[As it plays out, Sasuke finds it easier to sink into the fantasy — Cy's voice spills over him and he becomes the victim suffering this act, the one claimed, the one taking everything he is given without choice. This is what he deserves. He's a possession meant to be caged and owned and used, and this man will use him well. The idea subsumes him, surrendering to that helplessness and forfeiting his autonomy, his will, his body. The back of his throat aches from rough handling; his throat burns for lack of air, face hot with the blood that has rushed to his head from being bent over Cy's lap. It's perfect. If it's what he deserves, then he has never been so fortunate.
Spots of black crowd his vision just as he's wrenched off and flipped over. Sasuke gasps, coughing, unable to close his mouth to prevent the drool from escaping down his chin as the position changes. He knows he's a mess — he does not care how he looks, too lost in pleasure to recall modesty. The arm bound under his back throbs, a warning at its placement, but this too slips out of thought when he sights Cy kneeling above him, cock jutting out, gleaming wet from the work of his own mouth. He hears himself make some unintelligible sound — an airless moan unable to form into words with his lips pried open by the metal ring.
Eyelids flicker when Cy's slaps at his cheek with the hard line of his dick, and the moan becomes another broken sob, hiccupped quietly. The degradation scorches through him, unexpectedly intense. Then his face is painted with hot stripes of come — Sasuke knows to close his eyes, voice devolving soon into a whimper. He feels it coat his skin like a glossy finish even into his hair, making him filthy, staining him. When fingers wipe over his tongue he tries to speak: please barely coherent, lacking the sharp consonant of the p to become something more like uh-lease.]
no subject
Spots of black crowd his vision just as he's wrenched off and flipped over. Sasuke gasps, coughing, unable to close his mouth to prevent the drool from escaping down his chin as the position changes. He knows he's a mess — he does not care how he looks, too lost in pleasure to recall modesty. The arm bound under his back throbs, a warning at its placement, but this too slips out of thought when he sights Cy kneeling above him, cock jutting out, gleaming wet from the work of his own mouth. He hears himself make some unintelligible sound — an airless moan unable to form into words with his lips pried open by the metal ring.
Eyelids flicker when Cy's slaps at his cheek with the hard line of his dick, and the moan becomes another broken sob, hiccupped quietly. The degradation scorches through him, unexpectedly intense. Then his face is painted with hot stripes of come — Sasuke knows to close his eyes, voice devolving soon into a whimper. He feels it coat his skin like a glossy finish even into his hair, making him filthy, staining him. When fingers wipe over his tongue he tries to speak: please barely coherent, lacking the sharp consonant of the p to become something more like uh-lease.]