Cry Down the Mountain

When Akkaya decided he was sufficiently in lust, he put me on my back on the bed, restraining my wrists at the two ends of the headboard. He worked me over with the dildoes after eating me out and blowing me and he did do some choking breath play while he fucked me in a missionary. After he did me, he did himself, mounting and riding my cock in a cowboy. He had me at his mercy–or thought he did; I was sure that I could break out of the restraints if I really wanted or needed to–and he did nothing else. He didn’t use any of his fancy toys other than the whip below the bed and dildoes of two sizes on the bed.

And he was given every reason to think he could have done more, more intensely. It was really a bit of a downer, too restraining. I’d been looking forward to a bit more taxing effort–and therefore the understood permission to work him over in return. Everything stopped short of that and not because he couldn’t have pushed it further. This wasn’t on the same level as Max had received up at the castle.

When the missionary and cowboy were over, it was over. He let me loose, thanked me, directed me to the shower, and told me he hoped we could do it again. I left thinking that this hardly was the treatment that Max got up at Saint Hilarion, and I hadn’t put any breaks on it being so if that’s what Akkaya wanted.