Crushed by Tim : 10
Winter makes me hard, as soon as I feel the cold, I remember his legs around me.
That night, severe weather had locked down the country. No one could travel, Tim was stranded and had to stay with me.
The excitement I felt when his train was cancelled. Better still, my flatmate was stranded too, at his parents. For as long as this snow would hold, it was going to be just Tim and I.
Like all nineteen year olds our first priority was stock to up on alcohol. Crazy as it was, we walked miles to find a place open.
The snow was thick, white and untouched. I watched Tim sink his white trainers in deep, with each step. Every stride accentuated his physical beauty. He wore grey jeans and a blue jacket. I don't know if it was the grey colour or direction of the moonlight, but his: gait, his ass, thighs, calf muscles, stature; were a collective work of muscular perfection.
I could have watched him all night, necking alcohol, trudging through the snow, all youth and power.
It was going to be an intense night. Tim was full of energy and ready to go.
He insisted on lighting the stove. We rarely used it, but it offered a real fire feel.
It didn't take long for the room to heat up, or for his jeans to come off. There he sat on the sofa, beside me, in his rugby shorts.
His legs were a statement in any lighting but in front of a fire, with a golden hue, the shape just intensified. He spread a shadow across the wall too, there was no doubting his manhood, it was lit up by the firelight and stretched before both of us. A clear portrait of muscle, manhood and virility, flickering intensely.
We both sat there staring at his shadow, silent in admiration. I wanted to touch his bulge, hold it, feel it's weight and power. He was more focused on his muscles, flexing his thighs and his calves, watching their immense shadow play.
At some stage I knew he would want more, but for as long as I could, I wanted to admire him. Soon I would lose control to him and my senses would become his.
We both enjoyed these moments. Just two normal lads, exchanging banter enjoying streaming or gaming, each other's company. This was like some kind of foreplay.
What made us different was a desire to explore hidden depths of lust. Somehow we had found each other, we didn't have to invent roles, each was driven by natural desire to complement the other.
Tim couldn't achieve the level of gratification he achieved with anyone else but me. I often imagined being him, standing over me, looking down at me locked between his perfect thighs and feeling such power and pride. The icing on the cake, his certainty that even has he punished me, he was turning me on.
He could have all the fights he wanted, dominate and humiliate other lads, and he did, at every opportunity. They would never though lust after him for it, or understand his sexuality.
Our bodies we're already reacting as we sat there. My cock had filled hard as soon as I saw his ass in the snow, it was at bursting point now, with him beside me.
Tim always started it. Maybe that's part of being in charge, the feeling you can just exert power at will.
He was always unstoppable. I could never remember how he got in top of me, it was so fast, exact and brutal. His grip was so tight, his technique so perfect that there was no doubting his dominance, before he even demanded submission I was trying to offer it.
In those early moments I felt utterly suppressed by his muscle. He was so big and rock hard everywhere and I was devastated under him. I could hear him breathe deeply and by now could tell how his muscles worked and what he was making them do to me.
This time my face was driven into his thigh, planted into it, as deeply as is possible, I was in a side headlock. He flexed his upper thigh until it felt like a jagged boulder, positioned right between my nose and eye. He choked me to submission and worked my nose hard into his thigh. My mouth was stretched open across his hairy leg and I could taste him, as he he worked me over.
I could only see that bulging bit of his thigh, set on destroying me. This was part of Tim's submission technique. To pick on one bit if his perfection at a time, and force me to worship it.
While I struggled in his grip, he was relaxed above me, watching football on the tv. I didn't know what his plan was for me. Was he going to just slowly wear me down and punish me all night or would it become more brutal?
My options were limited, I was bent over under him, turned on by him and trapped.
There was a real pleasure feeling him breathe over me, knowing that in that moment only he controlled my fate. Everything was subject to his control now, unless somehow I could escape.
Tim was expert at long slow domination. He knew exactly how to weaken me to just the right level, so he he could play with me for longer. We both knew from experience that if I challenged his supremacy, he would overwhelm me. If I was to even think of escape, I had to be certain I would have total power over him. Anything I would do to him, he would magnify on me, in revenge.
As I constantly found myself, I was his to enjoy and the scraps of his pleasure, would be mine.
I had a close up view of his left testicle, he must of been hard, something was pushing up his shorts. It was large, spiked with hair and loaded, it oozed vigor. There was more, heavy deeper manhood tucked under his shorts, if only I could have it.
After the initial submission he choked me just hard enough to keep me on his thigh. Most of the pressure was on my face as he buried it hard into his thigh. He used that as a pressure point, almost smothering me too.
Tim had more planned for me. This was yet another journey through his maze of submission.
His right ankle crossed over his right thigh and his foot worked it's way into my face, so deep I could see or smell nothing but him.
It was familiar, I'd been here before but he was pungent today. It was as though he hadn't showered all week. All athletic foot sweat smell.
He covered, smothered me, with it. There was no conversation, we both knew I was stuck there. He started to work his headlock hard and that forced me to breathe more deeply into his foot. He enjoyed that, it became so intense I couldn't separate my spit from his foot odour. The little air he allowed me was full of his odour.
Tim could easily do this to me all night. He loved it and I was under his pain and pleasure spell. I struggled to manage the real pressure he subjected me to, with the ectasy his body caused me to enjoy.
Like a junkie addicted to a thrill, I was addicted to Tim's sadistic fantasies.
I heard him, drinking his cans, reacting to the match on tv and snacking. I was part of his evenings fun. Every now and then he would offer me a sip of his beer, make me thank him and then force me into his foot again. In those moments the joy on his face was evident, he got a real buzz out of my submission to him.
After the match ended he wrestled me under his crotch. I was now flat on my back on the sofa, my legs hanging over the back. He had me in a modified headscissors and was sitting on me.
Straight away I went for his neck and scissored him. He was trapped into my ankles, I couldn't put much pressure on him, but at least I had him somehow.
Tim wasint having any of my attempt to counter attack? 'that was a mistake'. I knew he was right, he wouldn't tolerate any resistance. I felt his hairy thighs close in around and over me, it was brutal, I suffered not just from his strength but his weight too. My head was buried deep into him as was physically possible.
As I weakened, he escaped my ankles and powered down onto me. He was doubled over on top of me shouting 'submit..submit'. I tried to submit through his legs but it just sounded like a desperate inaudable cry. He made me repeat it, until he was satisfied it sounded clear.
It was so hot inside his legs, I was drenched in our sweat and on the verge of exhaustion.
Tim had brought me to that point of submission again, on the edge of ecstasy, like a runner surpassing a pain barrier.
At those moments, when I challenged him, his ego took over to deliver intense pressure. He was brutal, but never risked safety, he made sure I could manage my ordeal, he was only getting started.
We were beyond the point now where I could resist again. I was beaten, exhausted and he was clearly master.
Tim owned me again.
I tried to figure out how he had me trapped. His left leg was under my neck and it was locked under his right knee. To the left of my face his bulging calf muscle and that tight lock under his knee. He had me in tight, even at rest, his muscles were heavy and hard enough, to crush and weaken me.
If Tim wanted to, he could subject me to intense pressure. I needed to make sure he was satisfied. That meant taking the punishment he dealt and yielding to his demands.
The punishment was certain to come. Tim explored and exploited every opportunity. It was his way of satisfying his ego and practicing his athletic prowess.
Sometimes that satisfied him. Submitting to him as he demanded but other times, I felt it was more a release of testosterone for him.
He worked me over hard. Flexing his toned thighs and calf muscles, working them into me, pulling at his foot to tighten the scissors, leaning down to add body weight, shifting me sideways to test my resilience to his power.
It was rough, hot, exhausting , he was all over me and I was turned on by him. Eventually, when I had no more submissions to give, he eased off.
I was stuck there, exhausted, still locked into Tim. He had shifted his left leg up almost under his ass now. I think he was sitting on his left foot to lock innfirmly. He had my neck scissored inside his left leg and only had to flex his calf to submit me.
My face was buried in Tim's crotch. His balls bulged out of his white rugby shorts. They were almost in my mouth, I could taste them.
That addictive smell was back. The odour of a perfect jock in his prime, a smell of power and victory. Tim's cum was so distinct: leathery, sharp, nutty.
I couldn't see him, he had me wedged down into his crotch. I knew it wasn't his cum, I would have felt him do that, I figured he was stroking himself above me and it must be precum.
His balls were active now, moving in rhythm as he caressed his cock. He used my face to massage his testicles, I felt them roll into my eye sockets as he stimulated the base of his cock with my nose.
I was desperate to cum. Just his cummy smell was enough to cause me to cower in ectasy. My cock was stuck behind his head, my legs dangling over the back of the sofa, him on top of me.
I tried to reach any part of him to rub off or anything to rub off. He had me suspended though in a sexual prison.
He was wrestling his cock now. His balls were sweating and I got to lick the juice from his shorts.
I envied his cock. Something that perfect must experience the deepest level of pleasure. Tim oozed testosterone, his cock was loaded with manhood.
He was shaking hard. His entire crotch pulsated with electricity. The motion was firm and athletic, almost aggressive like he was was submitting himself.
The more excited Tim became the more his grip on me tightened.
The smell was so strong it was as though I was part of him. When it burst through his cock, Tim sighed deeply and attacked his cock to pump more out.
It hit me from everywhere, I could hear it falling, like heavy puddles, it rained down on my forehead and slipped into my eyes and down to my mouth.
I raised my head to get every bit down into me. I needed to drink him. If he saw me he would have denied me that pleasure. Luckily for me, Tim was too turned on by himself to notice me feeding of his scraps of alpha juice.
His cum was like pure ecstasy to me. It tasted of him, everything about him, was in that thick creamy juice.
I couldn't see his magnificent cock or him, straddling me, pleasuring himself. But I felt his sexual grinding close up and tasted a sample of his prime produce.
How much could he release? How long could he keep working over his cock?
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