I’ll give him everything he could dream of. Unrelenting worship, protection from the beasts of this world, and loads of bloody cream.
But he knows this comes at a cost, because he belongs to me—his faith, his body, his mind. Every fiber of Austin Schmidt is at my mercy.
And tomorrow, I’ll seal it. My mark carved permanently into his flesh, ink burned into his back where no mirror can let him forget. A signature etched like scripture, a reminder chiseled in blood and permanence of who owns him.
Every time he steps under a shower’s spray, every time he strips for practice or dives into a pool, my presence will rise with him. He’ll carry me into locker rooms, into bedrooms, into every quiet moment of his life. A brand for him, a warning for everyone else.
No matter where he goes, no matter who dares to touch him, they’ll all see it. They’ll all know he belongs to Drew Evans.
I take a final slurp, before crawling up his back. “You ready for my prick baby?”
“Yes, yes, yes!” he begs, his neck shaking in frenzy.
“Don’t worry,” I whisper, lips caressing his nape. “I’m here to answer your prayer.”
“Who’s your King?”
“You are.”
“Your master?”
“You.”
“Your God?”
He doesn’t hesitate for a second, his mouth answers in harmony. “You are, Drew Evans—my God of the world.”
Those words are a decadent melody to my brain. Intoxicating my mind like a handle of vodka. A man that listens to his master. That knows his place in the world—in my bed, under my rule.
I drive the crown of my cock into his flesh, his warmth embracing my length without second thought. I drive deeper, gripping the bloody red straps, his divine arse sending sparks of lightning through every nerve of my prick.
The air of bedroom is filled by his guttural moans, a disciple earning his God’s favour.
I continue carving my path until I’m buried to my own pubes, letting his arse truly welcome my blessing.
“Thank you, King,” he whimpers out, letting a sigh of relief relax the tension in his body—submission flowing through his veins.
“My pleasure,” I grin, fully meaning every word. “I’ll take care of you to my last dying breath.”
I retract and thrust, giving him a hefty blow to sate his ache. But fuck does he feel immaculate. Like the stairway to heaven, blindfolded and wrists bound, every step at the mercy of his lord.
Each sound he makes is devotion, a prayer disguised as whimper, begging me not to stop. He hymns for me to go faster, fuck his arse into bloody scripture. Lead him to edge of salvation.
I’ll lead him to heaven and hell, show him the power that I hold. Nowhere and nothing is off-limits. Beyond the realms of what we can see, to the unimaginable lands of what I can make him feel.
I strike my cock against his prostate to hear more of those heavenly sounds, the bed shaking from our combined clamor. My sweat dripping onto his flawless back, pooling in the valley of his spine.
My heart aches in a weird sensation to witness his pleasure, watch the cream explode from his pulsing prick. Witness the revelation of conversion once again.
Every thrust of my cock is inching me closer to sublime release, ready to bless him with my holy cream.
“Cum for your God,” I rumble into his ear, granting him my consent.
“Yes master,” he whimpers, his quads quivering, cheeks flush with heat the shade of beets. “Please stroke me… Just once or twice.”
“Oi Lover Boy, you think you deserve my help?”
“Only if you approve sir.”
