Semua Bab Rough Hands(20 gay steamy Encounters): Bab 21 - Bab 30

Liam’s body felt like it had been through a war by the time he finally slipped back into his own apartment that morning. Every muscle ached, particularly the deep, bruised throb in his ass that pulsed with every step. Ryan’s cum still leaked intermittently into his underwear despite the quick shower he’d taken before leaving. The plug Ryan had insisted on inserting before letting him go — a thick, black silicone toy — kept everything sealed inside, pressing relentlessly against his prostate and making his cock twitch traitorously in his jeans.He tried to work from home that day, but focus was impossible. Every time he shifted in his chair, the plug shifted, sending sparks of overstimulation through him. Memories flooded in unbidden: the cold balcony railing digging into his stomach, the risk of being seen by strangers below, Ryan’s powerful body pinning him, the way his thick cock had stretched and claimed him again and again. Shame burned hot in his chest, but so did a dark, growing

The obsession had completely consumed them both. Weeks had passed since that first risky encounter on the balcony, and Liam no longer pretended to fight it. His own apartment felt foreign now — cold, empty, unnecessary. Most nights he didn’t even bother going back after Ryan finished with him. He simply stayed, naked and marked, sleeping in the bigger man’s bed with cum still leaking from his thoroughly used hole.Tonight was different. Ryan had been texting all day with darker, more possessive instructions. When Liam arrived at 11 PM sharp, the apartment was dimly lit with only a few lamps on. Ryan waited in the living room, shirtless, wearing only black jeans that hugged his powerful thighs. His expression was intense, almost feral.“On your knees,” Ryan ordered the moment the door locked. No greeting. No warm-up.Liam dropped instantly, crawling the last few feet until he knelt between Ryan’s spread legs. The bigger man unzipped slowly, freeing his thick, heavy cock. It was already

The days that followed were pure psychological torture.Victor played the perfect houseguest whenever my dad was around. He laughed at Dad’s bad jokes, helped with yard work, and talked about old times like nothing was happening. But the moment Dad left for work or went upstairs to bed, the mask vanished. The real Victor emerged — the one who looked at me like I was prey.The first night after the kitchen incident, I locked myself in my room and refused to come out when I heard him moving downstairs. My cock stayed traitorously hard for hours as I replayed his filthy words. Greedy little cunt. Pathetic cock-hungry slut. I jerked off twice, ashamed and angry at myself, but the orgasm felt hollow. I hated how much I wanted to go downstairs.The second night, Victor didn’t even text. He simply came upstairs, opened my door without knocking, and stood there in the dark doorway like he owned the place.“Downstairs, boy,” he said quietly, voice low and commanding. “Don’t make me drag you.”

The next few days became a dangerous game of restraint and filth.During the day, Victor was still the charming, reliable best friend my dad had known for decades. They grilled in the backyard, watched games, and talked shit about work. I tried to act normal, but every time Victor looked at me across the table, his eyes promised ruin. He’d brush his hand against my ass when Dad wasn’t looking. He’d text me from across the room: That boy cunt still leaking my loads?At night, after Dad went to bed, the real Victor came out.On the fourth night after our first full fuck, I tried one last weak stand.I locked my bedroom door and stayed silent when I heard Victor’s heavy footsteps in the hallway. My heart hammered as the doorknob rattled.“Open the door, boy,” he said quietly, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t make me wake your father.”I stayed silent, breathing hard, cock already traitorously hard despite my resistance.The door shook as Victor tested the lock again. Then his voice droppe

The risk had become the addiction.After the basement, Victor grew bolder. He no longer waited for Dad to fall asleep. He’d pull me into the bathroom while Dad was in the living room watching TV, shove me to my knees, and make me suck him off in under five minutes while whispering the most degrading things imaginable.“Quiet, you pathetic little cocksucker. Swallow Daddy’s load while your real dad is twenty feet away. That’s all you are now — a secret cumrag for your father’s best friend.”I still tried to resist in small ways. I’d whisper “we can’t” or “this is too dangerous,” but my body always betrayed me. My hole would clench around his fingers. My cock would leak. Victor loved it. He loved breaking down the last scraps of my denial.On the final night of his stay — the night before his house renovation finished — he decided to push everything to the limit.Dad had gone to bed around 10:30. Victor waited exactly fifteen minutes, then grabbed me by the back of the neck in the kitch