The rebuilding of ideals had been the quiet war I fought in the shadows of exile.
I kept Justin on his knees as the morning sun climbed higher, flooding the treatment room with bright golden light. The neutral sensitizer continued its steady, merciless pulse through his veins, sharpening every sensation until even the weight of his own body felt like torment. His thighs shook violently with the effort of holding the position. Sweat rolled down the hard planes of his chest and abdomen in heavy rivulets. His c**k hung heavy and flushed between his spread thighs, the head swollen and glistening, leaking in thick, rhythmic drops that fell onto the sheets with soft, obscene sounds.
I straddled his lap and sank down onto his throbbing length in one slow, claiming glide until he filled me compl
