Chapter Text
The door closed behind John, the sound so definite. Leaving John just- standing there. The hallway was deserted but he felt like- like everyone could see, everyone would know. He could feel his cheeks burning with humiliation- well both sets of his cheek. His Irish complexion was no doubt showing his blush, he could feel the heat upon his face like a bad sunburn, but he could also feel the deep stinging ache upon his arse.
Because- because their producer had just brought John into his office, bent him over the desk and spanked him like a naughty school boy. And John had been a terrible, insufferable, little shite as a schoolboy. But none of his schoolmasters, or their punishments had made him feel the way George Henry Martin did. John had gotten so hard from that humiliation and pain but Martin hadn't let him come. He'd tucked his hard cock back into his tailored trousers and sent him on his way.
On his way with a little something extra to wear. John's rear clenched at the very thought, his muscles driving it just that little bit deeper, just that little bit against his sweet spot. The plug wasn't- it wasn't impossibly large. John suspected he would have preferred that. Instead it was terribly annoying, it didn't press against his prostate unless he made the slightest movement. Making him flinch every time. There was no way to walk gingerly enough that he wouldn't feel it, and he couldn't imagine climbing up the stairs or sitting down like this. John imagined it had been picked so it could be as omnipresent and frustrating as he was to the producer.
John took a deep bracing breath, and then took a careful step forward. Fuck! Today was going to be insufferable and impossible. He blinked rapidly as his cock did nothing to deflate. Fuck, and how was he going to hide that? He was only average sized, but he was so fucking hard from that spanking that his cock had leaked some precum that he could now feel was making his cockhead adhere to his pants.
Think unsexy thoughts, he told himself as he slowly walked to the recording booths. As though he couldn't feel the plug press against him in the most deliciously tortuous ways with every step, and feel the burning of his bum. His cotton pants now felt far too coarse to rub against his skin.
Somehow when John entered, everyone's attention was else where. And at least Paul wasn't here yet, fashionably late as always. John's feet brought him to his chair, where he sat and played his guitar for every song ever. But now- how on Earth was he going to sit down? He didn't love the brush of his clothes against his arse, but to sit down? To put his whole weight against the stinging burning flesh? And what of the plug?
Christ, the less said about that torture the better. And yet... would it not be suspicious to stand? He- he clenched down hard against the plug instinctively and he had to bite back a groan that he felt deep in his chest. Fuckity fuck fuck. John sat there every day they recorded, to do something else would bring the others' attention, and he didn't need that. Not with his trousers tenting over his hard-on like this. But surely... surely eventually it would deflate, eventually, he would get used to the sensation? He couldn't just... be hard for hours on end? John really feared he could, and the very thought was hot and exciting, only worsening his state.
If John didn't sit they would know something was up. They would look and they would see. See that he was hard. See that he was a dirty, naughty, slut that liked to be treated harshly, used but not relieved, and tucked back into his clothes like some kind of ninny. Their eyes like weights upon his body, burning into him, just seeing right through his clothes to the filthy secrets underneath. His redden arse, plump and filled up. Maybe they'd think he'd be deserving of a few more spanks, being such a naughty boy during their studio time. Just have him bend over their knee and drive that plug deeper into him with every slap.
And maybe they wouldn't stop there. Maybe they'd tease out the plug and replace it with something larger. They could all just take turns fucking him. John had never had that many men, they'd absolutely wreck him. He already felt so wrecked from what Martin had done, and then to deny him his release? He'd be begging for their cocks, just a loose and willing hole for them to use.
And Martin- He'd find out. This was his studio after all. They might have been the band, and John might have been the band leader, but he was all of their boss'. He sat there behind that pane of glass and watched, his eyes as cold and piercing as the tundra's wind. Fuck and what would he do to John if John let the whole crew fuck him?
Maybe he'd punish John, maybe he'd growl at everyone that John was his and then fuck him right there and then in front of them all. Let John know exactly who he belonged to. And even as he used John, harder than ever, he'd deny him. Maybe he'd punish him more terribly than ever, spank him with more than his mere hand this time. John couldn't remember the harsh bite of a paddle, but he was sure Martin could teach him to love it.
Or better? worse? still Martin could watch John, could watch how others took him and enjoy that. Enjoy it like John would. And then Martin would pimp him out, like the record label didn't already do all but physically whore out the Beatles. And Martin could tell him what to do, tell him who to please and how. Tell him to hold back when he really wanted nothing but more, make him beg for Martin's cock even as inferiors railed him. Force him to act the slut.
John blinked hard and painfully, snapping himself out of his amazing daydream. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hurried to sit down, like ripping off a plaster. He bit his lip hard to stifle the moan that felt ripped out of him. The plug was now pushing deeper, harder, into him. Fuck. It was nice, but maybe the constant pressure to his prostate would be easier to cope with than the often flicking against it. Now if only his cock could believe that and stop leaking. His livid fantasy had done nothing to help with that.
And John had not sat down a moment too late because the door was opening again. John knew it was the only man left, Macca, and so he quickly took up his guitar to cover his lap. Fuck! Bending down to pick it up hadn't helped either. He tried not to shift about in his seat, not to rub his tender skin under his weight.
"Hi Johnny! Ringo, Hazza, lads," Paul tipped his head towards everyone as he made his way to his notes. Only rather than continuing on as he should have, he stopped when he noticed something was wrong. Fuck. John wished Paul hadn't noticed him, he could feel a bead of sweat just rolling down his forehead and down the side of his face to soak into his sideburn. But that was just what was wrong in fact, "John? Are you alright? You... look rather flushed, are you feeling okay?"
"Uh... y-yeah," John stammered, fuck he was not acting natural or playing it cool. But maybe that was the wrong strategy, he wasn't sure if he could. "Well, maybe... maybe I might be coming down with something, feeling a little hot under the collar. But that's why it's all the more important we decide what's up on the docket and bang that out before I lose my voice."
John just wanted whatever Paul had written, hell whatever George had written, to be up so that John could just unplug and check out. Just play his guitar with muscle memory and do nothing, but enjoy this. Mmmm, John rocked a little on the chair, feeling how it shifted and ground the plug about, and the delightful sting of the spank. Fuck, it was bliss. John could just float in that headspace all day. Only his bandmates were calling out to him. "For fuck's sakes!" John snapped. "What."
George just huffed and crossed his arms at John's bad mood. Typical. "What's up your arse today?"
John looked up in alarm, not at George but straight through the wall- or at least he would have if Martin had been there- when had he arrived, and was sitting there, smirking at him. Fuck. John could feel himself blush more terribly than ever, the heat crawling over his ears as it burned his cheeks and nose a bright red. "N-nothing," John stammered out, he fiddled with his guitar. He could do this, he could play, and then eventually this torment would be over. He just- had to get through the day.
"Hm," Harrison noted as he clicked his guitar's pedal. That wasn't John's normal sassy and witty comeback. No, not at all. Just the opposite really. He could be sick, the lead guitarist supposed. But he did doubt that. No he had another idea, but he'd have to test it out to see how correct he might be.
First George Martin, now George Harrison. The Georges were clearly out to fucking get him today. John would have liked to just play whatever music was put in front of him, or better yet, that drum tracks or whatever were needed and he could sit there quietly not doing anything but trying to hold it together. But nooooo. Harrison was being a little motherfucking shite and constantly bugging him. Asking him to change guitars, making him bend down to swap them out. Fuck.
He hadn't tried the stairs yet with this plug, but he couldn't fucking imagine it being any better than this. Standing was limited stimuli, walking was a constant small push and rub, sitting was an omnipresent push and grind. But bending over like that? The fucking best. Rubbed him in all the right ways and pushed into him so nicely before sliding out as he sat back up.
John gulped audibly as he sat back up. It was all he could do to not have it be a moan. And Martin was just there, looking at him, knowing what was happening to him, what he kept hidden under his clothes and behind his guitar. His fucking cock had not stopped being hard this whole fucking time, and he wanted nothing more at this point than to grind it against his guitar, to rut against the wood like an animal that had lost control. But if there was a bit of disapproval from Martin at his airheaded distracted state, he could only imagine the punishment if he did such a thing. He was barely surviving this current punishment.
Still, it was tempting. If Geoff their sound engineer wasn't there in the sound booth too, and if the Beatles were in a slightly different but not at all unusual set up then they could all be facing the transparent glass wall. Then only Martin would see him. And then John could more openly pleasure himself. He knew he'd still have to be discrete and absolutely quiet, but the thought of doing it under all their noses and having just Martin know, how it would feel to have those hot, burning eyes staring at him.
Fuck how was John going to get through more hours of this? Why did he have to misbehave so badly in the early morning, and not later during the day? Now he had to put up with this punishment for so long. And then John imagined if he had been naughty late in the evening, how Martin might have done this to him and forced him to sleep like this, sleep plugged and spanked before, making him endure a whole day like this on top of that.
Fuck, their break for afternoon tea could not come fucking soon enough. John felt like he was going to jump out of his skin, and that if his cock leaked anymore, there was no way he was going to be able to hide the stain, even through his two layers of black fabric. The poor thing had to be purple at this point.
And then when that time came, slowly, agonizingly, John couldn't just bolt out of the room. He- he could barely imagine standing up. His legs felt like noodles, all of his blood pooled to one place. Shite-! And he couldn't help himself, he kept shifting about, rubbing his skin and that plug deeper inside of himself. He didn't mean to do it, but his body just- wanted more. Fuck. John looked up at Martin. Martin had been, understandably, much better behaved than John and hadn't made more eye contact than normal- probably. John couldn't really tell, but whenever he looked at Martin, the man was not always looking back at him, but would notice soon enough and stare him down.
Now how to silently ask if he could have a quick wank in the loo? It was true that John had gotten in trouble for being naughty, but that had been a whole different kind of misbehaviour. That had had nothing to do with their interpersonal relationship, and everything to do with John being a little shite at his job. And it's not like they were exclusive. Martin knew what John did when they'd toured and even outside of touring too. But this- this was more blatant. After all it had been Martin's hand that had smacked his arse, Martin's hand with its long spindly fingers to open him up and make him wet before shoving in that plug, and it had been Martin's hand that had tenderly and neatly tucked him back into his clothing before kicking him out of his office. So Martin had turned him on, had caused all of this, and John wasn't sure he was allowed to take care of that himself. The last thing he needed at this stage was more punishment.
"John I don't know how ill you are feeling..." Martin suggested innocently enough, as though he wasn't the reason John was like this. "But... that staircase to the roof," he brought his lit fag to his mouth and pressed it against his lip. John loved those lips and could all too easily imagine- remember how they felt against him. Against his mouth and- other places.
John blinked. Was... Martin suggesting grass? Really? Martin hated how much pot they smoked, and often found them useless when they were too high, with nothing but contempt for it, and the awful smell. But no, Martin wasn't suggesting he light up. Martin was suggesting stairs. That evil, evil, motherfucker. He looked all buttoned up and prim, a respectable, clean-cut man, but he was truly a wicked, evil soul. Fuck, John couldn't get enough.
"Want company?" Paul asked. They were all- concerned was a strong word, aware John was 'under the weather' kind of concerned, not fear that he was dying. But John had been snappish, irritable and unfocused this whole time, the last thing he wanted was to continue this act of trying to keep it together in front of someone else. So John shook his head, and although Paul didn't say it, he was relieved. He wanted time to decompress after their hard work, and that would be hard if not impossible if he had to take care of John in a bad mood.
The others left the studio but Martin was 'working' on what they had made ready for him. Seemingly. Then John slowly got up, allowing himself to freely enjoy bending down to put away his guitar and getting back up. Martin looked up from his work once, just to look at John's cock. Even with the dark fabric, it was still clear he was hard as anything. The older man looked up at John and gave him a single, solidary nod.
As much as John would have rather Martin come here and take care of the mess he'd made himself, apparently he had to be teased more first. Was it too much to hope that Martin might come join him on the roof to watch him wank at the very least? John would have preferred to be touched by the man, even to be spanked again, but he would settle for the man's presence. And what a presence it was. Strong, commanding, steely, in charge without having to raise his voice. Hmmm.
John really appreciated that as he made his way towards the back stairs. They were less used by the people that worked here and that was why the bugs liked them to go do their illegal drugs. But it was also helpful in this case as John wanted no one to see him on his Odyssey. Just walking down the hall after being sat was so much, stairs? He looked up at them, daunted. He gulped and lifted a foot, nothing for it.
The least that could be said about this, was that it was consistent. Consistent agony. If walking sent a little jolt, moving the plug and pressing it against his prostate, than the stairs was a hard shove. It was almost like he was getting fucked with every moment. And then- as if that wasn't enough!- something about the gravity and motion was making the plug come out, was making the plug tease at his rim from the inside. And then John had to clench and constrict his muscles to shove it back in. His pulse was in his cock when he reached the roof, and he thought he was going to die.
The area had a waist-high brick wall upon which wooden slates had been added to allow the Beatles some privacy even as they sought fresh air. John didn't bother locking the only door to the roof once he'd made it up, he just leaned his weight against it and took himself out of his trousers right there and then. He barely had enough presence of mind to use a tissue as he tossed himself off furiously. It only took a few strokes before he was loosing it. Fuck! It had practically hurt to come at that point, and now it felt odd and strange to feel it shrink. As though he'd been hard for a million years. He gasp and panted, slamming his head back against the door and staring that the sky. Another grey, completely overcast day in dear old England.
John felt like he'd gone out of his mind as he slowly tucked himself back in and hid the incriminating tissue by wrapping it up and sliding it into his inner jacket pocket. The plug inside of him now just felt- almost comforting. It made him think more of when he was a cock warmer, of having this normally sexual thing be there, inside of him, but... it not really being actively sexual. John was sure the evil thing would make itself known soon enough.
Maybe he could use a smoke. They smoke on the other side of the roof's door, just for plausible deniability if anyone undesirable came up the stairs. It seemed the bizzies wanted nothing more than to catch some famous hippies like them smoking pot one of these days, slap on the silver bracelets and do a whole show and dance for the press, so they could at least look like they were doing something. But could such a movement even really be stopped?
There was a folded piece of paper next to their ashtray. John recognized Martin's handwriting as soon as he opened it. John- No smoking unless it's Everest because I can only take you if you are clear-minded. Was it just hopeful wishing that 'take you' would be literal? Fuck, John was just begging to be fucked hard and good at this point. That orgasm had taken the physical need of release from him, but not really the emotional one. Take a break, rest a little, and then go up and down the stairs until stopped. Fucking Satan.
Up and down the stairs until stopped. Fuck. That meant there was no hurrying that would make this over and done with. He had to suffer through it. He could- theoretically do it really slowly. But 'take a break' was also part of the instructions, that meant whatever John had to do, it wasn't meant to be restful and undoubtedly he'd have to get wound up by it.
Fuck. John's cock was stirring just at the thought of it. He put a hand to his head, he was getting too old to get hard this fast, it was almost painful. But there was no denying it. John took a big deep sigh and then clenched his arse. He felt the plug jolt inside of him. He wanted to sit back down, to shove that plug deep into him and rub against his spanked skin like he had in the studio. And well- Martin did say he could 'take a break' which was separate from resting... and the smoking area did have chairs.
John was far more into self-pleasure and hedonism than its denial. Part of what drove him to be such a good rock star he imagined. So he sat himself down, being free to be as loud as he wanted for once, and just rocked his arse against it. It wasn't anything like fucking, and the plug truly was not that big at all, but just enough that he could grind it against his sweet spots with a little effort. Mmmm, it seemed his arse had somewhat healed from the spanking in the hours since, made sense as it hadn't been hard enough to weld or to bruise.
Maybe John was in for another round of it. He bit his lip as he savoured this feeling. It wasn't overwhelming when he could take it at his own rate and everyone wasn't watching, but- he also enjoyed being watched, being pushed beyond his general speed and comfort.
It was that very same desire that drove him up from the seat and to the staircase. Abbey Road Studio wasn't a huge building, just a few stories but... it felt never-ending with this Sisyphusion task. You can do this John, he psyched himself up as though he had any idea of what he was in for. He quickly figured it out those. With each step he took down those stairs he realized- it was far worse than going up. Going up was a lot- or maybe it had only seemed that way because he was so worked up, but going down them? His whole weight baring down and crashing as his toes and heel took the next step? Christ.
John was definitely growing hard now, and panting by the time he'd made it all the way to the ground floor. Was it wrong for him to be relieved to go back up? It was- almost like a respite to go back up in comparison. He got lost in a kind of haze, just him, the stairs, the will to endure. He felt detached from his body, was this what meditation was suppose to achieve? It felt good, but it also- the constant act, the need to perform this task, to walk these stairs, to just take that next step, it gave him something to do and with that drive it was both easier to do, and easier to get lost in.
Where last time the pleasure had been like a lightening strike to enflame him and then smother, this was... more slowly all consuming. Like he had been tied to a dock at low tide and was now slowly being drowned one lapping wave at a time. John didn't hear or notice anything in this world of his, he was only jolted out of it with a hand on his forearm.
He blinked, his face felt sweaty again and no doubt he was flushed. But all he could really feel was his cock trapped in his trousers again and his arse desperately clenching. That orgasm on the roof had done much to tide him over but he just- he wanted to get fucked. He wanted to be with Martin, with anyone, and get the emotional release he was craving. "Oh, uh, hi Eppy." John hadn't heard anything the man had said. He just- was noticing the man's very blue eyes, only now they appeared darker, was it the lighting of this 'servants' staircase?
"I-H-hi John. Henry told me I could find you here." Eppy was blushing, stammering, and nervous-looking- well that wasn't the only kind of looking he was doing. Eppy had noticed. Eppy was almost never there while they recorded and hadn't seen him in the studio, because if anyone was going to notice, it would be him. Not that it was difficult to notice like this, with John hard and no guitar to hide behind. Eppy's eyes kept flicking down to it like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
John felt his flushed face darken still. The thought of getting caught, of being seen like this, was nothing to the reality of it. And while John might have feared many men, many people, catching him like this, Eppy was not remotely one of them. Not Eppy the known and out queer, and especially not Eppy their beloved manager who'd always had a crush on John.
"Are you... are you okay John?" Eppy asked quietly, almost breathlessly, as though if he spoke up he'd ruin the dream. It was like the man was living one of his fantasies, but he knew that couldn't be the case and that he had to get it together. He didn't want to ruin what he had with John or the rest of the boys. He could keep a hold of himself, even if John's flushed face and heavy breathing made him think of- It was from the stairs. For whatever reason John was exerting himself on the stairs, that was all.
John nodded, his mouth feeling dry. What on Earth could he say? Nothing he suspected, nothing unless he was going to get on his knees for the man and suck his cock. Fuuuccckkk. That was a delicious thought. John took a turn darting his eyes down and Eppy's little circumcised self was standing to attention in those tight trousers of his, and that dove grey did nothing to hide the line of it.
And... Henry had sent Eppy here? To fetch him? The man had to know what he was doing. Had he known he was going to do that all along? Even when he'd first written that letter and tucked it up on the roof? Or was this some kind of test? How much trouble would he be in if he let their bloody adorable manager fuck him?
But John didn't think he could take much more punishment and- and honestly the thought of asking Martin for permission, to let another man fuck him because he was just so desperate, or just to suck his cock because only the producer could fuck him, was soooo fucking hot.
John nodded woodenly, not listening if Eppy had continued talking and walked with the man, putting a hand on the small of his back, to guide him along with him. Eppy didn't question this. Everything felt to good to be true as he could think only with his cock now rather than his brain. If John was going to lead him to some storage closet to have his wicked way with him that was great. If John was going to politely but firmly put him back in his office and tell him whatever had been happening the man needed to stay out of it, Eppy could live with that. Just knowing that John was participating in sex games in the same building as him was- fucking sexy.
Only that wasn't where John brought him. John brought him to Martin's office door where he knocked- how polite. John didn't knock to enter his office, always just barging in and generally playing the fool if Eppy was ever on the phone. Martin let him in and was sat there as stately as ever, having the kind of fortitude Eppy could only play pretend at having. Did Martin know? Would Martin notice?
Martin just cocked his head to the side and looked meaningfully at John- John's face. Eppy couldn't help but dart a look down as the guitarist made his way to the man's desk, looking only at his perked rump. John was walking- like there was something bothering him. Like he'd been fucked really good and hard, and now was leaking. Slightly uncomfortable, but mostly just flustered.
John leaned down, ever so slowly- like that action above all else pained him, and whispered something into Martin's ear. Martin who was now watching him ever so carefully and intently. "Brian, come in here and close the door behind you."
Close close? Eppy wondered, but he closed it and then locked it all the same, possibly just foolishly hoping.
"John has something he wants to show you." Martin's tone was hard for Eppy to understand, he hadn't thought he'd ever heard such before and wasn't sure what it meant. Was it true, or did Martin want John to show him?
But Eppy didn't care for long, his attention fully warped by something else. John's hands. John's hands on his belt buckle. Eppy gulped as he felt the need to press himself back against the door. He couldn't believe this was happening, this was real. Maybe, maybe, it was- something medical. Maybe John had a cyst on his thigh. Maybe it was something like that, Eppy desperately grabbed for anything else as though he hadn't seen John hard in his trousers, as though that hadn't made him hard too, something they could both clearly see in Eppy's carefully tailored trousers, there was nowhere to hide.
Once John's belt and fly were open, he took hold of his trousers and his pants all at once and pushed them down. He didn't bend over and so they didn't fall down very far at all, John's large thighs serving to stop the fabric halfway. Eppy felt himself move as though out of his control to stand, not next to the door but parallel to the desk, behind John. That was- there were marks on John's arse. Marks like he'd been spanked. They were slightly faded but they must have been so red and intense to linger like this. Marks of large hands with long fingers marks like the kind Martin would leave.
And then- and then!! John bent over the desk, reaching one hand back. Eppy could feel his eyes widen before he even got to see anything so much was the anticipation. Eppy would have liked anything, to see John's hole tight and untouched, to see it fucked open and leaking seed, or as he actually saw it, stuff and plugged with a string and handle hanging out. John's hole was red and swollen from all that attention and yet- and yet Eppy suspected it hadn't had nearly enough attention judging by how badly turned on John was.
Eppy was gasping, clearly flustered and scandalized as his face flamed and he desperately looked anywhere but at John's hole before his eyes came back to it again and again. What a sinfully gorgeous sight.
"Like what you see?" Martin asked as he looked down at the slut spread across his desk. John had his head hidden in his elbow, whimpering but Martin could still see his red ears peaking through that ridiculous haircut.
Eppy gulped audibly, nodding shyly. Normally- well normally Eppy wasn't really into fucking, he preferred all the others things men could do together aside from penetration. And when he did engage in such he was generally the receiving party but here- John was gorgeous and beyond tempting. His cock throbbed in his pants at the delectable sight. It would have been pretty enough, but that John's arse was spanked and that he was being made to hold himself open like this? Exquisite.
"Good," Martin praised as he ran a hand through John's hair, unclear if he was praising Eppy for his approval or John for being so tempting in the first place. "And tell me John, what do you want?"
John whimpered again, desperately trying to hide himself, but his voice came out clear, all the same, his lips not wedged against the skin of his elbow. "I- I was thinking- I came here- I thought- I'd ask your permission to suck Eppy's cock," John stammered before blurting it out all at once. Even like this, with his trousers off his arse, they were only half way down his thighs, and he could still have his fantasy of getting on his knees for Eppy like he'd had at the staircase, only now everything would be that little bit different. John bit his lip as he tried hard not to grind down against the desk's wooden surface where his cock was pinned.
Eppy took a step closer and reached out- he put a hand on John's arse, the thing surprisingly so plum and firm under his hand, before he rounded the desk. John looked up his eyes- full of want. Fuck, it made Eppy so hot to see that look- and directed at him! Martin rolled back in his chair and grabbed hold of John's arm, not only so he couldn't rest on it any more but to drag him in part over the desk. Not that John didn't look willing with his expression and upturned face, but that manhandling- that absolute control Martin used to manipulate John's body like a toy- fuck!
John reached out with his hand to draw Eppy's cock out of his trousers, and then he dragged Eppy forward by his hips and took his cock almost all the way. Eppy could feel how John pushed and strained to slide his cock in deeper, the resistance of his uvula. Oh- oh fuck. Eppy had never been deepthroated before and he didn't know what to do but to clutch tightly to John's hair. He'd never asked for that before, a normal blowjob more than enough to get him off, daunted and even a little scared by the idea. He- he really didn't need that.
So little did he know that this position was not ideal for deep throating at all. John was trying his best but like this was the most he could take, that seemed to be enough because Eppy was being very shy. John would have thought that this man would have been old hat at queer sex and considerably more confident, but here he was acting like a blushing virgin, so embarrassed by the shameful, filthy position John had been put in.
Martin stood up so that he was looming over the shorter manager and wrapped his hands around him. He started to physically rock the man, face fucking John with another's man cock. John moaned around his mouthful as he lie there, just letting this happen to him. "Is he being good for you? Is my boy- our boy, being good for you?" Eppy bit down on his lip as he whimpered, nodding and sending one lock of his perfectly coiffed hair to dangle over his forehead.
Martin let go of him and Eppy tried to rock on his own, he wasn't fucking as fast nor as deep, hesitant and almost frightful to hurt John. But John could advocate for himself if something was wrong, and he liked it- he liked to be taken and used, he liked it a little rough and hard. His hard albeit neglected cock attested to this. Perhaps if he was very good Martin would be good enough to touch him, to give him that relief he craved. But maybe just letting him have that moment on the roof was all that such a naughty, misbehaving boy like him deserved.
John had closed his eyes to best savour the cock sliding in and out of his wet, sucking mouth, and so he hadn't noticed Martin going behind him. His first sign of the man's presence behind him was a spank that rocked him forward onto Eppy's cock. Oh fuck! John groaned around his mouthful as the plug was jolted and rocked inside of him. Martin used both hands to take firm hold of his hips rocking him back and forth again.
Fuck this was everything. It rubbed his cock against the desk, it fucked him forward onto Eppy's cock and then backwards where he received a spank. Fuck. It was as good as John had daydreamed grinding into that studio chair. Getting spanked with the plug in was ecstatic and John could only wonder how this might feel with an even bigger plug. Eppy's cock was enough to muffle John's passionate pleases, this felt so very good.
And then- and then the man's large hand with those long, long fingers wasn't spanking him but spreading apart his cheeks. He could feel the chill of the room's air against that spot. And then- Martin was reaching, pushing and pulling at the plug. Not pulling it out so much as teasing and taunting him, pulling out the flair base until it pushed at his rim and then spanking him to have his hole clenching and swallowing it back up.
Just when John thought he couldn't possibly take it anymore, Martin blessfully, finally yanked it out. John grunted as his hole spasmed around nothing, so odd to feel so empty after so long filled. And then- because John had been so very good, and so very deserving, Martin's fat cock was pressing into him. Martin was much thicker than the plug, hell he was bigger than Eppy and Eppy was bigger than the plug. Martin was filling him back, but also still stretching him out.
Martin pushed in one single firm, unrelenting stroke, giving John no real chance to adjust, he could only take it. And in that first stroke, Martin was already pressing against his prostate. John felt his toes curl in his polished shoes as he thrashed around, his legs pinned by trousers. It was like there wasn't enough space for Martin, so the man was making it by rendering John in two, opening him wider than he had before. Silly as John had taken the man before, the particular kind of prep that had been that plug, left him both wet deep inside and loose, but not quite loose enough. There was still that delicious sting of being stretched too wide.
They fucked John like that- from both sides, filling him up everywhere. Fuck, it was so much, so good, and he was so fucking worked up. Coming once had been nowhere near enough, and honestly John wanted- wanted to be used. It wasn't enough that he should come, he wanted to make the both of them come. Trying his best to suck with his mouth, minding his teeth and tonguing at the slit, even as he tried his best to clench down with his arse at every thrust. It didn't take them long, this was good fucking. Soon they were coming. First Eppy, still stammering and flushed, trying to warn John off that he was about to come.
John held tightly onto him, one hand at the base of his cock and another around his back, and Martin reached across John's back to hold the manager's tie, locking him in place until he spurted into John's mouth. John the filthy slut was all too happy to greedily swallow him down. Then John's mouth was free and his noises were anything but quiet. Martin could tell just from that timber and pitch that the man was close; he yanked him back partly off the desk, just enough that he could get a hand around his cock as he continued to ram into him. With the reach-around it didn't take long for John to come, his arse milking Martin perfectly through his orgasm as he continued to thrust through it, making sure to get every last drop into his boy.