Michael is in no rush tonight. Lucas lies spread beneath him, his tight twink hole offered up like a gift that Michael intends to unwrap with excruciating patience. The first inch takes a full minute — Michael watching the ring stretch around his head, feeling the resistance give way millimeter by millimeter. He withdraws, pushes back in slightly deeper, withdraws again, each micro-thrust claiming more territory. Lucas whimpers at the agonizing pace, wanting it all at once but getting it in installments that make every nerve ending scream. This is methodical destruction: by the time Michael is fully seated inside Lucas’s now-stretched hole, the twink has already been fucked mentally for twenty minutes. The physical marathon is just beginning, and Michael has all night.
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