Page 6 of Fitch

“Such a good boy.”

He relaxed then, his shoulders dropping, his breathing more regular and less strained. So I slowly pulled back and sank in again, over and over.

He was moaning with pleasure in no time.

I hadn’t fucked anyone raw in a long time, and by god, I’d missed it.

It felt so good.

His hips and arse were almost half as wide as mine, and when I looked down, seeing my cock buried in him was almost too much.

Fuck, he was perfect.

I fisted his hair and grunted in his ear. “You like daddy’s big cock, boy?”

He panted. “Yes, daddy.”

I slid my hand around his throat and arched his back. I drove deeper inside him and I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Come inside, yes or no? Tell me now, boy.”

“Yes please, daddy,” he whined. “Please. Give it to me.”

My orgasm hit me like a truck. Powerful, obliterating. Beautiful.

Fire ripped through me, flames of ecstasy licking my bones as that whiteout of bliss cleared my mind. My cock surged, shooting my load deep inside him and wave after wave of pure pleasure barrelled through me.

So sublime.

This is what I craved. What I needed. What I’d doubted I’d find tonight... Well, I’d certainly found it.

With a slow blink, I realised my forehead was pressed against his nape. His head was turned, a serene smile on his face.

God, this boy.

Fitch. Is that what he said his name was?

“Are you okay?” I asked, still trying to catch my breath.

He laughed. “Yes, thank you, daddy.”

I stood up to my full height, still buried inside him, and slowly pulled back.

His arse was used now, a slight gape and the hint of my seed at his hole.

He was a fucking masterpiece.

I ran my hand over the small globe of his backside. “We should shower,” I said. It’d been a long day. It was well after midnight now, and even though that orgasm had damn near blown my brains out, when I’d said I was paying for the whole night, I meant it.

“Let me help you up,” I said.

There was a good chance he’d be a bit sore—the table edge more unforgiving than what I’d been—and when he winced as he stood up, I was quick to put my arm around him. I picked him up, bridal style. “I’ll carry you,” I said.

He was shocked, but soon slung his arms around my neck and rested his head on my shoulder. I carried him into my bedroom ensuite.

I caught his smile in the mirror as I set him down on his feet, so I knew he wasn’t injured. But I lifted his chin and met his eyes. “Are you sore?”

He shook his head, a soft smile playing at those sinful lips. “No, daddy,” he whispered. “Was I a good boy?”

My nostrils flared and I had to steady my breath. “A very good boy.”

---