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Agreeing to go into service is easy. No harder than signing up for the Marines. He's spent so long serving his country, it's a comfort to know he'll be acting in service again.
ex-marine finds renewed purpose in life in this heartwarming story of devotion
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He's perfect he's gorgeous Marlo couldn't keep his hands out of Chris's hair if he tried — "I love you," still reverent, "Chris," and he sounds like he's praying —
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Chris pulls off reluctantly, kisses Marlo's dick one last time, and gets the lube and condoms from the side table.
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In theory he could produce words about that but in practice the only thing he's capable of saying is Chris's name, over and over.
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Chris takes off his pants.
Underneath he's wearing briefs, which look mostly like ordinary male underwear except for the hole in the middle through which comes a large black dildo.
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Chris pours some lube onto his fingers and says, "have you had anything in your ass before?"
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"Relax," Chris says. "Take deep breaths. If anything hurts, tell me."
He starts to gently probe the entrance.
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"Mine," Chris agrees.
Chris fingerfucks him slowly with one hand and jerks him off with the other.
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His fingers curl in Chris's hair and he buries his face in Chris's neck and keeps clinging to Chris's shoulders.
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He adds a second finger.
He is hyperaware of everything that is happening with Marlo, every small sound, every shift, every ounce of muscle tension.
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Chris wants to make him fall apart. Chris wants to fill Marlo and make him unable to think and make him lose himself in pleasure. Chris wants to control Marlo, to make him feel things; Chris wants to be Marlo's toy, a thing for Marlo to use; Chris wants to be his trusted servant, the only one allowed to have power over him because Marlo knows Chris will use it the way he wants. Chris wants Marlo to pet his hair and tell him he did well.
Chris wants to be good.
He adds a third finger
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He's shaking again, can feel himself falling apart at the seams — "I, Chris, love you —" his head falls back — "yours —"
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Chris pulls on the condom, lines up, and plunges in. He feels the familiar pressure against his pelvis. How long has it been? Too long.
He kisses Marlo.
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He's so full — Chris is, is so good, Marlo kisses him and tries as hard as he can to communicate I love you I love you I love you through touch alone while he's falling apart on Chris's cock — he's probably pulling Chris's hair but he can't make himself let go —
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Having his hair pulled is so good, it hurts, it's the way things are supposed to be. To be carelessly hurt because of how well he's doing.
He is good and trusted and flawless--
The words slip out of his lips before he notices them. "Thank you, sir."
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He barely registers the words, just the tone — he wants to make Chris use that voice again — he pulls again, on purpose this time.
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Chris is vaguely aware that there is something wrong with the thought process "I made my master happy and now my hair is being pulled again because I was good" but he is far too deep into subspace to work out what it is.
"Thank you, sir," he says again, "thank you--"
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He has no idea what to say so he just kisses Chris and keeps pulling his hair and rocking his hips into Chris's touch — he's so so full —
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He is good, he is good, he is good, he is good--
The pleasant pressure around his pelvis builds. He bites his lip and reaches to touch Marlo's dick.
(If he's going to be good he can't get off before Marlo does. No one says he can't make Marlo get off faster though.)
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He makes a loud ragged sound and clings to Chris and rocks forward and pulls his hair harder.