Sex stories

He’d been gone for only an hour, but I was already crawling in need. My mind spun with fantasies—his voice, his scent, his body pinning me down, the weight of his command flooding my brain like a xxxx. I was hungry for his control, his presence, his thick cock. I wanted to be useful. I wanted to be his.

I paced the room anxiously, eyes flicking toward the door with every sound from the hallway. Then—finally—the keys in the lock.

My heart slammed in my chest.

The door opened. He stepped inside, cool and calm, like the king he was. I knelt immediately, hands behind my back, chin up, eyes down. Just the way he liked it.

“Well,” he said, closing the door slowly. “Looks like you have learned something.”

“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, throat tight, cock throbbing in my pants.

He dropped his gym bag to the floor and stepped forward. His scent hit me immediately—male, sweat, leather, power. I trembled.

“I hope you’ve kept that mouth warm for me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Stand up.”

I obeyed.

He pulled something out of the bag—a thick black leather collar and a matching leash.

“Come here, pup.”

Without hesitation, I stepped forward and bowed my head. He fastened the collar around my neck, clipping the leash with a satisfying snap. His fingers grazed my skin. I shivered.

“Good twink,” he murmured.

He gave a gentle tug and led me to the living room. He sat down on the couch like a king on his throne, legs spread wide. I knelt between them, eyes locked on the thick bulge straining his sweats.

“What are you waiting for?”

With a groan, I pulled down his waistband. His cock sprang out, already semi-hard, thick, veiny, the scent of his day clinging to it. I licked my lips.

“You want it?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Show me.”

I opened wide and took him in, tongue working around the head, slow and hungry. His hand gripped the leash again, guiding me gently, then firmly. Each bob of my head made him harder. I moaned softly, tasting his salt, breathing in his musk.

“That’s it,” he growled. “No hands. Just that filthy, obedient mouth.”

I followed every order, swallowing him deeper each time, drool spilling down my chin. He held my head, controlling my rhythm, pushing me just to the edge—then letting me breathe. Then again. It was a delicious kind of torment. I loved how he used me.

“You’re my good little cocksucker, aren’t you?”

I nodded, mouth full, moaning around his shaft.

“Want your reward?”

I pulled back, eyes pleading. “Please, Sir. I want your cum.”

With a deep grunt, he stood up, dragged me to the bedroom, and threw me face down on the bed.

“Then earn it.”

He stripped me fast, pulled my hips up, and spit between my cheeks. I felt his thick fingers working me open as I moaned into the sheets. His voice rumbled low.

“This ass is mine.”

“Yes, Sir,” I gasped. “Please take it.”

And he did—rough, deep, relentless. Every thrust pushed me higher, the leash still tight in his hand, reminding me who I belonged to. The way he filled me, controlled me, praised and punished me—it was everything I craved.

I was his. His toy. His pet. His good little slut.

And when he finally came, deep inside, grunting with satisfaction—I knew I had pleased him.

He lay down beside me, one hand still tangled in my hair.

“You did good tonight,” he said.

I smiled, sore and spent. “Thank you, Sir.”