Broken Promises
He was in control.
Anything. He. Wanted. He was in control now and he could feel the excitement bubbling somewhere inside him.
He'd strapped Igor to one of the fucking benches at the fetish club and blindfolded him, so he could do anything he wanted: shove his dick between those hairy lips for a blow job; squeeze and twist his nipples (the pad he was lying on ran from his throat to just above his crotch but was narrow enough to keep his nubs accessible); slap around his cock and/or balls; stick his knob deep in that hairy asshole.
He could, however, just do nothing and let Iggy, a contraction which somehow sounded less authoritative and made him feel more powerful, wait. It was his choice. His dick twitched as his awareness of his own agency increased.
It was a little disappointing that Iggy had seen him, he preferred it when his nine-inch erection could do the talking without the revelation of his 5ft 5in stature.
He found himself landing a loud slap on one of the furry buttocks of the man he'd attached to the bench.
Iggy jumped. "Bastard!" Meanwhile he was taking deep breaths to suppress the sudden rage that had provoked the slap. Gradually, his mouth morphed into a smile. It felt good to have this man at his mercy. The cheek before him now had a livid red hand-shaped mark on it.
He'd picked Iggy up on a specialist app for the submissive and now the Eastern-European-looking man had surrendered to him. He spat in his hand and rubbed it on the boy's hole before shoving his cock into it.
“Ahhhh!” Iggy had grunted but that was the sub's lot. He knew the pain would subside and he didn't really care if his bottom was hurting a little.
There hadn't been much chat before they got down to it but he'd been sure to work into the conversation that he'd been the CEO of a couple of companies and saved at least three from bankruptcy. He could definitely do such a thing… even if he hadn't in real life.
He'd also mentioned the houses he and his partner rented out in the city... so what if there weren't so many as he implied and it was mainly his partner's money they'd invested.
He pushed his hips forward and back, beginning to fuck the strapped man.
After a few thrusts Iggy began to make appreciative noises. Guys liked his cock. It was big. Then, all of a sudden, that word was there in his mind. That word. Pipsqueak. He thrust harder, grinding his public bone into the cheeks of the arse in front of him. Savouring the slapping sound as his resentment at the insult fuelled his action.
He pulled out and walked round the bench. He grabbed his dick and pushed the helmet under Igor's nose. "Open," he commanded, then shoved it into his mouth. The warmth and the wetness were welcome, although it would have been better if Iggy had used his tongue rather than just lying there taking whatever was served to him. He could feel the opening of the man's throat, so he shoved himself in further, enjoying the choking sound that resulted. He pulled back long enough for Iggy to get a breath or two, then pushed forward again, making him choke again. Iggy’s nose got snotty and his eyes would be teary, he felt sure, under the sleep mask. Yes!
During the preliminary negotiation via messenger he'd told Iggy he’d give him a good fucking, so, despite the joy he found in choking him with his cock, he knew he'd have to switch ends again. He debated for a moment, in his head, whether he’d conform. He was the top, after all, and what he said was law. The bottom, particularly a sub, was only there to fulfil his needs, whatever they were. He liked fucking too, though, feeling the hole wrapped around his dick as he punched it in and out, so momentarily he was torn...
He thrust himself into the mouth again a couple of times, celebrating as he achieved a retching sound, then pulled out, walked round to Iggy's rear and pushing his knob deep into his arse.
He knew bottoms liked a rhythm, the regularity and repetition somehow got into their minds. It had, however, never worked for him. More important for him was being in control. Of course, it was his satisfaction that really mattered, so he deliberately avoided any kind of rhythm, or predictability, knowing it would screw up Iggy's mind and denying him any hint of ‘subspace’.
He knew, too, that the longer the fuck lasted the more subs generally liked it. So, he'd make this short and... for him... sweet.
"Red," said Iggy. They'd agreed a safe word at the start and now he was obliged to stop.
He couldn't believe his ears. How could this be happening again? This was the third time in as many fucks that the sub had called a halt to their session.
He thrust a few more times, hoping Iggy might change his mind.
"I said 'red', now pull out and untie me," Iggy asserted.
Reluctantly, he had to comply, undoing the bottom’s wrists and arms first so he could unbuckle and un-blindfold himself. “Why stop now?” he asked.
“You’re not worth the breath it would take me to explain!,” Igor spat out, with a look that would curdle milk. Then he walked away.
This story was written as part of a Naked Men Talking Writing Workshop, in response to the prompt "Broken Promises". Copyright remains with the author - this story cannot be republished or distributed without the consent of the author.
Nickles
Nickles
Nickles
Nickles
