#eoc

Oscar has to be held down when you're giving him head.

More often than not, you tie his hands to the headboard, and your fingers have to dig into his flesh to make sure he doesn't squirm while you have him in your mouth.

Not that there's much of a risk of choking if he did, given his size, but it still makes it easier to get him to cry from overstimulation if you're able to focus on his favourite spots.

One of those favourite spots is on his thigh. A point not far from his crotch, right on the squishy part of the muscle.

You sometimes suck deep bruises into it, adding to the plethora of purple marks he generally has all over him.

But until now, he never gave any indication that it wasn't just the act of bruising that really got him going.

Tonight, you're on his lap on the couch while the two of you watch whatever is on at the moment.

Some kind of reality tv show, lord knows which one, they're all basically the same...Oscar can't focus.

He never really can, he isn't really interested in who is boning who at any given time anyway, but tonight is worse.

He's wearing tiny little shorts that you swear are slutty, even though he bought them to "play padel in!" And your weight is on his thighs, on his numerous bruises.

Every time you shift unconsciously, pain shoots up his leg, and unfortunately, into his cock.

Small as it may be, at some point you'll be bound to feel it, and then he'll have to explain to you why he's hard while Kayleigh is crying about Brad cheating on her with Angela.

Or is it Chad?...

He squints at the screen, realising he still doesn't know who any of these people are.

Then you shift again, and hit the edge of a new bruise, the one on his inner thigh.

It takes every ounce of self control he has to stay silent, and his head hit the back of the sofa as he bites his lip.

This is not going to end well.

One thing's for sure though, it's going to end soon. Too soon.

He's hard, and leaking, he can feel the slight stickiness in his shorts, and the only thing he can focus on is the ache everytime he gets another shot of pain.

He's never told you about his thing about pain.

He's got a low pain tolerance, which you've known ever since he asked for paracetamol when he scraped his knee, but what you don't know is that there are certain types of pain that he likes.

And the pain of pressing into bruises is definitely one of them, and although it's an accident, he's now so hard he can't fucking think straight.

You're fully engrossed in Jessica's relationship problems (is that even Jessica? Fuck knows) so you don't realise what's happening, but your boyfriend is behind you having a full-on crisis.

He's stuck, cheeks flaming as he tries to think of something else, desperately trying to ignore the pain.

Then you wriggle, getting more comfortable and press right on the best worst bruise, and his stomach clenches, his cock kicks, and he knows it's only a matter of time before he comes in his pants like a teenager.

Then you stretch over to grab your glass of whatever the fuck you're drinking and the shift in your weight presses down on several bruises at once.

That's what does it. He loses the battle, head thrown back and teeth digging into his lip so hard he thinks he tastes blood as he comes long and hard, soaking his shorts while you're none the wiser putting your glass back down on the table.

He's mortified. And also shocked that he's managed to get away with it without you finding out. And a little disgusted that he's going to have to sit there in his own come until the two of you go to bed.

He revels in the humiliation though, and with how you never stop shifting on his lap when you're concentrating, he knows it won't take him long to get hard again.

The ritual never gets boring.