[Tyler Morgyn] A Stroll In The Park by Tyler Morgyn

Feeder · August 3, 2010

The shadows were long and sharp by the light of the park lamp as I followed the hard slap of your boots on the pavement. You didn't look back.

You didn't have to. There was nowhere else for me to be. My fingers fluttered as I kept pace. I couldn't judge your mood. I never can.

You turned into the almost deserted park. A sleeping bum, a few teenagers our only witnesses. You knew where you were going. I never do.

You stopped at an empty park bench and then, only then, did you turn to me. I thought you were reaching down to tie that dragging shoelace.

You stood up with that long blade you wear strapped to your calf. It caught the lamplight, shooting daggers of blinding light wildly around.

You turned the knife in your hand so the daggers flashed in my eyes and kept me from thinking about anything else but trust and survival.

You moved fast. You always do. As your fingers were gripping my throat, I felt the flat of the cool hard steel pressing against my cheek.

Your thumb stroked up and down on my Adam's apple, pressing inward firmly until the pain and pressure made me gag and struggle for air.

I tried to stand still like you wanted, but my body moved to get away from you. I knew that was a mistake. You crowded me immediately.

I was jammed into the back of the park bench and you moved closer to me until our chins touched and the blade made a deep furrow in my cheek.

I looked at you for the first time. That was also a mistake. I lowered my eyes almost immediately, but not before I saw your face.

I saw your eyes reading me. Gauging the fear you saw in me. Assessing my resistance. Watching for defiance. I knew then I was in trouble.

I waited. Your hand left my throat, left me gasping for air. The pressure from the blade stopped, and as it moved past my eyes, I trembled.

I heard three sharp smacks of the blade on the top rung of the bench as you moved a foot away and I knew what was expected of me. I turned.

I waited to be told what to do. My fingers twitched to undo the buttons and zipper of my jeans but I knew better than to move just yet.

I was surprised when I felt the palm of your hand on my back, pressing me over the back of the bench, forcing my torso farther and harder.

I felt the wooden slats dig into my hips as I was pressed by the weight of your body on me, and I grasped the edge of the seat for balance.

I turned my head slightly to avoid my nose being smashed into the rungs as I was bent in half. My feet lifted slightly and I was helpless.

I first heard the sharp zip of the threads as the knife point severed the seam of my jeans. The blade felt cold on the skin of my cheeks.

I hung there, afraid to move a muscle. You held the knife in place, feeling my tense body under your hand. Wanting me to feel your power.

I could see your black leather pants legs through a gap in the slats, and you shifted your weight, as if to strike. I held my breath.

I watched as you brought your arm up in a sweeping motion that severed the stitches that held my bluejeans together. My breathing quickened.

I felt the hard blade between my buttocks again, and the sharp pull as you grabbed the straps of my jock and sliced them with the edge.

I was exposed. To you. To the knife. You placed the knife on end between my cheeks. I could feel the sharp edge lightly across my hole.

I could feel some pain as you stropped the blade back and forth like a straight razor. The pain grew as the skin roughened and inflamed.

I tried not to cry out. I whimpered in pain. You continued and continued. I don't know if I bled. I might have. All I knew was the pain.

I knew you stopped, but the pain remained. I heard the familiar zip. but the pain remained. I knew what was next. I wanted the fire to stop.

I screamed when you touched my hole with your fingers. Each probe a flame from a match. You guided your cock into me. I clamped my jaw tight.

I blinked back the tears as the pain of each thrust burned on the inside and out. You continued to hammer my hips into the hard wooden bench.

I felt the blowtorch flare of each thrust as you rammed me harder and faster until the pain overwhelmed me and consumed my body in flames.

I was a martyr engulfed on a combustible pyre. Being endlessly staked and tortured, as my wracked body began to float and drift into ashes.

A calmness akin to sublime rapture overtook my body and I floated towards ecstasy. I barely noticed your throbbing final shot as I focused.

I came in a eruption of emotions tangled around my love for you. I reached my arm behind me and touched your thigh. Your hand closed over mine.

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