Oscar B.A. Chapter 6
Richard did as he'd said he would. He tied me to his bed and fucked me until I couldn't walk.
Until the room span and my head swam and he emptied his balls inside of me. Until I didn't care that I'd just met the guy. Until the only thing I needed was his seed and I begged for his thick load to fill me before blissfully streaming out of my hole.
He made me his. And I made him mine.
Questionably safe sexual practices aside, however, he didn't do exactly as he'd suggested. He began by tying me face-up.
Maybe he'd changed his mind. Decided he liked the look of my front as I'd laughed and joked, coked off my nut. Enjoyed the curl of my smile pulling at my "chiselled" jaw or appreciated how my blue eyes "sparkled" in his living room light.
Or perhaps, and I suspected more likely, due to our untimely and thoroughly unwanted visitor crashing our previous party, he hadn't finished with my mouth.
His bedroom was stunning. As expected. Like the rest of the apartment everything was high-fashion-high-style-state-of-the-art. Everything had a place and suited the room effortlessly from the walk-in wardrobe to the sharp, masculine writing desk and king-size bed.
The harness, of expensive black leather, was smoothed from years of use. But strong. Held in place by a heavy, memory-foam mattress and concealed by layers of expensive bed linen in dark greys. Four, lavish pillows lined a reinforced, steel headboard attached to a reinforced steel frame.
`Wow.'
`You like?'
`I like.'
A lot. His ex-husband didn't like rough play, but I did. And I was certain I wasn't the only boy to have been captivated by its impressive design. Before the marriage. During. After.
I thought about them. Writhing and wriggling and eventually surrendering. Their hands and feet bound. Their bodies splayed out, naked and toned and anybody's. Young and tender and for the taking.
My turn was no different. It was like being tied to a rack. A rack of designer clouds.
Strapped in, my cock bouncing and surging from my groin, I succumbed to the tightening. Abandoned myself to the stretching of my arms and legs until I was spread-eagled. Pulled into a star of muscled and willing teenage flesh, ensconced in a sky of luxury.
A star among the heavenly scene in front of him. Richard. My new Daddy, savouring every second. Taking in every sublime detail.
I could see it in his eyes. Heard it in his praise and moans and grunts. Watched it in every tensed muscle and every defined delicious bulge of his body as he yanked at my restraints.
In his cock, thick and hard and purple-headed, dancing in the air with every whirr of leather.
Content with my capture, he kneeled over me. Over my chest and shoulders: His knees pushing into the mattress under my armpits and warming my ticklish skin. His huge thighs either side of my head like tanned walls. His astounding crotch and torso and perfectly groomed face an impenetrable tower. His eyes burning over me like a searchlight. My nostrils full of his scent.
I was his slave. His prisoner and his property to use as he wished. Use my mouth and my throat and my arse, rough and deep and brutal. With the purest cocaine this side of Colombia electrifying my body and unlocking the vault of carnal desires hidden in the most sordid part of my mind, I didn't care what he did.
I just wanted it. Now.
`Are you going to be a good boy for Daddy?' he said.
`Yes. Please, Daddy. I need you.'
`You like it rough, boy?'
`Mmhmm.'
`You like being hit?'
I bit my lower-lip and contemplated. I'd been slapped before, and spanked more times than I could remember, but never hit.
To say the idea hadn't appealed was a lie, of course. I'd thought about it. Had even gone as far as asking a guy to hit me during sex a few months before. But all he'd managed was a feeble slap, ruining the fantasy and shrinking my cock back inside my body.
But with Daddy Dick, I was willing to try anything.
`Yes,' I said.
He smiled. Said, `Don't worry. I won't make you bleed.'
`Ok.'
`Ok what?'
`Ok, Daddy.'
`And?'
`Thank you, Daddy.'
`Good. Now, you're going to do everything I say, aren't you?' he said running his hand from my inner thigh all the way up, over my cock and abs and pecs, to my throat.
I nodded. Wildly.
`Everything, Daddy,' I said, his fingers tightening.
`Good. Now open your fucking mouth.'
Letting go of my neck, he pinched my open jaw between his thumb and index finger and twisted my head. Fast and hard with the flick of his wrist. It hurt, but the pain melted away instantly, transforming into submissive pleasure and rolling through my body. Through my chest and stomach and groin all the way to my curling toes.
Taking hold of my forehead with his other hand, his fingers and thumb digging into my temples, he repositioned himself. Then he bent down, looked me in the eyes and spat into my open mouth.
`Fucking whore,' he said.
As his hot, gooey gift dribbled down my tongue, remnants of champagne pricking at my taste buds, he began.
When he was finished, I could barely breathe. Or talk. Or see. My throat was raw and my jaw and neck ached. My cheeks and neck and chest, shimmered in the dim, golden light from above. Glazed in saliva.
Saliva that he'd spat at me. Or stuck to me as he'd slapped himself against me. Or dripped from his cock, falling and flailing between us like tiny translucent acrobats, as he'd jerked himself, watching me breathe. All joining the layer of warm, salty throat coating that had flowed from my mouth. Whipped-up by his ruthless lunges and thickened by his pre-cum.
As my chest still burned for air, he got off the bed and loosened my bindings one by one. Finished, he reached down and grabbed me by my hair. Pulled me to the edge of the mattress.
"On your knees."
"Yes Daddy."
In position, I looked up at him and waited for his next command. Tingled with anticipation as I watched him standing his full six feet and one inch in front of me. His superb body. His brutal cock. His powerful arms.
"Relax your neck," he said. "Good. Now close your eyes."
Then he hit me. Back hand. Hard enough to send a crack through the silent room like a belt whip.
Pain surged cross my cheek like fire. My teeth rattled in my jaw and my face and lips seared. Sharp and heavy his strike sent me hurtling onto my side, face first into sheets.
Lying in the thousand-thread-count darkness, I wanted to rub my face. Hold my hands against the burning and throbbing. But it wasn't the only part of me that throbbed. As I lay limp, used, wet and aching, my hole and cock and entire body yearned for more.
And I got it. Four more times. Each strike harder than the last. Each backhand sending me left or right depending on which hand he'd used. My hairs straining in my skull as he pulled me back to kneeling. My ears pricking up as he told me to thank him and ask for another. My cheeks bright red but no blood. Not even a taste.
He kept his word. In more ways than one.
`I've decided you've been a bad boy,' he said, done tenderising my face and pushing me onto my back.
`I'm sorry, Daddy.'
`Sorry won't cut it.'
`Please, Daddy'
`No. You need to be punished. On your stomach. Now.'
Standing off the bed he restrained me. Tighter than before. So tight air tickled a freshly exposed patch of hairless crack between my pulled-open arse cheeks and it dawned on me, for the first time, that I wouldn't be able to escape even if I wanted to.
`This is what happens to bad boys,' he said.
Twisting my neck, I saw a digital alarm clock on his bedside table. Four thin, red numbers spelled out the time: 12:34 am. Then everything went dark. A blindfold. Cool, black leather.
Then pressure. Fast and heavy. So heavy it felt like all his body weight plus gravity, pushing me further into the mattress by my back. Two, rough hands squeezing either side of my shoulders. My arse rising to the heat of his groin.
`I'm going to fuck you raw,' he said, his voice louder and deeper in the blackness like his lips were millimetres from my ears.
I should have said no. Told him to get a condom. But I didn't. I was drunk and high and wanted to be destroyed. Pummelled and stretched and wrecked by his thick, forty-two-year-old cock.
`Breed me, Daddy.'
`Good boy,' he said, slapping his cock against my hole.
Thud: A jolt of intense pleasure rippled through me like lightning. Thud: Harder and more forceful. Thud: The tip of his thick head pushed into me like a fleshy spear. Thud: His moans grew louder and longer. Thud: My unlubricated hole strained against him.
`Nice and tight,' he said.
`Thank you, Daddy.'
Next came the sound of a bedside drawer opening. Slick, smooth wood on a roller. It closed again and a quiet click of a plastic lid being opened clapped through the room. Followed by a chill. An intensely cold and then soothing wipe of lube by thick, capable fingers.
Then my whole body convulsed. My neck snapped back and my jaw flung open. My arms and legs instinctively pulled into myself, trying to claw myself away from the agony searing between my legs, but couldn't. I couldn't move.
All I could do was take it. Bite hard into the bed linen below my drooling mouth and cry between clenched teeth as he forced his way inside of me. All the way to the base.
There he held himself, rolling his hips and churning me like butter, before pulling out and repeating. Hard and fast and uncaring. Selfishly using my hole like I was made of plastic. Like he'd bought me.
It was mind-blowing.
Never before had I been dominated like that. I'd had a handful of guys with enough balls to tie me up or throw me around. Enough men putting me in my place to give me a taste for it. But most had broken character too quickly. Been too eager to ask if I was ok. Like my comfort mattered.
Which, naturally, was something I usually expected. Required in my choice of fuck buddy. I only let guys who treated me like a prince and wined and dined me hang around more than once. But it was a different story in the bedroom. Not caring was the point.
Let's face it, there's nothing sexy about a dom checking his sub's ok mid-fuck. That's what safe words are for.
Fortunately for me, Richard was a real Daddy. And it was "red", if you were wondering.
Forty minutes later, with no break, he emptied his balls in my nineteen-year-old arse. Then he unfastened my wrist bindings, pulled out, moved down the bed, pushed my arse cheeks apart and sucked out his load.
`Fuck!' I moaned.
Because I felt it. Reversing out of me. Hot against my beaten skin.
Then I tasted it. Drank down every salty drop as he kissed me. Savoured every morsel as it slid down my throat and his tongue licked at the insides of mouth.
My head wedged between his powerful bicep and forearm to support my weight, I lifted myself up by my knees and beat off. Blew my own white bolt across charcoal as I swallowed his like an antidote to a deadly poison.
Six minutes after that, my ankles untied and my legs still shaking and my hole red and swollen and the tang of his finest swimmers between my teeth and gums, without a word, he fell asleep.
With my blindfold still on, it took me less than a minute to join him.
To be continued ...
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Copyright Jack Ladd 2017
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