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The more I think about how much I love his cock, and all the things I love about it, like the thick vein that I'm currently caressing with my thumb, the more enthusiastically I suck and fondle him. "Fuck," he hisses, and pulls back. I look up, wiping drool from my mouth, unsure why he made me stop.
"Go bend over the bench, put your hands on the top platform," he says, bending over to pick something up near his discarded towel.
My heart beats with two kinds of anticipation, relishing the promise of both pain and pleasure. It took days for my ass to not be sore the first time he took me, and I've missed the soreness ever since it subsided. I place my knees on the bench and bend over the back, bracing my hands against the top.
Nicks moves behind me, trailing a hand down my right side. He bends forward and licks up my spine, licking the sweat and moisture from the steam. A splash of liquid falls down my crack before he places a small bottle of lube on the top platform next to me. Whether he put it there for my benefit, I'm not sure, but knowing that he thought ahead to bring lube makes my chest flutter. The thought of him standing in line at a store to buy the lube gives me an entirely different thrill, one that goes straight to my straining cock.
He massages and squeezes my ass, spreading the cheeks and teasing his fingers down my crack, spreading the warm, slippery liquid. He pushes one, then two thick fingers inside me and I groan.
"This ass is so fucking needy," he murmurs, so quietly that I'm not sure I'm meant to hear it. My face flushes, and once again, I war with myself over the indignity of being his plaything, but the persistent ache and desire overpower any embarrassment I feel. He's right, I am fucking needy. Needy for his fingers, his hands on me, his cock filling me up.
My moment of hesitation has me wanting to skip the playfulness and get down to business. I push back against his fingers, demanding more, but he stops me with a loud smack across my ass.
"I'm in charge here, fuckboy."
"You learn some hip new slang, old man?" I say sarcastically, my abs clenching as the sting of the hit dissipates into warmth. My cock twitches and leaks with need and anticipation.
"Brat," he mutters.
"Yeah, what are you going to do about it?" I challenge, pushing back on him again.
There's very little warning before he's thrusting into me, filling me to the hilt in one hard push.
"Fuck!"
It hurts. The slickness of the lube helps him slide in, but the stretch is too much, the intensity of being so full is overwhelming. The ring of muscle that holds my ass shut burns, and I'm not sure it'll ever recover. I hiss out a breath as he begins to move, not giving me more than a second to adjust, complain, or get away. He grips my hips and plows into me in long, hard strokes that shoot sharp pains through my lower body.
"Baby bulldog wants to fight? Then fight me, Jack. Try it," he grunts. I cry out, but don't protest or tell him to stop. Instead of fighting, I push myself back on him, thrust for thrust, relishing the pain. Daring him to do his worst.
It doesn't take long before the pain mingles with spine tingling pleasure as his cock hits against my prostate. My asshole relaxes and adjusts to the onslaught, and then all I know is pleasure. My skin, near feverish with the heat of the sauna, breaks out into goosebumps and my chest seizes, the humidity making it even harder to draw breath.
My short breaths are coming out in pants and moans and pathetic little cries. For a moment, I remind myself of Millie and the sounds she made as I bent her over her father's desk.
I push back the thoughts of being the girl in this scenario and focus on the sounds of his balls slapping against my ass. My hands are gripping the top of the bench, knuckles white, trying to hold off my climax. But it's coming.
"Bryant…" I use his first name, and it comes out like a prayer. But I refuse to beg.
"You want to come, baby bulldog?"
"Fuck. Yes!"
He thrusts into me faster, still not telling me when. The sounds of him fucking me echo through the hot, hazy room, my moans getting louder as I get closer to not being able to hold back. It's coming. I'm coming, whether he tells me to or not.
Bryant reaches around and squeezes the base of my dick, hard, as his thrusts get jerky and he lets out a shaky breath. He slows, and I can feel the heat of his cum inside my ass. It leaks out a little when he pulls out. He's still holding onto the base of my dick, preventing the orgasm that was just about to wash over me. It's painful, an all over body fullness that concentrates in my balls.
"Stand up," he demands gruffly. He's standing too close for me to step down to the floor, and he pushes against the back of my thighs, letting me know he wants me to stand on the bench. "Bend all the way over," he says, and I flatten my chest against the top of the bench. I'm too far gone to think about what he's doing, only thinking about my impending orgasm and how I can please him so he'll let me come.
He lets go of my cock, my climax effectively controlled for now, and puts both hands on my ass. He spreads my cheeks and whistles before he lets go and steps back.
"Stay."
He doesn't say another word, picking up his towel and leaving the sauna. I wait, warring between patience and indignant exasperation. I like when he tells me what to do, but I also hate it in equal measure. How does that work?
It's only a couple of minutes before he comes back in, but it feels longer. I don't move, but the longer I stand here like this, exposed and waiting, humiliation starts to creep in.
Then I hear the click of a camera.
"The fuck?" I move to stand, but Bryant steps up on the bench next to me. He places a hand on my back, holding me down, as he curls over my body and shows me his phone. On the screen is a closeup of my ass. My hole is stretched and gaping, red from the assault, and there is a thick trickle of white leaking out, dripping onto my swollen looking balls.
