Page 47 of Tell Me Lies: Manlove Edition

“Do you remember the deal you made with me?” I tug at his right leg spreading him wider.

He clenches and twists, but not enough to stop my finger from finding his hole. “I don’t make deals, with pus—fuck!”

I shove the finger inside and keep him firmly anchored as he writhes and struggles.

When was the last time he’d been fucked? A malicious, vengeful pleasure flowed over me, spreading like venom through my blood. Before he’d met me? Never? I twist and poke inside his tight ass, and he hisses and grunts.

The pain makes him smile, though.

There’s something disgustingly wonderful about being wanted to the point of violence. And as hideous as he thinks he is, there is no denying that he is wanted.

I whisper, calm and nonthreatening, even as I thrust in and out of his squirming ass with my index finger. “Remember how you said once you were done with my ass, I could fuck you?”

Laur cackles because, of course, he remembers. “Is this revenge, then? You pathetic…”

I add my middle finger to the party in his hole, and he finishes with a loud. “Bitch!”

“Ghosting me?” I nibble at his ear, cooing. “Breaking up with me through your best friend?”

“We weren’t dating.” He flinches away from my affectionate whisper.

I shove both fingers in deep and hard, and his breath comes in a broken, high-pitched gulp.

“Seems like you’re done with my ass, Laur.” My voice is as soft and loving as the kiss I press on his cheek. “Now, I’m gonna tear you apart, little guy.”

He scoffs. “You’re not man enough to fuck me.”

I smile, keeping him pinned with one hand, while I open my pants. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself, sweetie.”

His ass is hard, muscular, and as closed as a damn door even with the working I’ve given him. My cock—having been tortured for half a year—is more than up to the challenge of breaking in. As inch after inch of my shaft squeezes through his barely yielding hole, Laur’s breathing changes. Not gasping for breath or grunting in pain—these sounds are beneath him—it’s a focused deep breathing, punctuated occasionally with high-pitched yelping spikes as I force my cock deeper.

Christ, it feels good to be fucking a man again.

When I look at his face again, he’s relieved, almost calm, as if some terrible battle has finally been lost, and he doesn’t have to worry about it anymore.

I can’t resist bowing over him to kiss his lips. I’ve gotten as far as cupping his cheek before he erupts into violence again. Striking my hand, pushing at my chest to get my mouth away, all while tightening his knees to keep my cock in place.

I don’t fight back, but I don’t let him move me. Keeping him pinned is like very violent resistance training. “Why won’t you let me kiss you?”

“Because I don’t want to be kissed. I want to be fucked,” he answers, very coldly. “Will you just fuck me, you sissy fuck?”

I’m not going to say no to that. I clench his thigh and impale him on my full cock in one motion. Laur’s jaw drops open with an intoxicating mix of surprise, pain, and pleasure, but not a sound passes his lips.

Buried to the hilt, I swivel my hips. That dancer’s curl that makes an audience lose its mind. There’s nothing sissy about that move to the man whose ass is on the receiving end. Hard and invasive, but Laur only grits his teeth and takes it.

When I pull my cock away, he takes another deep meditative breath. I thrust back in before he can release it naturally, forcing the air out of his lungs. I don’t give him a chance to catch his breath. If he wants to be fucked raw and rough—and he fucking does—I won’t disappoint him. Not when it feels so good, so brutally masculine, to tear apart his mean, little ass.

His cock stands straight between us, rock-hard and never wavers as he takes my assault. Aside from his cock, Laur gives me nothing to express that he enjoys my deep hard thrusting. He keeps his eyes closed and his head back. I want his gaze, I want his song of desire. And his silence only makes me go harder.

He doesn’t ask me to stop.

Quickly, relaxed by the barrage of my cock and slicked by my pre-cum, his hole softens, and my thrusts go smoother. That’s when his pain totally melts into pleasure. He moans quietly and strokes his cock unobtrusively, without shame but without making a show of it. Practical.

If I hadn’t been watching him like it was the last time I’d see him naked, if I had just brought him up to my apartment and gotten to have him like every other man I’d ever fucked, I would have been too interested in my own overwhelming pleasure to notice when he was coming.

It happens when he opens his eye to look at me. The sight of me towering over him on his couch, his legs thrown around my tapered waist, my shirt half-rolled up my defined abs—like I’d been distracted mid-striptease. The sight of me fucking him. That’s what makes his whole body tighten and twitch with tension, that’s what makes his cock spill onto his stomach in a thick white puddle.

My beauty didn’t matter? Not fucking likely.

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