The Acquisition: a Record of Compliance, Pleasure, and Ownership
Copyright© 2025 by Broken Boundaries Gay Erotica
Chapter 6: The Use
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 6: The Use - A long-arc story about a developing relationship of domination, submission and romance between a dominant junior lawyer and his submissive senior lawyer colleague. This is a slow-burn series that explores the dynamics of a D/s relationship in depth: the act of giving oneself to another; pushing one's limits out of submissive devotion; and many many kinks and fetishes. This is a story that doesn't lose pace as the chapters move on; it only gets better.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma Consensual Romantic Gay Workplace DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Rough Anal Sex Analingus Oral Sex Water Sports
Sean didn’t move at first.
His cock rested against my hole like a threat made manifest—thick, warm, slick with spit. His hands were steady on my hips. The weight of him behind me was overwhelming. Not just his size. His intent.
“Take a breath,” he said, voice low.
I did. Shaky. Anticipatory. Terrified.
Then he pushed.
Not hard. Just forward. Slow. Unstoppable.
The head of his cock pressed into me like a key through resistance. My body tensed instantly. My breath caught. I groaned—a guttural sound, half shock, half disbelief.
“Stay open.”
My muscles screamed. He didn’t back off.
“You’ve taken fingers. You’ll take this.”
“Y-yes, Sir,” I gasped.
More pressure. My ring stretched around the thick crown of him, burned with the effort of accommodating him. It wasn’t just wide—it was demanding. He wasn’t easing in for my comfort. He was claiming space. As much as he wanted. When he wanted.
The head breached me.
I cried out.
“Too much?”
“N-no, Sir. I can— I can take it.”
He leaned forward over me, voice calm and precise.
“You don’t get a medal for suffering. If you want to cry, cry. If you want to scream, scream. But you’ll stay in place and let me in.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pulled back slightly—just enough to gather more spit and drop it between my cheeks. It trailed down slowly, warm and wet, mixing with the slick around his shaft.
Then he pressed again. Firmer. Deeper.
I gritted my teeth and felt my body give—half an inch, maybe more.
“Breathe.”
I did. Deep. Through the nose. Out the mouth.
“You’re doing fine,” Sean said. “But I’m not even halfway in.”
His hips rolled forward again—this time not stopping. Inch by inch, he buried himself deeper, and with every moment I swore I couldn’t take more. My arms trembled. My legs burned. My hole stretched wider than it ever had before.
“I can feel you clenching,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry—Sir—trying—”
“You’re not failing. You’re learning. Your body’s being reprogrammed.”
He spat again—right onto the base of his cock as it disappeared into me. Then he kept pushing.
The fullness was unbearable. I could feel the stretch all the way up through my spine. My breath came in short, sharp bursts. My cage throbbed with helpless heat.
“You want to say something?”
“Nng—hurts—Sir—”
“It’s supposed to.”
He stopped. He was halfway in.
“Now answer me something.”
“Yes, Sir...”
“What’s the biggest cock you’ve taken before?”
“Maybe—maybe seven inches, Sir.”
“And was it thick?”
“Not—not like yours.”
“Did you like it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did you beg for it?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But you didn’t beg for this, did you?”
“No, Sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t choose anymore.”
He pushed another inch in.
I screamed into the pillow, hips jerking forward.
His hand grabbed my hair, yanked my head back.
“Don’t run from it.”
“I’m not—I’m not—Sir, I’m—”
“You’re taking it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Another push. I could feel the veins of his shaft drag inside me, stretch me open like I’d never been stretched. My hole spasmed around him, clenching involuntarily.
And then—he was fully seated.
Balls against my ass.
Weight pressing down into my hips.
Silence.
“You feel it now,” Sean said. “The difference.”
I nodded frantically, eyes wet, body trembling.
“This isn’t a hookup. This isn’t mutual.”
“No, Sir.”
“This is what you were made for.”
Sean kept fucking me in slow, full strokes, his rhythm never faltering. Every thrust felt deliberate—like he was embedding a rule inside me with each inch. My body trembled under him, but I didn’t move away. I couldn’t. Not with his hands locked around my hips and his cock rooted deep inside me, stretching my tight ring just enough to keep me on edge without giving me time to adjust.
He leaned forward.
One hand slid up my back—slow, possessive—until it reached the base of my neck. He pressed there, gently at first, then harder. Not choking. Just keeping me still.
“You’re trembling.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know Sir. Because I’m worried I’ll mess up I guess.”
“You won’t,” he said flatly. “I won’t let you.”
His other hand reached around my chest, brushing against my nipples. I flinched when his fingertips made contact—half from shock, half from overstimulation. He pinched one, then the other, then dragged his fingers across both like he was inspecting their sensitivity.
“You like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say where.”
“My nipples, Sir.”
He rolled one between his fingers again, harder this time.
“You’re sensitive.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Have you been touched there much?”
“Not like this.”
“Have you ever been blindfolded and tied down?”
“No, Sir.”
“Have you ever been fucked while other guys watched?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“You’d do it if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He slapped my cheek hard enough to make my eyes water.
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I’d do anything you told me to, Sir. Anything.”
Sean’s hand tangled in my hair and yanked my head back.
“Have you ever licked sweaty feet before?”
“No, Sir.”
“Ever sucked a man’s toes after he’s been in boots all day?”
“No, Sir.”
He pulled my head back even farther—then abruptly shoved my face hard into his armpit.
The heat and scent overwhelmed me instantly—thick, sweaty, pungent. I gagged on the musk, humiliated by how hard my cock strained in the cage as I breathed him in.
“Breathe it in, slut. You like being used? Try this.”
I inhaled, dizzy with shame.
“You want to be marked? Don’t you?”
He laughed—low and cruel—and yanked my face back to the bed. Then he picked up his rhythm again, his cock driving deep with every stroke.
“You like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Of course you do. Because you’re a cum dumpster with a cage on. You exist to take whatever I give you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Keep that in mind when I start really using you.”
Sean didn’t slow down.
He fucked me through the shame, through the heat still clinging to my face from his armpit. His cock drove in to the base with every thrust, spreading my hole just far enough to keep me on edge without giving me time to adjust. His grip stayed firm on my hips, unrelenting.
Then he pulled out in a single motion.
“On your back.”
I rolled fast, cage dragging against the sheets, my body flushed and raw and trembling. My thighs opened automatically, hole still slick and twitching. Sean grabbed my ankles and pushed them back, folding me open.
“Hold them.”
I reached up and locked my hands behind my knees, fully exposed beneath him.
Sean stepped between my legs and looked down at me like I was inventory.
“You ever been fucked like this?”
“Not while caged, Sir.”
“You look pathetic.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He grinned. “And hard. And sexy as fuck.”
He slapped my caged cock with two fingers—just a flick—but I still gasped. Precum smeared across my belly, shining under the light.
“Who does this belong to?”
“You, Sir.”
He knelt on the bed and positioned himself again, one hand on the inside of my thigh, the other guiding his cock to my still-tight hole.
“This is the only part of you I care about right now.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He spat once more and rubbed it in with the head of his cock.
Then he pushed back in.
I groaned, arching up involuntarily. The stretch burned all over again, more intense from this angle. I fought the urge to cry out.
“Stay open.”
“Yes, Sir—ah—”
He drove deeper. Full length. Full weight. Until my ass met his hips and my hole pulsed involuntarily around him.
“You’re gripping me like you’re scared I’ll leave.”
“I’m not, Sir.”
“Say what you are.”
“Grateful. Owned. Fucked.”
“Say what you’re good for.”
“For your cock. For your cum. For your use.”
He grunted and started thrusting again, his fingers reaching down to flick my balls sharply.
I gasped.
He did it again.
“Sensitive?”
“Yes, Sir—fuck—”
A sharp slap across my face.
“Boys don’t get to use foul language under my care. Understand?”
“I’m sorry, Sir—”
He slapped my face, then my cage.
Then he leaned in and spat directly into my mouth.
“Swallow.”
I did. Instantly. Desperately.
“Good boy. Now tell me something embarrassing.”
“What, Sir?”
“Something you jerked off to before you met me. Something you’ve never told anyone.”
I hesitated. He stopped moving.
“Don’t test me.”
I swallowed hard.
“I once came imagining I was being kept by a frat house.”
Sean raised an eyebrow. Said nothing.
“They’d found me somehow—older, desperate, easy to humiliate. I wasn’t even allowed clothes. They’d make me crawl around naked during parties. Use me for anything. Blowjobs in the kitchen. Rimming contests in the living room. Sometimes they’d film it, post it to their group chat. No safewords. No negotiation.”
My voice dropped, shame rushing in faster than breath.
“They’d call me things like ‘faculty fucktoy’ and ‘dorm flesh.’ If I hesitated, they’d spit on me and drag me outside like a dog. I’d jerk off to the idea of being chained up in their laundry room while they played beer pong, waiting to be used. Just waiting.”
Silence.
Sean let out a slow exhale—like he was impressed, but also disgusted.
“Now that sounds fun.”
“It was, Sir.”
“How many times did you jerk off to it?”
“I don’t know. Dozens.”
“How hard did you come the last time?”
“I nearly passed out, Sir.”
Sean laughed coldly, leaned in, and slapped my face.
“You’d make a perfect house bitch.”
Then he started thrusting again.
“Let’s see if I can’t get you closer to that fantasy.”
Sean fucked me like I was made for it.
Hard, deep, rhythm steady but cruelly paced—just slow enough to let me feel every inch, just fast enough to make my breath hitch on every impact. My legs burned from holding the position. My arms shook from being locked behind my knees. My cock pulsed inside its cage, leaking helplessly onto my belly.
He stared down at me like I was nothing more than a well-shaped tool. A slit. A container. A thing.
Then he pulled out again.
“On your knees. Face me.”
I scrambled up, trying not to stumble. My hole clenched around nothing, still aching from being emptied too soon. I knelt at the edge of the bed, face tilted upward, mouth parted.
Sean didn’t give me time to ask.
He grabbed my hair and shoved his cock past my lips, still wet from my ass, still hot and slick with spit and friction. I gagged immediately. The stretch burned differently now, my jaw aching as he forced himself deep.
“Keep it open,” he said.
He didn’t thrust. Just held me there. My nose against his pubes. My tongue pinned beneath the weight of him. My throat clenched around his length, involuntarily choking, salivating, drooling.
He stared down.
“Ever taste yourself before tonight?”
I couldn’t answer, not like that.
He pulled out halfway.
“Answer.”
“No, Sir.”
“You are now. Say thank you.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
He shoved himself back in, harder this time. My eyes watered instantly. I moaned around him, hands gripping his thighs for balance.
“You like this?”
I gurgled. Tried to nod. Failed.
He let me breathe—once.
Then thrust again. Short strokes now, just enough to use my mouth like a sleeve. Each movement was met with a wet sound, spit pooling at the corners of my lips, sliding down my chin.
He slapped my face with his free hand.
“You look like you belong here.”
He pulled out, grabbed my face with one hand, and spit into my mouth again.
“You know what this is?”
“Y-your mark, Sir.”
“It’s what you’re worth. Sloppy, full, fucked. Nothing more.”
He tapped my cheek lightly, then pushed me back onto the bed.
“Turn around.”
I rolled, face buried in the mattress, ass up.
Sean didn’t wait.
He lined up and shoved back in, deeper than before. The sudden pressure made me cry out, but I didn’t resist. Couldn’t. I was wet, raw, burning, stretched—and still I wanted more.
He started thrusting again.
“Think those frat boys would have fucked you this well?”
“No, Sir.”
“They’d have used you and moved on. Left you chained to a radiator in someone’s garage.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“But I’m going to make sure you remember exactly who made your hole theirs.”
“You, Sir.”
His hands gripped my hips tighter, and he fucked me harder—louder, meaner, more focused. I cried out with each impact, each slap of skin against skin, each humiliating reminder that I wasn’t being fucked. I was being used.
Sean didn’t ease up.
He used my hole like it was built to take him—and then he pulled out with no warning and flipped me over again by the thighs.
“Back in your mouth. Open wide.”
I obeyed, dizzy from motion, jaw already sore, tongue still thick with the taste of spit and sex.
He shoved his cock back between my lips, grunting softly as he bottomed out in my throat. My gag reflex fired again—loud and helpless—but Sean didn’t pause. He held my head steady, thrusting shallowly, almost rhythmically now, just to remind me I had no say.
“You still like this?”
I gurgled around him, eyes watering.
He pulled back just enough.
“Answer me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say what you are.”
“Your toy. Your hole. Your mouth.”
He grunted and shoved back in, smearing spit across my face as I gagged again, my nose pressed to his skin.
After a few deep thrusts, he pulled out and slapped my face—sharp, fast.
“Turn around. Let me back in where it’s tighter.”
I scrambled to reposition, chest down, ass up, hole still twitching from the last round. Sean didn’t wait. He mounted me again and rammed back in like it was his right—which it was.
“Still so fucking tight,” he muttered. “You’ll never be loose enough for me.”
He started to thrust again—hard, punishing, measured.
Then: smack.
His palm cracked across my ass.
Then again.
Then lower, across my cage.
I yelped.
He reached around and flicked my balls.
“You feel that?”
“Yes, Sir—fuck—”
“What did I say about cursing?”
“Sorry, Sir!”
He grabbed my hair, yanked my head up.
“Look at you. Forty years old, practically, and you’re nothing but a cum-rag with a paycheck.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You walk around the office like you’re in control. I could pull you under the boardroom table and no one would know you’re my fuckhole.”
My cock throbbed in the cage. I moaned, desperate and useless.
“You’d suck me clean in front of HR if I told you to, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, Sir!”
“Of course you would.”
He shoved himself deeper, spit flying from his lips onto my back.
“You’re not a man. You’re a utility.”
I whimpered, thighs shaking.
He slapped my ass again—harder this time.
Then he leaned in and whispered, low and venomous:
“Tell me how small your cock is.”
“It’s 4.5 inches, Sir,” I panted.
“Hard?”
“Yes, Sir.”
He laughed.
“Fucking useless.”
Sean didn’t slow down—he just shifted angles. One hand on my hip, the other gripping the back of my neck like a handle, he kept me pinned in place as he fucked me harder from behind. His cock felt impossibly thick inside me—every thrust a stretch, every withdrawal a raw scrape of friction that made me wince and moan.
My hole burned. My back arched. My lungs couldn’t decide whether to gasp or scream.
I wasn’t thinking anymore. Not about the job. Not about control. Not about what I looked like kneeling under a man ten years younger than me, who barked orders like I was furniture.
But I was thinking about the feeling.
The way his cock filled me—so much thicker than any I’d taken before. I could feel it everywhere. Like it didn’t just stretch my ass but stayed inside me, even between thrusts. Like it had altered something fundamental, like my body would never forget the shape of it.
I felt it when he slammed in.
I felt it when he pulled back.
I felt it lingering between strokes—inside me like a brand.
It wasn’t just pressure. It wasn’t just size. It was heat. Ownership. An object inside my body that moved only when he decided it should.
And when he pushed all the way in and held himself there—balls flush, hips tight to mine—I couldn’t stop the full-body shudder.
“Too much?” he muttered above me.
“No, Sir.”
“You’re shaking.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Say why.”
“Because you’re inside me, Sir. So deep I can’t think.”
“You’re not supposed to think. You’re supposed to stay open and let me do what I want.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He pulled back and drove in again—slow this time, agonizingly slow—and I could feel every vein on his cock drag through me like rough silk.
Sean leaned over, his chest brushing my back. His hand slid around my hip, down to my caged cock, which was pressed uselessly against the bedspread and soaked with precum.
“Still leaking.”
“Yes, Sir.”
He flicked the cage.
“You ever been this wet just from getting fucked?”
“No, Sir.”
“Because no one ever really owned you before.”
“No, Sir.”
He pulled my head up by the hair, brought his lips to my ear.
“But I do now.”
Then he spit directly onto my cheek and pushed back into me with one steady, brutal thrust.
I moaned—loud, involuntary.
There was no holding anything back anymore. Not dignity. Not pain. Not the truth of how much I wanted it.
I wanted his cock.
I wanted his control.
I wanted to be full of him, used by him, broken down and rebuilt his way.
And I was getting it—every inch of it—while he spit in my face and called me a toy.
Sean didn’t move at first.
He stayed fully inside me, one hand on the back of my neck, the other gripping my hip. The tension in his arms told me he could have kept fucking—but he didn’t. He just held me there. Impaled. Waiting.
“Don’t move,” he said.
I didn’t. I couldn’t. My breath came in shallow gasps. My body trembled with restraint, the ache of fullness climbing into my spine, burning behind my ribs.
“Good.”
He shifted his weight forward—just slightly—so that my hips rolled back and my hole clenched even tighter around his cock.
“Feel that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“That’s how deep I go when I own something.”
I moaned softly, head turned to the side against the mattress.
“I could stay right here,” he muttered. “Keep you like this. Plugged. Silent. Needing to be used but never getting relief.”
His hand lifted from my neck and came down hard across my ass—once, twice—before returning to its place like it had never moved.
“You’d take it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’d suffer for me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.”
Then he leaned down, his chest heavy across my back, and whispered:
“Stay still. Don’t speak. Don’t breathe loud.”
He pulled back—agonizingly slow—and then froze again halfway out. Just left me open. Empty. A sleeve waiting to be filled.
The pause felt like torture. My body twitched with the effort of holding still. My cage throbbed against the sheets. My hole spasmed on nothing.
He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
I counted heartbeats. Five. Ten. Fifteen.
Then—
“Say something pathetic.”
My brain scrambled for purchase.
“I want—I want you to leave me like this,” I choked. “Half full. Not allowed to finish. Not allowed to beg. Just kept.”
Sean chuckled darkly.
“You’d like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’d lie there all night, stuffed and shaking, while I sat on your back and watched TV.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Fucking sick.”
Then he thrust forward again—full depth, hard enough to knock the air out of me.
“You’re lucky I’m not done.”
Sean pulled out without a word.
No slap. No command. Just absence.
I stayed still, shaking, waiting for his voice.
It came low. Crisp. Clinical.
“On your back.”
I rolled over.
He didn’t mount me right away. Just stood over me, eyes scanning like he was deciding where to begin again. Then he gripped my ankles and pushed them up—folding me nearly in half.
No praise.
No hesitation.
Just adjustment.
He lined up and shoved back in, full depth, forcing a whimper from my throat as the stretch returned.
Then he pulled out.
“Turn over. Hands and knees. Arch.”
I scrambled. Ass up, arms locked, breath ragged.
He slid in again—slow this time, almost lazy. My hole clung to him on the way in, pulsing around his girth, my cage grinding into the mattress beneath me.
Then, just as my body started to adapt—
“Lie flat. Legs together.”
I dropped flat on my belly.
He climbed over me and slid in again, pressing his full weight down. The pressure made it harder to breathe. His hips moved in short, grinding thrusts now, balls pressed tight against me.
“Spread your legs.”
I did.
He shifted again. Pulled out.
“Back on your back.”