Acclimatisation

Acclimatisation

An orc gives a human a helpful lesson.

There was a certain kind of human that couldn't resist an orc. The man between Barric's legs was obviously a prime example. He had been a soldier at one point. Barric could see the kingdom's emblem tattooed on his shoulder. That didn't mean much now. The little man had given him puppy eyes from across the square. He had made an attempt to arrange it back into a glare when Barric met his eyes.  A few looks, a hand signal or two, and the little man had followed Barric out the square. Now they were in an empty stable. Barric was sitting on a bench, legs spread wide. The little man was on his knees in the straw with dirt on his breeches and Barric's fat cock in his mouth. A little tongue lapped at his dirty foreskin, licking up his filth. Barric patted his head, encouraging him to get stuck in. An orc was a lot bigger than the average human. He knew this. The little man knew this. Barric also knew that with a little patience, a little discipline, and a little gentleness, that wasn't an obstacle to a well-trained human. Very gently, he began to nudge his way into the man's mouth. Mild noises of indignation. The first step was to be strict. Barric held him there until the wriggling stopped and a little tongue started tasting again. Good. Barric was starting to get hard. He slowly filled up the man's mouth. Now the human was getting nervous again. Hold him still, pet his hair until he got used to it. Bury himself a little deeper. Soothe the accompanying nerves, feel the warmth of his throat as he pushed in again, repeat. A gag. He chuckled.

“It's alright.” Probably didn't understand Orcish. The back of a little throat. Barric waited a little longer, then he gripped the base of his thick cock and angled it down the best he could. A little further in. This bit was the hardest. He let the man gag it out, hushing him soothingly, until little lungs worked out how to take shallow breaths around him. Slowly, patiently, he filled up an expectant little throat with his cock. They were interesting things, humans. Oddly warlike in groups. But surprisingly well suited to companionship. Something about orcs in particular made their bodies respond a certain way. To adjust, essentially. It was fascinating to see it in action. Panic became regular nerves, then nerves cycled to mildly overwhelmed enjoyment, and then the little man was aroused again. Barric ruffled his hair. He was almost in now. A little nose buried itself in his bush, wrinkling. Barric felt his brow crease in amusement. He had been helping out the leatherworkers today. He wasn’t exactly smelling fresh after all that work. It would be fine. Orc stink was almost a drug to a human like this one. Barric started to move. Out by just an inch at first. Keep it slow. In carefully. Pick up the pace. Before long, he was fucking a little throat. The key was to hold the human in place. The back was different. Some proper preparation and a decent amount of lube went a long way. But the front needed care. Little necks were fragile. Being held in place made sure the little man wouldn't hurt himself and that Barric could get his pleasure uninterrupted. Little repetitive gags. It was always a little too much for them, really. But now the pleasure was in control, not the pain. The standard had been established, the little man knew his place, and Barric had free rein. The curve of his dick felt just right. He could feel the soft insides of the human's throat on every vein and pore of his thick cock. Finally, he came, filling up a little belly. He panted in pleasure, pumping a few last thrusts into the human's throat. That delicious feeling of his balls emptying into a willing receptacle. He held the little man there a little longer. That last pullout could be rough on a tired little throat. Barric liked to let himself soften first, it was gentler. He rubbed soothing circles over a small skull. He was a good little man. It was important to get that across. Carefully, gently, he began to pull out. Then he paused. His balls weren't the only thing that was full. He looked down. An obedient little blink, the human's attitude temporarily fucked out of him. He grinned and relaxed. His piss sprayed into the little man's throat. A surprised little splutter. He set a leg over the little man’s shoulder to make sure he didn't get any silly ideas. Barric exhaled in pleasure, holding his new toy in place, marking his territory. Angry little noises. Too much for him, of course. Barric chuckled as rancid yellow urine streamed out over a little chin. His tunic went from cream to dark yellowish-grey. Dripping from head to toe. It felt right. Barric made sure he pulled out before he was fully spent, smacking a little face with his limp cock. He stood up and looked down. Aim carefully. The last contents of his bladder drained over the little man's head. He couldn't have such an important part of him remain unmarked.  Then he was done. He tucked himself back into his furs. The human seemed too stunned to react. A look down at little hands, wet with stinking orcish urine. A puddle, staining the straw around his feet. Barric nudged his shoulder affectionately and wandered off. He knew where to find him, the little man worked at a stall in the market. Barric would be back. There was a lot more training to do, but it was a good start.

The Baker's Assistant - #2

Huw starts work in the bakery. Down the back of his drawers, Tom is in for a rough ride as he endures the giant's morning gas.

Huw snorted as he felt the little man struggling between his cheeks. Tiny, smothered complaints. Nothing he cared about. A long, satisfying stretch. His guts were growling. He twisted his leg in just the right way and a stream of gas bubbled out of his hole. “Well muffled, lad.” He took in a breath and wrinkled his nose. “Too much stink for you to soak up everything, huh?” He pulled on a pair of trousers. The little man was safely secured in his new lodgings. Huw, meanwhile, had an actual job waiting for him.

Tom was hopelessly disoriented. Colossal walls of fat and muscle had him anchored firm. Blast after blast of casual gas scoured his senses raw with with every shift of Huw's body. Sweltering heat, intestines gurgling, the foul smell of sweat and gas. Tom's skin was slick. He was harder than he had ever been in his life. He let out a shuddering breath, testing his limbs. Flattened tight between colossal slabs of flesh, but still functional. He had to do something. In the darkness, he picked a direction. Huw’s arsecheeks squeezed him gently as he wriggled between them. The smell got worse. He swore as he felt wrinkled, sticky skin.

“No. No no. Fuck no.” An appreciative rumble.

“Good boy. Straight for the source.” He tried to struggle away. A big finger reached in with a gentle poke, pressing his head between filthy, sweaty folds. “Really get in there, lad. Don't be shy.” He yelped. An abyss, opening up in front of him. The warmth and stench of Huw's rectum wafted out. He reached out to push himself away and his hand slipped, plunging into the darkness. The colossal ring of muscle welcomed him eagerly, clamping down. A distant chuckle. He pulled himself out with a desperate squelch, lubed up with whatever unmentionable fluids Huw secreted. He struggled desperately away. Something stopped him. His leg was tangled in something. A curl of thick black hair. A rumble from Huw's depths. He was moving around now, rocking Tom gently as he walked. Satisfied humming. The brute paused to hike up a leg. A grunt. A huge, wet fart buffeted him in a stinking blast of wind. A chuckle from above as he yelped. "Breathe deep, little man. A bit of gas never hurt a boy." Tom squirmed angrily. He shuddered as he inadvertently smeared something sticky over his side. “Good boy. That's what I want. Movement." Distant sound, filtered through layers of fat and hair and muscle. Heavy footsteps. The creak of the stairs, then the kitchen door. The whistle of a kettle. A vast belch. Huw grunted as he felt Tom trying to get away.

On the outside, Huw flicked on the kitchen lights, scratching his belly. He squatted down to light the oven. Gas bubbled out of his arsehole and he huffed in satisfaction as a tiny form wriggled in response. "You're gonna stink of me, little lad." He went about his business, starting to shape loaves of bread, gently flexing his arsecheeks to see how the little man responded. His arsehole kept on trying to suck the little man in. Satisfying. Tiny struggles. The lad was trying to desert his station. He tugged at the back of his trousers.

“I'm not having that, lad.  You're here to work. If you won't lick it, you can go inside it. You smell the outside. You want to taste the inside?" Weak complaining, muffled by his crack.  

"Fat, stinking bas-"

"Three." A yelp. "Two. One." Anxious little squirming. Huw chuckled and let rip another flood of stinking gas. Farts really got the little man wriggling. Sure enough, the feeling of a tiny tongue between the dirty folds of his arsehole. He turned his attention back to his bread, content that his new worker was doing his job. Loaf after loaf, shaped and left to stand. Fart after stinking fart onto his tiny passenger. He moved on to pastries. The odd return to his sourdough to knead the bread. The little man was behaving himself a little more. They always loved How's stench, after a bit of adjusting. A nice wet fart for him. There were still complaints, but he kept close to Huw's shitter. “Good boy.” Huw tasted like nothing else Tom had ever encountered. Bitterness. Salt. Earth. Just raw, overpowering man. He stuck out his tongue and licked. Sticky. His leg was still trapped in a coil of greasy hair. He was tied down into the deepest reaches of Huw's crack, buffeted repeatedly with wet, stinking bursts of gas. He tried not to concentrate too much on what he was tasting. He felt like an animal at a trough, face buried deep in muscle and stink. A warning shift. He pulled back. A blast of noxious gas, the added suction as the giant's arsehole tightened, then it was back to normal. He got back to work. Finally, a big hand reached down.

“You alright there, lad? Feel like I got lint stuck in my crack.”

“I’m tangled in your fucking arse hair!” A chuckle.

“That’s what I mean.” Big fingers reached in, freeing his leg easily. "I forgot to ask. What's yer name, lad?”

“Tom.”

“Tommy, huh? The ovens are on, Tommy. I'm not gonna be checking in with you for a while, so take a deep breath.”

"But-" Huw’s hand disappeared. His glutes closed back in. A lazy flex, and Tom was buried back against Huw’s stinking hole. He yelped as suction wrapped around his head. The sound switched. Curiously muted, the outside world fading. Heavy gurgles, the rumble of gas. Pitch blackness. The simmering threat of something indescribable. Something caught in his throat. Raw, punishing stink. Muscle clenched and he was sucked in a little further. Huw relaxed, and a merciful blast of gas allowed him to pull back. Sticky moisture spattered across him. He took in a desperate breath. Somehow, the outside of Huw’s hole was a relief compared to what lay within. 

Huw reached down to push the little man in as he released a particularly putrid fart. Tiny coughs. He clenched his cheeks firmly to muffle them, then lifted the blinds hiding the kitchen just enough to start sliding trays beneath. The first rays of morning light glowed on the counter. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day. He reached down the back of his boxers to shove the little man’s head against his stinking hole, finishing it off with a rank, wet fart. 

The brute was truly the most disgusting being Tom had ever met. He spat out something unmentionable, fighting his way out. He was tired.  He closed his eyes, letting himself slump against the huge, puffy muscle. It pulsed gently. Foul-smelling and warm. Somehow, in spite of everything, his eyelids were closing a little. Huw paused. His new employee had gone limp. He reached down. Sure enough, the tiny man was dozing off. He huffed. "We got to reset yer sleep." He blew gently on the tiny form. A yelp. "Little lad. Can't have you asleep on the job, can I?" Sleepy fear.

"Sorry sir." Huw felt his eyes crinkle.

"I did say I'd feed you to my shitter if you went still again."

"Uh. I can try harder-"

"Shh. It won't be that bad, lad. Just warm and smelly. I'm feeling nice, though. I'll make myself a coffee for now. Should be plenty of gas to wake you up with a few sips." He pulled a towel from the back of his apron and deposited the little man on top, reaching for the kettle. 

Tom blinked sleepily up at him. He looked around. He had never seen the kitchen before. It was rare for him to even be this high up. Huw lit a match, holding under the kettle on the job next to him. A swish of flame as it caught. Tom got to his feet, entranced. "Stay on that towel, lad. I don't want you tracking filth over my kitchen." 

"Whose fault is that?"

"Careful, lad. Until yer debt is paid, I punish you how I see fit. Now.  If I put a little man in a warm, comfy place, I can't really blame him if he falls asleep." The kettle was whistling away happily on the hob. A huge hand shifted the towel into the light. Tom covered his eyes in the sudden brightness. "I think I just accept you get sleepy. So long as yer still with me, we’re good." Huw got about making his coffee. Crushed beans, into a strange little jug. Tom watched him pour water far above, a massive cloud of steam rising up. “Would coffee help? Don’t know if I want to risk seeing if caffeine hurts a tiny man, though.”

“I’ve snuck some of your coffee before when you leave your mug unattended.” A chuckle. Huw reached down and flicked him gently.

“Little rascal.” He poured in a trickle of milk and stirred. “Still, though. It’s proper builder’s tea. Too strong for you.” He glanced down. “That little hard-on has barely gone down since I first locked eyes on you, huh?” Tom smoothed back his hair.

“I think that's just the inevitable part of physical contact. Not my fault.” A huff.

“It's a good thing, lad. That's what makes you my ideal prey. There's no fun in shovin’ a boy up my hole if he doesn't even want it.” Tom crossed his arms half-heartedly. Huw took a draught of his coffee, letting out a cavernous belch. “That’s the stuff.” He paused, making a face. “I can already feel it moving things along downstairs, too. Time for the both of us to get back to work, lad.” Huw pulled down his drawers, turning around. The same view of his glorious, hairy arse. He pulled a cheek aside, letting a wet fart blast Tom's face, splattering him with something wet. Huw’s second hand blocked Tom’s escape and titanic legs backed up slowly, walls of muscle confining Tom once more. A massive finger shoved Tom’s head into the folds of his hole. Huw let his huge arsecheeks back together, sealing his prisoner in. Sticky wetness. Tom fumbled desperately at the folds around him, pulling out his head with a wet squelch and leaning back as far as he could to take a breath in. He had smelled them from the inside already. He didn’t need to do it again. His hands scrabbled in the damp folds. One went in a little. He yelped, trying to pull it out. This time, Huw's asshole wasn't letting go. He tried to wrench harder, kicking, trying not to let another limb get caught. Huw chuckled above him. “Relax, lad. You were going up there sooner or later. You'll be fine. I'll see you later.” Tom kicked his leg in. It went in deep. It gave him enough freedom to pull out his hand, but now he had a new problem. There was suction on his foot. His ankle disappeared into the folds. He could feel simmering heat as warm flesh squeezed it tight. He yelped. “Calm the fuck down, lad. None o’ this needs to be this dramatic. Sit back and enjoy it.” Tom ignore him. He wrapped his hand in his shirt, reaching in to try and loosen up his foot. Hopeless. The suction pulled in his arm again. He let the shirt go, pulling out his hand before he was caught. It disappeared somewhere within. He could feel the fabric running over his foot before it was sucked somewhere deeper. Hot, wet muscle dragged in his calf. He let out a ragged breath. Last try. He braced his hands. Carefully, he tried to kick a fold in the muscle. The tiniest little give. He yanked out his foot, collapsing backwards between Huw's colossal arsecheeks. An earthshaking chuckle around him. “Good effort, lad.” Huw reached down and pushed. His lower half sunk into the giant's arsehole.

“No!” A patient huff.

“Whiny little man. You should be thanking me.” Tom grabbed onto his finger. His hands slid off, slick with sweat. Huw clenched his cheeks and went back to work. Tom was buried too deep now. All he could do was curse wildly at his giant captor and feel sticky heat climb up his torso. He grabbed wildly at an errant hair. His hand slipped off, coated in sweat and slick. Wildly, he tried to push down. One hand vanished. Then the second. Huw's sphincter slurped in his shoulders. Sticky muscle covered his mouth, then his eyes, then Huw's pucker sealed above him with a final, revolting, world-engulfing squelch.

Huw hummed, sipping his coffee, checking the hourglass on the table. He pulled out a tray of loaves, sliding them beneath the blinds to the front of the shop. There were customers now. Voices. Someone was haggling. He smiled to himself, basking in the warmth and the sunlight. He bent down to peer into the oven, drumming his fingers on the counter next to him. Satisfying little wriggles inside him. It wasn't too late to fish Tom out, with a little effort. But he felt like letting nature take its course. The boy would end up back on the outside sooner or later. Another coffee or two and everything would move him back outside anyway. He put on the kettle again and reached for a towel, opening up the oven. Not long before his baking was done for the morning.

An Overbearing Flatmate - #2

Mack expects Cole to clean his feet after he gets home from work.

Cole unlaced Mack's work boots, wincing as dirt smeared across his fingertips. They were robust, scuffed affairs, all worn leather and thick soles, big enough to cover Cole's chest. The giant indulged him as he got to work, lifting his leg so Cole could tug at his ankle.

"Come on, bud. Put your back into it." Cole struggled to pull off a massive boot with a pop. The acrid smell of Mack's sweat filled the room. The man chuckled, flexing his toes. "One down." He picked up the TV remote. A burly hand landed on Cole's head as he went to turn around. "You've got work to do, bud. I already had my shift. Now it's your turn. That's the rule." Reluctantly, Cole turned back down, and a second boot landed between his thighs. Mack ruffled his hair as he got back to work.

"Lift your leg a bit, sir. I can't get your boot off." Mack planted his boot on Cole's chest. "That wasn't what I meant." His complaints fell on deaf ears. He scowled and pulled, feeling the stiff rubber pressing against his chest. With a pop, Mack's boot slid off, leaving a dirty bootprint stamped across his chest. His hands were muddy, too. He looked up and Mack snorted. "Fine. You can go wash your hands off. Keep the shirt on. Grab me a beer while you're at it." Cole scowled at him. Mack settled back into the armchair as he scurried off. The asshole hadn't moved an inch by the time Cole was back. He passed up the man's beer. "Ta, bud." A pop and a hiss. Cole kneeled back down. A finger click. Cole frowned at him. "Give me a shoe." Cole passed it up, and a big hand settled in his hair, a second holding an oversized shoe in front of him. Mack grinned down at him. "You want to guess where your face is going next?"

"You don't have to be a sadist about it. Get it over with." An eyebrow raised. "Uh - please. Sir."

"Better. But I'm still the one in control here." With an affectionate smile, Mack slowly held it up to Cole's face. The foul smell got steadily worse. He tried to twist his head away, but Mack's fingers tightened effortlessly in his hair. All he could do was watch as Mack forced him into stinking darkness. He held his breath in an empty act of rebellion, but his lungs didn't last. He had to inhale. Mack chuckled. "There we go. How rank is that?" Cole coughed into the foul darkness. There was nothing he could do. Mack hauled him in by the collar into his lap. He crossed his arms. The giant settled in with one hand pinning his boot to Cole's face and the other wrapped around his stomach in gentle possession, chest rising and falling beneath Cole's head. "Don't fall asleep now, bud. You're barely getting started." Cole grumbled at him from inside his stinking prison. Mack finally let him out, giving him a playful shove off the chair and back between his feet. Cole shook himself off. A giant foot landed back on his chest.

"I don't even get a break?"

"Don't be lazy." Mack exerted slow, deliberate pressure, forcing him slowly to the floor. Cole winced, and the pressure lightened, only to return as Mack's foot moved up, drawing closer to his face. Damp and sweaty, Mack's socks covered his mouth, suffocating him. "Sniff." He couldn't do anything else. The second foot joined the first. Colossal soles bore down. A relaxed sigh above him. "Alright, pup. You stay there for a minute." A foot pressed on his chest once more. Mack removed his socks, one after the other. Cole grimaced. His next ordeal couldn't be far off.

"You can get to deal with these later." Mack tossed his socks to the side. Cole found himself facing two massive, foul-smelling feet. Rough and broad. As Mack lowered one over his face, his vision went dark. Cole dragged his tongue over rough skin, wincing as salt and sharpness hit his tongue. He stopped as a strange texture hit his tongue. "Behave yourself." The man shifted, heel pressing into Cole's face. Reluctantly, he ran his tongue over rough flesh. Mack's heel, then his arch. He hesitated at the ball. "Cole." A note of warning. Cole folded. Mack's feet were always worse at his toes. The taste, the filth, the stench. It was all overpoweringly masculine. Today, though, he was lucky. Before he got too deep, the giant switched feet. He was mercifully free from the brute's toes. Finally, Mack's feet landed on either side of his chest. He laid back. There was a brief moment of reprieve. Cole stretched and gazed upwards, taking in the stillness. Mack switched the channel and lay back down. Cole glanced from side to side, then sat up. Bad idea. Mack's head snapped back down. "Boy."

"Uh. I thought I was done."

"I give you thirty seconds of break, and you think you're done? You call this clean? Get your tongue between my toes. Suck 'em till they shine. Lazy little fucker." Mack stopped being gentle. Giant feet tracked sweat and stink over Cole's face, damp toes forcing themselves into his mouth. "Clean. Now." Cole reluctantly got to work. Mack's irritation was slow to fade. Finally, Mack pulled his toe out of Cole's mouth.

"What do you say?" Cole wiped his mouth.

"Thank you, sir."

"Look me in the eye. What are you thankful for?"

"Uh. Your feet."

"What about them?" Cole winced.

"Uh. They're filthy? They stink?"

"And you fucking love it." Cole whined as a colossal foot filled his vision again. "You can stay there for a few minutes. Sort out that attitude." It was an unpleasantly arousing situation. The oppressive stench of sweat and heat drove him down. He tapped hesitantly at Mack's ankle, only to have a second foot subdue his wrist. He resigned himself to an extended stay. Mack finally shifted his foot down to his chest, lifting the weight on his face enough for him to breathe a sigh of relief. "Learned your lesson?"

"Uh. Yessir." A stern look. "Sorry."

"Hmm." A moment longer. Cole fidgeted beneath him. "I accept your apology." He made no attempt to move his foot. "I'm ordering Chinese. You want anything after you finish your work?"

"Come on, sir. Chinese doesn't get along with you. We sleep in the same bed." A dangerous look. Cole shut his mouth.

"Sorry. Satay chicken. Special fried rice if it's the same place as last time. Me-sized, please."

"Hmph." A toe shoved its way back into his mouth, pinning him back to the floor. "I'm making that rice a proper size." A pause. "You know what? It can all be my size. A man your size doesn't need his own." There was no real point in saying anything else. Anyway, a vast, stinking foot had settled back over his face, and the massive toes in his mouth didn't lend themselves to clear communication. Finally, Mack pulled out. Cole's spit shone on his skin. The brute grunted. "Alright, boy. You're done." Cole shook himself off, grimacing. Mack clicked his fingers above the sofa next to him. Cole climbed up. Mack pulled him into his side, a big hand spreading over his chest. "Cheeky little fucker."

"It was an honest mistake, sir."

"Hmm. Come here." Cole cuddled up.

"So I'm done properly?" A big hand tousled his hair.

"You know better than that, pup. You're done with my toes." Mack's hand went to the side, landing on his grimy socks. Cole looked up. A cantankerous eyebrow raise. "You got an attitude about this as well?"

"Um. No, sir." A beefy hand seized his jaw. "Good. Open up." Cole squinted at him. "It's not optional." Reluctantly, Cole opened his mouth. Giant fingers stuffed sweaty fabric into his mouth, covering his lips to force the sock in. The giant ruffled his hair affectionately as his sweat invaded Cole's mouth. "Taste good, boy?" Cole was already humiliated enough without attempting to speak. He hit weakly at Mack's wrist. A snort. "Don't try your luck." The hand lifted. Mack settled back again. Cole raised his hand warily to his face. "You sure you want to piss me off?" Cole let his arm fall back to his side. Mack was cuddly today. Whenever Cole tried to get up, a big hand hauled him back in with a warning growl. Cole gave up eventually, burying himself in the refuge of Mack's broad chest. An appreciative huff. A hand wrapped around his neck in gentle possession. Mack reached down between Cole's legs, idly feeling him up. "Always quick to get excited, aren't you?" He took another swig of his beer and yawned, tucking Cole's head beneath his neck. The TV buzz faded into the background as Cole tasted the tang of sweat on his tongue. Mack's colossal form shifted. A hand rubbed gently at the nape of his neck, and the time began to slip away. Finally, a vast hand pulled the massive sock from his mouth. "Alright, bud. Time for a check-in. Having a good time?"

"Pretty rank, sir. But sexy."

"Jesus, pup. You do love my filth. Today wasn't too much?" Cole inhaled, breathing in Mack's scent. It was a warm, comforting musk now, even with the taste of foot sweat lurking at the back of his throat.

"No. It's all hot." He glanced up. "We're done now, sir?"

"Yes, bud. The scene is over for the moment. You can relax." Cole looked down, tugging at the bootprint stained across his chest.

"Do I get to change my shirt?"

"Not a chance. You look good." Cole pulled a face, reaching for his phone.

"I forgot to ask you to get spring rolls."

"I remembered. It's coming. Settle down." Cole tried to get a look at Mack's phone. "That's an order." The brute turned the sound on the TV back up. The two of them fell into companionable silence. Cole lay down, his torso over Mack's lap. A burly hand played with his hair. A sudden vibration rang out from Mack's phone. "Food's gonna be a bit longer. There's been a delay."

Cole yawned and sat up. A mildly offended huff. "Where do you think you're going?" Cole headed into the kitchen, pulling a tin from beneath the sink. Leather polish, cloth and a buffer. He came back and crouched down, reaching for massive boots again. An affectionate smile above him.

"Good man."

A friend of my dad’s is sitting in our living room when I come downstairs. 

He’s dressed in a Santa outfit. 

‘Mr Harris?’ I ask, bewildered. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Hey, son,’ he says, winking at me. ‘I know your parents aren’t around for the holidays and I had a spare key, so just wanted to stop in and see how you’re doing. You wanna come over here and tell Santa what you want for Christmas?’ 

I laugh and turn towards the kitchen. ‘No thanks, I’m 21. I think I’m a little old for Father Christmas, don’t you?’

‘Suit yourself,’ he says, and stands up and stretches. I hadn’t really noticed until now, but the suit is half unbuttoned, and I can see his big, hairy, powerful chest straining against it as he stretches. 

He catches me staring and I blush. 

‘Hehe,’ he chuckles. ‘You sure you don’t wanna come sit up on my knee, son?’ 

I hesitate. My mouth is dry. Secretly, I’ve had a crush on my dad’s friend for years but I never thought anything would ever come of it. 

‘At least tell me which list to put you on,’ he says as I walk slowly back toward him. 

‘List?’

He pulls me down onto his lap. ‘Naughty or nice’, he says. 

Firmly holding me on his lap, he slowly starts to bounce me up and down on his knee. 

‘N-naughty’, I stammer, looking into his eyes.

‘Yeah?’ He murmurs in my ear. ‘You been a naughty boy, have you, eh?’

‘Yes, Sir’, I choke out. I suddenly realise I’m rock hard. 

‘And what do you think naughty boys should get?’

He’s still moving his knee up and down so that I have to put my hand on his chest to steady myself. 

‘A spanking,’ I reply without thinking. 

He laughs, another dry, dirty chuckle. ‘Yeah? Over my knee for a good hiding, is that it, boy? I think we can do better than that. I think,’ he murmurs into my ear again, ‘bad boys like you need a good hard fuck. What do you say to that?’

I whimper a little as his hand strays towards my crotch. As he caresses the bulge in my jeans he says, ‘Oh, I don’t think you need to say anything at all.’ 

He orders me to strip and get on all fours. I hear the sound of a belt buckle coming undone behind me, and he says, ‘You ready for my cock, faggot?’

I nod imperceptibly. Before I know it, I feel his full weight on top of me and he gets a fistful of my hair and pulls gently, forcing me to arch my back. Again he speaks, low, into my ear. ‘When I ask you a question, boy, the answer is ‘Yes, Sir’. Is that clear, faggot?’

‘Yes, Sir,’ I reply instantly. 

‘Good’. Then the weight shifts slightly, and that’s when I feel his thick, hard cock resting in the cleft of my arse. ‘Now, why don’t you tell me where you want my cock, boy? Nice and loud.’

‘Deep up my faggot cunt, please, SIR!’ I shout. 

‘Yeah? That where you want it, boy?’ 

‘Yes please, Sir.’

‘Yeah? Bareback?’

‘YES SIR!’ I am trembling with anticipation.

‘Good boy. Here it fucking comes.’ 

He slides into my cunt, balls deep. ‘Thank you SIR!’ I scream. 

‘God, I’ve been wanting to fuck you for a couple of years now, son. Been biding my time. And now, here we are. Christ, that’s a tight cunt. You’re a virgin, ain’t’cha boy?’

‘Yes Sir,’ I reply, feeling him thrust into my hole. 

He chuckles again. ‘Yeah, just my fuckin’ type. Dirty whore.’ 

He keeps going, holding onto my hips and thrusting hard. Several minutes pass, during which he keeps pulling my hair to keep my back arched so he can thrust deeper into my cunt. 

‘You ready for me to flood your fucking guts for you, faggot?’ 

‘Yes Sir’, I reply, whimpering in pleasure.

‘Good, because I’m about three thrusts from breeding your cunt.’

I feel him thrust twice, and then he pulls out. I wait a second, then turn my head to look at him behind me. He’s breathing heavily, that gorgeous furry chest rising and falling.

‘What’s the matter?’ I ask. 

He looks me right in the eyes. ‘Beg for it, faggot. Beg me to breed that hole.’

I catch on quickly. ‘Please, Sir,’ I beg, giving him my best fuck-me eyes, ‘please dump that load up my faggot cunt. I need that fucking seed please Sir. Spunk in my fucking guts. Fucking knock me up, please Sir.’

He grabs hold of my hips and thrusts into my cunt, balls deep. As he thrusts, I tense and squeeze my arse muscles so I’m extra tight for him. 

‘Oh, you dirty little slut’, he mutters as he realises what I’ve done. And then, ‘FFFFFUUUUUUUUCK’, he shouts, and I feel him shoot his load deep in my arse. He thrusts a time or two more, just enough so he knows every last drop is dumped up my cunt, and then I feel him get off me. 

‘Thank you, Sir’, I say. He sits down on the chair again and pulls me onto his lap. 

‘We can’t tell your parents about this, boy. Not yet, at least. Understand?’

We’re kissing, deep and passionately. ‘Yes Sir,’ I reply. ‘Anything you say.’

‘So, have you learned your lesson, boy? You gonna be a good boy from now on?’

I smile cheekily at him, before saying ‘No. If anything, I’m gonna be as bad as possible.’ I reposition myself on his knee so I can duck my mouth down to his right nipple, which I start licking, sucking and lightly biting.

‘Then I guess I’ll have to keep fucking you, boy. Once a week at least, until - careful, boy. You’re going the right way for another good hard fuck.’

‘Mmm-hmm’, I murmur, my mouth still working his nipple while my hands explore that big, hairy chest. I slide off his knee, release his nipple from my mouth and say, ‘I’m counting on it.’ Then I kiss my way down his body until I’m kneeling in front of him. 

I look up. ‘The next load of cream you shoot is gonna be right down the back of my faggot throat, Sir. All over my fucking tonsils. I’ll swallow it all.’ 

‘Good boy,’ he says, and I feel his hands on the back of my neck, ensuring I won’t be going anywhere for a while. I open my mouth, and deep throat his thick cock. My hands instantly go to tug on his nipples while he fucks my throat. ‘Good fucking boy.’ 

Dom Qoutes (Season 3+): Harness Of Regret

"Really boy? You thought it'd be easy? That once you passed out in my boxer covered ass you'd be free? Nah, you agreed to the whole session, so quit the whining and stay still. Get your nose up tight to my asshole and start sniffing my farts. It's your purpose right now and in life going forward. Inhale my toxic protein farts and say thank you after each one. They are gifts that you should be grateful for. And if you continue to disobey me, I will shake my cheeks and tighten the harness until that cute little nose of yours is deep in my pucker with no escape. Here's the.....first....fart...ahhh, that was a bassy one. What do you say?" Bryan's laugh echoes in the room as your nostrils burn from his scent. Waiting for your answer, he shakes his ass and your head rocks in his hairy crack. "Th...Thank you, sir!" You say defeated as the next fart starts to hiss.

*Collab with the amazing @BryanGraham09 on twitter*