That single word and the involuntary noises that follow are enough to confirm for Caleb what he already knows to be true. The headiness of Yussa's complete surrender is a kind of rush he's never felt before, finding himself in a position of power he normally wouldn't dare to occupy, least of all in this relationship. The permission granted by their roles in this fantasy makes him bolder, more sure of himself. Yussa wanted to be paid for and used as Caleb, his client, sees fit. So he does.
Yussa's cunt feels divine. It's easier than it's ever been to lose himself in indulging his own pleasure, rocking in and out at an obscenely lazy pace, dragging Yussa's hips back against his with a grip on the curve of his ass and hilting deep. His breathing is slow but ragged; the loudest sounds above the background hum of the Nicodranas street below are their soft gasps and grunts and the carnal slap of skin against skin, sharp and lusciously wet.
Caleb has him like this wordlessly for some few minutes before he gives a low hum, squeezing at Yussa's ass before that hand reaches down to blindly search the covers beside them. "You have been wanting this, haven't you?" he murmurs in a warm rasp. "They can probably hear how wet you are from the street." Despite the casual vulgarity of his words, his tone is appreciative, not taunting.
When his searching hand retrieves their bottle of oil, it becomes clear that Caleb isn't quite done opening up his lover's ass after all. Deftly, he pours a decadent excess onto his hand before spreading his cheeks and unhesitatingly working three fingers together into his hole, already softened and stretched enough to accept them with relative ease, especially so generously slicked.
"It would be a shame to leave this hole empty when it clearly wants to be filled," he comments, almost kindly. "Do you have a plug you like, Yussa?" he wonders. "If so, I may use it later." To keep you open when I'm done with you goes without saying.
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Yussa's cunt feels divine. It's easier than it's ever been to lose himself in indulging his own pleasure, rocking in and out at an obscenely lazy pace, dragging Yussa's hips back against his with a grip on the curve of his ass and hilting deep. His breathing is slow but ragged; the loudest sounds above the background hum of the Nicodranas street below are their soft gasps and grunts and the carnal slap of skin against skin, sharp and lusciously wet.
Caleb has him like this wordlessly for some few minutes before he gives a low hum, squeezing at Yussa's ass before that hand reaches down to blindly search the covers beside them. "You have been wanting this, haven't you?" he murmurs in a warm rasp. "They can probably hear how wet you are from the street." Despite the casual vulgarity of his words, his tone is appreciative, not taunting.
When his searching hand retrieves their bottle of oil, it becomes clear that Caleb isn't quite done opening up his lover's ass after all. Deftly, he pours a decadent excess onto his hand before spreading his cheeks and unhesitatingly working three fingers together into his hole, already softened and stretched enough to accept them with relative ease, especially so generously slicked.
"It would be a shame to leave this hole empty when it clearly wants to be filled," he comments, almost kindly. "Do you have a plug you like, Yussa?" he wonders. "If so, I may use it later." To keep you open when I'm done with you goes without saying.