Date: Fri, 5 May 2023 09:46:05 +0000
From: "out-cast@hotmail.com" <out-cast@hotmail.com>
Subject: Bottom in charge

A Bottom in charge

This is a day in the life of a Predatory Bottom. Not your average
`Authoritarian' story, but I hope you will enjoy it anyway.

Please remember that Nifty depends on donations to enable us to read these
stories for free: https://donate.nifty.org/

***

When I wake up, I feel Eliot is still inside me – flaccid of course,
because he is asleep behind my back, spooning, but he's big enough to stop
the head slipping out accidentally. He had woken me in the middle of the
night with two greased-up fingers in my backside. Never one to refuse an
offer like that, I had arched my back to present myself like a bitch in
heat ... And so he fucked me for ages, slowly and tenderly, from
behind. Finally, having emptied his full-to-bursting balls enough to bring
the pressure down to a more comfortable level, he'd put his arms around me
and fallen asleep within minutes.

Eliot is the only man who can initiate sex without my invitation. He has a
condition that means he needs to fuck someone at least twice a day – it
is called Horny Bugger Syndrome. Fortunately, I suffer from Cockus Whorus
Enormicus, which means I need to get laid often and powerfully, so we
complement each other perfectly.

I caught that disease at the age of 16 years and 2 weeks, when my naοve
innocence was ruined by my geography teacher, Mr Perkins – I can only
assume he'd waited impatiently until I was of age. I realised there and
then that the previous 16 years of my life had been a terrible waste of
time. I needed fucking forcefully, on a daily basis – I also realised
that I needed to be subtle about it if I was going to avoid the reputation
of `school slut'.

Eliot's groans and mumbles suggest that he is starting to re-join the land
of the living, so with my arse muscles I begin to massage his tool. If I
get him hard by the time that he is conscious, he'll definitely not want to
waste the opportunity.

My boyfriend is unconventionally beautiful, rather than gorgeous, I'd say:
nice athletic body, but not overly muscular, handsome smiley face with
green eyes and a riot of chestnut-ginger curls ... and hung like the
proverbial horse, fortunately, because that is important in a lover when
you have a persistent itch between your kidneys that needs to be scratched
regularly. It is probably better that he isn't too tall and broad, because
at 21, I still have the body of a 15-year-old: small and slender, with an
innocent face that is entirely out of sync with the dark perversion of my
inner world.

A happy moan behind me, and a tightening of the arms around my chest, as
Eliot's rock-hard shaft begins to dig into me. Grinding his pubic bone
against my crack, he pushes me onto my belly and forces my legs apart –
it is going to be a hard-and-fast one this morning. There is nothing like a
vicious assault to get the blood flowing for a long and fertile day ahead.

Less than five minutes later, he deposits his third load of the past 24
hours deep inside my belly, bites me in the nape of my neck and declares
that I am beautiful and utterly fuckable, before pulling out of me for a
shared shower.

Today is going to be a good day. I just know it, from the start of the
morning alone.



In the reflection of the front door windows, I can see how the concierge
stares at my arse when I leave our apartment building. He wants me, I know;
he's wanted me since the day I bought the flat. Understandibly, because I
do have a ridiculously nice-looking arse. He's not too hideous, but he
cannot have me, though. You do not shit where you eat, right. No fucking
the servants, I was taught ... I translated that as `not getting fucked by
them', to fit my particular proclivities.

At Starbuck's I get served by young Jack, who flashes a come-on, but I'll
have to disappoint him today. I had him a week or two ago – a quickie in
the shop's disabled toilet – although he will probably think that he had
me. He is clearly eager for more, and I am not unwilling, just not here and
now. He wasn't really a great fuck, but that doesn't mean he cannot become
one with a bit more experience, so I'll let him have another go, but not
until next week or so. You need to keep them keen. And besides, I want to
stay fresh this morning, because it is Tuesday. And not just any Tuesday,
but it is the Tuesday that I intend to run Operation Hook, Line and Sinker.



I am reasonably good at my job: dogsbody, administrative assistant,
unqualified paralegal ... I have no formal training for any of that, but I
am clever enough to just figure it out and do it. The flipside of the lack
of diplomas is that I am at the bottom of the office food chain, of
course. I don't care, really. The 8-figure trust fund I received from my
late grandfather keeps me in designer suits and fast cars for life, so I
only work to fill my days – and to be around other men. Not that they
know that here ... from my clothes they will have figured that I have some
money, but not the staggering amount of it.

The advantage of being at the bottom of the pecking order, is that the men
who are interested in it, think that my backside is theirs for the
taking. I wiggle my arse innocently at all the handsome guys and wait for
the `accidental' cupping of the arse cheek. I politely decline the ones who
do not excite me, and I artfully signal my availability at the ones who
do. Leaving them to take the initiative strokes their egos. It means that
they feel that they conquered me, convinced me against my natural
inclination even, on days when I'm in the mood for playing the innocent
– and reluctant – youngster.

Not that I have taken up with too many of my colleagues, because a
reputation as an easy lay is quickly gained and difficult to get rid
of. First, there was Malcolm, one of the account managers, who has now
left. Malcolm was happily married with a whole clutch of adorable children,
so I can only assume that he was into anyone – or anything – who
would accept his big cock. Now I have Liam, who's my age, a fellow junior
admin and really rather good fun. Liam's cock is a bit small, but what he
manages to do with his tongue is pure magic. He smiles suggestively as I
install myself behind my computer – we happen to sit facing each other
in the office – and fluffs up his pink pocket handkerchief. Liam is a
lot camper than I am.

Not today, though, bigger fish to fry today.

"Do you have anything to do on Friday, Liam?"

"A drink after work?" he catches my drift, of course: a drink at his place,
followed by a rousing sweaty romp on the sofa.

My romps are always at their place or somewhere neutral, never at mine. Not
because of Eliot. Eliot knows that I get fucked left, right and centre,
just as I know my boyfriend sticks his oar into every available hole. Romps
are played away from home, because I don't want my colleagues to know that
I live in a penthouse apartment worth more than all their homes together.

"Looking forward to it ..."

And I really am, because Liam is kind and funny, and surprisingly
satisfying as a sexual partner – especially when he lets his tongue do
the prelims.

As well as Malcolm and Liam, there is Nigel – or Mr Fairbanks, I should
say, because he is my boss. Nigel has been fucking me two or three times a
month for a while now, and it is time to call it a day. Time to show him
who really is the boss.

Today is Tuesday, and on Tuesdays and Fridays Mr Fairbanks and I have our
one-to-one in his office. Usually that is exactly what happens – we talk
over my work and the priorities for the next days – unless I tempt him
into ravaging me on his desk. Today I put on my lucky trousers – the
ones that make my arse cheeks look even more pert than they really are –
and I will leave my jacket at my desk to give him a perfect view of those
globes beneath my narrow waist.

Our `affair' started a year and a half ago, or so. I stood next to him bent
over the conference table as he was proudly showing me the drawings for the
new offices, when I felt his hand on my backside. I shifted my hips a
little so that his fingers slipped into the crack, and he rubbed softly up
and down through the fabric of my suit.

That was all he did that day, but that just meant I had to work harder at
getting him to keep progressing. I walked just that bit more sensuously,
leant over his desk a little further, shyly looked away when he came out of
his office.

And indeed, a few days later those fingers were back on my crack and as I
didn't seem averse to his attention, he pushed up my jacket and slipped his
hand inside my trousers, his fingers now running along my bare skin,
searching for my button and teasing it. I made sure to pant lightly but
just audibly, so that he put his mouth to my ear to whisper, "you like
that, don't you? I know you want to feel me inside you."

I didn't reply but just leant forward more and spread my legs to offer my
arse, as if it was a subconscious action. I never said that he could take
me, even though there could be no doubt that I wanted to be fucked.

And he did ... trousers around my ankles, pushed down over the conference
table ... still with a condom then, but they stopped being used pretty soon
after. I groaned and told him it felt heavenly – in truth, because he is
a good fuck, I'll admit.

After a couple of weeks, I started to moan in an over-the-top way that it
hurt and that he was too big for me. Many men like that, it strokes their
egos. Nigel isn't small – a little above average, I would say – but
he would fit at least four times in Eliot's monster.  So if I can take
Eliot without too much agony, the boss's cock is an easy ride for me. But
we roleplayed: I complained that it hurt, he told me to stop moaning or
he'd ram it in ever harder. I begged him to stop, he called me names and
said I deserved to be fucked hard. The exaggerated tone slowly disappeared,
because we both already knew that it was acting, that we both enjoyed the
sex between us, even if I pretended differently.

"Jamie?"

He stands in his office door and beckons me over. I enter without any
outward signs that I am going to get him to take me again, walking and
looking relaxed as I do every Tuesday and Friday.

"Is that your brief on the Jameson enquiry?" he nods at the folder in my
hand, while he pours himself a glass of soda water. "Is it good?"

"As good as I can make it, Sir ... I am pretty happy with it."

"You have come on leaps and bounds these past 12 months. You should think
about getting qualifications, because you are better than your current
position. Put it on my desk, I'll have a look at it before I send it
upstairs."

With him standing behind me, I lean over his desk to place the folder
centrally facing his chair ... one leg decoratively bent, I hold that pose
a little longer than needed – invitingly. His glass clunks next to me on
the desktop a second before his hands land on my arse for a cup and a
squeeze.

Under my belly, my hand finds the intercom that connects Nigel with his
secretary ... the rightmost button opens an outbound line ...

"Please, Mr Fairbanks, I don't want to ..." I beg timidly, but Nigel knows
it just an act, and he enjoys playing along.

"Shut up, you little slut! You like it, we both know that you are begging
to be fucked."

He finds my fly and my trousers flutter down in seconds, as do my briefs. A
bottle of lube from his drawer squirts down my crack. One hand pushes down
on my shoulder blades, while the other begins to force the grease into my
hole.

I moan high-pitched as he drives two fingers up to the knuckles into my
ring. I'm relaxed and open, and more than ready for him, but an expression
of discomfort is expected by the man who is about to fuck me, and it will
paint a picture for the audience outside.

"It hurt so much last week, Sir ... please ... I can't ..."

"We will just have to keep doing it then, until you can handle my cock!
You're a little whore, Boy! Coming in here, wriggling your little butt
around like a randy bitch! Don't pretend you didn't know what you were
doing."

He rams his cock into me forcefully, ball-deep in a single thrust.

"No! No!" I whisper urgently after yelping in shock. "Take it out! Please,
take it out, it hurts!"

His hands are around my waist now, for better leverage. I wonder whether
they can hear the sound of his hips slapping against my arse cheeks over
the intercom.

"Please ... it hurts so much ... stop, please ..."

"You can't come in here, teasing me with that arse, and then refuse me
entry, Bitch! You're a whorey little Bitch-dog and you crave being taken by
a big cock!"

He is rapidly pushing towards a climax, I can tell from his movements –
he's not one for long leisurely fucks – so I limit myself to pitiful
mewing sounds with the occasional whimpered beg to stop.

Nigel groans with every thrust, an occasional `Fuck' or `Take that, Bitch!'
when he drives in extra deep. He really is taking it to me hard now, hard
enough to lift me off my feet when he rams in his manhood. I am enjoying
this, and I am wondering why I just blew up our liaison. He is a good fuck!

"Oh hell ... that is good!" he shoots his load into me. "Can you feel my
cum, Boy? You like getting filled, don't you? First filled by my monster
cock and now filled by a massive lake of my cum."

I clinch my ring hard when he pulls out, to stop the seed dripping down
onto my clothes. He turns away to get a paper towel to clean his cock.

"Get dressed. You can go now ... I'll let you know what I think of your
report."

I pull up my trousers and tuck in my shirt ... Time for The Second Act
... Sombre face, Jamie, timid and sad, eyes just a little moist, but with
bravery: head high and no outright tears.

Outside Nigel's office there are half a dozen colleagues looking shocked at
my emergence. They must have all been listening in to the `porn' coming
over the intercom. I pretend to be alarmed by their presence and their
stares and go on to avoid their gazes as I make my way to my desk.

"Jamie? Are you okay ..."

I ignore Maria's kind intervention, keeping my eyes down as I make my way
across the open plan office. She's Nigel's PA, a motherly woman who won't
stand for what she just witnessed – or thought she witnessed, at
least. I sit at my desk, eyes staring at the keyboard, too upset to really
work. Liam is staring at me silently ... the entire department seems to be
aware that I was just `raped' by the boss.

Why did I do it?

I enjoyed encouraging him to take me. I enjoyed the violence with which he
went about the job. Why did I destroy the relationship? And ruin Nigel's
career and marriage in the process, probably ...  Because I could, I
suppose. Because I wanted to prove – to myself as much as to anyone else
– that I may be a Bottom, but I am the one who decides where and when. I
might love getting fucked, but it only happens on my terms.

I sit still, my quiet breaths the only motion. Time ticks away and from the
corners of my eyes, I watch the movements in the deadly silent office going
on around me. Nigel strides out of the department. My colleagues stand and
stare when he walks out. I sit and look down to my hands.

"Jamie?" Maria crouches down next to me – which cannot be easy for a
woman of her dimensions – and rubs my shoulder. "Sir Robert would like
to see you in his office. Will you be okay?"

I `get myself together' and nod with sorrowful determination.

Once in the Senior Partner's office, I decide to get my piece in quickly,
allow my eyes to well up, a decorative tear before I look down to the
floor.

"I am sorry ..."

It is at moment like these that my looks work wonders. I am aware that I
look like a child, scared and upset, and even people who know I am 21,
cannot help reacting as if I am one. I am not, of course. I am more like a
veteran prostitute, a cynical old whore with the looks of an innocent,
naοve teenager ... what is not to like?

Sir Robert's stern look thaws a little. "You have nothing to be sorry for,
James."

Nigel, his face a fetching shade of puce, is standing by the
window. "Everything that happened was consensual, Robert. Ask him! It was
just a game between us, consenting adults. Questionable perhaps in an
office setting, but not illegal!"

"Did you ask Mr Fairbanks to stop, James?"

"... Yes, Sir Robert ..."

"But you didn't mean it! It was our game. You wanted it as much as I did!"

"Did you tell Mr Fairbanks that you wanted to have sex with him?"

"No, Sir Robert."

"Did you ever tell him that you did?"

"No, Sir Robert." That is true ... I never invited him – not in words at
least.

"It was in his body language, the way he moved and looked around me. He
wanted it ... Jamie, say that you wanted it too."

This is the moment of truth ... if I can dodge answering this one ...

"It hurt ... it hurt so much when he ... did that. He was my boss and I had
to go to his office every week to sit with him ..."

"Jamie?!"

"Thank you, James. You can leave."

I decide to turn the screw a little more. "I can't lose my job over this,
Sir Robert ... Please ..."

"And you won't! Take the afternoon off ... take tomorrow morning off too,
then come see me at 1. We will work it out ... now leave me to deal with
this."

"Yes, Sir Robert, thank you."

I wonder whether I can turn him too. Get him hooked on my arse ... now that
would be a turn of events! He seems too straightlaced, but that only adds
to the challenge. I'll gently nudge him tomorrow and see whether there is
any reaction at all.

"He wanted it! I assure you that he liked our ..."

The door falls closed behind me cutting off the rest of Nigel's desperate
plea. I only need to keep my face a portrait of solemn sadness for a few
more minutes!

A free afternoon ... Let's call Leo, maybe he has an empty spot for me. I
could do with a massage, and I can definitely do with his long cock in my
gut – he's even longer than Eliot, although with nowhere near the
girth. It can be really enjoyable to feel something filling you so
incredibly deep, without the painful stretch Eliot provides.

Leisurely fuck by Leo this afternoon ... hard fuck by Eliot this evening
... That sounds like a plan!

Life is good.



Bollocks!

Leo's diary is full ... Not a free moment in his books, not even for a
client who would allow him to massage the inside of his body as well as the
outside. To make things worse, I am critically horny now, having been
thinking about his cock ... and Eliot won't be home to ravage me for at
least another 8 hours! Things are desperate all of a sudden.

Nate is on holiday, so he's unavailable. Do I go back to Starbuck's in the
hope that Jack is still there? He'll be willing, but it will be
embarrassing to beg him for a quickie after fobbing him off earlier. That
is a `no' then. Shall I wait on Liam's front step and play the hurt young
man in need of comfort? That may well be the best option, but he won't be
home for ages.

That guy on the other side of the road looks lost, checking street names
and his mobile.

He's cute rather than handsome, I'd say. My age or so, nice face, but his
body could do with a bit of gym time. What attracts me to him is the bulge
in his jeans, though, which promises a real monster – assuming he hasn't
stuffed half his sock drawer in there for the visuals.

Because the angry red man on the traffic light between us has just turned a
soothing green, I cross towards him, smile reassuringly, and offer help.

"I was trying to figure out which way the station is."

"Oh, I am just going that way ... walk with me. I'm Jamie ..."

"I'm Caleb, thanks for your help."

How am I going to play this? The problem is that my Gaydar has come back
decidedly indecisive about this guy, so it might be a dead end. Then again,
even straight men don't necessarily turn down the opportunity to ram their
cock somewhere warm and comforting.

 "Have you ever fucked a man, Caleb?" I throw into the conversation
casually.

He stops dead and stares at me with big, frightened eyes. I turn towards
him and stand just an inch or two closer than socials norms allow. `You can
have me if you want' is my message.

"No," he replies hoarsely. When I look down, his bulge is straining the
denim of his jeans though.

"But you want to ..."

That was a statement, not a question. He wants me ... and I want him, so it
is just a matter of getting him to recognise that he wants me.

"I am straight."

"That is fine ... A lot of straight men enjoy anal sex as a top, and a male
backside is just as hot and tight as a female one."

He swallows heavily, "yeah, I suppose so."

I give him time to work through the conflicting emotions that must be
whirling right now, confident that `lust' will beat `shame' any day. A
theme for "Inside Out 6" to explore perhaps, when the little girl is in her
teens.

"I've often wondered what anal would feel like. My girlfriend won't let me
..."

The throbbing in his pants suggests that this is more than just a casual
interest in fudge-packing. Bi-curious at the very least, but I wouldn't
rule out a full-blown closet queen. Not that I care about his fantasies
that much, as long as I can use them to get him to drive that fuck-pole
into my gut and get me through the long lonely daylight hours.

I move another inch closer to him.

"I will let you have a go ... You don't need to feel attracted to me. You
want to experience fucking an arse, and I want to get fucked. You stick it
in, enjoy feeling the hot tight embrace of my gut, and deposit a load. And
we go happily on our way."

"Erm ... okay ... No kissing though, or foreplay ... just ... that."

Oh you poor innocent boy, you don't know what you are letting yourself in
for.

He lives 50 miles away, so the venue is a bit of an issue, until I remember
that I have the keys to Lucy and Caroline's flat, having been asked to
water their plants while they are on holiday. They won't care if I use
their bed, I'm sure, as long as I change the sheets before they get back.

Caleb doesn't disappoint. Okay, he lies in bed like a rabbit in the
headlights, but the flaccid slab of meat between his thighs is
magnificent. I didn't think I'd ever find anyone who could rival Eliot in
the Charcuterie department, but he must be getting close – I doubt he
has my lover's perversion though, nor his near-bottomless libido, so Eliot
is still in prime position for my affections.

I take a hold of him and run my tongue along the shaft slowly and
sensuously, feeling an instant reaction from the sluice gates that control
the inflow of blood. Caleb mews something unintelligible but frightened-
and excited-sounding at the same time. I'll take his head in my mouth now
that I still can, because there is a distinct chance that I won't once he
is at full mast. I wriggle an index finger in his bellybutton, which can be
a real turn on for some men, I know from personal experience. It draws a
happy clench of the abs and another firming up of his tool.

So much for `no foreplay' then.

I'll focus on his balls next, sucking and gently chewing them, while my
other hand is busy covering my index finger with lube.

"I don't want to be fucked!" Caleb protests when I tease that finger
against his hole.

"And I don't want to fuck you ... I just want to provide you with
pleasure. You'll love it, trust me. Give me a minute to prove that, and if
you still don't like it, I'll stop."

My finger is already inside to the first knuckle, and as he doesn't
protest, I continue to slide in. My tongue is under his foreskin, my other
hand his playing with his balls, just a little firmly to distract him from
my probing finger.

A slow rub across his prostate causes Caleb to squeal with delight. He
arches his back as if he's having a seizure. I poke the organ gently,
sensuously rub my finger along the side.

"Oooh ... Oh, my God ..."

His cock, rigid before, is throbbing so hard that I fear it might
rupture. I think I have found the guy's Achilles heel.

"Eew," at another poke. "Why doesn't my girlfriend do this?"

"She's not a man. Beyond letting him fuck her, she doesn't know what can
excite a man's body. Only another man knows all the hidden ways to be
pleasured ..."

"... Bloody hell, this is amazing ..."

I indulge him a bit, until I can no longer put off what we came here for:
my need to be ploughed violently by his horse cock. I lube him up some
more, because he's definitely too big to take comfortably with spit alone,
before I roll onto my back, grab my ankles, and present him with my eagerly
quivering ring.

"Fuck me, Caleb! ... Fuck me and don't hold back!"

His hard, throbbing manhood looks fabulous, frightening but fabulous. A
little shorter than Eliot's, but he must have half an inch over him on
width ... and I am looking forward to the stretch!

I am not disappointed! Just his head getting forced in tests my
determination. I swear under my breath, Caleb apologises, stops, and offers
to pull out, I swear at him to keep going, because he's got the head
halfway down my sphincter and therefore at the worst possible place to
stop. The feeling of the fat ball of man-meat popping into my rectum, and
my ring `relaxing' around his slightly narrower shaft, comes as a relief.

He is so big!

"Ram it in, Baby! Hard and deep!"

He doesn't need more encouragement, drives it straight into me ... and
straight into my gut wall. I scream, swear again, tell him to aim to the
right a bit, where he'll find the route to the core of my body.

A fat cock sliding from rectum into your gut is the best feeling ever. And
Caleb's is as fat as they come. He finds the spot and recognising it for
what it is, thrusts in violently. I cannot remember my gut ever having been
stretched that much, and with a groan I tell him that I've never felt a
cock as great as his – every man likes to hear that, irrespective of
whether it is true. He's definitely in my top 5, though, and that is saying
something, because I've must have welcomed at least a hundred different
dicks over the past 5 years.

For someone who has never fucked a man before, Caleb is doing a fabulous
job, slowly increasing the length of his strokes until he's pumping me with
the entire length of that monster schlong of his.

I hook my hand behind his neck and pull him down, sealing my lips over his,
probing with my tongue until he opens up and meets it with his own.

`No kissing', you said, boy?

`I am straight', was it?

He greedily snogs me, still thrusting into my arse, albeit more languidly
now.

"I love you, Jamie ..."

"Fuck me, Caleb. I want you to ram into me with all your force!" I avoid
the issue of his newfound love for men in general and me in particular. I
love to feel him ravage me, but I don't love him, I love Eliot and only
Eliot. The kid has an amazing manhood though, so perhaps I can keep some
sort of casual carnal relationship going.

He really doesn't hold back anything anymore, drives into me with 12-inch
thrusts, so hard that I sometimes fear my gut is going to come away from my
arse ... it hurts, but Christ, it feels amazing. Caleb swears with every
stroke. I moan with every stroke. My attacker arches his back for that
little extra power to make the final few thrusts even harder.

I am not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed when he begins to
empty his balls inside my gut. I sling my legs around his waist to stop him
pulling away and lock his manhood inside me for a little longer. He
collapses onto my chest, so I take the opportunity to kiss him again.

"I love you, Jamie," he repeats, and this time I cannot avoid the issue.

"You're an amazing man and a fabulous lover, and I'd enjoy us staying
close, but I am in a relationship already, and I love my boyfriend more
than anything."

He takes it better than I feared, agreeing to meet again without any
romantic ties. He is straight and he loves his girlfriend, he assures me,
truly and deeply. I will be the way he can satisfy his desire for anal sex,
nothing more than that. I don't believe a word he says, but it fits my aims
perfectly.

I clench my ring to massage his flaccid monster, which is still buried so
deep that I can feel it lodged in my gut. However, Caleb is not a
twice-in-an-hour type of lover it seems, unlike my boyfriend, because he
rolls away, slowly dragging his manhood from my gaping arse.

"Can I use your shower?"

He won't want to smell of sex, I guess, certainly not of gay sex.

Does gay sex have a different smell? I am not sure, and I am not
particularly interested in finding out. Women lack the body part I wish to
feel getting rammed into my belly.

Ten minutes later, I grind myself naked against him, feeling his soft
behemoth between our bodies. Through his jeans, I tease his hole to remind
him about the advantages of making love with another man.

"Shall we meet up again next week?" I press home the issue. He's gay, or bi
perhaps, but unable to admit it. Fine by me, as long as he remembers that
having no-strings-attached sex with a man is amazing and readily
available. I am after his cock, not his mental well-being.

"Thursday?" he offers after a slight hesitation. "After work, say, 6PM?"

I rub his cock and confirm that I'll be ready and horny for him.

I can't wait to tell Eliot about him. When he hears that Caleb managed to
make me scream with lust and pain, he'll want to reconfirm his position as
the best lover I have ever had inside me. He'll want to fuck me for hours
on end, ravaging me as he prepares to cum. He'll want to mark the depths of
my gut with the contents of those massive balls, like a dog pissing up a
tree to mark its territory.

Hopefully I'll still be able to walk tomorrow.

Fuck, I am feeling horny already!



THE END