Possession

You're secretly proud of your cute little bum. You know it's one of your best assets, prominent and muscular. You've never been afraid to flash it, bare, in the changing room, where maybe one of your mates will give it a towel flick or the slap you crave, though none of them has ever done what you dream about and pulled you down, over his lap, for a proper spanking, with the rest crowding around to watch, jeering and egging him on.

Well, you've been spanked now. You hadn't realised quite how much a man like this, with his big, spade-like hands and strong arms, stronger than yours, could make your bum burn. He didn't need implements to make you gasp and wriggle and plead like the naughty little boy he calls you. Not that that stopped him from using them, oh no. You've tasted his slipper and belt, the hairbrush, his collection of paddles and straps, the tawse, the crop, the cane.

And you've tasted him - his cheesy feet after a long hot day, his acrid pits with their tangle of hair, the musk and salt of his balls and taint, the sweet slickness of pre-cum - as he has forced you, not unwilling, to worship his body, punishing you anew when he pretended to find you slacking. Your mouth and nose are full of the intimate, intensely male scent and taste of this man who has reduced you, used you, controlled you, punished you for no reason other than his pleasure and your need, a need he somehow understands better than you do yourself.

But now he is parting your swollen cheeks again, so deep a red that they're almost purple, throbbing with the beat of your heart, and exposing that secret place no ordinary guy willingly shows to another. Flashing your bare bum was one thing, but when he exposes your hole like this you squirm with humiliation and a little fear.

When his big fingers, slick with lube, slide inside you, you feel like you stand on the edge of a cliff. Because you know what's coming, you both know what's coming. He warned you that he would punish you and fuck you, several times, three times, four times, maybe five. That you would be spanked until you couldn't sit down and fucked until you couldn't stand up. That he would fill you so full of his cum that you would slosh when you walked.

Half delirious with the excitement of his teasing threats you bantered and bratted, cheeky and sure of yourself. But now, as for the first time a cock head nuzzles at your hole, blunt, fat and purple, dripping pre-cum with his excitement, a shudder of terrible pleasure and fear fills you.

You're diving over that cliff edge and neither of you are going to stop. This is happening. In a moment, you will be different. Not an ordinary man any more, not a real man like he is. You'll be a man who takes it up the arse, a lesser man, a bumboy. A fuck hole. You'll be what, in your secret core that you never show to anyone and that he somehow reads like a book, you know you were born to be. Used. Taken by him. Whatever happens after this long night and morning are over, whether you see him again or not, you will both know that he owns you, that your arse is his, that you are his, in a deep, almost spiritual way you are only just coming to understand.

The pressure builds at your sphincter and he slides in, burning, stinging, stretching. A brief pause for you to adjust, but he has prepared you well and his need is on him, as strong as your own, and you gasp as he enters you fully, filling you, his sweaty weight on top of you, pinning you down as he slowly, langorously starts to pump, and you thrust up from beneath to meet him, eager, willing, wanting, even as the slap of his hips and the scrape of his coarse pubes reignite the fire that strap, paddle and cane have left behind, and that heat expands to fill you as you are finally, gloriously, fucked.

Your own cock is painfully hard as his buries itself deep inside you, balls deep, stretching and filling you - fulfilling you - in ways you never imagined. The friction and the heat and the stink of rutting male bodies and well-fucked arse - your well-fucked arse - blends into one and unbelievably, amazingly, you feel the itch and rush of upcoming orgasm. You are going to cum, to cum from being fucked, from being made into his bitch. You moan and shudder and cry out for the pain and humiliation and glorious, wonderful surrender of it as your body spasms around the fat rod slamming into you, and he grunts and gasps as your surrender drives him to his own release, spraying his thick white cum into your insides, breeding you the way he told you he would. As you lie under him, gasping, sore, crushed and slick with sweat, his and yours, you are already wondering about the next time...

He eases himself out of you, off you, and lifts your head to look at at your flushed, tear-streaked face. "Good boy," he says, then indicates his softening cock, slick and shiny with lube and cum and the juices of your arse. "Now suck me clean."