Page 95 of The Words Beneath the Noise
His whole body shook as I sank deeper, inch by inch, until I was buried to the hilt. My hips pressed flush against his ass, my balls heavy and aching, the urge to move overwhelming.
“God, I am so fucking full,” he whimpered, voice breaking, fingers twisting in the sheets. “So deep—feels so—Tom?—”
“Yeah, you take it,” I growled, bending over him, pressing my chest to his back, hand fisting in his hair and yanking his headback so I could bite his neck. “You take every fucking inch, let me ruin you.”
He sobbed, body clenching around me, his cock drooling precome onto the sheets below. I pulled almost all the way out, watching his hole flutter and gape, then slammed back in, hard, driving a cry from his lips.
I set a brutal rhythm—hard, deep thrusts, hips snapping against him, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the cramped room. I spit again, letting it fall onto the place where my cock split him open, making it even messier, slicker, filthier.
“Take it—take all of me—fuck, Art, I’m gonna fuck you so deep you’ll feel me for days?—”
He moaned, helpless, body arching back to meet every thrust. “Yes—God, yes—need it, Tom, need you?—”
I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to. I wanted to make him mine, brand him from the inside out, fuck him so full he’d never forget me. I gripped his hips, using him, rutting into him, every thrust claiming him, marking him.
“You want me to fill you up?” I taunted, voice hoarse, teeth grazing his ear. “Want me to breed you, Art? Want me to fuck you so full you’ll never want anyone else?”
He shuddered, whimpering, desperate for every filthy word. “Yes—please, Tom, I want it—want you to breed me, want to feel you inside me, want it all?—”
I spit again, slicking myself, hips grinding, the head of my cock kissing his sweet spot with every thrust. I could feel him squeezing me, milking me, his body greedy, hungry, desperate for more.
I bent over him, biting his shoulder, sucking a bruise into his skin, making him mine in every way I knew how.
“That’s it,” I growled, hand sliding around to fist his cock, stroking in time with my thrusts, every movement designed towring more pleasure from him, to keep him right on the edge, teetering but never falling. “You’re mine, Art. All mine.”
He keened, hips jerking, cock leaking all over my fist, body shaking from the force of it.
I pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in, deeper than before, watching his back arch, his mouth drop open in a silent scream.
“I could do this all night,” I muttered, hips pistoning, spitting again, letting it drip down his crack, mingling with sweat and lube. “Could fuck you until you forget your own name, until all you know is me, my cock, my come?—”
He sobbed, shuddering, lost in it.
But I needed to see him—needed to watch his face, the way he broke apart for me, needed to give him the chance to take what he wanted, to ride the edge with me, both of us trembling on the brink. With a groan, I slowed my thrusts, pulling almost all the way out, and then gripped his hips hard, stilling him.
“Turn around for me,” I rasped, voice thick with hunger. “Come here. Want you on top—want to watch you take me.”
He obeyed, still dazed, muscles quivering, rolling onto his side, then onto his back. For a moment he just lay there—body flushed, cock leaking against his belly, lips parted, eyes wide and wet and so, so desperate. Then, with my guidance, he straddled my hips, lining himself up, hands braced on my chest, the stretch of him exquisite as he sank down slowly onto my cock.
We both gasped—me from the sudden, suffocating tightness, him from the ache and fullness, the sharp, helpless pleasure of taking me deep.
“That’s it,” I groaned, sliding my hands over his thighs, then up to his waist, holding him steady as he bottomed out, our bodies flush, joined to the hilt. “You look so fucking beautiful, Art. Ride me. Take what you need.”
He started to move, awkward at first, thighs trembling, then finding his rhythm—slow at first, rocking back and forth, rising until just the tip stayed inside, then sinking down again with a shiver and a moan. I couldn’t tear my eyes away—watching my cock vanish inside him, watching the flush bloom on his cheeks and chest, watching the hunger in his face.
I reached up, thumbs stroking his hipbones, steadying him as he found his pace, hips rolling, riding me with increasing confidence and desperation.
“Touch yourself,” I growled, my voice somewhere between a command and a plea. “Want to watch you come apart. Play with your chest for me, Art—show me how good it feels.”
His breath hitched, and for a second I saw the hesitation—shame, old lessons, the fear of being too much. I gave him a slow, wicked smile. “Don’t hold back. Not tonight. I want all of you. Let me see.”
He nodded, hands shaking, bringing them up to his own chest. He pinched his nipples, rolled them between thumb and forefinger, eyes fluttering shut at the jolt of sensation. His back arched, mouth falling open as he rode me, hands teasing his chest, hips grinding down with every roll, every little whine.
“That’s it, beautiful,” I praised, voice rough. “Just like that. God, you look so good, riding my cock, playing with yourself. Look at you. Look at what you do to me.”
I let one hand roam up to his belly, the other gripping his thigh, then reached up and stroked his cock, slow and deliberate, thumbing the bead of precome at the tip, smearing it over the flushed head. He whimpered, hips stuttering, thighs trembling around me as I stroked him in time with his movements, matching every thrust, every bounce.
I ran my palm up his torso, lingering over the scattered freckles, the sharp cut of his ribs, feeling the frantic thump of his heart. He twisted his nipples, pinched them hard, groaning,hips slamming down onto me with a violence that surprised even him.