Hank ran a hand up Connor's supple thigh, fingers teasing the hem of the tight shorts. He pushed them up, exposing the curves of his buttocks, smooth and plump. Callused hands groping the soft flesh, coaxing a quiet whimper from the younger male. Connor peered over his shoulder, spying Hank's greedy stare locked on how his plush cheeks molded in his hands, slightly spilling over between his fingers.
"P-Presi-dent Anders-son," the youth squirmed, unsure if he wanted to pull away or let the aged man handle him.
A sharp slap came down on his right cheek, forcing a hiss from behind Connor's teeth. "You know better than to call me that," Hank frowned, his tone gruff and critical.
Connor chewed his lip, brows raised in worry, almost too nervous to speak. "S-sorry, Dad-dy."
Hank gave a throaty chuckle, smirking as his large hands explored the expanse of Connor's ass, pushing the shorts up higher, forcing it into a wedgy. Connor gave an uncomfortable whine, one of Hank's hands tugging the fabric up, making the wedgy worse. Connor tensed up, clenching his muscles and received another harsh slap to his cheek. "Connor," Hank's voice was stern, almost like a parent scolding their child. "You're supposed to relax. You aren't behaving."
Connor reluctantly relaxed his body, Hank continuing to assault his body. Spreading his cheeks and squeezing them hard, Connor swearing there will be finger print bruises left behind. He knew he has to endure, it was his mission to satisfy the President, to achieve a higher place in the church and make God proud of him. Hank always told him he was far more important than God ever would be, but Connor still felt wrong.
"Get on the desk, Connor," Hank commanded, squeezing those warm thighs and encouraging him up. "Hands and knees. Present yourself."
Connor slowly undid his shorts, pushing them to his ankles and kicked them to the side, relieved to have his wedgy removed. On the desk he spread his knees, bending his spine and exposing himself to Hank. A deep blush, darker than earlier, spread across his face, now covering his ears and neck.
"Good boy," Hank praised, petting his hips before rubbing his hands down his thighs, tugging gently at the elastic of his knee socks, but left them alone. Hank pressed a kiss to Connor's plush cheeks, soothing and scratching with his beard. "Let me see you, Connor. Show Daddy how much you want him."
Connor gulped, lowering his torso to the cold wood, reaching back and spread his ass, letting his fingers tug the skin apart, body visibly shaking. His once pink hole was now bruised purple and scabbed from unfortunate tearing. Hank had been relentless on him the night before, but he was feeling generous today.
Hank reach for a drawer and pulled out a decent sized bottle of oil, popping the cap and spilling a heaping glob onto Connor's gaping hole. Hearing Connor whine was like music to his ears, spreading the cold lubricant to make those sounds last longer.
He didn't want long before stuffing a thick finger inside, watching that abused hole suck the digit inside. Connor hissed at the burn, but Hank wouldn't let up, thrusting his finger hard, aimed at his prostate. The youth wiggled his hips, trying to find some ease to his discomfort.
"Good boy, Connor," the Presidant chuckled, pulling his finger out. "I think you deserve more."
Hank shoved a second finger inside, Connor clawing at his skin where he was still holding himself spread open. Tears stung his eyes as he tried to stay relaxed, knowing Hank wasn't going to give him a break.
Before long, a third finger forced it's way inside, the scabs of his tears breaking and blood oozed all over Hank's hand. Hank chuckled while Connor let the tears roll down his cheeks. It burned and stung and felt like his body was being torn apart, but he had to endure, or else face Hank's punishment.
Hank ripped the fingers out of him, groaning at the sound of Connor's gasp, his hand coming down hard to leave a nasty, bloody print. "Put your shorts back on," Hank commanded, "We have places to be."
Connor slipped from the desk, legs shaking and weak, hesitantly reaching for his shorts. "Wait," Hank added, "Back over the desk I forgot something."
Connor wanted to scream, he just wanted to sit down. He pushed tears of his face with a closed fist and bent over the desk, showing his ass off again. Hank rummaged through his drawer again, pulling something out Connor wasn't allowed to see.
It was cold and dry, pushing against his ring of abused muscles, unforgivingly shoving inside, getting larger and larger until it finally popped. Connor sobbed and bared his teeth, head thrown back and eyes wide. He felt wider than he wanted to be, yet his muscles wouldn't move, too weak to resist.
Connor went for his shorts, pulling them up as Hank went to wash his hands. He felt humiliated, yet somewhat fullfilled. He had pleased Hank and made him proud, and it seemed to make his woes better. He waited at the desk for Hank to return, spotting him exiting while drying his hands, giving him a warming smile.
He held out his hand, suggesting Connor to the door to leave, reaching for his suit jacket. As Connor opened the door, Hank called from behind him, "One more thing."
Hank stuffed his hand in his pocket, and a jolt of pain and pleasure coursed through his body, beginning at the object the older man forced inside his body. Connor fell against the door frame, trying to hold himself up. He furrowed his brows, tears falling loose.
He wasn't going to let this stop him, he was going to endure.