[ his voice has long since lost all of its flighty color, now nothing more than a hoarse, low rumble as his hand continues to work as he'd been told. it's making every nerve-ending in his body light up, flashing danger and warning signs every time he closes his eyes. but the man keeps typing and tim keeps reading.
And you trust me. You'd do anything I asked.
he sighs at the words - a statement of fact. an understanding made somewhere between them between their first interaction to now. tim doesn't remember shaking hands with him over it, but it's true. he trusts the faceless man on the other side of these words, and he absolutely would do anything he possibly asked.
it's dangerous. ]
Do you like me curious, sir?
[ there's a bit more of that playful tone mixed in with the husky exertion. a tease for a tease, a little bite for a bite, to prove he's not all pliable innocence and gullible sweetness.
(he is, really, both of those things. he knows that. but he's sharp - and this is a game he can play. it's no different than chess, really - pieces moving carefully to create a winning strategy and formation on the board. it just so happens the man on the other end plays a better game than he can). ]
I'm curious about - a lot of things. How you'd keep me still on your cock while I do this. How much it would stretch me open. How many times you'd cum in me before you'd let me cum. How long I'd - oh, God -
[ another thrust of his hips, just as he'd been told. angling into his fist that twists at his tip then sinks back down. his voice and music can't mask the slick, quick sounds of himself stroking. ]
Please, sir. I could keep it - hours, if I had -
[ and yet he doesn't even get to finish his statement before he sees the words cum for me and that's all it takes. one stroke and he's spilling hard over his hand, unable to even stroke himself through it for how sensitive and sore he is. he comes hard, sticky strings of white all but making a mess of his stomach, his abs, his legs twitching and his fingers fisting hard into the sheets as he cries out, louder than before and strained.
it takes longer to come down from this one, to settle, his body feeling molten and loose, his mind foggy, his dick still twitching, laying heavy on his stomach through the aftermath and throbbing from the abuse. ]
Thank you, sir.
[ the jaw on the screen works, he swallows hard and lets out a little gasp as he tries to catch his breath. a hand falls to lazily swipe at the mess on his stomach, before his hand rises to rest against his ribs. ]
I hope your boy made you proud.
[ and he always says something like this at the end, a little reward, but he never says it out loud. always types. he can't be bothered to reach for his phone. ]
no subject
[ his voice has long since lost all of its flighty color, now nothing more than a hoarse, low rumble as his hand continues to work as he'd been told. it's making every nerve-ending in his body light up, flashing danger and warning signs every time he closes his eyes. but the man keeps typing and tim keeps reading.
And you trust me.
You'd do anything I asked.
he sighs at the words - a statement of fact. an understanding made somewhere between them between their first interaction to now. tim doesn't remember shaking hands with him over it, but it's true. he trusts the faceless man on the other side of these words, and he absolutely would do anything he possibly asked.
it's dangerous. ]
Do you like me curious, sir?
[ there's a bit more of that playful tone mixed in with the husky exertion. a tease for a tease, a little bite for a bite, to prove he's not all pliable innocence and gullible sweetness.
(he is, really, both of those things. he knows that. but he's sharp - and this is a game he can play. it's no different than chess, really - pieces moving carefully to create a winning strategy and formation on the board. it just so happens the man on the other end plays a better game than he can). ]
I'm curious about - a lot of things. How you'd keep me still on your cock while I do this. How much it would stretch me open. How many times you'd cum in me before you'd let me cum. How long I'd - oh, God -
[ another thrust of his hips, just as he'd been told. angling into his fist that twists at his tip then sinks back down. his voice and music can't mask the slick, quick sounds of himself stroking. ]
Please, sir. I could keep it - hours, if I had -
[ and yet he doesn't even get to finish his statement before he sees the words cum for me and that's all it takes. one stroke and he's spilling hard over his hand, unable to even stroke himself through it for how sensitive and sore he is. he comes hard, sticky strings of white all but making a mess of his stomach, his abs, his legs twitching and his fingers fisting hard into the sheets as he cries out, louder than before and strained.
it takes longer to come down from this one, to settle, his body feeling molten and loose, his mind foggy, his dick still twitching, laying heavy on his stomach through the aftermath and throbbing from the abuse. ]
Thank you, sir.
[ the jaw on the screen works, he swallows hard and lets out a little gasp as he tries to catch his breath. a hand falls to lazily swipe at the mess on his stomach, before his hand rises to rest against his ribs. ]
I hope your boy made you proud.
[ and he always says something like this at the end, a little reward, but he never says it out loud. always types. he can't be bothered to reach for his phone. ]