The Beginnings of a Dom Bottom, Part 4
************************************** Obviously, if you are under 18 or not of the minimum age in your jurisdiction to legally read sexual content, stop now. ************************************** If you're like me, you've done a lot of reading on Nifty over the years. If you also appreciate the site and are able, I encourage you to help support its continued existence by donating: http://donate.nifty.org/ ************************************** I felt inspired to write something a little different this time. I hope you like it. **************************************
Hey, y'all. David here.
If you're confused, I've the sub top in this story. It's been awhile, so here's what you missed.
Since you last heard from us, Master Kevin and I kept dating. We went to dinners, we fucked, we went on walks in the park, we fucked, and he even took me dancing (my favorite, not quite his thing). Oh, and did I mention we fucked?
Being a slave to his hole made me the happiest I've ever been. We started experimenting with bondage, public acts, and even discussed some verbal degradation. I love to service and worship Master Kev (which he allows me to call him if I've been good), and I love being marked with his scent and cum. Having him in total control of me and in control of when I cum makes me perfectly content, like I've found where I belong in the world.
Why am I just breezing over all that good stuff? Well, after a few months, just like the rest of the world, the pandemic hit. And even if we were just about ready to put the risks to our personal health aside, we both have elderly family members we needed to be able to check in on. We couldn't in good conscience risk exposing them.
So, just like that, we couldn't see each other. And unlike when I'm usually deprived of his beautiful hole, (and cock, and lips,) no amount of begging could change those circumstances. Of course we tried FaceTime and distanced outdoor dates, but with no end in sight, we had to admit that it hurt more to try to see each other and not touch than it would be if we just made a clean break. A break up, that is.
That was over a year ago, by now. I'm fully vaccinated, and when I check Kevin's social media, which I try to not do too often, it looks like he probably is too.
So why haven't I reached out to him? I still think about how good we had it. I guess I'm nervous. When we broke up, it was clean, mutual, and kind, but the pandemic wasn't the only problem we had. The situation was wearing on us, and I have to admit there were times when we weren't our best selves to each other, especially over the nuanceless and toneless medium that is text messaging. And for my part, at least, I was starting to have my own little doubts. How many of those little doubts and quibbles could have been put to rest with a simple conversation, if we hadn't already been feeling hopeless about the future of the relationship, feeling like talking was pointless? It's hard to say, a year later.
I want to text Kevin, to hear his voice, to rush to him again, but reuniting could be... complicated. And if I'm feeling doubtful and confused about it, he probably is, too. Maybe even more than me. We'd only been dating a few months, anyway. Maybe he truly did move on.
I'm still scrolling on his Instagram. (I said I try not to do it OFTEN. When I do, it's not just a quick peruse.) I see a green dot appear next to his username. Shit, he's online. What was in that latest update to the app again? Can he see I'm here, looking? I take a breath and remember that was only if we were both in a direct message conversation on the app.
Oh. A notification banner slides down from the top of my screen. It's a direct message. From Kevin.
Trying to not seem desperate, I place my phone face down to wait a healthy amount of time before his message shows that I've read it.
I've "waited" about 20 seconds. Close enough. His message is a reply to a picture I'd posted earlier in the day, when I was walking in my favorite park.
"This place looks great!"
I don't know what to say back. To buy myself time, I quickly double-tap his message to stick a heart on it, showing that I "liked" it. Now he's typing again! Before I can exit out and pretend I'm not waiting for his reply, his message comes through.
"I don't think you ever took me here, right?"
A simple question. I can field this. I type my reply. "I didn't. It's my favorite spot in the city. It's kind of my secret, for when I want to walk on my own."
He replies fast. "I didn't think you were allowed to have secrets from me, boy."
My heart kicks into high gear. Just seeing him talk to me that way again, calling me "boy," it makes my head swim. And... my cock pulse. Before I can gather my thoughts in a response, he messages me again.
"Wait, sorry. I don't know if I'm allowed to call you that anymore."
"I don't know either," I reply, honestly.
"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, I would want to make sure you were ok with that dynamic again before I say anything like that."
"It's ok. I know you wouldn't." God, David, think of something to say. Keep the conversation going. Show that you want to talk to him again. Tell him that you miss him and want to see him again. Something!
After what feels like 10 minutes of typing and deleting, during which I'm sure Kevin sees a very active "..." symbol indicating that I'm typing something, I finally manage to send something. A single emoji. The one where it's smiling contentedly with rosy cheeks. At least that's how it looks to me. In the throes of anxiety, I place my phone face down again. Water? Water. That's what I need. I leave my phone in my living room and walk to the kitchen, pouring my self a glass. I take a long gulp, then head back to my phone.
"...Would you? Want that again?" his message says. "Or even just dinner again?"
He'd replied right away, and I'd left him hanging! All in the name of hydration! My fingers fly across the touchscreen.
"I do want to see you again." I think for a second, then type a second message. "This whole thing is weird. But if there's a chance we could have what we had again, then I want to give it a try."
"I agree," he says. "I know we probably made a healthy decision a year ago, but really, I still missed you. The whole time. I know we can't just pick up where we left off, but I'm willing to see how we feel now and, potentially, rebuild from there."
I send that rosy-cheeked emoji again. Three of them. Visions of Kevin dance in front of my eyes. I could probably be worshipping and tasting every inch of my hairy little king's body by this weekend! My heart leaps and my cock is making an obscene tent in my thin athletic shorts.
"That all sounds perfect to me. We could meet at Nippon on Saturday?" I venture, suggesting a small and quiet sushi place where we'd started more than one sake-soaked night of passion before. Maybe that was too romantic for a "feeling things out" dinner, but I don't really care at this point.
"That would be so lovely," Kevin says, "but there's a small problem. I came to stay with my aunt. She had surgery and needs some help while she recovers. Since I've been working from home it was easy for me to do. I really want to have that dinner with you, but I probably won't be back for another week or two."
FUCK. Fuck fuck fuck. My hopes crash down to more realistic levels. Fuck. I start typing my response.
"I totally understand. I'll --" I hesitate, but I think back to our time together before, and I realize I never had to worry about Kevin being a player or saying anything to me that isn't exactly what he means, especially when it came to how he felt about me. I finish the sentence and hit send: "I'll wait for you, sir."
Now he's sending those rosy-cheeked emojis. Did he used to send those before? I don't think he did.
"Besides," I say, "it's still kind of weird being around people again. Maybe it would be better for us anyway, if we meet once we've been able to acclimate more to it." I'm trying to rationalize the wait to myself, but I think there's a kernel of truth in that thought.
"Totally." Kevin says. "I'll wait for you, too, boy. Again. If you are comfortable with that. If you want me to call you that already. We can discuss it. Right now, though, duty calls. This is my favorite and most beloved relative, but she sure has gotten needy lately. And all because of a small thing like 'not being able to walk' while she recovers. Can I text you later?"
I say yes, and put my phone down again, elated. My Kevin. My Master Kevin. My daddy, my sir. My bottom god. My baby. I'm trying not to get ahead of myself, but I want him to be all those things to me again. Being a sub, we would usually say that I belong to him, I'm his boy, David. But we both know that involves some reciprocity. If he owns me, then that makes him MY owner. Mine.
I stand up, and I'm suddenly aware of how hard my cock is. My shorts are straining and there's a big wet spot in front. I'm not going to be able to do anything else today if I don't give it some attention.
I make it to my bed and flop down, shorts already forgotten on the floor. I grasp my dick in my hand and start a few tentative strokes. I'm so wet that my foreskin slides freely off the head and back on again, and the sensations make me gasp.
I roll onto my hands and knees, fast forwarding my fantasies to how my Kevin looks when he's naked, beneath my body. The feel of his furry chest against me as I kiss him, his ample legs expertly lifted around my sides, my cock just touching the entrance of his hole. His perfect, hairy, warm, hole. He knows that being in this position drives me crazy. He knows that in my base desires, I become just like a bull, or a stallion, just a dumb beast whose only purpose on this earth is to breed. And he understands that I want to be treated like one, too.
"Please, sir," I say, out loud to an empty room, to my imagined Kevin, "Please, Master Kevin, let your dumb boy fuck you. Please, may I service your divine hole?" I'm whimpering and I don't care.
Kevin responds. Well, I already know what his response would be, after having been in this scenario many times. Sometimes, by this point, he would simply grant permission. But I want more, so I think of other times, when his roaming hands would grip my butt and his hole would relax against the very tip of my dick, making me think he's about to tell me I can go inside, making me moan and my breath catch in my throat. Then removing his hands, propping his head up on them, he'd look at me with those devilishly discerning eyes.
"Hmm... Have you performed all of your responsibilities?" He would say. "Have you earned the privilege of being inside Daddy? Let me think."
His eyes would travel up and down my body, my chest heaving as if I'd just ran a marathon, all in anticipation. To anyone outside of this dream, my cock is just suspended in the open air, untouched, dripping, so hard that it almost hurts and so erect that I think it's pointing straight at my navel.
"I know what it is," he'd say. "You were a little lacking with your neck kisses. You still need to give me some more there." He'd dramatically turn his chin to the side, granting full access.
I can barely mutter a breathless "yessir" before my head dives down, kissing the air, imagining it's Master Kev, recalling the taste of his skin, the smell of his musk and cologne, the heat radiating out from this most sensitive area on his perfect body. Even a year later, my sensory memory of him is still strong. I'm frantic but doing my best to competently drag my wet tongue over the muscles and arteries of his neck. If he was here, I know I'd feel him writhing under me. This is one of his favorite ways for me to please him. I'd feel his hard cock rubbing against my belly, and I'd feel his hole engaging and relaxing involuntarily against my dick. I'm so fucking horny and desperate for this man that a low moan is trickling from within my throat, and at the same time, being denied and being given new orders somehow fills me even deeper with lust.
Hearing my moan, he'd finally have mercy on me. He'd lift my head off of his neck, kiss my lips, and tell me to fuck him, and to fuck him good. And by god, fucking my amazing sir good is what I was put on this earth for.
I imagine breaching his hole with my wet, precum covered cock, and sliding it all the way in. Watching him for signs of pleasure or discomfort. I imagine sliding an arm under his shoulder so I can hold him even closer while I fuck him. God, I want to be close to him all the time. I'd slide my cock out, then back in, taking care to aim for his prostate. Sometimes giving it a direct pounding, sometimes performing more of a sawing motion against it, grinding against it, hoping to milk as much of my master's delicious fluids out as I can.
I'm jacking myself off to this, still propped on one hand, trying to fuck the air where I wish my daddy was. It's super hot in my mind, and feels so good, but in reality the hand I'm long stroking my aching cock with is one less hand I can use to hold myself up. I roll onto my back, rearranging my fantasy.
Now Master Kev is riding my cock. Well, really, it's HIS cock. It belongs to him, and he's riding it and using it like his own toy. He'd tell me he doesn't care if I even enjoy this, because I exist just to please him. Of course, I'd be really fucking enjoying this! Of course his hole sliding over my cock would feel so fucking amazing, and being told how worthless I am, how much of an object I am would tap into something I can't explain that makes me more ecstatic.
It's easier to jack myself off like this, and all of my pent up sexual energy is getting me close to the edge, fast. I picture how he looks above me, his hairy chest and belly in motion as he bounces and grinds my cock inside of him, how his hard cock looks rubbing against my stomach, how his weight feels on my hips and on my shoulders, where he plants his hands to brace himself.
He'd say something like, "Are you ready for my load, boy? Do you want to be covered in daddy's seed?"
"Yes, god yes, make me yours," I say, loudly. My window could be open, but I don't care. I want this to feel as real as it can.
His head would angle back, and I'd feel his hole tightening around my cock. "Here it comes, boy!" He'd say, as he shoots stream after stream of hot, wet cum across my body.
I'm so close, too, but I take my hand off my cock.
I want to cum so badly, but even more I want Master Kev to give me permission to cum. I want my cock to be his, I want my cum to be his. It's more realistic this way. There were times when we were together where he would cum, and bring me right to the edge, then withhold my release. I would take pleasure in the knowledge that my Master came, especially knowing that I was somehow involved in facilitating that, and I would take intense pleasure and contentment from the knowledge that my cock was his.
I take a deep breath, and get up from my bed, ambling back to the living room. I take another drink of my cool water, then check my phone. One last message.
"I don't know if this is appropriate for the stage we're in but uh... I might have snuck to my bedroom to jack off just from talking to you. So... just saying, you might be doing the same thing, and if I know you as well as I think I do, then you might be holding out for my permission to... finish. If that's the case, you have my permission to cum on your own until we are able to resume our own sexual contact, on one condition. If you're thinking about me when you cum, then you have to show me. Deal? Oh and if you weren't jacking off then uhm haha lol jk, forget I said anything!"
The message was received ten minutes ago. I practically rip my shorts and shirt off and lean back on the couch. My cock hasn't had a chance to go down even a little. My hand grips the slick shaft and flies up and down, almost in a blur. All I can think about is getting my master's praise by sending him a hot picture of all of my cum, my cum that I waited for his permission to release. I hope he'll call me a good boy.
"FUCK" I say. I was already at the edge when I started and now my cock is pulsing, pleasure is shooting through my legs, to my chest, and it feels like my own cum is raining on my body. Some combination of wanting to cum for Master and all the edging I'd accomplished just minutes ago causes such a downpour that my chest and chin are drenched in semen. I feel momentarily disappointment that I wasn't able to give this huge load to Master directly, but I remember that I'm doing what he asked.
Reaching for my phone, I take several pictures before I settle on one that showed my body glistening, my still mostly hard cock and balls, and some strings of cum dripping from my chin. The only message I can think of to send with it is that rosy-cheeked emoji again.
His response was the same.
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