"Why would I be?" I asked, genuinely curious about the source of this particular fear.
"Because it's... wrong. Dirty. Pastor Morris said men like me are abominations."
"Pastor Morris," I said calmly, though rage flickered briefly at the damage this man had done to Micah's psyche, "was an ignorant, frightened little man who twisted scripture to maintain power over the vulnerable. There is nothing wrong or dirty about what just happened between us."
Relief washed over his features, followed by lingering embarrassment as he became aware of the cooling wetness in his pajamas. "I should clean up."
"Yes," I agreed. "Take those off. I'll fetch you something clean to wear."
He stood on shaky legs, hands moving to the waistband of his pajama bottoms. The front was darkly stained with his release, the silk clinging to the outline of his softening cock.
"May I watch?" I asked, giving him the choice rather than assuming the right. The illusion of choice was a powerful tool, one I wielded with care.
His cheeks flushed darker, but he nodded, hooking his thumbs under the elastic and sliding the pants down his thighs. His cock was still half-hard, glistening with his release. A strand of cum connected the tip to the soiled silk as he stepped out of the pajamas.
"Turn around. Bend over the arm of the sofa."
Confusion flickered across his features, quickly replaced by curiosity and a hint of trepidation. He obeyed, turning to present his back to me, bending at the waist over the padded arm of the sofa. The position displayed his perfect ass, pale and unmarked, the dip of his spine, the light dusting of hair on his thighs.
Another canvas offered up for my art. Another blank space waiting to be filled with new experiences, new sensations. The privilege of being the first to mark him in this way was not lost on me. First impressions become the standard against which all future experiences are measured. I would ensure his first time was unforgettable, embedding myself into his very concept of pleasure.
I moved behind him, running my palm down the curve of his back, feeling the ridge of his spine, the subtle shift of muscle beneath skin. "There's another kind of pleasure I want to show you. Something you've likely been taught is forbidden. Sinful."
His breath hitched. "What is it?"
"Patience," I murmured, my hands moving to cup his ass, thumbs spreading him slightly to reveal the pink hole between his cheeks. "Has anyone ever touched you here before?"
He shook his head, forehead pressed against the sofa cushion. "No. Never."
"Not even yourself?" I pressed one thumb lightly across his entrance, feeling the muscle contract at the unfamiliar touch.
"I tried once," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "But it felt so good I got scared. Thought it was wrong to enjoy it that much."
The confession made my cock throb painfully. The image of a younger Micah, exploring his body in secret, too frightened by his own pleasure to continue, was oddly arousing. So much potential, constrained for so long by fear and shame. Soon, I would help him shed those limitations entirely.
"Nothing about pleasure is wrong," I assured him, continuing my gentle exploration. "Especially this kind of pleasure. This part of your body is rich with nerve endings designed for nothing but enjoyment."
I reached for the small bottle of lube I'd placed beneath the coffee table earlier in anticipation of the evening's activities.
"I'm going to show you something new," I explained, coating my fingers. "A kind of pleasure many men never experience. If at any point you want me to stop, just say so."
"I trust you," he said simply, words that sent a fresh surge of heat through my groin. Trust was the most powerful tool of manipulation, and he offered it so freely, so completely.
I began by tracing circles around his entrance, not penetrating, merely acquainting him with the sensation. His muscles tensed initially, then gradually relaxed as I maintained the gentle pressure. His cock, which had begun to soften after his first orgasm, hardened again, hanging heavy between his spread legs.
"Breathe," I reminded him, noting how he'd begun to hold his breath in anticipation. "Relax into the pleasure."
When I finally breached him with a single finger, his back arched, a strangled sound escaping his throat. I proceeded carefully, mindful of his inexperience, watching his body for any sign of discomfort. There was none. Only wonder and rapidly mounting pleasure.
"There," I murmured, locating his prostate and applying gentle pressure. "Feel that?"
His response was inarticulate, a high, broken sound as his body jerked. His cock leaked steadily now, a string of precum connecting the tip to the sofa beneath him.
"That's your prostate," I explained, continuing to massage the sensitive gland with small, circular movements. "A part of your body designed specifically for pleasure. Something Pastor Morris likely never mentioned in his lessons."
"Oh God," Micah gasped, pushing back against my hand unconsciously. "It's... I can't..."
"Yes, you can," I assured him, adding more lubricant before introducing a second finger. The tight ring of muscle resisted briefly, then yielded, accepting the intrusion. "Your body can take so much more pleasure than you've ever allowed it."
