Paul’s hips and thighs ache from keeping himself raised for so long, but he’s not sure if Schneider would punish him for resting. At this point, he would bear the feeling of his cum clinging to his stomach. Paul’s decision is made for him: a broad hand finds the small of his back and roughly pushes him down.
“Lay down,” Till commands lowly, and Paul has no choice but to slide his knees out and lay upon the soiled towel. While it’s a nice reprieve for his sore thighs, he grimaces a bit at the cold cum against his skin. He tries to take weight off his caged cock; it pulls a bit at his balls when he lays upon it like that. He feels big hands grope at his asscheeks, and then slide down to squeeze his thighs. While Till begins admiring his new toy, Richard stands off to the side, cleaning off his cock with one of the folded towels, observing. Olli, as always, has remained silent and watchful, but nonetheless interested, sitting in his chair.
Continuing to recline by Paul’s side, Schneider watches Till touch his sub. He repeatedly strokes at his freckled thighs, and then slides back up to firmly squeeze his ass in his hands, pulling his asscheeks apart to admire. Paul murmurs around the gag, enjoying the slightly rough appreciation. Till’s hands and the way they grope at him border just on the cusp of painful.
“Don’t start quite yet,” Schneider says, earning Paul’s weak attention, and a pause from those massaging hands. Till must have given Schneider a curious look, though affirmative in nature. He continues lightly stroking his hands over Paul’s lower back and hips while Schneider rises from the bed. He gives Paul’s hand a departing squeeze. Paul listens to him cross the room, and then lift something from the dresser. Returning to the bed, Schneider sits beside him and murmurs, “Get up on an elbow, Paul.”
Paul obeys; he shakily moves to prop himself up on his elbows, wrists pulling the restraints taut. The crack of a cap being twisted off a water bottle tells him enough. He waits patiently. Schneider’s fingers touch the back of his head, unfastening the gag, and then it slips from his mouth. Paul takes in a breath, licking his wet, pinkened lips. His chin is soaked with saliva. He’s thankful when Schneider gently wipes off his face with a folded towel, but the surprising touch and texture makes him flinch slightly. He huffs a laugh, smiling weakly.
“Here,” Schneider says, lowly. As he presses the lip of the bottle to Paul’s open mouth, Paul distantly pays attention to Till’s hands continuing to massage at his back and thighs. It feels good. This moment of pampering is nice. Schneider carefully tips the water bottle up. Paul begins drinking greedily with great thirst—he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, he’d been so occupied with other, more pressing things. He drinks and drinks, breathing hard through his nose, until Schneider touches the bottom of his chin with two fingers, and then he stops. Schneider lifts it away, and screws the cap back on. Paul wants him to know he is thankful, but knows better than to speak. Instead, he opens his mouth, waiting. As expected, the gag is lifted and fit into his mouth again, soon to be refastened in the back.
“Good?” Schneider asks, mindful of any pinched skin as he adjusts it on his head. Paul nods. Schneider strokes a thumb over his cheek. Paul nuzzles into his hand. Schneider huffs a fond laugh.
“You can continue,” he says, towards Till.
“Pass me the towel,” Till replies. Schneider seems to do so—Paul feels it tickle his thigh. Till spreads him open with one hand, and then the towel is passed repeatedly between his asscheeks. Paul huffs a light, muffled laugh from the tickling sensation.
“Don’t like the mess?” Schneider asks. Till wipes Paul up a moment longer then tosses the towel onto the floor.
“Not when I plan on putting my mouth there. Other than that, it’s appreciated.”
“Oh—yes, agreed,” Schneider laughs. Paul likes the sound of that. Till is particularly good with his tongue. Paul spreads his thighs further apart, welcoming. Till chuckles.
“It seems Paul approves.”
Schneider says nothing; he holds Paul’s hand again. Paul happily makes a sound in his throat and squeezes his fingers. Schneider strokes his thumb over the back of his hand. Till takes a seat at the foot of the bed, indicated by the creak of the frame and the dip of the mattress. Till’s hands find him again. Groping firmly at his asscheeks, working them open to admire his pinkened, well-fucked hole, only to release him again. Massaging at his thighs, and then back up to his ass to squeeze again, and spread him open. Paul’s cock pulsates, throbbing in the cage. He likes this. Makes him feel worshipped and toyed with all the same.
Removing his hands from Paul’s cute ass, Till pauses. Paul waits, unsure what he intends to do next, yet still excited. The broad palm of Till’s big hand rests over one perky asscheek. Rubbing in circles, slowly. Paul hums lowly. The entire room seems hypnotized, watching this display with held breath—Till has always been good at building suspense. Leaving people guessing, only to surprise them soon after. Paul is just beginning to feel impatient when Till gives one final squeeze to his asscheek, and then lifts his hand. Without warning, he strikes it down over nearly his entire cheek, his hand wide enough to cover the majority of it. Paul lurches, and yelps around the gag. Shit—that hurt! Till can put so much power in much too easily, without even trying. His hand really is quite heavy, and big enough to deliver pain on a larger canvas.
A firm squeeze of those broad fingers, hard enough that it actually hurts and has Paul flinching, and then another clap of that hand over his asscheek—Paul’s legs and stomach clench, his hips jolting forward into the bed. Till strokes his touch over Paul’s inner thigh fleetingly, and then spanks him again. An almost casual smack of his heavy hand over the same asscheek, developing a low, intensifying burn along the skin. Paul fidgets his hands and feet, curling his toes into the covers, clutching at Schneider’s hand tightly.
Till stops messing around. Paul anticipates it now. He gives one final grope to his smarting asscheek, and then begins spanking him with more tempo, more focus. Five quick, stern spanks to the same cheek, the crack of skin piercing the room, punctuated by Paul’s grunts of pain, and then the skin really begins to burn. Paul whimpers during Till’s next pause. And then once more, those blunt fingers grip and squeeze his pulsating asscheek so hard, Paul kicks his leg and cries out weakly around the gag. Till’s next strike is twice as hard now. A firm clap of his hand over this abused asscheek, with enough force it has the pinkened flesh rippling, and Paul crying out in pain.
Such a sound seemed to be the final factor of which convinces Till. He shifts closer, hooks his free hand around Paul’s waist, stabilizing him, and then begins beating his hand down over the seat of his ass. Piercing cracks of his palm meeting Paul’s backside is continuous and loud—Paul screams. Till is rough, and merciless. He spanks him repeatedly, a hard strike of his big hand over his asscheeks, now alternating between them, watching them clench and ripple under his delivery of pain. Paul is squirming wildly by then, crying out and sobbing around the gag—he lets go of Schneider’s hand to begin pulling at the covers, a futile attempt to crawl away from this unasked for punishment.
“Stay still!” Till commands in a low growl, becoming impatient with the twisting of Paul’s hips, the shaky jerking of his legs and rolling of his back. He stops spanking him momentarily, waiting. Paul sobs. Trembling, he goes still. His cute ass is now flushing a red. Till gropes at him, fondling his smarting asscheeks with firm squeezes that has Paul flinching and whining sharply. Schneider watches with a thin smile on his face, resting one hand on Paul’s forearm. Richard and Olli are noticeably silent, witnessing this display.
Again, Till resumes spanking him. Paul’s muffled shrieking joins the cacophony of Till’s hand beating over his ass. Without reprieve, Till sweeps the full width of his large hand across each asscheek, alternating between them with every five strikes, harder and harder, making Paul flinch and buck forward into the bed, his thighs and ass clenching, back rippling with tension. Even then, Till spanks him and spanks him, until Paul is wildly fidgeting again and screaming for mercy. The squirming has him nearly missing twice, so Till, evidently, decides to fix this. He gets up, climbing over Paul’s kicking legs, and sits down on him. Paul sobs, pleading in a muffled babble, trying to reach back and cover himself, but his hands uselessly remain suspended at a fixed length, the restraints pulled tight. He screams petulantly, kicking his feet and jerking against the restraints—begging him to stop. Till sits patiently, waiting for him to calm down.
Richard provides no input, watching with concern and mild shock from where he stands beside Olli, one half-drank water bottle clutched in a hand. Olli, meanwhile, has found the carpeting quite interesting.
“Stop it,” Till murmurs, as Paul continues to wiggle around desperately, pleading in hitching sobs that reach uncaring ears. Paul, indeed, stops. He pants heavily around the gag and through his nose, going limp against the bed. Glancing up to meet Schneider’s amused gaze, Till speaks lowly.
“He would let you know if this is too much, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes,” Schneider confirms, voice low with apparent arousal, “Part of the fun is making him cry. He doesn’t hate it as much as he’s pretending. You could spank him until he’s bruised.”
Paul moans weakly, agonized. Till chuckles. Paul sniffles wetly. His nose is running obscenely, and his eyes are pricking with tears. Till’s massive hard-on is smothered against his legs, felt easily through his pants. Paul loves that he can feel it. At least that’s telling him something: Till is getting off on this. Knowing that has Paul enjoying it more. But even so—his ass is on fucking fire. A throbbing, pulsating burn. While it does contribute to a heat deeper in his core, creating this curious bubbling cauldron of arousal in his gut, it fucking hurts. Paul sniffles loudly again. He’s getting snot all over the pillow. Gross.
And then a violent, brutal spank across his smarting asscheek easily regrasps his attention. He jolts harshly against the bed, flexing his feet and grabbing at the covers. The fiery ache in his ass heightens, throbbing. He moans weakly. Till waits just a second, and then continues.
With one hand planted against Paul’s back, keeping him still, he uses the other to alternate between his asscheeks. Five focused strikes of his hand upon one, harder and harder, until Paul is screaming again and thrashing underneath his weight, pulling at the restraints, and then he switches to the other. Tears have sprung, now leaking from Paul’s clenched eyes to soak into the blindfold while he sobs around the gag. Till is merciless. As Paul begins to really try and wiggle out of it, Till just bears down on him harder, until it begins to hurt from how much he’s crushing his legs. That successfully stills him enough—he really struggles to remain laying there while Till beats his hand over the seat of his ass. He can only withstand another six or so hard strikes of his heavy hand before he’s crying out sharply and trying to reach back once more, a reflexive urge to shield himself from this punishment.
It hurts so fucking bad—he can’t take it anymore—please, please, please stop—
A chanting mantra in his head amongst his sobbing cries, while Till shows no signs of ceasing this. He moves off of his legs again, kneeling beside him quickly, wrapping his muscular arm around his back and leaning into him, keeping him pinned to the bed with his weight. The next dozen strikes are truly awful. He whips his hand against his ass with continuous force, just teetering on the line of too fucking much. Paul’s screams fill the room easily, and may as well be heard throughout the building—he isn’t aware of this. He’s aware of the tears and snot on his face, the searing, agonizing burn in his ass, the way Till is crushing him with his weight, keeping him pinned. Only after he’s reduced to a sobbing, hiccupping, disgusting mess does Till finally stop. He gropes at him again—three times, he grips his ass in his hand, squeezing so hard Paul flinches forward and cries out. Till laughs lowly. He actually laughs.
“You can scream all you want,” he murmurs, kneading at his throbbing asscheeks, “But your body is more honest than you, Paul.”
Paul is so dazed, he barely deciphers what he said. He just moans softly, pained. Paul focuses on his breathing, jagged and hoarse. He realizes, vaguely, that he’s trembling beyond his control. The greatest sensation of all is the unbelievable burn in his ass. He can only imagine what he looks like now.
And then bold, explorative fingers touch at his straining cock through the cage, pinned to the bed between his thighs. Paul lurches, whimpering. A fingertip presses to the bulging head of his cock through the bars, rubbing over the slit. Paul grunts sharply. It feels good, but the way his cock pushes against the bars, when worsened by the pleasure, hurts. Till lifts his fingertip, admiring the way his plentiful pre-cum clings to his skin, chuckling. Paul lays there silently, trembling. Another swipe of a fingertip over the slit of his cock, earning another flinch from him, and then Paul hears him lick it off his finger. Paul squirms, unbearably aroused. His cock aches.
A moment of Till shifting on the bed, once more moving in-between Paul’s legs, getting situated. Those broad hands find his ass again. Paul whimpers sharply, fearing another round of spanking. Till gropes him harshly, undoubtedly admiring the red flush that had been beaten into his skin. Paul shudders, scared. Instead of a succeeding spanking, he feels Till shift, and then the puff of air against his backside. A tongue, hot and wet, licks along a stripe of skin across his searing asscheek. Paul tenses up, gasping. Schneider huffs a soft laugh beside them.
Repeatedly, that tongue lathes across the trembling skin of his burning ass, covering the reddened flesh with a placating stroke. Paul goes limp. It does hurt slightly, but it mostly feels nice and soothing. Till’s broad hand is cupped lightly around his hip. The other is cradling his caged cock now, his thumb pressed into his smooth balls. Paul breathes heavily around the gag, melting from the lovely sensation of Till licking over his backside repeatedly. And then that tongue slips in-between his asscheeks, and begins licking over his asshole.
Paul lifts his head, a shocked moan pulled from his throat. Till grumbles lowly with pleasure as he licks and licks and licks over him, until Paul is moaning continuously, and spreading his thighs as much as his restraints will allow. Till squeezes his hand around his caged junk and keeps Paul rooted through that touch alone. His tongue is so damn big and hot—Paul is quivering already. Till lathes his tongue across his taint and up again to his hole. Working it continuously over his sensitive rim, Till can easily push it inside. Paul wasn’t tight to begin with.
Groaning, Paul clenches his toes, legs quivering. The sensation is indescribable—Till’s tongue is big and hot, thrusting in and out of him. Whimpering, Paul lays there, immobilized by so many things. The fear of being punished, the possessive grip around his sensitive parts, the pleasure of Till working him over. The need to give in, to be nothing but Till’s toy. While the sensitivity intensifies to a point of discomfort, he fights back the urge to squirm away. His hands are shaking now, fingers quivering, legs trembling on either side of Till. And still, his cock leaks pre-cum, as Till demonstrates by ducking his head down between his clenched thighs to rub the length of his tongue along the bulging head, pushing uselessly against the cage. Paul twitches, gasping sharply. Till rumbles lowly, a sound of both amusement and enjoyment.
In five more strokes of his tongue, he drinks the beads and clinging strings of his pre-cum from his trapped cock, from the bars themselves. Paul is whimpering and groaning in discomfort around the gag, twisting his hands in the covers, digging his toes into the bed, withstanding the incredible urge to twist his hips out of it. But then, Till stops.
Rising up again, he refocuses on another part of him. He brings his face in-between his asscheeks and mouths wetly over his hole, licking over it slowly, with the full width of his tongue. Paul groans. Till pushes his tongue inside of him. Paul sobs. Those big hands grip his asscheeks and pull them apart, allowing for deeper penetration with his tongue. He begins sliding it in and out of him, a wet, slick noise that fills the room alongside Paul’s low moaning.
A muffled plea erupts from him, desperate. He shakes the restraints. Till licks over his taint and pinkened, wet hole thrice more before pulling back with a low laugh.
“Impatient brat,” he muses, rising up with a creak of the bed, bringing his thick fingers in to circle them over his sensitive hole. Paul jolts from that—it sends a shot of pleasure into his belly. Till kisses slowly, tenderly up over his freckled back while rubbing his fingers against him firmly. Paul gasps, trembling wildly. Fuck—even that feels good. Till knows how to make his toes curl. His fingers are firm and big, sinking into him slowly. Paul catches his breath, tensed up and waiting, continuing to involuntarily quiver as the nerves throughout his body struggle to compensate for all this sensation he’s feeling. Till slides three fingers in and out of him deeply, leisurely. A slow back and forth that has Paul humming in pleasure. Till bites and mouths over his shoulder blades while he works his fingers inside of him.
It seems Richard and Olli have nothing left to say. Based on their silence, Paul can only guess they’re just as amazed by Till’s performance as he is. Till knows just how to play with his toys. Schneider, meanwhile, has been stroking at Paul’s hair, but even then Paul barely registers it.
Those fingers are slipped out of him. Till spreads him open again, sitting back, and spanks his fingers flatly over his hole, hard enough it has Paul lurching with a yelp. He groans around the gag, twisting his hips as much as the restraints allow—that fucking stung. A lot. His asshole throbs from the strike. Paul almost laughs, he was so shocked by that move.
Till chuckles. He gropes firmly at his ass with a hand while moving to stand from the bed. Paul hears the unbuckling of a belt and the following slide of zipper. He holds his breath. Till drops his pants to the floor, joined by his underwear. Shit—Paul is genuinely excited. He only wishes he could see Till’s cock, hard and ready for him.
“If it becomes too much,” Till murmurs to him, voice guttural and rumbling with arousal, climbing back up onto the bed, “Don’t be afraid to tell me.”
Paul realizes he’s addressing him.
“I’m going to fuck you,” Till says, those big, roughened hands clutching around his hips, pulling him back into place, “Because, as arranged, you’re nothing but our toy for the evening. But that doesn’t mean you should be hurt. I don’t like breaking my toys. Got it?”
Paul nods. Schneider huffs lightly, a soft laugh.
“You’re too kind, Till.”
“This will be the last time I state such a thing,” Till replies, shifting up closer behind Paul, letting his thick cock rest between his asscheeks, hands tight around his hips, “Next time, he won’t be given a warning.”
Paul rubs back against him; a firm circle of his hips, letting his shaft rub across his backside. Till huffs. He gropes a painfully hard handful of one of his asscheeks, earning a flinch and a soft whine. The sting in his burning backside flares up again. Till spreads him open. Paul jolts slightly, surprised when he feels a cool, wet substance poured onto his crack—the lube. Well, at least there’s that. He’s sure he could take it easily without it, though it does make it more fun—the slicker, the better. He silently appreciates the considerate gesture. Though he’s unsure if it was Schneider or Till who thought of it.
Then Till swipes the thick head of his cock down between his asscheeks, fist tight around himself, and guides himself inside, in one steady slide. Paul groans. Till curls his hands around his hips again. He carefully rocks his hip against him. He’s thicker than he is long. It doesn’t hurt, but it is a snug fit that Paul has to focus on breathing through. The thrusts become smoother, easier. Till tests the waters; he snaps against him a dozen times, balls deep every time. His heavy balls smack against him in such a lewd manner, it has Paul blushing and secretively enjoying it. Till’s careful effort in getting him accustomed to his size makes this easier—it doesn’t hurt. It just feels good, teetering on the line of too much. Regardless, Paul is moaning with every hard thrust of Till’s hips, meeting his ass with a resounding clap of skin. Paul doesn’t even realize he had risen onto his knees, if only to push back into his thrusts.
Two broad hands meet the small of his back and shove him down again. Paul flattens upon the towels with a grunt. Till shifts higher up over him, kneeing his legs apart, and braces his elbows on either side of the smaller man. His heavy body smothers him, body hair tickling his skin. Paul groans—he likes feeling this encompassing weight upon him. He’s nearly crushing him; it’s harder to breathe. It creates another layer of desperation, and further demonstrates how unimportant his comfort is. Paul grunts in strain, eyes clenched from under the blindfold, hands in fists.
This position makes for deeper penetration. Every drop of Till’s hips upon him has his cock driving far into his ass. Paul cries out, choked, with every thrust. Till is calm and controlled on top of him, hands resting lightly over Paul’s tensed forearms, fingers stroking across sweat-dampened skin while he pumped his hips. The manner of how Till fucks him truly makes Paul feel like nothing but a toy. Till rests his full lips upon Paul’s flexing shoulder, kissing in such a feather-like caress while he continuously drove the full length of his cock into him, his balls hitting against his own with such force, following every drop of his hips.
A low grunt rises out of Till, a rumble close to his ear that sends a shudder up his back. The hand which once stroked at his forearm slides inwards, if only to close around his throat. He squeezes just enough to seem possessive and degrading, without cutting off air or blood flow. He speaks lowly, a pleasant, deep murmur.
“Such a good, little slut. So pretty and small, perfect for my cock. I could keep you here for hours. I’ll fill you now, and then—”
He pauses, adding emphasis with a forceful push of his hips down against Paul’s ass, roughly burying his cock into him while grunting, earning a shocked, muffled cry from the other man. He speaks, continuing.
“Take some time to recover while Olli has his turn,” he murmurs with complete control in his voice. He resumes thrusting into him, consistent in how deep and hard he pushes down into him, evoking tight grunts from Paul with every thrust.
“Then have another go,” Till says lowly, “Even if you beg me to stop. You’d be so sore and tired. But I don’t care. I’d still fuck you, because you’re just a fucktoy who has no say, no control. What you want doesn’t matter at all.”
Paul moans genuinely, a low, shaking groan that has Till chuckling with amusement. He clenches his big hand around Paul’s throat, holding him firmly as he begins fucking him harder. Snapping his hips down against him, Till plows him into the bed, his bigger thighs smacking against Paul’s with enough force to shove him against the mattress. Paul is a running faucet of noise, whimpering sharply and groaning and sobbing in pleasure around the gag, dripping with saliva, eyes watering purely from the onslaught of pleasure, of agonizing overstimulation. His head is a fog, exacerbated by the hand squeezing around his throat. Till is huffing against the back of his head like an animal.
And then he stops. He pulls out entirely, slowly, until his cock slips out of him with a vulgar sound that turns Paul on more than it should. He sweeps the thick head up and down against his hole and taint—it evokes a sharp moan of pleasure from Paul, and a jolt of his legs. Till hums in quiet agreement. He continues teasing him with the tip of his cock, rubbing it into him, before slowly pushing back in. Paul pushes his hips back into it, meeting Till’s pelvis halfway.
Unlike Paul and Schneider anticipated, Till does not resume thrusting. He gradually, slowly slides out once more—and playfully teases some more. He slaps his cock against the wet skin between his asscheeks, and then sweeps the head back and forth over his hole. Paul whimpers, enjoying it, yet also wanting more. Till is simply playing with him.
The way he lifts himself up and angles his hips away to spank Paul soundly over the ass surprises him completely—Paul lurches, whining. That hurt so bad. His backside is a throbbing fire, still burning from the previous round of punishment it received. Till’s hand is heavy and merciless. His horniness blatantly heightens his aggression, his enjoyment in tormenting him. He begins beating his wide palm against his asscheeks, alternating between them with resounding cracks of skin that pierce the room. Screaming around the gag, a sobbing cry that makes no difference to Till, Paul is squirming wildly again. Twisting his legs as much as he is able, the noisy jingling of the restraints joining the cacophony of Till’s spanking. Five more brutal strikes of his big hand against Paul’s red ass and then Till climbs back over him. He grips his cock, sweeps it between his trembling asscheeks, and sinks back inside. Paul groans, raw and weak. Schneider reaches out to resume petting his hair, enthralled with this performance of Till truly claiming him.
Again, Till begins thrusting. He fucks him roughly now. Snapping his hips down upon him, he pounds him into the bed while Paul struggles to regather himself, hands in white-knuckled fists, body shaking uncontrollably. The sounds ripping from him emerge pained and pleasured alike. A mixture of agony. Till is brutish in how he takes Paul now, pinning him to the bed, with his full weight bearing down upon him. Relentlessly, he thrusts his hips against him. He seems to be changing the angle of which he moves against Paul, until he finally manages to find that sweet spot: Paul coils up like a spring as euphoric pleasure begins to spark in his belly. Each hard thrust passes over his prostate—again, he’s flooded with an onslaught of sensation. He feels sore and used, but the sensitivity contributes to the pleasure in a bittersweet way.
Moaning gutturally around the gag, Paul is locked up with pleasure, body trembling and still as he lays there and takes Till’s hard fucking. The passing of his thick cock through the overworked rim of his hole, only to push firmly into his prostate, crossing over it to penetrate him deeper—Paul is rendered speechless. Long webs of pre-cum trickle down from the opening in the cage, a flow of glistening substance to ultimately soak into the soiled towel, smothered to his belly and hips. His moans become tight grunts, and even those become silence. He’s shaking harshly—his hands are tremoring with incredible force, legs locked up to a point of pain. But the pain is a shadow when compared to the overwhelming destruction of his orgasm. Even as he clenches up tight around Till, while his body is wracked with the powerful earthquake of euphoria, Till pounds into him throughout it, his hips heavily, sharply smacking down against him, until another agonized groan rips from Paul’s throat.
It seems Till had been in similar state: he’s snarling now, clutching at Paul’s smaller, shaking body, snapping into him a half dozen more times before stilling. Laying upon him, Till pants. He huffs, basking in the sensation of achieving orgasm, of claiming Paul so thoroughly as he did. Continuing to smother him with his body, shaft buried into him completely, heavy balls flattened upon his taint, Till enjoys this moment. He begins to move shortly after; he withdraws halfway with a raise of his hips, and then sinks back inside. Paul’s legs jolt, trembling.
A low, breathless laugh breaks that prolonged silence.
“You’re ruthless, Till,” Richard murmurs. Till says nothing. Schneider is smirking, now resting a broad hand upon Paul’s limp wrist.
“Satisfaction is impossible to achieve with Paul,” he muses, watching Till rock his hips slowly against the smaller man, his face buried into the back of Paul’s neck, obviously sharing this intense moment with him, post-orgasm but wanting more. Schneider goes on, watching this with pleasure, “You never want to stop.”
Paul groans softly. Till is still thrusting into him, albeit now calmly and leisurely. Then, he seems to get his fill. He rises up with a creak of the bed, leaving Paul’s asscrack slick with lube and a mixture of cum. Till spanks him soundly on the ass, and is promptly rewarded with a high, sharp whine from Paul. He shifts closer on one knee to wipe his dick off on that same asscheek, leaving behind a thick streak of cum which once clung to his shaft. Schneider chuckles.
“Made good use of him,” he muses, reaching up to stroke at Paul’s short hair dampened with sweat. Rising from the bed, Till gives a departing stroke across Paul’s arm. He then trudges over to the dresser and grabs a water bottle. Paul lays there in this mess of semen, feeling it rush out of him to join his own on the soiled towel. Paul shifts, moving his arms and legs to reduce the feeling of stiffness—his thighs ache from the intensity of his orgasm, and how harshly they had clenched up.
“Lift your hips,” Schneider murmurs to him. Paul takes a second; his hips are weak and shaky, legs a bit numb. But he manages it, trembling like a lamb. Schneider slides out the dirtied towel, and fixes up the second towel which had laid below it. He rests a warm hand upon the small of Paul’s back, an indication—Paul drops heavily upon the bed again. Paul is so drained. His orgasms are giving him fatigue, if anything. And his ass is still burning. Fiery externally, aching and tingling internally. He sinks fully into the soft mattress, eyes closed, mouth weak around the gag. Schneider is stroking that loving hand up and down over his back.
“Do you want more water?” he asks softly. Paul shakes his head, though he appreciates the concern. A moment of silence passes, save for the noisy drinking of water from Till. And then Paul hears someone shift, and the creak of a chair. The undoing of pants, and the soft sound of clothing hitting the floor. Paul holds his breath. Richard whistles lowly in appreciation.
“Way to go, Olli. Stepping up. Show us how it’s done.”
Olli chuckles adorably, as he tends to do when he’s nervous. He doesn’t reply.
Paul focuses on the sound of quiet footfalls approaching the bed. And then a hand rests lightly over his side—it’s warm, and welcome. Based on sound, it seems like Richard takes the armchair Olli once sat in, and Till mumbles about taking a piss. Soon, the bathroom door is opened and they all can collectively listen to him urinating—meanwhile, Olli has quietly moved onto the bed, kneeling behind him now. Paul patiently lays, soaking in the gentle petting of Olli’s broad hands. He squeezes at his hips, his thighs, and then up again to stroke his outstretched fingers across the freckled skin of his back. It feels quite nice. Paul melts.
Those same hands curl around his hips once more and pull upwards carefully, until Paul understands and uses the balance of his elbows to rise up on his knees, albeit shakily. The padlock to his cock cage clinks noisily against the bars during this shift of position. His legs are a bit weakened from this prolonged position—Till forcing him to lay had been appreciated.
Olli shifts closer on the bed, until his legs are pressing to Paul’s, and his erect cock is resting upon his ass. Paul waits with great anticipation. They’ve never done anything like this before. Paul is pleasantly surprised that Olli is acting so bold. That he isn’t as expressive of his inexperience as Richard was, or his bashfulness in doing something so sexual with him. He’s very composed.
“Familiar with this arrangement, Olli?” Schneider pries quietly, seemingly echoing Paul’s wonders. Olli is silent a moment. He runs his hands back and forth, slowly, along Paul’s sides.
“It’s not foreign,” he murmurs, “But it’s not familiar.”
The burning questions sits in all of their mouths. Only one of them is able to voice it.
“Okay—when, with who?” Richard blurts from where he sits upon the armchair. Meanwhile, Till has returned to the bedroom with a polite, quiet click of the bathroom door. Olli huffs.
“Surely, you don’t need to know everything about my life.”
“So you’re saying you at least fucked a guy before?” Richard prods, “Just so we’re clear.”
“Yes. Now, be quiet, Richard, thank you.”
Till chuckles at that. Richard giggles, too, amused with Olli’s evident timidity. Paul squirms his hips back against him, impatiently. Those gentle hands grope at his hips, and then slide down to run across that cute little butt, before one withdraws. Paul’s belly is tingling all over again with the sparks of excitement—he’s about to get fucked by Olli! That hasn’t happened before. The most he’s done with this man is cuddle in the cabin of a boat when they’d go boating together, away from the others, when it was just the two of them. This is somehow special. Paul always found Olli very cute and good-looking, but unapproachable when it came to proposing more sexual acts.
Olli sweeps the head of his cock between his asscheeks. Paul wonders what his erect dick looks like. He’s only seen things in the shadowed darkness of shared rooms. He wants to see it fully. He supposes he’ll discover the size soon enough. And so he does: Olli pushes in slowly, deeply, to the hilt. Paul shudders, moaning weakly around the gag. This intrusion forces out more of the mixed cum; it rushes down his taint, to drip off his balls. Olli shifts closer behind him, gripping his hips, and begins to pump into him. Calm, yet deep, rocks of his hips against his ass that has Paul groaning in appreciation.
He’s not as big as Schneider, but he’s, at least, longer than Till. The angle is slightly off; the great difference in their height makes it difficult. Paul finds it feels weird, this angle. He grunts with every deep press in, and relaxes with every pull out. Olli’s hands roam. They worship the soft skin of his back and sides. But the act of fucking itself isn’t as good due to the angle. Paul is squirming, attempting to raise up higher somehow, to meet Olli’s pelvis equally.
“Have him lay down,” Schneider murmurs, “It’ll take care of the height issue.”
“Oh. Right,” Olli says softly. He pulls out. He presses a hand to the small of his back. Paul shakily lowers back down, letting his legs slide out on either side of the younger man. Olli follows suit—he moves to partially lay atop him, and shuffles a bit down to obtain the optimal arrangement. Then he raises his hips off Paul to grip his cock, sweep the wet head down between his slick asscheeks, and sink back inside. Paul groans. That’s better, for sure. It has Olli sheathing himself into his ass much easier, much smoother, to a point where he can rest upon him and let him feel the full length of his cock with no bothersome angle to compensate for. Paul gasps, jolting. The full length of him breaches a deeper part of him, one that hurts just slightly, enough to make Paul feel further degraded—like his pain doesn’t matter, that all he’s there for is delivering the others pleasure. Which is true.
“There you go,” Schneider chuckles, “That’s good.”
Olli moves to lay on top of him entirely. His chest meets his upper back, his chest hair tickling his skin. He braces his elbows upon the bed on either side of Paul. The weight of Olli bearing down on him, while not quite as intense as Till’s, is a little suffocating but enjoyable regardless. He forces Paul’s legs further apart with a careful push of his knees. Then he begins to thrust down against him, the soft clap of his hips meeting his ass filling the room, heightened by Paul’s moans and the wet sound of his shaft sliding repeatedly into a hole already filled with multiple rounds of sex.
The muffled groans of pleasure erupting from Paul are weak and broken, but laced with blatant enjoyment all the same. His ass still hurts from Till’s doing, and every little smack of Olli’s slim hips against his searing backside is a perfect reminder. The way his cock works in and out of him, deeply with every single thrust, brings back that tingling ache, that subtle burn of being fucked far too much. Paul is shaking already. His cock is pulsating, angrily straining against the bars of the cage. Pre-cum seeps plentifully from it, weeping from the opening of the cage.
Olli’s moans are soft and breathless. He’s already noisier than Till and Schneider. It’s nice to listen to. Paul tries to hold his tongue to hear them better, but the way Olli picks up the pace, snapping down against him with force and hunger, flings that attempt right out the window—Paul is back to groaning openly in delight, pleased that Olli is willing to fuck him hard like the others.
The shocks of pleasure with every pass over his prostate is too much. After three previous rounds of sex, he’s much too sensitive. While it feels quite good getting fucked in general, his overworked asshole and prostate throb with a need for a break. He’s crying out in agonized pain and pleasure. Olli presses his face into the crevice of Paul’s neck. His facial hair tickles his skin. He’s puffing against him, breathing hard as he maintains this pace. His grunts and moans are quiet, but heard easily by Paul now due to their close proximity. He listens with pleased elation—he thrives on making the others feel good. That’s all he wants.
This lasts for a while. When compared to Richard’s underwhelming pace and Till’s intense but bearable stamina, Olli is continuous, savoring. He slows his eager thrusting to something slower, deeper. A firm back and forth—a gradual pull out, a deep, almost rough push back in, to the point he forces Paul’s hips to the bed and his balls are pressed against him. Paul grunts with every reinsertion. Olli is shaking and huffing, groaning under his breath, lips laying mindlessly upon a freckled shoulder. Paul, if anything, enjoys the full body embrace. The way Olli is soaking him in as much as he can. Occasionally kissing over his ear and the back of his head, down to his shoulder again. It almost feels like making love.
For ten minutes, Olli is unrelenting. A continuous slow, deep fucking that leaves Paul sore and trembling. He must be one of those types that takes ages to come from penetrative sex. Paul is getting so squirmy and restless among this unhurried pace, he almost wants it to stop—it’s starting to hurt from overuse. Olli only speeds up his pace when approaching that apex. Snapping down into him again and again, shoving the full length of his cock into his ass with a degree of severity which has Paul grunting in pain-laced pleasure. The crack of skin when accompanied by their joined moans, varying in volume, and the vulgar noise of Olli’s shaft pumping into him makes it pornographic.
And then Olli rises up off Paul, one hand planted upon the bed. Reaching down, Olli spreads him open, grabbing a handful of one of his asscheeks. He bows his head, watching as he drove his cock into him. Paul is lowly moaning around the gag, thoroughly enjoying this rough fucking, knowing Olli is about to come. Olli’s thrusting becomes uncoordinated and shaky. In a dozen finishing snaps of his hips, each one clumsier and rougher than the last, he climaxes with a gasping moan.
His long, lean legs are trembling against Paul’s. Paul wants to reach back and pet him, to be able to praise him for fucking him so well and enjoying his body—but instead, he just lays there silently, breathing hard as Olli sits buried inside of him, their lower halves locked together. And then he shifts: he rises with both hands planted against the bed, sliding his knees up, until he’s practically sitting on Paul’s ass—somehow keeping his shaft inside of him during this change of position. Paul grunts, faintly flinching with a grimace. The depth of which Olli sits in him, when moving about like that, hurts. Yet, in a way that pleases him. Even Olli is degrading him now, by sitting on him nonchalantly, maintaining a deep penetration while showing how insignificant Paul is. He’s under his whims.
Those big hands stroke up over his sides, slicked with sweat. He drags his short nails down his skin—if only to evoke sensation. It doesn’t hurt, it has Paul shuddering. A light trail of his nails up his sides, and then Olli strokes the full width of his hands along his back. Settling his hands against Paul’s shoulder blades, he uses him as leverage to begin rocking his hips down against him. Paul kicks his feet, gasping sharply.
“Good boy,” Olli murmurs under his breath. Paul moans weakly, nearly a purr of appreciation from hearing such praise. Schneider chuckles, watching with great amusement as Olli resumed pumping into him. A deep, firm rolling of his hips that has Paul squirming and whimpering around the ball gag. Pinned by the entirety of Olli’s weight, Paul can only lay there and let him do as he pleased. The slick sounds of his shaft working into him is wet and loud in the quietness of the room. Paul is dazed and appalled by Olli’s composure, by his drive to keep going despite reaching orgasm. Not even caring that the others are watching.
He only stops after his half-hard cock accidently pops out of him, with a flinch from Paul and a grunt from Olli. A gush of cum follows. Paul shudders. Olli gets up off of him. He rests one hand on his back, leaning over to kiss his cheek. Paul releases a weak noise, and hides his face in the pillow. Schneider laughs.
“I think you did a good job of flustering him.”
“It wasn’t that hard,” Olli muses. He pets at Paul’s damp hair and then rises off the bed with a creak.
Paul whines into the pillow. The others laugh, contributing to his burning face and heightened sense of humiliation.