That’s too bad, but not really. Neither did I, and fuck how I want to fuck. Since you seem to be a willing recipient of my frustration (confirm this), I’ll make this about you.
I think with you it’d be messy and fast. Throw you down, pants around your ankles, hand on your throat and in your hole. Rough on your little boy cock. I want you cuming over and over, until you’re high as a kite, take no survivors. I want you writhing. I want your breath. Teeth sunk in the flesh of your thigh. Make you thank me.
—
Or perhaps I’d order you on your knees, grab your curls and shove your head down on my cock. I picked one just a bit too big—I want to watch you sputter and choke. Hands behind your back. You know how to do this so don’t make me tell you twice. Rock my hips against your face, big round eyes staring up at me. I’ll do anything to keep those big eyes on me. Hold it in a little too long, make you fight for your right to air. Sputter and spit, cough. More. You’ve got my fire raging.
Pull you off, one hand tight in your curls, the other tight over your mouth. Look at me. Struggle when you need to breathe. Look at me. I got you. I can feel your heart beating, sweat beading on your temples. Four more seconds. I want you floating. The slight shake as you hold on. Good boy. I free your mouth. Your loud inhale and quiver, unsteady. Good boy.
You’re smaller now, and deserve a reward. Flip over: hips up, face down. Slip my spit-soaked cock in your hole, a hand still locked on your curls. Release into me. Rake my nails down your arching back. You little cum-slut. You’re tired, starting to whimper. It makes me growl. A few more strokes and you’re shaking. I pull out, purring in your ear. Pull you close until you fall asleep.
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