Beyond the Point of No Return

As James continued to move, his strokes growing more intense, Reg's thoughts disintegrated further. He was trapped in a world of sensation, his body responding to the stimulus, his mind numb to everything else. James's words echoed in his mind, a mantra that repeated like a refrain: "No doesn't mean no until I'm done." The implication was clear, and Reg's body responded accordingly. He was aware of the boundaries, the rules that governed their interaction. Once James had started, Reg's protests would be ignored, dismissed as a mere formality. It was a truth that Reg had acknowledged, a truth that he had accepted. As James's movements grew more aggressive, Reg's breathing grew more ragged. He was a vessel, a plaything for James's desires, and he was powerless to stop him. The thought sent a shiver through him, a thrill of anticipation that was mixed with fear. James's grip on Reg's hips tightened, his fingers digging deep into the skin. Reg's eyes rolled back, his vision blurring as he was pushed to the edge once more. He was a puppet, a plaything controlled by James's whims, and he was at the mercy of his dominant. The room around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in a world of sensation. Reg's thoughts were reduced to a single, primal urge: to surrender, to let go, and to indulge in the desires that had driven him to seek out James. As James's movements grew more intense, Reg's body began to respond. He was a well-oiled machine, a finely tuned instrument that was designed to respond to James's touch. His hips bucked, his back arched, and his eyes rolled back in his head. The world around them was reduced to a single, burning sensation: the sensation of James's body, moving inside him, owning him, and controlling him. Reg was lost in the moment, his thoughts disintegrated, his body responding to the stimulus. And then, just as Reg thought he couldn't take any more, James's movements slowed, his strokes growing longer and more deliberate. Reg's body responded, his muscles relaxing, his breathing growing more shallow. James's voice was low and husky, a sound that seemed to vibrate through Reg's very core. "You're mine," he whispered, his words a statement of possession. "You're mine, and you'll do what I say." The words sent a shiver through Reg, a thrill of anticipation that was mixed with fear. He was James's plaything, a vessel for his desires, and he was powerless to resist. As James's movements slowed, Reg knew that he was at the point of no return, trapped in a world of sensation, with no escape.