He leaned forward, elbows braced against the windowsill, face turned upward as he watched people move on the street below. A hand was in his hair, making him look. His mouth was open, breaths fogging the glass, cheeks flushed with the rosy warmth of humiliation and sex.
He made quite the picture; dark, thick stubble against pale skin, tight black curls that bounced as he was fucked, and heavy brown eyes that were hypnotising in their depth. A young thing with soft cheeks and pink lips. He was utterly naked, the terrain of his ribs continuing uninterrupted down to the fuzzy expanse of his belly. The small of his back was arched into the ceaseless thrusts that came from behind, hips canted as he tried to remain standing. His poor, neglected cock bounced against his thighs, dripping and hard.
The man behind him was huge and hulking, head shaved close to the scalp, beard thick and perfectly maintained. He showed no signs of slowing, no hesitation whatsoever, as he ploughed his lover remorselessly. His knuckles were mottled from years of hard living and honourable fights, body solid and carrying a complex history in the form of countless scars. Two long, pink scars stretched from his armpits toward his sternum, obscured by a thick rug of chest hair and the sculpted shape of his pecs. His face was broad and stoic, mouth set hard, breaths hissing from his nose.
His name was Aaron.
With his spare hand, he gripped Elliot’s hip, slapping the twink’s pert ass whenever he felt like it. Elliot would yelp and flinch away, and Aaron would tug him backward onto the next brutal thrust inward.
Aaron wore a pair of trunks, plain black in colour. From the front of them emerged a fleshy cock, glistening with lube, wet as it plunged repeatedly into the submissive man. Silicone or not, this was Aaron’s cock, and he was using it as proudly and skilfully as any man Elliot had been fucked by throughout his years.
And Elliot knew fucking. He loved being a slut.
But he’d never been fucked like this.
They’d eaten dinner, drank some nice wine. Aaron could cook like a fucking champion. He looked good in an apron and neat trousers, sleeves rolled up, forearms thick with hair, hands strong and muscular. He’d made Fettuccine, served it so professionally that Elliot had felt almost childish by comparison. He scraped by on three crappy recipes, or takeout, and it was nice to be treated like a princess.
Aaron had taken him to his bedroom, which had obviously been freshly cleaned and vacuumed. Nice, for their first night together. They’d kissed, touched, and exchanged breathy laughs against parted lips. Aaron had sucked him off, rimmed him, and opened him up so fondly. He’d taken way more time than most tops did.
Elliot wasn’t intimidated or confused by the weight of Aaron’s past. He didn’t mind that the cock inside him was silicone. He knew a man when he saw one. He had been upfront, said he wouldn’t mind servicing Aaron if he was comfortable with that, but Aaron had politely declined. That was fine. Elliot had a lot to learn, but if he knew anything, it was that no two trans men felt the same about their junk. He had, at all times, been led by his attraction towards this man. A few Google searches had informed the rest.
It was all far simpler than he’d expected.
He braced himself against the windowsill, panting heavily, moaning louder than he’d ever moaned before. Aaron’s cock was perfectly girthy and curved, filling him up blissfully well, slamming against a place deep inside him. Pulses of warmth shuddered through him every time Aaron pushed deeper.
“Feels good,” he groaned, “God, fuck…”
“You like it?”
“Yeah,” Elliot whispered, “Yeah, I do, yeah,”
“Dirty bitch,” Aaron laughed, chuckling darkly, voice rumbling in his throat, “You degenerate slut.”
A long, drawn-out whimper escaped Elliot’s lips. Aaron knew which buttons to push, knew precisely how to get underneath Elliot’s skin. The fingers in his hair tightened, yanking his head higher. Elliot gasped, eyes fixing again on the people walking by outside, dimly lit by streetlights.
“They can all see you,” Aaron told him in a rumbling growl, “If they look up, they’ll see you.”
Elliot felt like he was going to come. No hands, no jerking off, no nothing. He felt like he was going to come. Aaron’s voice hummed through him like a filthy blessing. Nobody had ever made him feel this way.
“The light’s on in here,” Aaron continued, “Brighter than out there. If you moan too loud, you’ll attract someone’s attention. You want that?”
Elliot cried out and steadied himself against the windowsill, teetering where he stood. In response, Aaron grabbed his shoulder and hauled him upward, straightening him until he was standing. Elliot was then pressed against the window, the sill jutting into his hips, forehead and palms against the glass. Aaron fucked him harder.
“Get them a proper view. Fuck you like this. Make sure everyone can see.”
“Ah- Jesus,” Elliot babbled, curls falling down before his eyes, lashes dipped down low, “Ah, ah, ah!”
“You like this? Answer me.”
“Y- Yeah, yeah, I like it,”
“You love being ruined. You whore.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m- I’m a whore,”
“A dirty slut,” Aaron grunted, palm connecting with Elliot’s ass. “Look out there. Look at the people. Is anyone watching?”
Elliot looked. His mouth open, body being jolted by thrusts, as debauched as could possibly be imagined. To his humiliated delight, heat sparking in his gut, a man was standing on the street, wide-eyed as he stared directly at Elliot.
“Yeah, a- a man.”
“Oh? Yeah, you like that?”
“I- I do, I’m…”
Aaron reached an arm around his chest, and Elliot was amazed that he knew, that he somehow could tell what Elliot wanted. He wanted a thick, strong, man’s forearm braced against his willowy frame. Possessive. Strong. Unyielding. Giving him the appearance of a poor, trapped boy. He teetered there, gasping, gazing out at the stranger as he was fucked, held in place by a bulky man.
“Is he still watching?”
Elliot stared into that man’s eyes, held in place, fucked ruthlessly. The man seemed to swallow thickly, and then turned away, cheeks burning, trousers tented by his growing erection. There was no doubt that he’d return home and furiously masturbate, thinking of the boy in the window.
“He’s,” Elliot began, “He’s walking a- away,”
“Shame,” Aaron growled, “We could’ve let him inside.”
Elliot whimpered. “Wh… What?”
“Let him in here. Let him fuck you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
For the novelty of being made to tell the truth, Elliot shook his head dazedly, and whispered, “No…”
“Liar. You love it.”
“You’d open your legs for anyone, wouldn’t you? We could just open the front door, invite men inside. You’d let anybody fuck you.”
Elliot swayed in place, jolted repeatedly, skinny body destroyed by the bigger man’s thrusts.
“Your hole always has to be filled, doesn’t it?”
“That’s right, admit it. You’re a whore for it. You love being treated this way. Say it. Say that you love it.”
“I love… I love it… Daddy…!”
At the moaned word, Aaron sucked in a sharp breath, and shoved Elliot against the window again. Elliot yelled in protest, but was ignored, just as he had wished to be. Aaron fucked him so hard that Elliot was tipping over the edge, spiralling into nothingness, embracing the oblivion of pleasure.
“That’s it, boy,” Aaron told him, “Come for your daddy.”
On command, Elliot shuddered himself into a silent, open-mouthed climax, spasming wildly before going limp, cheek against the window.
Aaron pulled him away from the window and pushed him down onto the bed. Elliot fell down obediently, boneless and limp, sprawling on his stomach. Aaron was on top of him immediately, the tip of his cock rubbing between Elliot’s pink cheeks. Though they’d agreed on this beforehand, had planned on it and discussed it, Elliot still felt a thrill of arousal and fear. Playing this out was intoxicating.
“Wh… What are you…” Elliot mumbled the words, “Wait, just give me a break…”
“Shut up,” Aaron told him, “We’re not done yet.”
Elliot tried to push up off the bed, but Aaron shoved him back down, a broad forearm braced across his back. Elliot’s rising voice turned into a garbled wail when Aaron pushed inside him again, filling him completely.
“Wait, wait, stop- Mmmf!”
Aaron slapped a hand over his mouth and lay heavily on top of him. He immediately began to jerk his hips backward and forward, slamming deep inside the captive boy’s body.
“We’re not stopping,” Aaron hissed, “Until you come again.”
The fucking continued. Brutal, forceful, and perfect. Elliot was safe. This would stop the moment he tapped out, but he wasn’t going to stop this. No, this was exactly what he had wanted. To be pinned down and destroyed by a man.
By the time he came again, he was mindless with pleasure, overwhelmed and overcome. So bombarded with sensation that he was almost numb. His cock was trapped between his belly and the sheets, rubbing so cruelly. He felt so open and wet, thoroughly fucked, Aaron’s cock forced inside him again and again and again.
When he did come, he was quivering, eyes half-lidded and glazed, curls of hair plastered to his sweaty forehead. Aaron continued to fuck him through the waves of arousal he felt, until it was too much, and Elliot was tapping twice against his muscular arm, signalling his limits.
Aaron pulled out slowly. Elliot lay there and tried not to pass out, floating blissfully in the space between unconsciousness and waking. He found himself pulled into a warm embrace, encircled completely, cuddled close. His face was against a warm, broad chest, and he breathed in. How enchanting and delicious the smell of another man was.
“Such a good boy,” Aaron whispered, lips against Elliot’s damp temple, “Such a good boy for daddy.”
Elliot tried to mumble out a reply. Aaron laughed softly, and stroked his back.
“What was that, baby?”
“Th’nk you…” Elliot managed to say, “Feels good…”
“You want to shower?”
“Mm… No. Lay here… Li’l while longer…”
“Okay,” Aaron told him, voice carrying with it all the trust and beauty that Elliot had been attracted to in the first place, “Okay, sweetheart.”
They showered separately, and then Aaron made him dessert. It was chocolate mousse, thick and heavy, sweet against Elliot's tongue. They ate the dessert on the couch, watched some dumb romantic movie. Elliot snuggled up against Aaron, enjoying the bulk of his shoulder. How solid and reliable he felt. How safe this living room was.
"I really feel I should return the favour," Elliot murmured, licking at his lips, "You made me feel so good."
Aaron chuckled. He lifted an arm, draping it over Elliot's shoulders, pulling the younger man close. Elliot nuzzled his face against Aaron's cheek, felt the pleasant scratch of his beard.
"I'm happy," he replied, "I don't need you to do anything else."
"You didn't come, though."
"I came in the shower."
Elliot blinked up at him. "Oh. It seems... sad, that you should have to take care of that on your own."
Aaron smiled wryly at him. "Everyone has different limits. I like touching myself. It feels good. I just don't want anyone else touching me... Or seeing that part of me. Maybe that'll change someday, but for now, this is just the way I prefer to fuck."
Elliot fell silent, turning his head to gaze at the television. Aaron must have sensed the boy's anxiety, because he laughed again.
"I'm not offended."
"No," Aaron continued, still grinning, "Asking questions is important. You want to pleasure me. I like that. It's sexy, to be with a partner so giving. I just don't want that from you. That's all."
"As long as it's good for you," Elliot replied shyly, ducking his head, "I just... I thought I was being selfish... Most tops want to come, and that's the main focus."
"I want to make you come, first. I get off later. It's how I'm most comfortable. That cool?"
"Are you asking me if it's okay for you to fuck me, and give me all the attention? Oh, how will I handle the burden?"
They both laughed, now.
"I'm sure you'll manage."