The Use
Sean didn’t move at first.
His cock rested against my hole like a threat made manifest—thick, warm, slick with spit. His hands were steady on my hips. The weight of him behind me was overwhelming. Not just his size. His intent.
“Take a breath,” he said, voice low.
I did. Shaky. Anticipatory. Terrified.
Then he pushed.
Not hard. Just forward. Slow. Unstoppable.
The head of his cock pressed into me like a key through resistance. My body tensed instantly. My breath caught. I groaned—a guttural sound, half shock, half disbelief.
“Stay open.”
My muscles screamed. He didn’t back off.
“You’ve taken fingers. You’ll take this.”
“Y-yes, Sir,” I gasped.
More pressure. My ring stretched around the thick crown of him, burned with the effort of accommodating him. It wasn’t just wide—it was demanding. He wasn’t easing in for my comfort. He was claiming space. As much as he wanted. When he wanted.
The head breached me.
I cried out.
“Too much?”
“N-no, Sir. I can— I can take it.”
He leaned forward over me, voice calm and precise.
“You don’t get a medal for suffering. If you want to cry, cry. If you want to scream, scream. But you’ll stay in place and let me in.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pulled back slightly—just enough to gather more spit and drop it between my cheeks. It trailed down slowly, warm and wet, mixing with the slick around his shaft.
Then he pressed again. Firmer. Deeper.
I gritted my teeth and felt my body give—half an inch, maybe more.
“Breathe.”
I did. Deep. Through the nose. Out the mouth.
“You’re doing fine,” Sean said. “But I’m not even halfway in.”
His hips rolled forward again—this time not stopping. Inch by inch, he buried himself deeper, and with every moment I swore I couldn’t take more. My arms trembled. My legs burned. My hole stretched wider than it ever had before.
“I can feel you clenching,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry—Sir—trying—”
“You’re not failing. You’re learning. Your body’s being reprogrammed.”
He spat again—right onto the base of his cock as it disappeared into me. Then he kept pushing.
The fullness was unbearable. I could feel the stretch all the way up through my spine. My breath came in short, sharp bursts. My cage throbbed with helpless heat.
“You want to say something?”
“Nng—hurts—Sir—”
“It’s supposed to.”
He stopped. He was halfway in.
“Now answer me something.”
“Yes, Sir…”
“What’s the biggest cock you’ve taken before?”
“Maybe—maybe seven inches, Sir.”
“And was it thick?”
“Not—not like yours.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did you beg for it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But you didn’t beg for this, did you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t choose anymore.”
He pushed another inch in.
I screamed into the pillow, hips jerking forward.
His hand grabbed my hair, yanked my head back.
“Don’t run from it.”
“I’m not—I’m not—Sir, I’m—”
“You’re taking it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Another push. I could feel the veins of his shaft drag inside me, stretch me open like I’d never been stretched. My hole spasmed around him, clenching involuntarily.
And then—he was fully seated.
Balls against my ass.
Weight pressing down into my hips.
Silence.
“You feel it now,” Sean said. “The difference.”
I nodded frantically, eyes wet, body trembling.
“This isn’t a hookup. This isn’t mutual.”
“No, Sir.”
“This is what you were made for.”
Sean kept fucking me in slow, full strokes, his rhythm never faltering. Every thrust felt deliberate—like he was embedding a rule inside me with each inch. My body trembled under him, but I didn’t move away. I couldn’t. Not with his hands locked around my hips and his cock rooted deep inside me, stretching my tight ring just enough to keep me on edge without giving me time to adjust.
He leaned forward.
One hand slid up my back—slow, possessive—until it reached the base of my neck. He pressed there, gently at first, then harder. Not choking. Just keeping me still.
“You’re trembling.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know Sir. Because I’m worried I’ll mess up I guess.”
“You won’t,” he said flatly. “I won’t let you.”
His other hand reached around my chest, brushing against my nipples. I flinched when his fingertips made contact—half from shock, half from overstimulation. He pinched one, then the other, then dragged his fingers across both like he was inspecting their sensitivity.
“You like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say where.”
“My nipples, Sir.”
He rolled one between his fingers again, harder this time.
“You’re sensitive.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Have you been touched there much?”
“Not like this.”
“Have you ever been blindfolded and tied down?”
“No, Sir.”
“Have you ever been fucked while other guys watched?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“You’d do it if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He slapped my cheek hard enough to make my eyes water.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I’d do anything you told me to, Sir. Anything.”
Sean’s hand tangled in my hair and yanked my head back.
“Have you ever licked sweaty feet before?”
“No, Sir.”
“Ever sucked a man’s toes after he’s been in boots all day?”
“No, Sir.”
He pulled my head back even farther—then abruptly shoved my face hard into his armpit.
The heat and scent overwhelmed me instantly—thick, sweaty, pungent. I gagged on the musk, humiliated by how hard my cock strained in the cage as I breathed him in.
“Breathe it in, slut. You like being used? Try this.”
I inhaled, dizzy with shame.
“You want to be marked? Don’t you?”
He laughed—low and cruel—and yanked my face back to the bed. Then he picked up his rhythm again, his cock driving deep with every stroke.
“You like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Of course you do. Because you’re a cum dumpster with a cage on. You exist to take whatever I give you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Keep that in mind when I start really using you.”
Sean didn’t slow down.
He fucked me through the shame, through the heat still clinging to my face from his armpit. His cock drove in to the base with every thrust, spreading my hole just far enough to keep me on edge without giving me time to adjust. His grip stayed firm on my hips, unrelenting.
Then he pulled out in a single motion.
“On your back.”
I rolled fast, cage dragging against the sheets, my body flushed and raw and trembling. My thighs opened automatically, hole still slick and twitching. Sean grabbed my ankles and pushed them back, folding me open.
“Hold them.”
I reached up and locked my hands behind my knees, fully exposed beneath him.
Sean stepped between my legs and looked down at me like I was inventory.
“You ever been fucked like this?”
“Not while caged, Sir.”
“You look pathetic.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He grinned. “And hard. And sexy as fuck.”
He slapped my caged cock with two fingers—just a flick—but I still gasped. Precum smeared across my belly, shining under the light.
“Who does this belong to?”
“You, Sir.”
He knelt on the bed and positioned himself again, one hand on the inside of my thigh, the other guiding his cock to my still-tight hole.
“This is the only part of you I care about right now.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He spat once more and rubbed it in with the head of his cock.
Then he pushed back in.
I groaned, arching up involuntarily. The stretch burned all over again, more intense from this angle. I fought the urge to cry out.
“Stay open.”
“Yes, Sir—ah—”
He drove deeper. Full length. Full weight. Until my ass met his hips and my hole pulsed involuntarily around him.
“You’re gripping me like you’re scared I’ll leave.”
“I’m not, Sir.”
“Say what you are.”
“Grateful. Owned. Fucked.”
“Say what you’re good for.”
“For your cock. For your cum. For your use.”
He grunted and started thrusting again, his fingers reaching down to flick my balls sharply.
I gasped.
He did it again.
“Sensitive?”
“Yes, Sir—fuck—”
A sharp slap across my face.
“Boys don’t get to use foul language under my care. Understand?”
“I’m sorry, Sir—”
He slapped my face, then my cage.
Then he leaned in and spat directly into my mouth.
“Swallow.”
I did. Instantly. Desperately.
“Good boy. Now tell me something embarrassing.”
“What, Sir?”
“Something you jerked off to before you met me. Something you’ve never told anyone.”
I hesitated. He stopped moving.
“Don’t test me.”
I swallowed hard.
“I once came imagining I was being kept by a frat house.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. Said nothing.
“They’d found me somehow—older, desperate, easy to humiliate. I wasn’t even allowed clothes. They’d make me crawl around naked during parties. Use me for anything. Blowjobs in the kitchen. Rimming contests in the living room. Sometimes they’d film it, post it to their group chat. No safewords. No negotiation.”
My voice dropped, shame rushing in faster than breath.
“They’d call me things like ‘faculty fucktoy’ and ‘dorm flesh.’ If I hesitated, they’d spit on me and drag me outside like a dog. I’d jerk off to the idea of being chained up in their laundry room while they played beer pong, waiting to be used. Just waiting.”
Silence.
Sean let out a slow exhale—like he was impressed, but also disgusted.
“Now that sounds fun.”
“It was, Sir.”
“How many times did you jerk off to it?”
“I don’t know. Dozens.”
“How hard did you come the last time?”
“I nearly passed out, Sir.”
Sean laughed coldly, leaned in, and slapped my face.
“You’d make a perfect house bitch.”
Then he started thrusting again.
“Let’s see if I can’t get you closer to that fantasy.”
Sean fucked me like I was made for it.
Hard, deep, rhythm steady but cruelly paced—just slow enough to let me feel every inch, just fast enough to make my breath hitch on every impact. My legs burned from holding the position. My arms shook from being locked behind my knees. My cock pulsed inside its cage, leaking helplessly onto my belly.
He stared down at me like I was nothing more than a well-shaped tool. A slit. A container. A thing.
Then he pulled out again.
“On your knees. Face me.”
I scrambled up, trying not to stumble. My hole clenched around nothing, still aching from being emptied too soon. I knelt at the edge of the bed, face tilted upward, mouth parted.
Sean didn’t give me time to ask.
He grabbed my hair and shoved his cock past my lips, still wet from my ass, still hot and slick with spit and friction. I gagged immediately. The stretch burned differently now, my jaw aching as he forced himself deep.
“Keep it open,” he said.
He didn’t thrust. Just held me there. My nose against his pubes. My tongue pinned beneath the weight of him. My throat clenched around his length, involuntarily choking, salivating, drooling.
He stared down.
“Ever taste yourself before tonight?”
I couldn’t answer, not like that.
He pulled out halfway.
“Answer.”
“No, Sir.”
“You are now. Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He shoved himself back in, harder this time. My eyes watered instantly. I moaned around him, hands gripping his thighs for balance.
“You like this?”
I gurgled. Tried to nod. Failed.
He let me breathe—once.
Then thrust again. Short strokes now, just enough to use my mouth like a sleeve. Each movement was met with a wet sound, spit pooling at the corners of my lips, sliding down my chin.
He slapped my face with his free hand.
“You look like you belong here.”
He pulled out, grabbed my face with one hand, and spit into my mouth again.
“You know what this is?”
“Y-your mark, Sir.”
“It’s what you’re worth. Sloppy, full, fucked. Nothing more.”
He tapped my cheek lightly, then pushed me back onto the bed.
“Turn around.”
I rolled, face buried in the mattress, ass up.
Sean didn’t wait.
He lined up and shoved back in, deeper than before. The sudden pressure made me cry out, but I didn’t resist. Couldn’t. I was wet, raw, burning, stretched—and still I wanted more.
He started thrusting again.
“Think those frat boys would have fucked you this well?”
“No, Sir.”
“They’d have used you and moved on. Left you chained to a radiator in someone’s garage.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But I’m going to make sure you remember exactly who made your hole theirs.”
“You, Sir.”
His hands gripped my hips tighter, and he fucked me harder—louder, meaner, more focused. I cried out with each impact, each slap of skin against skin, each humiliating reminder that I wasn’t being fucked. I was being used.
Sean didn’t ease up.
He used my hole like it was built to take him—and then he pulled out with no warning and flipped me over again by the thighs.
“Back in your mouth. Open wide.”
I obeyed, dizzy from motion, jaw already sore, tongue still thick with the taste of spit and sex.
He shoved his cock back between my lips, grunting softly as he bottomed out in my throat. My gag reflex fired again—loud and helpless—but Sean didn’t pause. He held my head steady, thrusting shallowly, almost rhythmically now, just to remind me I had no say.
“You still like this?”
I gurgled around him, eyes watering.
He pulled back just enough.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say what you are.”
“Your toy. Your hole. Your mouth.”
He grunted and shoved back in, smearing spit across my face as I gagged again, my nose pressed to his skin.
After a few deep thrusts, he pulled out and slapped my face—sharp, fast.
“Turn around. Let me back in where it’s tighter.”
I scrambled to reposition, chest down, ass up, hole still twitching from the last round. Sean didn’t wait. He mounted me again and rammed back in like it was his right—which it was.
“Still so fucking tight,” he muttered. “You’ll never be loose enough for me.”
He started to thrust again—hard, punishing, measured.
Then: smack.
His palm cracked across my ass.
Then again.
Then lower, across my cage.
I yelped.
He reached around and flicked my balls.
“You feel that?”
“Yes, Sir—fuck—”
“What did I say about cursing?”
“Sorry, Sir!”
He grabbed my hair, yanked my head up.
“Look at you. Forty years old, practically, and you’re nothing but a cum-rag with a paycheck.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You walk around the office like you’re in control. I could pull you under the boardroom table and no one would know you’re my fuckhole.”
My cock throbbed in the cage. I moaned, desperate and useless.
“You’d suck me clean in front of HR if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Of course you would.”
He shoved himself deeper, spit flying from his lips onto my back.
“You’re not a man. You’re a utility.”
I whimpered, thighs shaking.
He slapped my ass again—harder this time.
Then he leaned in and whispered, low and venomous:
“Tell me how small your cock is.”
“It’s 4.5 inches, Sir,” I panted.
“Hard?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He laughed.
“Fucking useless.”
Sean didn’t slow down—he just shifted angles. One hand on my hip, the other gripping the back of my neck like a handle, he kept me pinned in place as he fucked me harder from behind. His cock felt impossibly thick inside me—every thrust a stretch, every withdrawal a raw scrape of friction that made me wince and moan.
My hole burned. My back arched. My lungs couldn’t decide whether to gasp or scream.
I wasn’t thinking anymore. Not about the job. Not about control. Not about what I looked like kneeling under a man ten years younger than me, who barked orders like I was furniture.
But I was thinking about the feeling.
The way his cock filled me—so much thicker than any I’d taken before. I could feel it everywhere. Like it didn’t just stretch my ass but stayed inside me, even between thrusts. Like it had altered something fundamental, like my body would never forget the shape of it.
I felt it when he slammed in.
I felt it when he pulled back.
I felt it lingering between strokes—inside me like a brand.
It wasn’t just pressure. It wasn’t just size. It was heat. Ownership. An object inside my body that moved only when he decided it should.
And when he pushed all the way in and held himself there—balls flush, hips tight to mine—I couldn’t stop the full-body shudder.
“Too much?” he muttered above me.
“No, Sir.”
“You’re shaking.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say why.”
“Because you’re inside me, Sir. So deep I can’t think.”
“You’re not supposed to think. You’re supposed to stay open and let me do what I want.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pulled back and drove in again—slow this time, agonizingly slow—and I could feel every vein on his cock drag through me like rough silk.
Sean leaned over, his chest brushing my back. His hand slid around my hip, down to my caged cock, which was pressed uselessly against the bedspread and soaked with precum.
“Still leaking.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He flicked the cage.
“You ever been this wet just from getting fucked?”
“No, Sir.”
“Because no one ever really owned you before.”
“No, Sir.”
He pulled my head up by the hair, brought his lips to my ear.
“But I do now.”
Then he spit directly onto my cheek and pushed back into me with one steady, brutal thrust.
I moaned—loud, involuntary.
There was no holding anything back anymore. Not dignity. Not pain. Not the truth of how much I wanted it.
I wanted his cock.
I wanted his control.
I wanted to be full of him, used by him, broken down and rebuilt his way.
And I was getting it—every inch of it—while he spit in my face and called me a toy.
Sean didn’t move at first.
He stayed fully inside me, one hand on the back of my neck, the other gripping my hip. The tension in his arms told me he could have kept fucking—but he didn’t. He just held me there. Impaled. Waiting.
“Don’t move,” he said.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. My breath came in shallow gasps. My body trembled with restraint, the ache of fullness climbing into my spine, burning behind my ribs.
“Good.”
He shifted his weight forward—just slightly—so that my hips rolled back and my hole clenched even tighter around his cock.
“Feel that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That’s how deep I go when I own something.”
I moaned softly, head turned to the side against the mattress.
“I could stay right here,” he muttered. “Keep you like this. Plugged. Silent. Needing to be used but never getting relief.”
His hand lifted from my neck and came down hard across my ass—once, twice—before returning to its place like it had never moved.
“You’d take it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’d suffer for me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.”
Then he leaned down, his chest heavy across my back, and whispered:
“Stay still. Don’t speak. Don’t breathe loud.”
He pulled back—agonizingly slow—and then froze again halfway out. Just left me open. Empty. A sleeve waiting to be filled.
The pause felt like torture. My body twitched with the effort of holding still. My cage throbbed against the sheets. My hole spasmed on nothing.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
I counted heartbeats. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Then—
“Say something pathetic.”
My brain scrambled for purchase.
“I want—I want you to leave me like this,” I choked. “Half full. Not allowed to finish. Not allowed to beg. Just kept.”
Sean chuckled darkly.
“You’d like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’d lie there all night, stuffed and shaking, while I sat on your back and watched TV.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Fucking sick.”
Then he thrust forward again—full depth, hard enough to knock the air out of me.
“You’re lucky I’m not done.”
Sean pulled out without a word.
No slap. No command. Just absence.
I stayed still, shaking, waiting for his voice.
It came low. Crisp. Clinical.
“On your back.”
I rolled over.
He didn’t mount me right away. Just stood over me, eyes scanning like he was deciding where to begin again. Then he gripped my ankles and pushed them up—folding me nearly in half.
No praise.
No hesitation.
Just adjustment.
He lined up and shoved back in, full depth, forcing a whimper from my throat as the stretch returned.
Then he pulled out.
“Turn over. Hands and knees. Arch.”
I scrambled. Ass up, arms locked, breath ragged.
He slid in again—slow this time, almost lazy. My hole clung to him on the way in, pulsing around his girth, my cage grinding into the mattress beneath me.
Then, just as my body started to adapt—
“Lie flat. Legs together.”
I dropped flat on my belly.
He climbed over me and slid in again, pressing his full weight down. The pressure made it harder to breathe. His hips moved in short, grinding thrusts now, balls pressed tight against me.
“Spread your legs.”
I did.
He shifted again. Pulled out.
“Back on your back.”
I rolled. Fast now. Trained.
He didn’t even look at my face anymore. Just bent my knees, shoved them toward my chest, and thrust back in. I cried out—part pain, part need—and he slapped my thigh in response.
“Quiet.”
Then he pulled out again.
Knelt beside me.
“Sit up.”
I obeyed.
He got behind me, legs spread, cock dripping with spit and slick. Pulled me into his lap like a ragdoll. Lined up and forced me down onto him.
I groaned—loud, helpless—as he filled me from beneath.
My spine arched.
My hole burned.
He grabbed my throat with one hand and my nipple with the other.
“You’re not a person right now,” he said into my ear. “You’re not a man. You’re not a sub. You’re mine. And I’ll pose you however I want.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He bounced me once on his cock. Then again.
“Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
“For what?”
“For treating me like your toy.”
Sean didn’t say a word.
He just shoved me forward off his lap, then pulled me to the edge of the bed by my shoulders. I landed on my knees, catching myself on the carpet, dizzy and stretched.
“Face down. Ass up.”
I obeyed.
He stood behind me for a long moment. I could feel his cock resting against my hole, his hands adjusting my hips like a thing being prepped for mounting.
Then: a pause.
I heard him breathe out hard through his nose. He was sweating now—really sweating. I could smell it before I could see it. That sharp, salty edge of exertion that rose off his skin like heat.
He dropped down to one knee, gripped my hair, and pulled my face back between his thighs.
“Lick.”
I swallowed, leaned in.
His balls were damp, slick with sweat. His taint too—sticky, musky, hot. I hesitated, just for a second, not because I wanted to disobey, but because I had never tasted another man like this.
Not clean. Not fresh. Not controlled.
Just sweat. Skin. Male.
“Don’t hold back,” Sean said. “You signed up for service. This is service.”
“Yes, Sir.”
I leaned in and dragged my tongue along his taint, tasting salt and heat and something raw. My cage throbbed instantly. My face burned.
He adjusted his position—spread his legs wider—and pulled my head lower.
“You know where I want it.”
I pressed my tongue to his hole.
It was tight, hot, slick with sweat and spit. I licked in slow circles, forcing my tongue deeper. My nose pressed into the crease of his ass, and the scent was overwhelming.
There was no mistaking it: Sean had been fucking me hard, and he hadn’t cleaned himself since. I was rimming a man in a real state. Post-sex. Dominant. Raw.
And it turned me on like nothing ever had.
I moaned softly into him as I tongued deeper, tasting the residue of everything he’d done to me, every thrust, every slap, every word.
“You weren’t expecting it like this, were you?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“First time licking a man’s ass when he’s dripping sweat?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You still like it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say why.”
“Because it’s yours, Sir. Because I belong here. Because your sweat makes it real.”
Sean chuckled—low and pleased.
He pulled away from me suddenly and turned around.
“Now clean my cock.”
He shoved it back into my mouth before I could reply.
It was soaked in sweat, precum, and spit. I could taste all of it—thick and salty, smeared from base to tip. My lips slid down the shaft, tongue lapping around the head, cheeks hollowed to make it fit.
He let me suck for a few moments in silence.
Then: “You’re filthy now.”
“Yes, Sir,” I gasped, lips shining.
“And you’ll get filthier.”
Sean didn’t give me a moment.
As soon as my lips left the head of his cock, slick with sweat and filth, he shoved me backward onto the bed and rolled me onto my stomach.
Then he mounted me again.
No lube. No buildup. Just spit and whatever slick was already smeared across my hole from earlier.
He drove in fast—harder than before—and I cried out, body jerking, the soreness now a permanent fixture inside me.
“You’re not trembling anymore,” he muttered above me.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Because my mind wasn’t in the room anymore—not completely.
I was still tasting it.
The sweat. The smell. The texture of his hole on my tongue.
I’d never done that before. Not like that. Not rimming someone that raw, that sweaty, that used. And not followed by sucking the same cock that had just been inside me. I hadn’t even hesitated. No part of me had pulled back. I’d leaned in. I’d wanted it.
I hadn’t needed to be told twice.
The man I was a week ago wouldn’t have done that for anyone. Not even if they begged.
But Sean hadn’t begged.
He hadn’t asked.
He’d told me. And I’d obeyed.
No limits. No excuses.
It wasn’t just that he owned my body. It was that he’d reached into the part of me that used to have conditions and rewritten it.
He didn’t say “prove yourself.”
He said “lick.”
And I did.
And then he said “clean it,”
and I sucked my own filth off his cock like it was his right to make me.
I moaned under him, even as he thrust deeper, even as my cage bounced uselessly against the sheets.
“You were thinking just now,” Sean said above me, grinding deep into my hole.
“Yes, Sir.”
“About what?”
I hesitated.
He slapped the back of my head.
“Say it.”
“About your sweat, Sir. About your hole. About how I licked it clean like it was normal.”
“Was it normal?”
“No, Sir.”
“Did you hesitate?”
“No, Sir.”
“Did it turn you on?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then that thought was mine.”
He spat down between my shoulder blades and thrust again.
“Everything I make you do becomes part of you,” he growled. “You don’t come back from this.”
“I don’t want to, Sir.”
“Good.”
He pulled my head back by the hair and leaned in close.
“You’re not just a slut,” he whispered. “You’re my slut.”
Sean picked up his pace.
No more measured thrusts. Just force. Rhythm. A pounding that made my whole body rock forward against the mattress. His grip on my hips tightened. His cock drove deep again and again, slick with spit and the residue of my own tongue.
“You feel it, don’t you?” he said.
“Yes, Sir—”
“Feel what?”
“Your cock, Sir—deep—stretching me—”
“No. Not just that.”
He leaned in, his chest on my back, his breath hot against my ear.
“You rimmed me while I was dripping with sweat. Tongue deep. Didn’t even hesitate.”
My face flushed, my breath caught.
“Then you cleaned my cock. The same cock that had just been inside your ass. Your spit, my sweat, your hole—mixed all over your tongue.”
I groaned.
“That’s ass to mouth, slut.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Exactly.”
He spat on the back of my neck and shoved in harder.
“And you’re loving it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He grabbed my head, yanked it back, and spit directly into my mouth.
“Swallow it.”
I did.
“Now say what it makes you.”
“A hole. A tool. A slave.”
He kept thrusting, dragging me into each motion by my hips now. My shoulders burned, my thighs trembled, but my mind was somewhere else—reeling from how true it was.
I hadn’t just submitted.
I’d been processed. Recycled.
Made into a vessel that served itself back to its owner.
“You’ll do it again,” Sean said. “Every time. No hesitation.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’ll fuck you. You’ll clean it. You’ll thank me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’ll swallow the taste of your own hole like it’s my cum.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He slapped my ass again—harder this time. Then reached forward and wrapped a hand around my neck, pulling me back into him.
“Your mouth and your ass are the same now,” he whispered. “They’re both mine. They feed each other. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And you like that.”
“I crave it, Sir.”
He growled in approval and fucked me harder.
Sean’s rhythm changed—short, fast thrusts now, relentless and tight, driving into me like each stroke was a sentence.
“You—don’t—fuck—anyone—else.”
My breath hitched with every word.
“Understand?”
“Yes, Sir—”
“Say it.”
“I don’t fuck anyone else. I’m yours.”
“That’s right.”
His hips slapped against me, fast and shallow, his cock hitting the same spot over and over until I gasped through the burn.
“You want to be useful?”
“Yes, Sir—”
“You want to be trained right?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Then we’re going to make sure you take me better.”
He pulled out abruptly, left me breathless and aching.
I heard the drawer of his nightstand slide open. A moment later, the sound: a flat, hard object smacking softly against his palm.
“Up. Elbows and knees.”
I moved into place, unsure, the air suddenly colder on my used hole.
He climbed onto the bed behind me, cock still slick, still heavy between my thighs.
Then: the first hit.
The paddle landed flat against my ass—sharp, loud, hot. I jerked forward, startled.
Sean chuckled.
“You tense when I fuck you deep. This’ll help.”
Another strike. Then another.
My skin flared with heat, the sting building into something layered—pain, shame, arousal.
“I don’t—I don’t understand how this trains me, Sir—”
“You don’t need to understand.”
Another crack.
He spread my cheeks and rubbed his cock along the crack of my ass again.
“You just need to obey.”
The next slap landed harder—then he shoved his cock back in, all at once. I cried out, still smarting from the impact.
“This will help you open,” he said.
But it wouldn’t.
It wasn’t about opening me at all.
Sean knew that. The excuse was nothing more than a tool—like the paddle, like me. The truth, sharp and unspoken, was that he simply liked the sound of it. Liked the feel of impact in his hand. Liked the flush it brought to my skin. Liked watching me jerk and try not to cry out.
It aroused him.
Not for a purpose.
Not for a lesson.
Just because it did.
The lie served a function. But the truth drove the motion.
He fucked me again—slower now, the paddle resting beside us on the mattress, my ass glowing with warmth, my hole stretched and raw.
“You’ll take everything I give you,” he said, voice low.
“Yes, Sir.”
“No matter how it feels. No matter if you get it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He leaned in, kissed the back of my neck for the first time all night.
“Because you’re mine.”
Sean’s pace slowed again. Not out of fatigue—out of calculation.
He pulled out of me with a sharp, wet drag, his cock glistening with spit, sweat, and the slick remnants of my submission. I collapsed forward instinctively, muscles twitching, hole fluttering in the absence of pressure.
“Turn around,” he said flatly.
I obeyed—still panting, mind blurry. I got onto my knees, head level with his cock, which hung heavy and wet between us.
“Open your mouth.”
I did.
He grabbed the base of his shaft and slapped the head against my tongue—once, twice, letting the weight land like punctuation.
“I’m going to finish inside you,” he said, voice calm. “But first, I need to make sure I’m slick enough to go all the way.”
He stepped forward, pushed the head into my mouth.
“You’re going to lube me up with your throat.”
I groaned, already stretching wide again to accommodate him. My jaw ached. My lips trembled.
He thrust forward slowly—just enough to let the head press against the back of my throat. Then deeper. I gagged and swallowed instinctively, coating his shaft with fresh spit.
“Get it nice and wet.”
I moaned around him, tongue working the underside, cheeks hollowing around the girth. My nose bumped his skin—damp, hot, drenched in the smell of effort and dominance.
He grunted, adjusted his grip on the back of my head.
“Take it, don’t think.”
I blinked up at him, tears already forming as he began to pump into my throat—slow, steady, wet strokes that filled every corner of my mouth.
The taste of sweat and salt and spent dominance coated my tongue. He groaned softly, the sound not tender but appreciative—like a craftsman inspecting his tool.
After a few more strokes, he pulled out, spit stringing from my lips to the tip of his cock.
He slapped it lightly against my cheek.
“Good enough.”
He grabbed me under the arms and flipped me effortlessly onto my back.
I was open again. Vulnerable. Waiting.
Sean hovered over me, cock slick and glistening, dripping with my spit.
“This is the final assault,” he said, lining himself up. “You’re going to take it all.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And when I’m done, you’ll clean it. Every drop.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He didn’t smile. He didn’t pause.
He pushed back in—hard.
Sean drove back into me like the entire night had been foreplay.
My ass stretched once again to take him—my spit still slicking his cock, my hole already sore from a dozen positions. He grabbed my thighs and pushed them high, folding me open, cock plunging deeper than ever.
There was no buildup now.
Only purpose.
He was going to finish.
And I was going to take it.
His breath was harsh, his chest slick and shining. Sweat rained down from his body onto mine. My own face was a mess—flushed, soaked, streaked with spit and tears and shame.
He leaned forward, pinned my wrists to the bed, and fucked harder.
“You know what’s coming,” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’ve earned it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to cum inside you. All of it. You’re going to feel it drip out of you while I’m still buried in your ass.”
I moaned.
“Then I’m going to make you eat it all out of your own hole.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He spat in my mouth without warning. I swallowed on instinct.
“You know what that makes you?”
“Your dirty little cum dumpster.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He groaned at that. Fucked faster.
“I’m going to fill you so full, it’ll be leaking out of you for hours.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I’m going to watch it dribble out. Then push it back in. Then make you beg to suck it out of me again.”
“Yes, Sir—please—”
“Please what?”
“Please cum in me, Sir. Please use me.”
His hips stuttered.
His grip on my wrists tightened.
“You’re going to remember this every time you sit down,” he growled.
“Yes, Sir.”
He slammed into me harder, the bed shaking beneath us.
“You’re going to taste it for days.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Beg for it.”
“Please, Sir. Fill me. Feed me. Let me swallow your load from my own hole. Please.”
Sean threw his head back and groaned—a long, guttural sound.
Then he plunged into me one last time and held.
Sean groaned—low, guttural, buried deep in his throat.
His hips jerked twice. Then again.
Then he slammed all the way in—hard—and stayed there.
His cock pulsed violently inside me. I felt the first spurt. Then the second. Heat spread inside my gut as he emptied himself, every contraction unmistakable.
He grunted with the force of it, sweat dripping from his brow to my chest as his hands dug into my thighs.
I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
I was full of him—literally. Stretched open, pinned to the bed, caged and ruined, body trembling beneath the weight of ownership.
Sean didn’t pull out.
Not yet.
He stayed there, buried to the hilt, breathing hard. One hand rested at my throat—not squeezing, just holding. A silent brand.
“You feel that?” he murmured.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Feel my cum inside you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Where it belongs.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Eventually, he pulled back.
I gasped as he withdrew—my hole aching, gaping slightly, a thick trail of cum oozing from the rim and onto my cheeks.
Sean knelt back, staring down at the mess he’d made. I felt exposed—ruined—stretched wide and leaking onto the sheets.
He reached for my hip and pulled me open with one hand, spreading my cheeks with clinical detachment.
“Still full,” he muttered.
Then he dipped two fingers into my hole.
I moaned involuntarily at the intrusion—slick, hot, wet—my body clenching reflexively around the digits.
Sean scooped out a thick, warm glob and brought it up between us, the white string of it trailing back toward my hole.
“Open.”
I obeyed instantly.
He pressed his fingers to my tongue and smeared the cum across it.
“Clean them.”
I sucked without hesitation, tongue swirling, the taste sharp and raw and unmistakable. My own body. His seed. The final act of use.
“Good,” Sean said flatly.
He pulled his fingers free and dipped them again—deeper this time.
I whimpered as more cum was scooped from inside me.
Sean brought it to my mouth again.
“Open wider.”
He smeared it across my lips first, then pushed it in. I licked, sucked, swallowed.
He was feeding me my own defilement.
And I took it willingly.
“Not done,” he muttered, turning me slightly, angling my hips.
“Still more in there.”
He pressed his fingers back in again.
I moaned and waited—mouth open, tongue out.
Sean pulled his fingers from my hole slowly, strands of cum clinging between us, stretching before they snapped.
“Still full,” he muttered, almost to himself.
He looked down, then at me.
“My fingers don’t go deep enough.”
He gripped his cock—thick, still half-hard, slick with sweat and the remnants of his orgasm—and tapped it lightly against my stretched hole.
“But this does.”
My breath caught.
Even used, even raw, my hole twitched open in anticipation.
He leaned forward and pressed the head back into me. Slow. Deliberate.
Not to fuck—but to reach.
“I’m going to push it out of you,” he said, voice flat. “Like squeezing a sponge.”
I moaned.
“I want your mouth open when it starts to leak.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He slid deeper, the stretch burning again. Not rough—just invasive. Full.
His cock sank in with practiced ease, burying itself until his hips met my ass.
“There,” he muttered.
Then he pulled back—slowly—watching as a fresh trail of cum leaked out and ran down my crack.
He caught it with one hand.
“Open.”
I did.
He smeared it into my mouth. I swallowed.
He thrust in again.
Deeper.
Then slower, grinding, rotating his hips slightly like he was wringing the load out of me.
Another leak.
Another scoop.
Another feeding.
I whimpered around his fingers when he fed me again.
I gasped. My caged cock throbbed violently—pointless, untouched, leaking.
“You’re hard again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re hard from me milking your hole like a pump.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Pathetic.”
He slid in once more, deeper still, and held it there.
“I own every part of you. I cum in you, and you thank me for the taste.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pulled out slowly one final time. A thick glob clung to the underside of his shaft.
He caught it with two fingers and held it out.
“Last drop.”
I leaned forward and sucked it clean.
But he didn’t move.
He held his cock in front of my face—glistening, streaked with white, wet with the sweat and filth of what we’d just done.
“You’re not finished.”
I opened my mouth again.
“Clean it,” he said.
I leaned forward and began to lick—slow, deliberate swipes of my tongue across the shaft, the head, the sensitive ridge. I gathered the cum, the sweat, the residue of everything that had passed between us.
When my tongue had covered every inch, I took him deeper, sucking gently, cleaning the last of it from the base to the tip.
He groaned once, low and tired.
Then he pulled away.
“Good.”
Sean stood.
Without a word, he turned from the bed and walked toward the ensuite bathroom.
“Get dressed,” he said over his shoulder. “Then go home.”
I sat up slowly, watching the tight curve of his ass as he disappeared into the doorway. He was already peeling off his last sweat-drenched layers as he stepped into the shower, water hissing on tile, the light of the bathroom catching the lines of his back one last time.
Then the door closed behind him.
I was alone.
The room smelled like sex and sweat and power. I could still feel the stretch in my ass, the slick warmth of his cum lodged deep inside me. My hole twitched softly as I stood and reached for my clothes, everything sore, every step reminding me what I had become.
Outside, the city lights blurred in the night.
In the Uber, I sat as still as I could, my body sore in places I hadn’t known could ache. My shirt stuck to my back. The seat felt foreign beneath me—flat, cold, sterile after the heat of his bed.
I shifted slightly and felt the slow, heavy ooze of cum inside me, the warmth thick and constant. My cage throbbed without release. My hole ached, used and empty.
And I thought of him.
His voice. His cock. His control.
The way he never said thank you. The way I didn’t expect him to.
The taste of him still clung to my tongue.
The sting of the paddle still echoed across my skin.
And I already wanted more.
Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
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