Page 37 of Surrender

“Shh,” Cristiano says. “Shh. You don’t need to decide. You don’t need to think. Just let me take care of you. Turn onto your side.” He pulls the small key from the drawer as well, and I sob again as he frees my cock from the metal cage. “There. There you go.” He rubs my cock slowly, taking it into his hand and stroking it. “How does that feel, Fox? My good little fox.”

I only cry harder. My head fuzzes up, a mixture of humiliation and pleasure and that fucking word bouncing around inside me, taunting me. Despite all that, my cock does get harder in his hand, as if to say my own thoughts have no input on this.

“I like it when my subs cry,” Cristiano murmurs. “So cry for me. Get it out, Fox. Feel my hand around your cock, and get ready to feel my cock in your ass. Is that what you want? To feel me inside of you?”

“Yes,” I say shakily. “Please.”

I want to feel him. I want something to get rid of the emotions inside me. I need…

I need him.

He releases my cock, and my lips part as I almost beg him to keep touching me. But his fingers go back to my hole, exploring and stretching. “Enjoy the feeling, Fox. My good little fox. My good boy. You’re being so good for me right now. You were so good for me earlier. You deserve this. Don’t you? Tell me you deserve this, and I’ll fuck you.”

I don’t. I know I don’t deserve nice things. My sobs get harder, and I shake my head. “I... I can’t, Daddy, I don’t…”

How can he be so fucking nice to me when I tried to kill him once already, when I’m going to kill him in a matter of days?

“You can. You do,” Cristiano says firmly. “Tell me.” His fingers crook, and he insistently rubs my prostate. “You don’t have to mean it yet.”

Yet.

For the first time, I realize he may be thinking we’re playing for keeps, despite the world we come from, and it only makes me cry harder.

“I…” My voice catches, but I force myself to continue. “I deserve it. I’m your… I’m your good boy.”

Fuck. My sobbing only gets worse. I must look disgusting now, a mess of tears and sweat, but Cristiano groans and leans forward to kiss my still-healing back. He keeps rubbing my prostate for a moment, but he whispers against my back, “Good. So good for me. Such a good boy, my Fox.”

He withdraws his fingers at long last, and after another sound of the lube bottle opening, he presses the slick head of his cock against my hole. Slowly but surely, he starts to press inside of me.

I let out a half-moan, half-sob, but he only strokes my back and keeps going. He keeps murmuring those fucking words—good boy, good Fox, my good little Fox, mine, mine, mine…

I’ve been fucked plenty, but this is the first time I’ve felt so wrung out before I’ve barely even started. I cling to the chains, wanting to meet his thrusts but not having the energy to even lift my hips. All I can do is take him, feel him. He’s filled me completely, consumed me, turned me into this pathetic, sobbing mess and he still fucking wants me.

He leans down over and over, kissing my spine, kissing my back, contorting into awkward angles that can’t be comfortable. One of his hands slides under me, and while he can’t exactly stroke my cock with me lying face-down on the bed, he still touches me. It feels so fucking good, my cock awkwardly sliding across his palm with no grace or rhythm while he pounds into me.

The pleasure builds, spreading throughout my body and making it even harder to think. Nothing else matters. Just this primal rut, just his heat, his words repeated endlessly.

It’d be nice if they were true.

Cristiano’s pace picks up, and he starts to thrust more forcefully into me. My back twists, and he puts his other hand down on it to still me like I’m just supposed to take it and I do. I take it, and he takes from me, too, and I give, and it’s all some overwhelming cycle.

It takes me aback when he spills into me, letting out a harsh groan. He goes still for a moment, but then he’s back to touching me, attending to me, stroking me and tilting me.

“P-please, Daddy,” I beg, not really sure what I want.

Cristiano rolls me onto my side and presses himself along my back, his softening cock against my ass. He reaches around to stroke my cock properly, and that would be enough to get me off.

But he starts kissing me too, along my shoulder, my neck, my ear.

“Good boy,” he growls, rubbing his thumb over my leaking tip. “Can you come for me? Be a good boy, Fox, and let go.”

I cry out, and I didn’t think I was waiting for permission, but I come from those words, spilling over his hand as pleasure rushes through my body.

He keeps gently touching me, until the point where I’m ready to beg for him to stop. He seems to sense it, though, because he pulls his hand back—then puts it right in front of my mouth.

“Lick,” he says hoarsely. “I want to see you clean my hand.”

I should fight the order, I think, but all defiance has fled my body. I obediently lean forward and lick the palm of his hand, drinking my bitter fluids with small, cat-like laps.

---