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Drake must have realized it’s a lost cause by now, but he’s still thrashing when Slade wedges the first finger into his pussy.
The cuffs around his wrists are a favored pair of Slade’s, nigh unbreakable. The headboard slats they’re attached to are damn sturdy as well. As for the kid’s legs, Slade has a shin thrown over the pair of them from where he lays beside the kid, providing just as effective a restraint.
The only part of Drake’s body still giving him trouble is the part Slade’s middle finger is halfway into. Hand wedged between his thighs ain’t the easiest angle, but there’s something lewd in the effort that makes it better.
Drake—Tim, since they’re getting so friendly and all—growls through the makeshift gag of rope. It sounds like he’s trying to make words. Considering the tone, unfriendly ones.
Slade leans heavier on his elbow so he can lift the hand to pat Tim’s cheek. “Quiet while I work, kid.”
If looks could kill.
Slade bounces his eyebrows in response to the glare, before refocusing on his task. His middle finger presses in up to the knuckle, slides back out against the friction. He repeats the motion at a leisurely pace. Don’t wanna break the kid just yet.
Tim, predictably, ignores Slade’s order to give more grumbles and muffled curses. After another minute of ineffectual protest, still being finger-fucked with machine consistency, he throws his head back like he’s trying to brain himself on the mattress and lets out a loud growl.
Tragically, Slade’s got a strong instinct it’s based on anger, not arousal. He can fix that.
Buried to the knuckle, he oscillates his finger around instead of pumping and slips his thumb up to the kid’s clit to rub little circles. There’s another thrash of protest beneath him, which he summarily ignores.
“Come on, kid,” Slade says, leaning over to breathe right against Tim’s ear. His legs shift, pinning each of the kid’s, forcing them to rotate out for better access. Slade is hard, has been for a while, but he can be patient. He scrapes his teeth against Tim’s ear in threat of a bite. “I know you can do better than that. Can’t be the first time someone’s fucked a tight little hole of yours. Daddy Bat, maybe?”
Tim enunciates two syllables best he can. Slade isn’t sure if the second is “you” or “off,” but he’s damn near certain the first is “fuck.”
Despite his bitching, his folds moisten as Slade keeps up the stimulation. As soon as the finger fucking into Tim’s cunt starts gliding with ease, Slade forces in a second. He spreads them as far as the passage will allow, stretching the kid’s increasingly wet pussy to the very limit of comfort. With his thumb still massaging Tim’s erect clit, he can feel every throb of pulse.
Slade grins. “There we go,” he purrs. “The Bat always did raise sluts.”
Tim looks away, jaw and fists clenched. Color rises in his cheeks.
“Bit of advice,” Slade adds, shifting until he’s unavoidably in the kid’s line of sight. “Lean into it. Gonna have a lot more fun that way.” He glances down to his pumping fingers, slick sounds now echoing out on every thrust. “Though I guess you’re gonna have fun either way, huh?”
Only enhanced reflexes help Slade dodge away from the attempted headbutt. The kid growls out more unintelligible words, head shake making his meaning clear. Gotta love that denial. Still convinced he can tamp down his body’s betrayal; still convinced it will listen to him instead of Slade’s puppetry.
Slade raises his eyebrows in bet—and then doubles in.
His fingers curl up and pump in Tim’s pussy until the kid is squirming for a reprieve, unable to escape the simulation inside or out. Slade moves his other hand down to spread Tim’s thighs, gets a look at where he stretches around Slade’s thick fingers; slides it up to roll the boy’s clit between both thumbs until he’s jerking and whining with the sensation. Biting into his nipple is satisfying for the pure principle of it.
The kid’s noises get breathier, a little higher, far more regular. Even as his teeth dig into the rope, he can’t keep them smothered. He’s still trying to wriggle away, but in the sweat on his body, flush up his chest, twitch in his hips, Slade watches him crest closer and closer to the peak.
When he starts gasping in the seconds before orgasm, Slade abruptly pulls his hands away.
The kid’s cunt twitches in sudden emptiness before closing, much redder than when they started. His face is beet red too, anger and humiliation. Tim tightens his jaw like he’s trying to cling onto the high ground of distant animosity, but he’s still panting around the rope, hair still sticking to his forehead.
“Something to say?” Slade asks. He makes a show of raising his fingers, shining with the juices Tim made, aroused under his own assault. Slade splits them to a V to lewdly lick between, before sucking it off. He pulls them out with a wet slurp. “Want to come?”
Tim narrows his eyes. Slade intentionally misinterprets.
“Sorry, kid. Bratty sluts don’t get rewarded for it. If you’re so uppity trying to get away from my fingers, guess you’re gonna have to come on my cock.”
The kid stirs at that, cuffs clanging against the headboard, though he must have predicted where this was going. Slade holds him easily, grabbing his knees and pinning them on the sheets. Drake’s no Grayson for flexibility, but every bat brat learns the basic skills. Slade can spread his legs out wide enough to watch that slick cunt clench and twitch and wink at him.
His cock throbs as he moves it up, making no secret of its arousal now that he’s stopped ignoring it. Slade rubs it against the gap of Tim’s slit made by his fingering and the kid’s split legs. Tiny little thing.
Getting it in was always gonna be the issue. Slade’s proud to note he’s a large man all around, while Tim is still more boy. The lubrication is a necessity—and it’s a hell of a lot more fun to make Tim create his own. He shifts further up, rubbing the head against Tim’s clit on his way, to line up against the kid’s abdomen. Slade groans at the sight of how far in he’ll reach. Rearrange those fucking insides. Tim makes a small sound in response, head turned away, cuffs rattling again.
This close, Slade should be able to pick up his heartbeat, but it’s hard to hear past his own, pounding in anticipation.
Despite warming the kid up, pressing in takes effort. Tim pushes back against him as Slade mashes against that tight hole, forcing his way forward—and finally popping the head in.
“There we go,” he mutters, watching the stretch around his cock. “Take it right in.” A few more inches disappear. Tim’s thighs shake and then droop, and Slade shoves deeper. “That’s it, kid. Feel that cock filling you up.” He thumbs over his clit, just once, feels it throb. “Feels good, huh?”
Tim whimpers. Slade grins at him, a wolf with caught prey, and releases his knees for his hips. Kid’s not going anywhere.
“Halfway there,” he says, just for the way Tim’s eyes widen, head jerking up. Slade leans back onto his heels, pulling the kid along. A testing little rock, and then he jabs in with staccato beats, until he can shove the final inch. Tim holds him like a vice, squeezing every inch. Slade closes his eyes for a moment just to feel. Cock head mashed up against the end, walls forced open around the shaft, entrance squeezing the base, ass trembling against his balls. There’s nowhere more to go, but he grinds in anyway.
Tim’s breath hitches. When Slade opens his eyes, the kid’s gaze is fixed down. He follows it, grin widening at the sight. It’s subtle, small—but there’s just a hint of a bulge at the base of Tim’s stomach.
“Would ya’ look at that,” Slade murmurs, rubbing over it. He gives a few shallow thrusts, just to watch it vanish and reemerge. Tim makes a strangled sound. “You like that?”
No reason to wait for an answer. Slade wants to pound in as hard and fast as he can, smash the kid’s cervix, split him all the way open, but he made a promise. He angles up instead, makes consistent grinding strokes. When Tim gives half a moan before choking it off, pressing his lips tight around the rope, Slade knows he’s struck true.
The kid is so fucking tight. Slade’s got endurance, keeps his pace steady, but as the minutes pass, he’s gotta admit it’s not easy. Worth it, though. Color bleeds from Tim’s red face down his neck, his chest, pretty little nipples standing to hardness. His pussy flutters around Slade’s cock. Stomach clenches and unclenches too, and Slade puts a hand over it again to feel it rhythmically protrude and drop.
Tim’s still trying to keep it down, but his body leaves no doubt he’s getting close. Slade shoves two fingers between his lips, hooks behind his teeth to pull his mouth open and let those strained moans fly.
He speeds up just a hint, drives it in. The moans rise, squirming escalates, and with a final cry Tim comes on his cock. Just as promised.
Slade fucks him through the orgasm, fucks him as he comes down—and keeps fucking when he starts struggling again. His pace increases until his hips are snapping, chasing his own pleasure this time. Tim squirms in overstimulation, but it only takes a few more thrusts until Slade is groaning out his release. He sheathes to the hilt, forcing his come deeper inside even when there’s seemingly nowhere to go. The kid’s so tight around him it can barely leak out.
For a minute, Slade sits in stillness, marinating in the pleasure. He can hear the kid’s heart now, pounding quick, but his panting slows.
Like he thinks he’s done or something.
Slade withdraws halfway, appreciating the white streaks around his still-hard cock, and then slams back in. Tim jolts, breath catching, head jerking down in obvious fear. Slade keeps going, watches the realization fully cement in the kid’s mind.
“You didn’t think that was it, did you?” he taunts. “For a tight hole like this, I can go all night.”
Tim’s eyes widen, legs starting to shake again. The horror is clear, but Slade’s more interested in the overstimulation. That’s either gonna kill the kid’s next orgasm, or make for a spectacular night.
Well, Slade only did promise to make the kid come once. Even if that’s all he gets, they’re both getting their fill one way or the other—Tim’s way a lot more literal.
He pulls the kid’s knees up against his chest, pounding into him harder. Slade’s done with holding back. This time he fucks, and he doesn’t relent until he’s shooting another load deep in Tim’s cunt, filling up right under that bulge.
For the third round, Slade flips him, pulling his hips up to keep the come from leaking out. The cuffs twist against the headboard, Tim letting out a grunt. He expects more of a fight for the changed position, but the kid is either too shaky or accepting he’s outmatched. Slade thrusts back in, easier the second time, and all Tim does is bury his face in the sheets like he’s still embarrassed.
Funny little question, why he’s held onto embarrassment when he’s already given up the fight.
“You gonna come for me again, kid?” Slade asks, pumping his hips. The position’s certainly suited for it, since Tim doesn’t seem to need anything more than a fuck to get off. An easy lay in a small size; the Bat really does pick them well.
He yanks Tim’s head back by the hair, pulling his mouth out of the sheets. Unmuffled moans immediately ring out. Slade can’t see the kid’s face too well, but his voice communicates well enough.
When Tim comes again, entire body shuddering, Slade drops his head back down.
“Good boy,” Slade praises, working to follow suit. Tim’s legs have gone so boneless he has to hold the kid’s hips up. If he weren’t still impaled on Slade’s cock, he’s sure the kid would’ve crumpled to the mattress. His upper body already is, head turned to the side where Slade can see his half-lidded eyes and his drool leaving a wet spot on the mattress.
The third time Slade comes, it seems like an impossible fit. Tim’s cunt is well-fucked enough that a few rivulets of come drip out along Slade’s cock, but the rest gets packed in.
He’s still hard. He wasn’t joking about going all night.
Slade looks down at the body twitching back to life, considers his own comfort, and opts for a change of position. Just as long as he doesn’t have to uncork the kid’s cunt. With some effort, he maneuvers Tim into his lap and shifts to the headboard. The handcuff chain slides up to the top of its slat. It’s tall enough Slade can slip in between Tim and the headboard without dislocating the kid’s shoulders; tight enough Tim has to arch his chest out. With his arms pulls back, it’s almost like he’s hugging the back of Slade’s neck.
He reclaims his muscle control halfway through, fighting against Slade, but it’s too little, too late. Slade pulls the kids legs wide on either side of his own, squeezing his thighs. A few test bounces justify his choice of position. He relaxes back and resumes a proper fucking.
Tim’s back slides against his chest each time, weight pulls him down to the base of Slade’s cock with no effort needed.
He can even peep the kid’s face from above. Tim makes an attempt to stay tense, eyes fixed on the foot board, teeth tight around the rope even as little gasps are fucked out of him. Slade doesn’t bother to argue it, just keeps using the kid as a fuck hole. He’ll wear out.
Sure enough, his head has dropped against Slade’s shoulder by the man’s fourth release. On the fifth round, he’s wrung out enough to fully sag back on Slade, eyelids fluttering, no longer stifling his sounds when Slade pulls out his orgasm.
On a whim, Slade decides to push for another. Tim moans for every thrust against his sweet spot now, tears openly coursing down his face at the stimulation, unhindered drool down his chin.
“Come on, kid,” Slade coaxes. “Come for me. Know you can do it. Not even gonna touch you; know you love this cock.”
He pumps his hips, grabbing Tim around the waist to bounce him in tandem. Tim cries out, comes a fourth time, and—eyes rolling back—passes out in Slade’s lap.
Slade keeps him leaning back. Stretching out to the side, he grabs the key and unlocks the kid’s cuffs, dropping his arms at his sides. He even unties the rope behind his head, pulling it out of his lax mouth. Then he gets right back to work, bouncing the limp and twitching body.
It takes a few more rounds for Tim to wake up. He blinks to awareness on his back, stirring prettily under Slade, then groans weakly. Slade doesn’t even bother to guess if it’s for pain or pleasure.
“Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty,” he greets, slowing his pistoning hips to a lazy grind.
Tim blinks up at him. Gag or no gag, Slade doesn’t think he’s going to be forming words for a little while. His slack face squints at Slade, eyes clawing to awareness belatedly, before his gaze drops to Slade’s hands on his hips. Between Slade’s hands, rather, where that minuscule bulge has noticeably puffed up.
The kid looks too exhausted for fear or worry, but his expression twitches for a moment all the same.
“You missed some of the fun.” Slade grins, gradually speeding up again. “Don’t worry. Plenty of time left.”