Lance's muscles burned with the effort, but he couldn't stop. The pleasure was a white-hot coil, winding tighter and tighter in his gut with every brutal bounce.
The vibrator was a relentless devil on his shoulder, buzzing and screaming that he was so close, so fucking close. But the rod was a cold, hard truth, a prison for his orgasm.
The conflicting sensations were driving him out of his mind. He was moaning, a continuous, broken stream of sound. "Nnngh… ah! Ah! Fuck! Sir… please…!"
Ansel's hand cracked across his face. The sting was sharp and clarifying. "I said no talking."
His other hand snaked between them, his thumb finding Lance's stretched, slick hole where it was fucking itself on his cock and the vibrator. He pressed hard right against the rim, adding a new, shocking pressure.
Lance cried out, a strangled sound of overwhelming sensation. His rhythm faltered, his body seizing up as the pleasure-pain spiked to an unbearable degree.
Ansel took over, his powerful hips pistoning upward to meet Lance's frantic bounces, driving into him with a new, predatory fervor.
"You feel that, Lance? You feel that vibrator making you crazy? You feel my fucking cock destroying your insides? This is what you wanted. You're my perfect, filthy hole. Nothing more."
Tears of frustration and ecstasy streamed down Lance's face. He was babbling again, mindless, pleasured nonsense against Ansel's command. "Mmmph… g-gonna… c-can't… please… take it out… need to… nnnngggh!"
The orgasm was right there, a tidal wave held back by a dam of cold steel. His balls were drawn up tight and aching, his entire body trembling with the effort of holding back a release that was physically impossible.
Every nerve was alight, singing a song of pure, unadulterated need. He was a live wire, and Ansel was the source of the current, fucking it into him over and over.
Ansel watched him, his dark eyes blazing with possessive intensity, drinking in every twitch, every sob, every desperate undulation of Lance's body.
He was the master of this symphony of sensation, and Lance was his instrument, being played to the very edge of breaking.
"You're not ever going to be late again, are you, Lance?" Ansel growled, his thrusts becoming even more brutal, more precise.
The chair creaked in protest under their combined weight and force.
Lance could only shake his head wildly, his vision starting to dot with black spots. The pressure was too much. It was too good. He was going to shatter.
"No.." Ansel answered for him, his voice dropping to a vicious, sensual whisper. "Because you'll remember this. You'll remember what it feels like to be this full. To be this owned. To have your pleasure be mine to give… and mine to deny."
He grabbed a fistful of Lance's hair, yanking his head back to force eye contact. The pain was a bright, sharp counterpoint to the deep, throbbing ache in his ass.
"Now," Ansel commanded, his voice full of dark promise. "Come for me."
Lance's back arched violently, his mouth forming a silent, screaming 'O' before a raw, guttural cry ripped from his throat.
His cock jerked against the cold steel of the beaded rod and unleashed a torrent of cum that painted his stomach and chest in hot, white stripes.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck." It was a seismic release, an absolute surrender that left him seeing stars, his entire body seizing as pleasure, pure and obliterating, rode him like a lightning bolt.
But Ansel wasn't done. He didn't even slow down.
His fist tightened in Lance's hair, holding him upright as his hips continued their relentless, pounding rhythm.
The vibrator was still buzzing, a maddening counterpoint to the deep, thick slide of Ansel's cock stretching his used, sensitive hole.
"That's it," Ansel snarled, his own breath starting to come in ragged pulls. "Let it all go. Be my good, fucking filthy boy. Milk my cock with that perfect, ruined hole."
Lance could only sob, the overstimulation a breathtaking mix of agony and ecstasy.
Every nerve ending was screaming, hypersensitive and alive. He was boneless, held up only by Ansel's iron grip on his hair and the punishing, perfect thrusts of his hips.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
"Fuck, Lance… that's it… that tight fucking hole is gonna make me cum.." Ansel gritted out, his usually composed facade cracking.
His free hand dug into the meat of Lance's thigh, his nails leaving half-moon crescents. "You feel me getting harder? You feel that? I'm gonna fill your greedy little hole up. Gonna pump my fucking load so deep inside you, you'll feel it for days."
The filthy promise sent a fresh jolt through Lance's overspent body. He could feel it, the slight swell of Ansel's cock, the way his rhythm became uneven, jagged.
The vibrator's buzz was a constant, maddening vibration against his prostate, ensuring he felt every single millimeter of the invasion.
Ansel's thrusts lost all finesse, becoming shallow, frantic pistons. He buried himself to the hilt with a final, grinding push and held there.
A deep, ragged groan was torn from his chest as he came. Lance felt the hot, pulsing rush flood his insides, jet after jet of wet heat, marking him, claiming him from the inside out.
Oh god, so much. It was obscene. It was perfect.
For a long moment, the only sounds were their harsh breathing and the unrelenting buzz of the toy.
Ansel's grip on Lance's hair loosened, his hand instead coming to rest possessively on Lance's hip, feeling the tremors that still wracked his body.
He slowly, carefully, pulled his softening cock out, followed by the slick, buzzing vibrator. The sudden emptiness was a shock, a cold void where once there was overwhelming fullness.
Lance whimpered at the loss.
Ansel switched the vibrator off. The sudden silence was deafening.
He looked down at the mess he'd made of Lance. The come streaked across his heaving stomach. The tear-streaked face. The red mark on his cheek from the slap. The way his hole, red and used, glistened with a mixture of lube and Ansel's own release.
A low, satisfied sound rumbled in Ansel's chest. He leaned forward, his lips brushing the shell of Lance's ear, his voice now a dark, sated whisper.
"Look at you. Absolutely fucking wrecked." He traced a fingertip through the mess on Lance's abdomen, bringing it to his own mouth and tasting it without breaking eye contact. "All mine."
He leaned back in the creaking chair, his dark eyes roaming over Lance's defeated, blissed-out form. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face.