Otayuri | complete

Ripping ! ⚠️

The first thrust feels like that of a solid dildo armed with little shards of glass. I can feel myself rip as though punctured in a million tiny places, and it is not so much painful as it is alarming. I can't really back down, though, and I don't exactly want it to stop. It's an interesting sensation, and after the initial start, I find myself rubbing such that I can get more of it.

"I feel like a slut," I groan above the heaving in my chest. "Fuck, Beka," I close my eyes. "Harder," I manage through reckless pants. "Rip me up."

Otabek grunts, indeed fucking harder. He drops his body lower against mine to hit me at a higher angle. That's good shit, right there, right there. Physically, my response must be pleasing to him.

"Right there?"

My cock is weeping. I can agree with certainty that the higher angle feels good. And when I exhale an airless agreement, he does not disappoint. Removing his length only to ram all of it back in at once, I want to scream, but I do not. Rather, I bite my lip so harshly and with such force I feel my teeth rip into the soft cushion of skin and split the epidermis.

"Fuck dammit," comes out of my mouth in a voiceless hiss.

Otabek pulls out, for another assault on my ass, I imagine. I tense instinctively as I prepare for the blow, but I'm met only with the soothing appearance of a tepid balmy liquid. It's not cum— it's not hot enough nor circumfluent. I realize after another drop falls a little too high along my back that it's the drippings of lubricant. A long string of prismatic swears rushes in with the waves of pleasure when Otabek reasserts himself.

I curse him for this: for feeling so good, for not using the lubricant first, for forcibly taming the wildcat beneath him. I curse him for his dominance, I suppose. I don't know what good that should do me, but it is satisfying to spit my bitter remarks at him, when I can do nothing else about the undeniable pleasure of his length invading my body. It's my own backward way of praise. I think Beka understands because he says without anything that would otherwise prompt such a remark, "I love you too," after my last glowering utterance.

"Fucking Hell. I didn't say I loved you," I begrudge, but Beka just shakes his head and smirks.

"Who's fucking whom?" He teases, reminding me he's basically in charge.

I have no real quip so we deteriorate into the same deadpan frisbee game of trash-talking satire. We mean it in good fun, but I think a listener would be offended at the colorful language or maybe assume I'm being raped. Our body language betrays us, though. Maybe if the audio were omitted an on-looker would assume us to be timelessly in love like Eros and Psyche. That's more Victor and Katsudon's speed though, when you account for the whole picture. I like to think that Otabek and I have something unique.

Otabek's hips rock until he finds himself along the coast of an alluvion. I can't keep still as I wait for it. My lips won't stay together and my breath won't expel unless accompanied by quick, ragged moans. He tightens his grip on me and rocks faster.

"Are you ready for my load?" He groans, clearly straining to hold it back.

I know it would torture him to tense around his cock, and I don't even care about the sensation of ripping afterward.

"Yes," I reply, tensing.

"Fuck!" Beka cries, spilling his warmth into my body sooner than he'd wanted.

I collapse, shuddering when he pulls out.

"Oh, Yuri," Otabek says, grimacing. "This isn't good."

I turn my head already knowing what I'm going to see. But I'm surprised by just how much blood there is.

"Shit," I wince, curling into a ball and finally accepting the pain shooting up my back. "Do I need to go to the doctor?"

"I think I should take you to the Emergency Room," Otabek says through a concerned frown. "Let me quickly wash off."

Shit, I think. I was stupid not to say anything when it initially started hurting. I was really, really stupid.