I need help

“I think I need help. I don’t want to mess up again.” The idea of failing you again, now, sends a full-body shudder through me. You stroke my cheek.

“Hey, it’s ok. I’m proud of you for asking for help when you need it.” You glance over your shoulder at our audience. “Any volunteers to help my boy stay quiet? Gently, mind.” Most of the hands shoot up. You choose someone, and he comes forward. You undo the cuffs on my wrists, and together you roll me onto my back on the table; I whimper through it.

“All right, boy. You’re going to keep his cock nice and warm for him, ok?” I get out a vaguely assenting noise, my head hanging back so all I can see is the stranger’s pants. They’re brown and sturdy-looking. Something presses against my lips, and I open my mouth. He slips in, stopping with his cockhead just shy of my throat.

“Remember, you’re not fucking his face. You’re just keeping his mouth full. If you jostle against his gag reflex when I thrust, that’s fine, but if I see any thrusting I’m picking someone else.”

“I understand.” His hands settle on my shoulders, big and warm and somehow comforting. “Can I talk to him?”

“Sure.”

“Hey, boy. I’m here to help you, all right? Help you stay quiet and be good for your Sir. I can tell how much you want to.” I can’t talk, can’t nod, but I make a vague soft noise that he seems to accept as agreement. “Your Sir is lucky, to have such a good boy, who wants so much to obey him.”

Then you’re pressing into me, gently but steadily, and it’s good but it’s still so much. When you bottom out in me, your groin brushes against my poor clit, and I’m grateful for the cock in my mouth that muffles my bitten-off squeal. One of the stranger’s hands shifts to my cheek, then my hair, stroking, easing.

“That’s it, good boy,” you say. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You set a steady rhythm, gentler than usual, but it’s still a struggle not to lose my focus and yell when you jar my clit, not to mention the surging and retreating and then resurging overfullness in my belly as you fuck me. Oddly, the cock in my mouth helps; not just with muffling the handful of noises that escape me, but in giving me something else to think about, focus on. Sometimes when you bury yourself in me, you push me up so his cock is brushing against my gag reflex, and while that’s hardly comfortable it’s something other than the overwhelming sensations from the rest of my body. The stranger is gentle with me too. His hand on my shoulder helps keep me from squirming, and his other hand keeps on soothing me, whether by petting my hair, stroking my cheek, or just holding me softly while you work in me. He talks, too, just for me, a steady stream of soft encouragements and reassurances.

“-that’s it, good boy, you’re being so good for your Sir, so good, easy, quiet, I know it’s hard, I know it hurts, but you can do it, that’s ok, you can cry all you need to, I’ve got you, you’re going to be ok-”

Faster than I would expect from you at this pace, you stiffen and I feel your release in me. Then you pull out, and the aching fullness of my belly returns to more tolerable levels. The stranger removes himself from my mouth, and I manage to raise my head to look at you. You’re smiling at me, pride shining in your eyes. I raise a hand to reach for you, and you and the stranger help me sit up, and then you wrap your arms around me.

“My good boy. My very good boy.” I bury my face in your shoulder. I’m crying, still? Again? But this time in relief. “I’m so proud of you. You did so well for me, even when it was hard.”

“Thank you Sir.”

We’ve missed our stop. The somewhat-less-a-stranger-now offers to drive us home, and produces a blanket from his trunk to wrap my shivering body in. Between being drenched in sweat and the sudden onset of exhaustion, I’m very glad for it. You carry me inside and lay me down on my bed. I’m half-asleep, but from the other room I catch snatches of conversation.

“Thank you, M-”

“-glad to. That’s a special boy you’ve got there.”

“I know.” A warm glow surges in my chest, and I succumb to sleep.