My Night Owning Him: A kinky gay sex saga

My Night Owning Him: The Cam Session

For weeks, A 23-year-old kid had been flooding my inbox with messages, addressing me as Master Himank, his words dripping with desperation for a cam BDSM session. “Master, please, I need you to take control,” he’d write, his texts a mix of nervous excitement and raw need. He was young, eager, and completely hooked on the idea of submitting to me, and I could feel the power dynamic building with every exchange.

Last night, I decided it was time to give him what he craved. The thought of breaking him down, piece by piece, through a webcam, had my pulse racing and my mind buzzing with possibilities.

He slipped into his bathroom, the only place he could lock the door and get some privacy. “Master, we’ve got 20 minutes,” he said, his voice trembling slightly as he fired up his webcam. The feed flickered to life on my screen, revealing a small, steamy bathroom—tiles gleaming under the fluorescent light, the mirror still fogged at the edges from a recent shower. He was kneeling on the cold floor, dressed in a plain white t-shirt and loose shorts, his posture already submissive.

His eyes, wide and hungry, locked onto the camera, and I could see the mix of nerves and anticipation in his flushed cheeks. This was his moment to surrender, and I was ready to take it all.

“Strip naked,” I ordered, my voice firm and unyielding through the mic. “Show me every inch of you.” He hesitated for a split second, his fingers twitching at the hem of his shirt, as if weighing the reality of what he’d gotten himself into. “Yes, Master,” he murmured, his voice soft but obedient. He pulled the t-shirt over his head, revealing a lean, toned chest with a light scattering of hair. His shorts followed, sliding down his thighs to pool on the floor, leaving him completely bare. He stood there, vulnerable under the harsh bathroom light, and slowly turned to show me his ass—round, firm, and quivering slightly as he bent forward. “Is this okay, Master?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, seeking my approval.

“Perfect,” I said, leaning closer to my screen, a smirk tugging at my lips. “You’re mine to play with now.” The sight of him, exposed and waiting for my next command, sent a thrill through me. This wasn’t just about control—it was about pushing him to his limits, making him feel every ounce of my dominance from miles away.

I decided to test him further. “Slap your balls,” I commanded, keeping my tone sharp. His eyes widened, a flicker of panic crossing his face. “Master, I… it’s too much,” he stammered, shifting uncomfortably on his knees. That hint of defiance sparked something in me—a need to break through his hesitation. “Don’t you dare disobey me, you worthless slut,” I growled, leaning into the mic so he could feel the weight of my words. “Slap them, or I end this right now and leave you begging.” He let out a small whimper, his hand reluctantly dipping between his legs. The first slap was weak, a soft thud followed by a quiet “ow” that echoed through the speakers.

“That’s pathetic,” I snapped, my voice thick with irritation. “Harder. Make it hurt, or you’re nothing to me.” I could see the conflict in his eyes, but he obeyed, his hand striking again—smack, smack—louder this time, his body jolting with each hit. “Is this good, Master?” he gasped, his face contorting in pain, his balls reddening under the abuse. “Keep going,” I ordered, watching his discomfort with satisfaction. His whimpers grew louder, each slap pushing him deeper into submission. The sound of his pain, mixed with his desperate need to please me, was intoxicating.

Satisfied with his suffering below, I shifted gears. “Turn around,” I said. “Spank your ass. Ten times, hard, and count them out loud.” He pivoted on his knees, arching his back to present his cheeks, which were still pale and unmarked. “How hard, Master?” he asked, his voice trembling with anticipation. “Hard enough to leave my mark on you,” I replied coldly. He raised his hand and brought it down with a sharp crack. “One…” Crack. “Two…” His ass jiggled with each strike, the skin turning pink, then a glowing red. By the fifth spank, his breathing was heavy, and by the tenth, he was gasping. “It burns so bad, Master,” he said, his voice breaking. “Good,” I replied, my tone unwavering. “That’s what I want to see. You’re marked for me.”

I wasn’t done with him yet. I wanted to push him into a more intimate kind of vulnerability. “Play with those big pecs of yours,” I ordered, knowing he was self-conscious about his broad, soft chest. “Pinch your nipples until they’re sore. Do it to make your Master happy.” He hesitated, then cupped his chest, his fingers finding the sensitive buds. “Like this, Master?” he asked, rolling them gently at first. “Harder,” I commanded. “Twist them. Make it hurt.” He obeyed, pinching and twisting until he gasped, the pain shooting through him. His nipples hardened into red, swollen peaks, and he let out a low moan, his body arching toward the camera. “It hurts, Master, but it’s for you,” he said, his voice thick with arousal and submission. The sight of him torturing himself for my pleasure sent a surge of power through me.

By now, he was visibly aroused—his cock hard, leaking, and twitching without even being touched. His entire body was trembling with need, and I could tell he was on the edge of losing control. It was time for the final act, the one that would cement my dominance over him. “Get on all fours,” I ordered. “Doggy style, one leg up, like a dog pissing. You can only stroke yourself when that leg is raised. Understand?” He nodded quickly, scrambling into position, his ass high in the air, one leg lifted awkwardly. “Please, Master,” he begged, his voice raw and needy. “I’m so horny. I need to cum.”

But it wasn’t that easy. He struggled to keep his leg up, his balance faltering every time he reached for his cock. “I can’t keep it up, Master,” he whined, his leg dropping to the floor as he fumbled. “It’s too hard.” I leaned closer to my screen, my voice icy. “I don’t care. No leg up, no touching. You want to cum? Earn it.” He groaned, frustration mixing with his arousal, but he tried again. His leg shook as he raised it, his hand wrapping around his shaft for a few desperate strokes before his balance gave out again. “Fuck, Master, it’s so tough!” he cried, his voice breaking.

“Keep trying,” I said, unrelenting. “You’re my dog now. Act like it.” He fought through the strain, sweat beading on his forehead, his leg trembling as he stroked himself. Each time he managed a few pumps, his leg would wobble, threatening to collapse. “Please, Master, I’m trying so hard,” he pleaded, his hips bucking with need. I let him struggle, savoring the sight of his desperation, the way he pushed himself to please me despite the difficulty. “Beg louder,” I commanded, drawing out his torment.

“Master Himank, please, I need to cum!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the small bathroom, his leg shaking violently as he fought to keep it raised. The raw desperation in his tone was perfect—he was completely mine, body and mind. “Alright,” I said finally, my voice low and commanding. “Cum for me, right there, leg up, like the dog you are.” He stroked faster, his hand a blur, his leg quivering but holding just enough. His moans turned into frantic gasps, his body tensing as he neared the edge. “For you, Master!” he cried out, and then he came, ropes of cum spilling onto the bathroom floor, his body shuddering in release. He collapsed slightly, his leg dropping, his chest heaving as he panted. “Thank you, Master,” he whispered, his eyes meeting the camera, filled with exhaustion and gratitude.

Our 20 minutes were up, the timer cutting through the haze of the session. He scrambled to clean up, wiping the floor with a towel, his movements quick and shaky. “That was insane, Master,” he said, his voice still hoarse from the intensity. I smirked, leaning back in my chair. “Be ready for next time,” I told him, already imagining how I’d push him even further. He nodded, a small smile breaking through his tired expression, and the call ended.

As the screen went dark, I felt the rush of power still coursing through me. He was mine—hooked, broken, and eager for more. The session had been a perfect display of control, his every whimper and struggle a testament to my dominance. I was already planning the next one, thinking of new ways to test his limits, to make him beg and squirm under my command. For now, though, I savored the memory of his submission, knowing he’d be back, craving more of Master Himank’s control.

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