His finger started drifting back, then slowly making its way back in. The man spit one or twice more into Michael's asshole, but did not stop his motion. Back. And forth. Back. And forth. He could feel it start to slide easier, the sweet burn of attrition bringing him shivers. Then the finger was out.
He saw the man add a bit more spit, then felt it. A second finger dug itself into him.
"f**k!"
He squeezed tighter.
"Oh, you weren't expecting that, were you?" His lips were filled with malice.
Another bit of spit, and he was back in motion. Now there was no pretense of kindness; hands firm around his balls, his fingers shot back and forth, f*****g him with taste. Michael squirmed at the touch, and started feeling a new form of euphoria; the Northerner had hit the right spot. By his grin
