The Reward
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
The soreness lingered for days.
Walking, sitting, even standing still—none of it let me forget what Sean had done to me. What he’d put inside me. What he’d taken out. I could still feel the slow stretch of him, the way my hole had ached after, the strange weight of him leaking out of me in the Uber like some quiet, private badge of ownership. I never reached for my cock anymore. Couldn’t. The cage throbbed constantly against my trousers, too tight, too present, too full of reminders. And the taste—faint traces of salt and sweat and power—never quite left my tongue.
But it wasn’t just the physical reminders that haunted me.
It was the silence.
After he dismissed me that night, Sean didn’t text. Didn’t call. Didn’t even look at me in the halls at work. Days passed like that—nothing but cold distance and the cage throbbing against my skin. No release. No reassurance. Just emptiness shaped like a man I couldn’t stop needing.
By Tuesday, I couldn’t focus on anything. Every spreadsheet blurred into nonsense. Every meeting was just a countdown until I might catch a glimpse of him. And when I did—when he passed by in the hallway or stepped into the elevator, flawless in his tailored suit—I’d catch a faint trace of his cologne and feel my knees weaken. I didn’t even want his attention.
I needed his use.
I needed to be reminded of what I was.
The message came at 3:07 p.m.
Come to my office. Now.
That was all it said.
Just reading the words made my breath catch. I stood up too quickly, nearly knocking my chair back. My hand trembled slightly as I adjusted my suit. The short walk to his office stretched before me like a gauntlet—every step heavy with anticipation, humiliation, and heat. I couldn't wait, I wanted nothing more.
His door was already ajar, just slightly. Open enough to invite me. Open enough to make me sweat.
I knocked once, lightly.
"Come in," came Sean’s voice—smooth, unhurried, absolutely in control.
I stepped inside. He was rising from behind his desk, slow and deliberate, and when his eyes met mine, it felt like being pierced. Stripped.
"Close the door," he said. "And lock it."
My fingers fumbled against the latch, the click of the lock loud in the silence. When I turned back around, he was already walking toward me.
"On your knees."
There was no edge to his voice. No impatience. Just quiet command. That made it worse.
I dropped instantly. The carpet pressed against my shins, my hands resting on my thighs. I lowered my eyes, already flushed, my pulse pounding in my throat.
Sean stopped in front of me. His presence loomed—solid, inevitable.
He was every inch the man who had dominated my thoughts: tall and imposing, his six-foot-two frame filling the room effortlessly. His tailored slacks clung to powerful thighs, the crisp white of his shirt stretched just slightly across a broad, athletic chest. Sunlight from the window caught in the tousled strands of his blonde hair, making him seem almost impossibly sharp-edged, golden. His tie hung loosely at his throat, a subtle hint of carelessness that only made him more devastating.
He reached down and tilted my chin up with rough fingers, forcing my gaze to meet his. His thumb pressed firmly into my cheek, not enough to bruise, but enough to claim.
"You’ve been an obedient little slut lately, haven’t you, Blake?"
His voice was thick with derision, but somewhere in it—barely audible—was something close to approval. Maybe. Or maybe I was just desperate to hear it.
"Yes, Master," I whispered. My throat felt dry. My voice shook.
Sean took a step closer. His crotch was directly in front of me now. The outline of his cock strained clearly against the fabric of his trousers.
"Maybe you deserve a reward," he murmured, more to himself than to me. His tone shifted—mocking, amused. "My cock is your reward, Blake. That’s what gets you through the day, isn’t it? The only thing you think about. Slutting around in your cage, daydreaming about choking on it."
I couldn’t hide the flush that bloomed across my cheeks. I couldn’t hide the way I shifted slightly on my knees.
"Yes, Master," I said again, quieter.
Sean’s hand gripped my hair, not painfully, but with absolute control.
"Say it louder."
"I… I crave your cock, Master," I stammered, heat rushing to my face. "I can’t stop thinking about it. Needing it."
He laughed softly, low and cruel. "Of course you can’t. You’re a cock-hungry little bitch. You’ve been trained for this. Dreaming about my cock stuffing your throat, humiliating yourself just to earn another taste. You live for it."
I nodded, shame flooding my chest, but also something darker—something deeper.
"Show me how desperate you are."
My hands trembled as I reached for his belt.
The leather was warm from his body heat, and it creaked softly under my fingers. I fumbled slightly in my eagerness, my breath catching as I worked the buckle free and lowered the zipper with reverent care.
His cock sprang free with a heavy, inevitable thud, thick and flushed, bobbing inches from my face.
The scent hit me instantly—musky, potent, laced with the sharp tang of sweat from a long day’s work. Raw masculinity. It coiled around my senses, flooding my brain, making me dizzy with need.
Sean’s fingers tangled roughly into my hair, gripping the strands close to the scalp. His hand was firm, merciless, a leash I had no hope of escaping.
"Open wide," he ordered, voice low and dangerous.
I obeyed instantly, parting my lips as far as they would go, my jaw already aching in anticipation.
Sean didn’t hesitate.
He thrust his cock into my mouth without warning, forcing my lips to stretch painfully wide. The thick head dragged across my tongue, pushing deeper until it nudged the back of my throat. I gagged reflexively, choking around the sudden invasion, but Sean only laughed—a dark, satisfied sound that vibrated through me like a current.
"You can take more, bitch," he sneered, thrusting deeper still.
I moaned around him, the sound wet and desperate. Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes as he began to fuck my mouth with steady, brutal strokes, forcing himself deeper with every thrust. My throat spasmed helplessly, trying and failing to accommodate his girth.
Saliva spilled freely from the corners of my lips, slicking my chin, matting my hair where Sean’s grip tightened.
Each time he withdrew slightly, I gasped raggedly through my nose, inhaling the thick, pungent scent of him—intoxicating, dizzying. Every breath was a reminder of my place, my purpose.
He thrust harder, faster, until his heavy balls slapped audibly against my chin with each stroke
The lewd, wet sounds of my choking filled the office, shameful and unmistakable.
Sean's cock filled my mouth, my throat, my mind—there was nothing else. Only him.
"Pathetic," Sean spat, shoving himself even deeper. "You gag like a fucking virgin. Maybe I need to break you in properly."
He tightened his grip on my hair and slammed forward, burying himself to the hilt.
My nose pressed against his pubic bone, the wiry hair scratchy against my cheeks.
I gagged violently, my throat clenching around him, eyes streaming uncontrollably. I clawed weakly at his thighs, panic clawing up my chest as my lungs burned for air.
Sean held me there.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t let me pull back.
Didn’t ease up.
He forced me to endure it—his cock jammed obscenely down my throat, limiting my breath, erasing everything but the raw, desperate need to obey.
My vision darkened at the edges, my hands scrabbling uselessly against him.
Just when I thought I would pass out, Sean finally yanked my head back, letting me collapse forward, gasping frantically, saliva and mucus dripping down my chin.
I had no time to recover.
Sean shoved himself back into my mouth, thrusting harder, crueler, using my throat like a fucktoy without pause or mercy.
"That's right," he growled, fucking my face with brutal rhythm. "Choke on it, slut. This is what you’re good for."
I moaned weakly around him, gagging again and again as he drove deeper, my throat convulsing around his cock. Tears blurred my vision, dripping freely down my cheeks. My jaw ached fiercely, stretched to its limits by his unrelenting size.
Sean’s pace was punishing, each thrust forcing sobbing, gagging sounds from my wrecked throat.
He barely gave me time to breathe, only pulling back far enough to hear me gasp before driving forward again, harder, deeper.
"Useless little cock-sleeve," he sneered above me, his voice thick with disdain and pleasure. "Nothing but a hole for me to fuck."
Each word landed like a slap.
Each thrust stole another piece of me.
And still, somewhere deep in the humiliation, the pain, the helplessness—was hunger.
Burning, gnawing, ravenous hunger to be used exactly like this.
Sean grabbed the back of my head with both hands now, holding me firmly as he began to piston brutally into my mouth. His cock slammed against the back of my throat again and again, saliva bubbling at the corners of my lips, streams of mucus trailing down my chin.
I gave myself over to it—surrendering completely, drowning in the ache and degradation, desperate to endure whatever he demanded of me.
Abruptly, Sean yanked his cock from my mouth, a wet pop filling the sudden silence. Saliva and mucus clung to my lips, trailing messily down my chin as I gasped for air, coughing weakly.
Before I could even think to move, his hand closed around my arm. He hauled me roughly to my feet, spinning me around and pushing me down hard onto his desk.
"On your back," he barked.
I scrambled to obey, lying back across the polished wood, my head dangling off the far edge. My heart pounded wildly as I lay exposed, vulnerable, trembling with anticipation and lust.
Sean loomed over me, his cock still glistening with spit, thick and unforgiving. It was obscene—long, veined, with a wide, flared head that throbbed visibly with each beat of his heart. The shaft was slick and heavy, jutting from a thatch of damp, pale-blond hair that framed it like something sculpted and powerful. His balls hung low and tight beneath it, pendulous and full, lightly glistening with sweat, the skin slightly flushed and tense with release. The musky scent rising off them was dizzying—raw, masculine, primal.
He gripped my jaw tightly, squeezing until my mouth fell open involuntarily.
"Relax your throat, slut," he growled.
And without warning, he drove his cock back into my mouth—harder, deeper than before.
The new angle was even more brutal. Gravity worked against me, pulling him deeper, faster, as he thrust relentlessly down my throat. I gagged violently, the sounds obscene and wet, my body convulsing as he used me with savage efficiency.
There was no mercy now.
Each thrust was a message. A claim. A reminder of what I was.
Sean held my head tightly, forcing me to take every inch. My vision blurred with tears, my lungs burned with every second I was denied air. Saliva and mucus streamed from my mouth and nose, pooling under me on the desk, a humiliating testament to my complete degradation.
"You love this," Sean sneered above me, his voice low and brutal. "You fucking love it. Being nothing more than a hole for me to use. A worthless cock-slut, desperate for any scrap of attention."
I whimpered helplessly around him, the sound vibrating against his shaft.
He rammed himself deeper, burying his cock to the hilt, my throat convulsing uselessly around him. I could feel my body starting to tremble uncontrollably from the strain, my muscles locking with each brutal stroke.
"Look at you," he hissed, slowing for a moment to watch the tears leaking steadily down my face, the drool soaking my neck and chest. "Fucking pathetic. You'd spend the entire day gagging on my cock, if I let you. Wouldn't you?"
I couldn't answer. I could only endure.
Sean chuckled darkly and resumed his savage rhythm, pounding into my throat with an intensity that bordered on violence. My body jolted with each thrust, every nerve ending lit with fire, every humiliating noise amplifying the totality of my submission.
The pace grew frantic.
Unrelenting.
Final.
I could feel him swelling, throbbing harder against my gagging throat.
"You're going to swallow every fucking drop," Sean snarled, voice thick with lust. "Not a single fucking drop wasted."
I tried to brace myself, tried to prepare—but there was no preparing for the moment he rammed himself down one final time, his cock pulsing violently against the back of my throat.
Sean groaned deep in his chest, fingers digging painfully into my jaw as he came—thick, hot ropes of cum shooting down my throat faster than I could swallow.
I choked, sputtered, but forced myself to gulp it down desperately, my body trembling with the effort, with the humiliation, with the helpless, broken need to obey.
When he finally pulled out, his cock slick and glistening, I collapsed back against the desk, gasping raggedly for air, tears streaking my flushed cheeks.
Sean stood over me, breathing heavily, watching with a cold, satisfied gleam in his eye.
"Clean it," he ordered curtly.
Weakly, I lifted my head and obediently licked him clean, my tongue trembling against his sensitive flesh, desperate to please.
When he was satisfied, Sean tucked himself back into his trousers, straightening his clothes with a casual ease that only deepened my sense of wreckage.
He looked down at me—wrecked, humiliated, sobbing quietly on the desk—and smirked.
"Good slut," he said, voice dripping with mockery and approval in equal measure. "Maybe there's hope for you yet."
"Thank you, Master," I rasped, my voice hoarse, broken, but filled with raw, desperate gratitude.
Sean adjusted his cuffs, as though nothing had happened, slipping back into the smooth, untouchable professionalism he wore like armor.
"Get yourself together," he said sharply. "Back to your desk. And remember who you belong to."
"Always, Master," I whispered, rising slowly on shaky legs.
I wiped my face clumsily, adjusting my clothes as best I could, trying to pull myself back into the shape of a man—though I knew, deep down, that I wasn't really one anymore. Not where Sean was concerned.
I belonged to him.
Completely.
And I would do anything—endure anything—for the privilege to stay that way.
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