Chapter Text
The way Dino looked at you tonight was different.
It wasn’t just innocent curiosity anymore. No, that sparkle in his eyes—half nervous, half burning with something so much deeper—was the look of someone standing on the edge of something they desperately wanted but had no idea how to ask for.
And yet… he asked anyway.
“Can we…?” His voice had trembled slightly when the words first left his lips. “Can you… teach me?”
Teach him.
How to give in. How to surrender. How to let someone else take the reins—and not just in the flirty, playful way that had always lingered between the two of you. But really. Fully.
You could feel how hard he was trying to hold himself together now, sitting on the edge of the bed while you stood in front of him. His hands were clenched into the fabric of his jeans, shoulders tense, eyes darting between your face and the floor, like he didn’t know if he should be terrified or thrilled.
You stepped between his knees, fingers curling under his chin to tilt his face up until his wide, nervous gaze met yours.
“You really want this?” you asked, voice low, threading with command but edged with softness—gentle but firm.
His breath hitched. “Yeah… I—I do.”
“Say it properly.”
His lips parted. His pulse jumped under your thumb as you felt it.
“I want you to… take control of me. Teach me. Show me… how to be good for you.”
Fuck.
That went straight to your core.
“Good boy,” you praised softly, watching the way his pupils blew wide at the words. “First rule, baby—you listen. You obey. And if anything feels wrong, you use your safe word. You remember it?”
He nodded quickly. “Yellow for pause. Red for stop.”
“Perfect.” You leaned down, lips brushing his. “See? You’re already such a fast learner.”
He whimpered, hips twitching instinctively. Needy. Eager. So fucking desperate for approval it made your chest ache—and your thighs clench.
“Clothes off,” you ordered, stepping back. “All of them. Now.”
Dino’s hands trembled as he obeyed, stripping quickly—shirt first, then fumbling at his belt, pushing his jeans and boxers down in one frantic motion. His skin flushed a gorgeous shade of pink as he sat there fully exposed, thighs tense, cock already hard and leaking at the tip.
You let your eyes drag over him slowly—lazy, appraising—making him feel every second of your attention.
“Look at you,” you murmured, circling him like a predator. “Already so hard and I haven’t even touched you yet.”
A small, broken sound escaped him. His hand twitched, like he didn’t know whether to cover himself or spread his legs wider.
“You’re gonna let me take care of that, aren’t you?” you purred, stepping behind him.
“Yes,” he breathed. “Yes—please.”
You pulled the blindfold from the dresser. Silky. Soft. He sucked in a breath the second he realized what it was.
“Trust me?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.”
You slipped it over his eyes, tying it snug behind his head. The second his sight disappeared, his breath hitched again. Shoulders tensed, then melted all at once as he sank a little deeper into the feeling—already falling into the headspace you knew he craved.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” you whispered, hands sliding over his shoulders, down his arms. “All mine. Open. Waiting.”
A shaky moan escaped him. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs.
“Hands behind your back.”
The command snapped through him like a jolt. He obeyed instantly, arms shifting behind him, fingers locking together.
“Good boy.”
A shudder rolled through him, cock twitching at the praise.
“Color?” you asked softly, leaning down to kiss the corner of his jaw.
“Green,” he breathed. “So fucking green.”
You smiled. Perfect.
And as your fingers slid down his chest, teasing lower toward his twitching cock, you whispered against his ear—
“Let’s start the lesson.”
“Breathe, baby.”
Your voice was a velvet thread, winding around him, sinking into his skin deeper than any touch could. You trailed your fingers down his chest, nails just sharp enough to make him shiver. The tension in his body was addictive—the way his thighs trembled, how his cock twitched untouched against his stomach, already leaking from nothing but your words and the blindfold swallowing his sight.
“Are you listening?” you asked, stepping between his spread knees again, fingers ghosting along his inner thighs, featherlight.
“Yes,” he gasped, nearly choking on the word. His fingers twitched behind his back. You knew it took everything in him not to reach out—to touch, to grab, to ground himself.
But he didn’t.
Good fucking boy.
“God, look at you… well, you can’t,” you laughed softly, dragging your nails down his thighs until he jolted. “But listen. Listen to how needy you sound. How fucking desperate.”
A wrecked noise punched from his chest—half a gasp, half a moan—and you watched his hips twitch, cock jerking helplessly.
“Oh, you like that?” you cooed. “Being told how pathetic you are for it?”
“F-fuck—” His head tilted back, blindfold tight against his skin, lips parted, breath shaking.
You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You know what I think?” You didn’t wait for an answer. “I think you love how powerless this makes you feel. Can’t see. Can’t touch. Just sitting there… waiting for me to do whatever I want to your pretty body.”
He whimpered. “Yes—fuck—yes, I do—”
Your nails raked down his chest again, sharp enough to sting, and he gasped. His thighs snapped closed instinctively, only for you to grab them and shove them open with a sharp slap to the inside of his knee.
“Stay open.”
He trembled but obeyed, spreading wider, exposing everything. His cock was flushed, tip angry red, leaking steadily now. The poor boy was already close—and you hadn’t even touched him properly.
“You’re so sensitive,” you purred, fingers ghosting along the crease where thigh met hip. “So fucking responsive. I could keep you like this for hours. No touching. Just my voice. Just knowing you’re mine. Mine to ruin.”
“Please,” he whimpered. “Please, touch me—I can’t—I—”
“Shhh,” you hushed, thumb grazing over his nipple—watching how his whole body jolted at the lightest pressure there. “So eager. So fucking greedy.”
You circled his nipple again, firmer, and he moaned. Not quiet. Not controlled. A filthy, broken noise that made heat roll straight between your thighs.
“Oh… you like that, don’t you?”
“Y-yeah—fuck—”
Your lips curved into a smile. “Such a good boy. Learning so fast. What a pretty little mess you are for me.”
His hips jolted upward, searching—aching—for friction.
You let him squirm.
Let him need.
And then—finally—you pressed your palm flat against his cock. No teasing. No featherlight bullshit this time.
His entire body arched with the contact, a strangled cry ripping from his throat.
“God, fuck—you—” He couldn’t form words. Couldn’t do anything except tremble under your hand, thighs locking open, fingers twitching behind his back.
“Shhh,” you soothed, thumb smearing the wetness leaking from his tip. “Good boy.”
He whimpered at the praise—completely undone, already at the mercy of whatever you decided.
“And baby?” you whispered, voice thick with wicked promise. “This is just the start.”
His breathing was wrecked.
Shallow, broken, panting like he couldn’t get enough air. His thighs trembled under your hands, spread so wide it almost hurt to hold the position. His cock was swollen, flushed, leaking against his lower stomach, twitching with every tiny movement of your palm dragging slow, cruel circles around the head.
“You’re doing so well, baby,” you purred, letting your nails trail down the inside of his thigh again, watching the way his muscles spasmed like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to run or pull you closer. “So sensitive. So fucking desperate.”
He whimpered, hips bucking, trying to chase friction. But he wasn’t allowed that—not yet.
“Please—fuck, please—I can’t,” he gasped, his voice cracking halfway through. The blindfold tightened the helplessness in his voice, every shaky inhale so loud in the silence. He didn’t know where the next touch was coming from, didn’t know if it’d be soft or cruel.
And that was the point.
“Can’t what?” you asked, sliding your fingers back to cup his balls, squeezing just enough to make him jolt.
“Can’t—can’t hold it—feels too—too good—”
A low, filthy laugh curled out of you. “Oh, baby. You think I’m gonna let you come?”
His head snapped back against the chair, mouth open in a strangled sound that barely resembled a word. “Fuck—fuck—no, please—”
“I didn’t say no, did I?” you mused, thumb flicking over the head of his cock again, teasing another pulse of precum. “But you don’t get to decide. You don’t get to come until I say you do.”
A desperate, choked sob left him. His thighs quivered, his hands flexed uselessly behind his back, but he didn’t dare move.
“Color?” you asked suddenly, leaning close, voice dropping.
“Green—fuck—so green,” he gasped, words tumbling over each other.
“Good boy.”
The noise that left his throat at those two words was inhuman. His cock twitched so hard you could practically see the pulse beneath the skin, as if his body was trying to come just from the praise alone.
“You like being my good boy, huh?” You stroked him now, slow but firm, fingers wrapped tight around his cock, dragging from base to tip, watching the way he writhed.
“Y-yes—yes—please—”
“Yeah? You like giving me all the control?” You squeezed a little harder on the upstroke, thumb brushing the tip, spreading the mess there down his shaft.
“Fucking love it—” His voice cracked, broken to pieces. “I love it—I love being good for you—”
“Then stay still. Let me ruin you right.”
You leaned forward, lips brushing the head of his cock, tongue flicking out just to taste the salt-slick precum. He gasped so hard his entire body shuddered like it was trying to lift off the chair.
Then you swallowed him down—slow, torturously deep—lips stretching around his length, letting your mouth sink down until the head bumped the back of your throat.
His cry was strangled. Desperate. His legs snapped, thighs trembling violently, hips jerking upward before you shoved him back down with both hands, holding him there, mouth full of him.
“Oh fuck—oh fuck— I’m gonna—gonna come—please—please—”
You popped off with a wet, obscene sound, wiping your mouth lazily with the back of your hand.
“No.”
His whole body convulsed.
“Fucking—no—no—please—” His voice broke completely, cracked wide open, trembling on the verge of begging and sobbing.
“Not yet, baby,” you whispered, dragging your thumb over his slit again, slow and teasing. “I told you. You come when I say.”
His cock pulsed violently against your palm.
And you smiled.
Because this boy? This trembling, wrecked, panting mess?
He was so ready to break for you.
Dino was a fucking masterpiece like this.
Head thrown back, mouth slack and gasping, blindfold twisted tight against his flushed face. His chest heaved, streaked with nail marks from where you’d dragged your fingers earlier. His thighs trembled violently, spread so wide and locked open only because you told him to.
And his cock—red, swollen, throbbing—leaked nonstop against his belly, so wet it was obscene. The poor boy was shaking. Quaking. Completely wrecked by the sheer fact that he couldn’t come until you gave him the word.
His breathing hitched again as you dragged your nails slowly down his thighs, watching how his skin flinched beneath your touch—desperate for anything, even the sting.
“You’re a mess,” you purred, standing between his knees, voice low, velvet-wrapped steel. “My mess.”
“Y-yeah—fuck—yours—I’m yours—”
“You like how that sounds, huh?” Your nails slid higher, teasing, grazing the base of his cock but never closing around it. “Saying it out loud. Knowing it’s true.”
His entire body arched, back straining, hands clenching into fists behind him. “Yes—yes—*please—please—*fuck—”
His words broke off into shattered gasps when you leaned down again, tongue flicking across his tip, then flattening to drag a wet stripe down his shaft.
And then—you stopped.
His head snapped up, blindfolded eyes frantically searching through the darkness.
“Wha—why—?” His voice was frantic. Fragile.
You leaned in close, cupping his jaw. “Because I can.”
A sob ripped out of him. His hips bucked once—wild, uncontrolled—but he still didn’t move his hands. He was so fucking good, even on the edge of ruin, still obeying even as his body screamed for relief.
“God, you’re perfect like this,” you murmured, thumb brushing his trembling bottom lip. “So desperate. So obedient. So mine.”
A wrecked, trembling moan shook through him. “Please— let me—fuck—I can’t—”
“Oh, you can.” You gripped his jaw firmer, forcing his chin up. “You can take it. You will take it.”
Your other hand slid between his legs again, cupping his balls, squeezing just enough to make him flinch.
“Want me to make it worse?” you asked sweetly.
He shuddered, whimpering. “Y-yeah—yes—*please—*make it worse—fuck me up—”
God. That went straight to your cunt, pooling heat between your thighs, making you clench around nothing. This boy—this sweet, desperate boy—wanted to be ruined. Wanted to hand you every ounce of control.
You pressed your lips to his ear, voice dropping into something dark and filthy. “You’re gonna take my hand now. You’re gonna sit there, spread open, obedient… and let me finger you while I jerk you off.”
His gasp was pure shock. Pure filthy surprise.
“Wha—fuck—fuck—”
“Oh, you wanted to learn, right?” you crooned, already reaching for the lube you’d set aside earlier. “Let’s see how much this pretty body can handle.”
You slicked your fingers generously, then nudged between his cheeks, circling that tight, untouched ring of muscle. His whole body locked up for a split second—breath frozen, thighs tense—and then…
“Relax,” you whispered. “Breathe. Good boys open up.”
A soft, broken moan trembled through him. “Good… I’m—*I’m good—*I’ll be good—”
“That’s right.” You pressed gently, watching the way his body fought to tense, then yielded. Your fingertip popped inside, slow, tight, hot, and his cry was like music—half-pleasure, half-overwhelmed shock.
“Fuck— oh my god—”
“Yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that.”
Your other hand wrapped around his cock again, stroking slow and steady while you worked your finger deeper, letting him adjust.
“You’re doing so well,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his gasping mouth. “So fucking good for me.”
A second finger pressed in, stretching him wider, and his entire body convulsed. His cock jerked hard in your hand, thighs snapping shut around your wrist, but he didn’t move his arms. Didn’t fight.
“F-fuck—I—I can’t—I’m gonna—I’m gonna come—”
Your lips ghosted against his ear.
“Not yet.”
“*Please—please—*fuck—I can’t—” His voice was wrecked. Strangled. Barely human.
His body was shaking so violently now it was a miracle he stayed upright in the chair. Thighs trembling, cock twitching wildly in your fist, precum leaking so much it smeared down his length, messy and perfect. His chest was flushed pink, his lips swollen, and the blindfold twisted against his temple like some cruel little crown.
“God, baby,” you purred, pressing your fingers deeper inside him, curling just enough to graze exactly where he didn’t know he needed it. His entire body jerked, a strangled sob catching in his throat as his hips tried—failed—to buck forward.
You tightened your grip around his cock. Slow. Firm. Cruel.
“You sound so pretty when you beg.”
A broken moan ripped out of him, head snapping back, exposing his throat as his fingers dug into his own palms behind his back. “I’m—I’m gonna—I can’t hold it—”
“Can’t?” Your tone lilted with mock disappointment, your fingers curling inside him again, thumb circling his slit in the same rhythm. “Did I say you could come?”
“N-no—fuck—fuck, no—”
“Then hold it.” Your voice turned sharp—commanding. “Be a good boy. Take it.”
A sob tumbled out of him, raw and helpless. His thighs twitched violently, muscles spasming under the strain of obedience.
“F-Fuck—I’m—I’m gonna break—”
“Yeah?” Your lips brushed his ear, breath hot. “Gonna fall apart for me? Gonna let me ruin you?”
“*Yes—yes—fuck—*please—”
His cock throbbed so hard in your hand it felt like it was fighting against him—desperate to come, to snap, to explode in release—but he was holding. Barely. For you. Because you told him to.
“God, you’re perfect,” you whispered. “Obedient. Mine. Look at you, shaking. Falling apart. Still fucking holding it like such a good boy.”
That praise hit him like a fucking freight train. His whole body arched, mouth dropping open in a soundless scream, and for a second you thought he might come just from that—no strokes, no thrusts—just your words.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
Because he was so good.
You pressed your fingers deeper, curling just right—there, right on that spot—and his scream tore through the room.
“PLEASE—”
You jerked his cock harder, rough now, sloppy and fast, matching the thrust of your fingers inside him. His body was nothing but tension, nothing but heat and trembling, a mess of wrecked muscle and raw need.
“Do you want it?” you snarled into his ear, biting his earlobe. “Do you want to come?”
“YES—fuck—PLEASE—”
“Say it. Say who owns you.”
“YOU— You own me—fuck— I’m yours—all yours—”
Your mouth curved into a wicked smile.
“Good boy.” Your voice dropped—final. “Come. Now.”
His body snapped.
A scream punched out of him, raw and shattered, as his cock convulsed in your fist—thick, hot ropes of cum painting his stomach, his thighs, your hand, everywhere. His whole body shook so violently it bordered on convulsions, his breath stuttering into broken gasps as every muscle locked, then trembled, then went completely limp.
“Fuckfuckfuck—oh—oh my god—”
You didn’t stop until he was whining. Squirming. Trying to pull away—not because he wanted to, but because it was too much. Because you were milking every last drop out of him, hand pumping him through it until his thighs twitched uncontrollably.
Finally, finally, you eased your grip. Slowed. Stopped.
His head dropped forward. His breath was ragged. Wet. His chest heaved like he’d just run miles.
You cupped his jaw, pulled his face up toward yours, kissed his swollen, gasping mouth.
“That’s my good boy,” you whispered against his lips.
A weak, broken whimper left him—yes, soft, barely audible.
And his whole body went slack in your hands.
The silence after was thick. Not empty. Not hollow.
Heavy.
Heavy with the sound of his trembling breath. The faint, broken whimpers still slipping from his lips as his body finally surrendered, every muscle slack, every inch of him melted into the chair like there was nothing left holding him up but you.
“Baby…” Your voice softened instantly, hands already moving. You tugged the blindfold free first, gently easing it off his damp skin, fingertips brushing over the flushed line it left behind. His lashes fluttered as his eyes squinted open—dazed, glassy, unfocused.
There was nothing but raw trust in his gaze.
“You with me?” you asked, voice barely more than a whisper.
His lips trembled. His voice came out shattered. “Y-yeah… fuck… yeah, I’m here.”
“Good boy.” You cupped his face, pressing your forehead to his. “My perfect, perfect boy.”
A shaky sound broke from him, like a laugh choked with a sob, and his arms finally moved—snapping out from behind his back, fists unclenching, fingers immediately tangling in your shirt like he needed to hold on to something real.
“Got you,” you murmured, kissing his temple, then his damp hair, then the corner of his mouth. “I’ve got you. You did so fucking well for me.”
“Was… was that okay?” His voice was so small, so fragile. Almost scared. “Did I… did I do good?”
Your heart cracked wide open.
“Baby.” You pulled him fully into your arms, straddling his lap now, cradling him against your chest. “You were perfect. You were… God. You were everything. You listened. You gave me everything. You trusted me.”
A soft, wrecked sigh left him, his head burying itself into your shoulder. His fingers trembled against your skin, holding you tight.
“You feel safe?” you asked, fingers trailing through his hair, massaging his scalp softly, your lips never leaving the crown of his head.
“So safe,” he breathed. “I… fuck. I’ve never felt like that before.”
You smiled, rocking him slightly. “That’s what happens when you give yourself to someone who knows how to hold you after.”
Slowly, you coaxed him to the bed—half-carrying him, guiding him to lie down. He went easily, pliant and trusting, his eyes barely open now, his body utterly spent.
“I’m gonna clean you up, okay?” you whispered, brushing the hair from his face.
A weak nod. “Mhm…”
Warm cloth. Gentle touches. No more teasing, no more games. Just care. Just love. You wiped him down carefully—his thighs, his stomach, every sticky, sensitive inch—murmuring soft praises the entire time.
“You’re so good for me.”
“So beautiful.”
“My sweet boy. My brave boy.”
When you were done, you climbed under the covers with him, pulling his trembling body into yours. He curled into you like instinct, like he belonged there. Legs tangled. Fingers gripping yours. His breathing finally started to slow—soft, deep, safe.
“You okay?” you whispered.
“Mhm. Yeah.” A sleepy, blissed-out hum. “That was… fuck. That was everything.”
You smiled, pressing one last kiss to his temple. “You’re everything.”
He laughed softly, breath shaky but warm. “Teach me more.”
Your fingers traced slow circles against his back.
“Always.”
And as he drifted into sleep—completely spent, completely yours—you whispered one last thing into the quiet.
“You’re the softest place I’ve ever fallen.”