Lines in the Sand
© Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
I stayed kneeling by Sean’s feet, my posture straight, hands resting lightly on my thighs, eyes lowered, not out of shame but because it was what I knew was expected. Sean hadn’t told me to stay like this, but he hadn’t told me to move either.
They watched TV for nearly an hour, lounging across the sectional like it was any other lazy afternoon, beers in hand, laughing at some trashy reality show. Jason’s socks were kicked off early, his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, toes splayed and relaxed. Sean said very little, his arm slung casually over the back of the couch. The only time either of them addressed me was when they needed something.
“Another round,” Sean said, tipping his bottle toward me.
“Get the chips, pig,” Jason added a few minutes later, without even glancing my way.
The word landed like a slap.
Pig.
No one had ever called me that before. Not until Jason and the rim chair. The sound of it scraped something raw inside me, tore straight through whatever fragile identity I had left. Not boy. Not slave. Not even Blake. Just pig. Filthy. Groveling. Less than human.
My cheeks burned as I stood, unsure whether the flush was from shame or something far worse, something needful. I hated it. I hated that the word made my caged cock twitch, that it echoed in my skull like some perverse accolade. I hated that I looked toward Sean, hoping—needing—to see his reaction.
But Sean didn’t correct him. He didn’t say a word.
That silence was worse than any insult. It meant consent. Approval. Permission.
And so I fetched the chips without protest, the word pig now lodged in my chest like a second name.
Each time, I rose quietly to obey, padding barefoot into the kitchen, still fully naked, still flushed from earlier. My cock remained caged, heavy and useless between my thighs. I could feel Jason’s eyes on me when I turned my back. Sometimes Sean’s too. But they didn’t speak to me, not in any real sense. I was background. Furniture. A tool that fetched and followed orders.
And yet, even in that silence, I yearned.
Sean looked so at ease, sprawled with one knee bent, lips curled into the faintest smirk. I caught him glancing at me once, not with cruelty, but with something far worse: complete control. The kind that didn’t need words. He knew what he was doing to me. He liked it.
Jason, meanwhile, barely masked his hunger. Every movement of mine seemed to amuse him. He kept adjusting himself beneath his gym shorts, his cock clearly half-hard for most of the episode, but made no move to hide it.
When the credits rolled on the second episode, Sean stretched slowly and drained the last of his beer. He set the bottle down with a click and turned to Jason.
“You still want another go?”
Jason smirked like a man offered dessert. “Hell yeah. I’ve been thinking about that little tongue all afternoon.”
Sean glanced down at me, then stood. “Blake. Go wait in the punishment room. Naked, kneeling. Hands behind your back. Eyes on the floor. Don’t move until we arrive.”
My heart kicked into gear. “Yes, Master,” I said quietly, already rising.
As I padded down the hall, the chill of the condo’s floors crept up my legs, sharpening the edge of anticipation. I passed the cage on the way and caught my reflection in the darkened glass of a side cabinet—naked, flushed, collared, caged. I looked exactly like what I was: a submissive being handed off.
Inside the punishment room, the air was cooler. Still. The bench and restraints were in their usual places. The rim chair had been cleaned and placed squarely in the center, already positioned like a stage piece waiting for its scene.
I knelt exactly as Sean had ordered—palms clasped behind my back, knees spread slightly, spine straight. My breath came shallow. I heard the low hum of their voices in the living room for a moment longer… then footsteps approaching.
Then the door opened.
The punishment room door creaked open, and I didn’t lift my eyes. I heard Jason’s footsteps first, confident, unhurried, followed by the more measured steps I already knew by sound alone: Sean.
They said nothing at first. I remained perfectly still, just as I’d been ordered. My skin buzzed with tension. I could feel their eyes on me, appraising, expectant.
Then Jason’s voice broke the silence.
“Look at that. Already in position.” He stepped into my peripheral vision. “Pig’s learning.”
There it was again—pig. The word landed with a humiliating finality, like a brand. Not slave, not pet, not boy. Just filth. Just animal. I should have hated it. Part of me did. But the caged throb between my legs said otherwise. And worse than the word itself was Sean’s silence. He didn’t object. Didn’t flinch. That meant approval.
That meant it was real.
“Chair,” Sean said.
Jason dragged the rim chair to the center of the room, the metal legs screeching against the concrete like a warning siren. He plopped down into it like a man settling in for a show, then looked up at Sean.
“You want front row, or should I take the reins?”
Sean crossed the room behind me, not answering right away. I could feel him beside me, his heat, his presence, then the cool bite of his fingers on the restraints as he locked my wrists in place beneath the chair. Methodical. Familiar.
“I said you could use him,” Sean replied, finally. “Doesn’t mean I’m giving him to you.”
Jason just chuckled. “Relax. I know he’s yours.”
He pulled his jeans down to his thighs, his cock semi-hard, his ass hovering just above my face. The scent rolled down immediately—sweat, musk, something deeper. The rawness of it made my throat tighten.
“You know what to do,” Jason said, voice low and expectant. “Beg for it.”
“Please, Sir,” I whispered. “Let me serve you. Let me worship your ass.”
He laughed softly. “Filthy little pig.”
The word had more weight this time. It slid into me like it belonged there.
I leaned in.
The first lick was the hardest. Not just because of the taste—bitter, salty, unwashed—but because it marked another line crossed. Another piece of Blake Everett given away. My tongue hesitated for only a second, then pressed forward into the seam of Jason’s cheeks, finding the heat and dampness, the dense smell that clung to his skin like a second layer.
Jason sighed above me, settling into the chair as though my mouth were nothing more than a luxury cushion.
I focused on rhythm. On pleasing. On staying in motion.
Each flick of my tongue carried me deeper into something I couldn’t quite name—humiliation, maybe, or devotion, or both. I didn’t know if I wanted Jason’s approval. But I desperately wanted Sean to be pleased. I needed him to see what I could endure. What I would become for him.
Jason shifted his weight back, pressing his ass harder into my face, the smell thickening, growing stronger by the second. My eyes watered, but I didn’t stop. My tongue circled and probed, tracing the contours of his hole, pushing against it, diving in. I moaned reflexively, the vibrations making Jason groan.
Then Sean spoke.
His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the thick air with a prideful certainty.
“Look at him go,” Sean said, his tone smooth, almost clinical. “You’ve trained him well.”
The praise punched straight through me. Not because it came from Jason—but because it didn’t. It came from Sean. My Master. The one who mattered. The one who saw me. My chest swelled with something that wasn’t pride exactly, but it was close.
Jason laughed, breath hitching with pleasure. “You’re right. He’s definitely into it.” He reached down and gave my hair a sharp tug. “A little pig with a tongue built for ass.”
My cheeks burned, but I didn’t stop. I didn’t even falter.
The word pig had started as a slap. Now it was sinking in, changing me from the inside. I didn’t want it. But it was Sean’s silence that made it stick. If he didn’t object, maybe that’s what I was.
I pushed my tongue deeper, ignoring the taste, the scent, the ache in my jaw. Jason groaned louder, his fingers tightening in my hair, and I knew I was doing something right. That was all I needed.
Because even when it was Jason using me, it was Sean I was really serving
Jason groaned again, louder this time, shifting his hips to grind his ass down against my face. “God, this hole’s soaked,” he muttered. “You like it filthy, huh, pig?”
I moaned around his flesh, my tongue never stopping. My jaw throbbed. My nose was pressed so deep between his cheeks that every breath was his scent. Sweat. Musk. Something darker. It made my head swim.
I didn’t like it.
But I needed it.
More than that, I needed Sean to see that I could take it. That I wouldn’t flinch. That I would debase myself to this depth, even for someone else, because it pleased him.
Behind me, Sean moved. A soft scrape of a chair leg on concrete. Then a pause. Then a rhythmic sound, bare skin on skin. Slow. Intentional.
I didn’t dare look. I didn’t need to. I knew what he was doing.
The realization sent a jolt through me.
He was getting off on this. On me. On the sight of Jason using my mouth like a cleaning tool, and me licking and moaning like I was grateful. I hated how hard that made me. Or would have made me, if my cock weren’t still trapped in its cage, stiff and straining uselessly against cold metal.
Jason shifted forward slightly, and my tongue slipped from his hole with a wet sound. He slapped my cheek with the inside of his thigh.
“Don’t stop now,” he said. “Get your face back in there. That hole’s not clean yet.”
I leaned back in instantly, tongue pushing deeper, faster. My jaw screamed in protest, but I ignored it. All that mattered was motion. Contact. Service.
The taste had dulled into something almost bearable—salt, musk, stale sweat. But it was the scent that lingered. That clung to me. That soaked into my nose, my mouth, my memory.
Jason groaned above me, voice taut. He was stroking himself. “That’s it. Bury your snout, pig. Get in there. Clean every inch.”
He grabbed a fistful of my hair and ground my face harder between his cheeks, the pressure unrelenting. I could barely breathe, but I didn’t fight it.
Behind me, Sean kept stroking.
I didn’t see him, didn’t dare turn my head, but I felt him. The weight of his attention, the slick rhythm of his hand, the shallow hitch in his breathing. He was watching me be used, and getting off on it.
And that made everything bearable.
Jason groaned louder. “Fucking hell. You trained this pig right, Sean. I might take him home.”
Sean’s voice was quiet. Controlled. “This one’s mine.”
Jason chuckled, but didn’t press it. Instead, he reached down and grabbed the back of my head with both hands, pulling me tighter into his ass. “C’mon, dig in. Get that tongue moving. You want to please your Master, don’t you?”
I whimpered against him, the word Master sending a spike through my chest. But it wasn’t Jason I wanted to please. Not really.
It was the man sitting behind me.
The one jerking off while watching me humiliate myself.
That was the difference. Jason was a sadist. Sean was something else. Something more terrifying. Something more complete.
Jason’s body began to tremble, his thighs tensing. I felt every movement, every shift of muscle against my cheeks. He was getting close.
“Good pig,” he panted. “That’s it. Fucking tongue-whore. I bet you’d eat a man out after he shit if Sean told you to.”
The words punched through me.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
My tongue kept working, my breath huffing into the mess of sweat and hair and heat. Jason’s moans came faster, rougher. I heard a gasp behind me—Sean’s—and the rhythm of his stroking faltered for a moment.
He was close too.
I wanted to scream. Use me. Use me, not just watch.
But I said nothing. Just tongued Jason’s hole like my life depended on it.
Jason’s breathing grew more erratic, his fingers tightening in my hair. His thighs tensed around my head as he leaned back and let out a rough, satisfied groan.
“Fuck… yeah… that’s it…”
I heard the slick, rhythmic sound above me—his fist working his cock in time with my tongue. Fast. Focused. The sloppy sound of wet skin on skin filled the room, obscene and deliberate.
He was getting off to the feel of my tongue inside him. To the sight of my face buried in his filthy ass.
“Fucking give it, pig,” he grunted, digging his heels into the floor for leverage. “That’s your place. You live between cheeks now.”
My tongue kept moving, faster, deeper, ignoring the ache in my jaw, the burning in my lungs. Every moan he gave was a reward. Every grunt was a confirmation that I was performing exactly the way I was supposed to.
I didn’t care that it was Jason. I cared that Sean was behind me, watching it all. And touching himself.
I could hear the smooth rhythm of Sean’s strokes, more restrained than Jason’s, but steady. Focused. Every sound, every command, every slick lick I delivered into Jason’s crack fed him.
Jason’s body jerked above me, his hand a blur on his cock, until with a guttural cry he came, thick, hot spurts hitting the floor around me in wet, irregular slaps. I couldn’t see where they landed, but I felt the tremor ripple through his thighs, his ass clenching tight around my tongue as the orgasm overtook him.
He collapsed into the chair with a breathless grunt, his chest heaving.
I stayed kneeling, my face still pressed between his cheeks, tongue limp but ready.
Jason laughed softly, then shifted forward slightly, his weight settling more heavily on the rim chair.
“You fucking love this, don’t you?”
I said nothing, unsure if I was even allowed to answer.
Then I felt it—the toe of his foot, nudging between my thighs.
“Look at this cage,” he murmured, amused. “Little thing’s trying to explode.”
He prodded it again with his foot, making the metal dig sharply into my skin. My whole body trembled.
“What would you do to cum, pig?”
My mouth was dry, but I answered honestly. “Anything, Sir.”
Jason chuckled. “Anything, huh?”
He let the word hang in the air for a moment, letting the weight of it settle.
“Even drink my piss?”
I froze for a heartbeat. The question hit like a slap, sharp and immediate. But Sean still hadn’t said a word. He was letting this unfold. He was watching.
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered.
Jason laughed—low, delighted, cruel. “Good pig.”
He didn’t stand. He didn’t even shift much.
He waited.
I watched as his cock softened in front of me, slowly deflating between his thighs, still slick with spit and cum. Then, with a casual reach of one hand, he angled it downward, threading it back between his legs through the opening in the rim chair. His cockhead came to rest just over the bowl’s center, a few inches above my open mouth.
I didn’t move. I didn’t speak.
This wasn’t performance anymore. This was something else. Something worse.
He leaned back and relaxed.
A second later, the stream came, hot, bitter, direct.
The first splash hit the back of my tongue. I gagged, but kept my mouth open, swallowing hard. The taste was vile, more acidic than sweat, thicker than expected. Sharp enough to sting. It poured from him like it had been building up all day.
I swallowed again. And again.
Jason’s cock twitched against my lip, its shaft resting against the curve of my mouth as the piss flowed in thick pulses. My chin was soaked, rivulets running down my neck and chest. He made no effort to aim cleanly. That wasn’t the point.
“Drink it all,” he said, voice almost conversational now. “No waste. You said anything.”
I swallowed greedily, shame burning hotter than the piss itself. My body trembled, knees aching against the cold floor. The taste was overwhelming. I could feel it in my sinuses, taste it in the back of my throat.
And behind me, Sean’s breath caught again—short, sharp.
He had cum watching me drink Jason’s piss.
He had enjoyed this.
And that made me moan.
When the stream stopped, Jason let his soft cock dangle lazily between his legs for a moment, tapping the tip once against my tongue before sitting back with a satisfied sigh.
My lips, chin, and chest were soaked. The piss pooled beneath me on the floor, warm and foul-smelling. My throat still burned from swallowing it down, and the taste—sharp, acrid, unmistakable—clung stubbornly to the back of my tongue.
I remained where I was, frozen beneath the rim chair, my face still close to Jason’s ass, breath shallow, mouth half open.
And then the shame hit.
Not the clean shame of a mistake or a moral breach. This was deeper. Stranger. I hadn’t just performed the act, I had surrendered to it. For Sean. For the smallest chance to please him. And even now, soaked in piss, used like a toilet, I was still waiting for some sign of approval.
Behind me, I could hear the steady rhythm of Sean’s hand on his cock. Slower now. Controlled. He still hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t touched me. He had simply watched.
That silence said everything.
Jason broke it first.
“Think he’s earned the right to cum?”
The question wasn’t addressed to me. It was directed toward Sean. And only then did it dawn on me—Jason never had that authority. He could piss in my mouth. Grind his ass into my face. Use me like a toy.
But even then… he still had to ask permission.
My stomach flipped.
Sean didn’t answer immediately. I didn’t dare turn around.
Then I heard the creak of his chair as he stood.
His footsteps approached slowly—calm, heavy with intention. When he crouched behind me, I felt his fingers on the cage. Cold metal clicked against warmer flesh. A key turned in the lock, and the tight pressure around my cock released with a sudden, dizzying wave of sensation.
He didn’t say a word.
He didn’t have to.
He stood again and stepped back.
I was hard in seconds—fully, painfully erect. My cock throbbed with months of backed-up need and the lingering heat of degradation.
Jason chuckled from above.
“I guess that’s a yes!”
Sean wasn’t entirely satisfied though.
“Get back in there,” he said. “You can cum—but only while your tongue’s in his hole.”
Jason shifted his weight in the chair, spreading his cheeks once more, repositioning himself to give me full access.
I hesitated—not because I was unwilling, but because of what it meant.
To cum this way.
With the piss still fresh on my breath. With my mouth buried in the same unwashed crack I’d already cleaned, licked, and been smothered by. With Sean watching me climax while servicing another man in the filthiest way possible.
Jason’s voice was low. Amused. “It’ll teach you, pig. Every time you cum, your brain should flash to this smell. This taste. Your orgasms will be rewired.”
I whimpered, my knees spreading wider beneath the chair as I pressed forward.
My tongue re-entered him without resistance. I felt the heat immediately, felt the familiar bitterness of sweat and the tang of piss-slick skin.
And I began to stroke.
Slow at first, shuddering at the sensation of my own hand on my freed cock. It was overwhelming. Too much, too fast. My body buzzed from the release of pressure alone. But it was the context, the filth, that pushed me closer with terrifying speed.
Jason moaned above me, leaning back into the seat, shifting his weight to grind harder against my face. “That’s it,” he said. “Don’t you dare stop licking.”
I didn’t.
I stroked harder, faster, my fist a blur. My tongue moved in circles, tracing the slick ring of his hole, pushing deeper whenever I could.
I could taste everything. And I hated that it turned me on.
But Sean was watching. Sean had unlocked me.
And I needed him to see that I could do it. That I could cum like this. That I could be what he wanted.
The orgasm hit like a gunshot.
I cried out, muffled by Jason’s ass, as cum erupted from me in thick, uncontrollable spurts, coating the floor, my thighs, the base of the rim chair. My body convulsed, tongue still buried, jaw screaming from effort.
I twitched and convulsed uncontrollably; my orgasms intensity multiplied by the length of time I had been denied. Sean and Jason laughed at my spasmatic motions, making the experience even more humiliating, but I didn’t pull away.
Not until the last drop was spent.
I collapsed forward, my forehead nearly touching the floor, breath ragged, every nerve ending vibrating from the orgasm that had just ripped through me. My cock was still twitching, softening slowly in the aftermath. For a split second, I thought I might be allowed a reprieve.
Jason didn’t even give me a second.
“That was pathetic,” he said flatly. “Look at this fucking mess.”
His tone wasn’t angry. Just disgusted, like I was a broken machine that had leaked all over his floor.
My head turned slightly. There was cum everywhere. Mine. His. A puddled mix smeared across the hardwood floor, streaking down the chair leg, dotting the floor near my knees.
“What do you think this is?” Jason continued. “Some kind of spa day? Get cleaning, pig. All of it. Tongue only.”
My stomach clenched. The last thing I wanted was to move. My body was still recovering—sensitive, flooded with endorphins, jaw sore from earlier. But none of that mattered. I didn’t dare protest.
Because Sean still hadn’t said a word.
He was still watching.
I pulled back from beneath the chair, the restraints long since undone, and dropped to all fours in the middle of the mess. The first spot I found was a thick glob that had landed just inches from Jason’s foot. I leaned down and licked it up, warm, sticky, slightly bitter. My own.
The next streak was longer, ropes of Jason’s cum stretching across the cold concrete in uneven lines.
I stared at it for a moment. The smell was different. Heavier. Muskier. Not mine.
But I didn’t hesitate long.
I bent and dragged my tongue across it, wincing at the thickness, the taste. I swallowed it down. It stuck to the back of my throat, clinging like oil. I gagged softly, but kept going.
Jason watched from the rim chair, lazily stroking his half-hard cock as he guided me. “There. Under the chair leg. You missed that one. And don’t skip the drops that landed by the cabinet.”
I moved where he pointed, my tongue darting out again and again, dragging through slick patches of cum, mixing my own with his on the tip of my tongue until I couldn’t tell which was which.
My lips were coated. My chin dripped.
I was crawling in it. Lapping it up like it was dinner.
I had just swallowed the last drop when Jason leaned back in the rim chair, stretching with a casual, satisfied grunt. His eyes dropped lazily to where I knelt, still trembling, still trying to catch my breath.
“You did well today, pig,” he said, voice light and conversational. “Next time, I’ll make you eat my shit if you want to cum.”
The words landed like a slap across the face.
I froze.
My stomach flipped—hard. That wasn’t innuendo. That wasn’t a threat dressed as a joke. That was intent. Cold, blunt, vile.
And before I could even form a thought, Sean’s voice cut through the room.
“No.”
It was quiet. Calm. But final in a way that stopped everything.
Jason looked over, one brow arched. “No?”
Sean stepped forward from where he’d been standing—fully clothed again, still composed, but unmistakably serious.
“That’s not happening,” he said, his tone still even, but with none of the warmth he usually reserved for teasing or control. “He’s mine. I don’t care how far he’s willing to go; that’s a line I don’t allow crossed.”
Jason blinked. Then gave a slight shrug, both hands lifted in mock apology. “Was just messing around, man.”
Sean didn’t blink. “Don’t.”
Silence.
And for a moment—I felt it. That flicker of something dangerous and comforting tangled together in my chest. Sean had said no. Not just to protect his property, but to protect me.
He had drawn a line.
And I would’ve stayed there—in that fragile warmth—if only for a second longer.
But Sean wasn’t finished.
He turned to me, crouched down slowly so we were face to face, and dragged his fingers across the corner of my mouth, scooping a small, pearly streak I’d missed.
He held it between his fingers, looked me in the eye, and said softly:
“You missed a spot, pig. Lick.”
And just like that, the warmth evaporated.
I opened my mouth without hesitation.
The taste hit my tongue—a mix of Jason’s cum and my own humiliation—and I swallowed as ordered.
The look Sean gave me then wasn’t cruel. It was worse. It was patient.
I’ll protect you. But don’t ever forget what you are.
And I didn’t.
Jason stretched and stood, lazily tucking his hoodie into place. “Might need to borrow him sometime,” he said with a grin.
Sean didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Just give me a heads-up.”
Jason laughed, zipping up. “I will. Or I’ll just crash your place with tequila again.”
Sean smirked faintly. “Next time bring something decent.”
“Please,” Jason scoffed. “I drink for effect, not taste.”
They moved toward the door together.
“Grab drinks soon?” Jason asked.
Sean nodded once. “Yeah. I’ll text.”
Jason turned back briefly, eyes flicking to me with a final note of amusement. “Later, pig.”
Then he was gone.
The silence that followed was complete.
Sean stood there for another moment, then finally turned his gaze toward me. “Bathroom. Now.”
I rose stiffly to my feet, legs trembling, body sore. I followed.
The bathroom was warm from earlier. Sean turned on the shower and stepped aside. “You know the drill.”
I nodded.
No shortcuts. No deviations. I washed myself exactly as I knew he liked. His gaze never left me. When I dried off, he handed me a clean cloth, then led me out of the bathroom.
Back in the bedroom, the cage sat open.
Sean pointed. “Inside.”
I crawled in without protest, curling into the familiar posture. He locked the door with a clean, final click.
He didn’t say goodnight. Just turned and walked toward his bed.
And I curled into myself, still sore, jaw aching, my skin scrubbed clean but my mouth unable to forget the tastes that had passed through it.
But beneath the ache, beneath the exhaustion and silence, one truth pulsed through me like a heartbeat:
Sean had said no.
He had stopped Jason. He had drawn a line.
And that meant more to me than any orgasm ever could.
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Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
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