[The words run a river of obscenity over him, denigration framed in the context of the scene even as it leaks and bleeds into his sense of belonging, his desire to be possessed — all of the awful, ruinous ways Cy describes his lack of autonomy only carrying him further to a sense of mindlessness and contentment. He imagines all of it, even as his scalp burns from the yank at the heavy braid and his nipple aches from the tease of teeth at one tender piercing. Cy's hand on his belly is a very real echo of their mutual fantasy. Though the scene paints this in a forceful, humiliating light of conquest, he finds his own lust building to a height of acute intensity — being subjugated against his will, being made to exist only for this man and this man alone. To have his children. To be owned until he dies.
He can feel where Cy's cock has softened within the folds of his cunt, but it doesn't prevent a sort of harder crush when he rolls his own hips, bidden by the movement Cy initiates. Rather than the rhythmic drag of thrusts, he grinds himself in shallower motions, until it's clear what he is doing — rubbing a swollen, sorely abused clit against Cy's pelvic bone for slick friction and pressure. His mouth hangs open, panting, face messy with tears and drool and long-dried come from earlier, strands of dark hair stuck to the sharp bone of one cheek. On display like this with a strong hand cupped under his chin, he is made to meet Cy's eyes — his own glassy with tears, hazy in the wash of mixed pleasure and pain.]
Fine, [is the low, rasping agreement that slips loose.] Then own me.
[Please is what his body says separately, dragging out another orgasm though it feels almost painful to come again like this, drape of jewelry glinting in the light on his pale skin, full breasts swaying gently with the movement of his hips. It tears through him on a deep and shuddering torrent, and this time when he's spent he collapses against Cy with no more will to hold himself upright.]
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Date: 2024-07-17 07:46 pm (UTC)He can feel where Cy's cock has softened within the folds of his cunt, but it doesn't prevent a sort of harder crush when he rolls his own hips, bidden by the movement Cy initiates. Rather than the rhythmic drag of thrusts, he grinds himself in shallower motions, until it's clear what he is doing — rubbing a swollen, sorely abused clit against Cy's pelvic bone for slick friction and pressure. His mouth hangs open, panting, face messy with tears and drool and long-dried come from earlier, strands of dark hair stuck to the sharp bone of one cheek. On display like this with a strong hand cupped under his chin, he is made to meet Cy's eyes — his own glassy with tears, hazy in the wash of mixed pleasure and pain.]
Fine, [is the low, rasping agreement that slips loose.] Then own me.
[Please is what his body says separately, dragging out another orgasm though it feels almost painful to come again like this, drape of jewelry glinting in the light on his pale skin, full breasts swaying gently with the movement of his hips. It tears through him on a deep and shuddering torrent, and this time when he's spent he collapses against Cy with no more will to hold himself upright.]