Rhys strained himself trying to reach up to Vasquez' ear.
"Choke me," he whispered.
"What?" Vasquez stopped, narrowing his eyes.
"Choke me, you know? Your hands, on my neck." A patronising tone surrounded his words. This wasn't the time nor the place to be cocky, but for some reason Rhys felt that it was. The cockiness that filled Rhys immediately vanished and was replaced with hot sting that ripped through his cheek. Rhys cried out, both confused and hurt. Vasquez still looming over Rhys with his frightfully narrow eyes, had just slapped him straight across the face.
"You don't fucking tell me what to do, got it?" Forcefully poking a finger at Rhys' slender chest.
"Oh and while we're at it," Vasquez added, "Call me by what I am, your Master." His words were strong. A grin crept over Vasquez' face, as he gave another forceful poke of Rhys' chest. It seemed to knock the air right out of his lungs. Rhys gave a cough.
"Yes," Rhys tried to catch his breath, "Master."
Rhys closed his eyes for a moment, his cheek still burning. To be so submissive was, somehow unbelievably new to Rhys. He emotionally composed himself, before opening his eyes again. Rhys left them half-lidded, and looked up at Vasquez.
"Please, Master." He let the words melt from his mouth.
"Choke me." He voice full of need. It seemed different, more in tune with what Vasquez wanted to hear. Rhys took a finger and drifted it over Vasquez' hairy, chiselled chest. It swirled over a nipple before drifting downwards, making sure to only let it just graze Vasqeuz' skin. It made the bear of a man shiver slightly. Rhys hesitantly looked up. Vasquez' eyes were closed. That cockiness returned to Rhys. His finger ran over the noticeable bulge in the larger man's pants. He forced a little moan out of himself, to make sure Vasquez bought his gaze downwards to Rhys. He playfully bit his finger, and drew it out of his mouth, teasingly pulling his lip with it. A small trail of saliva followed, running over his lip, and down to his chin.
Vasquez obliged, and wrapped his hands around Rhys neck, who whimpered when their skin touched. Rhys looked up, his eyes longing and needy. His eyebrow flicked up suggestively, though ever so slightly. Vasquez didn't miss it though, he never did. Those amber eyes never missed a trick. Vasquez lowered his hips, grinding his own aching erection against Rhys'. Another whimper left Rhys, whose eyes were practically begging at this point. A sly smile crept on his face, a small seemingly insignificant laugh left his lips. Well Rhys thought it was insignificant, until he felt the grip around his neck tighten. He grit his teeth, letting out a pained groan, trying to look as sexy as he thought he could, to no avail. Vasquez could feel Rhys' cock twitching against his own.
"You're really getting off on this aren't you, you sick fuck?" That smile still hadn't left Vasquez' face. Rhys tried to respond, but air was just squeezed from his windpipe, with nothing but a wheeze. He fingered Vasquez' grip tentatively, forcing a grin over his face.
"No, you've got to say it."
Another wheeze left Rhys, as he clamped his eyes shut, and bared his teeth.
"Go on, Rhysie," Vasquez spat his words at Rhys, "Say it. Tell me how much of a sick, little fuck you are." Vasquez rolled his hips, pushing his own aching erection against Rhys'. Vasquez felt Rhys throb against him.
"Please… Mas-" Rhys mustered up. Vasques still had that smug grin across his face, it widened as he watched Rhys struggle beneath him. He began to mouth the words, as though they would encourage Rhys, and as though he was blissfully unaware his hands were clamped around Rhys' slender neck.
"-ter." Rhys finished. Vasquez loosened his grip, and Rhys began to cough, trying to take as much air as he could.
He kept his half-lidded eyes locked with Vasquez.
"I'm a sick, little fuck." He spat out.
Vasquez took his hands from Rhys' neck, placing them over his shoulder's leaning in slightly.
Rhys opened his eyes fully, though narrowing his brows. He turned his once innocent, half-lidded look into a sultry gaze. There was a suspicion of a smirk on his lips.
"Yeah, you are. A dirty little fuck. Now get on your knees, show me what that filthy whore-mouth can do." He motioned for Rhys to get off the desk, and he turned and leant his ass against the edge of the desk. Rhys eagerly dropped to the floor, and slid in front of Vasquez, who had just unbuckled his belt.
"Yeah?" Rhys looked up, a sly smile over his lips.
Vasquez just immediately looked down, his eyes narrowing. Rhys pulled Vasquez' trousers down a little more, and hooked his fingers into the elastic of Vasquez' underwear. He gave a quick yank, and Vasquez' dick sprang free. Rhys gave a few, gentle strokes to Vasquez' length.
"Stop fucking around. Get on with it." Vasquez seemed desperate, and Rhys thought it was the perfect opportunity to bring it up.
"Do you need it? Do you need my whore-mouth, Hugo?" Rhys raised his eyebrow again.
Vasquez laughed. He looked down at Rhys for a moment, before he tucked his dick back in to his underwear. He did the top button of his trousers back up, after all he didn't want any awkward mishaps.
He took his hands and gripped Rhys' throat hard, lifting him to his feet. Vasquez began to walk.
"Oh Rhysie, I thought we'd been through this? I'm your Master now," his voice humming with delight, "So fucking call me by what I am. This is your last warning." He slammed Rhys against the wall of his office, knocking the air from his lungs. He let his grip of Rhys' throat go, immediately unbuttoning his trousers and letting his aching dick back out. Rhys sat up a little straight, rubbing his neck with one hand, and the hardness in his pants with the other. He swallowed hard.
"Now, are you going to put my dick where it belongs, or are we going to have another problem?" Vasquez offered a simple smile, though his eyes were stern and transfixed on Rhys'.
"No, Master." Rhys returned, giving a little wheeze on his words. He took a hold of Vasquez' erection, and placed the head in his mouth. The warmth of Rhys' tongue that worked so well flicking and teasing, caused Vasquez to moan deeply. Rhys felt the grumble, thoroughly enjoying it but he wanted something harder, something rougher. He wanted to feel Vasquez forcing himself down his throat. Rhys took the larger man's hands and placed them on the back of his own head, letting Vasquez take control. He placed his own hands on to Vasquez' thighs, steadying himself, preparing himself for the imminent onslaught. Vasquez took the signal. He placed one hand around the back of Rhys' head, and with his other hand bunched a fist of Rhys' hair together, just for a little extra control. He forced himself into the hotness of Rhys' throat. The sudden expansion of Rhys' throat caused him to gag a little, and his eyes began to water. Struggling to breather, he swiftly learned that his nose was extreme useful to him. He began to breathe again, which made the brutal assault on his throat, that much easier to bare. It wasn't as though Rhys wasn't enjoying himself, he took one of his hands and had begun to rub himself through his pants. He ached. He needed release so badly.
Vasquez pulled out of Rhys, and gripped the side of his face with one of his hands, with the other, he stroked his dick. He bent over Rhys, looking straight into his eyes.
"Open your mouth." Vasquez affirmed. Rhys slowly lowered his jaw, prising his pert lips apart. Vasquez poked a finger straight in to Rhys' mouth, yanking his mouth open, wide. Rhys let out a small whine. Vasquez took his hand, and firmly held Rhys' jaw open and in place, spitting straight in to his mouth. Rhys moaned lustfully, and savoured the taste of Vasquez in his mouth before swallowing it. Vasquez spat again, this time missing, saliva splattered over Rhys' lips and cheek, running down his face. Using his tongue, Rhys tried to catch it before it left his face entirely. He failed. He felt a tickle as it ran down his neck. Vasquez spat again, and missed Rhys' mouth, again.
Rhys stuck his tongue out, in attempt to get Vasquez to aim a little better. It worked.
Vasquez' breath became ragged, laced with small grunts. They became more erratic. With a few final strokes, Vasquez pushed himself over the edge. A few long, thick shots splashed over Rhys' lips and begging tongue. Vasquez shook his dick, flicking a few drips of come on to Rhys' uniform. He leant back on to the desk to catch his breath.
Rhys began to unzip his own pants.
"No," Vasquez halted him, taking his foot and placing it over Rhys' tenting erection, "You can save it for later." Rhys froze. He looked genuinely hurt, he didn't know what to do. He was so desperate, so desperate to come. He continued to look at Vasquez for a moment, who had started coming down from his post-orgasm ecstasy. The smug, satisfied grin had returned though, along with his dick in his pants.
"Fine," Rhys said, with only a hint of venom in his words, "Master."
"Aww, did Rhysie expect to come?" Vasquez pulled a mocking pout, trying his best to vex Rhys.
He got up, and started to adjust his erection. He tucked into the waistband of his underwear, trying to conceal it as best he could.
"I'll just go and have a wank in the upstairs toilets," he looked at his watch, "They're usually pretty empty at this time." His usual, so-full-of-himself tone had returned.
"And you'll just get to miss the show. Me, all hot and bothered, ready to burst." He playfully bit with his last word. Rhys leant himself against the door of Vasquez' new office, he lifted his leg and posed as one of the pin-up girls he so frequently saw debuting on the front of calendars. He tried to look as appetising as possible.
"You've still got, a little-" Vasquez motioned around his lips, laughing a little.
"Oh?" Rhys had pulled out a few tissues from the inner pocket of his gilet. He began to wipe the come away from his mouth, in an oddly delicate fashion. Vasquez just looked at him for moment, eyes narrowed, just watching. Rhys stuffed the tissue in to his pocket.
"Wait, what are you gonna do with that tissue?" Vasquez asked, before Rhys disappeared out of the door.
"Save it for, later."
Vasquez sat at his desk. He looked at his watch, and then at his computer. He continued to sit, continued to check his watch and continued to check his computer. He sighed. A small bead of sweat dripped from this forehead to the tip of his nose.
"God damn it." He slammed his fists down on his desk.
He got up and made his way to the upstairs toilets.