The Kings Personal Joker (boyxboy)

Chapter Seventy Six

[A/N] Everything is a bit delayed, sorry about that. Wrote a three part patreon exclusive for another book, I'm writing a short story for my patreoniversary, and then my internet went down. So everything got a little pushed. 

I'll just leave you with a reminder that this is vile sexual content not suitable for anyone under the age of  216 months and let us proceed...

Even as the air grew colder in the room, even the fire starting to crackle out of existence as the remaining servant left with the minder. The room was dimming, four or five candles left in its wake with the small flames of the fire. It was going to be a cold night, and yet I was still burning up inside, his grip on me strong, leaving an ache behind.

It was sheer strength that lifted me up off of my back, still connected to him, as he brought me up onto his lap, my legs wrapped around his waist. I cried out, his cock hitting me from a strange angle that forced it to press directly against the sensitive patch of skin. My cock twitched  My face was flushed, my eyes wet, as I desperately clung onto the man, just trying to stay tethered to this earth.

It was sticky between us, precum and oil mixing as he moved me up and down so aggressively that it should have hurt. It should have been more than painful in tandem with the size of the thing, and instead I was so wrapped up in pleasure I had to close my eyes, to shut everything out, to avoid looking at the devilish face, the handsome expression, the intense eyes that followed my every movement, brighter now than ever, almost gleaming.

I bit down on my bottom lip, squeezing my eyes tightly closed, feeling tears follow along my lash-line, threatening to spill over. Another sharp movement, his cock sliding back inside and striking that place with every thrust, my legs shook and I sobbed out loud, my eyes opening, tears running down my cheeks.

I saw the delight in his eyes, pleasure and power creating an expression so impossibly attractive I knew I would be forced to release soon.

I pressed my forehead briefly against his shoulder, wanting to hide my face, but the rough movement pushed me away again. I cried out, uncontrollably now, each thrust so sharp and jarring and filled with pleasure that I could no longer moderate my voice, my moans ringing out into the room, matched with soft gasps of air and Demosthenes growling my name against my ear.

"I'm going to-" I bit my lip again. "I can't- Truly I can't-" I couldn't get a word out in full, my voice tremulous and slightly broken, my body still being moved to match his pace.

"Be good." He demanded, his own voice rough and husky.

I was so close I considered ignoring it, pretending I did not know what he meant by it, I was no longer sure if I was physically capable of holding back any longer.

Too fast, too hard, too rough. His hands on me... I knew there would be marks. The heat inside my belly, too much. And yet how perfectly it came together to blossom into the most overstimulating pleasure that I could no longer pace myself, control myself or even hide my voice.

My eyes were filled with tears, Demos and the room appearing blurry before me, and my legs ached from the position. My chest had a sheen to it, as did his, sweet making it seem as though the oil had reached my upper torso.

Why was this man so extraordinarily capable of ruining a man in this way? What experiences did he have with other men that allowed him the full knowledge to pleasure someone into their own hedonistic dispatch so brutally, so quickly. To take one's control as though it never belonged to them in the first place, how many men had he seen to like this? That walked around with his marks on their wrists, on their back and chest.