Page 81 of Built To Perform

“You know I prefer seeing your face when I’m inside you, lil bro.”

I did know that. The number of times he’d gripped my chin, his strong fingers digging into my cheeks, making sure I held his gaze as he long-dicked me. Savoring the way I whimpered and drooled down his hand as those strokes grew harder and harder.

“Or vice-versa,” he added, grin spreading even wider.

That was the nice thing about Jefferson, I’d discovered. Huge, strong, hung wrestlers who could pin you down and make you cum hands-free just from screwing you were great; huge, strong, hung wrestlers who apparently enjoyed it just as much when you were rabbit-fucking them in return were even better.

Either way, he left my legs shaking and my brain dizzy.

“Take the plug out,” I gasped, already light-headed from just my wandering imagination.

“This plug?” Jefferson asked innocently, tugging on it. Enough to drag what felt like it had to be the very widest part to gape my hole, holding it there as I squirmed and my legs shook.

I whined when he released it, my body sucking it back in deep as I panted and sweated. Only his hands on me keeping me upright, and even that a mixed blessing as I felt him pull on it all over again.

“W-wait...”

My weak protest ignored, though, superfluous for Jefferson’s designs on me. Only a low chuckle, as I ground the jock strap’s pouch against his leg in my desperate hunt for friction.

“You sure you want me to wait, lil bro?”

A wasted question, a pointless one: not when there was no hope of me answering it either way, my voice lost along with what felt like most of the higher functions of my brain. Lobotomized; left only with the urge to rut into his thigh, and cling to his muscles, and hope beyond hope that Jefferson would take pity on me in the best way I knew how.

My hand fumbled at his jeans, desperate to open them. Fingers struggling with the buttons, as numb and clumsy as when I’d been in that backroom. Only then, the feeling cresting through me in dark, unctuous, terrifying waves had been fear in its purest form. The realization that all the decisions, my entire fate, had been plucked from my unresponsive hands: claimed by another.

Now, I felt nothing but the flood of lust for my big bro. A lust which was in itself terrifying, but only for the way it suffused every thought and every feeling. More, even, than the name that was all I knew to put to it - the name I didn’t dare say out loud to him - and that absent truth left me shuddering even more.

I was too far gone to do much more than groan when he finally yanked the plug free. Quickly replaced by Jefferson’s thick, teasing fingers; just one hand, the other pushing mine away to make short work of his button fly.

I tottered back - half on tip-toes, half balanced on his digging hand - until he pushed me down. Onto the pillowy mass of the sleeping bag he’d unrolled, leaving me to watch wide-eyed as he shed first his t-shirt and then the jeans, too. No underwear beneath, only the lolling heft of the erection I’d just pawed at.

Instinct saw me pull my legs back, spread them further apart. My eyes hooked on his, on the heat and hunger in his stare. Still not quite sure what this man-god saw in me, what I’d done to deserve not only his attentions but his affections, too. But wise enough - despite everything, despite my horny daze - not to question it too deeply, too destructively.

“Donny’s plug did a number on you, lil bro,” Jefferson drawled.

I watched, between the spread of my wavering thighs, as he pulled lube from his bag and drizzled it in gooey waves down his shaft. The sound it made as he stroked himself was borderline-obscene.

“A number... how...” The question emerging from me broken, as though the words were plucked, haphazard, from the torn and jumbled pages of some book.

His slick fingers slipped down the crease of my ass, circling my hole. Pushing into me with shocking ease.

Jefferson winked. “Usually you only look like this after I’m done with you. It’s so fucking hot.”

The blush burned. “Don’t.”

He leaned down, fingers still twisting. Braced above me, one powerful arm close to my ear; his face hovering over mine.

“You’re fucking hot, I said. Whatever you look like, lil bro. Whether you’re all buttoned up and focused on getting shit done, or if you’re horny, sweaty, and cock-hungry like you are now. Every version of you is worth loving, you hear me?”

I nodded, the movement jerky.

“Say it,” Jefferson demanded. His fingers pushing deep enough to make me yelp.

“I... I’m worth... l-loving.”

“And?” He dipped closer, his lips only inches from mine. “What do you want, Eoin?”

“Y-you in me.” My voice barely recognizable.