Total devotion

Some boys are born for this. Mufasa is one of them. He came to me with a history, with a life built on rules and traditions that were not his own. He was Muslim. He was devout. He was also a slut who needed a master. It was an easy choice for him to make.

In the beginning, he was cautious. The pictures he sent were a study in hesitation. His face was always cropped out, or cleverly covered by a pillow, a shadow, his own hand. He was giving me his body, but he was still hiding the person attached to it. He was still clinging to the idea that he could be two separate people: the good boy by day, and Daddy's slut by night.

I don't believe in half-measures. I own all of my boys. Every single inch.

So I started to push. Not with force, but with the quiet certainty of a master who knows his property. I'd praise his body, his eagerness, his perfect, exposed pussy. And then I'd ask. "Let me see your eyes." "Show me your face when you're about to cum."

The first time he sent a picture with his face fully visible, his expression a mixture of terror and bliss as he spread himself open for me, I knew he was gone. He had forsaken everything he knew. The old life was just a story he told himself. This was his new reality.

There is something indescribably hot about seeing an exposed, needy pussy and a face in the same frame, especially when that face is saying "come fuck me" with every fiber of its being. He knows it now, too. He's even letting me show off more and more of his face with each new exposure. The trust is absolute.

I know he would let me expose all of him if I told him to. Hell, he would strip down naked in the middle of the street if I gave the command. That's not a hypothetical. That's a simple statement of fact. His devotion is so complete, so absolute, that his own will has been replaced entirely with mine. He is not just a boy who serves me. He is an extension of my own desire. And he has never been happier.