Then he’s turning you, his hands on your shoulders, pushing you down until your chest hits the bed. His body presses against yours, his cock hot and heavy against your thigh. His fingers trace the line of your spine, slow and deliberate, like he’s reading you in braille. “Every fuckin’ inch,” he murmurs. His palm spreads flat between your shoulder blades, pushes you down, and you can feel the weight of him, the heat. “Skin’s smooth here.” His fingers drift lower, following the curve of your back, the dip above your ass. “But not for long.”
His touch stalls at the top of your crack. You can feel his breath, hot and unsteady, as he leans in. “Look at this,” he says, his voice rough with need. His thumb presses into the dimple just above your hole, circles it slow, like he’s testing the give. “Tight as hell.” His other hand spreads you open, his fingers rough, his touch filthy. “Pink,” he groans. “Fuckin’ pink.” His thumb presses harder, just the tip breaching you, and you tense, but he doesn’t stop. “Gonna be a goddamn feast.”
And then his mouth is on you.
No warning. No buildup. Just heat and wet and the filthy, hungry sounds he makes as his tongue pushes inside. His beard scratches, his nose presses against your ass, and his hands—fuck, his hands—grip your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. He’s not gentle. His tongue is thick, relentless, pushing in deep before pulling back to circle your hole, teasing, taunting. “Tastes like heaven,” he mutters against you, his voice muffled, desperate. “Bet you’re dripping.” He spits, the sound obscene, and then his tongue is back, wet and messy, lapping at you like a man starving. His fingers dig into your flesh, his piercings dragging against your skin, the metal cool against the heat of his mouth.
“Gonna eat you alive,” he promises, and then his mouth is on you again, his tongue fucking you open, his nose buried in the hair at the base of your spine. The sounds he makes are obscene, wet and sloppy, the kind that should embarrass you but only make you harder. His fingers spread you wider, his thumbs pressing into the flesh of your ass, and you can feel his cock, thick and leaking, dragging against your thigh.
“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, and then his mouth is on you again, his tongue pushing in deep, his lips sealed around you like he’s trying to swallow you whole.
The first slap lands without warning, his calloused palm cracking against your ass hard enough to make the flesh jiggle. The sting blooms hot, then melts into a throb, and you can hear the wet smack of his lips as he pulls back just long enough to growl, “Fuckin’ perfect.” His hand prints your skin, his fingers sinking in as he kneads the heat he just left behind. Another slap, sharper this time, and your cock jerks against the sheets, a broken sound tearing from your throat. “Yeah,” he grunts, “just like that.” His voice is rough, his breath coming fast. “Gonna have you red and trembling by the time I’m done.”
His mouth is back on you before you can catch your breath, his tongue pushing in deep, messy, his beard scratchy against your thighs. But his hands—fuck, his hands are a storm. One grips the base of your cock, his stroke torturously slow, his thumb smudging the precum leaking from the tip, spreading it down your shaft in slick, uneven strokes. The other hand abandons your ass only to return with two fingers, spit-slick and pressing insistently against your hole. “Tight as a goddamn vise,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. He doesn’t wait. Just pushes in, knuckles popping past the ring of muscle, his fingers crooked to hit that spot that makes your hips jerk and your cock weep.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as your body clenches around him. “Take it.” His fingers scissor, stretching you, and his thumb—fuck, his thumb—drags through the wetness seeping from you, circling your taint with just enough pressure to make your vision white out. “Sensitive here,” he notes, his touch feather-light, maddening. “Bet you’d come just from this if I let you.” His fingers twist, his palm grinding against your ass, and his other hand strokes you in time, his grip just shy of too tight. Precum drips from your cock, slicking his fingers, and he uses it, his thumb pressing against the slit before dragging down, smearing it over your balls. He cups them, rolls them in his palm, his touch rough and possessive. “Heavy,” he groans. “Full as hell. Bet you’re aching.”
His fingers fuck into you, slow and deep, his knuckles dragging against your walls. He adds a third without warning, the burn sharp, the stretch obscene. “Gonna take my cock like this,” he promises, his voice a growl. “Gonna take every fuckin’ inch and beg for more.” His thumb brushes your taint again, just a whisper of touch, and your body betrays you, your hips rocking back, chasing the pressure. He chuckles, low and dark. “Greedy little thing.”
His mouth finds your hole again, his tongue flat and hot, lapping at the mess he’s making of you. His fingers don’t stop, curling, twisting, his palm pressing against your ass, spreading you wider. The sounds he makes are filthy, wet and hungry, the vibrations traveling straight through you. His free hand keeps stroking you, his grip punishing, his thumb swiping over the head of your cock every time you leak. “Look at you,” he pants, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you. “Dripping. Trembling. Fuckin’ desperate.”
He crooks his fingers, presses hard against that spot inside you, and your cock jerks in his grip, a broken moan spilling from your lips. His thumb presses against your taint, firm and unrelenting, and his other hand twists just right—
“Not yet,” he growls, his fingers stilling, his grip on your cock tightening to the point of pain. “You come when I say you come.” His teeth graze your ass, a sharp nip, and then his fingers are moving again, his touch relentless. “Gonna stretch you so good you’ll feel me for days.” His thumb circles your taint, pressing, teasing, and his fingers fuck into you harder, his knuckles brushing that spot over and over until your legs shake and your cock is a leaking, throbbing mess in his hand.
“Please,” you hear yourself whine, the word broken, needy.
Aaron groans, his cock twitching against your thigh. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses. “Beg for it.” His fingers pull out, just the tips teasing your entrance, and you try to rock back, chase the pressure, but his hand on your hip holds you still. “Patience,” he murmurs, but his voice is strained, his control hanging by a thread. He spits again, the sound obscene, and then his fingers are back, three of them this time, stretching you wide. His thumb presses harder against your taint, his other hand stroking you in rough, uneven pulls. “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”
And then his fingers are gone, leaving you empty, aching. You hear the slick sound of him stroking himself, his breath ragged. “Turn over,” he orders, his voice rough. “Wanna see your face when I ruin you.”
His touch stalls at the top of your crack. You can feel his breath, hot and unsteady, as he leans in. “Look at this,” he says, his voice rough with need. His thumb presses into the dimple just above your hole, circles it slow, like he’s testing the give. “Tight as hell.” His other hand spreads you open, his fingers rough, his touch filthy. “Pink,” he groans. “Fuckin’ pink.” His thumb presses harder, just the tip breaching you, and you tense, but he doesn’t stop. “Gonna be a goddamn feast.”
And then his mouth is on you.
No warning. No buildup. Just heat and wet and the filthy, hungry sounds he makes as his tongue pushes inside. His beard scratches, his nose presses against your ass, and his hands—fuck, his hands—grip your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. He’s not gentle. His tongue is thick, relentless, pushing in deep before pulling back to circle your hole, teasing, taunting. “Tastes like heaven,” he mutters against you, his voice muffled, desperate. “Bet you’re dripping.” He spits, the sound obscene, and then his tongue is back, wet and messy, lapping at you like a man starving. His fingers dig into your flesh, his piercings dragging against your skin, the metal cool against the heat of his mouth.
“Gonna eat you alive,” he promises, and then his mouth is on you again, his tongue fucking you open, his nose buried in the hair at the base of your spine. The sounds he makes are obscene, wet and sloppy, the kind that should embarrass you but only make you harder. His fingers spread you wider, his thumbs pressing into the flesh of your ass, and you can feel his cock, thick and leaking, dragging against your thigh.
“Gonna ruin you,” he groans, and then his mouth is on you again, his tongue pushing in deep, his lips sealed around you like he’s trying to swallow you whole.
The first slap lands without warning, his calloused palm cracking against your ass hard enough to make the flesh jiggle. The sting blooms hot, then melts into a throb, and you can hear the wet smack of his lips as he pulls back just long enough to growl, “Fuckin’ perfect.” His hand prints your skin, his fingers sinking in as he kneads the heat he just left behind. Another slap, sharper this time, and your cock jerks against the sheets, a broken sound tearing from your throat. “Yeah,” he grunts, “just like that.” His voice is rough, his breath coming fast. “Gonna have you red and trembling by the time I’m done.”
His mouth is back on you before you can catch your breath, his tongue pushing in deep, messy, his beard scratchy against your thighs. But his hands—fuck, his hands are a storm. One grips the base of your cock, his stroke torturously slow, his thumb smudging the precum leaking from the tip, spreading it down your shaft in slick, uneven strokes. The other hand abandons your ass only to return with two fingers, spit-slick and pressing insistently against your hole. “Tight as a goddamn vise,” he groans, his breath hot against your skin. He doesn’t wait. Just pushes in, knuckles popping past the ring of muscle, his fingers crooked to hit that spot that makes your hips jerk and your cock weep.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as your body clenches around him. “Take it.” His fingers scissor, stretching you, and his thumb—fuck, his thumb—drags through the wetness seeping from you, circling your taint with just enough pressure to make your vision white out. “Sensitive here,” he notes, his touch feather-light, maddening. “Bet you’d come just from this if I let you.” His fingers twist, his palm grinding against your ass, and his other hand strokes you in time, his grip just shy of too tight. Precum drips from your cock, slicking his fingers, and he uses it, his thumb pressing against the slit before dragging down, smearing it over your balls. He cups them, rolls them in his palm, his touch rough and possessive. “Heavy,” he groans. “Full as hell. Bet you’re aching.”
His fingers fuck into you, slow and deep, his knuckles dragging against your walls. He adds a third without warning, the burn sharp, the stretch obscene. “Gonna take my cock like this,” he promises, his voice a growl. “Gonna take every fuckin’ inch and beg for more.” His thumb brushes your taint again, just a whisper of touch, and your body betrays you, your hips rocking back, chasing the pressure. He chuckles, low and dark. “Greedy little thing.”
His mouth finds your hole again, his tongue flat and hot, lapping at the mess he’s making of you. His fingers don’t stop, curling, twisting, his palm pressing against your ass, spreading you wider. The sounds he makes are filthy, wet and hungry, the vibrations traveling straight through you. His free hand keeps stroking you, his grip punishing, his thumb swiping over the head of your cock every time you leak. “Look at you,” he pants, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you. “Dripping. Trembling. Fuckin’ desperate.”
He crooks his fingers, presses hard against that spot inside you, and your cock jerks in his grip, a broken moan spilling from your lips. His thumb presses against your taint, firm and unrelenting, and his other hand twists just right—
“Not yet,” he growls, his fingers stilling, his grip on your cock tightening to the point of pain. “You come when I say you come.” His teeth graze your ass, a sharp nip, and then his fingers are moving again, his touch relentless. “Gonna stretch you so good you’ll feel me for days.” His thumb circles your taint, pressing, teasing, and his fingers fuck into you harder, his knuckles brushing that spot over and over until your legs shake and your cock is a leaking, throbbing mess in his hand.
“Please,” you hear yourself whine, the word broken, needy.
Aaron groans, his cock twitching against your thigh. “Fuck, yes,” he hisses. “Beg for it.” His fingers pull out, just the tips teasing your entrance, and you try to rock back, chase the pressure, but his hand on your hip holds you still. “Patience,” he murmurs, but his voice is strained, his control hanging by a thread. He spits again, the sound obscene, and then his fingers are back, three of them this time, stretching you wide. His thumb presses harder against your taint, his other hand stroking you in rough, uneven pulls. “Gonna fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name.”
And then his fingers are gone, leaving you empty, aching. You hear the slick sound of him stroking himself, his breath ragged. “Turn over,” he orders, his voice rough. “Wanna see your face when I ruin you.”