Piss-Marked Boi's Midnight Claim
I lay there in the dark, heart thundering like war drums in my chest. Thirty-two years old, a pathetic sub faggot who’d been leaking pre-cum all week since Erik’s message. “Gate and door unlocked at 10 pm”. Those piercing blue eyes in his pic had me edging for days, his large 8” solid dick and 95kg of Viking body. My hole twitched under the thin sheet, undies already tented, the April night air cool through the cracked window at 12°C in my South London flat.
I’d prepped like a good boi: gate open, front door ajar, bedroom pitch black. Pack of lube by the bed, my glass of water on the nightstand, half-full. Humiliation was his game tonight; he’d spell it out filthy. Minutes ticked, then the faint creak of the gate, soft steps on the hall tiles. My cock throbbed. The door eased open; a shadow loomed. Erik. The air thickened with his scent: raw alpha musk, leather jacket shedding.
He didn’t speak. First, the zip; hot piss hitting my hardwood floor, splattering loud, steaming puddle forming by the bed. Acrid tang hit my nose, making me whimper softly. Then my glass: he snatched it, stream arcing in, overflowing yellow, dripping down the wood. “This is for later, boi” he growled low, voice like thunder wrapped in velvet. Last, he directed a semi-hard tool over me; a warm splash across the duvet’s foot, seeping through to my legs, soaking my undies. I bit my lip, hole clenching desperate, not daring to move.
Duvet was tugged away slowly, exposing me inch by inch. Moonlight carved his silhouette: broad shoulders straining his tee, thighs like oaks in jeans. Those blues locked mine, piercing soul-deep, my dick spurting pre just from the stare. “Look at you, pup. Dripping already.” I could feel his hands under my waistband, my briefs being yanked down roughly, pooling at my ankles. My hole was bare, pink and hungry. Erik’s size 9 feet planted firm either side of me as he knelt, spitting thick on fingers. Two plunged in; there was no mercy tonight, and he was stretching me wide. “Tight little cunt,” he rumbled, Norwegian edge sharpening the words. I moaned involuntarily, hips bucking. His free hand freed that 8-inch beast; thick, veined, head glistening. Hardening fast against my thigh.
Confident now, he lined up. One brutal slide; all in, balls slapping my arse. “Fuuuck, Daddy!” I wailed, vision blurring. My hole; now his; stretched raw around that 8-inch beast. Throat gripped firm, possessive, like he’d owned me before. He was so possessive. “Moan louder, boi. Take every inch.” He said as he pounded away. The bed frame was slamming against the wall, our skin smacking wet. Piss squelched under his knees where he had soaked the sheets earlier. My cock bounced helplessly on my abs, leaking rivers. Those blues bored in, owning me. “Humiliated yet, pup? Pissed on like the faggot you are.”
I nodded frantic, choking gasps. “Yes, Daddy; ruin me!” Sweat slicked us, his pecs heaving under the tee; his hairy body was grinding mine. He edged me cruelly; slow, deep grinds hitting my prostate, causing sparks in my head, then jackhammer fury. “Don’t stop; breed me!” I said. His growl vibrated through me. Claws raking my hips, pinning me for the breed. Climax eventually hit him like a storm; roaring deep, cum flooding thick hot ropes into my guts. Pulse after pulse, his hips snapping relentlessly. I shattered, untouched, spurting arcs across my chest, my hole now milking him greedily, wanting every last drop. “Good boi... fuck, you have drained me.”
He collapsed over me, still buried, throat grip easing to strokes. Breath ragged, he nuzzled my neck, lips brushing my ear. “Perfect, pup. You leaked so much for me.” Those massive arms caged me safe, size 9s tangling my calves. Piss scent hung heavy in the room, mixed with the scent of his cum and lube. My floor was ruined, and my glass was still there waiting for me. But his blues softened, protective warmth flooding through the room. “Clean-up time, boi. Tongue that piss puddle first,” he growled.
Trembling, I slid down, tongue to the puddle; salty, filthy, his mark. He watched, stroking my hair gently. Then he fetched a towel, he started wiping me tenderly: chest, hole leaking his seed. And he finished by kissing the pucker soft. “My good faggot.” he said. Curled in his chest, safe in the wreckage, I sighed contentedly. Erik had claimed yet another boi; it felt inevitable, raw, and loved.
I woke the next morning, Erik long gone. A note on the bedside table: “Taste me before work, boi.” Without a thought, I chugged the piss-laced water; its salty tang flooded my mouth, his mark warming my belly. Peace settled deep, and I felt fully claimed.
