Hamilton begs. He begs, cries at the pain, tries to squirm away for as much as he must also fight to keep the pain off his leg. And it feels so good, the squirming, his struggles, and Burr can feel his eyes go lidded, so turned on, so hard. He thrusts faster, harder, just to hear him cry, hitting against the entrance to his womb again and again. He isn't giving him the pleasure he wants, begs for, drinks in the satisfaction of using him like this, the whore he is. Something to be fucked and thrown away.

Burr growls, as Hamilton squirms, fights against him. Draws his hand back and slaps Alexander hard against the face once, twice. "What's the matter?" he spits, "a whore can't take a little fucking?" He struggles more, turns his face to the side when Burr hits him, so Burr wraps a hand cruelly around his jaw, forces him forward as Burr spits in his face. "Filthy, disgusting. Listen to how wet you are."

Oh, but for all this is good play be doesn't want his ass to get truly raw. Wants only to deepen bruises. So it is that Burr draws out, picks him up and flips him down onto his face, so that his leg is twisted, not too tight but enough to be uncomfortable. So that Burr is pressing him down into the floorboards, and with each thrust his pelvis slams against that reddened skin, his balls slapping against his red and abused cunt. So that he can hiss in his ear, vile, awful things, that make Hamilton buck.