The moment of surrender

It was the moment you were waiting for. The moment of surrender.

It had started with a gym meeting, as it usually did with you. You were shy – because how could you not be, with that blond god in front of you. You didn’t mind when he corrected you on form, in front of all your friends, leaving you a bit red faced.

You didn’t even mind the possessive, sweaty arm on your shoulder as he guided you out of the gym – you freshly washed, him still reeking of sweat in his compression gear. Something that you hated in others, but with him just made you salivate.

Your dick was doing the thinking for you. It rationalised, in a short discussion with your brain, that you could perhaps find a way a way of keeping your “total top” reputation later on, after you had a taste of that mountain of a man.

You had gone into your house prepared for a night of submission. Open to it. Craving for it in a sense, because the situation was as unreal as the man himself. A golden god.

He sat down, and asked for a drink, which you promptly served. You then talked about mindless drivel while he silently looked at you. Your gaze kept dropping to his bulge, that grew considerably every time you betrayed yourself and looked.

Your mouth watered.

And then he asked for another drink. Which you poured and he knocked back. And another.

When he stood up and stripped his shirt, mussing his hair and flexing his pecs, you fell silent and dry mouthed. When he approached with the grace of a panther on the prowl, your dick stiffened so hard that your bulge became the thing that comedy skits are written about – stretching your trousers at a weird level, dick making a wet spot on the fabric.

But when he kneeled in front of you and nuzzled his face against it, covering the fabric with his own spit? Then the universe just exploded with surprise and possibilities.

Before the night was out, you had fed him the load you had shot on his handsome face, with swift swipes of your fingers. The creamy skin of his hips bore your finger marks, and his ass was red from spanking. He left sheepish, justifying his behaviour with alcohol.

Then a pattern was set. A meet up, and then a drink, and then another. And at the end of it you would always find your pubes nestled on his cleft chin, his tongue lapping the underside of your balls. Whether it be your house, or your car, or in one memorable time, an alley behind a bar while a football match raged. The memory of your roar of victory as you pressed yourself past the defences of his throat, as he stained his jeans without touching himself would be something you would carry to your grave.

And there you were today. Both in the hotel in which he was doing a photoshoot. You in the hotel room he had booked for you.

You were looking down at him from the balcony, flimsy curtain barely hiding your erection. He was pensive processing the impact of your ultimatum.

- This time – you had said, in the break he had had between the shoots – no alcohol. It’s just you and me. And you will have to ask for what you want.

Even from a distance you could see the gears turning in his head. No more excuses. He would be yours in bed willingly, he would admit his desire for you and what it made him want to do. The veiled threat of the end of the affair was unspoken, but it was real.

He was still so beautiful. Such a wonder to look at. All made of curves, like a Greek statue  

A thought made you smile. Lord knew that those muscles hadn’t grown from protein powder alone... In the veins of that Atlas of a man ran particles of you. Protein that had been broken down and re-used to build that stunning, flawless physique. Protein that he had sucked from the tap with a greed and enthusiasm that surprised you.

He looked up, breaking up your reverie. You pushed the curtain aside for a second. From the tip of your hard dick a long pulse of pre-cum fell to the floor.

He licked his lips, got up and marched towards the hotel. His gait was less self-assured, his shoulders were slightly hunched. He had a tentative smile on his face. And that moment, was as powerful to you as the roar of the fans as you came in his throat that time, at the back of the bar.

He had decided. He was yours. And finally you could be his.

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