[That massage feels good. Too good considering the situation. That palm rolling against his overly sensitive skin, already taught and full and ready to go and yet no respite thanks to the ring.
He needs that off and he needs pleasure. What he doesn't need is some other guy's cock, but it appears as if he's going to get that no matter what he was hoping for. Ray would consider it a selfish fucking move, but then he remembers this isn't his lover and this isn't some scenario for him to get his rocks off to in some creepy ass sex dungeon. This is punishment. This is sending a message for him to think twice before he ever tries to invade in the families business again, and it works. Right here and right now, even without Armando removing his grip and lining himself up, Ray can safely say his lesson is well and truly learned.
After this he could get Fraser and get the hell out of town. After this. All he had to do was endure. And jesus, what a thing to endure.
Armando tells him to spit and he holds off because maybe that's some weird kink this guy has got going on. Some rapey little love to get spat at, just like his apparent enjoyment for getting his hand ripped to shreds. Ray does spit words though, trying to drag some sense of control back into his world as his arms strain up against the two ties.]
See how hard my fist is when I punch you a knew asshole, cocksuker. I'll tear ya to shreds. Rip you to pieces. Your boys are gonna come down here to find me fucking a new hole in your head. They'll have to drag me off your lifeless fuckin' corpse. I'll-- fuck.
[That distance between them is a good job, because right as he feels that breach, he gets the sudden urge to bite into something and not let go. Without the other nearby, he's forced to bite down on his own bottom lip, grunting and growling around it as Armando presses in. With the aid of all that lube, and the beads that had come before, the pressure is less intense than before, but it still hurts like hell.
It's the stretch that gets him, pushing wider than what had come before until he's pretty sure he's going to tear something, if not internally, then one of the hundreds of muscles in his torso that are currently keeping him almost lifted off the chair again. This isn't like before, where there was a relenting pause between each bead. This is solid and thick and determined.
Tempting as it is to kick out, it's difficult for Ray to control himself much as it is, and so instead of a solid side kick to the side, his legs stay tight around the body between them, one uselessly wrapping around as if that'll somehow prevent it all. It can at least try and keep Armando where is is and not moving back, but even that doesn't seem too helpful in the current situation, especially not considering one leg can't match up to the other's entire body moving.
But there's a pause. Almost like a moment for adjustment but that can't be right. Maybe the mobster is so coked up that he just needs time to think; he sure does seem fascinated just by looking. Fucker.
Dick in him or not, Ray still pushes against the hand on his chest, snarling like a rabid dog as he acts like he's lunging for a bite. Entirely impossible, held back as he is, but still worth the visual attempt, even if the lean does cause a shift below that sends a shiver up his spine.]
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He needs that off and he needs pleasure. What he doesn't need is some other guy's cock, but it appears as if he's going to get that no matter what he was hoping for. Ray would consider it a selfish fucking move, but then he remembers this isn't his lover and this isn't some scenario for him to get his rocks off to in some creepy ass sex dungeon. This is punishment. This is sending a message for him to think twice before he ever tries to invade in the families business again, and it works. Right here and right now, even without Armando removing his grip and lining himself up, Ray can safely say his lesson is well and truly learned.
After this he could get Fraser and get the hell out of town. After this. All he had to do was endure. And jesus, what a thing to endure.
Armando tells him to spit and he holds off because maybe that's some weird kink this guy has got going on. Some rapey little love to get spat at, just like his apparent enjoyment for getting his hand ripped to shreds. Ray does spit words though, trying to drag some sense of control back into his world as his arms strain up against the two ties.]
See how hard my fist is when I punch you a knew asshole, cocksuker. I'll tear ya to shreds. Rip you to pieces. Your boys are gonna come down here to find me fucking a new hole in your head. They'll have to drag me off your lifeless fuckin' corpse. I'll-- fuck.
[That distance between them is a good job, because right as he feels that breach, he gets the sudden urge to bite into something and not let go. Without the other nearby, he's forced to bite down on his own bottom lip, grunting and growling around it as Armando presses in. With the aid of all that lube, and the beads that had come before, the pressure is less intense than before, but it still hurts like hell.
It's the stretch that gets him, pushing wider than what had come before until he's pretty sure he's going to tear something, if not internally, then one of the hundreds of muscles in his torso that are currently keeping him almost lifted off the chair again. This isn't like before, where there was a relenting pause between each bead. This is solid and thick and determined.
Tempting as it is to kick out, it's difficult for Ray to control himself much as it is, and so instead of a solid side kick to the side, his legs stay tight around the body between them, one uselessly wrapping around as if that'll somehow prevent it all. It can at least try and keep Armando where is is and not moving back, but even that doesn't seem too helpful in the current situation, especially not considering one leg can't match up to the other's entire body moving.
But there's a pause. Almost like a moment for adjustment but that can't be right. Maybe the mobster is so coked up that he just needs time to think; he sure does seem fascinated just by looking. Fucker.
Dick in him or not, Ray still pushes against the hand on his chest, snarling like a rabid dog as he acts like he's lunging for a bite. Entirely impossible, held back as he is, but still worth the visual attempt, even if the lean does cause a shift below that sends a shiver up his spine.]