Natural body heat evaporating the thin sheen of frost, a deep breath expanding his ribs, eyes blinking away the cold. Brain freeze still in place. Slow to realize what's happening. Blinks again. Meets my eyes and goes wild. Good boy, also very predictable. But John can't do shit without his lighter and I can pinpoint the exact moment John realizes he is tied down and can't reach it.
Full-body pulling against restraints, trying to spit out the gag, twisting in slight, futile movements. Good thing he can't shoot flames with his eyes because otherwise I would be barbecue right here right I lie. Long litany of what I can only imagine might be aspersions cast upon my character but the silky gag reduces them to negligible noise. Muscles still bunch and stretch and tighten but there is no way John is getting up until I'm damn good and ready to let him. And the longer the rebellion, the longer the restraint.
"John. Johnny. Relax, boy," I smile as rage sweeps over my captive's face. God, but I love to torment him; his reactions are aphrodisiacs to me. "Bobby and I were hoping you'd wake up in time to join us." I stroke Bobby's erection again, just to get his attention, turn it from John back to me. Give a little twist at the end and rub my thumb hard over the soft pink head, Bobby bucking up nicely with that sexy soft porno-movie moan.
Bucks up close enough that he is almost touching John, which means that my knuckles brush against John's cock, which is still hard, not thawed yet or maybe being tied up really agrees with him.
I smile at John again across Bobby's shoulder; such pretty boys. Stroking Bobby, keeping him on the edge of release. Reveling in the anger radiating off John in waves, possessiveness, maybe. Well, I have no intention of actually fucking Bobby, if that is what worries John. I don't do soft and gentle, I do hard and rough. I don't do Bobby, I do John.
"Bobby," I whisper, making sure John is listening. "Bobby, what does John like? Does he like you to touch him?"
Bobby nods, eyes closed, hips making little humping moves into my hand.
"Bobby, we're going to make John feel good, would you like to do that? Isn't that what I interrupted - you making John feel good?" Bobby nods. "Poor John, just look at him. He can't do anything for himself. We'll have to do it all. Together. Right, Bobby?"
Bobby opens his eyes, looks at John, smiles. John closes his.
I continue to stroke Bobby, keep up a relentless rhythm to keep him teetering on the edge: not enough to come, too much to stop moving, searching for something something to rub against hard. I unclench Bobby's fist, stick his thumb and mine between those perfect pink lips and just have to thrust up against him hard when his tongue laves velvety soft. With great effort I ease us out of his mouth and place his thumb on John's nipple. Trace it gently at first, then guide Bobby's thumb back and forth across the nub until it hardens to a point and John has to, just has to, move for relief.
"Like that, Bobby, just like that. John likes it, doesn't he? Do the other one."
John struggles for control, almost succeeds at not reacting, although his nipple puckers up. I don't like that a bit; he's not allowed the upper hand, as it were. Time to remind him. Push Bobby's hand out of the way and pinch hard, hold on tight and twist. John howls and thrashes and it is good. Repeat the action on the other, just to make them evenly red and swollen.
"Bobby," I whisper again, feeling Bobby approaching his limit, knowing he would soon be out of the game. "Bobby, kiss those and make them feel better. They look sore."
I push Bobby's head down and hold it to John's chest, slide my hand around to Bobby's jaw to be sure his tongue is out and working John's nipples. Love the look in John's eyes, flashing between sleepy-eyed lust when Bobby sucks particularly hard and futile rage that I'm making him do it. That makes me laugh out loud. Then I grasp John's head, positioned it just so and kiss him hard, gag be damned. Thrust my tongue in and out of that open, unwilling mouth; lick his lips, trace his teeth, just breathe in those heated gasps.
Can't wait much longer. Bobby's turn is almost over and then John is mine. I will make him so. I search out Bobby's cock and begin jerking him off, making sure he is in full contact with John's erection, still hard despite his obvious rage and resistance. God, he's delicious, all that anger and futile resistance. All for nothing, John, I'm going to do with you exactly what I want. Nothing you can do to stop me now.
Bobby's little sexy whimpers and wet, sucking sounds, his ass pumping hard against me, is threatening my control. And I'd like to see him shoot hot, not cold, so I lean back and pull him against me, but he's struggling to stay attached to John's chest. Distract him by simultaneously pinching his nipples and sliding my length tight between his cheeks. His balls tighten, his breath is audible, continuously moaning and whimpering.
I lock eyes with John. Dare him not to look away. Speed up my hand on Bobby's ice-hard cock and work him hard. Feel Bobby's muscles tensing up, pushing himself into my hand, but away from me and up against John. A little sad at that. He doesn't want me. Even when John is not touching, not speaking, not even looking at him, it's John who Bobby wants.
Doesn't take long till we hear "oh oh oh" and I wish I could see those full lips forming that perfect circle. John's eyes leave mine and can't help but watch Bobby's face in ecstasy, body just writhing in release. John moans through the gag as Bobby's hotness spills over my hand and all over his stomach and that moan is just for Bobby. I'll never hear it just for me. Rage, my loyal companion, rises up to try to banish sorrow, longing, yearning, and attempts to replace them with the primal need to dominate.
I shove Bobby away from me and he doesn't even protest, just fits himself against John's trussed up body, nuzzling his neck, making soft, wordless sounds. No more rounds to me. I've been knocked out.
All that remains is to take John, as I promised myself. Because it feels so good, because it's right, because I want it. Only I don't really want it so much anymore, but can't figure out why. But this is not a time to think, not a time to get all soft and sensitive. Just need to scratch my itch, then I'm out of here. Let these two mutants do whatever. I'm beyond caring.
I climb over their entwined bodies and settle in behind John. I feel a little shudder from him, but he never lifts his head from Bobby's neck. I pick up his lighter and flick it open. That gets his attention. I can feel the anger tensing up the muscles in his back. I use the lighter instead of my finger, tracing his spine, his neck under his long hair, up the length of his arms, tendons straining. Slide it around along his jawline, up to his lips, as I've seen him do a thousand times. His head lifts from Bobby's shoulder. Interesting.
I draw designs across his chest, hand squeezing in against Bobby's solid chest. I flick the lighter open, close it on John's nipple and smile at the little jump that causes. Do it again, then drag the little wheel down his stomach, hard across his hipbone, hoping to leave tracks in my passing.
John's all sticky but still hard. I pump him a few times, feel his anger battle his arousal. Mine is at a peak and if I don't get inside him soon, I'll shoot just like Bobby did. Won't give John that satisfaction; his experience with me has to be very different than his with Bobby. Otherwise, he might forget just who's in charge around here.
Shoving Bobby back, I quickly flip John onto his belly. He immediately bucks and twists but tied up, he's at a disadvantage, something I remind him of by holding him down with one hand planted in the middle of his back. Try as he might, he can't dislodge me. Gives me a great view of that ass moving up and down, head tossing back and forth, long, lean muscles shifting beneath his smooth skin.
I untie the one tie binding his wrists together, congratulating myself on the wisdom of having also tied each wrist separately to the headboard. He thinks he's free and rises up, only to be jerked back down. The ties allow him only to rest his weight on his elbows, no further. I swing a leg over his hips and straddle him, enjoying the friction of his twisting attempts to loosen his bonds. Run my hands up his back, down his ribs, rub his nipples and give a twist or two before reaching down and pulling on him several times, just to keep him ready.
One more glide of the lighter across his back, then I set it aside and fumble for the lube in the drawer. Can't remember if it was here last time I snooped through this room or if the boys brought it with them. Doesn't matter. I drip some into the cleft of his ass and bliss out when he tries to move away from its coolness. Spend only a couple of minutes getting him ready, I'm too hot to wait any longer for what I came for.
I reach back and loosen the tie binding his ankles. Again, John thinks he is free and is brought up short when he figures out he can only get his knees under him, not enough for any serious leverage but enough to position him perfectly for me. I begin the slow slide in. Don't care that he's resisting, hurts him, not me. I press on. I won't let him spread his knees, I keep his thighs pressed together between mine, just to heighten my own pleasure.
Ass up, head down, hands clutching the restraints, John is all heat. I kneel up close behind him, push in hard till I'm seated and just howl. Nothing, nothing, beats the feeling of taking another strong male and making him submit. Intense, flying, powerful. Eyes closed, hands gripping John's hips so he can't pull away or even lie down, I pump in and out of his body in a rhythm dictated by my desire: fast, slow, deep, shallow, whatever feels good at the moment. I'm getting what I want. Nothing else matters.
Until, like it's a dream, I watch Bobby lift John's arm, bend his body at the waist in a near-impossible fashion, and slide himself right under John. Right under him. Bobby's legs fold, shins pressing hard against John's hipbones, I can feel him lift a bit to accommodate. Bobby's hands gently cradle John's face and they kiss around the silk tie, leaning into each other like I'm not even here. John must be rubbing up against Bobby with every one of my strokes.
I thrust into John particularly hard, break their contact, cause John to rock forward to keep his balance. Then I hear that moan again, the special one that only Bobby gets. I know, know without looking, that Bobby has reached down and is stroking John in time to my thrusts. I know because John's all of a sudden moving. Moving like he means it. Bobby's making it easier for him, giving him something else, something more than I want to - or can - give.
I'm close and starting to lose my pace, lost in the tight heat. Too long teased, my body demands release and I push into John and just hump him with short, hard strokes. Bobby must be able to read minds, too, as he uses two hands (I'm guessing) and John's body is shuddering. Head down, breath coming in harsh gasps around the gag, he stiffens and moans, hips moving still but only because I am. It's enough and I shoot hard, deep and long into him. Shooting fire briefly flashes through my brain but it's nothing, really. I don't do that. Just do rough and nasty. And John.
John collapses, hides his face in Bobby's neck. Bobby glares at me in a way he wouldn't have dared to do just an hour ago. He rubs John's back and reaches up to untie the silk from the headboard. Guess it depends on who's getting fucked that brings out the bad in the Iceman. Good to know.
Much of what I find out in my travels around the mansion is trivial, some doesn't make sense, a little makes me angry, but all knowledge is useful. Isn't it?
I dress faster, not wanting to be in the room when John reaches for his lighter.
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