Yes

I bob my head fast and hard on Dean's cock, sucking him with all my accumulated recollection of servicing cocks, using all the tricks I've learnt. I've known him for years and never envisioned myself on my knees sucking his cock. Now that I am?

I want to impress him. My Owner, my best friend, gave him permission to give me a treat, to give me something special as a reward. I want to do so well, to suck his cock so perfectly, that he cums in my mouth and takes me to his room, anyway.

I breathe in, inhaling his musk and letting it fill my lungs on the way down. When his cock obstructs my airways, I swallow immediately, all the way until I reach his hilt. I hold my breath until my lips lock around the base, taking hold of the chair.

His mass makes it immovable, which means excellent leverage for me. I moan on my way up his cock, sliding my mouth up to his crown, offering sensual vibrations. I flex my tongue wide, continuously cradling and caressing his phallic underside.

As his cock leaves my mouth, I press harder with my tongue, until I'm grinding the tip against Dean's sensitive frenulum. He moans sharply, inhaling and choking on his sandwich, but I don't stop. He coughs for a moment, catching his breath.

Amy laughs loudly at him, the sound bubbly and energetic. Dean clears his throat and coughs once more before he speaks, in response, “Shut the fuck up! I wasn't expecting ... holy fucking shit your faggot is just like passionately sucking my cock!”

“I mean, he's a faggot, of course he is,” Amy replies smugly as I use my grip on the chair's two nearest legs to slam my lips down to his hilt as I inhale his scent. Dean gasps and his hips jerk up off the chair against my mouth, and he groans loudly.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Dean growls around a mouthful of food, and I can practically hear him swallowing, before jerking a bit backward, pulling me forward as he backs up the chair. “Calm the fuck down, faggot, I'm gonna feed you! Fucking hell!”

“Oh my god,” his eyes widen when I look up at him and make eye contact as I bob on his cock. “Fuck, he even makes damn eye contact, and damn good eye contact, at that!” He can't lift his eyes away from me, part of his sandwich sits, forgotten.

Dean stares down at me as I work my mouth on his cock, until the meat starts to pulse in my mouth. When his hands move at last, they're not to his sandwich, but to my head. Gentle and sweet, his fingers slip into my hair, as he strokes my scalp.

“Fucking hell, faggot,” Dean moans the words softly, before looking up to Amy, “What do you want?” I moan softly on him as my lips slide up his shaft, breathing in as I slam myself back down to his hilt. My throat stretches to welcome his length.

“Excuse me?” Amy asks, her tone surprised.

“For the faggot,” Dean replies, “I want full access to him, free use, whenever he's around. I want this mouth on my cock on a regular basis. I'll maintain a stock of truffles and give him treats every time I use him. What do you want in return, Amy?”

“Clean my room from now on,” Amy replies promptly. Dean just nods as he resists eye contact until he can't anymore and looks down, swearing.

“What else?” he asks her.

“Do my laundry, from now on,” Amy adds, and Dean grunts.

“Done and done. Anything else?” he asks.

“Take my car to the mechanic and pay for the mechanic, once every six months, oil change and the works,” she replies. As Dean strokes my scalp with both sets of fingers, he grunts softly in response, watching my mouth slide up and down him.

“Practical. Done. I can have him?” he asks.

“All yours, big bro, pleasure doing business with you,” Amy replies, “You heard it, faggot. Anytime you're available, if my bro needs you, your mouth and ass are free use to him. Got it, fag?” I moan loudly in the affirmative and lift a thumb's up.

Then I grab the chair and slam myself back down on Dean's prick, all the way to the hilt, as he starts to pulse all along my tongue. He growls and clenches his hands in my hair, getting a firm, tight grip, and then doing absolutely nothing with it.

For a few minutes, he resists with everything he has before yanking my hair and forcing my head to stop with the crown in my mouth. I moan, blinking up at him, and Dean beams a full, broad, toothy smile, as he looks at me like I'm beautiful.

“Drink, faggot,” Dean almost purrs the words, before the first jet of his cum pumps onto my tongue. It isn't as sweet or as creamy as Amy's, or my family's, but it isn't bad, and it isn't bitter. I smile up at him around his plush crown in my mouth.

Three ropes of Dean's milk, and I swallow. Three more times, he makes me swallow, before he squeezes out the last drops. I lick his crown clean enthusiastically, then forcefully yank myself down onto him. My lips sweep down to grab Dean's hilt.

“Oh, fuck ...” Dean groans and closes his eyes for a long moment before opening them and staring down at me. The broad, giant smile is back and almost blinding, his teeth gleaming in the artificial lights of the kitchen. He watches me rise, slow.

“Making sure you milk me completely dry?” he asks, and I moan a yes as my mouth slides up his cock, “Fuck ...” The word escapes his mouth like a breathless benediction as my lips reach his helmet. I grind my tongue around the entire crown.

Then across the slit, making sure he's utterly drained, before my mouth leaves him. His fingers flex, stretch, and fall limp, away from my head. He watches me, breathing deep as I blow softly on his cock until he's dry, then reaching up for him.

I press him gently back into his underclothes, then compress him with one hand as the other works the zipper. Dean bites his lower lip, watching me tuck him away, carefully protecting him from metal teeth before clicking the button at the top.

“Oh, wow. The slut even puts it away when he's done,” Dean says, before unceremoniously pulling back from me and then standing abruptly, looking down at me, “Heel, faggot. You've earned a treat.” I follow on my hands and knees as he walks.

I kneel silently at his side when we reach his desk, and he opens the top drawer, pulling out a bag. He pulls open the tight, Ziploc-style seal, and pulls out a large, walnut-sized chocolate truffle. He looks down at me, “Open up, faggot. Treat time.”

I open my mouth, and Dean surprises me. He doesn't drop it in, he doesn't toss it at me like it's a basketball like I expect. Dean gently delivers it into my mouth, sliding it through my lips with his fingers. I close my mouth around his fingertips.

He smiles at me, sliding his fingers slowly out of my mouth, leaning back against his desk. I savour the chocolate truffle as long as I can, and Dean shocks me again. A second truffle is offered, and my mouth opens obediently to receive Dean's gift.

“Good boy, faggot,” Dean whispers to me, stroking my hair, “Come on. I still need to finish my lunch, you drained me dry.” I smile happily and follow him back to the kitchen, kneeling beside Amy's chair once we make it back to the kitchen table.

Author's Note:
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