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What Began Playfully Became More Serious_ PART FIVE
THE ANGEL'S HEAD
He started by fucking me on my back, me holding my legs apart for him, because I was more receptive if I could see him and watch it and he could see my face and judge if I was hurting and how I was doing. He pushed my legs up to my ears and fucked me hard, spitting sweat in my face without thinking (I think). I wanted to wank myself to always keep me on the edge, tightening myself constantly for him. He liked that, but I couldn't always reach my own parts because of the position we were in. He encouraged me to masturbate. But not to cum; obviously not to cum. "I need you hot," he said. "You like it." But when he got close to explode he grabbed my legs and twisted me so that he was penetrating a different part of my rectum. He liked to go through every posture. He put my legs on his shoulders and lifted me, like a planet. "Am I tight?" I asked "Yeah, keep it tight. That's good. Yeah tight as that, yeah, that's goo-oo-dgod ..." Then he changed his mind and didn't let me touch myself - so when he touched it the sensation was almost painful. Whilst he was inside me he kept a good rythmn only halted if it came out and he had to grab it and push it back in. Then he flip me onto all-fours. I presented my anus and he fucked me like a dog for a long time, gradually forcing me face down and into the pillow, spreading my legs more, and driving it harder, and so that I couldn't touch myself - sometimes he grabbed my wrists and held them because I became more of a hole he was using. And if I started squirming under it he stopped and said, "Are you ok?" "Yeah. I ... Ok." My junk went soft, because of the time he took. "Just lay still while I fuck you." I lay still. "I need you to ... cooperate," he said, "if I'm going to fuck you properly." My hole was really hurting by this time and I was finding it difficult, more and more, to keep a tight grip as the rasping pain and constant muscular effort wore me out - he didn't seem to notice - yet it felt so good letting himself finish himself off in me, ignoring my own discomfort and just using me. Don't know; why is that? He held my chest, arms round me, panting into my ear, "Do you want to cum I want to cum I'm going ... to."
As I struggled to touch myself so that I could ejaculate with him, vaginally tightening on him to maximise his pleasure; that's what I wanted, to feel his prong driving painfully into, splitting my anus and bruising my gut as his sperm flooded out into my intestines. And I wanted to squirt into the mattress whilst he drove it hard many times until he was completely exhausted forcing my body to contain all his juices. But I didn't cum, because he didn't let me. He grabbed my arms and held them well out of reach of my prick. I couldn't even rub myself off because of, because he took over so completely my own orgasm just didn't matter. I didn't notice it at the time, because I was so excited, but my own orgasm didn't matter and, perhaps that is when ... I don't know ...
*** I spent days thinking about him. Sitting in the university library sucking a pen. My arse was sore - a beautiful soreness I couldn't describe if you haven't experienced it. I kept thinking, "I have been well and truly fucked!" I kept picturing, how he touched me, how he stroked my bottom and played with my nipples and how he was always just gently teasing me with his fingers. He never let me forget that I was his fuck. He repeated himself a lot, "I would never do anything to hurt you." And I believed him. "I want to do things to you." He stroked my moustache. "I don't want to damage you. When I think about how I have fucked you and used you, it makes me feel so proud of everything I can do to you, that you'll take it, and take pleasure from it, and beg for more, and be willing for me to do it to you and to do whatever I want. I just love that. And the more I do, the more you need. I just love that. But I have needs too. I need to be served. I need obedience. I need to be focused on. Can you do that do you think? Or do I have to train you?" Was my reply insufficient, or inadequately assured, or was he just pursuing his own kink? For whatever reason he tied my arms and then strung that to a post above my head so I was, not immobile, but I couldn't do anything to untie myself. "I just need to see you being of service," he said. He was so handsome; I did just want to serve him. I was proud to be tied. I can't explain my feelings. I was totally into him. He could do anything. Absolutely anything.
He left me alone in that room for a whole day.
When he came back I was half asleep and so hungry! First thing I knew he was releasing the cord so my hands were still tied together but he could position me how he liked. "Can I have a drink?" "Yeah you're allowed a drink." He stood and pissed. My mouth, was closed but opened as the warm fluid splashing my face ran down my neck and soaked my skin. "Thought you wanted a drink!" He laughed. "What a waste!" "I, I haven't drunk all day ..." "Yeah, sorry mate, here," he gave me this bottle to drink by holding it to my mouth and letting it trickle in. I didn't say anything but I thought, 'Its all very well, but the human body needs water. Pure water. It, it's potentially dangerous." I trusted him. The bottle was from the tap, I think, and I could drink as much as I wanted. He held the bottle for me patiently. I felt like a foal in his arms as he cradled my head and held the neck of the bottle like a teat, only occasionally spilling any until the end when he splashed some over me deliberately to wash his urine off. "We don't need the smell of that do we?" he said. Then he told me to get on my knees, kneel, and present my arsehole to him for inspection. "Is it clean?" He knelt and looked then sniffed, then licked the back of my balls, wiped his tongue up my crack and over my asshole, tasting it. "I'm glad you haven't shaved this. I liked your pube, soft and black like fur." I ached for his approval. He patted with satisfaction my dimple arsepits. I was so grateful. He turned me round and he was standing there, nude and beautiful, and looked at me putting his hands on my shoulders; he laughed and said, "You are so so sub. I could totally own you! And you'd love it. I want you and me to take things a step further. Is this what you want? I want you to make it clear." "What do you mean? Yeah it's what I want," I said. I honestly don't know what I thought I was saying. But boyfriends with a hung hunk like that? No-brainer. I did ask, "What do you mean? Is what what I want?" But his answer wasn't a straight answer, "I like that you honestly seem to believe that you actually need to ask. Like you don't already know." "I don't. I don't already know." "Oh oooo this is going to be fun." He smiled. "You look to me like you're trying to understand a new language. It's going to be a process of gradual training. It's going to be a gradual process. I want you fucked up. I'm going to take you off the grid. And the person you are, won't exist." That excited me so much. It was so fucking kink! I wanted to crumple at his feet right there and lick his feet. But also, I didn't believe it. I thought he was fantasising, playing out some fetish of his where I was his fucktoi and he was this overlord and master - a man demanding complete obedience, you know, for kicks. He held out his hands for me to give him mine and he released the cords around my wrists. "We won't need these for now will we." So I went along with it. I knelt down, raised my eyes to him. His cock was just in front of my face. It was exciting to me that I might be able to put it in my mouth. It was so enormous and shaped like a torpedo, wider in the middle and coming to a pointed brutal head. When I touched it I couldn't believe how hard it was. I subtly approached his cockhead with my lips and kissed it. He smiled and touched my head and nodded. I kissed it again and licked a bead of precum. Then I wrapped my lips around the rigid helmet and sucked it like a cherry. Then I sucked the whole thing into my mouth like an oyster and let it slide down my throat, sensing it respond to the feeling. As it stiffened I let it out and licked it round again, touching his ballsack with my tongue. I was concentrating on it like it was a little animal I was trying to coach into life. "I like the way you suck my cock: attentively. Do you always do it like that?" he asked. "Is that how you always suck a cock? careful to maximise the pleasure; mindful that you are providing a service, not the other way around? You are pleasing yourself, aren't you?" "Ye. Of course," I nodded, releasing him into my fingers and rubbing myself at the same time. "It's a two way street isn't it? I like sucking you like being sucked. Win-win." "You have no idea what I want. You have no idea what I'm going to do." "You want something else?" "I'll tell you. I like it, but I'll tell you if I want something else. Fucking your head is so good on so many different levels. I can't believe it, the way you stimulate me. You're an angel. Your mouth is like fucking an angel. When I cum in your mouth it's like I'm ejaculating into an angel's head, fucking an angel's brain, filling an angel's skull up with my steaming ... sperm!" He stuffed it in my face again, holding my chin still so he could ram it deep against the gag in my throat. I nearly threw up before he let me breath again. I was coughing uncontrollably, but the moment I stopped and swallowed my sick and calmed slightly, he was in and pumping my neck again, watching the reactions cross my face, the effort to endure him, the fear I'd inhale my own phlegm, the panic; he watched the changing picture on my face like a drunk watches television, only letting up if it was absolutely necessary. As he got closer to cum he closed his eyes and gripped my head harder, slamming his prick into me, jerking it as I prepared, helplessly, to receive the flood of his juice.
I thought, 'Does he think he's fucking an angel's head right now?"
I looked forward to drinking his shots as he started to slow his stroke and drive it deeper and more forcefully against the bend in my throat. "Ye. Ye. Ye. Ye." Obviously I couldn't speak but I could think and all I was thinking was, 'Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it to me. Give it your flood. Yeah. Give it your flood." But then he pushed my head against a wall and my head started hitting it and really making my head hurt against the brickwork so I was like fuck man stop hurting and he was hitting me and my head against the wall and I was like, 'Fuck man!', but he didn't stop.
Then he stopped, and I could feel his cum was pumping into my neck like a nozzle fills a fuel tank. I just had to let him shoot. He was forcing it in so deep the back of my head pressed painfully against the brickwork and I was in agony. When he released he pulled it out of my neck and let me choke and swallow and choke and cough. "Don't cough it up!" He warned, resting a few fingers on my chin as though if I did cough up any at all of his precious sperm he would shut my jaw forcefully to keep it in. I continued to struggle, taking some time to master my reflexes until I was settled. My eyes were streaming and all over my head there was this ache like a concussion. He hugged me. He held my head in his arms and stroked my hair, "There, sorry, but thank you, but sorry." "You hurt me." "Yes I did." "Why did you do that?" "I had to. You have to learn I'm in control here. You have to. You have to let me do as I want. It's important that if hurting you is turning me on then I can hurt you. That's important. Don't you see?" "My head's bruised now. My head aches. You really - fuck man - like I know in the heat of the moment, but didn't you think? You said you were never going to hurt me, so why did you?" Trouble is, I knew the answer even before he said it and it turned me on so much when he said it, "Yeah I know. But hurting you turned me on and using you isn't enough. I need to know that you are really struggling to make myself cum like that. I need to get that sensation that you are really trying, focusing on my orgasm with me, nothing else. How can it be if you aren't totally focusing? I need that. I need that." I knew he was right. I suppose I was crying as he re-bound my wrists and led me to a place where he tied me and stroked my shivering body and looked at my head which he touched where it smarted and said, "Ouch," as though he was the one with a small amount of blood in his hair. "Don't worry. That's ... lovely," he said, "that's lovely. I'm just ..." And he went out.
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END OF What Began Playfully Became More Serious - PART FIVE