His one hand stays clamped on my mouth while his other works at my fly. He gets my pants open and shoves them down. I cry out against his hand as my stiff cock is pulled down then springs up. I squeeze my eyes shut as his fingers go to my hole. There’s no lube and I’m tight, but he doesn’t push in. He prods a little like he’s checking something.
Whatever he finds has him leaning into me harder, relaxing ever so slightly. I can’t feel his breath because of the mask, but I hear it raking through the modulator.
“Where have you been?” he demands, but he’s still covering my mouth. His other hand moves from my ass to my dick. I let out a muffled cry when he grips it then reaches underneath to feel my balls. “These are full. You haven’t come. Where have you been?”
The hand on my mouth slides down to rest on my throat, but I still can’t speak, not with him cupping my balls like that. His thumb is stroking them. It feels so good. It feels … possessive. Like what’s inside them belongs to him. Like my cum belongs to him. My orgasm.
He thought I was with someone else. That’s what he was checking.
I could tell him that I wasn’t. Ishouldtell him that. But his anger and jealousy feel so fucking good that I don’t.
I don’t speak at all.
His hand leaves my swollen, aching balls. He draws back a little, though he’s still lightly gripping my throat. I hear his zipper and a rustle of cloth. My heart hammers. My dick twitches. Then I hear a cap popping open and the sound of something—lube—being squeezed from a bottle. He’s working one handed, so he drops the bottle when he has what he needs.
I shudder at the filthy sound of him slicking his cock. I moan when his sloppy fingers prod my hole. This time, he pushes in. This time, I open for him.
I rest my forehead on the brick wall as he stretches me. I don’t fight him. I don’t want to. I just want him inside me. I moan when he strokes my prostate.
“I need you to understand something, Elias. If I’d found another man’s cum in here”—he strokes my prostate again, torturing me, rewarding me—“I would’ve done something very bad.”
I shudder in pleasure.
“I think you don’t believe me”—I whine when his fingers withdraw then cry out at the press of his cockhead, biting my lip as he pushes into me—“but you need to understand that I can play the monster with you becausethat’s what I am.”
I moan long and loud as his cock pushes deeper and deeper into me. He takes his time, makes me feel every inch ofpenetration. My thoughts fracture. All I do is feel and listen as he starts to fuck me.
It’s so dirty. His cock plunges with sloppy, squelching sounds. I moan and whimper to the rhythm of his fucking. I’m so relieved by it, so turned on by the stiffness of him inside me, by the jealous need of him to fuck me like this in a dark alley.
He still has one hand on my throat, like my breath, my speech, my very life belongs to him. His other, slick with lube, returns to my cock. He doesn’t stroke, just grips me. His fingers curl into my balls.
My body seizes. I buck in his grip as I come. I clench on his cock as mine spurts in his hand. My balls are drawing hard under his fingers. My throat is straining against his palm. He’s in full ownership of my orgasm.
As the aftershocks roll through my body, as I clench and spasm on his dick, he buries his face—his mask—against my shoulder. He grunts. He’s holding back his own orgasm.
When I relax in his grip, on his cock, he takes a deep breath. My head falls back against him. I can’t think. My mind is shattered. My thoughts are a hundred scattered pieces.
One piece, though, pushes into my awareness: monster.
Monster, he said.
His thumb starts brushing my jaw.
I don’t know how long that goes on, long enough that I harden again, long enough that I moan.
“Good boy,” my monster says as he starts fucking me again. “What a good boy.”
Good boy.
Both of them have called me that.
I moan as he repositions me, bends me over. His hand moves from my throat to my shoulder for a better grip as he thrusts. I know he needs to come, that I should try to last, but I can’t. It feels too good, and part of me thinks, part of me knows—
I cry out hard as I come again. I buck and thrash because I don’t have to control myself with him, and he, finally, loses control with me.
“Hnn!” he strains as his hips jack forward. “Fuck—hnn!”
I’m seized by both my orgasm and his. His cock kicks inside me, spilling hotly as my cum hits the alley wall.
