All Chapters of Rough Hands(20 gay steamy Encounters): Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

He left me bent over the arm of the couch for a long time.I felt every pulse in my used hole, every slow trickle of his cum sliding down the inside of my thighs and dripping onto the floor. My arms stayed locked behind my back. My cheek pressed against the cool leather. The cabin air moved across my skin and made me shiver, but I didn’t move. Marcus had told me to stay, and the weight of that order was heavier than any physical restraint.I heard him move around the room—water running in the kitchen, the soft sound of a towel, the quiet click of a cabinet. When he came back he stood behind me for another long moment, just looking. I could feel his eyes on the mess he had left between my legs.“You’re still dripping,” he said. His voice was calm again, almost observational. “Good. I want you to feel it every time you move.”A warm, wet cloth pressed between my cheeks. He cleaned me with the same thorough, unhurried attention he gave everything else—wiping away the excess, spreading me

He let me rest longer than I expected.I stayed on my back on the couch, legs still loosely open, feeling every residual throb in my hole and every slow leak of his cum down the cleft of my ass. The leather had grown warm under my skin. My cock lay soft and spent against my stomach, sticky with my own release. Outside, the light had shifted; the afternoon was deepening. Inside, the only sounds were the wind and the occasional quiet movement of Marcus somewhere in the cabin.When he returned he was carrying a fresh bottle of oil and a clean towel. He set both on the low table and looked down at me for a long moment, eyes moving over the marks he had already left—finger-shaped bruises on my hips, the faint redness around my hole, the dried streaks on my stomach and thighs.“On the floor,” he said. “Hands and knees. Facing away from me.”I rolled off the couch and into position. The wood was harder than the leather. Marcus walked behind me, crouched, and ran two fingers through the mess

Morning came gray and quiet.I woke on the floor where he had left me the night before, still naked, still faintly sticky with the last load he had put in me before sleep. My body ached in deep, specific places—hips, throat, the tender rim of my hole. Marcus was already awake, dressed, sitting in the armchair with coffee. He watched me surface without speaking.“Up,” he said. “Shower. Cold. Then back here on your knees.”I obeyed. The water was brutal. I scrubbed until my skin stung, dried with the towel he allowed me for thirty seconds, and returned to the center of the living room. I dropped to my knees, hands on my thighs, eyes up. My cock was already half-hard from the routine of it, from the knowledge of what the day would be.Marcus set his mug aside and stood.“Last day,” he said. “I’m sending you back tonight. You’re going to tell my daughter everything. The woman. This cabin. My cock. All of it. And then you’re going to live with whatever she decides. But first you finish pay

I sat in the back seat of the SUV with my knees spread and my cock already half-hard against the soft inside of my shorts. The highway hummed under the tires. Sunlight cut through the windows in hard white slabs. Mom was in the front passenger seat, legs crossed, scrolling through her phone like nothing in the world could touch her. Marcus drove. My stepfather. Broad shoulders filling the driver’s seat, one thick forearm resting on the door, the other hand steady on the wheel. Every time he shifted gears his thigh flexed under the dark denim and I felt it in my gut.I had been hard for him for months. Not the polite kind of hard. The filthy kind. The kind that made me stroke myself in the shower thinking about his mouth, his hands, the heavy swing of his cock when he walked naked from the bathroom to the bedroom at night with the door left open just enough. He knew. I was sure of it. The way his eyes lingered on my bare chest when I came in from a run. The way he would stand too close

The diner was half-empty and smelled like grease and coffee. Mom slid into one side of the booth. Marcus took the other, leaving me no choice but to sit beside him. The vinyl seat was sticky. My shorts were still damp and cold against my skin. Every time I shifted, the fabric dragged over my half-hard cock and I had to bite the inside of my cheek.Marcus ordered for all of us without asking. Burgers. Fries. Cokes. His voice was calm, polite. The waitress smiled at him. Mom started talking about the cabin again—how the lake would be perfect this time of year, how we should grill out the first night. I nodded at the right moments. Under the table, Marcus’s hand settled high on my thigh.Not casual. Possessive. His fingers dug in just enough to leave marks later.I kept my eyes on the menu I wasn’t reading. His hand slid higher. The side of his palm brushed the bulge in my shorts. Once. Twice. Deliberate. My cock twitched and started filling again, slow and helpless. He pressed the heel