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Tim felt it the moment it hit.
The fight was brief—fast, chaotic, more smoke than impact—but when that canister cracked open, he’d barely registered the scent before it wrapped around him. Sweet and cloying, like crushed flowers and something warmer underneath, something feral. He staggered. He fought. He won. And then he ran. Because even through the haze, through the dizziness, through the mounting pressure, he knew something was wrong.
He made it as far as the rooftop. His grapple gun barely fired. His boots hit the edge and he landed on his knees, armor heavy, heart pounding. His mouth was dry, eyes glassy, and worst of all, his skin was burning.
No, not skin—under it.
Like his nerves were all misfiring at once, crackling low in his belly and shooting straight down between his legs.
Tim gasped and curled forward, tried to fumble with his comms, tried to speak, but his fingers twitched too much to grip anything. His thighs pressed together without permission. His whole body was flushed and tingling. The heat pooled low, dragging slick from him like a faucet turned on—an ache blooming deep in his gut, pulsing, greedy, electric.
His cunt throbbed. And not subtly.
Not like the slow flutter of arousal he was used to. This was demanding. A pulsing, throbbing ache that made him pant into his glove, shame prickling hotter than the drug itself.
He couldn’t even make it inside.
His legs wouldn’t hold. His body wouldn’t obey. So he collapsed beside the HVAC unit, the buzz of machinery almost drowning out his whines as he dragged himself out of the direct line of sight, flushed and twitching. Armor off. Cape bunched beneath him. Sweat beading on his brow. Need coiling in his stomach like a fist.
He’d never felt anything like it.
His cunt was dripping. Soaked through the bottom of his suit, slick staining the fabric in dark patches. Every heartbeat felt like it echoed there, in that swollen, wet center between his legs. He was shivering from it—hips grinding down into the roof without him realizing, chest heaving like he was dying.
“Fuck,” he whispered, teeth grit, eyes wide with panic. He wasn’t going to make it. He couldn’t move. His thighs kept twitching open, his fingers wouldn’t stop trembling, and worst of all—his nipples were hard. Sharp and sensitive under the thin compression layer, the cool air brushing them and making him gasp as the stimulation lit him up like kindling.
He didn’t hear the boots until they were close.
Too late to hide. Too late to run. He barely managed to curl in on himself before the shadow fell across him—wide, tall, unmistakably him.
Slade.
Tim’s body responded before his brain could. A jolt of something sharp—fear, maybe, or some sick spike of relief—ran through him. His cunt pulsed again, more slick soaking his suit, and his stomach twisted with panic. Slade crouched beside him like he’d been summoned. Calm. Curious. Amused.
“That gas did a number on you, huh, kid?”
Tim blinked up at him, face hot and wet with sweat, heart in his throat. “Don’t—don’t touch me.” It came out weak. Unconvincing. He wasn’t even covering his naked form properly.
Slade’s eye raked over him like he already owned him. The trembling, the flushed skin, the way Tim’s thighs kept parting even as he tried to keep them shut.
“I won’t,” Slade murmured. “Not unless you beg.”
And Tim’s cunt throbbed at the sound of it.
Tim had never been so humiliated in his life. He wasn’t even in control of his own body—hips rocking down into the rough rooftop surface, grinding shamelessly as friction sparked fireworks behind his eyes. He could feel the slick building between his thighs, soaking through the tight material of his suit. The pressure in his belly was unbearable—hot, swollen, urgent, coiling tighter with every helpless rub of his cunt against the rooftop.
And Slade?
He just watched.
Kneeling beside him, massive and still, one knee bent and his arms resting over it like he had all the time in the world. His eye burned into him—calm, unreadable, interested. Not mocking. Not cruel. Just… curious.
“That’s it,” he murmured when Tim gasped, when his back arched and his thighs spread instinctively wider. “Just let it happen.”
Tim sobbed. Not from pain—from need. His body was going to shatter if it didn’t get something more. But Slade wasn’t touching him. He wasn’t doing anything.
Except looking.
But then his hands came, slow and exploring.
One dragged over the back of Tim’s neck. Down his spine. Over the curves of his sweat-slick back and then lower—bracketing his waist, resting heavy on his hips like anchors. The other moved over his ribs, brushing the sides of his breasts just barely, just enough to make Tim gasp and arch into the contact.
“You feel like you’ve been burning up for hours,” Slade said, voice low.
Tim choked on a moan, tried to nod, tried to grind, but Slade’s grip tightened, holding him still and denying him friction. He squirmed, a whine high in his throat. Sweat beading on his brow, his thighs shaking, his cunt drooling and empty.
“Please—” the word ripped out of him raw.
Slade’s hands paused.
“Please what?” His tone was so gentle. So fucking teasing. Tim wanted to die. Wanted to melt into the roof and disappear, but the ache in his cunt didn’t stop. It throbbed in time with his heartbeat, aching to be filled, stretched, touched.
“Please—my—” he couldn’t even say it. His voice broke and he dropped his head to his arms, sobbing quietly, shame wracking every inch of him.
But his hips still rocked. His cunt still pulsed. And Slade was still holding him.
“Say it,” Slade murmured. A thumb stroked along his lower back, painfully gentle. “Say what you want and I’ll give it to you.”
Another sob. Another rock of his hips.
And then—broken, gasping, desperate:
“My—my pussy, please, just—just touch me there, please, I can’t—”
Slade’s breath left him in a hiss. His grip shifted. One hand dragged down between Tim’s spread thighs and finally, his fingers pressed against the soaked mess of Tim’s cunt through his ruined suit. Immediately overwhelmed, Tim cried out at the contact.
Slade’s fingers pressed firm and slow against the soaked heat of Tim’s cunt, and the boy bucked like he’d been shocked—hips jerking up into the touch, thighs trembling violently.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Slade murmured, voice low and gravely.
Tim couldn’t answer. Could barely breathe. The pressure of Slade’s hand between his legs was like floodgates opening. His cunt clenched around nothing, his whole body thrumming with the desperate pulse of relief.
And Slade didn’t even slide a finger in at first. Just cupped him through the fabric, let his palm grind slow and cruel while Tim twitched under it, mouth open in a silent moan.
“Thought so,” Slade said, dragging his fingers down the seam of Tim’s suit, feeling the outline of swollen lips and drenched heat. “Your cunt’s fucking begging. Makes the whole rooftop smell like you.”
Tim whimpered, full-body shuddering as his hips rocked into Slade’s hand. The friction was too much. Not enough. His cunt was swollen, needy, soaked in slick. He’d never been touched like this—never like he needed it to survive.
“Gonna give you what you want,” Slade muttered, already tugging the fabric aside. Tim felt the night air rush in, cool against flushed, wet skin. Then Slade’s bare fingers—rough, warm, huge—pressing right into his slick folds. And Tim cried out, loud and wrecked.
One thick finger slid in and Tim’s whole body arched.
It was too much. Not enough. It felt like being split and filled and finally seen all at once. The stretch burned. His cunt fluttered helplessly around it, already pulling it in deeper, already clenching for more.
“Tight little cunt,” Slade said low, almost reverent. “So fucking warm.”
A second finger joined the first, and Tim whined. Slade didn’t stop. He worked him open slow and steady, dragging his fingers against every sweet, swollen spot, curling and spreading him until slick ran in messy rivers down Tim’s thighs.
“Look at you,” Slade breathed. “Already shaking for it. You’re gonna take me so fucking well.”
Tim sobbed into the rooftop, arms folded tight under his chest, full tits dragging against the concrete with every thrust of Slade’s fingers. He could feel it—how ruined he already was. How stretched. And Slade hadn’t even—
Then he heard the zip.
Tim turned his head, dazed and panting—and saw Slade’s cock.
Big. Long. Thick. Viciously hard. Already slick at the tip.
His stomach dropped. His cunt pulsed.
“No,” he whispered, high and broken. “I—I can’t.”
"You can." Slade leaned in, voice soft in a mockery of kindness. "You’re gonna take it. Your cunt’s already crying for it."
Tim trembled. He didn’t say no again. Didn’t say yes, either. Just braced himself, sobbing into the rooftop as Slade lined himself up behind him.
The first push made his breath leave him in a howl.
He was stretched wide immediately, the blunt head of Slade’s cock pressing past his entrance with terrifying slowness. His cunt gripped down tight, fighting it, needing it, fluttering helplessly around the thick intrusion.
"That’s it," Slade groaned, pushing deeper.
Tim’s body shook. His knees scraped against the rooftop. His hands clawed at the concrete like it could save him. But his cunt? His cunt welcomed it.
Slick and fluttering, the heat of it sucking Slade in, inch by thick inch until Tim’s belly was taut and his back arched hard, crying with every slow stretch.
"You’re taking me," Slade said. "So good. You’re made for this."
Slade didn’t start slow.
He bottomed out with a low, satisfied growl—one hand gripping Tim’s hip like a handle, the other pressing firm between his shoulder blades, pinning him down against the rooftop as that massive cock seated itself all the way in.
Tim whined. Not from pain. From stretch. From shock. From the way his cunt clenched around Slade’s cock like it had never been empty.
"Shhh," Slade murmured, breath hot against the back of Tim’s neck. "You’re taking me well. So fucking tight—"
He pulled back and slammed back in.
Tim choked on a sob.
The rooftop scraped at his chest, his tits dragging with every thrust. His body jolted under the force of Slade’s hips, every inch of him used, every breath caught between no and more. His cunt was soaked, the sound of it obscene—wet, fluttering, desperate. Each thrust sent Tim forward on the roof, forced him to scramble for grip—palms bloody, knees scuffed, skin slicked in sweat. His body was caught in the pull of two impossible truths:
He didn’t want this.
His cunt was taking it like it did.
The shame tore through him, hotter than the drug, raw and deep—his mouth open and panting, tears dripping off his chin, every sob broken up by the slap of Slade’s hips against him.
He was full. Split open and held there.
His body quivered—hips arching into the next thrust even as he gasped no, cunt sucking him back in like it couldn’t stand the loss.
"Oh god—" Tim sobbed, eyes squeezing shut, cheek pressed hard to the rooftop. "Stop, I—please, I can’t—"
But his hips rolled back all the same. His slick just got worse. His cunt pulsed helplessly around that cock, trying to milk it. His thighs kept spreading wider, letting Slade go deeper.
"You say you can’t," Slade growled, gripping his hip tighter, "but your cunt says otherwise."
He punctuated it with a brutal thrust—and Tim howled, twitching under him, another rush of slick soaking between his thighs.
"Look at you. Fucking crying on my cock. Tight like you’ve never even been fucked before, and you’re taking it like you were born for this."
Tim shook his head. His fingers curled into fists. But his back was arched. His ass was up. And his cunt—
His cunt pulled.
Wet and swollen and stretched tight, it clung to Slade with every thrust, obscene and slick and hungry. Every time Slade drove back in, Tim’s breath caught. Every time he pulled out, Tim sobbed for it. The drug had cracked him open. But it was the cock that kept him there.
He came without warning—cunt clamping tight, body seizing, pleasure blooming sharp and blinding behind his eyes as Slade fucked him through it, merciless and perfect.
One orgasm deep, vision blurred from tears, arms trembling and mouth open in wrecked little gasps as Slade drove into him—grinding, now, slower but heavier, fucking right into the aftershocks.
"That's it," Slade groaned. "Come on my cock."
Tim twitched, sobbed. His cunt was raw, burning. Every slow drag of Slade’s cock inside him was too much—and not enough. His body didn’t know where to go. The need hadn’t faded, not with release or the stretch. The drug has burrowed too deep under it skin and it ached.
Too soon, he came again—without buildup, without sound, just one sharp jerk and a wet, fluttering pulse of his cunt, milking around Slade’s cock like it belonged there.
"Fuck—" Slade growled, and then gripped his hips, hard—drove in deep and stayed, muscles tensing as he came, cock twitching inside Tim’s soaked cunt.
Tim cried out, weak and shaking. The heat of it filled him, thick and wrong and warm in his belly. But before he could think, before he could even breathe, Slade pulled out and Tim whimpered, emptied. Slick and cum leaked out of him in a slow, hot slide down his inner thighs.
"Please," he whispered, voice broken.
Slade looked at him—saw the trembling thighs, the flushed, sweat-slick skin, the cunt that wouldn’t stop pulsing, fluttering open like it missed the weight.
"You’re still wet," Slade said. "Still need more."
"I—" Tim gasped, tried to hide his face, shame hitting sharp—but his hips rocked forward, instinctive. Desperate.
Slade gripped his hip, holding it there.
"You need more?"
Tim whimpered. Didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Slade did not expect one. He just grabbed him and lifted him clean off the rooftop floor, thick arms cradling him with terrifying ease. Tim’s legs kicked once, then locked around Slade’s waist. His back hit the rooftop wall with a thud. He gasped at the contact and then he felt it.
Slade’s cock. Hard again. Already pushing back against his slick, overstimulated entrance.
"Too much—"
"You’re the one begging," Slade growled. "I finished. But you? Your cunt’s still crying."
He didn’t wait for a reply. Just thrust up, letting gravity do the work.
Tim screamed.
His cunt gave, sloppy and hot, fluttering around the thick stretch. The new angle hit deep, made his back arch, made his tits bounce from the sheer force of it. His hands scrabbled against the wall behind him, legs tight around Slade’s waist, helpless to any of it.
"You take it so fucking well like this," Slade said into his ear. "Sliding right down on my cock like you need it."
Tim couldn’t think. He was being fucked—again. Too soon. Too deep. His cunt didn’t even care. It took the cock like it had been waiting, the slick sound of every thrust filthy in the night air.
Gravity worked against him—dragged him down onto Slade’s cock every time Slade pulled back. The slap of their bodies echoed off the rooftop. Tim couldn’t move, couldn’t stop taking the cock—raw, twitching, soaked.
"Still want it?" Slade hissed.
Tim sobbed.
His body burned. His cunt wouldn’t stop twitching. He wanted to say no—he did—but all that came out was a wrecked little: "Please—don’t stop—"
Tim came again, wrecked and soaked, head tipped back against the rooftop wall as his cunt clamped down around Slade’s cock like it was trying to trap it inside. The orgasm stole his breath, made his body go rigid, muscles seizing around that thick length as if to keep it forever.
But Slade was merciless. He pulled out.
"No—!" Tim gasped, the word raw.
His cunt clenched around the sudden emptiness, fluttering wildly. Slick and cum spilled out in a hot gush, and his thighs trembled, unable to even close. Slade didn’t even let him fall forward. He just stepped back, dragging Tim’s limp form away from the wall before laying himself down, cock hard and glistening, twitching up against his own belly.
He looked at Tim like a challenge.
"If you want more," he said, lips curling cruelly, "earn it. Come ride me."
Tim blinked, shaking. His arms barely held him up. His legs were trembling too hard to move. His cunt was wrecked, red and wet and pulsing, a raw ache that hadn’t eased even with three orgasms. He should’ve said no. He should’ve collapsed.
But instead—
He crawled.
Beneath him, the rooftop was cold and rough. It bit at his scraped palms and his bruised knees. He moved like a puppet—slow, clumsy, soaked between the legs and aching. Slick trailed down his thighs as he moved. His tits swung with each staggered motion. His body was trembled.
Slade’s hungry gaze was on him the whole time. When Tim reached him, he hovered—knees on either side of Slade’s hips, fingers trembling as he reached down to line himself up again. His cunt kissed the tip, already twitching. Already open.
Slade raised an eyebrow. "Don’t make me help you."
Tim felt tears slip down his face. Then—slowly, shamefully—he sank down.
His cunt swallowed the cock like it was made for it. Slade hadn’t even softened—he was still thick, still hot, and the stretch was brutal even after everything. Tim’s legs shook as he lowered himself inch by inch, his body shuddering and dripping, trying to take it all.
By the time he was seated in Slade’s lap, his thighs were trembling violently, his eyes glazed.
"Fuck," Slade breathed. "Look at you."
Tim didn’t want to look.
His sore cunt was stuffed. And his hips were already moving.
A shallow roll. Then another. Shame burned hot in his chest as he rode it—slow at first, bouncing in small, slick little motions, cunt sucking greedily at every inch. It was shameful—how good it felt, how wet he was, how loud it all sounded in the open night air.
"You need it this bad?" Slade asked, one hand trailing up to pinch a nipple. "Need to fuck yourself on my cock like a cheap little bitch in heat?"
Tim choked—on breath, on guilt, on pleasure. His body didn’t stop. His hips snapped downwards. His back arched. And he whimpered, cunt twitching violently around Slade’s cock as he rode him, needy and mindless, every motion sending another rush of slick down his thighs.
"You’re addicted already," Slade murmured. "Look at you. Riding cock like you’ll fucking die without it."
Tim only cried harder as he came again, sobbing out a moan as his cunt fluttered and clutched around that cock like it belonged there.
But it still wasn’t enough.
Tim's hips were a mess of rhythmless jerks, riding Slade with the desperation of a man who couldn’t stop drowning. His thighs burned. His slick left wet streaks across Slade’s abs. His cunt was raw and dripping, stretching wide again and again around that cock like it couldn’t stand to be empty.
And still, it wasn’t enough.
He chased another orgasm blindly, stupidly, his head thrown back and tears streaking his cheeks, gasping as he ground his hips in slow, filthy little circles, taking Slade as deep as he could.
Then Slade's hands snapped shut around his waist.
“Enough.” The word was low. Final.
The world flipped and Tim gasped, hands flying to Slade’s shoulders as he was dragged down flat onto his back, thighs thrown open without a care, cock still buried deep inside him as Slade’s body loomed over him, heavy and solid and commanding.
“You wanted more?” Slade growled. “You’ll get more.”
Tim barely had time to nod—barely had time to breathe—before Slade pulled back and slammed in. Tim yelled, caught between too much and not enough as his hole snapped around the intrusion, wet and red and aching, already twitching from the last climax, but Slade didn’t give him time to recover. His hips drove hard, fast and punishing, grinding deep into Tim’s heat like he was claiming it.
“Fuck—so wet,” Slade hissed. “You love this, don’t you? Getting split open like this. Being used.”
Tim shook his head even though his body arched, his legs lifted higher, ankles locking behind Slade’s back as he welcomed every thrust, pulsing wet and tight around that cock like it never wanted to let go.
The rooftop pressed cold against his back. Slade’s body was everywhere, heat and weight and movement, length driving into him so deep Tim could feel it in his stomach, pressing against that sweet, bruised spot until he was sobbing again.
“You belong underneath me," Slade snarled. "Cunt stretched and open and taking. That’s where you fucking fit.”
Tim cried out. His back arched. He came again—violently, too fast, tightening in ripples around the cock spearing him deep, slick soaking the base, thighs shaking from the force of it.
Slade didn’t stop.
He held Tim open—one hand pinning a thigh up, the other flat beside Tim’s head, the rhythm punishing, cock dragging along that raw, sensitive heat again and again until Tim was gasping between sobs, his cunt trying to push him out even as it pulled him back in.
"You’re still gripping me," Slade growled. "So greedy. What the fuck do I have to do to break you?"
Tim's thighs lay spread wide, slicked and trembling. His eyes were barely open, his cheeks streaked with tears, chest heaving under the weight of Slade’s broad body pinning him down. His mouth was hanging open, soft ah! ah! ah! spilling out with every thrust. His cunt, somehow, still felt like it needed more.
“Still not done?” Slade asked. “Your little hole’s still clinging to me”
Tim gave a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a whimper. His hips rolled up instinctively, seeking the friction even as his body trembled from the overload. Slade grinned.
“Alright, birdy. You want it? I’ll give it to you.”
His thrusts slowed—deepened. No more frantic fucking. Just steady, relentless strokes that filled Tim to the brim and made him feel it, every inch dragging along raw, soaked walls, every push setting his sensitive nerves on fire.
Tim’s fingers gripped Slade’s arms, nails digging in. His mouth fell open, lips quivering. His cunt clenched with each slow thrust, so wet it sounded obscene—slick squelching in the silence of the rooftop. He could feel himself close, as his heat curled in his belly.
“Please—please—” he whispered, head tossing side to side.
“I know, baby,” Slade groaned, hand slipping between them to rub Tim’s clit in slow, tight circles. “Come on. Give me one more. Milk it out of me. You want it, don’t you?”
Tim sobbed.
And then he came.
It hit like lightning—sharp and deep, his whole body curling, cunt fluttering so hard it felt like it might never stop. His breath caught in his throat as his orgasm ripped through him, soaking around Slade’s cock, flooding his overstimulated nerves with raw, pulsing heat.
And that was it.
Slade groaned, slammed in deep, and spilled. Thick. Hot. Heavy. Tim felt it—spurt after spurt, the way Slade’s cock twitched inside him, flooding him full with heat that spread through his belly. It didn’t stop. It just kept coming.
Tim’s cunt clung to Slade tight, trying to keep every drop. His body shook violently, caught in the aftershocks, tears dripping down his cheeks as he whimpered beneath Slade’s weight.
Slade stayed deep and didn’t pull out, just rested there, inside, one hand gripping Tim’s hip, the other smoothing back damp hair.
“That’s it,” he said, sounding triumphant. “You took it. All of it. Just like you were meant to.”
Tim couldn’t answer. His cunt kept pulsing—slow, desperate little trembles racking across it like it missed the movement already.
And when Slade finally shifted, cock still inside, Tim whined at the feeling of warmth leaking around the base.
“Don’t worry,” Slade said, low and satisfied. “I could go again.”
Tim didn’t remember the trip.
One minute he was bent over the rooftop, screaming through another orgasm that made his vision white out at the edges—and the next, he was here. Inside. Pressed to some unfamiliar wall in Slade’s safehouse, the air cooler than it should be on his bare, sweat-slicked skin. He didn’t know how long they’d walked. Couldn’t remember if he’d even touched the ground. His legs still weren’t working.
His body throbbed. His cunt was aching.
The drug hadn’t burned itself out. It had settled, sunken deep into the meat of him, curled itself around every nerve and twisted it tighter. He couldn’t think beyond the heat of it. The emptiness between his thighs had him grinding down into the air, whining, flushed all over. His nipples were puffy and flushed and sore, brushing against Slade’s armor when he leaned in too close, too fast.
He was naked. He didn’t even remember if he had even put his clothes back in.
Slade’s hands were on his hips, calloused palms dragging down his sides like he was feeling for fault lines, like he was looking for the next place to break him open. Tim’s breath hitched—his head thunking back against the wall with a dull thud as he arched his back and tried to beg, but all that came out was a garbled moan.
“Already whimpering?” Slade muttered, dragging one hand down until his fingers brushed over Tim’s slick, open heat. “Haven’t even touched you yet.”
He had, though. God, he had—again and again up on that roof, cock deep and steady, his voice in Tim’s ear calling him filthy things, making him come until his thighs were soaked and trembling. But it wasn’t enough. Not now. Not when his cunt clenched around nothing. Not when his body screamed to be filled again.
Slade lifted him like he was nothing. Threw him down onto the floor with a grunt and loomed over him, shadow slicing down his face as he tugged off his gloves. His eye gleamed in the low light, focused and sharp, and Tim whimpered—tiny and desperate and ruined. He tried to spread his legs, but they only trembled apart a few inches. Too much. Too soon.
Slade didn’t care.
He knelt between Tim’s thighs and forced them wider, fingers digging into sweat-slick skin. Tim shuddered at the feel—strong hands prying him open, leaving bruises on purpose, because he could, because Tim let him. Wanted it. Needed it.
His cunt was flushed dark, glistening with slick and come, swollen from use and still aching for more. Slade cupped him like he was inspecting damage, thumb dragging up his slit until Tim twitched and cried out, hands scrabbling for purchase on the floor.
Tim shook his head frantically, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “Please, I—Please, please—I need—”
“You’ll take what I give you,” Slade said, and then he was lining up and pushing back in.
Tim’s back arched off the floor like a bow, cunt stretching wide around Slade’s thick cock, already sensitive, already twitching and trying to suck him in deeper. He couldn’t help it. His whole body jerked with every slow inch, his thighs clamping down around Slade’s hips in a frantic, involuntary please don’t stop.
Slade didn’t.
He bottomed out in one smooth, brutal thrust and held there, buried to the hilt, not moving—just letting Tim feel it. Letting his cock stretch Tim open, pulse inside him, settle deep where Tim felt him the most. Tim choked on another moan and clawed weakly at Slade’s back, gasping like a man drowning.
Every nerve screamed. Every muscle tensed.
And then Slade started to move.
Slow. Deep. Each thrust a punch to the gut. Tim seized around him, shaking and spasming from the inside like his body couldn’t decide if it was overwhelmed or insatiable. Maybe both.
His breasts ached. The friction, the movement, the way they bounced with every thrust—it was unbearable. Slade’s hand came up to grope one roughly, fingers pinching the puffy nipple until Tim wailed.
“Sensitive little thing,” Slade grunted. “You’re going to come again just like this, aren’t you? Just from getting filled.”
Tim sobbed out a yes. “Don’t stop—please, don’t stop—”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
Slade fucked him harder. The slap of skin echoed off the walls. The heat built again, unbearable and sharp, pressing right up under Tim’s skin like he was going to explode from it.
His body took it. Every thrust. Every slap. Every stretch. And still his hips lifted, still his hole drooled, still his thighs trembled with need. Like there was no such thing as too much. No such thing as enough.
Not with Slade in him. Not while the drug still burned.
Not while his whole body screamed for more.
Tim barely registered being moved.
One second, he was pinned to the floor—hips jerking up with every brutal thrust, slick smearing messily across his thighs and Slade’s pelvis, body twitching like a live wire—and the next, he was hauled up. Arms under his knees, back against Slade’s chest, cock still buried inside him, still thick and deep and demanding.
“Mattress,” Slade muttered, breath rough against Tim’s cheek. “You’ll take more.”
Tim didn’t have the strength to argue anymore. His head lolled against Slade’s shoulder, cunt clenching instinctively around the stretch of cock that never left him, not even as they stumbled three steps down the hall. His body twitched and jerked and trembled.
He wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore—all he could do was whimper, high and wrecked, his thighs twitching in time with every step.
Slade dropped him on the bed like he weighed nothing. Just tossed him onto the mattress, and Tim bounced once, limbs splayed, tits flushed and bouncing, cunt leaking and needy, stretched open and still dripping from the floor. He barely had time to moan before Slade was over him again—shoving his legs apart, climbing between them, driving back in with a wet, slick thrust that had Tim crying out.
The mattress gave under them. It creaked and dipped and rocked, absorbing the force of Slade’s thrusts but doing nothing to soften them. Tim took it anyway. Bent in half, legs over Slade’s shoulders now, hands clawing at the sheets like he could somehow ground himself—but there was no ground. Only Slade.
Only the heavy press of his body and the stretch inside and the tight coil in Tim’s belly winding tighter and tighter and tighter.
“Pretty bird,” Slade murmured, watching him with that cruel focus. “So hungry.”
Tim nodded—overwound, helpless. “M-more—need more—please—don’t stop—”
Slade fucked Tim hard enough to make the bedframe rattle. Hard enough to make it feel like he was being reshaped around the cock inside him. Tim sobbed, wrecked and raw, orgasms dragging through him like storms he couldn’t escape, hips twitching with every new wave of sensation. The mattress soaked beneath him, slick and sweat and whatever was still dripping out of his overstretched cunt.
He felt full. The cock digging deep enough he could feel it in his chest, his lungs. His breath rattled with every thrust.
But it wasn’t enough.
Not when Slade angled his hips and hit something inside him that made Tim arch, gasping, nails raking over Slade’s arms as he came again, eyes rolling back, vision flashing white.
“Fuck,” Slade snarled, slowing only to drag his cock out to the tip before slamming back in. “You’ll take me again. You will. You need it.”
Tim whined. “Y-yeah—need it—Please—please—need it—”
Slade grunted in response. His pace snapped harder, deeper, a savage rhythm that felt like it would knock Tim off the bed if he weren’t pinned so tight. “Gonna keep me in you all night? Let it leak out of you while I fuck it back in?”
Tim keened, body arching up into him, tears tracking down flushed cheeks.
“I’ll give it to you,” Slade growled. “Gonna stuff you.”
And Tim was begging for it, voice high and shaking, “Yes—yes—please—inside me, I’ll take it, I’ll—”
When Slade came, it was hot and thick and so much—Tim could feel it, his pussy stretched wide, clenching tight as it was flooded. Slade didn’t stop moving, slow now, dragging it out with little thrusts, forcing every last drop deeper. Tim was shaking, spasming around him, nails digging red crescents into his back as he sobbed his way through another overstimulated orgasm.
He was trembling and empty-headed and full and still aching for more.
And Slade was already rolling his hips again.
Tim had stopped talking, stopped moving.
Just a slow rise and fall of his chest against the mattress, sweat-damp hair plastered to his cheek, thighs boneless and parted beneath Slade’s weight, exhausted. His arms were slack at his sides, fingers twitching faintly where they curled into the sheets. His lashes fluttered once—then stilled.
He was asleep.
Still stretched wide, still wet, still flushed. His cunt pulsed faintly, twitching like it didn’t know it was allowed to rest. His body trembled in little aftershocks, his breath catching every few cycles like he might wake up, might ask for more, might beg. But he didn’t.
Slade’s cock was still buried inside him, slow and deep. He rolled his hips just once, slow and heavy, and Tim made a soft, broken sound into the sheets—but didn’t stir. Didn’t even open his eyes. His body took it on like instinct. Soft cunt fluttering around the cock, wet and used and still welcoming, even in sleep. Like his body knew what it was for. Like it was made to stay full. To be used.
Slade groaned, low and quiet, the sound dark with satisfaction. His hands slid over Tim’s waist, holding him steady. His mouth brushed the back of Tim’s neck.
“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured.
He thrust again—just enough to sink deeper. Deep enough to make Tim’s body shiver, to coax another tired moan from his throat.
Tim didn’t wake. He just sighed softly in his sleep. Pussy holding the length inside him like he wanted it to stay.
So Slade kept going. Unhurried and unstoppable. The rhythm of someone who had all night to ruin him. He chased his own pleasure now, dragging it out, slow and obscene. His thrusts made the bed creak faintly beneath them, the wet sounds of slick and skin never quite stopping, even in Tim’s sleep.
It was filthy to fuck a boy so tired he couldn’t even beg anymore. But Tim just moaned through it all, eyelids fluttering as his body melted around every slow thrust. His legs spread wider in his sleep, like he wanted to be fucked even deeper.
Slade kept fucking him.
Slow, thick, relentless. Long, dragging thrusts that pushed deep and stayed there, grinding inside Tim like he was savoring every inch of heat, every ripple of tight muscle around his cock. The way Tim’s cunt clung in his sleep—fluttering around him, leaking from the edges, twitching like it didn’t know how to stop—was enough to make any man lose his mind.
And Slade wasn’t any man.
He was the one who’d broken Tim like this. The one who’d wrung every cry from his throat, every orgasm from his soaked little body, until the boy passed out beneath him, trembling and satisfied. And still, still, his body begged for more.
Slade ran a hand down Tim’s spine, palm dragging over sweat-damp skin, tracing the swell of Tim’s hips, cupping his soft ass to spread him open wider. He leaned in, pressing his mouth to the back of Tim’s neck.
“So good for me.”
Another thrust. Deeper. Tim’s cunt clenched in response.
Slade hissed. His grip tightened on Tim’s hips. The thrusts slowed further—dragged now, obscene in their depth, his cock throbbing with the promise of a finish he didn’t want to rush.
He wanted to come inside.
Wanted to flood Tim so full he wouldn’t just wake up wrecked—he’d wake up dripping, cunt stretched and aching and filled with a heat he wouldn’t understand until Slade leaned over and whispered: you passed out with my cock inside you, and your pretty little hole just kept begging.
And Tim’s body, soft and ruined, was ready to take it.
The next slow thrust—deep, bottoming out—dragged a gasp from Tim’s sleeping lips. His fingers curled into the sheets. A shudder went through him, like his body felt it coming.
Slade buried down to the root and came. Filling Tim’s again with hot, thick, endless release. Rope after rope spilling into a body already drenched, already overfull, already melting around him. Slade kept moving—tiny, possessive rolls of his hips, making sure none of it spilled out. Forcing it deeper.
Tim slept through it while his hole pulsed around the fresh load, squeezing like it wanted to keep every drop. Like his body had been trained to need it—need to be fucked, filled, claimed even in unconsciousness.
Slade didn’t pull out. He just settled his weight over Tim’s back, mouth at his ear again, breath warm.
“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Even in your sleep.”
And Tim—soft, soaked, sleeping Tim—sighed like he knew.