His jaw slack, his mouth open. This space belongs to Burr, and Burr claims it, not just the channel it makes for his cock but the inside of his cheek, the roof of his mouth, his flattened tongue. Burr dominates yet another of Alexander's senses, as the early secretions of his cock leak all over his mouth, all he can taste. He wants to be still. He wants Burr to claim these odd spaces in him, to defile and transform his sharp tongue and his quick and clever mouth into something that knows only the touch of Burr's cock. Not even a sharp and hard fucking, but a degrading caress.
Does he hurt -- yes. Is he sore -- yes. A fresh rush of tears at the reminder of the pain, not because it hurts. It is a complicated emotion, something like a sweet, painful gratitude. He leans more of his weight onto Burr, in a kind of response, casting into Burr's hands total control of his body, his balance, the sensations he receives. There is hardly any more control to give, with his hands so tied, but he gives it anyway.
Alexander almost never gags. When he sucks a cock, he's controlled: he knows what he's doing. In this instance, he does, though, because he wasn't thinking about controlling the reflex. He was thinking about the weight of Burr on his tongue, the wide stretch of Burr in his mouth. He was awash in praise: good boy, perfect little whore.
After that, he can't seem to get the reflex totally under control. Little twitches as his throat tries to tighten, as he has to swallow, from the overflow of saliva. He closes his eyes, but it is in pleasure, not distress. He likes the little struggles of his throat. He likes the thought that Burr is requiring that his body be subdued.
He goes liquid, his weight leaned forward, nose buried in Burr's wiry hair. Breathing is difficult but not impossible. The way he's balanced, the way his arms are tied, means that it would be very difficult for him to pull himself back and off the length in his throat. Burr would have to -- would have to weave fingers in his hair and pull him away. This does not distress Alexander. It feels right. Tears still sometimes flowing, but eyes are closed, perfect calm, perfect submission. He can stay like this for as long as Burr wants him to. He could stay like this forever.
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Does he hurt -- yes. Is he sore -- yes. A fresh rush of tears at the reminder of the pain, not because it hurts. It is a complicated emotion, something like a sweet, painful gratitude. He leans more of his weight onto Burr, in a kind of response, casting into Burr's hands total control of his body, his balance, the sensations he receives. There is hardly any more control to give, with his hands so tied, but he gives it anyway.
Alexander almost never gags. When he sucks a cock, he's controlled: he knows what he's doing. In this instance, he does, though, because he wasn't thinking about controlling the reflex. He was thinking about the weight of Burr on his tongue, the wide stretch of Burr in his mouth. He was awash in praise: good boy, perfect little whore.
After that, he can't seem to get the reflex totally under control. Little twitches as his throat tries to tighten, as he has to swallow, from the overflow of saliva. He closes his eyes, but it is in pleasure, not distress. He likes the little struggles of his throat. He likes the thought that Burr is requiring that his body be subdued.
He goes liquid, his weight leaned forward, nose buried in Burr's wiry hair. Breathing is difficult but not impossible. The way he's balanced, the way his arms are tied, means that it would be very difficult for him to pull himself back and off the length in his throat. Burr would have to -- would have to weave fingers in his hair and pull him away. This does not distress Alexander. It feels right. Tears still sometimes flowing, but eyes are closed, perfect calm, perfect submission. He can stay like this for as long as Burr wants him to. He could stay like this forever.