Free Fiction Friday: Beautiful boy – Dark Fantasy, Part 1

 

freefictionfridayavatar

Hey folks! I am still taking a bit of a break from Growth. I’d rather be able to put some real time and energy into it and make it good for you than to scramble to write something.

So, instead, I’d like to introduce you to Mal and Kyle. Their story, Beautiful Boy is slated to come out later this year. While I was writing their novel, this short came to me. It’s total fantasy and goes beyond SSC and into RACK. There is sharing. There is heavy kink (more even than my Golden Collar stories).

So, without further ado, allow me to present Beautiful Boy – Dark Fantasy.

Bbbanner

I couldn’t quite believe I wanted to do this. It was something that had been growing in the back of my mind for a while, but I’d never have dreamed of bringing it up with him. I was happy with him, deliriously so. And I didn’t want him to ever think he wasn’t enough.

But he knows me. Better than anyone ever had. And after three years together, he’d learned me inside and out. He could read my expressions. I couldn’t lie to him; he’d know the second I tried.

So he knows when I’m thinking about something, wondering, even curious. He knows when I want something but don’t want to tell him.

And he knows how to get it out of me.

He’s devious, my Master. He won’t just ask me and give me the opportunity to lie or try to tell him it’s nothing. He won’t let me dodge it. He breaks me down until I have no mental capacity to deceive him. Not that I like deceiving him. But I’m always worried about hurting him or doing something wrong, so I second guess myself too much. This way, he doesn’t let me do that.

This time, he bound me to the cross in our playroom. Sometimes it’s the bench. Sometimes, it’s the table. Occasionally, it’s just the bed in our bedroom.

I hung there and the anticipation stretched my nerves taut. He knows how that works with me too. He’ll get me up onto the cross and leave me there, while he putters around the rest of the room. By the time we start, my cock is so hard, balls so tight, I can’t stand it.

That is, of course, if he takes the cage off. Sometimes, he likes to leave it on. And the arousal and anticipation make my cock fill the cage and frustrate me even more.

He did that this time, too. I was going to have permanent lines in my dick from the cage bars, but I knew he’d just like that. My balls ached with the stretch as the cage pulled on them. I was already ridiculously aroused and he hadn’t even touched me yet.

He finally took the cage off and my cock hardened instantly, precum leaking from the slit and dripping onto the floor. He ran a finger through it, smearing it over the head, then leaving me again.

I had to have been on there for hours. In reality, I knew it wasn’t, it couldn’t be. But it certainly felt like it. He teased me, edged me, over and over and over again. He flogged my belly and thighs. Took the crop and strap to my cock and balls until they were on fire and I was desperate to come.

And only when I could do nothing but obey him, only when my mind was focused on nothing but him, was I able to tell him.

I wanted to be humiliated. Fucked over and over by anyone and everyone he gave me to. Used and ignored. Made into his whore and reduced to nothing but my holes.

The admission itself was humiliating. He’d taken to calling me his slut at times during our scenes. He liked to refer to my ass on occasion as my boy pussy or my boy cunt. He’d gotten me to the point where I come more often from him fucking me than my dick.

He played with my dick a lot, sure. But it was to tease me, edge me, and deny me. My orgasms belonged to him and, thus, so did my cock. And he’d decided not long after we got together, that it was to be locked up and not let out except at his pleasure.

I haven’t touched it since. And I love it. He cleans it. He decides if I’m to feel pleasure from it.

In fact, my last penile orgasm was nearly six months ago. I haven’t orgasmed at all in three weeks. My balls were so full and swollen, I sometimes had trouble walking. He hasn’t even been willing to drain me.

Once I’d admitted what I’d fantasized about, he’d turned me around, given me the pain needed to make me fly and get out of my head completely. Then he’d fucked me within an inch of my life, while refusing to let me orgasm. Again.

It wasn’t until later, he explained why.

He’d been seriously turned on by my admission. He was possessive of me, there was no doubt about it and I loved that about him. I loved that he didn’t want to share me as a rule.

I also loved that he was willing to try things with me. If I wanted something, he’d give it a go. He might not like some of it, but he’d try it.

I’d never expected him to want to try this. It went completely against his possessiveness. Or so I thought.

I should have known he’d still make it work the way he wanted it.

But he wasn’t going to make it easy on me, either. And I wouldn’t have expected him to. He would take his time, figure out how best to approach it.

And for holding back on him, my punishment for not telling him, was I was to be denied the entire time. Until after he worked this out and set it up, I’d be teased, edged, fucked, but not allowed release or relief in any way. No orgasms. No milking my prostate. Nothing.

I knew the next few weeks were going to be torture.

* * *

Make sure to check out the rest of the stories from Free Fiction Friday!

 

No Comments Yet

Leave a Reply