I’m not sure why he tried so hard to hide it from me. It didn’t work. I always knew he was a pussyboy. I saw his furtive, shy little glances at me as we hung out, playing Xbox on the couch. But how did I know for sure?
We were playing Cards Against Humanity with some mutual friends. What keeps me up at night? read the black card. I chuckled, playing my card face down before watching as Graeme revealed them one at a time. A nubile slave boy, mine read. Everyone laughed. Our eyes met for a second, and he blushed furiously. I won the round.
As he was about to leave that night, I approached him at the door, blocking his way with one arm in a way that was both playful and intimidating. “Stay the night,” I said. He stammered some excuses - that he had reading to do, that he didn’t have a toothbrush. I shook my head decisively.
"No, you’ll stay." He nodded. The guests gradually filtered out. Our mutual friend John gave me a sly smile as we said our goodbyes. I pushed the boy up against the wall, kissing him, feeling him melt in my demanding embrace.
Any resistance he had crumbled as I pushed him on to my bed. It was really so obvious all along. He was a pussyboy. He needed this - I could tell from that grateful, worshipful look in his eyes as he got his first taste of my cock.
Cute. Also props for the Cards Against Humanity reference. :)