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The familiar streets blur as he drove back to his place. Their place. The shared apartment building loomed tall but it was inviting nonetheless. He parked in his spot, killed the engine.
The lobby was empty. He rode the elevator up, leaning his head back against the cool metal wall. He felt good. Tired in his muscles, but loose. The quiet of the apartment enveloped him as he opened the door. He flicked the switch by the door, flooding the open-plan living area with light from the modern fixtures overhead. He tossed his keys into the ceramic bowl on the entryway table.
He shrugged out of his thick black coat, hanging it on the hook. He listened.
No TV. No music. Just the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. Along with a faint, rhythmic buzz. It was low and almost subliminal. And it was coming from upstairs.
A slow, knowing smile touched his lips. He toed off his shoes, leaving them by the door, and walked across the cool hardwood floor towards the staircase. The buzzing got a tiny bit clearer with each step up. By the time he reached the top landing, it was easily made out. A steady, mechanical drone. And underneath it… a muffled, desperate sound. A whine, choked and wet.
He walked slowly down the hallway, his socked feet making no sound. The door to their bedroom was slightly ajar, just as he left it. A sliver of warm lamplight spilled out. The sounds couldn't be mistaken for anything else. The buzz-hum-thrust of a machine. The ragged, gasping breaths. The soft, frantic thump of a body shifting against the floor.
Ilya stopped at the doorway. Lightly pushing the door open slightly more with his foot. He then leaned his shoulder against the frame and peered inside.
The sight was a punch of heat straight to his groin.
Shane was on the floor beside their bed, totally naked. He was on his knees, but his posture was all wrong, collapsed forward onto his forearms, his ass in the air. His wrists were bound together in front of him with what looked like one of Ilya’s own silk ties, the dark blue fabric cutting into his skin. His ankles were tied too, a simple but effective hobble with another tie, keeping his knees spread wide.
The sight was even better than he had remembered it earlier as his eyes drifted to Shane's exposed behind.
Plugging his ass was a sleek, black silicone plug, its flared base nestled snugly between his cheeks. And between his spread thighs, positioned with brutal precision, was a fucking machine. It was a compact, powerful-looking thing, a black metal arm holding a thick, veined dildo that was currently buried to the hilt in Shane’s pussy. The machine was set to a relentless, medium-paced rhythm.
In. Out. In. Out. It wasn’t frantic, but it was inexorable. Each thrust made Shane’s whole body jolt forward, his restrained hands scrabbling weakly against the carpet.
His mouth was stuffed full. It was a pair of Ilya’s expensive briefs, the grey cotton balled up and shoved between his teeth. Spit had soaked through the fabric, creating a dark, wet patch.
Shane’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears leaking from the corners, tracing paths through the faint freckles on his flushed cheeks. His chest heaved. Every time the machine drove home, a punched-out, garbled moan escaped around the gag. His hips tried to move, to meet the thrusts, but the restraints and the machine’s control made it a futile, jerking struggle.
Ilya watched. He let the scene burn into his brain before he made his presence known. The sheen of sweat on Shane’s back. The way his pussy looked, stretched wide around the invading toy, wetness dripping down his inner thighs. The helpless, animal desperation in every line of his body.
Somewhat reluctantly, Ilya taps his knuckle against the door. Shane’s head snapped to the side, his dark eyes flying open. They locked onto Ilya standing in the doorway. They were wide, glassy, utterly wrecked.
A torrent of incoherent pleas flooded out from behind the gag, all desperate and wet. No words or anything useful following, just pathetic jumbled sounds.
Ilya pushed the door open fully and stepped inside. He closed the door softly behind him. The room smelled of sex, sweat, and the faint ozone scent of the machine’s motor. He walked over slowly, circling Shane like a predator assessing its prey. He came to a stop in front of him, looking down.
“Well,” Ilya said, his voice calm, almost conversational. “What a pretty picture.”
Shane whined, high and strained. He tried to push up on his forearms, but the machine’s next thrust drove him back down, his forehead rubbing against the carpet.
Ilya crouched down, bringing his face level with Shane’s. He reached out and brushed a sweat-damp strand of hair from Shane’s forehead, the touch deceptively soft. His lips curved into a knowing smirk.
“You’ve been here a while now, haven’t you?” His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was a sharp edge underneath. “An hour, maybe? Or two. Not long enough.”
Shane’s eyes fluttered, his breath hitching as the dildo continued its relentless pace. His muffled whine was swallowed by the gag, but the desperation in his gaze said enough.
Ilya leaned in closer, his tone dropping to a whisper. “Do you even remember why I set you up like this? You couldn't keep your hands to yourself. Thought you were so clever, didn’t you?” His fingers trailed down Shane’s cheek, brushing away a tear.
“I know it's difficult, princess but I have to teach you a lesson.” He paused, his smirk widening as Shane whimpered, his body trembling under the unyielding rhythm.
“Or, how else will you learn how to behave properly?” Ilya’s voice shifted, darker now. “And I know how good you can be. You want to be good?”
Shane nodded frantically, his cries muffled but pleading. Ilya straightened, towering over him, and let his gaze linger on the wrecked sight before him. “Good. Now take it. Until I say you’re done.”
He stepped back, folding his arms, watching as Shane’s body jerked helplessly with each thrust, his muffled sobs filling the room.
Watching Shane squirm and beg, he couldn’t help but feel a deep, dark satisfaction.
Shane nodded frantically, his body jolting as the machine pistoned into him again.
In. Out. A fresh trickle of combined slickness and lube dripped from where the dildo met his body.
Ilya stood up. He walked over to the machine’s control box, which was sat behind the blathering, drooling mess that was Shane Hollander. He studied the dials. The pace was set right in the middle. A teasing, maddening rhythm. Enough to keep him on the edge, but not enough, never enough, to push him over. He left it exactly where it was.
“The thing is, Shane,” Ilya said, walking back to stand over him, “you’ve been a brat. A show-off.” He nudged Shane’s hip with the toe of his sock. “You think I would forget about that? You think I’d just let that slide?”
Shane shook his head, a miserable, negative motion.
“No, you didn’t.” Ilya’s voice hardened. “And you haven’t even apologized.”
Shane’s breath hitched. He tried to speak but, once again, the gag turned it into a pathetic, muffled garble.
“What’s that?” Ilya cupped a hand behind his ear. “I can’t understand you.” He reached down, his fingers hooking into the soaked waistband. He pulled. The wet fabric slid from Shane’s mouth.
Shane gasped, dragging in huge, ragged lungfuls of air. Spit dripped from his swollen lips. “Ilya… fuck… I’m… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please…”
Ilya tossed the sodden briefs aside. “Sorry for what? Be specific.”
“For… for the…fuck” Shane panted, his words tumbling out between the mechanical thrusts that still rocked his body. His eyes screwed together as he hit a mental block.
Scoffing, Ilya glances to the side unimpressed, "You don't remember?"
Shane can only shake his head shamefully, the disappointed look on his boyfriend's face was enough to keep his head darted down.
“For being a desperate little attention whore,” Ilya supplied, his tone icy.
Shane flinched but nodded, tears flowing freely now. “Yes! I’m sorry, Ilya, I’m so fucking sorry, just please… please let me come, or stop it, or something…”
Ilya tilted his head, considering. “Hmm. No.” He saw the devastation flash in Shane’s eyes. “The apology is a start. But I don't think I believe you.” He walked around behind Shane.
He placed a hand on the small of his sweat-slick back, right over the dip of his spine. Shane shuddered violently at the touch. “You’re going to come. When I decide. And only after you’ve begged for it properly.”
He reached down and found the quick-release clamp on the machine’s arm. He unclipped it. The dildo slid out of Shane’s pussy with a wet, sucking sound. Shane cried out, a raw sound of loss, his empty hole clenching around nothing and dripping all over the floor.
“Up,” Ilya commanded, working at the knots on the ties around Shane’s ankles. “On your knees by the bed. Now.”
Shane struggled, his muscles weak and trembling. He managed to get his freed legs under him, then pushed up to his knees. He kept his bound hands in front of him, his head bowed. Ilya left his wrists tied. He guided him with a hand on his shoulder until Shane was kneeling on the plush rug directly in front of the bed, facing it.
Then Ilya sat on the edge of the mattress, spreading his thighs wide. He was still in his jeans and a tight gray sleeveless shirt.
His chest protruding perfectly through the shirt, and as he leans back on the bed, it rises up just enough for his happy trail to be visible. The hair trailing down to the very thing Shane has been so patiently waiting for.
Shane can't help but train his eyes on the area.
“Look at me,” Ilya said.
Shane lifted his head. His face was a mess of tears, spit, and a thin shine of sweat.
“You want my cock, don’t you?” Ilya asked, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble. “After that cheap fuck? You want the real thing?”
“Yes,” Shane whispered, the word full of pure need.
“Then get it out.”
Shane’s bound hands lifted, fingers fumbling for the button of Ilya’s jeans. His movements were clumsy, uncoordinated. Ilya watched, a faint, cruel smile on his lips as Shane struggled. The button came undone. The zipper stuck. Shane whimpered, trying to tug it down.
Ilya’s hand shot out, fast as a snake, and slapped Shane’s hands away. The crack of skin on skin was sharp in the room. “No. Use your teeth.”
Shane’s eyes widened, but he didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward, his body swaying. The black plug in his ass shifted with the movement, a constant, humiliating presence.
He nuzzled his face against the denim over Ilya’s crotch, his breath hot even through the fabric. He found the metal tab of the zipper with his teeth, gripped it, and pulled down slowly. The zipper parted, the sound loud. The bulge of Ilya’s cock, already hard and straining against his briefs, was revealed.
“Good boy,” Ilya murmured, the praise laced with condescension. "Keep going.”
Shane nosed at the waistband. He had to press his face right into the heat and musk there. He hooked his teeth over the elastic and pulled it down, inch by torturous inch, until Ilya’s cock sprang free. It was thick, flushed a deep red as it slapped hard against his stomach.
"It's been hard like that since I left. Very… troublesome for me, you wouldn't understand." Ilya shrugs, giving his own cock a few long hard strokes.
Shane stared at it, a hungry, desperate look on his face. He leaned in, his lips parting.
“Ah-ah,” Ilya tutted, placing a hand through Shane's thick black hair, holding him back. “Look at you. Tied up and dripping from your used-up little pussy, and you’re still trying to suck my cock like a starved animal. You’re so pathetic.”
He said it with such warm, affectionate contempt that Shane moaned, the sound vibrating through Ilya’s hand. “Go on then. Be pathetic. Show me how much you need it.”
He removed his firm grip on his hair.
Shane lunged forward, his mouth closing over the head of Ilya’s cock. He swirled his tongue around the crown, lapping up the salty-bitter pre-come, a low, grateful groan coming from his throat. He took more, his lips stretching, his head bobbing slowly at first. He was trying to be good, to show his skill, his gratitude.
Ilya let him have a minute of that. Let him believe he was in control of this one thing. Then he tangled his hands in Shane’s dark, sweaty hair and took over.
"You really need me to do everything for you." Ilya mutters loud enough for Shane to hear, lying through his teeth because Shane knew exactly how to suck his cock. He had mastered the craft, like he did everything.
He fisted his hands and set a brutal, fast pace, fucking up into Shane’s mouth while yanking his head down to meet every thrust. “That’s better,” Ilya grunted, his hips pumping. “Perfect mouth, perfect slut.”
Shane could only gurgle in response, tears streaming anew as Ilya’s cock hit the back of his throat over and over. His body was a mess of conflicting sensations. The plug in his ass was jostled with every rough movement of Ilya’s hips, a dull, full pressure. Though the emptiness of his pussy ached, clenching around nothing. And Ilya’s cock was filling his mouth, his throat, claiming him completely.
Then Ilya did something worse. He lifted his foot and placed it on the floor between Shane’s spread knees. He brought the sole down, not on the carpet, but directly onto Shane’s exposed, swollen clit.
Shane chokes out a strained and muffled moan around the cock in his mouth, his whole body convulsing. Pain and pleasure fused into a white-hot wire of agony-ecstasy. His hips bucked, trying to escape, but Ilya’s foot followed, pressing harder.
“You stay right there,” Ilya growled, his own breathing becoming ragged. He was fucking Shane’s face in earnest now, his thrusts losing their rhythm, becoming desperate. “You take my cock and don’t you dare move.”
Shane was sobbing, choking, his nose running, his body a live wire of sensation. The pressure on his clit was a brutal tease that pushed him higher and higher on a cresting wave with no release in sight. He could start to feel Ilya’s cock swelling, pulsing in his mouth.
“I’m gonna come,” Ilya warned, his voice tight. “And you’re going to swallow it all. You understand?”
Shane managed a weak, affirmative moan around the thick shaft.
With a final, deep, shuddering thrust, Ilya held Shane’s head down and came. Hot, bitter pulses shot directly down Shane’s throat. He swallowed convulsively, automatically, his throat working around Ilya’s cock as it twitched and emptied itself. Ilya groaned, a long, satisfied sound, his grip in Shane’s hair finally relaxing.
He pulled out slowly, his cock slipping from Shane’s bruised lips with a soft, wet sound. Shane collapsed forward, catching himself on his bound hands, coughing, spit and come dripping from his chin. He was trembling violently, like a wrecked, used thing.
Ilya leaned forward. He used his thumb, rough and gentle at the same time, to wipe the mess from Shane’s lips and chin. He looked into Shane’s dazed, watery eyes. “You swallowed it all. You can be good. Now. Do you think you deserve my cock in your pussy now?”
Shane nodded, sniffling softly. “Yes. Please...”
“I didn’t hear you beg.”
Shane took a shuddering breath. “Please… please fuck me. I need it. I need your cock in my pussy. Please. I'm so sorry”
Ilya’s smile was dark. “Better.” Then his expression shifted, feigning thoughtfulness. “But you know… I’m not sure. You didn't seem so sorry when you were letting your friends put their hands all over you. I don't think you mean it.”
Shane’s face crumpled. “I do! I mean it!”
“Beg harder.”
“Ilya, fuck! Please! Please, I’ll do anything, just fuck me, use me, I need to come, I need to feel you inside me, please!” The words were a raw, torn-open plea, dropping to a lower register, "Anything, please…"
Ilya watched him for a long, tense moment. Then he sighed, as if giving in to a great inconvenience. “Alright. Since you asked so nicely.”
Relief washes over Shane in a heavy wave. But it's only momentary.
In one swift motion, he grabbed Shane by the shoulders and shoved him forward, face-first into the carpet. The rough fibers scratched his cheek. Ilya knelt behind him, his knees forcing Shane’s legs wider. He ran a hand over Shane’s ass, palming one cheek, his thumb tracing the base of the black plug. Then his hand slid down, through the wet, messy folds of Shane’s pussy.
“So fucking wet,” Ilya murmured, gathering the slickness on his fingers. “You’re a fucking mess, Shane.” He positioned the head of the dildo, that he had initially disregarded, at Shane’s entrance. “And you’re going to be an even bigger mess when I’m done with you.”
Shane glances back at it, eyebrows pulled together, "W-Wait but—"
Before he could let out another word, Ilya is quick to click his tongue and cut him off, "You said anything."
He didn’t push it in. He just held it there, teasing the entrance, while his other hand came down to wrap around the back of Shane’s neck. He pressed down, forcing Shane’s face harder into the floor, muffling his complaints.
“Now,” Ilya whispered, his voice a hot promise against Shane’s ear. “You’re going to take this toy, and you’re going to come from it, because that's all I think you deserve.”
He shoved the dildo in one brutal, deep thrust.
Shane screamed into the carpet, his back arching. It was too much, it was everything, it was a searing, perfect fullness that tore through the ache of emptiness. Ilya didn’t use the machine. He used his own strength, his arm pumping the dildo in and out with a rough, punishing rhythm. Each thrust drove the plug in Shane’s ass forward, an overwhelming penetration that stole the air from Shane’s lungs.
“That’s it,” Ilya grunted, his hand a vise on Shane’s neck. “Take it. Take it all. Come for me. Come all over this fake cock since you wanted it so bad.”
The overstimulation from the face-fucking Ilya had forced on him, the relentless pressure of the foot grinding against his clit, the hours of edging—it all built up into a single, unbearable point of tension.
Shane’s world dissolved into a blur of sensation, his awareness reduced to the pounding rhythm of the toy inside him, and the crushing weight of Ilya’s hand pressing his neck into submission. He couldn't even ignore the feeling of the thick ridges of the toy dragging against his inner walls, leaving him trembling between the brink of release and the edge of unbearable pain, caught in a dizzying loop of need and denial. He sobbed uncontrollably, his voice cracking as he begged incoherently.
His body writhed in frantic, helpless circles against the floor.
His legs twitched violently, hips jerking as he tried futilely to find relief, but Ilya’s iron grip and merciless pace offered none.
"You wanted attention so bad. Is this not enough for you?"
Shane’s breath came in broken, ragged gasps, his chest heaving as his body teetered on the precipice of something far beyond an ordinary orgasm. Every inch of his skin felt hyper-sensitive, alive with a raw, electrified intensity that left him trembling.
The orgasm, when it broke, wasn’t pleasure. It was a violent, uncomfortable seizure. It ripped through him with no grace, a raw, shocking burst of sensation that felt like his nerves were being shredded. He convulsed, a silent scream locked in his throat, his pussy clamping down on the invading dildo in rhythmic, punishing spasms. It went on and on, a brutal wave of release that felt more like a punishment than a reward.
Finally, it subsided, leaving him a boneless, twitching heap, tears soaking the carpet beneath his face. Ilya slowly pulled the dildo out, then, with a soft pop, removed the plug from his ass. Shane whimpered at the sudden, hollow emptiness.
Then strong hands were on him, turning him, lifting him. Ilya gathered Shane’s limp, shivering body into his arms and carried him the few steps to the bed. He sat on the edge, settling Shane in his lap, cradling him like something precious and broken. Shane buried his face in the crook of Ilya’s neck, his quiet, hitching sobs the only sound in the room. Ilya held him close, one hand stroking his sweat-damp hair, the other rubbing slow, soothing circles on his back.
Ilya shifted Shane gently in his lap, his movements tender with real purpose. He leaned forward, easing Shane onto the bed, and stood to undress. His t-shirt came off first, revealing the hard lines of his chest, followed by his jeans, which he threw into the laundry basket position by the door because Shane had already suffered enough.
Finally, he settled onto the bed, pulling Shane’s trembling body back into his arms, his skin warm against Shane’s.
Leading them to the top of the bed, throwing the covers over them both.
Shane whimpered softly as Ilya positioned him, guiding his hips until he was straddling Ilya’s lap. Ilya’s cock, now hard again, pressed against Shane’s slick, swollen entrance. He held Shane’s gaze, his eyes dark but softened with something closer to affection. “You took it so well, lyubimyy,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You deserve this, so much.”
He eased Shane down slowly, inch by inch, until Shane was fully seated, their bodies pressed together so tightly that Shane could feel every beat of Ilya’s heart. It was slower, more deliberate than before, a stark contrast to the earlier brutality. Ilya’s hands gripped Shane’s hips, guiding him into a steady rhythm, each movement calculated to draw out every ounce of sensation.
Shane’s breath hitched, his hands clutching at Ilya’s shoulders for stability. Every thrust was a deep, grounding ache, a reminder of Ilya’s control even in this gentler moment. “You’re mine,” Ilya whispered into Shane’s ear, his voice a fervent promise. “and so perfect.”
Shane’s head fell back, a soft moan escaping his lips as Ilya’s pace quickened slightly, just enough to push him back toward the edge. Except this time, it came with real and satisfying relief. When Shane came for the second time, it was with a shuddering sigh, his body trembling as he clung to Ilya, who followed moments later, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep.
They stayed like that, Ilya still inside Shane, their breaths slowing as the heat of the moment faded. Ilya pulled the covers over them fully, shielding their entwined bodies from the cool air. Shane nestled against him, exhausted but content, his cheek pressed to Ilya’s chest.
Ilya’s hand brushed gently through Shane’s hair, his touch softening further as sleep began to claim them both. “Good boy,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, before they drifted off, still connected.