His hand leaves my jaw. He moves down my body. He reaches for the cold, hard length of metal protruding from the tip of my cock. His fingers close around the end of the sounding rod. I whimper, a high, pathetic sound, bracing for more pain. But his touch is careful, surprisingly so. He begins to pull it out, slowly, steadily.
The sensation is indescribable. It’s not exactly pain, but it’s so intensely foreign, so wrong, that my whole body seizes up. I can feel every millimeter of the polished metal sliding through the tight, sensitive channel inside me. A choked cry tears from my raw throat, my back arching off the bed without my permission. It feels like it takes forever, that slow, slick withdrawal, and when the tip finally pops free, a full-body shudder runs through me, leaving me gasping.
He sets the rod aside on the nightstand with a softclink. Then his hands are at the base of my cock, where the tight silicone ring has been biting into my swollen skin for hours. He finds the clasp, releases it, and peels the ring away.
The sudden release of pressure is its own kind of agony. Blood rushes back into my trapped balls with a hot, prickling flood that makes me cry out again, my hips jerking. The ache is deep and throbbing, a relief so sharp it borders on pain.
I come almost immediately.
There’s no build-up, no final, teasing climb. The denial has been so absolute, so prolonged, that the second the physical restraint is gone and the mental command is given, my body simply folds.
It crashes through me with a force that whites out my vision. I scream as my whole body convulses. My cock jerks violently, and come spurts across my stomach and chest in thick, hot ropes. It doesn’t feel like pleasure, not in any clean, simple way. It’s a tidal wave of sensation that obliterates everything else. Every muscle I have locks tight, from my toes to my scalp, trembling on the edge of seizure. Wave after punishing wave rolls through me, wringing me out, and I can’t stop the sounds coming from my throat—sobs, screams, wordless pleas.
Through the hazy, blinding static of my own release, I am dimly aware that Suha hasn’t stopped. He’s still moving inside me, his hips driving into me with a rhythm that has lost its measured control. His thrusts become sharper, more urgent, spurred on by my violent climax clenching around him.
He leans down over me, his body a heavy, welcome weight. His mouth finds the junction of my neck and shoulder, and he bites down. A deep, claiming sink of teeth into flesh already littered with his marks. I feel the sharp pinch, the warm trickle of blood, and I moan, the sound dissolving into another weak shudder.
I feel the familiar, insistent swelling at the base of his cock. His knot. It pushes against my overstretched, oversensitive rim, and I am too wrecked to do anything but take it. It catches, and with one final, deep thrust, he forces it through, locking us together. The stretch is immense, filling me completely, and as he bites down harder, I feel the hot pulse of his release deep inside me.
He collapses slightly against me, his breathing harsh in my ear, his weight pinning me to the soaked sheets. We are tied together, a tangled, sweating, bleeding, come-stained mess.
I am empty. Hollowed out. Every ounce of fight, of thought, ofself, has been fucked and pained and pleaded out of me. There is only the heavy, solid reality of his body on mine, his knot lodged inside me, and the slow, cooling stickiness on my skin.
I lie face-down on the bed, my cheek pressed into the damp silk of the pillowcase. My body feels like it’s been disassembled and put back together wrong. Every muscle protests when I try to move even a finger. My ass aches with a deep, persistent throb, a raw and tender echo of every slap and thrust. The cigarette burns on my thighs pulse with their own hot, stinging rhythm, and the bite marks on my neck and shoulders feel tight and swollen. I can feel the sticky warmth of Suha’s come beginning to leak out of me, a messy, undeniable reminder.
All I want is to sink into the mattress and not surface for a week. My eyelids are so heavy. Consciousness is a thin, frayed thread I’m barely clinging to. If I could just sleep...
The sound of a drawer sliding open cuts through the thick silence of the room.
My body goes rigid, flinching instinctively. I hear Suha moving around, his footsteps quiet on the plush carpet. They stop besidethe bed. I don’t open my eyes. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, already gone...
His hands land on my ass, fingers digging into the sore, heated flesh. I can’t suppress the full-body flinch this time. He pushes my cheeks apart, the motion ungentle.
“What are you—” I start to mumble into the pillow, my voice a wrecked, slurry thing.
The question dies in my throat as I feel it. Something cold. Something solid and round, about the size of a large coin. It presses against my stretched, used hole, and then Suha pushes it inside.
The sensation is bizarre. It’s not pain. It’s a blunt, foreign pressure, a smooth, cool disc sliding in past my rim with unsettling ease. It’s so different from the heat and give of flesh. My back arches off the bed, a shocked gasp tearing from my lips.
“The fuck is that?” I manage to snarl, twisting my head to try and see over my shoulder. My muscles scream in protest.
His hand on the small of my back holds me down, firm and unforgiving. I can’t turn.
I hear the softclinkof metal on glass from the nightstand. Then I feel something else—something long and thin and hard. The tip of it, cool and smooth, presses against the coin already inside me. He’s not using his fingers. It’s a tool.
“A geotag,” Suha says. His voice is perfectly nonchalant.
My brain stutters, tripping over the word. It doesn’t connect. “A what?”
He doesn’t answer with words. He answers with pressure. The thin metal probe pushes inward, forcing the round tag deeper into my body. It’s a sickening, invasive slide. It’s not like being fucked. That’s a stretch, a filling. This is... insertion. An object being placed somewhere no object should be.
I kick out weakly, my heels thumping against the rumpled sheets. “It won’t stay in, you idiot,” I spit, humiliation burning hot. “My body will just push it out. That’s how it works.”
Above me, I can practically feel his smirk. “I’ll make sure it’s deep enough that you can’t.”
The probe pushes further. I grunt, my fingers curling into the sheets. It’s moving past the initial ring of muscle, into a channel that’s not meant for this. The sensation is deeply, profoundly wrong. It’s cold. It’s unfeeling. It’s an invasion.
He works it deeper, slowly, relentlessly. My protests turn into strangled, wordless noises as I feel the cold metal object traveling up inside me. It’s being seated far beyond where my own fingers could ever reach, past any point of natural resistance. It feels like it’s being pushed up into my guts, a cold, alien weight settling in a place that makes my skin crawl.
