#ew mark

Mark struggled against the binds, whining and squirming against the leather gag,  his tongue was sticking out at the bottom of it.. wet drool made dark wet spot spread from the centre to the side of his gag.

Tord initially did this as a punishment for his informations expert letting himself indulge in his thoughts and getting too handsy on him, but it clearly backfired for him, The blonde's chest straining against his binds made it harder not to act on indstinct.

He was unsatisfied with how opaque Mark's thick black turtle neck was. You see, when women's have water spilled on their chest, their turtlenecks become a lot more translucent if the material is thin and the colour is bright.

Tord knows that for certain days, non uniform attire was allowed, but it was quite irritating for him whenever Mark refused to wear anything but that stupid new turtleneck, whenever he tasked Paul to spill water on him or when he forced Mark to do some intelligence gathering in the rain.

Tord was forced to imagine whatever was under there like his hard, sweaty pecs squished against his turtle neck with his nipples sticking out, begging to be twisted and pulled at.

Mark could hear the sound of a zipper and that precious, repeitive sound of fapping. He knew that sound all too well. He remembered that  all he could smell was that dank musk in the air, all he could hear was that tortured, laboured breathing and a soft, keening, ocassional whine from the top bunk bed of his dorm.

Neither could help themselves, Mark felt his scalp pulled at and a suffocating warmth on his face, mewling and taking small licks, he can’t help but drool on the gag even more, with Tord’s cock pumping against his covered face. Pre-cum spilled from his tip, dripping into Mark’s hair and staining the carpet under him with shallow drops of rich, savoury fluid.

After a bit, he felt himself twitching, nearly about to spill over. Tord removed the gag, letting Mark’s drool drip from the side of his mouth and mix with the spillage. Tord forces his cock inside, enveloped in humid, reactive slickness and feeling Mark’s tongue slide across his tender flesh.

Despite Mark wanting to savour the taste, Tord unabashedly shoves himself deeper. Mark could feel his throat constricting around him, fashioning him into a living fleshlight, gaging slightly. His head was being pushed back and forth while scared hands, worn and torn through mechanical tinkering, clutched the back of his throat.

God he could cum in his pants and spill on the floor right now. He could feel the heel of Tord’s boot on top of his caged cock, the sensation alone could bring him to the brink of another orgasm. If life was perfect, if god was merciful, he’d let Mark spill, he’d let Mark empty himself until his whole body was hallowed out, only to be filled again.

As he filled his own head with such lustful filth, he felt something warm at the back of his throat. It sept deep, pulling into his stomach. This warmed his oesophagus as he swallowed with a small, modest gulp. The rest of the cum mixed with the other spillage, nearly leaving a permanent stain on Tord’s flooring.

“Have..Have the intel by Friday..” Tord wiped the blonde’s mouth, letting his “s-Send the.. cleaners. In.. h-hindsight, my private washroom would have been better for this.”