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MAKE ME YOUR BITCH BOYFrom the moment I met him, I knew this..
🕑 Added 2025-04-06 10:00:04 +0000 UTCMAKE ME YOUR BITCH BOY
From the moment I met him, I knew this Italian stud was hiding something big. He walked in with that powerful, athletic presence—body sculpted by years of training, biceps that looked ready to rip through his shirt, and legs that were built to go for hours. Our mutual friend thought it would be “nice” for us to meet. Nice? Let me tell you, it was anything but.
He was in his 30s, with this quiet confidence, a smirk that hinted at things he wouldn’t say out loud. We got to talking, and I let slip that I’m an adult content creator. His eyes lit up with a spark I hadn’t expected. Turns out, this guy loves filming, loves the idea of being watched, but can’t show his face because of his career. When he hinted that he was into puppy play, I could feel the heat in the room jump up a notch. This wasn’t just any athlete. He was a fucking Olympic medalist, with the kind of stamina that doesn’t just win medals—it ruins men.
We ended up at my place later that day, and he didn’t waste time. He slipped on his puppy hood, that mischievous smirk still visible under the mask. Then he dropped his pants, and my breath caught. His dick was nothing short of a masterpiece—thick, with veins running down the shaft like rivers of power, the tip already glistening, begging for attention. It wasn’t the longest I’ve seen, but it was wide, made to fill, made to stretch, and I was more than ready.
I got on my knees, lips parting as I took him in, running my tongue along each ridge, savoring the warmth and weight of him on my tongue. He watched me, blue eyes through the mask, and his hand found its way to the back of my head, pushing me deeper, guiding me to take more. I could feel the muscles in his thighs flex as he started to fuck my mouth, slow at first, letting me savor every inch, then faster, deeper, until my jaw ached and my throat tightened around him. He was relentless, thrusting in and out, stretching me until my eyes watered, until the only sound in the room was the sloppy wet noise of his dick pounding into my mouth.
But that was just the beginning. He pulled me up, bent me over, and whispered in my ear, “You’re gonna be my bitch boy.” I could barely breathe, let alone reply, as he pressed his cock against my manpussy, teasing me, making me squirm. And then he was in—pushing that thick cock deeper, stretching me, filling me in a way that made me scream. He gripped my hips with those strong hands, pulling me back onto him, each thrust harder, deeper, as he took me apart, leaving me a trembling mess.
He fucked me with a ruthless rhythm, his body moving with perfect precision, driving into me over and over, each thrust hitting that spot that made my whole body shake. I could feel him everywhere, his cock filling me, his muscles flexing with every movement, his grip on me possessive, dominating. I was his, completely and utterly, and he knew it.
By the time he was done, my voice was hoarse from screaming, my body aching in the best way, every inch of me marked by him. As he pulled out, I collapsed, breathless, my body still throbbing with the memory of him. He leaned down, a satisfied grin on his face, and whispered, “That’s what it means to be my bitch boy.” And fuck, I knew I’d never forget it.
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HAZME TU PERRA
Desde el momento en que le conocí, supe que este italiano escondía algo grande. Entró con esa presencia potente, un cuerpo esculpido a base de años de entrenamiento, bíceps que parecían listos para romper la camisa, y unas piernas hechas para aguantar horas. Un colega en común pensó que “sería bonito” que nos conociéramos. ¿Bonito? De bonito, nada.
Estaba en sus 30, con esa confianza tranquila y una sonrisa de esas que te dicen cosas que ni se atreve a pronunciar. Empezamos a charlar, y le solté que soy creador de contenido adulto. Le brillaron los ojos con una chispa que no me esperaba. Resulta que al tipo le encanta grabarse, le va el rollo de que le miren, pero no puede enseñar la cara por su carrera. Y cuando me insinuó que le gustaba el rollo de “puppy play”, el ambiente se puso caliente de verdad. Este no era cualquier atleta, no. Era medallista olímpico, con esa clase de resistencia que no solo gana medallas… sino que revienta a cualquiera que se le ponga por delante.
Acabamos en mi casa esa misma tarde, y no perdió ni un segundo. Se puso su máscara de cachorro, con esa sonrisa traviesa asomando por debajo. Entonces bajó los pantalones y casi me quedo sin aire. Su polla era una obra maestra: gruesa, con venas marcadas como ríos de puro poder, la punta rosada y lista, pidiendo atención. No era la más larga que había visto, pero tenía un grosor hecho para llenar y estirar, y yo estaba más que preparado.
Me arrodillé, abriendo los labios para recibirle, dejando que mi lengua recorriera cada centímetro, saboreando su calor y peso en mi boca. Me miraba con esos ojos azules tras la máscara, y su mano encontró mi nuca, empujándome más, haciéndome tragarle entero. Sentía cómo sus muslos se tensaban mientras empezaba a follarme la boca, despacio al principio, dejándome disfrutar cada centímetro, y luego más rápido, más profundo, hasta que la mandíbula me dolía y la garganta se me cerraba alrededor de él. No paraba, empujando una y otra vez, estirándome hasta que los ojos se me llenaron de lágrimas, y el único sonido en la habitación era el ruido sucio y húmedo de su polla machacando mi boca.
Pero eso solo era el comienzo. Me levantó, me inclinó y susurró en mi oído, “Hoy vas a ser mi perra.” Apenas podía respirar, mucho menos contestar, mientras sentía su polla presionando contra mi entrada, provocándome, haciéndome retorcerme. Y entonces, de golpe, entró—empujando esa verga gruesa bien adentro, estirándome, llenándome de una forma que me hizo gritar. Me agarró de las caderas con esas manos fuertes, tirándome hacia él, cada embestida más dura, más profunda, destrozándome hasta dejarme temblando.
Me folló con un ritmo implacable, su cuerpo moviéndose con una precisión perfecta, entrando una y otra vez, cada embestida golpeando ese punto que me hacía vibrar de pies a cabeza. Lo sentía en todas partes, su polla llenándome, sus músculos tensándose en cada movimiento, su agarre posesivo, dominador. Era suyo, completamente, y él lo sabía.
Cuando terminó, mi voz estaba ronca de tanto gritar, el cuerpo me dolía de la mejor manera, cada rincón marcado por él. Al salir de mí, me dejé caer, sin aliento, con el cuerpo todavía palpitando al recordar cada segundo. Se inclinó, con una sonrisa satisfecha en la cara, y susurró, “Eso es lo que significa ser mi perra.” Y joder, supe que nunca lo iba a olvidar.
