#crusjack

jesus christ, abbot, settle the fuck down, crus mutters, sliding a hand up to jack's throat to hold, lightly squeeze, try and get jack fuzzy enough to calm down. you wanna ruin both our orgasms? you're gonna lay here, and you're gonna take my dick, and you're gonna moan like a whore on it. you got that? huh?

jack laughs, eyes sparkling at the tussle, clutching at crus's arm, scratching at it with dull nails. no, fuck you, m'not that easy, he pants, even as his dick throbs where it rests against his stomach, tip drooling with pearls of precum. he settles a bit, grinning lazily as crus roughly tugs him down and stuffs a pillow under his hips and one under his stump to prop him up, giving him access. fine, fuck me. but m'not gonna moan for you, henderson. you're gonna have to fucking force it out of me.

crus grins wide and toothy at the challenge, leans down to spit on jack's rosy rim. jack shudders, stifles a whimper, closes his eyes as crus bullies the tip of his thumb in, fucks his spit in and out, a little too dry, a little too big. fuck. jack swallows thick, squirms, bites his tongue to keep a plead inside. yeah, abbot, that's what I thought. I'm gonna be so fucking nice to you even though you don't deserve it, fuck you good, and you're gonna take it like a slut. you're gonna say thank you, crus, thank you sir, for fucking my hole so good. and your dick isn't getting touched tonight.

true to his word, crus fucks jack til he feels like his brains might melt out of his ears, thigh spasming, stomach twitching, body coated in a sheen of sweat. crus opens him up on lube-slick fingers, works him up to four even though jack can take dick with three. for a moment he's scared crus will stick his thumb inside, sink in to the wrist, scared that he can't take it, scared that he wants it.

he's pulsing and throbbing and he feels like one big heartbeat, heat licking up his spine and pooling in his stomach, a weak moan making it's way past his petulantly shut lips when crus pushes his dick inside, a thick, pulsing heat. it's so fucking big and crus is so fucking deep and his thrusts are long, torturous, drawing every scrap of pleasure out into something simmering and building. jack's mind is hazy, eyes wet, hole squeezing tight around crus's dick.

it doesn't take too long until Jack is begging to come, until he's had enough, babbling please and I'm sorry and please, crus, sir, please, oh my— fu-uck— with tears sparkling in the creases of his eyes, sliding down his temples, trying to weakly rock his hips up for more, more, more. if he's gonna cum— and fuck, he wants to cum so bad— he needs it harder, faster, something crus knows very well.

I didn't ask you to beg, crus hums, drawing his hips out, pushing back in, slow, deep, methodical. jack can feel the hot throb of him in his stomach, and he hiccups a quiet sob. I told you to say thank you. thank you sir, for fucking my slut hole so good.

thank you! jack cries, clutching at crus's arms for support, whining and needy, pent-up and ready to cum. thank you, thank you sir, for— mmphh, thank you for fucking my hole so good! thank you thankyou please— please fuck my slut hole pleaseplease—

crus is laughing as he gives in, huffed chuckles as he starts to pump his cock harder, deeper inside of jack, nailing his prostate with every thrust, making him hiccup and moan. fuck, what a whore, there you go, knew I'd fucking drag it out of you. cum. cum on my dick. fucking soak it, mutt.

jack making an embarrassing yelp at that, a weak, high-pitched little noise as his hips jerk, his dick twitching as it paints cum over his stomach, splattering onto his chest. he sniffles and shudders as crus follows him into bliss, pumping his ass full of hot, sticky cum, eyes heavy-lidded and sated as he looks down on jack.

jack gets a condescending pat to his cheek, a hum of good dog. jack fucking loves it more than he'll ever admit. wants crus to say it again, again, again.