Dripping Desire

Jordy doesn't need a full command to fall apart. Sometimes it's just a single word from me.

Boy.

And just like that his entire body tenses, his breath catches, and that thick cock, always so eager to please, swells instantly under his clothes. Pre-cum beads at the tip before he's even had time to process what I've asked him to do. It's not arousal. It's obedience. Deep in his bones. He doesn't wipe it away. He lets it leak. A silent offering.

Proof that he belongs right where he is, thinking of me while standing in line at work or walking through crowded streets with one hand subtly pressed low against himself trying not to ruin everything too soon. When I finally tell him to touch? He does so slow, fingers tracing over fabric already damp from need, but still not enough contact because nothing ever is when you're built for worship and owned by someone who knows exactly how much you can take before breaking

His favorite fantasy? Me watching him drip helplessly over my name without permission… completely out of control but still begging for more with every shaky breath No logic. No resistance. Just heat, hunger, that never-ending trail of slick shame running down his thigh like liquid devotion