My boy has become accustomed to me telling him stories. Often, when we are fucking, I will whisper tales to him that are more or less fantasies we both individually and collectively share. Sometimes I will let stories unfold, vividly painting him in the picture, setting the stage, and adding enough detail so that he can envision the imagines created in my mind.
Other times, I will delve straight into the heart of the matter, surpassing all of the background and backstory, and I will put my energies into portraying him as the main character, the sexual slave who is at the complete will and mercy of a roomful of strangers who have gathered for the soul purpose of using my boy for their sexual pleasure.
I will be riding my boy, grinding down upon his cock, my hips slightly swaying so that I might swallow every possible inch of him, and I will start to talk. My voice ends up being more throaty than usual because I speak in hushed tones, wanting him to concentrate on hearing me, forcing him to remain quiet so he won’t miss any of the details. I will talk about his training, how one day there will be another in our lives who will exist for the exclusive purpose of helping me train my boy.
I envision this man……and yes, more often than not, the fantasy is of another man…..as a dominant counterpart who is more than happy to be aggressive and assertive with my boy as he instructs him on how to pleasure and please. Sometimes my fantasies are of another submissive male that I have acquired, one who is dominant to my boy, but submissive to me. I will use them both as players for my fantasies and training objectives. Or, I will use one as punishment for another.
My boy has spilled his seed many times over the months, without consent, without permission. At times, he has been unable to control himself, and ends up spilling his mess despite strict orders not to. Training is required. Punishment must be summoned. And I thoroughly delight in the idea that another will be invited in to assist with those two things.
We are finally at the point where those fantasies have a real shot at becoming realities. Soon…..very soon…..the personal ad I have been constructing in my mind will become a reality, and I will begin my search for the ideal confidant
who will be more than delighted to be an occasional but regular visitor in our home. This man will show up after work, in winter darkness, and will do as instructed. He will use my boy, his holes, his service, and he will be an instrumental part of the rewards and punishments. The stories that once thrived only in my mind will become realities, and they will breed new stories, real stories, and more fodder from which my boy will feed.
When I straddle my boy, and ride him as I did yesterday, and I instruct him to keep is mouth wide open (his cunt, as I call it), it is for a reason. Because that WILL happen one day. One day…..one night, really….I will be using my boy. He will be on his back, and I will be atop of him, taking my pleasure, and another will be using him mouth to take their pleasure too. My boy will be in service to me, never forgetting the hierarchy of whom he belongs, but servicing us both.
It begins to feel different when fantasy begins to become reality. I am a fairly monogamous person by nature, and I do not wish to change that. My love is for my boy. But that doesn’t mean that training and intimacies with others won’t take place. We have the opportunity to make the private whisperings of sexual utopias real, and I think that makes us lucky.
And so the careful search begins. I will not settle for less than what I want. The right person is out there…..I feel certain of this. It’s just a matter of finding them.