Easier, to focus on the bowstring ache, the fire in his neck where they were joined. (Oh, let the stupid magazines be right for once: he wanted to wear always the outline of his alpha's teeth.)
Clu shuddered, swaying, trying to wait out the sheer quantity of stimulation blooming hot across his whole lower body. The last of his pride fought not to let him be undone, not yet. His balls shivered snug under the onslaught, pulling tight against the counterweight of the sleeve and the treacherous, wonderful hum beneath. His trapped cock convulsed, stroked gentle and unbearable by the soft inward points of the nubs, and for a moment the back of the blindfold, the edge of the world, was a blank white wall.
Then his code-brother turned it up, still murmuring to him in a voice of smoke and velvet, honeyed words laced with promise, edged with the threat of wait and the order of not yet.
He groaned, low and shaking, thrummed with frustrated bliss. He pulled against the cuffs in earnest, struggling upright to the soft rattle of the leash, back arched awkwardly for the delicious electricity of sensation still slamming home inside him. He could feel where he was slipping, where it wouldn't matter how prettily he asked, where slick was starting to overflow, precum prodding the edge of his bonds.
Clu let out a wail of sheer, ecstatic pleasure, lost. The air came back to him in harsh, tiny gasps that wanted to be laughter, that just might have been a sob.
"Please." He had been so careful about asking, spine straight, and now he curled low, agonizing, torturous pleasure building to something scalding as he flattened his shoulders as would a slave. "Master. Please."
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ninetydegrees
(no subject)
Easier, to focus on the bowstring ache, the fire in his neck where they were joined. (Oh, let the stupid magazines be right for once: he wanted to wear always the outline of his alpha's teeth.)
Clu shuddered, swaying, trying to wait out the sheer quantity of stimulation blooming hot across his whole lower body. The last of his pride fought not to let him be undone, not yet. His balls shivered snug under the onslaught, pulling tight against the counterweight of the sleeve and the treacherous, wonderful hum beneath. His trapped cock convulsed, stroked gentle and unbearable by the soft inward points of the nubs, and for a moment the back of the blindfold, the edge of the world, was a blank white wall.
Then his code-brother turned it up, still murmuring to him in a voice of smoke and velvet, honeyed words laced with promise, edged with the threat of wait and the order of not yet.
He groaned, low and shaking, thrummed with frustrated bliss. He pulled against the cuffs in earnest, struggling upright to the soft rattle of the leash, back arched awkwardly for the delicious electricity of sensation still slamming home inside him. He could feel where he was slipping, where it wouldn't matter how prettily he asked, where slick was starting to overflow, precum prodding the edge of his bonds.
Clu let out a wail of sheer, ecstatic pleasure, lost. The air came back to him in harsh, tiny gasps that wanted to be laughter, that just might have been a sob.
"Please." He had been so careful about asking, spine straight, and now he curled low, agonizing, torturous pleasure building to something scalding as he flattened his shoulders as would a slave. "Master. Please."