So you wanna be a very good boy?

Image by the brilliant Stuart F Taylor

A while ago I wrote a post about how – and why – I love being called a ‘good girl.’ Someone told me recently I should write a pair post about ‘good boy’ and naturally I always aim to do what the fuck I’m told, so here goes. I have frequently used the word ‘good boy’ when I’m fucking someone, but as I’m not naturally very dominant, my reasons for using it and the ways in which I use it may well be very different to your own. Nevertheless, here’s how to get a ‘good boy’ out of me.

Note: this post is quite cisnormative, sorry about that. So far all the good boys I’ve fucked have been cisgender. Just be aware that you don’t need to be cis to be a good boy, and I’ve tried to include some non-dick-focused activities in here as well as the more cock-heavy ones. 

You wanna be a good boy?

So… you wanna be a good boy for me? You want me to utter those two magic words in a way that makes your stomach kick and your heart swell with pride? The first thing you have to do is whimper.

Yeah, whimper. That little mewl-slash-growl noise that you make in the back of your throat when it’s late at night and my hand is on your junk and you’re twitching and leaking with precum and you just… really… need me to let you come.

Whimper.

Tremble a little bit while I touch you. Let your body press up against mine as if you’re looking for warmth, when what you’re really looking for is something to frot and hump against.

Squirm and wriggle. Nudge your hips forward as I hold the tip of your cock in a tight grip, begging me with your actions to take it further, go faster, just please please please let you come.

That’s how you’ll get a ‘good boy’ from me.

It’s not the only way, but it’s one of them. Others include: wearing my knickers, or choking on them. Holding the wet, cunt-smelling fabric in your drooling mouth while I kneel over you with the tip of your dick at the entrance to my cunt. Look up at me with eager, dark eyes and plead with those because your mouth’s too full.

Suck on my nipples while I stroke the back of your neck, just at the nape where the hair and flesh is soft. Let me grip you tighly and press your face into my tits, almost smothering you with them as you press yourself into me.

Continue, always, to do the humping thing: I fucking love the humping thing. There’s a delicious and satisfying pathos to the way you rub yourself against me, hunting down just the tiniest bit of friction to keep you going while I tease you. It’s the physical equivalent of a verbal thing which you should also probably have a go at: begging. Telling me what you want and what you need with that delicious rising inflection, and a nice long ‘pleeeease’ tagged on the end.

Please touch me. Please hurt me. Please please please let me put it in you.

If you wanna be a good boy, you probably need to practice your gasp as well. You know the one: the one you give when I grip your dick a little bit tighter than you’d expect, or when I gently nip your left nipple between my teeth. Or the one you give when I push both your ankles back behind your head and touch a single lubed-up finger against your ass. That swift inhale at the coldness of the lube and the swiftness of the movement that you take to centre yourself as I pause, raise my eyebrows, and ask you ‘are you ready?’

The gasp that comes just before you grin ‘yes’: that’s what makes you a good boy.

Then, after that, if you’d like another: the way you push back against me when I’m fucking you, greedy for the full length of the silicone cock I’m sliding into your ass. Panting for it. Aching for it. Pushing back onto it so I can get it all the way in up to the base as you squirm and moan.

Or better still: ride me. One of the best and most eager good boys I ever knew would sit atop my strap on with his hands pinching his own nipples and let me thrust up into him in time with his vigorous grinding. The light streaming in from the windows caught on his skinny torso and face twisted in pleasure, and I could grip his thighs with my hands, nice and tight, as I told him: that’s it. Ride me harder. You’re a fucking good boy.

You wanna be a good boy? Take a beating. Take an edging. Take the nipple clamps biting tightly into your flesh until you whimper again – that’s it, just like that – and then take one more tug for good measure. Let me slip a plug into your ass and then order you to fuck me – hard – as I yank on the belt I’ve threaded down between your legs so I can gently tug on the butt plug with each stroke.

Hold off on coming until I tell you that you can, and in the meantime – I cannot stress this enough – whimper.

When I finally order you to “go for it” I want you to come quickly: fuck me good and hard with all the pent-up energy that you’ve stored while I’ve been teasing your dick. With the eager desperation of someone who knows that this command might be revoked at any moment. Fuck me like you know my cunt is only yours for a limited time and you just. Really. Need. To get there.

Let me grip your arse and pull you inside me, smack your flesh to make you fuck faster, bite your neck with my teeth to try and push you back from the edge and compel you to slam it home even fucking harder in your desperation to come.

When you reach the peak, give me all the moans and grunts and howls that you’ve been storing up over long years of silent masturbation. Let every single thing go, in intense, loud unnghs – one for each shot of spunk that you’re finally allowed to release. And as you tremble and shiver and collapse, lay your head on my chest and let me feel the sweat from your forehead slicking my skin. Let me understand the effort you went through to do everything I asked of you.

And then – ah then – let me stroke the back of your neck, and if you’re good I’ll tell you:

Yeah. That’s it. You’re such a good boy.

 

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