Oh, he likes it when Alexander squirms, when he fights. Burr could come only from that, if he were not savoring the experience, if he didn't know that what was to come would be sweeter still. For more alluring--heady pleasure, when Alexander gives in, collapses limp on Burr's lap. Lets himself be rocked with the slaps, the sharp stings against his thighs. And Burr has worked him over--both ass cheeks, thighs, cunts, the underside of his balls. Oh, but Alexander is weeping--his cunt dripping wet onto Burr's pants, waiting, trembling for something to push its way inside.

"There, was that so hard?" Burr coos, as he brings down the final smack, and he rubs his hands slowly over the abused flesh, drinking in each hitching breath, the ruin. God, it makes him so hard, to have Alexander like this, limp and tear-stained and past the edge.

He hums, like someone would hum to a fussy baby, as he drags a finger slow through the slick fluid that has gathered on his cunt before pushing it inside. Nothing so much to satisfy him, but to dehumanize him. A hole, an object, no will or rights. He should like to fuck him limp like this, unresisting and silent. Oh, but there's more here still to be gained.

"Would you like a reward?" Burr says. "Why don't you kneel for me?" and when Hamilton does he pulls out his cock, red and wet and hard, lets it bob before his face, bounces it against his skin and nose. Intoxicating, the sight of him--wide, teary eyes. Innocent, with a cock pressed in his face. Works the gag out gently.