Pinned and Trembling
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Randy sat on his couch, one leg stretched out, phone loose in his hand.
The bar’s heat had long cooled from his skin, but his mind was still sharp, turning over the night, the small, telling details, Liam’s flushed face, his desperate little half-laughs, the way his body had strained under the table and then again on the street, silently begging to be taken home.
Randy smirked faintly.
He unlocked his phone and typed, fingers moving with calm precision.
Don’t jerk off tonight.
He waited, eyes flicking to the timestamp as the message delivered. He pictured Liam’s face when the notification lit up, the way his heart would jump, the way his breath would catch.
Another message, slow and deliberate.
Or tomorrow. Or the next day. Not until you hear from me. If you want to see me again.
Randy set the phone on the armrest, leaning back slightly, one hand resting across his stomach. He exhaled slowly, the faint grin still tugging at his mouth.
He didn’t need Liam’s reply. He didn’t need any promises or reassurances.
He knew exactly where Liam was right now: wide-eyed, breathless, cock hard and twitching under the covers, skin humming with restless, frustrated arousal.
Good.
Randy picked up the phone again for the final note.
Goodnight, Liam.
He powered off the screen, dropping the phone onto the couch cushion beside him, and closed his eyes briefly, stretching his arms back behind his head.
There was no rush.
Letting Liam sit in that tension, in that edged-out hunger, was part of the point, part of finding out what kind of boy he really was.
Randy’s grin deepened faintly as he settled back, the cool satisfaction of control washing over him like fresh water.
He’d hear from Liam soon enough.
Randy shifted on the couch, letting his head fall back, eyes slipping half-shut. His hand slid down absently to the waistband of his sweats, fingers curling just under the fabric, not rushed, not needy.
Liam wasn’t allowed to get off tonight, but that didn’t mean Randy couldn’t..
The image of Liam was fast in Randy’s mind.
It pressed against the back of his thoughts, hot and insistent: Liam’s flushed face at the bar, the way his thighs had squeezed together under the table, the helpless little breathy please as Randy’s foot stayed firm against him. The weight of that arousal still clung to Randy’s skin, simmering just under the surface, too sharp, too charged to ignore.
Randy exhaled slowly, fingers sliding deeper, wrapping around his cock, stroking once, twice — slow, controlled, letting the tension build deliberately.
He let his mind drift forward, shaping the next time.
Liam on his knees, hands bound behind his back, head tilted up, mouth parted, eyes dark and wide with need. Randy pressing the tip of his cock just against Liam’s lips, not giving it, not yet, just watching him quiver there, mouth open, breath shuddering, waiting for the command.
Randy’s hand tightened slightly, a soft grunt slipping from his throat.
He imagined Liam bent forward on the bed, wrists bound, hips lifted, his pale skin marked faintly red where Randy’s hands had gripped too hard. Liam gasping, moaning, the kind of raw, honest sound you couldn’t fake when you were being fucked to the edge and pulled back again, and again.
Randy stroked a little faster now, his breath sharp and steady, his jaw tight.
Or maybe, maybe next time, he wouldn’t give Liam that satisfaction at all.
Maybe he’d take him to the brink, drag him right there, trembling and desperate, and then pull away, leaving him untouched, unsatisfied, shuddering with the kind of need that only deepened every time it was denied.
Randy’s breath hitched softly, his cock twitching hard in his grip.
Not yet.
He wanted to savor it.
Randy’s hand slowed, grip tightening just slightly as a sharper, darker thought coiled through his mind.
Maybe next time…
Maybe he wouldn’t fuck Liam at all.
Maybe he’d let the boy undress, kneel, offer himself, all flushed skin and eager eyes, body humming with need — and then leave him untouched.
No cock in his mouth, not in his ass either, no weight pressing him down.
Just Randy’s calm, steady gaze, watching Liam squirm and tremble under the pressure of being wanted but not taken.
Randy let out a slow, low exhale, his hand stroking again, deliberate, controlled, his cock twitching hard in his grip.
He could picture it so clearly: Liam on his knees by the bed, shoulders tightening, thighs pressing together, cock standing hard and red between his legs, his breath shaky as Randy circled him, watching, murmuring soft, sharp little comments just to hear the boy whimper.
You look so desperate right now.
Did you think you were going to get fucked tonight?
No, Liam. Not yet.
Randy’s head tipped back, his breath catching as the final wave crested.
With one last, rough stroke, he came hard, a low grunt slipping from his throat as his cock pulsed hot and fast in his hand, his body jerking faintly under the sharp pull of release.
He stayed there a moment, chest rising and falling, hand resting lazily over his stomach, the rush of pleasure fading slow and sure through his limbs.
A faint, satisfied grin tugged at his mouth.
There were a lot of ways to break a boy down.
Randy stood, stretching lazily, then padded to the bathroom. He ran warm water over his hands, wiping himself clean with a towel, his reflection sharp and composed in the mirror.
He didn’t rush. He dried his hands, rolled his shoulders once, then wandered back, picking up his phone with a faint smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He thumbed open a thread he hadn’t touched in days.
Randy: Think I might’ve found one worth keeping.
It took less than a minute for the reply to light up the screen.
Sean: You always say that early.
Randy chuckled softly, shaking his head.
Randy: Not like the others.
A pause.
Sean: Sure you’re not just high on the chase?
Randy’s mouth curved, eyes glinting faintly.
Randy: Maybe. But I don’t think so.
The reply came back fast.
Sean: Well, shit; I’m rooting for you either way. Congrats, man. Keep me posted.
Randy leaned back into the couch, phone loose in his fingers, a faint hum of satisfaction making his nerves buzz.
He wasn’t making promises. Not yet.
But something about Liam, the way the boy bent, the way he held under pressure, felt different.
Randy set his phone down, flicked off the living room light, and moved to the bedroom.
The night wrapped around him quietly as he slid between the sheets, exhaling slowly, his body heavy with release, his mind still humming faintly.
It didn’t take long for sleep to pull him under.
And when it did —
He was back in the lecture hall.
Liam sat two rows ahead, the same tilt of his shoulders, the same nervy little flick of his pen against the tablet. His hair was mussed just slightly, like someone had run a hand through it too roughly.
Randy sat behind him, calm, sharp, eyes steady.
The room was full, classmates chatting softly, flipping through notes. The professor’s voice droned faintly at the front.
But Randy didn’t hear a word.
He watched Liam shift in his seat, watched the flush creeping up his neck, the stiff, telltale tension in his shoulders.
Because under the desk, Liam’s hands were clasped tightly in his lap. His legs pressed faintly together, thighs trembling just a little.
Randy leaned forward slightly, letting the ghost of a smirk tug at his mouth.
He knew exactly what was happening.
He’d told Liam not to jerk off. Not to even touch himself. Not to think about cumming without permission. And here Liam was, sitting obediently in class, trying to keep his mind sharp, his face cool, while his cock throbbed helplessly in his jeans, trapped, unsatisfied, aching.
Randy imagined slipping down the row behind him, sliding into the seat next to Liam, leaning in close, close enough for his breath to stir the shell of Liam’s ear.
“Hard right now?” Randy murmured in the dream, soft, low.
Liam’s breath hitched, his thighs pressing tighter, his hand twitching faintly under the desk.
Randy’s grin sharpened.
“Thought so.”
In the dream, Randy leaned in even closer, his mouth nearly brushing Liam’s ear, his voice soft enough that no one else could hear, but sharp enough to cut straight through Liam’s fragile composure.
“Don’t squirm, Liam.”
Liam’s back stiffened, his breath shuddering faintly. His classmates chatted casually on either side, oblivious, flipping through their lecture notes, half-listening to the professor drone on about cardiac risk factors.
But Liam sat frozen, his thighs pressed tight, his fingers clenched hard under the desk. His cock pulsed thick and aching in his jeans, every tiny movement sending sparks of need up his spine.
Randy smirked faintly.
“Poor thing,” he murmured, voice curling low into Liam’s ear, “all hard and nowhere to go.”
Liam let out the tiniest, broken sound — barely a breath, barely a noise.
Randy chuckled softly.
“Careful,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want them to notice.”
Liam’s face flushed deep, his breath quickening, his hands trembling slightly under the table.
Randy let the words stretch, let the silence grow heavy around them.
Then, still in the dream, he leaned just a little closer.
“Undo your jeans.”
Liam’s eyes went wide, his chest heaving in shallow little pulls.
“I said…” Randy murmured, smiling, “undo them.”
Liam’s hands fumbled under the desk, trembling, breath coming harder, the faintest click of his button slipping open, the drag of his zipper lowering slowly, carefully.
Dream Randy’s grin widened.
“Good boy.”
Liam sat there, shaking faintly, his cock straining against the thin barrier of his underwear, his face bright red, every muscle locked tight to keep from betraying himself.
Randy’s grin deepened faintly in the dream as he watched Liam’s trembling fingers fumble at the button of his jeans.
Why?
Not because Randy wanted to see what was underneath.
But to see how Liam looked when he exposed himself, to see how he looked when he opened himself up — mentally.
To watch the tension ripple through his body, to see if Liam could sit there, pants undone, cock straining, surrounded by classmates, and still hold steady.
It was the next layer of surrender: not just obeying in private, but trusting Randy enough to obey where he was most exposed, most raw, most on edge.
Randy leaned in, his breath hot at Liam’s ear, voice smooth.
“Keep your hands on the table now. Don’t adjust yourself.”
Liam’s thighs quivered faintly, his breath hitching hard. His hands rose shakily, fingers curling into white-knuckled fists on the edge of the desk, his eyes wide and glassy as he forced himself to sit still — jeans open, cock pressing hard against thin fabric, heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Randy’s mouth curved faintly, eyes half-lidded as he let the moment stretch, drawing out the silent tension like a pulled thread.
Good.
Randy let his mouth curl faintly, his voice soft, brushing close to Liam’s ear.
“Don’t touch yourself. Don’t fix anything.”
Liam’s breath hitched sharply, his thighs quivering under the desk, his hands rising in slow, shaking surrender to rest on the edge of the table. His jeans lay undone, the thin fabric of his underwear barely containing his hard, aching cock.
Randy leaned back slightly, letting the silence stretch, the minutes drip by.
Around them, classmates scribbled notes, tapped away on laptops, whispered to each other, oblivious to the silent, charged tension radiating from Liam’s seat.
Dream Randy watched the clock.
He didn’t say another word.
He just sat, calm, composed, watching Dream Liam hold himself together — cheeks flushed, jaw tight, eyes flicking to the clock, breath trembling as the seconds crawled by.
Finally, the professor’s voice lifted: “Alright, that’s it for today.”
Chairs scraped back, notebooks closed, the shuffle of departing students filled the air.
Randy leaned in one last time, his mouth brushing close.
“Now you can fix yourself.”
Liam let out a shuddering breath, a soft, desperate exhale as his shaking hands dove under the desk, fumbling his jeans closed, his entire body tight with frantic, blushing relief.
Randy smirked faintly, rising from his seat, watching Liam struggle to pull himself together while the room emptied around them.
He didn’t offer a word of praise, not even a pat.
He just walked past, eyes glinting faintly, the smug, quiet satisfaction of a man who already knew exactly how deeply he’d gotten under Liam’s skin.
Randy stirred, breath puffing out softly against the pillow, his body heavy, the last edge of the dream still buzzing faintly under his skin.
He stretched, one arm sliding up over his head, a slow grin creeping across his face as the memories drifted back in, Liam’s flushed cheeks, the way he’d trembled in his seat, the desperate tension coiling through his body as he sat there, wide-eyed, completely wrecked inside his own head.
Randy gave a soft laugh, shaking his hair back from his face as he sat up.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand down his bare chest, still grinning.
Yeah.
This one — this sweet, needy, desperate boy — had potential.
Randy’s grin sharpened as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, mind already ticking forward, already playing out the next moves, already imagining all the ways he could push Liam further, deeper, into places he probably didn’t even know he wanted to go yet.
He couldn’t wait to fuck this boy’s head up.
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