[Breeder] Maybe

[TheBreeder]

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I wanted to make his hole hurt. It was that simple.

The man was sprawled out on my mattress, clutching one of my pillows between his hands so that he could bury his face in its depths. His ass was in the air, as perfectly round as a melon. His knees were spread to the cracking point at the nine and the three of an imaginary clock. His thinning hair was tousled and messy; he clasped his hands over the back of his neck and locked them. The posture couldn’t have been any more submissive.

And I wanted to make his hole hurt.

I don’t know why the man brought out that vicious top side of me. He was just some fuck from the internet who’d promised to be available in the morning, and who’d actually followed through—which is something of a rarity. When he’d showed up to my place at the appointed time, he’d proven to be much smaller in frame and stature than I’d imagined. He couldn’t have been any more than five-four, or weighed more than a buck-ten. His shoulders were narrow, and his waist tinier than that. The dick that swung limp and useless between his legs with every one of my thrusts was like my pinky finger.

Perhaps it was his tininess bringing out my savage side. Unlike the large men I have to mount and ride, this guy I could really manhandle. Moving him into positive felt like lifting him up and spearing his hole onto my red, angry dick. Every time I pulled it out of his greased-up hole and let it throb and vibrate outside that little hairy brown pucker, the contrast between my size and his made me want to drive back into him without consideration, without restraint. Without thought, almost.

Maybe it was the noises he made. When I would plow into him, he’d grunt. Or whimper. Or catch his breath and groan. His wasn’t the porn-flick dirty-talk, or the practiced, melodious moan of a slut pretending to enjoy himself. No, the noises he made were beyond words, beyond thought. Whether of pleasure or pain, they were the sounds an animal would make. I took an enormous pride in reducing him to that.

I wanted to make his hole hurt. I wanted to make him remember me. I moved to the left so that my hips were no longer in perfect alignment with his own. When I thrust in, hard, my cement-hard dick went in at an oblique angle, driving toward his right hipbone. His head flew back. His eyes opened, his jaw went slack. The noise he made was almost more engine than human—the slow whine of his gears grinding to a screeching halt. I withdrew, and moved slightly to his right. When I went in again, my dick popped a painful curve to the left, stretching his chute in an entirely new direction. The little fuck’s head dropped. His forehead collided with the pillow with an audible thud. He said something.

I reached out with my hand and seized the scruff on the back of his head, so I could yank it up. “What?” I asked.

“Stretch me,” he whispered. I couldn’t even make out the words at first. I was already eight inches deep, but it felt I slipped in another inch or three as I pushed my weight onto his little body and moved my head closer to his mouth so I could hear. “Stretch me,” he said, soft as the patter of snow falling against a frozen pane of glass. “Stretch me open. Ruin it. Use it. Stretch me.”

“Is that what you want?” I twisted his head so that he had to look at me through squinted eyes. His head nodded, very, very slightly. “All right then, fucker.”

When I drove in the next time, this time pointing my dick in the general direction of the mattress, his knees buckled. He let out another animal noise. Not agony, this time. Not entirely. Mostly it was pleasure.

Maybe it wasn’t the size of him, or the barely human sounds he made. Maybe, I thought, as I began to savage his hole and build up to the load that would be filling him very, very soon, maybe it was his hunger that fed my angry lusts. Maybe it was that he’d given me permission to fuck as two men really could, but not often do.

When I sent him home, two loads and an hour later, he walked with the crab-legged gait of a man who’d be having a hard time sitting down for the rest of the day.

He thanked me for it, of course.

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