And Alexander is a master at looking up, large-eyed, those beautiful hazel-blue irises that came intact into his new incarnation. He can make himself look younger, sweeter, more innocent, and more alluring, at the same time. -- He is naked, on his knees, in front of Burr, still in his nightclothes. Burr does seem to enjoy that, Alexander finds -- takes Alexander while part-clothed, constantly, while taking great pleasure in stripping Alexander or ordering him to strip himself completely bare. One day, when no servants or clients are expected, perhaps he'll just have to stay naked, and see how Burr likes it.
These thoughts are driven from his mind as Burr drags him up again -- Alexander's weight is still slight, still less than Burr's, though that will change soon, he imagines -- and stuffs his mouth. He waits, breathing rough through his nose, while he is tied, and then begins to struggle more in earnest. Sounds that would be cries of distress, if he were not biting down on the wadded fabric.
Burr does not hold back. He hits hard, and Alexander can do nothing but take it. He thrashes and bucks, fighting Burr's grip, fighting all of it: he is in an endless battle, not against the ties that close on his wrists but against the little presence inside him, against Burr, against the whorehouse, against his own body. Stinging pain seeping into his flesh -- he burns. His struggle brings him right against Burr's cock, hardened at Alexander's distress. He enjoys it. He enjoys it.
Somehow, this is the detail that breaks him. Burr's obvious desire. Alexander wants so badly to be wanted, and so badly to be attended to. He is ravenous for the acclaim that he achieved in his past life, and starving for the lack of it here, starving so long he'd forgotten what it was to be sated. Burr's obsession, though, frenzies him. He weeps, sobs and fights, and all it does is spur on his torment, bring his own cock (hard, so hard) against Burr's thigh. He has no balance, no leverage. Burr has him. Burr has him.
He fights, and, finally -- a tug to his bound arms, a nudging leg reminding him to keep his own apart -- finally, finally, he submits. He goes limp, breathing in trembling, quivering breaths, so wet that it has leaked onto Burr's thigh, so hard that he wants to whimper every time he is pressed against Burr's thigh. Face a mess of tears and snot.
no subject
These thoughts are driven from his mind as Burr drags him up again -- Alexander's weight is still slight, still less than Burr's, though that will change soon, he imagines -- and stuffs his mouth. He waits, breathing rough through his nose, while he is tied, and then begins to struggle more in earnest. Sounds that would be cries of distress, if he were not biting down on the wadded fabric.
Burr does not hold back. He hits hard, and Alexander can do nothing but take it. He thrashes and bucks, fighting Burr's grip, fighting all of it: he is in an endless battle, not against the ties that close on his wrists but against the little presence inside him, against Burr, against the whorehouse, against his own body. Stinging pain seeping into his flesh -- he burns. His struggle brings him right against Burr's cock, hardened at Alexander's distress. He enjoys it. He enjoys it.
Somehow, this is the detail that breaks him. Burr's obvious desire. Alexander wants so badly to be wanted, and so badly to be attended to. He is ravenous for the acclaim that he achieved in his past life, and starving for the lack of it here, starving so long he'd forgotten what it was to be sated. Burr's obsession, though, frenzies him. He weeps, sobs and fights, and all it does is spur on his torment, bring his own cock (hard, so hard) against Burr's thigh. He has no balance, no leverage. Burr has him. Burr has him.
He fights, and, finally -- a tug to his bound arms, a nudging leg reminding him to keep his own apart -- finally, finally, he submits. He goes limp, breathing in trembling, quivering breaths, so wet that it has leaked onto Burr's thigh, so hard that he wants to whimper every time he is pressed against Burr's thigh. Face a mess of tears and snot.
Burr has him.