Enver is not about to earn himself more injury by overstepping, though at this juncture it might be unclear if that is just his survival instinct in the moment or if that is a lesson hard learned at some other point in his life. But he holds to it, even when he can feel something inside himself pulling hard against the reigns of his self-control.
His command brings into sharp clarity how the Dark Urge intends to see this through and once again, it is not how he initially anticipated it. He's not sure whether to be relieved or a little scandalized because once again it is something he has very little or no experience doing. But he understands the concept, and there is very little in his nerves that objects to the idea, short of something in the back of his head trying to measure whether it is a trick.
But the important parts he understands, able to position himself, understanding where his body needs to be, apply further preparation where needed as he goes. The only failing, in his eyes, where he knows he is not intending to fully comply, is he isn't really thinking of fucking himself, though the notion sends an embarrassed warmth through him. (And there are other words there that he doesn't fully allow into his mind. Too much to think about, too much to let himself consider what they are making him feel in the moment.) This is about seeing to his keeper's own insistent desire and proving he can take care of it without risk to himself in the process.
And so long as he doesn't hurt either of them in the process, he can consider that a success.
And that is all he tries to think about, which becomes very difficult when he finally guides the Dark Urge in. Prepared? Yes. But slick and pliant only does so much, and the entirety of his member is far more than fingers were going to be. His eyes force themselves closed as though in the other man's he might see a reflection of every way he doesn't want his face to betray the journey it takes him on. The feeling of utter fullness that claims him inch by inch and robs him of breath. But he forces a sigh that's unbidden a little more than that, relaxes as much as he can to let more in, careful not to go too slow but also just very aware that he is in new territory.
When he's lowered himself to the hilt, he makes certain to let his lunges be full before finally, all of him is tight, a vice around his cock, pressing with timed, hungry insistence, and -- unexpected for him -- that brings the full force of where he's reached into certain perspective. He's not certain when he reached the point of straining, himself, but he's moving.
Fuck yourself on your new master. And without ever intending to, at least in his mind, he was.
no subject
His command brings into sharp clarity how the Dark Urge intends to see this through and once again, it is not how he initially anticipated it. He's not sure whether to be relieved or a little scandalized because once again it is something he has very little or no experience doing. But he understands the concept, and there is very little in his nerves that objects to the idea, short of something in the back of his head trying to measure whether it is a trick.
But the important parts he understands, able to position himself, understanding where his body needs to be, apply further preparation where needed as he goes. The only failing, in his eyes, where he knows he is not intending to fully comply, is he isn't really thinking of fucking himself, though the notion sends an embarrassed warmth through him. (And there are other words there that he doesn't fully allow into his mind. Too much to think about, too much to let himself consider what they are making him feel in the moment.) This is about seeing to his keeper's own insistent desire and proving he can take care of it without risk to himself in the process.
And so long as he doesn't hurt either of them in the process, he can consider that a success.
And that is all he tries to think about, which becomes very difficult when he finally guides the Dark Urge in. Prepared? Yes. But slick and pliant only does so much, and the entirety of his member is far more than fingers were going to be. His eyes force themselves closed as though in the other man's he might see a reflection of every way he doesn't want his face to betray the journey it takes him on. The feeling of utter fullness that claims him inch by inch and robs him of breath. But he forces a sigh that's unbidden a little more than that, relaxes as much as he can to let more in, careful not to go too slow but also just very aware that he is in new territory.
When he's lowered himself to the hilt, he makes certain to let his lunges be full before finally, all of him is tight, a vice around his cock, pressing with timed, hungry insistence, and -- unexpected for him -- that brings the full force of where he's reached into certain perspective. He's not certain when he reached the point of straining, himself, but he's moving.
Fuck yourself on your new master. And without ever intending to, at least in his mind, he was.