The Initiation Of Apprentice Dylan Tides With Tyler Saint

The chamber smells of musk and myrrh. Master Saint’s fingers glide across Apprentice Tides’ bare torso, oil dripping warm between pecs, down the valley of his abs. “Every initiation demands surrender,” he murmurs, thumb circling the apprentice’s nipple until it peaks. The oil sinks lower now—gloss coating hip bones, the juncture of trembling thighs. Tides’ breath hitches as Saint’s palm grinds against his groin, slick friction coaxing his cock to twitch erect.

“Breathe, Apprentice.” Saint’s voice is velvet wrapped in steel. His fingertips skate up Tides’ inner thighs, nails grazing skin raw. When his mouth replaces his hands, swallowing Tides’ cock whole, the apprentice’s head snaps back with a gasp. Saint drinks him deep, throat working until drool slicks his chin and Tides’ knees buckle.

“On the stool. Now.” Tides obeys, bending forward, ass presented—oil gleaming. Saint spits, spreads him wider, then sheathes himself in one brutal thrust. Tides chokes, knuckles white on the stool’s edge as Saint’s pace starts slow, deliberate. “Feel the sacred stretch,” he growls. But rhythm unravels; hips piston faster, slapping flesh echoing off stone walls.

Repositioned—missionary, Tides’ leg hooked over Saint’s shoulder—the master drives deeper. Tides fists his own cock, jerk-off strokes. “I’m… close.”

“Cum.” The command cracks like a whip. Tides arches, cum streaking his chest. Saint snarls, plunging harder, chasing his own peak. When he spills, hot and claiming, he locks Tides’ hips against him. “Marked. Now, and always.”

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