He could come just from this, his cock heavy, his body strung tight with each hard thrust. But when Hamilton reached forward, grabs Burr around the neck, holds him in place, pressing his face down into the sheets as he fucks into him, that--that is how Burr can come.

A deeper pleasure, to be used in such a way--a whole body flinch, clenching down, feeling Hamilton's hand squeeze--hold, but not to the point of pain. Pinning him, laying over Burr, so he cannot move, cannot do anything, as his hole is used.

"I'm nothing," Burr gasps. "A whore, your whore. A hole to be used. I deserve--I deserve it. Tell me I deserve it. To be used and left, leaking your come."

He is pushing back too, snapping his hips back to meet Hamilton, though the movements are shallow. Drooling against the sheets. He can feel the building pleasure, as each thrust hits that place in him, but it still isn't enough, for all the said it isn't enough.

"Please," Burr begs, "hit me," and he is clenching down again at the thought, knows he will come, speared on Hamilton's cock, if only he will be given those things. A slut, an abused slut--that is what he is, what he wants to be.