting the boy’s head back at an awkward angle.
"Open up," he commanded.
Cory’s jaw was already aching from the enforced oral servitude to the boot, but he scrambled to obey, parting his lips wide. Without a word of warning, Byron drove his hips forward, burying his entire length into the boy’s mouth in one brutal thrust.
Cory’s eyes bulged as the thick invader slammed into the back of his throat, cutting off his air supply instantly. He hadn't had time to take a breath, to prepare, or to relax his muscles. The sheer girth of it filled his mouth completely, the head forcing its way past his gag reflex and nesting deep in his esophagus.
He choked violently, his body seizing up as his natural instincts screamed at him to pull away. His bound hands struggled uselessly against the leather restraints, his fingernails digging into his own palms. The need to breathe was overwhelming, a burning panic rising in his chest.
Byron didn't pull back. He held Cory’s head in a vice grip, his hips pressed flush against the boy’s face. "Take it," he growled, looking down with a mixture of lust and cold calculation. "All of it. You wanted to be a slave, well, slaves don't need to breathe when their Master is using them."
Byron held himself there, buried to the hilt, counting the seconds in his head. Cory’s face turned a dark shade of red, his eyes streaming with tears that leaked back into his hairline. His throat convulsed around Byron’s shaft, the muscles spasming desperately in a futile attempt to expel the intruder.
Just as black spots began to dance in Cory’s vision and his struggles started to weaken, Byron yanked his hips back.
Cory gasped, a wet, ragged sound, air rushing back into his starving lungs. He coughed violently, strings of thick saliva connecting his lips to Byron’s cock, hanging in long, viscous strands.
"Pathetic whore," Byron sneered, looking down at the gasping boy. "You barely held it for five seconds and almost scratched me with your teeth."
*Thwack! Thwack!*
Byron struck Cory's ass twice in rapid succession with the crop, the blows landing on top of the already tender welts. Cory cried out, his hips bucking forward, the sharp pain shooting through him like electricity.
"Did I give you permission to make those pathetic noises?" Byron barked, grabbing Cory by the hair again and forcing his head up. "Silence when you're being punished. You take what I give you and say thank you."
Cory bit his lip, trembling so hard his teeth chattered. The pain was blinding, radiating from his ass and throbbing in sync with his racing heart. "Thank... thank you, Sir," he wheezed, his voice wrecked.
"Good," Byron said, his voice hard. "But clearly, you have a gag reflex that thinks it's more important than my pleasure. We’re going to fix that."
Byron turned and walked over to the wall where an array of implements hung. He selected a spider gag, holding it up and letting the light catch the steel.
"Open," he commanded, returning to Cory.
Cory, still trembling from the cropping and the lack of air, hesitated for only a fraction of a second before parting his lips. Byron forced the metal ring behind Cory's teeth, pushing his jaw open to an agonizing width. Byron fastened the leather straps tightly behind Cory's head, effectively turning his mouth into an open, helpless hole.
Byron stepped back to admire his handiwork, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. The metal ring forced Cory’s jaw wide, rendering him unable to close his mouth or even form words. He was reduced to a gaping receptacle, drool already beginning to pool at the corners of his lips and drip down his chin.
"That’s much better," Byron said, reaching out to tap the metal ring with his finger. "Now you look like what you truly are. Just a hole to be used. No teeth to get in the way, no ability to complain. Perfect."
Cory made a muffled, gargling sound in the back of his throat, his eyes wide and wet with tears. The metal was cold and unforgiving, stretching his jaw muscles to the point of cramping. He felt utterly objectified, stripped of even the basic ability to speak, just like those men in the porn videos he so liked to watch.
Byron stepped forward and fed his cock back into the open ring. Cory's eyes went wide as the shaft slid over his tongue, unable to retreat or even close his lips to mitigate the intrusion. The metal ring held his jaw open obscenely, turning his mouth into a passive vessel for Byron's pleasure.
"Time yourself, bitch," Byron commanded, his voice rough with dominance. He didn't thrust immediately, letting Cory feel the weight of the cock on his tongue, the inevitability of what was coming. "When I pull out, you breathe. When I'm in, you hold it. If I feel your tongue trying to push me out, I'll leave it in until you pass out. Do you understand?"
Cory let out a muffled, wet sound around the metal ring, his eyes darting frantically. He nodded as best he could, terror spiking in his chest.
Byron didn't wait for a response. He gripped the sides of Cory's head, his fingers tangling in the boy's brown hair, and slid his hips forward. The cock entered the open hole smoothly, the metal ring ensuring there was no friction, no resistance, just the hot, wet sheath of Cory's throat.
The invasion was absolute. With the jaw forced open by the gag, Byron could slide in without obstruction, burying himself deep until his heavy balls slapped against Cory’s chin. Cory’s eyes bulged, his airway completely blocked by the thick flesh. He couldn't swallow, couldn't gasp, couldn't do anything but endure the suffocating fullness.
"Take it all," Byron growled, holding Cory’s head flush against his groin. "Be a good bitch boy and hold Daddy's cock."
Cory’s vision blurred instantly. The burn in his lungs was immediate and agonizing. He tried to count the seconds, but panic scrambled his thoughts. His body convulsed, throat muscles spasming around the intruder, but the spider gag kept his teeth safely away, and Byron’s grip was iron. The older man just held him there, using Cory’s face like a fleshlight, uncaring of the boy's silent desperation.
Just as the edges of Cory's vision began to turn white and his lungs screamed for oxygen, Byron pulled back. He didn't pull out completely—just enough to uncover Cory's airway for a fraction of a second.
"Quick breath," Byron commanded, his voice tight with pleasure. Before Cory could even fully inhale, Byron thrust forward again, burying himself deep. "Too slow. You have to learn to snatch it when you can."
This rhythm became a torture of its own. Byron would pull back, Cory would gasp and choke, trying to flood his deprived bloodstream with oxygen, and then the thick cock would return, blocking his throat and cutting off the world. There was no mercy, no pause for adjustment, just the relentless, wet sound of flesh hitting flesh and the gargling noises Cory made in the back of his open throat.
Byron set a brutal, inexorable pace, his strokes growing longer and harder as he found his rhythm. He treated Cory’s throat like a sleeve of soft, wet flesh designed solely for his gratification. The wet, choking sounds filled the room—*gag, slurp, gasp*—a depraved symphony of domination that seemed to spur Byron on.
"You're getting it," Byron grunted, his voice thick with exertion and lust. He pulled back until just the head of his cock rested inside the ring, watching Cory’s chest heave as the boy frantically tried to suck in air. "Look at you. Your body knows what it’s for. It knows that it's just a cumdump."
Cory’s world had narrowed to the sensation of the thick shaft invading his mouth and the desperate, burning need for oxygen. Tears streamed down his face, mixing with the saliva that dripped freely from his gaping mouth, soaking his chest. His jaw throbbed in protest against the metal ring, and his knees ached from the hard floor, but a strange arousal was beginning to settle over him. The humiliation was still there, but it was overridden by the singular need to please the man controlling his air.
The rough fucking continued, Byron’s breathing growing ragged as he used Cory’s face with increasing abandon. He was chasing his own release, Cory’s comfort a distant, irrelevant concern. The wet, obscene noises of the throat-fucking filled the room—*gag, slurp, gasp*—a depraved soundtrack to Cory’s descent into total submission.
"Don't worry, slut, I'm gonna train your throat real good. You'll be taking it like a pro in no time," Byron grunted, his hips snapping forward with brutal force. "The training will be hard and you're not going to enjoy it. But you should find comfort in knowing that I will enjoy it immensely. After all, as my slave, my pleasure should be the only thing that matters to you. Your pain, your discomfort, your need to breathe—none of that matters compared to my cock getting off."
Cory could only gargle a strangled, wet sound in response, his eyes rolling back as the lack of oxygen and the intense physical exertion began to take their toll. His entire existence had narrowed down to the thick meat invading his throat and the heavy musk of Byron's crotch filling his nostrils. He felt dizzy, lightheaded, floating in a haze of endorphins and panic.
Byron’s thrusts became faster, shallower, and more erratic. He was chasing his climax now, using Cory’s face with zero regard for the boy's well-being. He gripped Cory’s hair tighter, using it like handlebars to steer the boy’s head down onto his shaft.
Byron’s hips slammed forward one last time, burying his cock as deep as it would go. He threw his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as he emptied himself directly into Cory’s stomach. "Take it, you filthy cumdump! Swallow Daddy's load!"
Cory’s body jerked violently, his airway completely sealed by the pulsing flesh. He could feel the hot spurts coating the back of his throat, thick and bitter, but with the spider gag forcing his mouth open, he couldn't swallow properly. The cum pooled at the back of his mouth, sliding down his esophagus only when he choked, some of it threatening to spill out past the metal ring.
Byron held him there for a long, agonizing moment, grinding his pelvis against Cory’s face, ensuring every last drop was deposited inside the boy’s abused body. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, he pulled his hips back, his cock sliding out of the wet, gaping hole with a wet, obscene *pop*.
Byron took a step back, his chest heaving slightly, admiring the sight before him. Cory slumped forward, held upright only by the handcuffs locking his wrists behind his back. The boy's face was a ruin—tears and snot mingled with the saliva and cum that drooled past the metal ring and dripped onto his heaving chest. His breath came in ragged, whistling gasps through the open gag, his eyes unfocused and glassy.
"Look at that mess," Byron remarked, his voice a mixture of satisfaction and disdain. He reached down, grabbing Cory by the chin and tilting his head up. "You look absolutely wrecked. It's a good look on you."
Cory blinked, trying to clear his vision, his jaw throbbing incessantly from being forced wide for so long. He felt used, filthy, and yet, as he looked up at Byron through tear-spiked lashes, a twisted sense of pride bloomed in his chest. He had done it. He had taken it.
The haze in Cory’s mind began to clear, replaced by the sharp, stinging reality of his abused jaw and the taste of Byron’s release lingering in his mouth. He knelt there, swaying slightly, his body completely spent. The adrenaline was fading fast, leaving a raw, trembling exhaustion in its wake.
Byron undid the buckle of the spider gag and took it out of Cory's mouth.
Cory’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click, the muscles screaming in protest as they were finally allowed to relax. He let out a hoarse, ragged groan, working his jaw side to side, trying to ease the ache. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the air feeling cool against his raw, spit-slicked throat.
*Thwack!*
The riding crop cracked against Cory’s ass without warning, the sharp sting cutting through his dazed recovery. Cory yelped, his body jerking forward, his knees scraping against the carpet.
Byron loomed over him, the crop still raised. "Did I say you could relax?" he snapped, his eyes cold. "Did I say you were done?"
Cory’s breath hitched, his eyes going wide with fear as he stared up at the imposing figure above him. "N-no," he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, raspy and wrecked from the brutal abuse his throat had just endured.
"No, Sir," Byron corrected, his voice like gravel. He brought the crop down again, lighter this time, but with a sharp, stinging precision that made Cory flinch. "You forgot something, slave."
Cory’s mind raced, the fog of oxygen deprivation still clouding his thoughts. He looked at Byron, pleading silently for a clue, but the older man’s face was a mask of stern expectation. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, broken only by Cory’s ragged breathing.
"You thank me," Byron said, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. He tapped the crop rhythmically against Cory’s burning ass cheek, a silent, ticking countdown. "You thank me for giving you my cum. You thank me for training your worthless throat. You begged for this cock and I’ve given it to you—so show some gratitude."
"I..." Cory started, his voice cracking, the words catching in his bruised throat. He swallowed hard, trying to lubricate his vocal cords. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you for... for letting me suck you."
*Thwack!* The crop came down harder, the bite sharper than before. Cory cried out, his hips jerking.
"Is that the best you can do?" Byron demanded, his voice echoing off the walls. He leaned down, his face inches from Cory's, the smell of leather and sex filling Cory's nostrils.
Cory flinched, the sting of the crop radiating through his body. The shame burned hot in his cheeks, but underneath it, that dark, twisted arousal flickered again. He knew what Byron wanted to hear. He had read the stories, watched the videos. He knew the script.
"Th… Thank you for using this filthy slut, Sir," Cory whispered, the words feeling foreign yet terrifyingly natural on his bruised tongue.
"Better," Byron said, though his tone made it clear it was nowhere near good enough. "But you're holding back. Tell me you loved tasting my cum. Tell me you love being my personal cumdump."
Cory’s face burned hotter, the humiliation mixing with a strange, intoxicating head rush. He looked down at the floor, unable to meet Byron’s intense gaze. "I... I loved it, Sir," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I loved tasting your cum. I love being your... your personal cumdump."
"And?" Byron prompted, tapping the crop against Cory's other asscheek, the threat implicit.
Cory squeezed his eyes shut, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The shame was suffocating, but the sting of the crop promised something worse if he hesitated. He had to let go. He had to sink fully into the role Byron had carved out for him.
"And... thank you for using my face, Sir," Cory rushed out, the words tumbling over each other in his desperation. "Thank you for fucking my throat until I couldn't breathe. Thank you for treating me like a... like a worthless fleshlight. I'm just a hole for you to use, Sir. Thank you for training me to be your cockslut."
He fell silent, his chest heaving, waiting for the next strike. Instead, he felt a heavy hand land on his head, fingers tangling roughly in his hair. Cory flinched, expecting a blow, but Byron simply stroked his hair, a twisted parody of affection.
"Good boy," Byron purred, the praise sounding thick and heavy in the quiet room. "See? You know exactly what you are."
The rough petting continued for a moment, Byron's fingernails scratching lightly against Cory's scalp, sending shivers down the boy's spine. It was a confusing contrast—the gentle touch after such brutal treatment—and Cory found himself leaning into it involuntarily, starved for any shred of affection amidst the degradation.
"You were right to come to me tonight, Cory," Byron said, his voice losing its sharp edge, settling into a smug, satisfied rumble. "You were right to want this. You have a natural talent for this. And you're hard as a rock, aren't you?"
Cory hadn't even realized it until Byron pointed it out, but his own cock was throbbing, straining against his belly, leaving a sticky trail of pre-cum on his skin. The shame of his arousal burned through him, but he couldn't deny the truth of it. He nodded meekly, unable to form the words.
"See?" Byron chuckled darkly, giving Cory’s hair a final sharp tug before releasing him. "Your body knows its place even if your mind is still catching up. You're a natural-born submissive. A slut who needs to be owned."
