I held his faggot throat in my hand as I forced all eight inches inside his straight, shaking body. Paul and I were best friends growing up. I was two years older than him and better than him at most things. I was more athletic, more in shape, better with girls, and just generally more confident, Paul looked up to me in a lot of ways. He winced and his breathing fluttered as pain shot through his stomach. His body fought to adjust around my cock as his legs shook. I pulled out and slammed my masculinity inside him again. As we grew older, my dominance and superiority over him grew more apparent. He spent less time competing with me and more time accepting my his place. His eyes would linger on me, and he wanted to hear details anytime I fucked a girl from school. He loved it. He practically worshiped me. “You like this, don’t you? You are such a faggot.”
