His thumb finds the center of it all, pressing against the pucker, smearing the mess of pre-cum and blood. The mixture is slick, warm, and utterly degrading.
“Fuck,” I breathe out, a shaky protest that has no force behind it.
His thumb breaches. It works its way inside, past the tight, protesting ring of muscle, right over the shallow cut. A bright, sharp pain flares, and holy fucking shit, it feels good!
It hurts. And it feels good.
Naoya, being a rope master and all that crap, has these smart-ass fingers. Long and thin and they know exactly wherethe fuck they’re going. He crooks his thumb, but it’s not enough, so he replaces it with his index and middle fingers. The stretch burns, my hole protesting around the invasion, the cut singing a sharp, painful note. And then—
“Ah— fuck!”
They press right against my prostate, a bolt of electric pleasure so intense it whites out my vision for a second. It’s agony and ecstasy mixed into a single, overwhelming sensation that has my whole body seizing against the ropes.
“There it is.” His fingers don’t let up, working me open, pressing and massaging that bundle of nerves until my thighs are trembling. “This is what you needed. To be opened up and taken apart and, later, taken care of. Your body already knows.”
His fingers work me open good, scissoring slightly. I arch my back, trying to get away from the intensity—trying to fuck back onto his hand, really—but the ropes biting into my skin keep holding me perfectly in place for his torture.
“Your body doesn’t lie. It melts under my hand, even when it bleeds.”
“Naoya—” It comes out strangled.
Pain radiates up my spine, but underneath it—fuck!—his thumb pads rub circles over my prostate, sending jolts of filthy pleasure straight to my dick.
He adds a third finger, and the burn is immediate. I hiss, biting down hard on my lower lip until I taste my blood.
“Nao-san,” I rasp, the name scraping raw. “Please…”
“Please what?” He stills his fingers inside me. “Use your words, Kaito. What do you want?”
Shame coils hot in my gut, mixing with the desperate, aching need for more. More pain. More violation. Morehim.
And still, I can’t really say it. Because it’s not just a “fuck me” that I want to say—that part’s easy. What Iwantto say sounds a lot like surrender and Idon’tsurrender.
Naoya-san slides his fingers out slowly, the drag over the cut making me hiss. The sudden emptiness is a fucking insult. I clench down instinctively, my hole pulsing around nothing. Pathetic.
“It’s fine if you are not ready to say it yet,” he says, his thumb tracing the slick, bloody mess around my asshole. He lifts his glistening fingers to my mouth.
Well, fuck pride. I can’t say shit, but I can do this.
I suck his fingers deep into my mouth, tongue lapping at the bitter tang of blood, pre-cum, and my own fucking asshole. He leans a little more between my legs to force his fingers deep into my mouth and I feel his cock pressing against me, hard beneath his pants. The fabric’s damp where it rubs my skin.
He’s gonna fuck me, I suddenly realize.
Naoya-san’s gonna fuck me.
He pulls his fingers out of my mouth, leaving spit-slick trails down my chin, then grabs his belt buckle. He shoves his trousers and underwear down just enough to free his cock, and there it is.
It’s the first time I’ve seen it, even after all this shit. I don’t know what the hell I expected. He’s lean everywhere, clean, put together like one of those quiet bastards you’d never even expect to know how to cum—but this… Hell, I don’t know. It’s not some pretty-boy cock, but it fits him in a way. The shaft’s pale, like the rest of him, flushed dark—still a hard fucking contrast against the thick, purple head and the darker sack beneath, framed by a neat patch of black hair.
He leans forward, bracing himself on one hand beside my shoulder. His other hand wraps around his cock, guiding thethick head to my hole. He rubs it against me, smearing pre-cum over the cut. The sting makes me hiss, but the pressure feels fucking good.
“Ready for this?”
If I’m ready for this?
“Fuck yes!”
He pushes slowly, the broad head stretching my rim wide. The burn is intense, sharpened by the cut. I grit my teeth, forcing myself to relax, but my hole fights it, clenching tight. Naoya-san doesn’t stop. He pushes deeper, inch by inch, filling me.
