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They had been at it for what feels like years, but Shane knew realistically it could not be longer than two hours. Hours without sight, at the mercy of every shift of air, the sound of skin, the rustling of sheets, the change in weight on the bed. He had been in the same position since they started: ass in the air, his face pressed into the mattress. If he wasn’t committed to daily yoga, he might have had to tap out.
Time moved slowly. Shane couldn’t tell if it was every few minutes or longer that Ilya would come in, pull the butt plug from Shane’s hole and fuck his dick inside. Sometimes he’d go for several pumps, hitting Shane’s prostate until he was gritting his teeth not to cum. Sometimes he would only dip the tip in shallowly, causing Shane’s armpits to wet with cold sweat.
He was told when they started that he wasn’t allowed to cum, and especially wasn’t allowed to touch himself. Ilya had said that maybe, maybe if Shane was on his best behavior and was a very, very good boy, Ilya might reconsider. That was enough for Shane, because he always tried his best to be a very, very good boy.
It was often too difficult to play like this during the season, to find the time to devote an entire day to nothing but them. It was summer, now and they were enjoying their routine at the cottage, cooling in the lake, sitting by the fire. And fucking, lots of fucking.
Ilya knew Shane better than anyone. Often, better than Shane knew himself. So, Ilya knew that Shane needed this; to be treated rough, to be called names, to have his autonomy taken from him. Shane loved hockey, his soul was tied to it. He enjoyed the discipline, being a leader, being someone who won. Sometimes, though, it took a lot out of him -- always being on, feeling the weight of dependence. Ilya was able to take it all away, rip it from his lungs, force him into a mind-numbing submission that felt so beautifully satisfying.
Shane never knew when it was going to happen, and he liked that. A lot. Ilya liked it, too. Coming up behind him to place a loose hand around Shane’s throat, laughing at the way his breath stuttered and eyelids slotted together. And then he would pull away, do something mundane, like reach for mustard in the fridge, like Shane wasn’t standing there, buzzing like a bee.
Shane and Ilya woke up next to each other, Ilya having kicked his blankets off during the night, his side of the bed looking like it barely survived an earthquake. They kissed slow and easy, far enough into their relationship that the sour taste of morning breath wasn’t an issue. Ilya took Shane into his mouth, kissed him with a semen-covered tongue and then Shane returned the favor. They ate breakfast, and lunch, sharing a puzzle.
Ilya left him for a moment, Shane’s eyebrows pinched together, trying to find the stem of a lily to fit into the puzzle. When Ilya came back, he didn’t sit down immediately. He looked at Shane with thinly veiled heat and simply said: “Bathroom. Now.”
Shane’s legs were already unsteady underneath him. He had to press against the table to get his weight up. Heart pounding, he went to the bathroom, knowing what waited for him. Laid on the counter was an enema, a bottle of lube, and a plug.
Shane had breathed hard through his nose, feeling the rush of his exhale on his top lip. His dick grew hard immediately; knowing what this promised, that he’d finally get what he wanted, what he had thought of ever since they crossed the entryway into the cabin.
When he’d come out of the bathroom, Ilya was still doing the puzzle. He didn’t look up at him until Shane stood in front of him, completely naked, eyes down. He fidgeted with his hands.
Ilya looked up at him, hummed and then instructed him to turn. Shane felt eyes on every inch of his skin, gasping when Ilya pulled the plug out. He heard the sound of a zipper, the rustle of clothing and that was all the warning he got before two hands grabbed his hips, guiding him down onto Ilya’s lap. Shane could count each inch as it entered him, eyes rolling back as Ilya fucked into him, feet planted firmly on the ground.
“Don’t you dare fucking cum.” He whispered into Shane’s ear, a hand going up to pinch and pull at his nipple. “You already did it today, didn’t you?”
Shane whimpered, tossing his head from side to side. He was already far gone, his brain sloshing in his skull, his body so hot and feverish it turned to liquid.
Ilya grabbed him by his hair, pulling his neck back. Slosh, slosh.
“I asked you a question.” He punctuated his sentence with a thrust, digging into Shane’s prostate. It felt like he might push through into his stomach. Shane wanted that. Wanted Ilya to move through his organs, rearrange his insides. “I let you cum today, didn’t I?”
“Yeah,” Shane nodded, pinching his eyebrows together. His jaw made a noise as he clenched it. He wanted to cum again.
“Yeah?”
Ilya stilled and Shane gasped, fingers flexing. He tried to push back and Ilya twisted his hair harder, causing Shane to suck in a breath, almost choking on the spit that pooled in his mouth.
“Yes, thank you. Yes, sir. My -- please, I wan’ do it again, please.”
Ilya laughed and fucked into his again, setting a pace that was all for Ilya, not caring about Shane’s prostate, his pleasure, just using his hole like it was a toy. Shane panted.
“No.”
Ilya came all over his back and the tops of his ass, pulling him off with one strong hand. Ilya had smacked a hand against his skin, smearing his cum. Marking him. Shane’s legs shook and his stomach swooped like the plummet of a rollercoaster. The plug went back in. Shane hissed. He couldn’t breathe, each chase of oxygen seemed to escape his lungs.
Ilya had guided him to the bedroom with a hand on the back of his neck, Shane’s dick bobbing as he stepped through the hallway. Ilya threw him on the bed. Shane loved that, loved feeling weak and small, like Ilya could do anything to him, even if Shane said no. With a practiced look of disinterest, Ilya had flicked the head of Shane’s cock, scoffing when Shane’s back arched against the bed.
He placed a blindfold around Shane’s head -- “you don’t get to look at me.” -- and forced him onto his hands and knees.
Shane’s forehead sweated against the pillowcase. His arms couldn’t hold him up, his upper body slumped against the bed.
“You are such a pathetic slut. Wow, it’s embarrassing. Isn’t it?”
Shane made a noise, his head heavy when he nodded. His throat felt like he had been gargling gravel, raw and dry, all of his saliva pooling in the front of his mouth.
“Yeah, too dumb to even speak, aren’t you?” Ilya cooed in the same voice he used for small creatures, like when he noticed squirrels jumping along the fence in their backyard, or when Anya followed through on a ‘shake’ command.
Shane needed him so badly but he couldn’t find the words. Maybe he was too dumb to speak. It made sense, he thought. All he wanted was to get fucked. All he needed was to cum. Words were useless, he was only reduced to a few: yes, harder, please.
Ilya pulled out the end of the plug and Shane whimpered, torso lengthening as he stretched against the bed. Ilya dragged it slowly. Shane could feel each centimeter leaving him, could feel his walls closing in on nothing. Just when Ilya had the tip halfway exposed to open air, he pushed it in hard, plunging it back to the hilt and Shane screamed, fingers clawing into the bedsheet.
“Puh --” he tried to get his mouth to work. His tongue was heavy.
“What’s that?” Ilya ground the plug in.
“Please!” Shane cried. An actual, tear-streaking, cried. He felt it dampen the blindfold.
Ilya removed his hand from the plug. Shane was aware of everything, suddenly. The air was stiff, he could hear the fabric of Ilya’s pants rustling as he walked, closer and closer. Shane could smell him. Felt his breath against his ear as Ilya leaned in.
“You don’t get to beg for it. This isn’t for you. I don’t care what you want.” He fisted a hand into Shane’s hair and jerked his head back hard, his neck straining as his muscles stretched. “Do you understand?”
Shane opened his mouth, lips forming words before he stopped himself. He clamped his lips tight and instead tried his best to nod. Ilya, seemingly satisfied, released his hair and Shane’s head thumped against the pillow.
“I don’t even want it, now.” And then Ilya was gone. Shane heard the bedroom door click closed and sank his body further into the mattress, breathing raggedly.
He needed to cum. He needed to feel something. Shane was so overcome with it, he thrashed against the bed, choking back tears. He wanted to yell out -- “I’ll be good, I promise.” but he also didn’t. He wanted to see it through, wanted nothing more than to sit alone in the bedroom, face pressed into the mattress, ass prepared and ready for whenever Ilya decided he was worthy of it.
Shane whined. To himself, to Ilya, to no one.
He couldn’t help himself. He dipped his stomach against the mattress and pressed his cock against the sheets. He was so hard it almost hurt. He was delirious with it, pressing down one, two, three more times before he shook his head, pulling himself back into position. No, he thought. He wanted to be good.
“Bad boy.”
Shane jumped when he heard Ilya’s voice from across the room, face immediately burning. Ilya must have closed the door and stood off to the side. Shane shivered, spine tingling. Ilya had been watching him.
“Sorry -- I’m s’rry.”
Ilya was on him so fast, grabbing him by his hair and throwing him backwards onto the bed. Shane was flat on his back. He sniffled when he felt Ilya’s hands on him, gliding down his chest. He sighed into the warmth of his calloused hands. Ilya reached his dick, touching it feather-light from the base to the tip and Shane gasped, back arching off the bed.
“Need your dick touched that bad?”
Shane was about to nod. To plead and cry. He just needed Ilya to touch it, yes. He would be good.
Ilya shifted up onto the bed, Shane could feel his weight. He opened his mouth to say something, but all that passed with a high, choked off sound of pain.
Ilya had brought his foot up above Shane’s dick and stepped on it, hard. He felt it flatten against his stomach, the weight of Ilya’s foot holding it in place. Shane thrashed against the bed, trying to find purchase against the sheets. Ilya rolled the top of his foot forward, then grazed down the length with his toes.
“Here, I’m touching it. Say thank you.” He ground it in harder.
“T-thank you.” Shane slumped with relief when he felt Ilya’s foot move off of him, only to sob when his foot kicked him in the balls. Shane felt it all the way into his stomach, fire spreading through him. He reached down to try and grab at himself, put pressure against the pain, but Ilya grabbed his wrists, yanking them up over his head.
“I told you, you’re not allowed to touch your dick.”
Shane whined.
“I’m sorry. Hurts. Sorry. I’m sorry.” He repeated. His voice was thick. He tasted the salt of tears. His dick hurt, balls stinging.
He wanted Ilya to touch him again. He could do whatever he wanted to him.
Ilya seized his hair again, pulling it from his aching scalp, then slapped his face once on each side. The sting distracted him from the pain in his balls, momentarily. Ilya didn’t give him a second to breathe, sticking his fingers down Shane’s throat far enough to make him gag. He pulled out, slapped him across the face again. Shane keened. His body couldn’t decide what to do, he leaned into the touches then turned his head away from it, curling his face into his neck.
His cock was so hard he was scared he might cum from this. He steeled himself, jaw twitching.
Shane realized he was crying again when Ilya sighed above him, dipping a finger into a trail of his tears and rubbing it along his lips. Shane stuck his tongue out, chasing the pad of Ilya’s finger with desperation.
“Such a whiny faggot.”
Shane had to clench his abdomen to not make a mess. He could do it. He could be good.
“N-no.”
“No? What would you call yourself then?” Ilya laughed.
Shane said nothing. A hand gripped his jaw, squishing his face between fingers until his mouth hung open. He heard Ilya spit before he felt it in his mouth. Shane wished he could see it. He loved to watch Ilya spit into his open mouth, watch it slide from his pursed lips to land warm on Shane’s tongue. He moaned, swallowing it with reverence. He opened his mouth again. Ilya shoved his face away from his hand and scoffed.
“Say it. Try and tell me you’re not a whiny faggot.”
Shane sniffled, licking the salt off his lips, chasing the taste of Ilya’s saliva, his fingers. “I’m not a w-whiny faggot.” He whispered.
It was maddening to never know what Ilya was about to do until it happened. Shane yelled when he felt his hand reach down, grabbing his balls and twisting hard, mashing them in between his palm.
“You really believe that?”
Shane sobbed, his body twisted, trying to get away, trying to get closer. “Please -- stop. Hurts. I am, I am.”
Ilya removed his hand, instead pinching the thin line between his balls between his fingernails. Shane couldn’t stop crying. He was openly sobbing now, taking in shuddering breaths, lips wobbling.
Ilya took his hand away all together and Shane slumped back onto the bed, his body releasing some of its tension. His balls ached.
“That’s right. You need to know your place. I know what you are, what you need. Isn’t that right?” Ilya traced a hand along Shane’s abdomen, petting at the hairs on his stomach.
He pressed the pad of his finger onto the head of Shane’s cock -- “Ah! Ilya” -- and spread the wetness along the tip. The moment was over too soon, and Shane’s body tried to search for Ilya, pressing upwards, trying to catch him with a brush of their bodies.
Shane felt Ilya climb onto the bed, shouting when Ilya pulled out the plug and shoved his cock in with one, easy push. Shane was making noises he had never heard from himself before, grumbling, animalistic whines that came from deep in the back of his throat. Ilya fucked him hard and fast, reaching a hand up to press against the sides of his neck, squeezing.
It was too much. It was everything Shane wanted and yet not enough.
“Please!” He screeched from his constricted throat. Ilya was grunting above him, the sound of their skin slapping filling the room.
“Please what?”
“Please let me cum. I'm sorry, I’m sorry -- I’ll do wha’ever you wan’.”
Ilya’s breath caught in a laugh. “You already do whatever I want.”
Shane slobbered around a whimper. He was out of bargaining chips.
Ilya kept driving into him over and over again. He had to keep repeating in his head ‘you can do it’ He was desperate to be good.
“Please, please, please,” he chanted with each thrust. He couldn’t stop saying it, like Ilya was pressing a button that made him talk, like a doll. “Please lemme cum, please.” He needed Ilya’s permission. It was too much -- he was going to. He could feel it rising in him, an unstoppable force.
“You wanna cum?”
Relief flooded through him. Shane gasped hoarsely. “Yes! Please, thank you.” He was babbling a slew of words that merged together in a jumble of vowels and consonants, undistinguishable. He felt his stomach tense with the warning of an orgasm and then --
Ilya stopped his movements -- Shane made a pathetic ‘guh’ sound from the back of his throat, drooling down the sides of his mouth -- and tore the blindfold off. Shane squinted his eyes, adjusting to the room. It was dark, the blue light of early evening filtering through the windows. It still hurt to look, so used to complete darkness. His vision honed in on Ilya above him -- face red, vein popping in his forehead.
He started fucking him again, bouncing Shane’s body up the bed with every thrust.
“Too bad. You’re going to watch me cum inside your ass. And you’re going to--” he panted, “just take it.”
Shane wailed, hands grabbing at the air, at Ilya, the bedsheets. He squeezed his legs closed, trying to get away from it, the pressure on his prostate making him feel dizzy.
“Nooo,” he sobbed, shaking his head. “I c-can’t.” His chest was tight.
“I don’t care what you want.” Ilya growled, each word punctuated with a thrust.
“Touch me.” Shane pleaded, looking into Ilya’s eyes, seeking mercy, seeking more of the same treatment. “Hurt m-me. I can -- can I cum like that? Please, Ilya, please.” He gestured towards his dick with a shaking hand. Shane almost felt nauseous with how bad he wanted it, like he’d just run a marathon, hunched over hands on knees, about to vomit from exertion.
Ilya murmured something under his breath. He grabbed Shane under his knees and pushed his legs up onto his shoulders, scooting his hips forward so Shane was folded in half. Ilya placed one hand by Shane’s head as the other reached down, groping his balls and twisting.
Ilya let go, stared down at Shane, his eyes gleaming in the dark room. “Fine, cum. You’re so fucking--” he pushed in hard, nearly slipping out as he pulled all the way to the rim, slamming back in. “Cum from me twisting your balls, you fucking freak.”
Shane jerked, lower half spasming. Ilya fucked him through it, hitting his prostate over and over, twisting his balls between his palm and Shane didn’t stand a chance. He tensed as lightning tore through him. He felt cum hit his chin as he convulsed. His orgasm lasted forever, wave after wave hitting him in every bone and tendon. Ilya pounded into him before he slowed with a low groan, fucking his cum back into Shane with every thrust.
Ilya’s weight rested on top of him for a moment before pulling out and rolling over. Shane felt the cum warm inside of him, gliding down his insides, pooling at his hole. He was sweaty all over, limbs still shaking.
He was pulled into Ilya’s sticky side, musk from his armpits helped to calm Shane’s racing heart.
“Wow.” Shane breathed. He felt a little light headed still, like he’d been upside down for a while, all the blood figuring out where it used to be, settling back into his body.
“Wow.” Ilya echoed.
They stayed like that, catching their breath. Shane was so loose and sleepy. He was high off of it. Shane loved when they did this. It helped him relax, release his anger, his worries. He hardly ever cried outside of sex, a safe space for him to feel everything, nowhere else to go, nowhere to hide it.
Shane had never been able to explain to Ilya totally what it felt like. The first time they had done something more than their usual kinky affairs, Shane had freaked Ilya out a bit by how loopy and far away he looked after.
Ilya pressed kisses down his neck, ran a soothing hand along his chest. Shane sighed into it. He felt like a cartoon character whose soul had left their body, hovering above them, but in reverse. He felt himself flood back in, pieces slotting together into the correct order and position.
“I love you.” Shane said.
“I love you, too. More than anything. You are okay?”
“Oh, my god, yeah. Better than okay. Thank you, really. That was…” Shane shook his head, a little shy. “Really amazing.”
Ilya kissed the top of Shane’s head, lips pressed against sweat-damp hair. “Good. Shower?”
Shane wrinkled his nose, aware suddenly of how gross he felt. “Yes, please.”