Miami Submission
Graham barely recovered from that first night at Juck’s house. He returned to work the following Monday with sore muscles, a raw throat from moaning and begging, and a mind clouded by submission. Every time he glanced at Juck across the office, his cock stirred in his pants.
And Juck knew.
Their next trip came fast: a full week in Miami for a major conference. Graham tried to maintain his usual commanding aura, but Juck’s presence chipped away at it hour by hour.
The flight down was already intense. Juck sat beside him, his hand resting possessively on Graham’s thigh beneath the tray table. At one point, Juck leaned in and whispered, "No underwear today, right?"
Graham flushed, nodding. He felt completely exposed.
At baggage claim, Juck only smirked.
The hotel suite was lavish, with one king-sized bed. Juck unpacked slowly, deliberately, while Graham sat on the edge of the bed, feeling small for the first time in his life.
"Strip," Juck said softly.
Graham obeyed.
"Put on the plug."
Graham swallowed hard, pulling the silicone toy from the drawer. He lubed it and slid it inside himself, trembling.
"Good boy," Juck murmured, kissing his neck. "You’ll wear it all day."
Graham’s cock twitched in humiliation and excitement.
That afternoon, they attended meetings — Graham in his perfectly tailored suit, his composure flawless on the outside. But inside, every step reminded him of the plug stretching him open.
At lunch, Juck texted him under the table:
Touch yourself under the table. Just once. Do not cum.
Graham almost choked on his drink. But he obeyed — slipping a hand into his pocket, stroking himself once, shivering. He spent the next two hours rock hard and miserable.
That night, Juck finally allowed release. In the hotel room, he tied Graham’s wrists to the headboard with silk ties.
"I’m going to fuck you slow," Juck whispered, "and you’re going to look me in the eyes the entire time."
The sex was gentle, romantic at first — long, deep strokes while Juck whispered praises. He kissed every inch of Graham’s body, making him feel wanted, adored, owned.
But then it changed.
Juck flipped him over, pulled his hair, and began thrusting hard, fast. Graham gasped, his knees pressed to his chest, completely at Juck’s mercy.
"Tell me who you are."
"I’m your good boy," Graham moaned.
"Who owns you?"
"You do, Juck… God, you own me!"
They came together, trembling and breathless.
The next day, Juck introduced a new rule:
Every time I touch you in public, you thank me quietly.
In meetings, at dinner, during client receptions — Juck would stroke his back, squeeze his thigh, tug his earlobe… and Graham would quietly whisper, "Thank you, sir."
The humiliation made his cock leak in his slacks.
On the third night, they took it even further.
After dinner, Juck filmed him again. This time, he made Graham read from a script:
My name is Graham Whitaker. I’m the CEO of Whitaker Designs, but in private… I’m Juck’s obedient boy. He owns me. I love being used. I crave his cock.
Juck fucked him while he read, until the words turned to gasps and broken moans.
By the fourth day, Graham was losing his mind with need. Juck made him ride him — the power shift complete. Graham, on top, but completely under Juck’s control.
"Bounce on my cock, baby," Juck whispered, slapping his ass. Graham obeyed, riding desperately until Juck came deep inside him.
By the fifth night, Juck took him to his private rented beach house.
They swam naked under the moonlight, and Juck took him right there in the sand, slow and romantic, kissing him deeply while waves lapped at their feet.
Then he dragged him inside, tied him to the bed, blindfolded him, and took him roughly for hours — edging him over and over until Graham was begging, sobbing for release.
When Juck finally let him cum, it was with a roar that echoed through the house.
The final day, Juck left him plugged, collared, and kneeling while he took business calls. Graham waited, eyes down, his cock throbbing and leaking.
When Juck finished his calls, he turned and smiled.
"You did so well this week. But this is just the beginning."
Graham shivered.
"When we get back to the office," Juck whispered, pulling him into a kiss, "I’m going to make you crawl under your own desk… and you’re going to service me while you pretend to answer emails."
Graham moaned, already aching for it.
"Good boy."
To be continued…
