The chill had been going on for hours. Sweaty bodies, low music, dim lights. On the table, the bong converted into a rock. He expertly picked it, loaded the pipe, lit it up… and exhaled the smoke as if it were part of the ritual. He smoked it in a pipe, without rush, with a lost gaze and the bulge already marking intentions.

—‘Are you on PrEP?’ —they asked him while another one massaged his back, slowly going down.

—‘Yes, daddy… and I love it raw. Besides, we're all already set.’

He knelt down, opened his mouth, and the scene turned into flesh, sweat, and a back-and-forth of bodies connected by lust and smoke. The condoms weren't even on the table. They weren't needed either.

Let's enter a more intense, intimate, and charged territory of submission, chemistry, and brutal connection. Second part, explicit tone, sensual and with that touch of “my master graduates me to his taste”.

---

The pipe was still smoking on the little table when he took me by the neck, soft but firm, like someone who no longer asks, just takes.

—‘You're ready for me’, he said without raising his voice.

I just nodded, with my mouth slightly open and my eyes shining, between the bong and desire.

He put me on my knees, like he likes. There was no need for orders. My body had already learned. He's been graduating me… every night, every encounter, taking me further, sculpting me to his taste.

I'm no longer myself. I'm what he's made of me: obedient, raw, surrendered.

With one hand, he held my hair, with the other, he guided his cock to the back of my throat.

—‘Open more... don't cough, you're already trained.’

And he was right. I swallowed it all, without resistance, while his other hand caressed my back, going down to where the real game starts.

The night wasn't ours. It was his. I was just his object of chemical pleasure, sweaty, perfectly functional. Just as I was given to him.