Things that go ‘Hump’ in the Night
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The cage’s cold steel pressed against my bare skin, each bar an unyielding reminder of my submission. It grounded me, held me captive not just physically, but psychologically. The air around me felt heavy, thickened by lingering traces of humiliation and the sting of recent discipline. My body ached with memories etched deep, welts and soreness still radiating gently from the punishment bench, a vivid map of Sean’s meticulous control.
I curled on the sparse bedding, trying to sleep, limbs cramped from the limited space. My muscles twitched occasionally, reminders of discomfort, yet each twinge somehow reassuring in its familiarity. My skin still felt tender where Sean’s hands had lingered, firm yet possessive, commanding yet intimate. Even the air in my lungs carried the ghost of his scent, clean, masculine, tinged with the faint swell of arousal that now seemed permanently embedded into my senses.
The cage was an altar of sorts, a place where control was willingly surrendered, and freedom became defined only by Sean’s whims. Here, I wasn't Blake Everett, confident professional; I was something else entirely, a being stripped bare, rebuilt piece by painstaking piece into whatever pleased Sean. The thought ignited something inside me, an unsettling yet compelling warmth, mingling shame with a need so acute it bordered on desperation.
From beyond the cage, I heard Sean stir, a faint rustle of sheets, then the rhythmic creak of the bed as he shifted. My pulse quickened. Even these small sounds, evidence of his presence, sharpened my awareness and amplified my vulnerability. A moment later, the soft thump of his feet hitting the floor sent a jolt of anticipation through my chest. He was awake.
He approached silently, his footsteps barely audible against the thick carpet. My heart thudded heavily as his silhouette appeared before me, framed by the dim golden glow of the bedside lamp. Sean stood towering, a study in masculine perfection, his broad shoulders outlined by his snug, dark t-shirt, pajama pants slung low over his hips, and the tousled blond hair giving him a deceptively casual air.
"Up, boy," he commanded softly, his voice tinged with sleep but firm and unmistakable in its authority. "I woke up in the middle of the night with an appetite. You’ve got more work to do."
I unfolded my body slowly, joints protesting slightly as I exited the cage. The hardwood floor felt cool against my bare feet, and a shiver ran through me, half from the chill and half from the electric anticipation of his touch. Sean’s fingers settled lightly on my shoulder, guiding me firmly yet almost gently toward the bed, each step deepening the sense of surrender that enveloped me.
The bed loomed before us, vast and imposing. At each corner, leather cuffs gleamed softly in the subdued lighting, silent promises of restraint and domination. My breath caught, the vision before me stark and compelling.
"Face down," he instructed simply, his voice smooth yet potent.
Without hesitation, I climbed onto the bed. The coolness of the sheets caressed my heated skin as I stretched out, my arms and legs naturally finding positions that left me exposed and ready. Sean moved deliberately, his large hands securing each cuff with practiced ease. The leather was snug, secure, binding me physically and emotionally.
When he stepped back, his gaze swept over my bound form, assessing me with a critical eye. His expression softened just slightly—not affection, exactly, but something akin to satisfaction, possessive pride at the vision of submission I presented.
“You look perfect like this, Blake,” he murmured, voice low and rich with approval. “Utterly helpless. Beautifully bound.”
The quiet intensity of his words lit a fire beneath my skin, humiliation and pride swirling together into something intoxicating. I felt vulnerable in ways I'd never imagined yet deeply validated by the clear approval in his voice.
My breath hitched when Sean’s fingers grazed slowly along my spine, tracing a gentle, possessive path that sent goosebumps racing across my skin.
“You'll obey now, won’t you?” he whispered, voice dangerously soft, close to my ear. “Take every single thing I choose to give you?”
“Yes, Master,” I breathed, my voice barely a whisper but carrying all the sincerity and submission he required. My heart hammered, each beat echoing my absolute willingness to surrender.
His hand moved lower, fingers digging lightly into my hip, a promise of deeper possession. "Good," he said quietly, satisfaction warming his tone.
The bed shifted as he moved behind me, his presence looming, commanding. The anticipation tightened every muscle in my body, each second stretching unbearably until I felt the heat of him pressed intimately against me, his body aligning with mine in perfect symmetry. The feeling was overwhelming, a physical manifestation of control and submission merging seamlessly, inexorably binding me to him.
Sean’s breath ghosted warmly over my neck, a teasing caress that sent a thrill through me. His hands roamed my body slowly, deliberately, claiming each inch of my skin with possessive intensity. His touch was confident, each movement designed to heighten my vulnerability and amplify my arousal. My skin burned under his fingers, nerves alight, craving more of him.
His lips brushed my ear, voice dark and velvety. “Your body is mine, Blake. Every part of you—your ass, your cock, every trembling muscle, every gasp. All of it belongs to me. You understand?”
“Yes, Master,” I answered breathlessly, my entire being focused solely on him, desperate for whatever he planned next.
He shifted, pressing his body firmly against mine, letting me feel the rigid heat of his cock pressed insistently between my thighs. My breath quickened, heart racing. He moved against me slowly, teasingly, each small thrust promising so much more. I trembled beneath him, aching, desperate, completely at his mercy. His teeth grazed my shoulder, sharp but controlled, sending jolts of electrifying pleasure cascading through my senses. Each sensation heightened my need, deepened my surrender, and tightened the invisible chains that bound me willingly to him.
Sean rose slightly, climbing back over me, and without a word, he reached down and ran his hand along my jaw. His fingers slipped between my lips. I sucked them instinctively, coating them in spit as he watched. When he was satisfied, he pulled his fingers free and let a thick glob of his own saliva fall between my cheeks, letting it slide down slowly.
"None of that fancy lube for you, boy," he muttered. "You get spit. Mine. Yours. That’s all you need."
His fingers returned, slick and warm now, and he traced deliberately around my entrance. I gasped softly at the heat of it, muscles tightening instinctively.
“Relax for me,” he commanded gently, yet his voice held undeniable dominance. I exhaled slowly, consciously loosening my body, trusting him completely as he pressed a finger inside me. The slow, deliberate intrusion sent sparks of pleasure and tension rippling through my body, the sensation overwhelming yet profoundly satisfying.
Sean pushed in further, letting his spit-slick finger slide all the way in, then paused to let me feel the fullness. My hole clenched instinctively around him, a desperate, involuntary reaction to the invasion. He didn’t move at first. He just let it sit there inside me, letting the stretch burn slowly, letting me feel it completely.
“Still so tight,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. “You’ve had me in you, fucked out and wrecked—and this greedy little hole still resists when I push in. Still clings like it doesn’t want to let me go when I pull out.”
He started to move, pumping the finger in and out, shallow at first. My body quivered, torn between resistance and need. The friction grew slicker with every pass, my own spit joining his, warmth spreading as he prepared me slowly, thoroughly, like I was his project and he had all the time in the world.
Then a second finger pressed at the edge.
My breath caught.
He didn’t ask. Didn’t warn. Just pushed.
The stretch flared bright and sharp, but not unmanageable. He moved carefully, deliberately, until both fingers sank in, spreading me wider. He twisted them slightly, working me open, testing how much I could take. I bit my lip, groaning softly into the mattress.
Sean’s voice dropped lower. “You’ll open for me. But it doesn’t matter how many times I push inside you, your hole stays like this. Hungry. Tight. So, fucking obedient.”
I moaned, heat flushing through my body. I hated how much I wanted to hear those words. How true they felt.
My cock throbbed uselessly in its cage, aching from neglect, twitching with every roll of Sean’s knuckles.
“Your hole is amazing!” he exclaimed. “You know what I could do with a hole like this? I could stretch you out every day. Saw in and out of you morning, noon, and night, and this pretty little fuck-ring would still snap back like it was made for me. Like it knows who owns it and wants to please me as badly as you do.”
I whimpered, too far gone to respond.
He pulled his fingers out slowly, dragging against the sensitive rim, making me feel every millimeter of withdrawal. My ass twitched open around the loss.
Then I felt the blunt head of his cock replace them.
Hot. Heavy. Pressing.
He lined himself up, then leaned forward slightly, placing one hand on the small of my back.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“No,” he said, voice suddenly sharp. “Say it.”
“Please, Master,” I gasped. “Fuck me. I need it.”
His hips surged forward.
The stretch was instant. Deep. Brutal.
I cried out as he buried himself in one steady thrust, the burn flaring hot through my core. His cock forced my body to yield, grinding against the resistance until it gave way with a delicious ache. My restraints held me firm as he sank deeper, and deeper still, until I could feel the weight of him flush against my ass.
He didn’t move.
Just let me feel it.
“That’s it,” he breathed. “Take it. Feel how deep I am? No one else gets you like this. No one ever will.”
He pulled back, slowly, then rammed forward again with more force.
The second thrust made my whole body jolt.
Then another. And another.
A rhythm began, hard, relentless, claiming. My hole stretched and clung around him with every thrust. I couldn’t stop the moans, couldn’t hide the desperation spilling from me with every ragged breath.
Sean fucked like a man possessed.
“You love this,” he snarled. “You love getting split open, filled up. This tight little ass was made for me.”
I tried to respond, but all that came out was a broken sound. My mind was slipping, drifting down into that helpless, blissful state I only reached with him—sub-space.
And he knew.
“Look at you,” he groaned. “Drooling into the sheets, mind gone. And we’re just getting started.”
He changed his angle, leaning forward, his body heavy on my back as he drove into me with short, deep thrusts. The weight of him pressed me down, the scent of his sweat mixing with mine, heat radiating off our tangled forms.
“I love that feeling.” he grunted. “That’s me rearranging you. Making sure your guts remember who owns them.”
I cried out, the force of his words slamming into me almost as hard as his cock.
“Say it,” he growled. “Say who owns you.”
“You do, Master,” I gasped.
His hand slid under my stomach, gripping the cage. “This,” he hissed, yanking it slightly, “is just decoration. You know that, right? This whole pathetic thing doesn’t even matter. It’s your ass that serves me. That’s the only part of you that counts.”
He reached around, slipping two fingers seductively into my mouth. “Your mouth has some value too,” he added, withdrawing the fingers, wiping my spittle on my face and in my hair.
Tears pricked at my eyes. I nodded, throat tight. “Yes, Master."
Sean’s grip tightened on my hips. His pace quickened, punishing now, fast, deep strokes that jolted through me like tremors. I was drowning in him, in his scent, his sweat, the sound of his breath crashing against my ear as he bore down harder with every thrust.
“You hear that?” he growled, voice ragged. “That slick little sound? That’s your hole sucking me in. Begging for me. Like it knows it’s mine.”
I whimpered, brain unraveling with every slam of his hips.
“You take me better than anyone ever has,” he said, more fevered now, words tumbling out. “But that doesn’t make you special. It makes you useful. A perfect hole. A fuckable toy with just enough thought left to say ‘yes, Master’ when I need it.”
Something inside me broke and surrendered fully. His voice was cruel, but his grip, steady, possessive, grounded me. And somewhere behind the brutal cadence of his thrusts, I could feel it: the edge of something deeper. Something less spoken.
“Keep that hole tight. I want to feel you open for me every time I drive in.”
He pulled almost all the way out. My body seized in anticipation, and then he slammed back in, harder than before.
I screamed. It was raw, guttural, stripped of language.
He moaned. “Fuck, yes. That’s what I like to hear.”
I had no words left. Just sound. Just breath. Just sensation.
Sweat dripped from his chest onto my back, sliding in lines across my skin. Our bodies moved as one, slapping, grinding, driving toward something feral and unstoppable.
His hand came up to my shoulder. He used it like a brace, slamming into me with more force, pulling me back onto him with each piston-like movement. My world narrowed to the heat of him, the stretch inside me, the press of the mattress against my ribs, the cuffs biting at my wrists.
“Tell me again who this hole belongs to.”
“You, Master,” I gasped.
“Louder.”
“You, Master!”
“Fucking right it does.”
He paused, still buried deep. My hole clenched around him instinctively. His palm slid down my spine again, gentler now, almost reverent.
“You're a good little fucktoy,” he said quietly, almost thoughtfully. “I’ve ruined you.”
And I didn’t disagree.
He started moving again, harder now, rougher. The new rhythm came with something more punishing. His hand, open and heavy, cracked across my ass, the sound deafening in the quiet room.
Pain exploded where he struck, right over the marks he’d left earlier that night. I gasped, my entire body jolting.
He laughed darkly. “That got your attention.”
Another slap. Then another.
Each one lit up nerves that were still raw, still tender from the bench. It hurt—badly. Not the dull ache of stretched muscle, but sharp, fresh pain layered over trauma. I whimpered, my body flinching with every blow, even as I stayed bound, exposed, helpless beneath him.
“Still sore?” Sean growled, voice dripping with satisfaction. “Good. I want you to remember what happens when you disappoint me. I want you to feel it every time I use this ass.”
The next thrust was merciless. Deep. Bone-jarring.
Tears sprang to my eyes. It was too much. And yet...
My cock twitched in its cage.
Sean saw it.
“Oh, you like that?” he sneered. “Of course you do. You’re learning, aren’t you? That my pleasure sometimes means your pain. That the way I fuck will never be soft. Never be gentle. Not unless I want it to be, and with you, I don’t.”
I sobbed quietly, more from the overload than anything else. Every nerve ending was on fire, every slap echoing through the pain already etched into my skin.
And yet... I didn’t want it to stop.
Sean leaned forward, dragging his nails lightly down the side of my ribs, then bracing himself again for another punishing rhythm.
The words didn’t come this time. Not from him. Not in that cruel, instructive tone he liked to use.
What came instead was understanding.
It sank in slowly, like the throb of bruises that wouldn’t fade. This, this rawness, this pain, wasn’t incidental. It wasn’t a byproduct. It wasn’t even cruel. It was part of what turned him on. Part of what fueled him. My suffering made his cock harder. My winces, my shudders, the way my breath caught in my throat when the sting flared, it all drove him to fuck me deeper. Harder. Rougher.
I hadn’t fully grasped it until now.
He enjoyed the contrast. The tension between soft flesh and sharp pain. Between obedience and torment. Between the part of me that whimpered and the part of me that begged for more.
And I—God help me—I was learning to live in that space. And loving it.
Not just because of the pleasure. Not just because of the physical heat blooming low in my belly or the secret thrill of being taken. But because it pleased him. Because my pain lit something in him that I’d never seen in anyone else, a hunger that ran deeper than lust. A satisfaction that was almost serene.
I realized then: if I wanted to serve him, truly serve him, I’d have to learn to live in that intersection. To let pain and pleasure blur until they became indistinguishable. To let his cruelty brand itself into me, not as punishment, but as purpose.
Because pleasing him meant staying close to him. Because every time I cried out beneath him, every time I took what he gave without flinching, I earned another moment in his presence, another flicker of approval, another moment with him I could call mine—even if only briefly.
The pain was part of it. But deeper still was the way it drew us together, my suffering becoming his pleasure, his pleasure becoming the only thing I wanted to chase.
If this was the only way to be with him, then I would learn to take it. To crave it. Because pleasing Sean wasn’t just a duty. It was a lifeline.
And then, without warning, he slammed into me again, harder than before, hard enough to flatten me into the mattress and knock the air from my lungs. The sound of skin slapping echoed through the room, wet and obscene, followed by the ragged grunt of his satisfaction. My hole stretched wide to take him, the brutal fullness nearly too much, his cock thick and long and unforgiving as it drove into me with the force of a piledriver.
He didn’t pause.
He fucked me through the shock. Short, ruthless thrusts that bounced my body in the restraints, the head of his cock dragging across raw nerve endings, the ridge of it catching against my inner walls with every plunge. I could feel everything, the weight of him pressing down, the heat of his sweat dripping onto my back, the pulse of his cock as it sawed through me like it had every right to live there.
My jaw slackened with the force of it, mind shattering around the pain and pleasure.
The fragile silence of my thoughts disintegrated under the onslaught. He didn’t just bring me back into the moment. He dragged me into it by force, thrust by thrust, until all I could do was tremble, moan, and exist entirely as a vessel for his desire.
Every thrust brought a fresh wave of sensation, the rigid length of Sean’s cock driving deep and unforgiving inside me, splitting me open, reshaping me with every stroke. I could feel the thick, relentless pressure as he pushed deeper, harder, stretching me wider than I thought possible. Each time he withdrew, my body clenched instinctively, clinging desperately to him, craving the fullness he provided even as it overwhelmed me.
He angled his hips slightly, hitting a spot inside that sent jolts of sharp pleasure radiating through my body, mingling perfectly with the pain. My mind spiraled, unable to settle, unable to find equilibrium as I surrendered to the relentless invasion. Sean’s cock was hot, demanding, relentless, an unyielding force that held me captive, reminding me constantly of my place beneath him, my purpose as nothing more than a vessel for his pleasure.
“This ass is mine,” Sean growled, his voice heavy with dark satisfaction. “It’s not a part of you anymore. It’s a thing I own. A thing I use. And I’ll do whatever I want with it, whenever I feel like it.”
He slammed into me again, a vicious thrust that made me cry out, his cock punching deep enough to make my legs twitch.
“I’ll fill it. Slap it. Stretch it until it forgets anyone else’s touch.”
His hand came down hard, three rapid, stinging slaps that set the bruises singing. I twisted in the cuffs, helpless against it.
“You feel that sting? That’s how you know it’s being used right. Not gently. Not kindly. Fucked. Controlled. Owned.”
Another thrust. Another slap. My body couldn’t tell the difference anymore between pain and pleasure, it all blurred into one sensation: being possessed.
He slammed into me again, making me gasp. “That’s all it needs to do. Because it belongs to me. I decide what gets in, when, and how deep.”
Another thrust, then a hard slap across my ass that made me cry out. “And right now, I’ve decided it needs to be used. Fucked. Harrrrd.”
He drew out that last word as if there was any doubt as to what was happening.
He punctuated the words with a brutal slap across my ass. I cried out, the pain white-hot, the burn landing directly over the earlier bruising. My body jerked in its restraints.
“Look at this little cock,” Sean sneered, gripping the cage roughly, his fingers tightening until I gasped. “Worthless. Completely useless. The only reason it's not covered up is because I enjoy seeing it struggle and twitch, knowing it'll never get the satisfaction it begs for.”
He slapped my ass hard. “This is what matters. This is what you were made for.”
Another slap, sharp and fast, ringing loud in the room.
“Your tight little holes are the only parts of you I need. The rest? Just fluff. Just noise. You’re not a man anymore, you’re my hole. My thing. My fuck-pet.”
I whimpered into the sheets, face flushed, heart pounding.
His hips surged forward again, his cock bottoming out so hard I saw stars.
“You feel that gnawing inside you?” Sean said, his voice low, thick with heat. “That’s what happens when a man owns you. When every inch of you answers to me.”
He slapped my ass again, once, twice, each blow harder than the last. I gasped, the pain sharp and immediate, flaring hot across skin already battered from the night’s earlier punishment.
“This body isn’t yours anymore,” he growled, his hand gripping my waist, steadying me. “Not your ass. Not your mouth. Not your thoughts. It all belongs to me now.”
He slammed in again, deeper this time, punishing, grinding. Another slap followed, then another, quick and brutal.
“I’ll use you how I want, when I want. You don’t get a say. You don’t get relief. You get fucked. You get claimed.”
The rhythm intensified—thrust, slap, breathless groan. I couldn’t separate one from the next. It was all him, all domination.
“You’re my hole, my toy, my property,” he hissed, and the next thrust drove the words deeper than flesh ever could.
I sobbed, everything inside me burning. The pleasure, the pain, the shame, they churned together, leaving me weightless, mind fraying at the edges.
“And when you cry for me,” Sean whispered into my ear, suddenly cruel and quiet again, “I want it to be because you know this is your purpose.”
And the worst part was—I wanted him to be right.
Sean shifted, pulling me tighter against him, his thighs pressing firmly into mine. Then, suddenly, he began to thrust again—fast, shallow, relentless strokes, each quick movement driving his cock mercilessly into my hole. The pace was frantic, almost animalistic, each rapid thrust accompanied by the loud, obscene slap of skin on skin, reverberating through the quiet room.
“That's it,” he groaned, his voice strained with pleasure. “Take every fucking inch, Blake. Feel me consume you.”
My body jolted uncontrollably with each punishing thrust. The friction, overwhelming and relentless, sent pulses of aching pleasure through me, mingling sharply with lingering pain. My cock strained desperately within its cage, trapped, throbbing uselessly as Sean fucked me harder, deeper, with each passing second.
Sean’s hand cracked sharply against my already tender ass again, reigniting the bruised skin, stoking the flames of pain and pleasure higher. I whimpered, eyes squeezed shut, the intensity nearly unbearable. Yet my body responded instinctively, betraying my desperation as precum began to leak helplessly from the cage, dripping slowly onto the sheets beneath me.
Sean noticed instantly, his laughter dark and triumphant. “Look at you,” he taunted breathlessly, gripping my hips tighter, driving his cock even deeper into me. “Leaking like the pathetic slut you are, just from getting fucked hard. I barely touched your worthless cock, and it’s dripping. You can't hide how much you love being owned, used, and claimed by me.”
He was right again.
He thrust again, harder still, each rapid movement stealing my breath, eroding my resistance further. My body surrendered entirely, caught helplessly in the intense, humiliating pleasure of being utterly dominated, utterly used.
Then Sean changed it up.
He pulled back—slowly, so slowly—drawing his cock out until only the swollen tip remained lodged at my entrance. I held my breath, every nerve bracing. Then he slammed in.
The suddenness of it stole the air from my lungs. I gasped, my body jolting, legs straining involuntarily against the cuffs.
Again, he pulled back, pausing with infuriating precision at the very edge of penetration. Again, he slammed in.
The impact rocked through me. There was nothing graceful about it—just raw force, raw possession. Every withdrawal felt like being emptied. Every thrust felt like being filled beyond capacity.
“Yeah,” he hissed. “This is how I break you in. One brutal stroke at a time. Until this hole knows nothing but the shape of me.”
He continued the brutal rhythm, out almost completely, then crashing back in with a wet, savage sound that left me whining into the mattress.
My muscles clenched helplessly around him, trying to resist, to hold him in, to ease the onslaught, but it was no use. He was relentless, his breathing ragged, his hands digging into my hips.
“This way you can feel every inch of me.” he grunted. “Every ridge, every vein. I want you to remember it. I want your body to burn with the memory of what it means to be fucked by me.”
I moaned, too far gone to reply, to do anything but take it.
And then, abruptly, he changed again.
He leaned into me, bracing his weight, and resumed his earlier pace. Quick, staccato strokes that jackhammered into me. The sudden switch from measured brutality to machine-gun intensity made my entire body seize up, overloaded with sensation.
He was fucking me like he was trying to drive the breath from my lungs.
“God, you feel good,” he snarled. “So tight—still. Even now. Like your body doesn’t want to let go of me. Like it knows I’m the only one who gets to be here.”
His balls slapped against me. My skin felt raw. Sweat slicked our bodies. I could hear my own muffled moans, constant, cracked at the edges.
“I could fuck you like this forever,” he growled. “Never stop. Just use you again and again and again until your brain can’t hold a single thought but how to beg me for more.”
I trembled beneath him, helpless against the force of it.
Then he shifted back.
The thrusts slowed. Became long. Deep. Deliberate.
He drew out of me almost completely—again—only to plunge back in with an obscene slickness that made my toes curl. His whole body rolled with it, languid but powerful, making me feel every inch as if it were the first time. He was demonstrating the power of his muscular, athletic body; there was no limit to what he could give and this night there was no limit to what I was willing to take.
Each stroke now was a statement. A possession. A brand.
Sean groaned behind me, breath ragged. "Cock’s getting dry," he muttered. "Time to lube up."
He pulled out suddenly, the abrupt absence making me flinch. I barely had time to catch my breath before he moved around to the head of the bed. My arms, still bound at the corners, left me unable to move or turn, but Sean didn’t need me to. He gripped my hair, tilted my head back at an awkward angle, and brought his cock to my lips.
The position was humiliating, strained, uncomfortable. I was face-down, arms outstretched, neck craned, mouth open like a hungering pet. And still, I opened for him.
He guided his cock to my mouth, thick and warm, slick with spit and my own scent. The taste of my ass was unmistakable. There was no room for pretense, no illusion of comfort or grace. This was raw. Physical. Utterly degrading—and completely real.
He bent down low, one knee planted on the mattress, the other foot on the floor for leverage. His hand gripped the back of my neck, guiding my head toward his cock—still slick from fucking my hole, the thick shaft glistening with spit and sweat and more. My mouth was inches away.
"Open."
I obeyed.
He fed it in slowly, but there was no gentleness in the act, just calculated control. The position was awful—my neck bent too far, my shoulders pulled taut by the restraints—but I took him as best I could, tongue working around the rigid, heat-slicked head of his cock.
The taste was unmistakable. I could still feel the echo of him inside me, and now he was forcing that memory onto my tongue.
"Suck it clean," he growled. "Get it nice and wet for your hole."
I gagged slightly as he pushed deeper, the angle making it hard to breathe. My jaw ached. My eyes watered. And yet, I kept going.
Because I knew what he expected.
Because I knew it pleased him.
Because it was Sean.
This was sex with him. Awkward. Sweaty. Messy. Full of pain and sweat and humiliation and effort. It was the furthest thing from romantic.
And yet, it was the most intimate thing I’d ever experienced.
Because every time I gagged on his cock, every time my lungs screamed for air and I kept going, I felt more his.
More useful. More claimed.
More wanted.
I’d never felt this way with anyone else.
So I sucked harder, my lips sealing tight around the girth, my tongue swirling obediently as he used my mouth to coat himself in spit. My cheeks hollowed with effort as I worked his shaft, tasting the bitter remnants of sweat and my own ass as I struggled to please him.
Sean began to move his hips, shallowly at first, then with more confidence, fucking my mouth with short, deliberate thrusts. The tip of his cock tapped the back of my throat over and over, and I fought not to gag, the ache in my jaw intensifying with every pass.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice thick. “Just like that. Keep your mouth open and let me use it.”
He guided the rhythm, holding my head steady, using my face as a tool, a fleshlight, nothing more. Spit gathered at the corners of my lips, dribbling down my chin, warm and sticky.
The deeper he went, the more I could feel the curve of him pressing into the soft palate at the back of my mouth. The fit was brutal, unyielding, but the praise in his voice spurred me on.
“Good boy,” he grunted. “Suck your Master’s cock like it’s the only thing you need to live.”
And when he pulled out with a wet pop, a string of saliva and his own slick trailing between us, I looked up at him with flushed cheeks and sore eyes and a heart thudding painfully hard in my chest.
And I wanted nothing more than to feel him inside me again.
Sean didn’t make me wait. He moved back down the length of the bed, his hand dragging across my flank before his cock pressed against my hole once more, now freshly wet with my spit.
“Time to finish what I started,” he muttered, and drove himself in with a brutal, unforgiving thrust.
There was no tenderness in it. No gradual build-up. He fucked me like a man possessed, an animal finally let loose, his breath ragged, his rhythm unrelenting. The tempo was wild, feral, faster than anything before. Each thrust felt like a hammer blow, rocking my body in the restraints, slamming my hips into the mattress again and again.
I could hardly breathe. The air was thick with sweat and musk, my face buried in the sheets as Sean’s cock carved into me over and over, each stroke fast and shallow, punching directly into the tightest part of me.
My body screamed from the onslaught, every nerve ending alight with sensation, sharp, blinding pain laced with euphoria. My hole felt swollen, raw, battered, and yet it clenched around him greedily, trying to hold onto every frantic inch.
His hands gripped my hips so hard I could already feel the bruises forming. He used my body like it was built for this, like it had been shaped, trained, perfected just to take him like this. The speed was terrifying. Uncontrolled. His pelvis smacked against me so fast it was like a blur, every muscle in his body straining, shuddering with force.
I moaned openly now, loud, helpless, desperate sounds pouring from my throat as my cock leaked freely into the soaked sheets below.
And even as pain flared across every part of me, even as my jaw trembled and my wrists ached in their bonds, even as my legs twitched from exhaustion and overstimulation, I knew I didn’t want him to stop.
It was the best sex of my life.
It was everything I had never known I needed. Everything I never thought I would crave. This intensity. This helplessness. This feeling of being utterly owned, ruined, loved in a way that had nothing to do with softness.
Just Sean. Just his cock. Just this connection.
And when he groaned again, hips slamming forward with another burst of inhuman speed, I surrendered to it completely.
To the pain.
To the pleasure.
To the man who made them one and the same.
Every thrust of his cock felt like a truth I hadn’t known how to name before. This wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just submission. It was something deeper—primal, honest, terrifying. I thought of every man who had come before Sean, every so-called Dom who had tied me up with shaky hands, who had whispered rehearsed lines, who had claimed dominance but delivered only performance. They’d wanted to be seen as masters but had never truly taken control.
Not like this. Not like him.
Sean didn’t posture. He didn’t pretend. He saw through me, through my defenses, through the masks I wore even in bed. He didn’t need performance. He needed obedience. He needed surrender. And I gave it to him, not because he demanded it, but because he made me need to.
His cock carved that truth into me with every thrust. He didn’t just fuck my body. He laid claim to something deeper—something I didn’t even know I’d kept hidden. He fucked like he was reaching for my soul, and in those moments, I was sure he had it.
It was the best sex I’d ever had, I thought again.
Not because it was gentle. Not because it was rough. But because it was him. Because it was his cock. His words. His control. His sweat dripping onto my skin. His voice in my ear telling me what I was.
A hole.
A possession.
His.
I had never felt so full. So raw. So alive.
The pain heightened everything—the raw stretch of my hole, the bruises on my hips from his grip, the ache in my shoulders from the restraints. It was all real. Immediate. Honest.
I welcomed it. I welcomed the fact that I had no say in how I was used. That I was bound, helpless, remade with every slam of his hips. That my pleasure didn’t matter—and that was exactly what made it real.
But that didn’t mean I wasn’t pleasured. Sean knew how to fuck a man, truly fuck him, in a way that defied his age. Twenty-seven, and yet he carried the weight and experience of someone who had spent a lifetime learning bodies, breaking them down, building them back up to serve. His cock struck every nerve, every weak point, as though my anatomy had been designed to wrap around him.
I felt it in the way his hips moved, the way he ground against my prostate with deliberate motions like the gears in a watch, the way he seemed to know exactly when I was about to break—and then pushed me past it anyway. He didn’t chase orgasms; he chased control, chased the deep trembling surrender that only the most dominant lovers could coax from someone. And in that pursuit, he gave me something more intense, more enduring than any climax I’d ever known.
I realized then that Sean wasn’t just using me. He was rewriting me from the inside out—and he knew exactly what he was doing.
Because this wasn’t about getting off. It was about belonging.
And God help me, I belonged to him.
"You’re so fucking sexy like this," Sean muttered, his voice low and fervent, as though it had snuck past his usual control. "All bound up. Ass red and open for me. Helpless and leaking. That body was made to be fucked."
He ran a hand possessively along my spine, then gripped my hips tightly. "But it’s not just your ass. It’s you. All of you. You’re beautiful, Blake—when you're struggling, when you're submitting. It’s in the way your back arches, the way you moan when I hit the right spot, the way you go quiet when you’re trying not to break. That’s what gets me off. That’s what keeps me hard."
His cock twitched inside me with the confession, and I gasped, stunned by the intensity in his voice.
He gave a slow, bruising thrust. "Every part of you—your body, your sounds, the way you surrender. It’s mine. And it’s fucking perfect."
Then the softness vanished. Sean’s hands clamped hard onto my hips, and he began to thrust again—this time with brutal intent. There was no buildup. No patience. Just raw, punishing speed.
His breath turned feral, grunts tearing from his throat as he pounded into me with everything he had left. The bed shook beneath us. His thighs slapped against mine with animalistic rhythm, his cock pistoning deep into my body again and again until I couldn’t tell whether the tears on my face came from pain, pleasure, or pure sensory overload.
“You were made for this,” he growled, voice harsh and broken with desire. “Fucked out and stretched wide. Bent over and wrecked. You’re nothing but a sheath for my cock—tight and perfect and mine."
Another slam, then another. I could hear the wet slick of my hole being used, over and over, stretched around his cock like it was molded to him. I cried out, wordless, open, gone.
He was relentless now, chasing something deeper than just release. Chasing the moment when I would give up even the last fragments of resistance and become exactly what he wanted, what I knew I already was.
“Take it,” he snarled. “Take all of it. Take everything I give you until you can’t even think anymore. Just moan, just whimper, just be my fuck-toy until I’ve filled you with everything I’ve got.”
The tension in his body peaked. His rhythm grew erratic. My hole pulsed and clenched helplessly as the moment built, unbearable in its intensity.
And still, I wanted more.
Sean’s grip on my hips tightened, fingers digging in with a force that would leave marks. He was panting now, short, guttural breaths that punctuated the wet, furious slap of his thighs against mine. His cock rammed into me like a battering ram, each thrust brutal, feral, claiming every inch of my insides as though trying to leave his shape carved into my core.
He said nothing for a moment—just fucked me harder, faster. His breath whistled through gritted teeth, animalistic and strained.
Then came the words, ragged and low.
“God, I could keep going like this,” he groaned. “Fuck you until you can’t walk. Until you forget how to speak. Just moan for me, over and over, while I ruin you.”
He adjusted his angle, and suddenly every stroke hit dead-on against my prostate. The sound I made was somewhere between a sob and a moan, my body twitching with every impact. The pleasure was maddening. My cock throbbed behind its cage, leaking steadily, uncontrollably.
“I can feel it in you.” he grunted, voice now just above a growl. “No one will ever touch you again without you thinking of this. Of me. My cock. My rules.”
He pulled back and slammed in again, the bed jerking under us. I could hear the wet slap of my hole being used, the high pitch of the mattress springs struggling to hold us. Sean was everywhere—his hands, his breath, his sweat slicking against my back, his cock pounding into me so hard it felt like I could feel him in my chest.
My head spun.
He bent down lower over me, his chest pressed to my back, his mouth brushing my ear.
“You’re mine, Blake. Every inch of you. Every whimper, every clench of this greedy little hole
His words weren’t whispers anymore. They were a growl, something primal and guttural. He didn’t just say them, he meant them, like a brand being seared into my spine.
Then his hands came alive again.
He raked his nails down my back, from the nape of my neck to the small of my spine, each stroke carving heat into my skin. He gripped my hips hard enough to bruise, to dent, and then slid his hand upward, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking my head up.
“Show me your face when I wreck you,” he snarled.
The angle hurt—neck twisted, arms stretched taut in the restraints—but I obeyed, jaw slack, eyes glazed, my mouth open in a moan too wrecked to shape words.
“Good boy,” Sean hissed, and then he fucked me harder.
His pace went from punishing to savage. He was a machine now—mindless, insatiable. His cock rammed in and out of me, slamming through every muscle, every wall, every ounce of resistance I didn’t even know I still had.
“Your hole’s gripping me like a possessive bitch,” he panted. “Clinging to me like a fucking addiction. So. Tight.”
He let go of my hair only to plant both hands on my ass, spreading me wide, thumbs pressing into bruises he’d already left hours ago.
“This ass,” he said, voice thick. “It was made for me. Built to take my cock. Built to break on it.”
Another thrust, this one so deep I cried out. Sean moaned with me, his breath shaking.
“You’re shaking. That’s your body giving up. Surrendering. And you love it.”
My body convulsed beneath him. My cock throbbed behind the cage, aching and useless, dripping with unspent desire.
He spat down, the mess joining sweat and cum and spit that already soaked us.
“Gonna fill you,” he groaned. “So deep it leaks for hours. So much you taste it when you moan.”
The wet sounds of our bodies filled the room, obscene and endless. Sean was panting now, nearing the edge. His fingers dug into my waist again, using me like a handle, like furniture.
He pulled back one last time and slammed in with a roar, body going rigid, hips jerking wildly.
And then he came.
Hot. Hard. Endless.
The first pulse was blinding.
Sean stayed fully buried, his cock twitching inside me as his cum surged forth in thick, heavy waves. I could feel it—feel the heat of it spilling into my stretched, raw hole. It coated my insides, dense and warm, like a claim being tattooed deep into muscle and nerve. My body clenched around him instinctively, greedily, holding him there, milking him for every drop.
More came.
His cock throbbed with every spurt, thick shaft pulsing against my inner walls, sending sharp, overwhelming jolts through my overstimulated nerves. It was too much, too full, too hot, too deep, and still it kept coming. My abdomen fluttered, my hole pulsed, and I could feel the pressure build as Sean stuffed me full of his load.
I gasped into the sheets, face flushed, skin on fire. I could feel it leaking out around the base of his cock, oozing down between my thighs, smeared and glistening. But still he didn’t pull out.
Instead, he began to move again.
Slow at first, grinding, shallow rolls of his hips that churned the hot slick inside me, turning the thick flood of his cum into a fresh, fluid lube. I moaned, high and trembling, as his cock stirred through the mess he’d left behind. Every inch of him glided more easily now, the glide wet and obscene, accompanied by the low, syrupy squelch of my overstretched hole being re-entered again and again.
It felt different now, fuller, messier, impossibly intimate. I could feel his cum shift with every thrust, pushed deeper by the sheer girth of his cock. It leaked around him with each movement, dribbling from my hole, warm and slippery, slicking the insides of my thighs.
Sean groaned above me. “Fuck, that’s perfect,” he growled. “So warm. So full. You were made for this—made to take every drop I give you.”
He thrust deeper now, with purpose, the glide smoother, more primal. I clenched around him without meaning to, and he hissed through his teeth, fucking harder in response.
The sensation was overwhelming—his cock coated with his own seed, using it to keep driving into me like I was nothing but a breeding hole to be refilled at will.
And I couldn’t deny how good it felt. How my body responded. How my mind fuzzed with submission and the raw, obscene intimacy of being used like this—and wanting it more than anything.
He held himself there, cock swollen, twitching, locked inside like he belonged in me. Because he did.
And I could feel him. Every throb. Every twitch. Every breath that rattled from his chest and shivered down his spine into mine.
It was the most possessed I had ever felt.
And it was exactly what I craved.
He stayed buried deep, cock pulsing inside me, leaking into every part of me he’d claimed as his own.
And I—still bound, still his—shuddered around him, mind unraveling with a single, quiet truth:
I’d never been more his than I was in that moment.
Sean collapsed over me, still buried deep, his cock softening slowly inside my cum-filled hole. His chest pressed down on my back, his weight heavy, grounding. The air between us was thick and damp, saturated with the scent of sweat and sex and surrender.
His breath came in shallow bursts against my ear, hot and uneven, each exhale brushing over my skin like a mark I couldn’t see but could feel everywhere. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move, except for one hand, which found its way to the back of my head.
Fingers tangled in my hair, not yanking, not pulling now. Just holding. Stroking. Possessive. Not gentle, but no longer cruel.
His sweat dripped from his neck onto my back, trailing slowly across my spine, mingling with the residue of what he'd done to me. It soaked into the sheets, into my skin, into me.
He stayed there for a long time, unmoving, like he was trying to memorize how I felt underneath him.
Not once did he say anything soft.
But his body said it all.
I was his. And he wasn't letting go.
Eventually, I felt the shift.
Sean’s weight lifted slightly, his cock softening but still lodged inside me. Then, with an unhurried pull, he began to withdraw. Inch by inch, I felt the emptiness open behind him, the slick stretch of my hole clinging to his retreating length. When the head finally slipped free, I let out an involuntary moan—a soft, broken sound of loss that escaped before I could stop it.
Sean chuckled behind me, the sound dark and knowing. “Miss it already?”
I blushed into the sheets, ashamed by how true it was.
A sharp slap landed on my ass, jolting me from the haze. The sting of it lit the bruises already bloomed across my skin.
“You continue to serve me well,” he said, “and I’ll fuck this hole again. And again. And again. Until you learn how to take it exactly how I like it.”
I moaned again, this time not just from longing, but from need. From hope. From devotion.
Because in those words—in that casual, possessive promise of more—I heard something else. Continuity. Intent. A future. The idea that this wouldn’t be the end, that Sean wanted to keep using me, keep having me, wasn’t just degrading, it was electrifying.
Maybe it wasn’t tenderness. Maybe it wasn’t affection. But the promise of more, of being used again, of being kept, wrapped itself around my chest and squeezed in a way I didn’t expect.
He could’ve fucked me once and cast me aside. But he didn’t. He was already thinking of the next time.
And in that, I felt something stir, something quiet and persistent. Not certainty, not longing given voice, but a subtle awareness that this wasn’t final. That there might be more. The promise of being used again, of being kept close, clung to me like the lingering ache in my hole.
I didn’t dare name it. But I didn’t want it to fade.
Sean moved around the bed, unhurried. I heard the shift of his weight, the soft pad of his feet on the floorboards. Then he was near my head, and I felt his hand curl under my jaw, tilting my face upward.
His cock, still slick with cum and sweat and the heat of what we’d just done, brushed against my lips. Not a word spoken.
I opened.
He pushed into my mouth, slow and steady. I tasted it all—my own body, his release, the salty aftermath of our joining. The bitterness coated my tongue, warm and thick. My throat tightened with the first few strokes, but I adjusted, letting him fuck my mouth with the same authority he’d just used to ruin my hole.
His hand slid into my hair again, holding me in place, not painfully, just firmly. Guiding. Claiming.
“Clean me,” he said, voice low and satisfied.
I obeyed, tongue working dutifully around the shaft, lips forming a tight seal as I sucked him clean, drawing every trace of the act from his skin. The taste was thick, earthy, my own body mingled with his, clinging to every ridge and vein of his cock. I dragged my tongue along the underside, tracing that sensitive line with deliberate pressure, feeling him twitch against my palate.
His hand rested in my hair, fingers curling loosely at first, then tightening as I took him deeper. He wasn't fully hard, but his cock still held weight and presence, and the act of sucking it—so soon after it had been buried inside me—felt deeply degrading, deeply right.
Sean let out a low hum of approval. "Look at you," he said. "Sucking down my filth like you were born for it. Like it was an act of worship for you."
I moaned around him, the sound muffled by the length in my mouth. He pulled back slightly, just enough to let me breathe, then pressed forward again, guiding the head back past my lips.
My jaw ached, but I kept my rhythm, tongue circling, cheeks hollowing, lips tight. I could feel the texture of him, the residual slick that coated every inch, the flavor that turned my stomach and hardened my cock all at once.
Sean’s grip in my hair grew firmer, angling my head to his liking. “Dirty little mouth,” he murmured. “You’re tasting your own hole on me. You’re sucking down the cum you just got bred with. And you’re loving it.”
I was. I couldn’t help it. Every word, every movement, drove me deeper into that spiral of submission.
He began to rock gently into my mouth, shallow thrusts that didn’t seek depth, just control. His shaft grew slicker with every pass, my spit mixing with what he’d already spilled. I worked my tongue beneath the head, lapping with careful attention, savoring the way he responded, his breath catching, his fingers flexing in my hair.
"You know what you are now, don’t you?" he said, his voice low and amused. "You’re my cleanup crew. My little cum cleaner. I ruin you, and you thank me by licking it up."
A flush spread across my face, but I didn’t slow. I didn’t stop.
His cock pulsed again as I sucked the last remnants from his skin. I dragged my tongue along the underside one final time, chasing a smear of slick near the base, then pressed my lips to the head in a kiss that felt more like a vow.
He pulled back, slowly, deliberately, his cock slipping from my mouth with a wet sound that echoed louder than it should have.
And when I looked up at him, eyes glassy, lips parted, breath heavy, I knew I’d done exactly what he wanted.
It was ritual now, expected. His right.
When he stepped away, I stayed still, waiting for his next move. He returned to the side of the bed and, without a word, began undoing the restraints at my wrists and ankles. My muscles ached as they released from the tension of being held so long, the dull throb of overstimulation still radiating from every point he’d touched.
Sean didn’t speak as he helped me up. He just guided me, firm and sure, toward the cage. My knees were weak, my thighs sticky with his cum, my ass still loose and leaking from the brutal fuck he'd delivered. He opened the cage door.
“In,” he said.
I climbed in slowly, crawling past the sparse padding, folding my sore body into the cramped space. The metal felt cooler than I remembered, but not unfamiliar. The bars framed me like they had earlier that night—limiting, humbling. Honest.
The door closed behind me with a soft clang, and then the click of the lock.
Sean stood for a moment, towering above me. I looked up at him through the bars, eyes wide, chest still heaving faintly.
He turned without a word and climbed into the bed.
The silence between us wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick with finality—this phase, for now, was over.
He pulled the covers over himself, the mattress shifting slightly under his weight. He didn’t look at me again.
But I watched him.
The strong lines of his back. The rise and fall of his breath. The presence of him, commanding even at rest.
I settled into the cage, curling against the thin bedding, my body sore but humming. I could still feel the ache in my jaw, the sting across my ass, the slow drip between my thighs.
My thoughts drifted.
To how intense it had been.
How animalistic.
How perfect.
I wondered what I would have to do to earn a place in that bed. What it would take for him to see me as more than just a hole to be used, a body to be disciplined.
But even that thought—treacherous as it was—couldn’t dim the fire in my chest.
Because whatever he gave me, however he gave it, I wanted more.
Even now, lying curled in the cage, I could still feel him. His sweat on my back. The burn of his hands on my skin. The fullness of him that lingered, phantom-like, inside me.
And in the silence of the dark, with his breath soft and steady in the bed above, I found myself longing. Not just for the next use. But for him. For the sound of his voice. For the feel of his hands—rough or kind. For the way he looked at me like I was already his before I had a chance to offer myself.
That want sat heavy in my chest as I drifted toward sleep. The ache of it twined with the bruises, with the soreness, with the warmth still trickling down the backs of my thighs.
And when my eyes finally closed, my dreams were full of him, his scent, his voice, his cock, repeating their claim over and over again.
“Mine.”
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