[Ray is overwhelmed. There's no other explanation for it. Every bit of him squirming and jerking and craving more. Even this, with his senses on fire and the speedy thrum of those beads surging through him wasn't quite enough. Never quite enough to get him reaching his pinnacle. He needs something more and it's that thought that makes him wonder if maybe he is some dirty little slut, that is this is all it takes to get him squirming and moaning then maybe there's some truth behind it. Surely a better man would be able to resist and endure, rather than tied down, achingly hard and gasping for air.
He can't stop it though, not when every part of him is tense and wired, shivering and straining around the unrelenting waves of pleasure deep within. It's hitting something deep within that he can't quite explain, and without being able to explain it even to himself, he turns to frustration and annoyance, snarling, legs still clamped around Armando even as he starts to shift upwards.
It comes as somewhat of a surprise at just how careful the mobster is as he shuts down that vibration, a supportive arm on Ray to lower him back in the chair as he collapses thankfully back down, sweating and panting from the exertion of it. His head drops backwards, resting at the seat back as he distantly listens to the voice, that mafioso aggression seemingly gone from the tone. There's instruction there, and while Ray doesn't want to obey on principle, it's difficult not to when his huffs for breath turn into deep inhales and long, heavy exhales. Armando catches him perfectly on one of the exhales, the beads slipping from Ray like some bizarre and exceptionally personal massage, causing his exhale to morph into a low, lasting moan, while he his muscle contracts and loosens in it's wake as if still grasping for them.
God, he needs release. He needs to get out of this somehow, especially out of that ring that's still clinging to the base of his cock like a rubber band gradually cutting circulation from a limb.
He's expecting something else to come, waiting with an anticipatory snarl, and yet instead he's met with a pause while a too soft palm cups around his balls. It's a ridiculously tender moment and Ray's half expecting pain to follow but never quite getting it. Not yet, anyway. For the moment he's just left to stare down his noses at Armando, panting.]
No.
[He can assume what he should be ready for. Whatever it is, it won't be pretty.]
no subject
He can't stop it though, not when every part of him is tense and wired, shivering and straining around the unrelenting waves of pleasure deep within. It's hitting something deep within that he can't quite explain, and without being able to explain it even to himself, he turns to frustration and annoyance, snarling, legs still clamped around Armando even as he starts to shift upwards.
It comes as somewhat of a surprise at just how careful the mobster is as he shuts down that vibration, a supportive arm on Ray to lower him back in the chair as he collapses thankfully back down, sweating and panting from the exertion of it. His head drops backwards, resting at the seat back as he distantly listens to the voice, that mafioso aggression seemingly gone from the tone. There's instruction there, and while Ray doesn't want to obey on principle, it's difficult not to when his huffs for breath turn into deep inhales and long, heavy exhales. Armando catches him perfectly on one of the exhales, the beads slipping from Ray like some bizarre and exceptionally personal massage, causing his exhale to morph into a low, lasting moan, while he his muscle contracts and loosens in it's wake as if still grasping for them.
God, he needs release. He needs to get out of this somehow, especially out of that ring that's still clinging to the base of his cock like a rubber band gradually cutting circulation from a limb.
He's expecting something else to come, waiting with an anticipatory snarl, and yet instead he's met with a pause while a too soft palm cups around his balls. It's a ridiculously tender moment and Ray's half expecting pain to follow but never quite getting it. Not yet, anyway. For the moment he's just left to stare down his noses at Armando, panting.]
No.
[He can assume what he should be ready for. Whatever it is, it won't be pretty.]
Go fuck yourself.