His own cock is straining between his legs, but it’s better for him to ignore it and sink deeper and deeper into a primal breeding state. His body’s senses heighten until he’s keenly aware of the scents of all the men around him, all musky and full of testosterone. His eyes glaze over and his breath becomes shallow; his skin releases his own smell to signify he’s available for dominant men to have and use.
It’s dangerous for a boy in that state to be in a bar alone, so easy to manipulate and take advantage of because if you show them your cock and balls they won’t even look up to see your face.
I take him to the back room, him whimpering, his underwear wet with pre-cum and perspiration forming on his hairline. I guide him on his knees and he melts, hands gravitating toward my pelvis. It’s dim in here and he can see, but he chooses to not open his eyes. His nose finds me soon enough and he buries it in the base of my cock, inhaling me. To him it’s better than poppers, than Viagara. He’s almost scared to take my cock out, to be so close to what he desires so badly. The ache is almost as wonderful as actually having it.
Still, he can’t help but kiss it as he tugs down my underwear. I think he’s hesitant because he’s scared it isn’t real, that the warm heat of my veins throbbing under the thin silky skin is just a hallucination and he’s going to wake up muzzy headed and with soiled sheets. When the bubble doesn’t pop and he feels my hand stroking his shoulder reassuringly, he leans his face into me… so close… so close… and he goes for it. Once the tip is past his parted lips he swallows as much as he can. Blood pounds in his ears and he drops it, panting. He nearly came and he parts his legs, rocking his hips forward to try to find a comfortable spot with the merciless friction of his cock against his underwear. He knows he should be more careful, but it’s so hard when he’s in heat.
He puts a hand around the base of my member and squeezes it, an involuntarily reaction. There was no choice, just natural gravitation to be touching it at all times. My cock is still not fully engorged yet, and he whimpers at the potential. I haven’t given him a hard cock on the verge of spurting, no, I’ve given him a soft member so he can lose himself in it from start to finish. Soon enough his mouth is back on the tip and he’s nursing from it with delirious bliss all over his young face.
When it’s over, he’ll probably wonder for days if it was a dream or not. He’ll masturbate to the memory until jerking it doesn’t take the edge off anymore, then he’ll come stumbling back to this bar to find me. Again and again until he’s a just a drone needing release.
If all goes well, and a more endowed man doesn’t take him away, I might put a lock on that cock and keep him horny for weeks. 24 hours of delirium a day. He’d love every second of it. I’d have to pad his underwear to absorb all the mess. At times of clarity it’d be humiliating and weird, but when he sinks back into horniness he’d feel incredibly lucky to be controlled and will come crawling back for my cock again.
Text is fictional.