Dave raised his glass on their anniversary night, eyes locked on Pete with a wicked spark. "Pete, my sharp-tongued husband, tonight I want to own you as my slave. Complete control. What do you say to that?"
Pete smirked, swirling his wine. "Own me? You think hypnosis and a few orders will turn me into your plaything? I'm no pushover, Dave, but color me intrigued. Try it, you cocky bastard."
The hypnosis session unfolded with Pete's willing consent, his mind opening to the commands. Soon, the razor glided over his scalp, shaping a sharp mohawk. Dave dressed him in skinhead gear—boots, braces, and all—then handed him a pack of Marlboro Reds. "Light up, slave. Inhale deep."
Pete puffed the cigarette, smoke curling as his body responded. "This is your fantasy, but don't think I'm submitting quietly," he quipped, though his voice grew husky. The transformation ignited something primal. Dave's cock grew hard at the sight. Pete felt horny, his own cock throbbing, ass clenching in anticipation.
Dave pulled him close for an explosive encounter. Pete dropped to deliver a blowjob, tongue working expertly while Dave groaned. "That's it, take it." Sweating and panting, they moved to the urinal play, fluids mixing in raw intensity. Pete's ass dripped with need, wet and ready. Dave came hard, cum spilling as Pete's pussy-like grip milked him through the climax, both lost in the dripping, cum-soaked heat.
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