Hurt Me Like You Mean It [BL]-Chapter 50: On your back, now(R18)

Lance’s voice was a strangled gasp as he shoved Henry’s reaching hand away.

The vibration inside him had just jumped to a brutal, relentless maximum setting—a deep, drilling pulse that erased every thought except the need for friction, for release.

His own hands were fumbling at his belt, his dress pants pushed down to his thighs before he even registered what he was doing. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

His cock, hard and dripping, was in his fist.

He stroked furiously, his hips bucking into his own grip, a choked sob escaping his lips.

Henry bit his own lip, his face flushed, eyes wide and dark with arousal. He took a step closer, hand outstretched again. "Lance, just let me—"

"I said stay the fuck away!" Lance snarled, the words torn from him as the vibrator seemed to find a new, devastating frequency against his prostate. His strokes became frantic, sloppy. Pre-cum slicked his fingers.

He was going to come. He was going to come right here in the storage closet, in front of Henry, and he couldn’t fucking stop it.

The door swung open.

Ansel stood there, silhouetted by the brighter hallway light. His expression was cold, but his eyes burned.

A slight, terrifying twist of his lips that wasn’t a smile at all.

"Well.." Ansel said, his voice a low, smooth poison. "What a disgusting little sight."

Lance froze, his hand still on his cock, humiliation flooding him hotter than the arousal.

Ansel stepped inside, letting the door swing shut. "You’re making me very upset, Lance. If you know what’s good for that slutty hole of yours, you’ll pull your fucking pants up. Now."

The command was a whip-crack. Lance whimpered, scrambling to obey, tucking himself away and yanking his trousers up with trembling hands. The vibrator still thrummed at full power inside him, making every movement a shaky, electric torment.

Ansel turned his dark stare on Henry, who step back against a shelf. "Threading on dangerous waters Backster." That sentence left no room for argument.

Then his hand closed around Lance’s upper arm, fingers digging in like steel. He marched him out of the closet, down the hall. Lance stumbled, his legs weak, the buzzing in his ass a constant, maddening scream. He clenched his jaw, trying to walk normally as they passed a few staff members.

Ansel’s pace was merciless.

He shoved open the door to an empty office and pushed Lance inside, following and locking the door with a decisive click.

The anger rolled off Ansel in waves. He turned, his gaze stripping Lance bare.

"Strip. Everything."

Lance fumbled with his clothes, his fingers numb. The vibrator’s buzz was the only sound besides his ragged breathing.

Soon, he stood naked, shivering, his cock painfully hard and bobbing with each internal pulse.

Ansel closed the distance. He didn’t kiss him. He pinched one of Lance’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger, twisting hard.

"Ah! Fuck, Ansel! It hurts.."

"You had the nerve.." Ansel hissed, his face inches away, "to jerk your filthy little cock in front of another man. To show him what a desperate whore you are." He pinched the other nipple, just as rough. "Was he going to help you? Were you going to let him fuck you right there?"

"N-no! It was the vibration, you set it to max, I couldn’t—nngh!"

His explanation earned him a sharp slap across the face. It wasn’t hard enough to bruise, but it stung, the shock silencing him.

"Don’t you dare blame my tools for your lack of control, you greedy cocksucker.." Ansel growled. He grabbed Lance by the hips and spun him around, bending him over the polished oak desk.

The papers on it scattering. "You wanted relief? I’ll give you relief."

Lance heard the rip of a foil packet, the slick sound of Ansel spitting into his palm, stroking his own cock.

There was no preparation, no gentle easing. Ansel’s tip pressed against Lance’s hole, already stretched and slick from the vibrator.

"You want it?" Ansel taunted, grinding the head against him.

"Yes! God, please, Ansel, fuck me!"

Ansel drove forward in one brutal, burying thrust.

The air was punched from Lance’s lungs.

Fuck.

It was too much, the fullness unbearable was perfect.

The vibrator was still inside, pressed impossibly deep by Ansel’s cock. The combined sensations were blinding. Ansel didn’t wait for him to adjust. He set a punishing pace from the first stroke, his hips slamming into Lance’s ass with a wet, rhythmic slap.

"This what you needed, you slut?" Ansel grunted, one hand fisting in Lance’s hair, yanking his head back. "This fucking wrecking your insides?"

"Yes! Fuck!" Lance screamed into the desktop, his body jolting forward with each thrust. The vibrator buzzed against his prostate, Ansel’s cock pistoning over it. It was sensory overload, a feedback loop of pleasure-pain that whitewashed his mind.

"Don’t stop! Fucking ruin me!"

Ansel changed the angle, leaning over him, his chest plastered to Lance’s sweaty back. "Such a dirty fucking hole. You were born for this, to take cock just like this." His thrusts became shorter, harder, drilling into one spot.

Lance was babbling, a stream of yes and more and please.

Then Ansel pulled out entirely, leaving Lance gaping and empty. "On your back. Now."

Lance scrambled onto the desk, laying back on the scattered papers. Ansel grabbed his ankles, hooked them over his shoulders, and plunged back in. This position was deeper, more intense.

Lance could see Ansel’s face, see the feral lust in his eyes as he fucked into him.

"Look at you.." Ansel sneered, his pace never faltering. "My perfect little fucktoy. Your body just sucks me in. You love it, don’t you? Love being used on a desk like a cheap whore."

"I love it! I’m your whore, your perfect fucking cocksleeve!" Lance cried, the words spilling out, fueled by the degradation and the blinding pleasure.

He reached down to stroke himself but Ansel smacked his hand away.

"No. You come from my cock fucking this greedy cunt or you don’t come at all."

The next position was rougher. Ansel pulled him to the edge of the desk, made him stand bent over, and took him from behind again, one hand braced on Lance’s shoulder, the other around his throat, not squeezing, just holding. The thrusts were animalistic, the desk creaking in protest.

"Gonna fill this used-up hole.." Ansel grunted, his rhythm starting to fracture. "Gonna pump you so full you feel it for days, you fucking bitch."

Lance felt the coil in his gut snap. "Ansel! I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum!"