fredbassett

Stephen Hart’s finger moved slowly inside him, dry, rasping like sandpaper, just on the edge of painful.

Ryan’s heart rate speeded up.

It felt good.

He remembered the first time that finger had jabbed into him dry. More than two months ago now. Back in the hotel, the day after he’d fucked Hart’s mouth so hard he’d left bruised lips behind him.

Memory flooded his body with heat and he thrust his hips against the sheets. He wasn’t trying to get away from the intrusion of the finger, he just craved more friction against his swollen cock.

Hart shoved a second finger into him. It stretched and burnt and breath caught in his throat.

Ryan tensed against the restraints, feeling the sharp tug of the cable ties on his wrists and ankles, even through the padding of the socks. He couldn’t stop himself grinning. Sodding silly socks. There had to be a better way of dealing with this.

The inexorable slide of long fingers dragged first one groan out of him, then another.

“Get on with it if you’re going to, Hart, not gonna last long if you keep that up!”

Hart’s warm breath on the back of his neck nearly drove Ryan straight over the edge, then a hand pushed its way under his hips and fingers settled round the base of his cock, forcing the threatened orgasm under a measure of control.

He let out a small sigh of relief.

The searching finger succeeded in its quest and Ryan’s hips bucked wildly.

There, just there, like that! So good, so fucking good!

Sweat sprung out on Ryan’s body and he could smell his own arousal. He was moaning and writhing, chasing pleasure like a dream. He’d long since lost count of the number of times he’d fucked and been fucked, but nothing had ever felt quite like this.

It was sharper, fiercer, darker and brought back memories of the night he’d driven himself into Hart, without preparation, without lubrication, not even stopping to ease his passage with spit or sweat.

He’d hurt his lover then, there’d been no denying that. He’d tasted the blood and the next day he’d seen the evidence on the sheets and on the other man’s thighs. And the thought of what he’d done still brought with it a flush of embarrassment. Not least of which because he knew how sharp his own climax had been.

Hart was owed this, there was no doubt about it, but this was about more than that now. Ryan wanted this. God, he wanted it. Less than a week ago he’d been terrified of losing this man. Now he wanted to feel his lover inside him, hard, hot and dry. He wanted pain to cleanse his fear. Heat to drive away the cold that he still remembered all too vividly.

The rational part of his mind pointed out that this was just another stupid, destructive game. A game that he shouldn’t be playing. A game that would end up with a ripped and bleeding arse.

The other part of his brain, conditioned by more years than he cared to remember of macho idiocies like arm-wrestling over lighted candles or, even worse, broken glass, took a definitely perverse satisfaction from the painful drag of Hart’s fingers inside him.

A third finger dug in and his gasp turned into another groan.  The fingers stopped moving. Stopped just short of that spot. And Ryan groaned again, trying to push up, trying to drive the fingers exactly where he wanted them, but his muscles suddenly wouldn’t obey even simple instructions.

Fuck me, fuck me now, Hart! Make it hurt …………

A quiet voice breathed in his ear, “Ryan, I don’t think this is a good idea …….”

The words hit the soldier like a dose of iced water and his eyes snapped open, “Stop now and I really will fucking kill you, Hart ………”

In answer he heard a slightly shaky laugh, then the probing fingers moved again and stars exploded in his brain.

Only the other fingers clamped tightly round the base of his cock prevented a similar explosion elsewhere.

Fuck me, you bastard, now ………!