[The role he is playing has never been made easier than when he's bent in half, open mouth forced over the head of Cy's cock, taking it down in a swallow of hot flesh, velvet on his tongue. He has no control over the descent; it simply fills him to the brim, straining at the effort to fit Cy all the way down, throat flexing as if it will somehow make room in the very back where it is tightest and most essential. He breathes air in hard through his nose through necessity. It's true, in that moment, he would have no way to accommodate Cy's come — even if he wants to take it, yearning to swallow that load no matter how it will choke him. He wants everything Cy is willing to give him.
But it's enough, just this. Dark strands of hair slip into his face, sticking where saliva has dried on his cheek and sweat has begun to prickle at his hairline. He can taste Cy at first, heavy in his mouth, bitterness and salt and musk so associated with masculinity, and he craves it, wants to lap at it with his tongue if only he had the control. Yet all he can do is try to breathe through his nose and weather the abuse of his throat for this man's pleasure alone. As if it is some trial.
Then it's so deep he can hardly taste anything. Drool gathers around the metal ring that keeps his lips pried apart, messy on Cy's slacks, soon worsened by the tears that drip from tightly closed eyelids. There's a moment where his mind entirely fades out — blissfully lost in the demands of the body, aware only of the ache in his jaw, in his shoulder, in the tight plug up his ass and the neglected throb of his own cock. He even forgets not to be noisy, allowing the wet and strangled sobs to emerge as they will, unconsciously threading his fingers into Cy's offered hand.]
no subject
But it's enough, just this. Dark strands of hair slip into his face, sticking where saliva has dried on his cheek and sweat has begun to prickle at his hairline. He can taste Cy at first, heavy in his mouth, bitterness and salt and musk so associated with masculinity, and he craves it, wants to lap at it with his tongue if only he had the control. Yet all he can do is try to breathe through his nose and weather the abuse of his throat for this man's pleasure alone. As if it is some trial.
Then it's so deep he can hardly taste anything. Drool gathers around the metal ring that keeps his lips pried apart, messy on Cy's slacks, soon worsened by the tears that drip from tightly closed eyelids. There's a moment where his mind entirely fades out — blissfully lost in the demands of the body, aware only of the ache in his jaw, in his shoulder, in the tight plug up his ass and the neglected throb of his own cock. He even forgets not to be noisy, allowing the wet and strangled sobs to emerge as they will, unconsciously threading his fingers into Cy's offered hand.]