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Pete whined as his nails dug into Vegas' chest, leaving small, crescent moon-like shapes in their wake. Sweat clung to his brow and his thighs ached from the effort he'd been putting in to keep bouncing. Inwardly, he cursed Vegas, wanting to scream at him for making him like this, wanting to smack his chest and hit him for making him so addicted.
Instead, he grabbed Vegas' hands and dragged them towards his asscheeks, gasping as Vegas squeezed and pulled at them, sliding his thick, hard cock deeper inside of him.
"Look at you up there," Vegas' voice was mostly steady, only a hint of breathlessness at the end of his words showed how much he was enjoying himself. Pete wanted to glare, but it came out looking more like a twisting expression of pleasure as he felt Vegas rub against his prostate. "Riding me like some prized stallion. Are you enjoying yourself?"
"F-fuck you–" Pete managed to gasp out, his own cock dripping desperately onto Vegas' stomach as he rode him.
"Mmh, you're already doing that."
Vegas smacked his ass and Pete shuddered, practically sobbing as fire built up inside of his gut. He wanted to stop, but if he stopped then so would Vegas, and Pete would never be able to get off. Pete hated Vegas for doing this to him, for turning into this desperate slut who needed to be filled, but his body craved it, yearned for it, and Vegas was the only tool at Pete's disposal to reach his paradise.
His entire body felt as if it were on fire. Perhaps it was the candles placed around the room, but Pete was sure that it was just him. Vegas' skin beneath his touch felt like the lick of flames, as if he were the devil and the devil was consuming him.
"Come on Pete… be a good dog and continue working hard. You are almost there." Vegas wrapped slender fingers around Pete's aching length, his grip tight enough that it almost hurt, but the brief pain sent shuddering waves of pleasure racking through his body. Pete bounced, every muscle in his body arguing at their use. The only sound that he could hear was Vegas' soft voice urging him on and the waves of his blood pounding through his head.
His mouth fell open. Pete couldn't even be certain that any noise exited his lips. Vegas slammed upwards into his prostate, sending him sprawling forward onto his chest but Vegas cruelly pushed him back up.
"No, no. You have to be a good boy and finish this yourself." Vegas rubbed his thumb over Pete's dripping tip and he sobbed, shaking his head.
"I-I can't… no strength…" he begged, the desperation in his voice for Vegas to just roll him over and fuck him palpable. It would be so much easier , not just physically but mentally as well. He couldn't stand this–couldn’t stand that he was on top of Vegas, riding him as if his life depended on it, and that he was doing it willingly . He didn't like being forced, but at least if Vegas was doing the work, Pete could pretend that he didn't want this so much.
"You're not that weak." Vegas said from beneath him. Pete whimpered and sped himself up, bouncing on top of Vegas' still rock-hard cock as if his life depended on it–and perhaps it kind of did. "Finish yourself off on my cock like the whore we both know you are."
Unwilling tears sprung to Pete's eyes at the humiliation from Vegas' words, at the knowledge that he enjoyed the humiliation almost more than the feel of being fucked. Electricity shot down his spine like a bolt of lightning hitting a tree. His toes curled and his entire body shuddered as he sliced his nails through Vegas' chest, cumming onto his stomach as he was finally forced to let his body admit what he's known all along–he loves this.
Suddenly he was rolled over onto his back, his legs pushed up over Vegas' shoulders as the man in question slammed into him. Having reached his peak, each thrust had him a crying, blubbering mess. Sparks of residual arousal and pain swirled in his stomach as Vegas stared down at him with a ravenous expression.
"That's the face… it hurts, doesn't it?" Vegas groaned, his hand sliding up to Pete's neck, applying a deep pressure to his throat until each shallow breath only allowed the smallest amount of air. "It's not good if it doesn't hurt. You agree with this, huh, Pete?"
Pete felt light-headed and overstimulated. He wanted to cry but all he had the energy to do was lay there and take Vegas' words as he was used to the full capacity and more of what he could handle.
"You're so tight… how am I the first to ever have you? Do you think you can cum again, Pete? Do you want to try?" He didn't think he could cum again. He didn't want to try. It hurt .
Pete let out a cry past the grip on his throat and Vegas' eyes flashed before he leaned his head into the crook of his neck and began to suck at his pulse. Vegas' thrusts became messier, his words dying off as his own panted breaths grew louder. His hand was still on Pete's throat, loosening every once in a while just long enough for Pete to grab a few good gulps of air, and then it would tighten again and Pete's head would spin.
And finally, when Pete thought this would never end, Vegas shuddered on top of him and came, his entire body going slack once he poured out his orgasm. The hand around his throat finally loosened completely and Pete coughed, his lungs, throat, muscles, and ass all burning from use.
"Ugh…" Vegas groaned and pulled out of him, tugging off the condom and tossing it in the trash before looking down at him with a smirk.
"See?" Vegas asked, Pete's entire body feeling bruised and wrecked. "Now wasn't that fun?"