I met Marcus through those filthy BDSM gay books we both devoured online. He messaged me after I posted about a scene in one where a sub gets chained and pounded until he begs. "You want that for real?" he wrote. I said yes without thinking twice. Two days later I was at his apartment door, heart pounding, cock already half-hard in my jeans.
He opened up, tall, broad, with dark eyes that didn't smile. "Strip," he said the second the door shut. No hello, no small talk. I yanked off my clothes right there in the hallway. My dick bobbed out, already leaking. He grabbed it hard, squeezing the base. "This is mine tonight. You read those books. Now you live them."
He shoved me to my knees on the cold floor. A leather collar snapped around my neck, tight enough that I felt every swallow. "Crawl," he ordered. I followed him into the bedroom on hands and knees, ass up, balls swinging. The room smelled like leather and lube. Chains hung from the ceiling. A padded bench sat in the middle with restraints already open.
Marcus stripped too, his thick cock swinging heavy and veined. He didn't waste time. He cuffed my wrists to the chains first, pulling my arms up until I was stretched, toes barely touching the floor. Then he spread my legs and locked my ankles to floor rings. I was spread open, exposed, cock and hole on full display.
He walked around me, running a crop over my chest, down my stomach, then cracking it across my ass without warning. The sting burned hot. "Count," he said. I counted each slap, voice shaking. Ten on each cheek. My skin was on fire and my cock was dripping strings onto the floor by the time he stopped.
Marcus stepped in close behind me. He spat on his fingers and shoved two straight into my hole, no warm-up. I grunted, pushing back on them anyway. "Greedy fuckhole," he growled. He finger-fucked me rough, scissoring, stretching, then added a third. When he pulled them out I felt empty until the blunt head of his cock pressed against me.
He didn't ease in. He slammed home in one thrust, burying every inch. I yelled, the stretch burning deep. He gripped my hips and started pounding, balls slapping my ass with every stroke. The chains rattled above me. My own cock swung uselessly, untouched. He reached around and pinched my nipples hard while he fucked me, twisting until I moaned like a whore.
"Those books got you wet thinking about this," he said between thrusts. "Now take it." He pulled out, leaving me gaping, then shoved back in even harder. Sweat ran down my back. My hole clenched around him, trying to keep him inside. He fucked me until my legs shook in the restraints, then yanked out and walked around to my front.
He fed his cock into my mouth, still slick with my ass.
I sucked greedily, tasting myself on him. He held my head and fucked my throat, making me gag and drool down my chin. When he pulled back I begged, voice hoarse. "Please, Sir. Fuck me more."
He unchained my ankles but left my wrists up. Bent me over the bench and strapped my chest down. My ass was up and spread again. This time he used a thick plug first, working it in while I panted. Once it was seated he spanked around it, making the plug shift inside me. Then he replaced it with his cock again, fucking me slower but deeper, grinding against my prostate until I was sobbing with need.
He reached under and finally grabbed my cock, stroking it rough and fast. "Come on my dick," he ordered. I came hard, shooting ropes across the floor while my hole clamped around him. He kept fucking through it, using my orgasm to milk himself. When he pulled out he painted my back and ass with his load, hot and thick.
After, he unchained me, wiped me down, and pulled me into his lap on the bed. The collar stayed on. His hands were gentle now, rubbing the welts on my ass. "You took it like the slut from those books," he said quietly. "Next time we do the full chapter."
I nodded, already hard again against his thigh. The books had nothing on the real thing.
