Mag-log inThe soft weight of Eli’s head on his chest was a familiar comfort. Zeke lay awake long after Eli had gone back to sleep again, his hand stroking the boy’s sweat-damp hair. The morning’s subdrop had been severe, a testament to the intensity of the previous night. Zeke felt a fierce, protective pride. Only he could break Eli so completely and then piece him back together with such tender care.After an hour, Zeke carefully freed himself. He carried the still sleeping Eli back to the bathroom and ran another warm bath. This one was less about cleanup and more about soothing. He added lavender-scented oil to the water, the steam filling the room with a calming aroma. He washed Eli gently, his hands soft as they glided over the bruised skin, paying special attention to the rim of his ass, which was still gaping, puffy and red. He dried Eli with a fluffy towel, carried him back to bed, and tucked him in. The boy didn’t stir, his body finally sinking into the deep, healing sleep he so despe
The morning sun filtered through the sheer curtains, but the light brought no warmth to Eli. He woke not with the gentle drift of consciousness, but with a sudden, jarring crash. The heavy, protective fog of subspace that had cradled him through the night had evaporated, leaving behind a fragile, aching shell. The endorphins had drained away, leaving a chemical vacuum in his brain that manifested as a crushing wave of despair. Eli curled into a tight fetal ball, his body trembling violently. The physical pain was a dull roar, the throbbing of his abused hole, the ache in his muscles, the rawness of his rim, but the emotional drop was infinitely worse. He felt hollowed out, exposed, and unworthy. A high-pitched whimper escaped his throat, followed immediately by hot, stinging tears that soaked the pillowcase. He felt small and broken, convinced that the intensity of the night before had been a mistake, that he was too much, too dirty, too used. Zeke was awake the moment he heard the
Damien didn’t need to be told twice. He was already hard as a rock, his cock leaking freely. He moved behind Zeke, who paused for a moment, buried deep inside Eli. Damien pressed his own cock against the already stretched rim. Eli whimpered, shaking his head weakly, but his body was past resisting. With a shared, guttural groan from both men, they pushed. Eli’s asshole, already pushed beyond its limits, stretched to an impossible, paper thin degree to accommodate both thick cocks. The double penetration was a new kind of hell for Eli. He was being torn apart, and it felt like heaven. He writhed and thrashed, his hands clenching into fists above his head, his overstimulated asshole sending signals of pure, white hot overload to his brain. He’d already had six orgasms since the fisting began, each one more intense than the last. Now, as the two cocks pistoned inside him, his body seized up again. He began to have dry orgasms, his cock twitching and spurting nothing but air, his entire
Delilah's eyes widened, her mouth falling open in disbelief. Damien looked stunned for a second, then a predatory grin spread across his face. He quickly lubed up his own right hand, his cock straining against his zipper. He moved to the other side of Eli, looking to Zeke for direction. Zeke shifted his hand, making a bit more room. "Slowly," he instructed. Damien knelt and began to press his fingers alongside Zeke's wrist. Eli's body went rigid, a high-pitched keen tearing from his throat as his rim was forced to stretch to an impossible degree. Two hands. They were going to put two hands inside him. The thought was terrifying and exhilarating. With a combined, gentle push, Damien's knuckles breached the ring. Now Eli's ass was stretched around two wrists, a cavern of flesh. "Oh my god," Delilah whispered, her hand buried between her own legs. "He's... he's taking both." Zeke and Damien began to move together, their hands "romancing Eli's inside," as Zeke had put it. Their fing
The next morning arrived with a heavy, tender stillness. The lovers awoke one by one, different types of groans and soft winces as sore muscles and well-used holes made themselves known. The air in the penthouse was thick with the lingering scent of sex, sweat, and submission. They moved in pairs to the bathrooms, washing each other with a gentle, beautiful care, the water cascading over bruises and bite marks like a war zone of their shared debauchery. But Eli remained asleep. He lay curled in the center of the massive bed, a frail figure lost in a sea of tangled sheets. Zeke had checked on him, his hand resting on the boy's sweaty brow. Eli hadn't stirred, his breathing deep and even, but his eyelids fluttered, and his lips moved in silent, incoherent whispers. He was deep in subspace, floating in an ocean of sensation, untethered from the shore of reality. Zeke decided not to disturb him. Eli wasn't going out, and he seemed to need this profound stillness to process the overload.
Zeke sprawled in the study chair, Eli draped across his lap like a needy fucktoy. The boy's plugged ass ground slow and deliberate against Zeke's thickening cock, the friction teasing through the thin fabric of his slacks. Screens glowed with Eli's audits, numbers crisp and untraceable. Books stayed clean. Harlan's remnants had vanished into digital nothing. Roskov cash flowed smooth through layered crypto shells, untouchable. Eli whispered, "Everything's locked tight," while nipping at Zeke's earlobe, his hot breath sending shivers down Zeke's spine. The boy's own dick leaked a steady wet spot on Zeke's thigh, pre cum soaking through. Zeke slipped a hand into Eli's pants, fingers wrapping around the base of the vibrating plug. He twisted it deeper, feeling the ridges catch on that swollen prostate. The toy buzzed hard, relentless. Eli whimpered, hips bucking wild. Zeke clamped down, holding him still. "Hold it, accountant slut," he growled low. "No cumming until I say." Damien and







