The feeling of being so full, so stretched, was overwhelming. The nipple clamps felt like live wires, every throb of his heartbeat translating into a sharp tug on his chest.
Then, he began to move.
He pulled up, the ridged shaft dragging against his inner walls with a filthy, wet sound. Just before the head could pop free, he slammed back down, taking it all again in one brutal stroke.
A ragged cry tore from his throat.
"Fucking… yes!"
He set a rhythm, fucking himself on the dildo with abandon. Each downward plunge was a shock of intense, borderline-painful pleasure.
Each upward pull was a sweet, aching emptiness that begged to be filled again.
He reached down and grabbed his own cock, stroking it in time with his movements. Pre-cum leaked freely, slicking his hand.
His mind fractured, conjuring the man who owned this room. "Ansel… fuck, Ansel, you should see me…" he gasped, his words slurring.
