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Patrick fussed with the edge of his underwear for like the tenth millionth time that day. There was a bruise under the skin and the fabric kept rubbing on it. When he got home, he immediately took his pants off and had a look in front of the floor length mirror in the closet. To his surprise, Patrick couldn’t see a visible bruise. Maybe there was a faint purple shadow but in the dim light, it was hard to tell. He rubbed the spot and went to find a pair of sweatpants to put on.
He thought perhaps because the butt was mostly fat, that maybe a bruise on the muscle wouldn’t show up on skin the way it would on an arm or leg. Still that meant Brian had really been squeezing his ass quite hard to leave a bruise that deep.
Brian did have large, strong hands; when Brian had pinned Patrick’s wrists to the bed, he was utterly immobilized. It was rare anyone had the strength to do that to him. Being controlled, dominated like that, was almost terrifying, but the sex had been on another level. One hand on Patrick’s ass, one hand on his hip…driving his cock in like a piston over and over…
Patrick coughed and cleared his throat. He felt warm all over. Goddamn, he thought, he’s still getting under my skin. Wait. Brian had a hand on his hip right? Patrick wandered back into the closet and pulled the edge of his underwear and sweatpants down on his left side. There was a faint purple mark there, unmistakable as a fingerprint sized bruise. “Jesus Christ, he tenderized me like a piece of meat!” Patrick said to his reflection.
He pulled up his pants and rubbed his butt absentmindedly as he walked out of his bedroom. “Fuck, I really want to call Brian now….”

Captions are fictional.


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