Work Text:
He takes twenty minutes to decide on a user, petitlapin24.
Shane takes longer than he should’ve. No one’s really looking. He’s not getting on twitter for attention. The mere idea of someone stumbling upon his account and getting flustered rouses him up. Shane simply wants to document his love for lingerie. It’s a bonus if someone enjoys what he posts.
He understands very well how he got here, making his first social media account with the sole intent of anonymously posting explicit photos.
His answer is obvious. You have a very bored office worker who's finally indulging in a well kept secret of his. For the past five years, Shane reveled in the structures and routines of a very bland office job. His work in data analysis is comfortable and efficient. It’s everything he wished for. Yet, he finds himself bored. The monotony of his routine shifts from safe to mundane.
So, he indulges in a dirty little secret. He’s jealous of his model friend Rose. He’s seen the more boudoir-esque shoots she’s done. There’s an envy in him, the bile in his throat tastes like shame. He wants to wear these delicate pieces not suited for him. He has an unspoken desire for someone to want him dressed like that. He succumbs in dressing himself up. He has no person in mind, only an imaginary voyeur leering at his body.
It begins innocently enough. He buys himself one black sheer babydoll dress. He tries it on and flushes as he looks in the mirror. The way his chest hugs the top perfectly. The sheer fabric barely touches his thigh, feeling closer to a shirt than dress. Shane has never considered himself sexy. Wearing this ephemeral piece sets him off strongly. Maybe Shane could be sexy.
Every night after work, Shane adds a dress up block to his daily routine. One dress transforms him. He relishes the sensations during his allocated 20 minutes, grazing the piece with his hands while admiring his figure in the mirror. The buzz building inside him is addicting.
But then dressing up at home stops being enough. He begins taking photos of himself. Again, at some point, it stops being enough. Photoshoots stop filling in that adrenaline rush. Hidden albums feel redundant. Something festers inside, he needs to go further.
He has a den. When Shane worked at the junior position, that used to be his home office. The space becomes a second closet and impromptu studio. He learns how to take photos of himself. He surrounds himself with the feeling of being soft. There’s pillows propped, a nice fleece blanket, fuzzy socks, soft fairy lighting. He creates an enclave. His allocated thirty minute block bleeds into his weekends.
He stops buying baby doll dresses, instead he starts buying actual sets of lingerie. Without a social life outside of hanging out with Rose or being dragged to a bar with Hayden, Shane has money to spare. He finds a site that takes custom measurements. He starts ordering on a biweekly basis.
Having these photos quenches a certain thirst, but gradually his throat dries and that festering returns. It calls to him, begging to take another step. He opens a twitter account, no tags, short captions, no name. There’s an adrenaline rush in posting. He’s careful that there’s not a real way to know it’s him. His background purposefully set up to hide any indication of location. He debates editing out a small tattoo, the only one he has. No one besides Rose knows about it. He leaves it there.
This bunny felt pretty today. No one told me how pretty I was today. This bunny gets so bored, oh what to do. Need someone to show off for. What’s a poor lonely bunny to do?
He doesn’t have notifications on, he deletes the app before going to work. The last post had been for a photoset with a baby pink sheer set that had little white bows. Opening the app after work, Shane sees the influx in notifications. Going from fifty followers to almost two thousand.
If he was looking for someone, whatever creature appears in his direct messages surely wouldn’t be the one.
His thirst returns, unquenchable it seems. Shane debates how he can go further. Still, he’s not looking for someone, he’s looking for another chase. On a day off, Shane tries something new. He puts on his favorite pair of lace panties under his grey sweats. His heartbeat thumps loudly as he looks in the mirror. Normal to anyone else, debauched below the clothes.
It’s simple, really. A short walk to get his green smoothie. That’s all. He’s done this countless times. He could walk to the store with his eyes closed. Today, he imagines everyone knowing what’s hiding underneath the innocuous pair of sweats. He has to jerk off before heading out, but doesn't change his underwear though. No one notices. He’s in his element and orders his typical healthy smoothie that does taste disgusting. Walking out, he can feel his cock hardening again. No one notices when the blushing freckled man starts speedwalking to his apartment complex. His breathing echoes in his foyer. Shane seizes his phone from his back pocket.
He knows what to do.
The post doesn’t mention anything about his endeavor. It’s a simple phone photo where the sweats are dropped mid-thigh. He’s composed enough in the photo so his cock isn’t peeking out. He debates adding the caption “little bunny went outside today, do you think anyone noticed?” Shane isn’t there yet.
It’s the second post to get more than 1000 likes. Now, his mentions burst with strangers asking to take a bite. His notifications flood with people who want to pay him for custom shots. Shane surmises his reaction should be disgust. It’s not. He doesn’t reply to any of these comments. He’s waiting for something else, maybe even someone else. With the amount of replies and message requests, Shane immediately turns off most features.
He keeps going. Doing his groceries while wearing a hidden set becomes the norm. He can’t wear any of the pieces when running, so he pivots to going commando. He buys women's shorts that have the built in underwear–commando in spirit. His next biggest step is wearing a full set while going to work. It’s his biggest risk yet.
But he does. In a way, going to work with a lingerie set feels inevitable. Shane shivers as he walks through the doors. It’s the same routine as always. The receptionist waves hello as he heads up the elevator. Two people get on with him. One will get off on the seventh floor, the other on the twelfth. Nothing on the exterior has changed, except he’s wearing the lingerie.
It’s liberating in a way Shane didn’t expect. He’s the only one who knows. Everyone interacts with him in the same way, expecting the same curt responses from him. He performs his office duties in the same, that proficient way he always has. He leads the team meeting. The conference room holds five people, and he feels every single pair of eyes. They wait for the most recent report of merchandise distribution. Shane delivers, he always does. They don’t notice how the lace subtly moves with his arm movements. Shane notices. Shane feels it.
Once he shuts his front door, Shane practically sprints into his studio. He shakes as he takes off his blazer. Carefully, he unzips his pants. He considers himself lucky his precum didn’t leak enough to show.
He wants to stroke himself, finish himself. He hesitates. Should he film himself? Show off how wearing these little lacy panties left him leaking like a faucet? He’s extremely vocal when he jerks himself off. Mute the video so no one can recognize him? Maybe. Maybe just not yet.
He decides on one photo. It’s all he manages with limited mental capacity. The shot is blurry. He decided that’s enough since it’s the first photo showing off his cock.
This little bunny dressed himself up for work. Am I a good bunny for waiting :( ?
He clicks posts, double checks the app is deleted, and throws his phone on his desk. Shane can’t stand it. He’s wet enough that he doesn’t need lube. Immediately both of his hands are on his cock. He tightens one hand at the base, he needs this to last. This rush of adrenaline combines with the endorphins of success. He takes his other hand and rubs his tip. Fuck. On his knees, he falls forward till his shoulders reach the ground. His head faces a pillow and he moans. Shane tries, by god does he try, to keep himself from cumming. He imagines those five pairs of eyes watching him now. What would they think of their stoic analyst moaning like a bitch in heat? Shane succumbs to his own desires and moves his hand on the base to his pulsing hole.
He leaks so much that he has enough precum to reach all the way to his entrance. What if he takes the next step and presses the record button? His hands shake more as he feels his orgasm rising. His strokes are uneven and rapid, he barely takes his own hand below the tip. At this point, one finger slides easily into his backside. His knuckles rub over his prostate. Game over. Shane cries out. His orgasm rips out of him. He falls stomach side down, the fluffy rug overstimulating his sensitive cock.
He takes a moment to recover, yet the buzz stays. He took himself to work wearing an entire lace set, did his entire work with ease and managed to get on the earliest train home. He did so well. No later than five minutes, Shane starts rutting into the rug. How pathetic but how delicious it feels. The soft fibers against his spent cock, it barely gets hard again. He really must be in heat the way he moves his hips into the rug.
Fuck, I’m gonna cum again. What the fuck.
He shifts his head to the side, but it’s too late. His drool gets all over the pillow and the side of his face. If he records himself, can the camera pick up the way he whines in pain? The thought is enough for his cock go on pathetically spurting out some cum.
It’s not enough. Shane’s body refuses to listen to his brain. He knows he is way too far gone to keep going. He turns to the side exposing his cock to air and causing him to hiss. Yet, something stays missing. Shane lets the post orgasm bliss take over. If it weren’t for the already scheduled alarm on his phone for dinner, he would’ve laid there for hours.
It’s back to normalcy for Shane—at least for now.
—
No matter what Harris says, Ilya is not getting off twitter. Harris took away his instagram after posting one too many shirtless mirror pictures. Harris claims Ilya accidentally shared sensitive material in the background. It didn't help that he pulled his pants just low enough to show his happy trail. Okay, greater loss to society than him but whatever.
Harris locked down his Facebook after he started arguing in a Montreal group he joined. He’s not even allowed to make TikToks unless explicitly instructed and scripted by Harris himself. So yes, he keeps his twitter.
Okay so Ilya shouldn’t be unsupervised on social media, big whoop. But this is an individual account, he’s not representing the Centaurs. He freely follows anything that catches his interest. He scrolls after practice one day, alone in the locker room. Honestly he shouldn’t be doing this here. His timeline is normal for the most part: regular hockey commentary, a scott hunter hate tweet, and a model he used to meet up with on a regular basis. All very normal. The next time he scrolls, the image jumps out.
It's a man wearing lingerie. The photo isn’t sensually posed. He can tell the man used a self timer and stood frozen as he took the photo. If anything, the photo feels like a joke. but the caption lets ilya know this poster is genuine.
Oh what’s a poor bunny to do all alone :,(
It barely has five likes, replies are turned off. He decides to check out the account. The “follows you" message piques his curiosity. Why hadn’t Ilya seen the notification for this account, he’s not sure. What popped up on his for you tab is not the latest post. Instead, Ilya finds another photo. This one clearly shot on a phone and did so haphazardly.
The only part of the body shown is the inside of the man’s thighs where Ilya can somewhat make out his cock peeking out a white lacy panty.
Jesus fuck.
From the first photo that popped up to this, a drastic shift occurs in the posts. Instead of awkward mirror selfies, the man learns to pose his body. Angular and well-defined muscles contrast the soft, petit lingerie the anonymous poster wears. He turns his body to show off an incredible ass. In some photos, the man bends down and arches his back deliciously.
In between photo sets, the account serves as a journal for the poster. How lonely they are, how tiring life can be, how horny he is. It’s all the time. The account will post one new photo set and two hours later vaguetweet about cumming. The entire account fascinates Ilya.
The account is less than a year old, yet the amount of photos feels endless. Ilya refuses to look away. Any other material he saved on this app pales in comparison. This is a body he might see out in the rink. This body type pushes him out to the boards on a weekly basis. It’s much more erotic to Ilya. He easily completes the mutual.
Maybe he even turns on post notifications.
In less than five minutes, Harris hounds Ilya for his decisions.
Harris Drover:
- I need you to understand I monitor every official account of players
Ilya:
- you’re telling me this right now because?
Harris Drover:
- I tend to ignore what you like and follow on twitter, but Ilya, so help me god, you’re pushing it
Ilya:
- I haven’t retweeted anything scandalously? You can’t say my tweets about Montreal are too much
Harris Drover:
- that last account you followed, most people won’t notice, but who knows who will be digging in your following
Ilya:
- It's an anonymous account, what if they think it’s a woman?
Harris Drover:
- I’m not arguing with you.
Harris’ warning goes over Ilya’s head. He follows hundreds of people, any worries are clearly unfounded. Instead, Ilya messages the account.
—
@IlyaRozanovOfficial started following you!
Shane wasn’t expecting his account to blow up. He certainly wasn’t expecting Centaurs captain Ilya Rozanov following him back. While Shane used the account to post photos, it served as his personal and followed his interests. He follows Ilya Rozanov because he’s such a great player and offers ridiculous takes on here. When he redownloads twitter that Friday after work, the message jumps out of him.
@IlyaRozanovOfficial: does this little bunny really know how enticing he is?
@IlyaRozanovOfficial: so sorry I never noticed such a pretty bunny following me, I hope now I won’t miss any more of your photos?
Ilya Rozanov messages me about my content and he can do so because I followed him thus accidentally opening my direct messages to him. Okay. That’s fine.
He leaves him on read. Accidentally. Maybe. Shane isn’t sure.
Instead, he focuses on his next lingerie post. This time, he doesn’t just feel any pairs of eyes on him. All other viewers disappear when Shane knows he has one Russian hockey player following him. If Shane was a man in the desert, he found the perfect oasis.
Instead of caring about the hundred eyes, Shane fixates on one pair of blue russian eyes. As he peruses his lingerie collection, his one-track mind concentrates on what Ilya Rozanov would enjoy. Shane’s desire satiates itself with mindless engagement, the thrill of anonymous watchers craving his body. If he felt wrong for wearing such feminine clothes, then those who liked his photos were more perverse. The idea of someone admitting to liking his male body shamefully wearing lingerie liberates him. Ilya Rozanov, the playboy of the league, known to hop around city to city with any woman he wanted, messaged him.
Shane is eager to please. He needs Ilya to keep watching.
The simplest way to get the hottest player in the league to keep looking is to cater to his tastes. Shane knows exactly how. Anticipation builds in my chest. He needs to find part of his outfit in his regular closet, a jersey he’s worn countless times when watching games. It’s easy, really. Rozanov won’t be able to look away. His first post after the initial message works as a much better response than any string of words. He puts on Rozanov’s jersey with a pair of black lace panties, one with a small heart cutout in the back. His post has two images, no caption. The first has him on his knees, back arched showing off the number and name. The next photo says much more. He lifts the shirt just enough to reveal his toned thighs and his ass. Just enough of his ass that the heart cut out can be seen. And if his legs are more spread out, that’s not for him to say and for Ilya to notice.
Shane waits but he feels his cock hardening. He wants to be good, wait until Ilya messages him again before touching himself. He suspects Ilya will triple message. He looks delectable and his post serves as perfect bait. With no other notification on, Shane knows the next ding he hears can only come from one person. Ilya takes four minutes and forty seven seconds to respond.
Roughly. Estimating.
@IlyaRozanovOfficial
- oh bunny, are you giving yourself to me?
- couldn’t respond to my message but made an entire post just for me?
- fuck
- the things i would do to you bunny if you’d let me…
@petitlapin24
- And if I want to hear it all?
- Would you indulge this little bunny?
@IlyaRozanovOfficial
- i’m not cruel little bunny but
- blyat
- i’m already in shit for following you
- is it too crazy to send an audio?
@petitlapin24
- Maybe…
- …But if i send one back?
@IlyaRozanovOfficial
- don't start something you can’t finish
- i’ll take one second and keep playing it on repeat
- i’ll take anything you give me
@petitlapin24
- [audio 0:45]
- Do I sound pretty…?
Ilya grabs his headphones like he’s losing the horniest game of hot potato. He didn’t expect to get an audio first, he has no idea of what to expect.
he clicks play and his ears drown in the noise of incoherent mumbles and desperate whining. The phone sounds close to the bunny’s mouth, and Ilya hears every single breath taken. They're shallow and fast.
One whine rouses Ilya, he can almost hear his name. Ilya can’t imagine how the bunny was when he recorded. Was he wearing his jersey? grabbing his cock and ruining the rozanov jersey with his cum? is he biting the shirt showing off his soft tits for him?
Ilya revels at every thought and hits record, he needs to let this bunny know what he does to him.
Shane waits. He knows not to expect an immediate answer, the audio is almost minute long. so Ilya has to listen and take it in. So five minutes is a good waiting time. except it’s been 10 being left on read. Maybe this entire thing has been a terrible idea and he’s about to get reported for sexually harassing a professional hockey player.
Then he sees a new message appear.
@IlyaRozanovOfficial
- [audio 2:43]
- you really don’t understand what you do to me bunny
@petitlapin24
- fuck
- you
- holy shit
- shane
- you can call me shane
Shane knows what Ilya sounds like. He's played countless interviews. He can recall so many witty retorts he gives to the press. When he presses play, he hears a voice almost unrecognizable. Ilya starts his audio with a soft chuckle. Shane’s not sure if he’s going to pass away from his hard on or embarrassment. Maybe it’s both.
“Oh zaychik moya, you sound so pretty moaning in my ears,” Ilya whispers, sending shivers down Shane's entire body.
“Are you wearing my jersey? Making yourself ready while wearing what's mine?” He is. He’s wearing the same fucking jersey.
“blyat,” a deep groan leaves Ilya as Shane writhes in bed, “I need to push you down zaychik, I need you under me.”
“And I would take so much zaychik moya. You were so good for sending me such a delicious treat. How should I repay you?”
“What if,” Ilya's voice lowers, forcing Shane to raise the volume, “I wanted to devour you? God…blyat, I would eat you right up. Do you want that zaychik? I would ruin you.
Just tell me and I will.”
Neither of them know they’re playing each other's audio on repeat that night. They both cum to the sound of each other. Ilya dreams of his little bunny, Shane.
Ilya opens the damn floodgates. After every practice, he checks what Shane has posted. He doesn’t care, he’s the first like. The posts become his motivation. He’s running drills, practicing plays and hyping the team up as if they have a chance of winning the damn cup.
With how energized Ilya plays, the Centaurs feel like they can take it all home. Their practices go so well no one questions why their captain leaves first. They don’t see him desperately run to his car. If they did follow, maybe they would’ve spotted their playboy captain drooling over one unknown man. Today, he wears a floral set. Well-kept hands pull on the hi-cut bottoms. Ilya knows he looks pathetic, hunched over his driving wheel admiring the photos with no music in the background. For fucks sake, he barely locked the door, didn’t even consider turning the car on.
It’s always the second photo that drives him wild. It’s from a second angle, a mirror selfie. Shane sits on a table, turning towards his reflection. From here, Ilya sees those muscles flex, contrasting the femininity of the lingerie. One hand extends closer to the viewer. Ilya wants to lick him up.
Like a sane and normal person, Ilya leaves the training lot in record speed. He gets home in 10 minutes. His navigation said 16 minutes but that’s only a suggestion to Ilya. He barely locks the door before opening their messages and press record.
This bunny truly understands very well who he’s messaging. It’s the only explanation Ilya conjures when he receives a post notification twenty minutes before a game. And he’s wearing his fucking jersey again.
@petitlapin24: hope this team can win for once :( maybe i would put this jersey to use more :) !
The devious creature didn’t post the backside, but Ilya knows. His name is on the back, no one else’s. Ilya understands the game this bunny plays. If he wants more, he needs to win. The centaurs have lost their past two games. They’re playing Chicago today. Ilya bets he can score a hattrick, he’s that sure.
When the game ends 3-1, Ilya roars as they enter the locker room. They’re all expecting their captain to lead the charge into a never-ending night out. Instead, he lets Brood direct. Ilya doesn’t have a good enough excuse as to why he has to rush back home. It’s only when Wyatt speaks up, “Ah, there must be a lucky girl you’re running off to huh?”
Ilya could chop off his balls right now, instead he replies “Do you really think I’m running for a single girl?”
“You have been rushing out of practice, we’re curious captain.”
Ilya realizes he’s not as subtle as he would’ve liked. There’s no saving him. “I have business outside of hockey and women”
The entire team’s abrupt laughter tells him no one believes him. Whatever.
“I promise to you all I’ll be having much more fun tonight than whatever happens at the bar!,” Ilya yells as he begins to walk away.
“Go get her captain!” Wyatt cheers as the team erupts to more laughter. It’s better of them to think this.
@IlyaRozanovOfficial
- you’re going to get me in real trouble one day
@petitlapin24
- Why am I to blame?
- Poor captain can’t control himself?
@IlyaRozanovOfficial:
- acting very bold
- would you be like that in person?
@petitlapin24:
- Like what?
@IlyaRozanovOfficial:
- that fucking bratty?
- it would be so much fun if you were
@petitlapin24:
- Then maybe…
Shane has to get used to the constant likes from one Ilya Rozanov, the direct messages he receives no less than five minutes after he posts. And maybe Shane is devious enough to post twenty minutes before the game. The voice memo he gets for Ilya is worth the gamble.
It doesn’t matter if he needs to sit impatiently after a game. Whatever Ilya sends makes up for the anxiety. Ilya is not afraid to describe in detail what he would do to him. This time, Shane’s ears flood with an exact play-by-play on how he’d be devoured.
“Ah, Shane, you are such a delicious meal in front of me,” Shane hears his breathe quickening, almost moaning as Ilya continues, “I start with those fucking nipples of yours. I can see them through every set you wear.”
Shane knows this.
“Ha blyat,” Ilya's voice gets heavier describing his wants, “Do you do that on purpose zaychik?” Shane squirms on his couch. He imagines Ilya’s reaction to the admission wouldn’t be very nice.
“I’d take one nipple in my mouth, swirl my tongue around while my other hand pinches, little bunny. I'm taking a guess but you would like pain,” Ilya guesses correctly, “but I'd only do what my little bunny wants; what would my little bunny want?” Shane brain malfunctions. He’s glad he doesn’t need to respond immediately, he’d rather hear what Ilya says.
“I’ll tell you a little trick of mine. I could take your cock in my mouth and hold you there. I’d hold down your hands together with one hand, my hands are large enough. I’d take my other and, blyat, I’d cup you from the bottom. Would you like that zaychik? Would this little bunny fuck my mouth? I’d keep going until you cry. I’ll make you cry. Bunny fuck my precious little bunny. zaychik…blyat!”
The audio ends abruptly. He’s left with his own heavy breathing and a return of his thirst. Except, he knows the solution, it’s just one unattainable hockey player.
So maybe Shane’s fucked.
It’s only after Ilya loses for the countless time that Shane sends a message that isn’t a whimpering audio. His most recent loss prompts Shane to send an essay of a message and nothing else. Ilya sees the number of notifications before he sees what the messages contain. He expects to see maybe one audio, two if he’s lucky. What he doesn’t expect is a play by play of his game, where Montreal decimated Ottawa.
Apparently, Ilya quickly learns Shane loves Montreal. Inside the various essays of messages, Shane outright admits Ottawa had no fighting chance. But, that doesn’t prevent Shane from singing praises to the Russian, if anything Shane critiques his team or lack there of.
@petitlapin24:
- Are you here to defend or play around with them or are you trying to win? You’re playing pattycake while Hayes is doing everything he can to prevent Montreal from winning
- Your two scores mean nothing if your team isn’t cohesive
Ilya is turned on by the messages; who is this man coming into his messages to moan but then send criticism on his latest loss?
And it’s good. This man knows how to play. He agrees with his mistakes, he makes the same conclusions on how he should improve in the next game. For fucks sake, he’s getting turned on by Shane's backseat driving.
It's the first time Shane begins messaging after their initial conversation. Ilya feels his heart jump, whoever is behind the screen cares about him as a player. Shane isn’t interested in dick riding (at least not that kind), instead it seems that Shane respects Ilya the player as much as he’s turned on by Ilya the playboy.
Ilya agrees with Shane and gets left on read again. An hour later, he gets a post notification from Shane.
Motherfucker.
Wearing nothing but a white babydoll dress, matching white panties and that fucking garter belt. This time, Shane puts his hands behind back accentuating his chest. His sternum is flushed. He can see the brown nipples peeking out and fuck there isn’t a picture where they’re hidden. The fabric is clipped by the way it falls everywhere but on Shane’s crotch. His legs are locked together, Ilya wants nothing more but to spread them out. Those fucking thighs make him drool. Ilya imagines taking his time to mark every part of them with his mouth and nails. He wants to leave a physical mark on Shane’s body. He would lick him first, slowly and methodically. There’s so much fucking room to cover. He would nibble, tease the little bunny. Pinch just enough for him to feel something, let him beg for a mark. Ilya would deliver. Ilya would bite right next to his crotch, leaving countless marks just barely missing his most sensitive area.
After this loss, their messages shift. Neither he or Shane address how different the messages become.
Their chat log changes from just pictures and explicit voice memos to scattered conversations of Ilya telling his next strategic move and an essay in return from Shane. Ilya enjoys this more than the sexting. He smiles at his phone like a schoolboy when Shane messages him about the next team he’s up against. He learns about Shane outside of the lingerie and only wants him more.
But, Shane never sends voice memos outside of moans and groans. Ilya wants to change that. Sometimes he can lightly pick up Shane’s voice. He’s trying to hide it, he can tell. Ilyas stays shell-shocked at what Shane will send him. He’ll send a five minute audio with groans and quiet curses. Then, he checks Shane’s profile and another photo has been released.
He knows he just came. He knows exactly how he sounded. And here comes the madman posting as if he didn’t send him the orgasm of the century.
Ilya feels bold and gambles with his next message.
@IlyaRozanovOfficial:
- Is there any way I could get videos?
@petitlapin24:
- Hm.
- Maybe
Shane makes Ilya wait days. Ilya checks his profile expecting a block. The complete opposite occurs. When the weekend hits, Shane sends an account, the user is just random numbers. A private account that only follows him.
@IlyaRozanovOfficial:
- Your account?
@petitlapin24:
- Why don’t you request and find out?
He does. Easily. When the follow request is accepted, the account has already posted 3 videos. All of them with a black preview. Ilya clicks and first hears those unforgettably erotic moans of one bunny. He watches entranced as the screen fades from black to a palm to the sight of one bunny. He wears Ilya’s favorite set. He also won’t stop twitching. Shane waves hello seductively. Can a single hand be so provocative? Ilya wants to suck on those fingers.
He watches Shane’s body move for the first time. The same perky nipples he adores are now moving up and down as Shane takes deep breaths in. He accessorizes the set with a garter belt, does this one have an I? Ilya must be imagining, except Shane’s hand moves exactly there. He grabs the belt and lets it snap on to his massive thighs. Oh god he can see the recoil. Shane is on his knees and carefully turns around. Ilya’s mouth gapes as the vibe comes into view. That explains the twitching.
Shane isn’t done torturing Ilya. No, this vixen bends forward as his twitching hole moves closer to the camera.
“Fuck, Ilya, do you like,” he grabs the vibe and shoves it deeper letting out a depraved moan, “ah, mm, Ilya.” Ilya hears each syllable of his name being stretched out like a siren’s calling.
“Ah, do you like this?” Shane can barely finish the sentence before he falls forward, down to his elbows. He makes himself finish and moans straight into the pillow, muffling his voice.
Ilya still has two more videos to watch. He forces himself to take a lap or two (maybe more) around the house. The next video is double the length. Becoming a monk sounds incredibly appetizing right now.
Shane starts the second video with the same black fading into his soft hand. Now, it focuses on Shane's chest. His chest was completely bare, no support from a brassiere. Those pecs look soft but firm, ready to be bitten. Ilya would be meticulous. He would bite around one nipple, and only bite. Small nibbles circling the nipple purposefully missing the most sensitive part. After giving one slow lick on his nipple, he would move on to the other one. Ilya would stare, he knows how difficult it would be to look away from Shane’s eyes. He doesn’t know what color they are yet, he knows they're doe-like.
In the video, he sees the shallow quick breath Shane makes. He hears faint sucking noises. It aggravates him not being able to see what he’s doing. Almost pissed off until his hand lowers into view. Wet. Shiny. He licked them. Fucking hell. Shane takes his saliva-covered fingers over each nipple. He rubs slow and delicate circles and the noises roll off his tongue. Small little moans, constant quiet whimpers. His chest twitches, Ilya notices how sensitive he is. Ilya's cock is twitching in anticipation. From two videos, Ilya feels one quick handjob away from coming.
For four whole minutes, Ilya tortures himself with the desperate and depraved sounds Shane makes. He continually sucks his fingers again, returns his hand to a reddening nipple and keeps caressing. The whimpers become louder moans, his broad chest reddens, Ilya refuses to look away. Seconds later, Shane pinches his nipple. So hard that he quietly curses.
“Fuck, Ilya, I need more.”
It loops in his head. Every word he says engraves itself inside Ilya’s mind. How much more could he handle? Ilya craves to know.
The last video genuinely kills Ilya when he realizes Shane is riding a dildo. The video has Shane’s backside in full view. He starts off with a small upside down wave. Cute. He’s wearing that fucking garter belt again. He wonders if his friends would plan a good funeral.
The black dildo slides slowly in Shane, his strong thighs perform and let him control an excruciatingly slow pace. Ilya watches mesmerized as he takes it inch by inch with no resistance. It’s a good thing he shows no struggle. If that was Ilya’s cock, Shane would need to take three more inches before reaching his own hilt. God does he wish that was him instead of the plastic toy.
Ilya’s torture continues as Shane rides the toy. Ilya notices his hands clutching the comforter. Shane’s knuckles are white. The debauched noises begin again, just as loud. If the pace before was antagonizing slow, Shane rides his toy at a brutal pace. His ass bounces in the most delicious way. God, Ilya wants to slap them red, leave his hand prints for him to take to his job the next day. A mark that he can’t take off. He begins to falter ninety seconds in, watching as his head tilts backs, barely missing showing his face.
“Ilya,” Shane speaks again, “am I doing good?” as his body twitches between every word.
“I can be so good, Ilya, I promise,” he sounds heavenly as he begs for praise. Ilya would comply.
“So so good,” his rhythm getting sloppier and sloppier, “just for you, only you.”
“I’m cum-fuck,” Shane moans as he bottoms out, "Ilya...I’m cumming!". He comes untouched. Ilya watches him writhe on the comforter. He feels the moment he came right alongside Shane.
Ilya’s fucked.