[Wouldn't that be a sight? One of those goons venturing down here to find their boss willingly with some bloodied cop's cock in his mouth. That probably wouldn't settle well with the family, Ray knew that much, especially not when it's done with a cop. Queer jokes aside, it's like sleeping with the enemy.
But Armando made it sound so appealing. Voice as smooth as butter as told it like a story, some dirty little erotic novel of some secret affair. He made it sound good for Ray, like he could get all the pleasure from this, get a mouth to fuck and somewhere to spill his load. It sounded tempting and alluring and selfless, so much so that he just couldn't believe a fucking word of it, even as his arousal swelled at the idea of it. That finger, however, was less welcome. Even that tip, especially without lubricant, was enough to get Ray snarling softly, muscles clamping around it and still trying to lift away from it as it follows. By the end he's got his hips lifted just off the seat and his weight distributed between his legs and his arms, and it hasn't made the slightest bit of difference to that invasion.
Fuck, he must be desperate if even this was setting him off.
Blame the coke. Isn't that what the mafioso had said right from the start? That this would absolve Stanley of all responsibility. It wasn't a bad call, and even with the surging guilt at every single part of this, Ray could genuinely say the drug is the reason his heart is racing and his mind is fucked. He can't be blamed for that...]
Fuckin' try it, sure. Bet your family would love to hear one of their respected is tryin' to fuck around with cops.
[Strained, raw, his throat dry and already aching, all this aggression really not helping it along.
He doesn't dare lower his hips, not at first, especially not when he sees the lubricant and those weird ass tongs back in view; a hugely unwelcome view after last time. They were bad enough near his mouth. But then it's stupid to be sat like this. It's giving easy access. He needed to get himself tucked in and away from prying fingers.
There'd been that silent acknowledgement that kicking was a bad idea, but perhaps a shove wouldn't be included in that. After all, when his feet scrabble for purchase against the rubber with all consideration on lowering himself properly back into the chair, he can hardly be blamed if a bare foot plants itself at Armando's torso, and it can't even be blamed for pushing solidly against that body, using the momentum to push himself right into the back of the seat. His position takes up the defensive, pelvis rocking back to try and tuck his ass further into the corner of the seating and away from prying hands, but at least it gave a nice effect of shoving his chest out, a nice little addition to 'that bravado' of his.]
no subject
But Armando made it sound so appealing. Voice as smooth as butter as told it like a story, some dirty little erotic novel of some secret affair. He made it sound good for Ray, like he could get all the pleasure from this, get a mouth to fuck and somewhere to spill his load. It sounded tempting and alluring and selfless, so much so that he just couldn't believe a fucking word of it, even as his arousal swelled at the idea of it. That finger, however, was less welcome. Even that tip, especially without lubricant, was enough to get Ray snarling softly, muscles clamping around it and still trying to lift away from it as it follows. By the end he's got his hips lifted just off the seat and his weight distributed between his legs and his arms, and it hasn't made the slightest bit of difference to that invasion.
Fuck, he must be desperate if even this was setting him off.
Blame the coke. Isn't that what the mafioso had said right from the start? That this would absolve Stanley of all responsibility. It wasn't a bad call, and even with the surging guilt at every single part of this, Ray could genuinely say the drug is the reason his heart is racing and his mind is fucked. He can't be blamed for that...]
Fuckin' try it, sure. Bet your family would love to hear one of their respected is tryin' to fuck around with cops.
[Strained, raw, his throat dry and already aching, all this aggression really not helping it along.
He doesn't dare lower his hips, not at first, especially not when he sees the lubricant and those weird ass tongs back in view; a hugely unwelcome view after last time. They were bad enough near his mouth. But then it's stupid to be sat like this. It's giving easy access. He needed to get himself tucked in and away from prying fingers.
There'd been that silent acknowledgement that kicking was a bad idea, but perhaps a shove wouldn't be included in that. After all, when his feet scrabble for purchase against the rubber with all consideration on lowering himself properly back into the chair, he can hardly be blamed if a bare foot plants itself at Armando's torso, and it can't even be blamed for pushing solidly against that body, using the momentum to push himself right into the back of the seat. His position takes up the defensive, pelvis rocking back to try and tuck his ass further into the corner of the seating and away from prying hands, but at least it gave a nice effect of shoving his chest out, a nice little addition to 'that bravado' of his.]