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- Cambridge (Cambridgeshire, England)
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- Male
This story is a blend of total fantasy and very real events. I'll leave the reader to guess which is which. I hope you enjoy...
Chapter 1
Sprawled face down and naked on our ruined bed - sheets crumpled and sweaty, duvet and pillows tipped all over the floor - I moaned as my boyfriend fucked me. We'd been together four months now, but having him inside me every morning before we got ready for work never got old. Each stroke was long and firm, pulling his length almost right out of me and then driving it back in, his grunts with each thrust letting me hear his lust and his effort just as I felt him open me up, penetrating my body deeply and making me gasp.
I looked round behind me at Sam, his gorgeous muscles, his hairy chest, the sweat beading on his skin and dripping on my body. His stamina was always good but he was really putting his back into it this morning: if he didn't shoot his bolt soon we risked being late! Not that I fucking cared: this one morning, work could wait. Having his length and thickness inside me, hearing his bass grunts, feeling the power in his hips transmit itself into my willing arse felt so fucking good...
On the bedside table, my phone began to ring. I ignored it. It kept ringing. And ringing. It was becoming a distraction. And then I started wondering who it might be, and whether the fact it went on and on and on might mean it was something serious. I reached out with my hand and fumbled for the phone, managing to grab it and pull it towards me.
"No you fucking well don't!" I felt Sam grab my wrist - hard - and let loose my grip on the phone, the wince of pain in my arm adding to my shock. He twisted my arm behind my back and pushed his dick all the way up my arse, hard.
"Not finished with you yet Mark," he said, leaning down and delivering his words in a low, quiet but very insistent tone as I felt his hot rasping breath against my ear.
"Wait, Sam, I..." He pulled back and shoved himself in, harder than before, forcing the breath from my body with a short, sharp moan. Tightening his grip on my arm, he started fucking me hard and fast, his grunts growing louder and more frequent in time with the pace of the sex. He wasn't always gentle with me - which was never a problem, since I like it when a top gives it to me a bit rough - but now he was really giving me a good pounding, harder than he'd ever done me before, reaming me out as the force of the screwing drove my own hardon into the bed. My penis was rubbing between my midriff and the spoiled sheet, all sticky with precum and getting ever closer to release.
"Oh fuck yeah mate, take my dick up your mancunt, give you the fucking you deserve Mark."
"Holy shit, you've got a huge cock mate!"
"Don't you fucking know it. Now, take my fucking spunk up that tight arse!"
Sam shoved himself right up me, as deep as he'd go, pressing his crotch and big hairy bollocks right against me, and emptied the contents of his nuts right up my arse. I swore I could feel every pulse of his cock as he came, an experience made ten times more intense since we'd both recently done our duty, got ourselves tested, and been free to start barebacking. Feeling that big dick shoot in me was more than enough to send me over the edge, and I dumped my own load over the bed.
Completely spent, Sam let go of my wrist and brought his weight down onto my back, moulding his sweaty body to mine. "So fucking good mate, love your tight cunt." I said nothing in reply, just laid there in my own cum, feeling his heat and weight pressing me down into the mattress, luxuriating in the feel of his dick still in my body and his balls resting against my hairy, sweaty arse. Sweat soaked and stinking of sex the pair of us.
We laid there like that, catching our breath, for fuck knows how long - three minutes, five, fifteen? - and then the emptiness as Sam pulled his length out of me and dismounted, raising himself up from between my thighs and clambering off the bed. Looking up at him, his cock - slick with lube and semen - glistened, pointing down rather than up now but still partly pumped with blood, thick and heavy and swaying between his legs. Limp as he now was, it was still a mighty impressive sight, and one that I lusted after more than ever after the way he'd just fucked me. My arse was probably going to be sore all week after this. I didn't care.
I looked into his face and saw - I didn't know quite what, hunger, lust - and I also knew he must've been watching me admiring his dick. He leant over me and struck my arse - one side, then the other - with the flat of his hand, leaving me stinging. "Now, clean my dick bitch."
WTF?! I hesitated...
"I said, clean my dick bitch. That fucking means now Mark!"
This was all new - Sam had never spoken to me like this before - and I wasn't sure if I liked it, but something in me felt driven to obey. I climbed gingerly off the bed, feeling a trickle of his cum leak from my hole and begin to run down the inside of my thigh as I moved, and then dropped to my knees in front of him. He wiped his wet dick across one side of my face and, as I opened my mouth, the head found its way between my lips and I started to suck it in. I didn't much like the taste - his cum was one thing, the lube another - but he placed a strong hand against the back of my head and pushed me into him, demanding I service his length. I did as he wanted, laving his penis with my lips and tongue. Removing the sticky mess and swallowing it all down, leaving him clean.
Sam's grip on my head loosened and he began to run his hand through my hair. I looked up and saw he had his eyes closed, a look of relaxed contentment spreading across his face. "Feels so good mate, lap it all up. You're great in bed, you know that?"
I'm guessing that was a rhetorical question, my being unable to answer on account of still having a mouth full of Sam's thick uncut cock, but I smiled to myself insofar as that situation allowed. And, as I finished the job, I started thinking to myself: what just happened there? The power relationship we had in bed as top and bottom never bothered me - quite the opposite, in fact - but that had been well fucking rough. And I still wasn't sure if I liked him calling me his bitch, or what that implied about how he might feel about me.
Yet the sex had been so intense and I'd felt so incredibly turned on when he did me that hard.
When he forced me.
I think "forced" was the right word. I don't think you could say that he'd raped me, but it wasn't entirely consensual either. He'd taken charge and he'd used me. And I'd fucking loved it.
I let his dick slip from my mouth and he gasped as the hooded tip ran down my chin and flopped free, leaving behind a thin trail of spit. I made to get to my feet, but Sam fell down to his knees and engaged me in a long, slow, deep kiss, our tongues slipping past one another as hands reached around each others' bodies, hairy chests and spent cocks drawn together and crushed against one another just as our lips were. We both needed a shave and his coarse stubble brushing against my mouth felt masculine and arousing. His hands reached down to squeeze my backside and, spent as it was, I could feel my dick already striving to stir back to life.
It was Sam who broke the kiss. He said nothing, just getting up and extending his hand, willing me to follow. I took it and he led me to the shower, where we washed together and began to make love under the soothing hot water. This time, he wrapped his large hand around both our cocks and jerked them together, and we kissed and ran our free hands over each other until I shot my load, prompting him to pull good and hard until he erupted too. After what had happened in bed, it was so tender and intimate. Satisfied, we finished cleaning our bodies and then went about the rest of our morning routine. I took my turn to have a shave first whilst Sam went and made breakfast, then got properly dried off and dressed.
No fucking way was I going to get to work on time this morning, but I'd not been late for ages. If anybody asked I could always deploy the waiting in for the emergency plumber excuse. Nobody need suspect anything - if I just made a good enough job of resisting the urge to walk very carefully...
In a pictorial dictionary, I reasoned, Sam setting a table wearing nothing but a towel around his waist would make a wholly acceptable definition of "sexy." The temptation to snog him was enormous, but I didn't want to to end up arriving at work in a creased and slightly sweaty shirt so I resisted manfully. I sat down on one side of the table, him on the other and we attacked breakfast, Sam tucking in with particular relish. He obviously needed the energy!
My thoughts don't necessarily turn to sex every morning when I'm munching my toast, but frankly after what Sam had done to my arse (which was still smarting a bit) I think I could be forgiven for being distracted. I wondered from the way he'd stopped shovelling the cereal in his mouth and started pushing it around with his spoon if he might be in the same sort of headspace. I knew we had to talk, even though I wasn't entirely sure where to start - or why I should feel a bit uneasy when we'd always been frank about sex right from the first night (when he'd made it plain that he was a top and that was the only way this thing was going to work.) So I just blurted it out.
"Sam, mate, why did you call me a fucking bitch when we were having sex?"
"Shit, Mark, I'm sorry - erm... it just came out wrong. I was feeling really fucking horny and it's just the first word that came into my head."
"Mate, we've been having sex every morning, most evenings and numerous times in between at weekends for the last four months. You never called me a bitch before. And you didn't hold me down either."
Sam dropped his spoon into the bowl and shoved his chair back. "So what? I told you I didn't mean nothing by it? Why are you making a meal out of this mate? I said I'm fucking sorry, Jesus..." This was another surprise, and an unwelcome one. Sam was pissed off. Pissed off and defensive. And our relationship was usually pretty easy going. This was only the second conversation resembling an argument that I could remember us having.
"I wasn't making a meal out of it Sam," I protested, staying in my seat and doing my best to remain calm, "You're doing a good job of that on your own. Now please, just sit back down would you?" He stared at me for a few moments, glowering, and then the angry expression fell away. Sam slumped back into his chair.
"Mate," I continued, "if you're embarrassed about what you said then don't be. I know you didn't mean any harm by it, and I've been called an awful lot worse. I'm far more worried about the way you've just flown off the handle. That ain't like you at all fella! Now, what's going on?"
He spent a few moments doing his best not to look at me, trying to work out what to say I assumed. Presently, he dragged his eyes up to meet mine.
"Mark... I... well, you know full well I only ever top, right? And when we fuck I like to give it to you hard, and we both get off on that and the sex is great and everything... you do enjoy it when I fuck you, right?"
"Is the Pope a Catholic? Still, I sense a 'but' heading swiftly in the direction of this conversation. So, what's the problem? Come on, spit it out."
"I've got this thing about control, OK?" Sam almost had to spit the words out "I'm not just a top, I like to dominate guys. I want to dominate you. Hold you down, tie you up, fuck you hard, and do it where and when I want. There. I'm a fucking pervert, Mark."
"You mean... you want to tie me up, like, bondage shit or something?!"
"Fucking hell, I wish I'd never said nothing," he ran his hand through his hair. My head was a mess, getting to grips with what my boyfriend was telling me and seeing him so distressed all at the same time. God knows what was going on in his, "I've just fucked everything up, haven't I? The last bloke I dated, he couldn't deal with this either. I'm sorry - I'll pack my bags and sling my hook..."
"What the actual fuck Sam? You're talking about leaving me just cos you've got a bit of a kink going?"
"But!"
"Shut the fuck up mate! I'm trying to work this shit out. You know, you might like taking charge in bed but don't think I've not got a mind of my own out of it... I mean, you could've come out with something a lot worse than wanting to shag me really rough, you know?"
"Like what?"
"You could've been one of these people who likes to be wrapped in cling film and shit themselves into it? Or who gets a hardon from dressing up as a whore and then being suffocated by having a tangerine stuffed in their mouth? Or some other such shit."
Sam couldn't help but smile a little. I pressed the advantage. "Now don't fucking laugh - I read about this shit in the papers," I said, grinning, "so it must be true. Now measured against that, wanting to get a bit brutal with my arse doesn't sound quite so bad." I was putting him at ease, and starting to do a job of convincing myself, "And besides, what makes you think I wouldn't like it? I might. I mean, what happened when you held my arm behind me back and started to piston fuck my arse? I spunked all over the bed, that's what."
"So... you're not going to throw me out?"
"I never threatened to throw you out you dickhead! Though any more talk of you dumping me over all of this and I might reconsider. Now come here."
Getting up and walking round the table, Sam leaned in and we shared a kiss - his hand on the back of my head, mine reaching to cup his firm arse. Sam tasted a bit of milk with chewed cereal bits in it, which wasn't entirely pleasant, but the relief of having him relax and stop panicking about us splitting up was more than worth the trouble.
"I'm not saying that this whole 'Mark as Sam's bitch' thing isn't a bit of a curveball, but then again you wanting your way in bed isn't a total surprise. And the way you fucked me this morning got me so hard... so let's just see how it goes mate. You might persuade me to let you handcuff me to the bed yet."
"Promises, promises... and Mark?"
"Yeah Sam?"
"Thanks for not judging me. For being a pervert."
"Hey, you're not a pervert! Or maybe you are - but perhaps I am as well? What I do know is that being with you feels right - so let's find out together, shall we?"
"OK mate," Sam smiled, stepping back and pulling off his towel, his long uncut cock and big balls now uncovered and swaying proudly between his legs, "best go and get ready to head out now, wouldn't want to be any later than we are already."
"Good - now go and put those away."
"Actually I was thinking of heading down the office dressed like this," he said as he walked off.
"Put your kecks on you fucking pervert!"
"Whatever."
I watched my man (and his chiselled, muscular rump) disappear through the door as he headed back upstairs to get ready. Concentrating on boring work was going to be difficult today: at home, things were about to get a whole lot more interesting...
to be continued
Chapter 1
Sprawled face down and naked on our ruined bed - sheets crumpled and sweaty, duvet and pillows tipped all over the floor - I moaned as my boyfriend fucked me. We'd been together four months now, but having him inside me every morning before we got ready for work never got old. Each stroke was long and firm, pulling his length almost right out of me and then driving it back in, his grunts with each thrust letting me hear his lust and his effort just as I felt him open me up, penetrating my body deeply and making me gasp.
I looked round behind me at Sam, his gorgeous muscles, his hairy chest, the sweat beading on his skin and dripping on my body. His stamina was always good but he was really putting his back into it this morning: if he didn't shoot his bolt soon we risked being late! Not that I fucking cared: this one morning, work could wait. Having his length and thickness inside me, hearing his bass grunts, feeling the power in his hips transmit itself into my willing arse felt so fucking good...
On the bedside table, my phone began to ring. I ignored it. It kept ringing. And ringing. It was becoming a distraction. And then I started wondering who it might be, and whether the fact it went on and on and on might mean it was something serious. I reached out with my hand and fumbled for the phone, managing to grab it and pull it towards me.
"No you fucking well don't!" I felt Sam grab my wrist - hard - and let loose my grip on the phone, the wince of pain in my arm adding to my shock. He twisted my arm behind my back and pushed his dick all the way up my arse, hard.
"Not finished with you yet Mark," he said, leaning down and delivering his words in a low, quiet but very insistent tone as I felt his hot rasping breath against my ear.
"Wait, Sam, I..." He pulled back and shoved himself in, harder than before, forcing the breath from my body with a short, sharp moan. Tightening his grip on my arm, he started fucking me hard and fast, his grunts growing louder and more frequent in time with the pace of the sex. He wasn't always gentle with me - which was never a problem, since I like it when a top gives it to me a bit rough - but now he was really giving me a good pounding, harder than he'd ever done me before, reaming me out as the force of the screwing drove my own hardon into the bed. My penis was rubbing between my midriff and the spoiled sheet, all sticky with precum and getting ever closer to release.
"Oh fuck yeah mate, take my dick up your mancunt, give you the fucking you deserve Mark."
"Holy shit, you've got a huge cock mate!"
"Don't you fucking know it. Now, take my fucking spunk up that tight arse!"
Sam shoved himself right up me, as deep as he'd go, pressing his crotch and big hairy bollocks right against me, and emptied the contents of his nuts right up my arse. I swore I could feel every pulse of his cock as he came, an experience made ten times more intense since we'd both recently done our duty, got ourselves tested, and been free to start barebacking. Feeling that big dick shoot in me was more than enough to send me over the edge, and I dumped my own load over the bed.
Completely spent, Sam let go of my wrist and brought his weight down onto my back, moulding his sweaty body to mine. "So fucking good mate, love your tight cunt." I said nothing in reply, just laid there in my own cum, feeling his heat and weight pressing me down into the mattress, luxuriating in the feel of his dick still in my body and his balls resting against my hairy, sweaty arse. Sweat soaked and stinking of sex the pair of us.
We laid there like that, catching our breath, for fuck knows how long - three minutes, five, fifteen? - and then the emptiness as Sam pulled his length out of me and dismounted, raising himself up from between my thighs and clambering off the bed. Looking up at him, his cock - slick with lube and semen - glistened, pointing down rather than up now but still partly pumped with blood, thick and heavy and swaying between his legs. Limp as he now was, it was still a mighty impressive sight, and one that I lusted after more than ever after the way he'd just fucked me. My arse was probably going to be sore all week after this. I didn't care.
I looked into his face and saw - I didn't know quite what, hunger, lust - and I also knew he must've been watching me admiring his dick. He leant over me and struck my arse - one side, then the other - with the flat of his hand, leaving me stinging. "Now, clean my dick bitch."
WTF?! I hesitated...
"I said, clean my dick bitch. That fucking means now Mark!"
This was all new - Sam had never spoken to me like this before - and I wasn't sure if I liked it, but something in me felt driven to obey. I climbed gingerly off the bed, feeling a trickle of his cum leak from my hole and begin to run down the inside of my thigh as I moved, and then dropped to my knees in front of him. He wiped his wet dick across one side of my face and, as I opened my mouth, the head found its way between my lips and I started to suck it in. I didn't much like the taste - his cum was one thing, the lube another - but he placed a strong hand against the back of my head and pushed me into him, demanding I service his length. I did as he wanted, laving his penis with my lips and tongue. Removing the sticky mess and swallowing it all down, leaving him clean.
Sam's grip on my head loosened and he began to run his hand through my hair. I looked up and saw he had his eyes closed, a look of relaxed contentment spreading across his face. "Feels so good mate, lap it all up. You're great in bed, you know that?"
I'm guessing that was a rhetorical question, my being unable to answer on account of still having a mouth full of Sam's thick uncut cock, but I smiled to myself insofar as that situation allowed. And, as I finished the job, I started thinking to myself: what just happened there? The power relationship we had in bed as top and bottom never bothered me - quite the opposite, in fact - but that had been well fucking rough. And I still wasn't sure if I liked him calling me his bitch, or what that implied about how he might feel about me.
Yet the sex had been so intense and I'd felt so incredibly turned on when he did me that hard.
When he forced me.
I think "forced" was the right word. I don't think you could say that he'd raped me, but it wasn't entirely consensual either. He'd taken charge and he'd used me. And I'd fucking loved it.
I let his dick slip from my mouth and he gasped as the hooded tip ran down my chin and flopped free, leaving behind a thin trail of spit. I made to get to my feet, but Sam fell down to his knees and engaged me in a long, slow, deep kiss, our tongues slipping past one another as hands reached around each others' bodies, hairy chests and spent cocks drawn together and crushed against one another just as our lips were. We both needed a shave and his coarse stubble brushing against my mouth felt masculine and arousing. His hands reached down to squeeze my backside and, spent as it was, I could feel my dick already striving to stir back to life.
It was Sam who broke the kiss. He said nothing, just getting up and extending his hand, willing me to follow. I took it and he led me to the shower, where we washed together and began to make love under the soothing hot water. This time, he wrapped his large hand around both our cocks and jerked them together, and we kissed and ran our free hands over each other until I shot my load, prompting him to pull good and hard until he erupted too. After what had happened in bed, it was so tender and intimate. Satisfied, we finished cleaning our bodies and then went about the rest of our morning routine. I took my turn to have a shave first whilst Sam went and made breakfast, then got properly dried off and dressed.
No fucking way was I going to get to work on time this morning, but I'd not been late for ages. If anybody asked I could always deploy the waiting in for the emergency plumber excuse. Nobody need suspect anything - if I just made a good enough job of resisting the urge to walk very carefully...
In a pictorial dictionary, I reasoned, Sam setting a table wearing nothing but a towel around his waist would make a wholly acceptable definition of "sexy." The temptation to snog him was enormous, but I didn't want to to end up arriving at work in a creased and slightly sweaty shirt so I resisted manfully. I sat down on one side of the table, him on the other and we attacked breakfast, Sam tucking in with particular relish. He obviously needed the energy!
My thoughts don't necessarily turn to sex every morning when I'm munching my toast, but frankly after what Sam had done to my arse (which was still smarting a bit) I think I could be forgiven for being distracted. I wondered from the way he'd stopped shovelling the cereal in his mouth and started pushing it around with his spoon if he might be in the same sort of headspace. I knew we had to talk, even though I wasn't entirely sure where to start - or why I should feel a bit uneasy when we'd always been frank about sex right from the first night (when he'd made it plain that he was a top and that was the only way this thing was going to work.) So I just blurted it out.
"Sam, mate, why did you call me a fucking bitch when we were having sex?"
"Shit, Mark, I'm sorry - erm... it just came out wrong. I was feeling really fucking horny and it's just the first word that came into my head."
"Mate, we've been having sex every morning, most evenings and numerous times in between at weekends for the last four months. You never called me a bitch before. And you didn't hold me down either."
Sam dropped his spoon into the bowl and shoved his chair back. "So what? I told you I didn't mean nothing by it? Why are you making a meal out of this mate? I said I'm fucking sorry, Jesus..." This was another surprise, and an unwelcome one. Sam was pissed off. Pissed off and defensive. And our relationship was usually pretty easy going. This was only the second conversation resembling an argument that I could remember us having.
"I wasn't making a meal out of it Sam," I protested, staying in my seat and doing my best to remain calm, "You're doing a good job of that on your own. Now please, just sit back down would you?" He stared at me for a few moments, glowering, and then the angry expression fell away. Sam slumped back into his chair.
"Mate," I continued, "if you're embarrassed about what you said then don't be. I know you didn't mean any harm by it, and I've been called an awful lot worse. I'm far more worried about the way you've just flown off the handle. That ain't like you at all fella! Now, what's going on?"
He spent a few moments doing his best not to look at me, trying to work out what to say I assumed. Presently, he dragged his eyes up to meet mine.
"Mark... I... well, you know full well I only ever top, right? And when we fuck I like to give it to you hard, and we both get off on that and the sex is great and everything... you do enjoy it when I fuck you, right?"
"Is the Pope a Catholic? Still, I sense a 'but' heading swiftly in the direction of this conversation. So, what's the problem? Come on, spit it out."
"I've got this thing about control, OK?" Sam almost had to spit the words out "I'm not just a top, I like to dominate guys. I want to dominate you. Hold you down, tie you up, fuck you hard, and do it where and when I want. There. I'm a fucking pervert, Mark."
"You mean... you want to tie me up, like, bondage shit or something?!"
"Fucking hell, I wish I'd never said nothing," he ran his hand through his hair. My head was a mess, getting to grips with what my boyfriend was telling me and seeing him so distressed all at the same time. God knows what was going on in his, "I've just fucked everything up, haven't I? The last bloke I dated, he couldn't deal with this either. I'm sorry - I'll pack my bags and sling my hook..."
"What the actual fuck Sam? You're talking about leaving me just cos you've got a bit of a kink going?"
"But!"
"Shut the fuck up mate! I'm trying to work this shit out. You know, you might like taking charge in bed but don't think I've not got a mind of my own out of it... I mean, you could've come out with something a lot worse than wanting to shag me really rough, you know?"
"Like what?"
"You could've been one of these people who likes to be wrapped in cling film and shit themselves into it? Or who gets a hardon from dressing up as a whore and then being suffocated by having a tangerine stuffed in their mouth? Or some other such shit."
Sam couldn't help but smile a little. I pressed the advantage. "Now don't fucking laugh - I read about this shit in the papers," I said, grinning, "so it must be true. Now measured against that, wanting to get a bit brutal with my arse doesn't sound quite so bad." I was putting him at ease, and starting to do a job of convincing myself, "And besides, what makes you think I wouldn't like it? I might. I mean, what happened when you held my arm behind me back and started to piston fuck my arse? I spunked all over the bed, that's what."
"So... you're not going to throw me out?"
"I never threatened to throw you out you dickhead! Though any more talk of you dumping me over all of this and I might reconsider. Now come here."
Getting up and walking round the table, Sam leaned in and we shared a kiss - his hand on the back of my head, mine reaching to cup his firm arse. Sam tasted a bit of milk with chewed cereal bits in it, which wasn't entirely pleasant, but the relief of having him relax and stop panicking about us splitting up was more than worth the trouble.
"I'm not saying that this whole 'Mark as Sam's bitch' thing isn't a bit of a curveball, but then again you wanting your way in bed isn't a total surprise. And the way you fucked me this morning got me so hard... so let's just see how it goes mate. You might persuade me to let you handcuff me to the bed yet."
"Promises, promises... and Mark?"
"Yeah Sam?"
"Thanks for not judging me. For being a pervert."
"Hey, you're not a pervert! Or maybe you are - but perhaps I am as well? What I do know is that being with you feels right - so let's find out together, shall we?"
"OK mate," Sam smiled, stepping back and pulling off his towel, his long uncut cock and big balls now uncovered and swaying proudly between his legs, "best go and get ready to head out now, wouldn't want to be any later than we are already."
"Good - now go and put those away."
"Actually I was thinking of heading down the office dressed like this," he said as he walked off.
"Put your kecks on you fucking pervert!"
"Whatever."
I watched my man (and his chiselled, muscular rump) disappear through the door as he headed back upstairs to get ready. Concentrating on boring work was going to be difficult today: at home, things were about to get a whole lot more interesting...
to be continued