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Ruining Him

Brad’s cock is stiff in your hand. You can feel it pulsing. The shiny pink head peeps through your fist, like a new-born baby trying to get free of its mother’s cunt. You kiss Brad’s ear and whisper, “Look at yourself, Brad. See my hand on your prick. How does it feel? Does it feel nice and dirty? Like we shouldn’t be doing it?”

Brad nods, looking in the mirror as you blatantly fondle him. You begin the slow stroking up and down of his shaft and continue kissing his neck, and then his shoulder, tasting the salt sweat that is gathering on his flesh. It is warm in the room and your bodies perspire. You can smell each other’s animal odor. The sexual tension is high.

Your free hand plays with Brad’s nipple, your forefinger circling around it anti-clockwise, brushing it and bringing it erect quickly until it is as hard as an airgun pellet. His smell is divine, potent and intoxicating. Your erection continues to slip up and down the crack of Brad’s slippery butt, slicked by a combination of pre-cum and saliva from the little ass-licking you gave him earlier.

You don’t attempt to penetrate Brad. Brad’s desire to be taken, to be violated and stretched by man-cock, is immense. A boy fucked by a man is how Brad sees it, a father figure, a strict authoritarian and disciplinarian training him to love and respect the hallowed dick. It is what Brad wants, but he will have to be patient. Brad knows intuitively that only a man can possess him completely. A man uses his penis to physically possess another, whether it is possession of a woman or man. A woman cannot give Brad what a man can, and there’s no need to elaborate on that. He knows what you are getting at. His desire is to be filled with a living thing, eight and one half inch of cock lodged to the hilt inside that most intimate and wondrous of holes. The feeling and significance of the act can never be matched by an artificial substitute. Brad is intelligent enough to know this. His deflowering and degradation will be exquisite when it happens, but he must prove his worthiness to you.

Brad’s ass wriggles, trying to tempt you, participating in the game of cat and mouse you play with each other, only it is Brad who is trying to capture the mouse, attempting to ensnare it with his muscular hunting ring. But you tease him, moving away, and then returning to once again slide up the humid cleft of his ass, that dark canyon between the full moons. Brad feels the knob of your prick poke maddeningly across his tight little fuck-hole on each of the upstrokes, but it is fleeting and ephemeral. It is there, and then it is gone, a subtle and delicious torture for both of you which cranks up your libido to fever pitch.

You could cum purely from exterior friction of Brad’s flesh alone, your cock gliding over any part of his sweat-wet body would do it. Your urge to soil Brad is overwhelming. You’d loves to taint every virgin part of Brad’s flesh with your splashing sperm, massaging it into his body likes a soothing balm, letting it dry to a brittle crust before picking it off.

You inspect your reflection in the mirror. Brad is blushing profusely. You feel the heat from his face next to yours. His scalp prickles with perspiration. You begin masturbating Brad in earnest. He watches you… sees how easily you can make him cum. Brad has no willpower to fight against it. He feels his excitement mounting. This is so hot for him, being under your control. Have you ever ‘enjoyed’ the frustration and perverse pleasure to be had from a spoiled orgasm? Even if Brad has or hasn’t as yet… he is about to.

You increase the tempo and his grip on Brad’s shaft. The pinky-purple head bloats and shines with hot blood. Brad feels the melting in his loins, the contraction in his thigh muscles. You have him on the edge, the very edge of orgasm. Brad is ready to spill the beans for you. How quickly Brad has reached this stage. He is too easy. You will make him wait for it. Brad must learn patience, the dear boy. And just as you think he is about to pour forth, you slide your forefinger underneath the base of his cock and apply a little pressure to the duct. It is enough to interrupt the flow and prevent Brad from coming. He must learn tolerance and patience and of course gratitude for when you finally allow him to cum.

The frustration of unfulfilled release causes Brad some discomfort. You hold on to him, making him wait until the wave of lust subsides. When you’re satisfied Brad is himself again, you start over, bringing Brad on, taking him to the very edges once again before aborting his orgasm for a second time. This time the discomfort in Brad’s abdomen and the ache in his tortured cock is more acute for him. But it will be worth it, because what you are actually doing is stacking Brad’s orgasms, so that when he finally cums Brad will experience an intensity the like of which he has never known. You tease your own cock against Brad’s ass, making it squirm and wriggle like an eel between the slippery cheeks. Brad desires to be penetrated. But he will have to wait a while longer for that supreme pleasure.

On the third time of asking, you allow Brad to have his orgasm. It is as if his guts are turning inside-out. The sensation is like hot quicksilver running through his loins and bubbling like boiling lava up the tender shaft. You feel Brad’s body folding in half before you but you hold him upright, forcing him to witness the fruit of his humbling. Brad’s cum spurts forth in copious amounts and with such force that the jetting sperm explodes like white paintballs against the mirror face. The splats are audible. His creamy goo begins to dribble down the glass like the white of an undercooked egg.

“You filthy little slut,” you say, laughing cruelly. “You are too easy, Brad. You must perform a forfeit in penance for your lack of self-control before your master. You will kneel and lick the mirror clean and afterwards you will describe to me the taste of your cum in delicious detail. Do I make myself clear, you little trollop?”

“Yes,” he says meekly, and you know he’s your cock-slave for life.

The End


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