Gold Junge's Blog

Sometimes in life you have to admit that you made a mistake. And own up to it.

To those who cannot believe it: I am sorry to disappoint.
And then, to you: I am sorry. I regret it deeply. Please forgive me.

You occupy my heart. Still.
You consume my thoughts. Still.

Why am I longing for something that can never be? Again.
Why am I aching for your love? Again.

Because it’s you. Always you.
And it will be for eternity.

Read the book “You. Always you.” //

Summers in Berlin are magical. The vibe, the humid air, the setting sun, the lakes, and rivers. I love it here.

And I am not the only one.

My friends throw late-night parties by the river, and this time, it’s not only them. There’s you too. A young man. Young and beautiful. All smiles and chuckles.

I’ve never seen you before, and yet I can’t take my eyes off you. 

Katherine tagged you along, said she met you on a project. You barely acknowledge me. But I do. Look at you. You are everything I am not, with your dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned complexion. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re about ten years younger than me too.

Sipping on my beer, I listen to you talk. You’re not from here; your accent gives you away. New Zealand. A country so far, far away. 

After an hour, you take off your shoes just like the rest of us. There’s sand between my toes, warm sand. And then you look at me. Your eyes are so dark behind your glasses. Glinting like the sky at night.

There’s music. And dancing. Salsa on the beach. Snacks and drinks. I couldn’t be happier. It’s the perfect night with the perfect stranger. I smoke, drink, but never stop watching you. Until you step up next to me, shoulder to shoulder, facing the water. I smell your aftershave.

“I’ve been told to talk to you,” you say with that accent that makes my toes curl into the sand.

“Is that so?” I ask before I take a puff on my cigarette.

“Yeah.” 

For a while we pretend to watch the others dance. “What’s your name?” I ask. I see you smile from the corner of my eye.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

I would. 

“Walk with me.” For a beat, our eyes lock. You feel what I feel. And then … you follow me.

Read the book “You. Always you.”

Summers in Berlin are magical. The vibe, the humid air, the setting sun, the lakes, and rivers. I love it here.

And I am not the only one.

My friends throw late-night parties by the river, and this time, it’s not only them. There’s you too. A young man. Young and beautiful. All smiles and chuckles.

I’ve never seen you before, and yet I can’t take my eyes off you. 

Katherine tagged you along, said she met you on a project. You barely acknowledge me. But I do. Look at you. You are everything I am not, with your dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned complexion. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re about ten years younger than me too.

Sipping on my beer, I listen to you talk. You’re not from here; your accent gives you away. New Zealand. A country so far, far away. 

After an hour, you take off your shoes just like the rest of us. There’s sand between my toes, warm sand. And then you look at me. Your eyes are so dark behind your glasses. Glinting like the sky at night.

There’s music. And dancing. Salsa on the beach. Snacks and drinks. I couldn’t be happier. It’s the perfect night with the perfect stranger. I smoke, drink, but never stop watching you. Until you step up next to me, shoulder to shoulder, facing the water. I smell your aftershave.

“I’ve been told to talk to you,” you say with that accent that makes my toes curl into the sand.

“Is that so?” I ask before I take a puff on my cigarette.

“Yeah.” 

For a while we pretend to watch the others dance. “What’s your name?” I ask. I see you smile from the corner of my eye.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” 

I would. 

“Walk with me.” For a beat, our eyes lock. You feel what I feel. And then … you follow me.

Download the bonus ebook for free. | Read the book “You. Always you.” //

You drive me fucking wild. 

While you work at the dining table, deeply immersed in whatever you’re doing, I watch you. I’ve never been this horny in my entire life. I want you. All day long. Every damn day. It also doesn’t help that you still haven’t returned my devices.

I walk past the table while a deep need settles in my groin. Just from watching you sit there, one leg angled underneath the other, typing swiftly, then deleting a word … you’re working, and it turns me on. What the actual fuck …

You get up as I stretch my legs out on the couch, my fingers sliding across the ridge of my semi, teasing, rubbing. You leave the room, and I stop touching myself. It’s not as much fun when you’re not around.

When you return, I stand and catch you before you get to your seat again. You frown as I whip you around so your back is to my front, hand going straight to your throat.

“What are you doing?” you mumble. I tilt my hips in answer, letting you feel my cock. You snort. “What kind of dirty shit have you been watching?”

“You,” I make sure to breathe out the word all deep and gravelly, my lips against your ear. Just how you like it. You shudder. You already knew the answer to your question.

“But … I didn’t do anything,” you reply smugly. You love this.

My arms close around you. You feel so small against me. “I wanna fuck you, baby.”

“Now?” 

“Now,” I reply and rub my rough cheek against the side of your neck. That always makes you crumble. You whisper my name … moving your shoulders in an attempt to get away. But I don’t let you. I push you forward, toward the rug behind the couch.

“You’re serious …” 

That I am. 

I meet resistance as I force you down, onto your knees. I am behind you, still holding your back to my chest, my crotch to your ass. You’re mine. Mine to use whenever. You signed that verbal contract. I’ll have to refresh your memory.

“Fuck you,” you snap as I mount you on my hands and knees, trapping you beneath me. The urgency of it makes me stiffen even faster. This is new, taking you right here, right now, mine. 

“It’s not gonna take long … promise.” I grunt as you roll your hips back, a harsh exhale. I make quick work of your pants and briefs to expose your ass to me, one hand between your pecs to keep you steady.

“You’re actually gonna do this?” 

I don’t answer. Actions speak louder than words, after all. Swiftly, I unzip and pull my thick cock out, then pin you down to the floor so I can spit on your hole. I already fingered you this morning before you started working. I’m ravenous today. Insatiable. For you. I rub my spit in as you stay still, thumb dipping past your rim. You know there is no use in fighting me. I take what I want, especially when I’m in this mood. Hungry and horny.

Once my shaft is also nice and slick, I guide my cockhead to your entrance, hand sliding to your pecs again, splaying my fingers there. I like to feel your body against mine when I enter you. Feel the pounding of your heart.

“Oh fuck …” you croak out, chest still down and ass still up. Like a little puppy getting ravished by a big bad wolf. It takes me mere seconds to work myself in. I add more spit. And then I go for it. Deep, long, slow thrusts, taking advantage of how well I stretched you earlier.

You gasp when I sink in all the way, back arching to accept your gift. It drives me wild. The sounds you make, the way you arch away from me. I keep my arms around you, tight, unmoving, while my balls and thighs slap against your greedy ass. 

More often than me approaching you, it is the other way around. You climb into my lap while I talk to a client, or you simply straddle me after dinner, grinding your cock against mine, always hungry for more.

Not now though.

As the sexual animal inside me takes over, the noises I make border on primal, low and gruff. I mount you. My little puppy. Strip that innocence from you, paint your soul black.

Before me, no man ever fucked you like I do.

After me, no man will ever fuck you like I did.

It is that simple. 

I plow into you; I can taste my orgasm, licking at the base of my spine. This is about my pleasure. Not yours. I groan and grunt and pant for air, face buried in the crook of your shoulder. Lips against your neck, I lick and suck … then I bite, teeth breaking skin. You hiss and keen in pain. In pleasure. And I growl like the wild animal you beckon out of me. I taste your sweat, the metallic tang of your blood … The bite mark on your neck will bloom and darken. Mine, mine, mine.

You tilt your hips and arch your back, allowing me to go deeper with each thrust. I feel you getting close too … from getting your ass pounded. You truly are my little cockslut. I chuckle deeply, the sound condescending, dark.

“My little bitch. My bitch in heat.” Your breathing picks up, just like my thrusts. Your head tilts back as our sweat-and-saliva-slicked skin claps together. 

“I’m gonna come—fuck!”

The way your insides contract and squeeze around me makes my dick feel even thicker than it is. You’re getting so tight that my mind blanks out, and my vision flickers with spots. I swear you can feel my heart drumming rapidly against your back.

“Oh my God!” you groan, and that … does it. I force myself in until my glutes clench and my balls are shoved right against your cheeks. Arms lock around your chest, close to fucking bruising you; I lose it. Lose control over my body, over the sounds I make. An endless loop of pleasure; my muscles tense, release, tense, release … while I pump you full of my come.

I laugh like I so often do when my senses are flooded with endorphins. And you laugh too.

Download the bonus ebook for free. | Read the book “You. Always you.” //

“Oh, God, yes! Nnghh, shit, keep going, harder! Fuck! I’m, I’m … ahh!”

I’ve never been more grateful for working out as much as I do than I am right now. My heart feels like it is going to burst out of my chest, my skin is slick with sweat, and I am pretty much out of breath. Still, I keep grinding, all the way in, my hands grip the sheets beside you. Your insides squeeze my cock, clamping down, then releasing. It’s a maddening sensation. I can barely move. 

Finally, you collapse, chest dropping to the mattress, knees sliding outward. Our bodies are so sweaty that we stick together, your hair is a hot mess, and the marks on your hips are starting to bloom beautifully too. I’ve bitten you early in the game. Hard. Several times. On your neck and shoulder. Those bite marks will stay just like your scratch marks across my shoulders.

You’d teased me, insulted me, snapped at me until I snapped. Slammed your smaller body against the wall next to the bedroom door, grabbed your wrists. Exerting my authority. My power over you. 

“You little shit, don’t you dare raise your voice at me.”

“Or what? Huh? What would you even do? Not like you’d ever hurt me. You like me too much.”

Everything from then on had felt like a fight. Or foreplay. You’d shoved, scratched, slapped. Until I threw you on the bed and ripped your clothes off.

And now, here we are. You’ve fisted the sheets so hard that they came off the mattress and yet, throughout it all, you’ve mocked me so I would fuck you harder. So I’d hurt you.

Which I did, to a certain extent. The marks I left on you are proof of that.

Finally though, after my orgasm leaves me breathless, I drop on top of you. Your body sticks to mine. “Fuck …” I whisper, my vision still spotty with stars. My muscles keep contracting, balls tight against your ass. You’re full of me now, of my cock and come.

“That was … decent,” you finally say to review my performance. You’re breathless too.

“Fuck you.”

“Aw,” you chuckle as I slowly detach from you. I’m such a mess, but at least I didn’t come all over the sheets … like a certain someone. I roll over and spread out, staring at the ceiling while you lie still beside me. “You did quite a number on me, Daddy.” Your words make me smile. I heave in another breath, then look at you through my hazy vision. Your eyelashes are wet with a hint of tears, so are your cheeks. I move to tuck you against me. 

“You alright, puppy?” 

You nod and close your eyes. I taste your tears, first those on your right cheek, then the ones on your left. When you climb on top of me, I feel your release mingling with our sweat-slicked skin. Now you’re all cute, so different from just a few moments ago, demanding my attention, my aftercare. You sit up on my lap and I rise up too, my arms going around your waist. I place gentle kisses on your chest, then graze the bite mark on your shoulder.

“Did I hurt you badly?” I whisper between kisses, looking right at you. Your eyes are hooded and so, so dark.

“Yes,” you reply and smile, your hips rolling … getting us even dirtier with my come trickling out of you. “Hurt in the best way.” For a moment, I study your face, trying to figure out what makes you tick … how you can demand I hurt you one moment and then be so sweet the next. But I can’t figure you out. Ever.

Squeezing my arms around you, I catch your lips in a kiss that turns into an unrushed make-out session. I finally lie down again, never disconnecting, and pull you with me. Tongues brushing, teeth nipping. 

My hands descend to your tailbone and then up again, stroking your back until I finally break the kiss. I roll you onto your side next to me, tucking a strand of your dark hair behind your ear. A kiss to your nose, my thumb gliding across your cheek.

“My little puppy.” You sigh and bury your face in the crook of my shoulder, arms wrapping around me to cling to me. “Testing Daddy all the damn time.”

“You weren’t bad,” you snort and rub your nose against the crook of my neck. I roll my eyes.

“I was fucking amazing, thank you very much.”

I keep kissing your temple, stroking your shoulder, examining my bite mark there. It will bruise; I went a bit overboard. 

“Mh. I’d give it a two out of ten.” 

I swat your ass so hard you yelp and jerk away from me. “Hey! You’re supposed to care for me after all that damage you’ve done. It’s called aftercare.”

“Smartass.” I pinch your ass cheek, and you squirm against me, but I don’t let you go. 

“Settle down.” You do as I say, forearms against my chest, head resting on my biceps as I slide my arm under it. You keep huffing a little before you finally hook one leg across mine, settling down.

For longer than I would ever admit, I play with your hair, twirling it around, carding my fingers through it. It’s a bit damp at your scalp from our workout, but still so damn soft. We’re both a mess; I love it. Lowering my lips to your forehead, I kiss you there.

“How’s that?” I ask after a while.

“For aftercare?” 

“Yes.”

“Two out of ten …”

Download the bonus ebook for free. | Read the book “You. Always you.” //

You are asleep. And I have been out late. Driving around, thinking. I like to race down long streets, hear the engine of my bike roar. It’s what I have always done, even before your time.

You hate it.

Because it is dangerous.

But you also like the bad boy vibe it gives me. Don’t lie.

I watch you sleep, on your side, your face buried in my pillow. I had hoped you would still be up. But you’re not.

I unlace my boots, then take off my jacket. When you sleep, you look so harmless. Peaceful. And for this split second, I believe it even if you know exactly how to push each and every one of my buttons.

I unclasp the kidney belt around my waist, then undo my pants too. My skin prickles with the need to feel you against me, to inhale the scent of you, to nip and lick and suck on your skin … because you are asleep. You won’t squirm away or be a fucking cocktease. Like you so often are.

When I am completely undressed except for my briefs, I slide in beside you, lifting the thin summer blanket that is partially tangled around your legs. You stir. I freeze. I don’t want to wake you. Where would be the fun in that?

When you settle down again, I carefully lower myself next to you and seal my front to your back. Your skin is warm, your breathing shallow. My hand slides to your stomach, and I gently pull you against me.

I like you asleep. You can’t talk back. And I can just be, without you challenging me. For just a moment. I stay still. Eyes closed, inhale. The scent of you always revs me up. The things you do. The things you say. When I am around you, I am like a bull seeing red. I can’t keep away.

Addicted.

Completely wrapped up in you.

With a soft hum, I catch your earlobe between my teeth, my stubble grazing the side of your neck. You move, and I stop breathing.

One … two … three …

When I move my hand farther down between your legs, I feel how your briefs grow tight around your hardening cock. The effect I have on you. God. My sweet little angel. I let the back of my fingers caress the outline of your growing bulge. Teasing the tip, massaging it even with the fabric in between. It grows slick real fast.

I almost moan at the feel of it. My cock is lengthening, thickening, pressing against you. Wedged between us.

You are the devil posing as an angel.

My breaths grow hot and short. If you were awake, you’d be throwing a fucking fit about where I’d been. You’d take my phone from me. You’d check who I’d been calling. And texting. And then you’d raise your voice at me. When you do that, when you yell, shout, call me names, I lose it.

It is so fucked up.

So wrong.

But I get off on your possessiveness. Just like you get off on mine.

—- book scene ends here —-

Chairs, tables, and my bed have already gotten in the way of our ravenous mating. Broken. Destroyed. Two animals trapped in a cage, unable to escape.

Scratches, bruises, bite marks.

You were you and I was I.

I resurface from my thoughts with my face buried in the side of your neck. Your cock stretches out the fabric of your briefs, wet with precum; I am so hard it hurts. I have to … Goddamn, I have to do something.

And the next best thing … is right there. I carefully peel down your briefs, gather up some spit, and then lube myself up. You don’t stir this time. My heart thunders in my chest; you really are asleep.

I lather up your thighs a little before I angle my cock down to guide myself between them. Oh, God, yes. This is exactly what I need. This heat. This tightness. I carefully slide in, peeking out at the other side, then pull back. Over and over again.

Hips tilt forward until there is no space between us.

You groan, waking up. “What …”

“Shhh, it’s alright,” I whisper against your ear as I slowly drive in between your thighs, using you like my little sex toy to get off. You’re too tired to even care. I hold back a moan as you tighten your legs around me, intensifying the pressure around my shaft. Fuck … “Good boy,” I whisper to you because you are a good boy. At least at this very moment.

Download the bonus ebook for free. | Read the book “You. Always you.” //

It feels like a dream. You and me here, at my apartment. I’ve never been fond of living with anyone, but before I knew it, you’d moved in. And bought plants. Bob and Henry, among others.

It’s different with you. You still sulk when I leave in the morning and come back late at night, doing my me day. I need it to stay sane. Even if you don’t understand. Even if you think I need time off from you. 

I need time off from everyone.

No calls. No texts. No social media. Pure solitude for a day.

I still haven’t turned on my phone when I come home. I will do that tomorrow. It’s past 10 p.m., past my boy’s bedtime, so I am trying to be as quiet as possible.

Lo and behold, no lights are on, the apartment is completely dark. Silent too. The floor creaks as it always does when I walk down the hallway, pushing the door to the bedroom open. You lie on your side, sleeping mask on, breathing peacefully.

I smile. You respected our bedtime rule, and that sparks something deep within me. That disciplinarian side that comes out every now and then. I want my boy to be happy and healthy, and sleep is very important to achieve that goal.

I take a shower with the bedroom and bathroom door closed so the sound doesn’t disturb you. And then, in a fresh pair of briefs and with my hair still damp, I come to bed.

You’ve changed positions (like you often do); you’re facing the window now, away from me. I get under the blanket, it’s just one massive thing, covering the entire bed and brushing the floor at the edges. It’s nice and warm already.

Carefully, I attach myself to your back, folding my arm to rest my head on my biceps. “You’re back,” you break the silence with your whisper.

“Did you doubt it?” I ask with a kiss to the back of your neck. I inhale you, smile.

“I always do. Every time.”

Wrapping my free arm around your waist, I seal us together. “I would never leave,” I say, the smile in my voice rather evident. “What would Henry and Bob do without me?” I wait for your remark, the one that will definitely come, but nothing … until—

You kick me.

“You’re a little shit,” I chuckle against your neck and squeeze your body to mine. 

This is how it always goes, and it’s strangely comforting.

—- book scene ends here —-

“I have a request,” you say after a few moments have passed, and I’ve almost drifted off to sleep. It feels sudden, dragging me out of that half-asleep state. Clearly, you are nowhere close to it yourself. 

“Mh.”

You answer with a roll of your hips, waking up another part of me. Huh. You do it again, this time more determinedly as if you’re actively trying to turn me on.

“What are you doing?” I growl against your ear, stilling you by wrapping my arm more firmly around your chest.

“I want to warm your cock.” That does it. Fuck. You keep bucking, interlacing your fingers with mine on your stomach. “Daddy …” you whine as I stiffen against you, it’s hard not to notice.

“You’re supposed to sleep,” I scold you.

“I just want it in me.”

“Did you get ready for me?” I whisper, anticipation licking at my nerves. Did you really prepare yourself so you could do this?

“Yes,” it comes out all soft and breathy. Good God …

Next thing I know, you pull your fingers free from mine and tug down your briefs, exposing your ass to me. More grinding. I feel arousal taking over. I’m fully awake now. 

“Just put it in, Daddy. So I can sleep.” My pinky grazes the front of your briefs; your erection is difficult to hide, stretching the fabric.

“So you can sleep?” I ask, just to be sure.

You nod, arching your back a little to push your ass out, literally presenting yourself to me. “Daddy, please. I’ve been so good all day.”

I snort, yeah right. As if you’d be good when I’m not around. When the cat’s away, the mice will play. But. I am only a man, after all, and I cannot resist such an offer. So I peel my briefs down too, let my boner spring up, and lather your hole up with my saliva. You whimper as I do so, my thumb rubbing across your rim to test if you have really prepped yourself.

You have. You’re ready. You should be able to take me.

With a kiss to your shoulder, I position the tip of my erection at your entrance as you draw up your knees a little, lifting your upper leg to allow me access. There. The wet noise is obscene, my hand tightens around my shaft, guiding me in.

I love the sounds you make. A soft, pained whimper as I breach you.

“Shhh.” Once the tip is in, I use my hand to keep your leg slightly lifted, releasing you from that duty. You’re so damn tight around me still; it feels like heaven. Slowly, gently, I use a subtle rhythm to enter you deeper. 

Your breath puffs out a little faster. “Daddy …” This is always my favorite part. Spreading my little boy open until you adjust to me. Which you will. Soon. 

Soft gasps. Soft moans. Soft whispers.

“You’re doing so well.” A praise, a kiss. That familiar warmth, that maddening urge coils in my gut and pools in my balls, and then I’m all in. Quick, gasping breaths leave your lips. I let go of your thigh and free your hard-on; it strains against the remains of your briefs, literally clinging to you.

There is no rush. Lazy and leisurely, like on a Sunday morning when you decide to climb on top of me, I use your precum to play with the head of your cock. And your foreskin. Tugging it all the way up while using my thumb to massage your sensitive tip.

Moments later, you’re bucking into my fist and rocking back onto my cock, finding the perfect angle, so it grazes your prostate. All I do is stay still, keep my hand nice and tight, creating a tunnel for you to fuck into. My horny little boy. Your gasps mingle with little sobs and whines, yanking me closer to the edge. You know how easy it is for me to get off on sounds alone. And your hot, tight ass.

Your fingers grip the sheets. I feel you getting closer, your cock so fucking rigid and slick against my fingers. To help your orgasm along, I thrust forward, shoving in that last inch. I bottom out, balls against your ass. Your insides clench around me like a fist, and you bury your face in the pillow to muffle your cries.

There it is. My little boy’s come, pulsing out in thick, warm bursts. It’s a lot, much more than usual. Perhaps you have been good today. 

But I can’t think about that. Because the way you clamp around me, your muscles tightening, feels like you’re trying to milk me. I hide my face against your neck and bite down on your shoulder to keep from making any lewd, loud noises. I squeeze my eyes shut. I smell your come in the air, the scent unmistakable. You’re still pumping out little bits of come into my fist, trembling against me. 

My orgasm is close enough to taste, I can’t stop it, so I pull free from your shoulder and let go. I black out. All I feel is pleasure, my heart races, and my balls contract as I pump you full. 

I feel your warmth.

I smell sex.

I hear your little whimpers.

“Daddy, I want it,” you whine and fucking grind. Holy shit. You’re drawing my orgasm out, milking more-more-more out of me. 

“Oh, God!”

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you.” I’m still riding high, my eyelids too heavy to open. Finally, I shudder, muscles tensing, then relaxing. I feel utterly boneless. 

“Fuck,” I moan as that tension within me finally uncoils.

“Thank you for breeding me, Daddy.”

I gasp for air at those words, my fingers slipping off your wet cock to dig them into your hips. I’ll leave bruises. You don’t allow me to come down from my high because you keep rolling your hips, the wet squelching sound so fucking dirty …

This is heaven. A messy heaven, but still. Heaven.

Download the bonus ebook for free. | Read the book “You. Always you.” //

You like to send me pictures of yourself. Dirty ones. Cute ones. Funny ones. Sometimes even videos. It’s infuriating. And fucking distracting.

I can’t not tap on the thumbnail of the video you’ve sent right after lunch. I am still at the office; a couple of online meetings still ahead of me. I get more done here, even if I work all by myself because everyone else is working from home.

“Daddy,” your whine echoes through the room, your finger dipping … into the creampie I left you with. My come dripping out of you. Cheeks spread … my little boy is playing with himself.

Fuck.

Me.

I smack my flat hand against the desk and breathe in, my pants tightening against my crotch. You are insatiable. This morning, you’d begged me to breed you. One, two, three times before I left for work. In bed, at the kitchen counter, and right before I walked out the door, in the hallway. 

And now you are calling out to me again. Daddy.

I need a few moments before I can stand up.

“Something came up. Cancel all of my meetings,” I type out to my assistant. Luckily, I can just up and leave like that, being the boss of my own company does pay off sometimes.

It takes me thirteen minutes to get home. Usually it takes me twenty. I take two steps at a time, climbing the stairs to the second floor. When I unlock the door, driven by lust and this need to have you, I find you standing in the hallway, a smug smirk on your face.

You’re leaning against the wall, lips curling.

You goddamn tease. 

I snap the door shut and take a step closer. Using my height, my size, I loom over you.

You drive me crazy.

The way you bite the corner of your bottom lip, the way your dimples flash up as you smirk dirtily. Like a predator hovering over its prey, I look down at you. You barely budge, just roll from your shoulder against the wall to your back.

Seconds tick by. The air is thick with anticipation. Thick with layers of sex.

And then … our mouths clash. Collide in a furious mating of lips. My fists grip your shirt to lift you against the wall. You try to gasp, but I don’t let you. I pin you to the wall, one hand slips up to grab you by your throat.

“You’ve been teasing me …” My voice, like thunder, booms in my ears.

“Daddy,” you whimper, slipping into that perfect little boy role again. It was made for you. “I missed you, Daddy.” Fucking hell. That sweet, innocent tone … It gets to me every damn time. I tilt your head back against the wall, my thumb digging in underneath your jaw.

“Take off your shorts,” I whisper to you. It’s an order. I still hold you against the wall. You do as I say, quickly wiggling out of the fabric. “Briefs too.” When I look down, your cock springs free, pointing up. Someone has been playing with himself … “You are a naughty, naughty boy.”

You start pouting. “But I’m just like Daddy, am I not?” Big puppy eyes blink up at me from behind your glasses. When my hand squeezes tighter around your throat, you swallow hard, your Adam’s apple bobbing against my palm. My free hand reaches down to slap your cock. Your mouth falls open before your lips press together again, as you try to hold back an undignified whimper. It comes out anyway.

“You think Daddy is naughty?”

“Yes,” you keen.

“Are you sure?” Another slap to your impossibly hard cock. It’s quite fun to play with it like that.

“N-No.” I smile. Better. I catch your lips again, harder this time, forceful. My hand falls away and pushes against your chest instead. 

“Daddy,” you manage to whisper breathlessly, trying to stop me as I wedge my other hand between you and the wall, searching for that wet hole. There it is. Wet with my seed.

I’m so impatient, my movements urgent, rushed. I need you now. Now. Not in thirty seconds.

So I spin you around and force you face-first against the wall. You cry out but arch your back anyway. My belt clinks to the floor. Ziiip. Now the zipper is down too.

“Here? Again?” You gasp as I pull my erection free and rub it against your warm crease. I don’t even need to lube you up. You’re dripping as it is.

I adjust my angle with my hand around my cock as you claw at the wall. Then I am in. “God, yes,” I grunt. This is why I came home. Why I probably got two speeding tickets and a bunch of angry clients. Fuck it. I roll my hips forward, halfway in, again and again, and again until my balls press against your ass.

“Holy shit,” you moan out, fingers curling against the wall. You love this. Being pounded open. Being fucked just like that … anywhere. Because I need to have you. Because I cannot wait. Because you drive me fucking crazy.

I wrap my arms around your chest and suck on your earlobe. Your body rocks against mine, over and over, until I’m lost in the maddening rhythm of my cock driving deep into you. Owning you. Claiming you. Marking you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Words lose their way on my tongue. I cannot form a coherent thought. So instead, I let my teeth sink into your skin. You buckle, hard. Your body, so hot. You taste like that lotion you use. Smell like it too. 

I’ll lick your wounds.

I’ll make it all better.

But for now? I need to fuck you senseless.

Download the bonus ebook for free. | Read the book “You. Always you.” //

In Berlin, there are a lot of courtyards. Right in the middle of apartment complexes. Since the health pandemic, every day at 6 p.m., musicians play live music to keep up everyone’s spirits. People sit on balconies, at windows, and listen and clap. Cherry blossoms bloom, the sun sets, birds chirp. It’s quite magical.

We are still allowed to go outside, so every morning, my feet hit the pavement. The movement, the vibration thrums through my body. You’re still asleep; you never get up as early as I do. Even if the fresh morning air is something to be experienced, like yesterday has been buried and today is born.

I run along a canal where ducks bustle around and little boats sway. Like nothing is wrong with the world at all. I’ve always admired those people, living on a boat, without a care in the world.

I always run around a lake, past the bar that had to close up recently. The sky is colored in orange and red when I start running faster, my breathing even, my body slowly settling into a comfortable rhythm. This is when I process—when I recharge and think. The cool air clears my thoughts, wafts away any fog that might have settled.

When I come back home, shoes peeled off, and shirt sweated through, you’re still in bed, typing on your phone. I smirk, hands going to the pull-up bar inside the door frame. I rest them there. You look at me then, your bed hair adorable, sticking up in every direction. You put down your phone, sit up. “C’mere.”

“I’m all sweaty.”

“That’s okay.”

I let go of the bar above my head and walk closer on bare feet. My heart is still pumping quickly, skin warm. I’m slowly cooling down. As I stand beside the bed, you shift onto your knees, hands going to my hips.

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey.” I dip down to kiss you. Your fingers twist in my damp shirt, holding me there. I know where this is going. Where I want it to go … but … “I am not gonna get in bed with you.”

You groan, an annoyed sound, before you whine. “Why not.” It’s not a question as much as it is an accusation.

“I’m all gross, and you have to get up too. Don’t you have work to do?”

You grumble and push me off. I barely budge, but for your benefit, I step back. Alright then. Grumpy little thing.

The apartment has high ceilings, white walls, and hardwood floors. There are windows in every room, the bathroom and kitchen face the courtyard, the one where musicians play every evening these days. The other windows face the quiet street across the canal.

I fully expect you to sneak into the shower with me as you so often do. But to my surprise, you don’t. I wash my hair, rinse off, and throw my sweaty clothes in the hamper. Thanks to the open window, the mirror is clear, despite the moisture in the air. I consider shaving, but I know you like it when I rub my rough, unshaven cheek against the side of your neck—from behind. Always from behind.

I dress in a pair of shorts and a white shirt, noticing that the bed is empty. I’m toweling my hair dry and walk past the living room. There’s a dining table, solid wood, it’s huge. You love it because you can spread out whatever you need when you have work to do. One side of the table has been cleared though, from all of the papers, your laptop, cables, SSD drives. In its place, there are two plates, two cups of tea, two glasses of orange juice, and a basket with bread rolls and croissants from the bakery across the street.

I cannot help but grin as I inspect what you’ve prepared. The floor groans under my feet as I step into the living room. You’re not here, so you must be in the kitchen getting something else.

“You usually take sixteen minutes to get out of the shower. Today you took thirteen. I am not finished.” You walk past me, place a small tray with jam, cream cheese, and chocolate spread on the table too, and then face me. “You’re early.”

That makes me laugh softly. I drape the towel I used to dry off across one of the chairs and approach you, hands cupping each side of your face. “You’re grumpy this morning.”

“I am not grumpy.”

“Then what are you?”

“Charming, cute, adorable, a very good kisser. I also give amazing head.” I grip the base of your neck and draw you in until our lips are touching and you shut up. Your forearms press against my chest, and you melt into the kiss, our tongues roaming, my hand holding you in place. You make that sound, that moan, which reverberates through my entire body, sparking a fire inside my gut. I break the kiss so it doesn’t spread yet. When I look down at you, your eyes are still closed, and as they open … you look kiss-drunk. I smile and dip down for another quick, chaste kiss.

“Now, what is all this?”

You shrug and look at the table. “It’s … bread rolls, croissants, orange juice, jam—”

“I know what it is.”

“Then why are you asking?” You scowl playfully, and I swear you almost stick your tongue out at me. I sigh, going for exasperated. I let go of you to pull out a chair and take a seat. You sit across from me. You brighten up a little—less scowly—as I examine what you’ve put together. It’s been weeks since we took the time to have an elaborate breakfast like this. Either you were busy, or I was.

“Thank you,” I say, smiling.

“For the bread rolls, croissants, orange juice …?”

I stop you by lifting a finger. “Yes. For all of that.”

—- book scene ends here —-

I ask you about what you’re working on. Whenever you talk about it, it’s like a light within you switches on. I like to listen to you explain all those nifty details that—until a few weeks ago—I had no idea about. We drink and eat, laugh, and talk until I get up to grab my pack of cigarettes, and you stop me.

“Why?” I ask, still standing as your fingers close around my wrist. You rise to your feet beside the table and urge me to sit back down. Your gaze suddenly turns heated and dark, hovering over me. Smirking, you card your fingers through my almost dry hair.

“I’m still hungry.”

Oh.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.” You lick your lips as you sink to your knees between my thighs, your hands sliding over my stomach before taking off your glasses and placing them on the table. I let out a breath; the sudden surge of excitement makes my cock perk up instantly. You’d planned this all along, hadn’t you? I don’t dare to ask. You rub me through my shorts, kneading, cupping my balls as if you wanted to weigh them. I let out a long groan at that, my vision glazing over with lust.

“I need my protein shot this morning,” you claim with such innocence in your tone that I grow harder even faster. Fuck, you are something else. You undo the shorts’ buttons, then place a kiss on the outline of my cock underneath my briefs. My thighs tense, toes curl. “I’m gonna milk Daddy.”

“You’re depraved.”

“You love it.”

Hell, yes, I do. I let my head drop back as you kiss up to the tip, peeling away the fabric of my shorts to reach it. I place my hand on the back of your head, not because I want to push you to do anything, but because I know you like the weight of it right there; it drives you crazy. “I can’t believe I own this dick, that I own you.” Your breath feels so hot even through my briefs, making my cock thicken and lengthen so swiftly it makes me dizzy.

“Fuck.”

“Not this morning, baby.”

I growl a primal sound that usually makes you whimper. Not this time though, this time, you smile and lick at the head of my cock, finding that small wet spot where precum has already trickled through the fabric. You close your lips around the head, sucking and kissing like it is something delicate. 

“My hungry little boy,” I whisper, my voice dipping deeper with the lust coursing through me. Your eyes flash up. False innocence. But it always gets to me.

“Daddy,” you whimper against my cock as you pepper kisses across the hefty bulge. My briefs strain around it now … just how you like it. You squeeze my shaft to test its girth and then grin up at me. “I’m hungry for Daddy’s fat dick. Can I have it?” My breath hitches and my eyelids drop to half-mast. You know exactly what riles me up. Only a few words, a couple of touches, and you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. It’s far too easy. But I’ve learned to live with it.

“Yes, my boy.” At that, you perk up, fingers hooking beneath the waistband of my briefs and lifting it off my engorged shaft, peeling down until … there. I lift my hips so you can pull down my shorts and briefs all the way, giving you more room to work with. Your hands run up my calves, then my thighs, eyes still on your target. You rub your thumbs into the spot where my thighs meet my groin and lean in to flick your tongue across the tip of my erection. Then you move down so it’s against your nose and you can mouth at my balls. All those veins are already protruding, pulsing with my heartbeat. But I don’t dare to touch myself, knowing you’d either bite or slap me.

As you suck and tug at my balls, my cock twitches; victoriously, you grin up at me. With your hands on my thighs, you pull back and start sucking on the tip, pulling the foreskin all the way forward only to watch it slowly slide back. I’m so horny. So fucking horny. I grip the edge of the table and a fistful of your hair, suddenly feeling an urgency that only comes over me when you’re taking your sweet time.

“Don’t be impatient, Daddy.” Little brat. I ease my fingers out of your hair again, hand still resting there. Then one of your hands wraps around the base of my shaft (finally), your fingertips not touching. In one go, you slide me into your mouth, catching me off guard. I love how fucking eager you are, how greedy. You moan as you bob your head and pump my shaft, making sure it is nice and wet. My eyes roll back and my thighs quiver at the maddening sensation. Holy shit. Yes, fuck, yes, you’re so good at this … amazing at giving head, indeed.

“Slap me with it,” you pant out the words, twisting your hand up and down the length of my shaft, foreskin gliding back and forth. My fingers tighten in your hair again—this time with permission—and I sit up to angle your head to the side. Smack, smack, smack. You gasp and whimper, hands on my thighs. The wet sound of my cock against your cheek echoes through the room. “Fuck,” you grit out. “So good, so heavy, Daddy.” Jesus fucking Christ.

“You’re my little cockslut, aren’t you?” I am stone fucking hard, balls already tightening up against the sleek surface of the wooden chair. You wriggle your way out of my grip, purse your lips and suckle at the tip of my cock to answer my question, toying with the foreskin again, dipping past it, circling … rubbing against the slit. I groan out loud; I cannot help it. I love seeing your lips stretched around my shaft, love the image of it in your mouth, your dark eyes shining up at me. They are glossy now, glazed with arousal and unshed tears from slapping you. Your hand wraps around the base again, twisting up and down, while your other hand plays with the little ridge right below my cockhead. Your thumb strokes it, making me tense.

“Goddamnit,” I hiss as you moan around me like you love this. Like you’re hungry for (my) dick. You get into a steady rhythm that drives me to the edge of insanity. Pressure at the base, jerking up, making my balls bounce against the chair, your other hand relentlessly twisting below the head. And your tongue, good God, your tongue! Lapping, then sucking. You’re in your own little world and my orgasm isn’t the goal. Yours is. I’ve seen you come hands-free before and I can tell that this is where you’re heading.

You’re not doing this for my pleasure; you’re doing it for yours.

And that … holy hell, that makes it ten times hotter. I can’t speak, much less warn you as I feel warmth implode inside me, the surge of seed quickly pumping from my balls upward to release. My fingers clench around the table so hard it shifts on the hardwood floor; the loud noise rumbles through the room. I see stars, my lips part. I stiffen above you, hunching forward at the force of my orgasm as I erupt hard and fast into your mouth, feeling every shot lace your tongue. Again and again and again. You swallow. My jaw clenches and I fist my hand in your hair, tugging you forward until my muscles start relaxing, and I begin to tremble. A last moan escapes, my chest heaves before I slump back against the chair, thighs falling open.

But you’re not finished. You keep pumping despite me trying to stop you. Too sensitive, too much. But I can’t say it. The words are stuck in my throat. Your touch gets more determined, and the hand around my shaft lowers to grip my balls tightly as if you’re trying to squeeze out more. “Oh, God.” Those are the only words I can manage. You’re milking me, coaxing that last bit of come out of my balls. Then, there. You pull back so I can see it well up and spill across your fingers. Thick, white, and creamy. You lick it off the side of your hand, your fingertips, your thumb. 

I am shaking.

“Good boy,” I praise you, stroking your hair idly. My vision is blurry as you shift on the floor and whimper. You haven’t come yet. “Daddy loves his little boy.” And that, for some reason, does it. You bury your face in the spot between my thigh and my balls, inhaling me, yet gasping for air. A couple of body shudders ripple through you before you can force your hand into your pants. I stroke your hair. My good little boy. So perfect.

And you come. I know the sounds you make when your orgasm rolls through your body. I know how you tense, shake … your cheek feels feverish against the inside of my thigh. I am still stroking your hair. “That’s my little boy. You’re perfect, aren’t you, baby? Perfect for Daddy.”

You nod. “Yes,” you whisper out the word; it sounds like an exhale. The look on your face can only be described as dreamy as you sit back onto your haunches. Your hands are clean. You didn’t manage to touch yourself before you came. Instead, you came inside your pants. I bend down to kiss the top of your head, then your forehead. “Let’s clean you up, baby boy.”