I'll do it myself

“I want to do it for you. By myself. To be good for you.” You smile at me, and ruffle my hair. That smile alone feels like it replenishes my burnt-out stock of self-control.

“Good boy. I believe in you.” The words are a balm as you stand and go behind me, letting my arms loose. You’re gentler this time, sliding in and out slowly, whispering “good boy”s as I whimper and whine from the incredible fullness in my belly, but don’t let my voice rise above what you’ve allowed me.

It isn’t easy. I hurt, and every thrust into me, even gentle, jars my abused clit. My nipples aren’t much better. And the oh-god-how-does-that-even-fit fullness is the same as it ever is. But you want me to be quiet, so I am, swallowing down all the protests my body is making, occasionally letting it come out in a sob, but holding on to being good for you. Being your good boy.

You finish faster than you usually would at this pace, spending your come inside me. Then you quickly come to my head, kneeling down again, petting my cheeks, my hair, kissing my forehead. “Such a good boy. You were so good for me, I’m so proud of you.” I give you a weary smile as exhaustion rolls over me.

“Thank you Sir. I’m glad.”