a matter of trust katt a c

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.The boy rose with effortless grace from Kneeling Attention to his knees and, keeping his eyes lowered to the floor, crawled to a position which placed his face at the center of Donald’s belt.He opened his Master’s belt and undid the closure to his tailored pants.The fantasy in his head was echoed by his now erect member.Abundant streaks of clear pre-cum leaked from Donald’s thick cock head.He took his manicured thumb and pressed it into the slit, rubbing the liquid around the head.His shaft felt as hard and heavy as polished concrete over steel, Donald let the fantasy to play out to its inevitable conclusion.Donald closed his eyes and imagined the boy as he reached into Donald’s dark silk boxers with hesitancy, waiting for his Papa’s permission.Although his boy loved to suck his Master, he knew sucking his Master’s cock came as a privilege given or withheld at Master’s discretion.He caressed the sub’s wavy, platinum hair, pressing down on his head in encouragement.Those long slender fingers cupped and kneaded Donald’s balls as the boy’s hot tongue engulfed his cock and worked its way down to his sacs with cat-like licks.His boy learned in detail what his Master craved.He followed the licks by flicking his tongue up, down, and across the prominent veins on the underside of his shaft.He would then adjust his mouth around and under the head of his Master’s huge cock, until Donald shivered with need.Donald pulled his boy’s head closer.This amazing boy gave him total control over every aspect of their lives.All he asked for in return was his Papa Bear’s attention and care for his health and happiness.Bear thought he received immeasurably more.He tapped his boy’s neck and the perfect oval of a mouth with wet pink lips swallowed the whole nine inches of Bears fat cock until it hit the back of his throat.He relaxed his throat muscles and suppressed his gag reflex, and then he began to massage his Master’s cock with the muscles in his throat.To do this, he had to trust in his Master to pull back and let him breathe.The fantasy felt so real to him he could feel the boy sucking his cock.Bear took pride in the fact the boy placed his hands in a locked position behind his back.He knew the Master he loved would never harm him.Therefore, the boy would neither gag nor attempt to pull back, giving Donald the power and trust to do as he would.Donald would go deep, fucking his boy’s mouth with hard, swift strokes.He would come in streams and his boy would swallow it all and keep Donald in his mouth, licking around the head and shaft until Donald became soft, drained dry and depleted.When Donald ran a rifling touch through his hair, his boy straightened Donald’s clothes and resumed position, navy eyes shining up at his Master in adoration, love, and absolute trust.Donald worked at his cock, and several strong pulls later, released.He came in long streaks all over the sink and countertop, leaving him shaken and holding onto the rim.He knew his faults.Neither his face nor physique would win any competitions.He tried to even the playing field by the understated elegance of his surroundings and conservative panache of his wardrobe.Even if Bear would be more comfortable in jeans and leathers, he dressed like the Prince of Wales to convince himself of his own worth and prove to those who knew him back then, that now Donald Drummond was a man with whom to be reckoned.He finished cleaning the sink and vanity with a disposable wipe and whispered his request aloud.“Give me a boy of my own.I need to be special to someone: A Papa Bear…” He had wasted enough time today on this foolishness, he really had to get…A loud thump interrupted his thoughts, followed by the sound of a slight click.Seconds passed, then a muffled voice hissed, “Oh Shit.Fuck.”CHAPTER TWO“What in Hell’s name?” Donald bellowed as he stepped out of the washroom holding a hand towel.He stopped.His ability to speak vanished.He could neither howl nor whisper.Donald didn’t believe the evidence of his own eyes.A replica of the boy who co-starred in his most erotic fantasies lay sprawled on his rug amidst a rapidly spreading burgundy stain, which could only be his bottle of Bordeaux.“I’m sorry, Sir.I’ll clean it up immediately,” the boy said in a panic.“Sally said I shouldn’t come in, but they told me to make sure you had this…” He pointed his shaking hand in the direction of the large heavily taped parcel, which had replaced the bottle on his desk.“I have to do whatever they tell me.down there,” the boy babbled.Donald was happy the boy became so flustered.It gave him some time to recover from the shock of discovering his boy existed in the physical world.For a moment, Donald felt his mind caught in the loop of desire and fantasy.He looked down again.Yep, the entire bottle of 1985 Bordeaux stained his eight thousand dollar, hand woven, hand-knotted, antique Persian rug.What little wine that did not make it to the rug splashed back at the boy.“I tried to catch the bottle, Sir, but the package obscured my vision and I tripped over the fringe and landed on.eh…I think there is at least one glass left.” The boy turned and reached for the bottle at his left knee.His knee moved and almost did an encore.He anxiously looked up at Donald while holding out the remainder of the Bordeaux.His face flushed with embarrassment, he said, “Maybe you should take this bottle, Sir, before I knock it over again.”Donald silently reached over, grabbed the bottle by its neck, set it in the middle of his desk and almost sent the crystal glass over the edge.He had long ago trained his face not to show emotion, and inwardly Donald grinned.He didn’t give a flying fuck about the rug, the wine, or the interruption.He didn’t even mind his own apparent momentary lack of coordination.The boy sprawled before him was not an illusion, before him lay his fantasy in the flesh.Donald judged the boy’s age at early to mid-twenties.He stood about five-foot four, a nine-inch difference from his own six-foot three-inch frame.Donald had the physique of a linebacker under his Savile Row suit.The boy looked lean, sleek, built like a runner or a swimmer.His platinum hair fell to his shoulders where he confined it in a queue with a simple black leather tie.Several silken, unruly curls escaped to frame his face, giving him a look that said, “I’ve just been fucked.”He wore a pair of beige Dockers and his well-worn Oxford shirt spilled halfway out of his pants.The left side of the shirt bore the brunt of the stain.He had a white plastic pocket protector with about three or four pens attached to the pocket on the right.The kid’s belt was black, but his shoes were brown.His tie went askew and the clip showed along with the black elastic fastener.He wore huge horn rimmed glasses held together at the nose with a band-aid that hung from a croakey.When the boy wore the glasses, Donald knew the sparkling blue eyes with long, light brown lashes would remain hidden.Donald shook his head to make sure he was not projecting some kind of waking wet dream.It seemed real enough, as the kid knelt attempting to clean wine up from the rug in panicked frustration using tissues from the holder on his desk as Donald enjoyed the outline of his well-shaped ass.Donald looked down again.Jesus Christ, could this get any better? He is sporting a hard-on I can see through his Dockers.Christ, he’s gorgeous.He filed the boy’s reaction away for later examination.“Stop,” Donald ordered.The boy went motionless and assumed a submissive pose an experienced Dom would interpret as “Attention,” his legs parted, ankles crossed, back straight, and his hands clasped at the small of his back with his head bowed.Donald helped the boy up.He felt the slender but well-developed build.He led him over to the sofa.The boy shook.“Hold on, kid.Take a minute to breathe [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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