Page 108 of Broken Bonds

“Good boy. Do you want to hear the rules first?”

This is stupid, I know, but I shake my head. “I trust you.”

He pauses at that. I worry I said something wrong again but he steps between my legs, wraps his arms around me, and folds his body over mine. His hands find my nipples and gently tweak them. Every tug sends a corresponding surge of sensual energy straight to my cock, which twitches in response.

“No milker tonight,” he rumbles in my ear, and I whine in disappointment. He chuckles. “Hold on. I want to see if you can come for me like this. I think you can. I think you want to be a horny little slut for me, don’t you?”

“Yes!” I whisper.

It’s like I don’t control my body anymore. I’m squirming against him, needing this—needing everything he can give me, and more.

“Such a good boy for me. We’ll go over there and get comfortable, and I’ll put you on your knees so you can worship my cock. You don’t need to make me come, at first. I want to see how well you do it when you’re not tightly strapped down while being used as my sweet little fucktoy.”

I moan, rocking my hips against him, but it’s like trying to move a fucking tree.

“If you can come twice for me while you’re doing that, I’ll let you negotiate to take the cock cage off overnight. If you can’t, I’ll show you a variation of how we get bulls to give us jizz so we can breed cows and then put one of the meaner cages on you overnight. You can take it off in the morning after you give me a breakfast blowjob. Can’t have my boy wearing himself out jerking off, can I?”

“Yes!” Who am I kidding? He’s deep inside my brain and yanking on control levers I didn’t even know existed, and I’m loving every fucking second of this.

“Yes, what?” he breathes in my ear.

“Yes, sir! Please let me do this!”

Another chuckle, and before I can process it, he scoops me up again and carries me over to a leather sofa tucked in a secluded nook in the back. He puts a cushion on the floor for me, spreads a towel over it, and has me kneel, staring into my eyes as he toes off his shoes, yanks his spooged shirt over his head, and shoves his jeans down to step out of them, that massive, gorgeous cock springing free. He sheds his socks then settles on the sofa, cupping my chin.

That’s when he holds up something in his free hand and I realize it’s a small remote control.

“Good boys learn how to come in a variety of ways, don’t they?”

I nod as much as I can because if he tells me he can train me to come from listening to violin music?

Sign me the fuck up, post haste.

He spreads his thighs and I dive for his cock, one of his hands settling in my hair and scritching my scalp.

“There you go. That’s what you’ve been wanting, isn’t it?”

“Mmm-hmm!” I mumble around his cock. I can’t even get it all the way down my throat so I hope I get a long time to practice my deep-throat skills with him.

He studies the remote for a moment, holding it where I can see it, an evil smile lighting his features. “I might not have made it clear, but you can come more than twice, if you’re able.” His thumb hits a button.

My eyes roll back in my head and I’m glad his cock is in my mouth or I’d be screaming in pleasure. The butt plug isn’t just vibrating—it’s pulsing and feels like it’s got something inside it rotating, stroking across my sweet spot, but not enough I can come. I’m back on that edge similar to the way I was last night on the milker, pleasure so intense it’s borderline pain. Just when I think I’m going to come, he tweaks the remote again and the vibrations slow, the pulsing stops, and I whimper around his cock.

He belly laughs, stroking my hair. “Aww, what’s the matter, pup? Did the mean old elk interrupt you?”

He leaves it on that setting and puts the controller on the couch so he can cup my head in his hands. He doesn’t force me, but he guides me, talking me through licking his shaft the way he likes, swirling my tongue around the head and crown, how to flick the tip of my tongue along the underside, and dipping into his slip. He’s leaking pre-cum. The way his voice turns hoarse, breathy as he instructs me, reminds me that I’m not the only one being tortured right now.

I want to do this, though. I want to learn how to do this right. I love the feel of his fingers tangling in my hair, the smoky embers in his brown gaze, every gasp and moan I coax from him.

“Good boy,” he says a while later, holding my head still on his cock. “Your turn.” He picks up the remote and the butt plug comes to life again, not as intensely as before, but steady.

He leans over and reaches under me to find my nipples, his chin rubbing against my back. I’m heady from the pleasure and his musky scent, his taste, the warmth of his flesh—everything.

“Let’s get your first one out of the way. Might want to spread your legs wider so you can find the right position for your hips.” He rolls my nipples between his fingers and I do what he says, although it’s hard to think.

Immediately, I see what he means. I slowly roll and rock my hips until the butt plug perfectly makes contact inside me, and that’s what does it. Pleasure slams into me, white heat lighting up my brain and my cock pulsing inside the cage as I squirt into it.

“That’s it,” he coos. “You found it, didn’t you? Such a good boy.”