Chapter 13: Stephen Amell 4
Kenny watched the tremors subside, the great racking shudders that had convulsed Stephen’s frame softening into fine, constant vibrations. The actor was a landscape of aftermath: skin glazed with drying sweat and spend, muscles loose and twitching, breath a shallow, rhythmic scrape. The room’s heat had baked the scent of their exertions into something primal and permanent.
Reaching up, Kenny gently tugged the damp blindfold away. Stephen’s eyes blinked open, unfocused, pupils wide and dark. They stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing, everything. Kenny leaned over him, blocking the dim light, and Stephen’s gaze slowly drifted to meet his.
Kenny smiled, a warm, appraising curve of his lips that didn’t touch his eyes. He lowered his head and kissed Stephen, a soft, lingering press. It was a kiss of evaluation, of tasting the exhaustion.
He pulled back just an inch. “Wow,” Kenny murmured, his voice husky but clear in the silent room. “You came four times already.” His thumb stroked Stephen’s cheekbone. “I want a fifth.”
He kissed him again, deeper this time, slipping his tongue past Stephen’s slack lips to claim the warm, willing space. Stephen made a faint, helpless noise into his mouth, a ghost of a response. Then Kenny pulled away, took the soaked blindfold, and settled it back over Stephen’s eyes, plunging him back into private darkness. A soft whimper escaped Stephen’s throat.
“Shhh,” Kenny soothed, his hands running down Stephen’s trembling arms. “Just feel it. It’s all you have to do.”
He didn’t go for Stephen’s cock. That would be too direct, too expected. Instead, he shifted his weight and bent his head to Stephen’s left side. He nuzzled the damp, short hair of his armpit, inhaling the pungent, salty, deeply intimate odor. Stephen flinched.
“Stay still,” Kenny whispered, his breath hot in the hollow.
He began to lick. Not with the devouring hunger of before, but with a slow, meticulous, almost scientific dedication. His tongue was flat and wet, painting broad, lazy strokes from the crease at the top of his ribcage down into the very depths of the pit. He licked up to the joint of the shoulder, then back down. He circled the perimeter, teasing the sensitive skin where arm met torso. Then he focused on the center, his tongue probing, lapping, a relentless, wet massage.
Stephen’s breathing, which had begun to slow, hitched again. “Oh, god… not there… it’s too much…”
“It’s exactly enough,” Kenny mumbled against his skin, his words muffled by flesh and hair. He continued his work, adding suction now, gently sucking the tender skin into his mouth, worrying it with his lips. It was a bizarre, hyper-intimate caress, bypassing all the usual erotic geography for something raw and seldom-charted. Stephen’s body was alive with oversensitive nerves, every slow lap of Kenny’s tongue sending jangling signals to his core.
Kenny felt it happen. Against his ribs where he was pressed to Stephen’s side, he felt the thickening, the reluctant, agonizing swell. He smiled against Stephen’s damp skin. He kept licking, slower now, more torturous, until Stephen’s cock, against all biological logic, was fully, painfully hard again, laying thick and eager against his stomach.
Only then did Kenny lift his head. He placed a soft kiss on the abused hollow of Stephen’s pit, then moved. He straddled Stephen’s thighs, his own neglected arousal pressing against the small of Stephen’s back. He looked down at the actor’s chest. The nipples were still tight, pebbled and red from earlier attention.
Kenny leaned down, his mouth hovering over the left one. He blew a cool stream of air across it. Stephen arched with a sharp gasp.
Then Kenny took it into his mouth. He didn’t bite. Not yet. He suckled, drawing the small, stiff nub deep, his tongue flicking rapidly over the tip. His hand came up and closed around the right nipple. He pinched it, hard, rolling the sensitive flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
“Fuck! Ah, Jesus!” Stephen cried out, his hips bucking underneath Kenny’s weight.
Kenny maintained the dual assault, his mouth a wet, pulling vacuum on one side, his fingers a cruel, twisting pressure on the other. He timed them alternately—suck, then pinch, release, then twist. Stephen was a writhing, sobbing mess beneath him, his hard cock leaking a clear, steady bead of pre-come onto his stomach. The sounds he made were pure, unfiltered need.
For an hour, Kenny played him. He’d bring Stephen to a trembling, vocal peak with his mouth and hands on his nipples alone, feeling the cock beneath him pulse and jump, then he’d stop. He’d switch to just kissing his chest, or licking a slow path down his sternum, letting the frantic tension subside only to build it again seconds later. He used his teeth, grazing them lightly over the hypersensitive nubs until Stephen was begging, then soothing the sting with soft, circular laps of his tongue.
He whispered to him, filth and praise woven together. “Look at this fucking cock, so hard just from me playing with your tits. You’re so easy. So perfect for this.” Each word was a calculated strike.
Stephen was incoherent, lost in the continuous cycle of arousal and denial. “Please… please, Kenny, I need… let me… I’m gonna…”
“You’re gonna what?” Kenny taunted, biting down on a nipple sharply. Stephen screamed, a raw, torn sound. “You’re not gonna do anything until I say.”
This edging cycle was the longest. Kenny worked his mouth and fingers on Stephen’s nipples with a focused, rhythmic intensity that was almost mechanical. Up, up, up. Stephen’s pleas became a continuous, sobbing mantra. His body was rigid, strung like a bow, every muscle clenched. The fifth climax was there, a screaming pressure behind his balls, fueled by pain and oversensitivity and a brutal, brain-melting overload of sensation.
Kenny felt the moment arrive. The precise, quivering instant of no return.
He removed his hand from Stephen’s right nipple. He lifted his mouth from the left, leaving it wet and glistening. He looked at Stephen’s face, at the blindfold, at the open, gasping mouth.
Then he bit down. Hard. His teeth sank into the swollen, tender flesh of Stephen’s left nipple.
At the same instant, his hand shot down and squeezed the right nipple with a brutal, crushing force, pinching it with all his strength.
The orgasm didn’t crest. It detonated.
Stephen’s body exploded in a violent, arching seizure, tearing against the leather cuffs. A sound erupted from him that was not human—a guttural, ragged scream of simultaneous agony and release. His cock, untouched, jerked against his stomach and erupted. It wasn’t a stream, but a weak, pulsing dribble, the last possible fluid his body could summon, painting his skin in feeble, final stripes. He convulsed, the sensations from his tortured nipples and his spurting cock merging into one white-hot circuit of unbearable feeling.
It seemed to last forever. The screaming died into choked, wet sobs. The convulsions softened into helpless tremors. Stephen went completely limp, a marionette with cut strings. The only movement was the frantic, shallow pump of his lungs fighting for air.
Kenny slowly released the nipple from his teeth, leaving a vivid, red imprint. He unclenched his fingers from the other. He sat up, straddling Stephen’s spent form, and looked at his work.
He sat up, straddling Stephen’s spent form, and looked at his work. The actor was utterly broken, a masterpiece of overstimulation. Kenny’s own cock ached, a persistent, ignored throb that finally demanded attention.
With deliberate care, he reached for the blindfold again. He peeled the damp cloth from Stephen’s eyes. Stephen blinked slowly, his gaze watery and unfocused, struggling to find Kenny’s face in the dim light.
Kenny leaned down and kissed him, a soft, closed-mouth press that tasted of salt and exhaustion. “How’re you doing in there?” Kenny asked, his voice low and intimate, almost conversational.
Stephen’s lips moved silently for a second before sound emerged. “Empty,” he croaked. “S’empty. Can’t… no more.” His hand, still cuffed, twitched weakly. “Please.”
Kenny kissed him again, deeper this time, sliding his tongue into Stephen’s mouth, swallowing the pathetic protest. He pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing Stephen’s. “We’re not done yet,” he whispered, the promise dark and inevitable. He settled the blindfold back over Stephen’s eyes, securing it firmly.
Stephen let out a shattered sob, but turned his head, seeking Kenny’s mouth blindly. Kenny gave it to him, kissing him with a possessive intensity that was both reward and punishment. While their tongues slid together, Kenny’s hand traveled down Stephen’s slick chest.
He bypassed the weeping, spent cock entirely. His fingers found the left nipple, the one he’d bitten. It was swollen, an angry red peak. He touched it lightly, just a graze of his fingernail.
Stephen jerked, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth.
Kenny circled it, then pinched it, rolling the tender flesh. He pinched harder, twisting. Stephen’s back arched off the bed, a raw, guttural groan tearing from his throat. Kenny leaned down and took the other nipple into his mouth, suckling hard, his tongue lashing the tip.
“Hurts,” Stephen gasped. “Fuck, it hurts.”
“I know,” Kenny mumbled against his skin, biting down gently, then soothing with his tongue. He worked the nipple with his mouth, a wet, rhythmic pull, while his fingers continued to torture the other. He was building a different kind of fire, one made of pain and sharp, singular focus.
He could feel it happening beneath him. Against his thigh, Stephen’s cock began to stir. It was a slow, agonizing resurrection, the flesh thickening and lifting from his stomach, swelling once more into a hard, heavy weight. It was a testament to sheer nerve override, to Kenny’s relentless command of his body.
“There it is,” Kenny whispered, releasing the nipple with a pop. He looked down at Stephen’s erection, full and desperate despite everything. “Good.”
Kenny moved. He shifted his weight, positioning himself over Stephen’s hips. He reached behind himself, his hand closing around Stephen’s cock. He guided the head to his entrance, pressing the thick tip against him. He was tight, unpracticed for this tonight, but he used the slickness of Stephen’s own spend and sweat as he lowered himself.
He took him in slowly, a burning, gradual invasion that made his own breath catch. He felt every inch as he sank down, the stretch a bright, sharp ache. Stephen cried out, a sound of overwhelmed sensation, his hips lifting involuntarily.
When Kenny was fully seated, he paused, letting them both feel the complete, deep connection. He leaned forward, bracing his hands on Stephen’s chest, and began to move.
He set a punishing pace from the start. He rode him hard, lifting himself almost completely off before slamming back down, taking him deep. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the hot room, a wet, rhythmic counterpoint to Stephen’s ragged cries. Kenny’s own cock slapped against his stomach with each downward thrust.
“You feel that?” Kenny grunted, his voice strained with effort. “You’re still fucking hard. You’re still giving it to me.”
Stephen could only moan, his head thrashing side to side, his body entirely at the mercy of Kenny’s rhythm. The blindfold was soaked again. Kenny rode him with a focused, mechanical intensity, chasing his own release now, using Stephen’s body to get himself there.
The coil in Kenny’s gut tightened, a hot, urgent pressure. His movements became jerky, less controlled. “You’re gonna come,” Kenny commanded, his voice breaking. “Come inside me. Now.”
The order, the raw friction, the hours of brutal stimulation—it triggered another, seismic response. Stephen’s body locked, a strangled shout ripped from his throat, and he emptied himself in a series of deep, pulsing spasms that felt endless. Feeling Stephen climax around him was the final trigger.
Kenny cried out, a short, sharp sound, and his own orgasm erupted. He threw his head back as stripes of hot come shot from his cock, painting Stephen’s chest and stomach in fresh, glistening streaks. He rode out the waves, shuddering, until he collapsed forward, his sweat-slick body pressing down onto Stephen’s ruined form.
They lay there, a tangled, breathless heap. The only sounds were the struggle for air and the distant hum of the city below.
Kenny’s own breathing slowed, his sweat cooling in the stale, heated air. He was a weight on Stephen’s chest, feeling the frantic hammer of the man’s heart beneath his own. He pushed himself up, his muscles protesting, and looked at the ruin beneath him.
With careful fingers, sticky with drying spend, he reached for the soaked blindfold and peeled it away. Stephen’s eyes were unfocused, the pupils wide and dark in the dim light, fixed on some invisible point on the ceiling. Kenny leaned over him, casting a shadow, and Stephen’s gaze drifted up to meet his.
A slow, impressed smile touched Kenny’s lips. He smoothed a strand of damp hair from Stephen’s forehead. “Six times,” Kenny said, his voice low and raspy from use. “You unbelievable fucking animal. Six.” He said it like a benediction, like a prayer.
He bent and kissed Stephen, a soft, lingering press that tasted of salt and exhaustion. Stephen’s lips were slack, unresponsive at first, then they yielded with a faint, helpless sigh. Kenny deepened the kiss for a moment, his tongue sweeping gently, before pulling back.
He shifted, moving to kneel beside Stephen’s head. Kenny bent again, this time planting soft, open-mouthed kisses along the line of Stephen’s jaw. He followed the strong curve down to the pulse thrumming wildly in his neck. He licked the salty skin there, a long, slow stripe from collarbone to ear, feeling the delicate tremor that ran through Stephen’s body.
Stephen whimpered, a faint, broken sound. “Can’t… really can’t.”
“Shhh,” Kenny murmured against his throat, his breath hot. “Just feel this. Nothing else.” He continued his lazy, sensual exploration of Stephen’s neck, kissing, licking, sucking gently on the tendon. He was marking him again, but softly now, claiming him with a tenderness that felt more dangerous than any bite.
Then Kenny moved lower. He nuzzled into the hollow of Stephen’s armpit, inhaling the potent, musky scent of sweat and effort and pure, unvarnished man. He licked a slow, broad path through the damp hair. Stephen’s whole body flinched, a jolt of oversensitivity.
“Oh god, please,” Stephen rasped, but his back arched, pushing his chest up.
Kenny ignored him, dedicating himself to the filthy, intimate task. He licked and suckled the tender skin, his tongue exploring every fold. He worked with a slow, relentless focus, making the sensitive nerves sing. It was a violation that felt like worship, a perverse tenderness that bypassed every logical erotic pathway.
And against all odds, against the drained, spent reality of his body, Stephen began to harden again. Kenny felt it first as a twitch against his rib, then saw the slow, painful-looking swell from the corner of his eye. It was a purple, heavy ache of a thing, standing proud from a nest of coarse hair and glistening with their combined fluids.
Kenny lifted his head from Stephen’s armpit. He looked at the actor’s face, at the tear-tracks cutting through the sweat, at the parted, bruised lips. He leaned down and kissed him again, deep and slow.
He broke the kiss, his lips a millimeter from Stephen’s. “Six is incredible,” Kenny whispered, the words a hot, shared breath. “But let’s make seven the lucky number.”
Before Stephen could form a protest, Kenny’s hand, slick and sure, wrapped around his cock. Stephen cried out, a hoarse, strained sound, his hips jerking involuntarily into the touch. This time, Kenny did not blindfold him. He made sure Stephen’s dazed, wrecked eyes were open and watching.
“Watch,” Kenny commanded, his voice low. He began to stroke, a firm, practiced motion from root to tip, his thumb smearing a fresh bead of pre-come. “Watch what you can still do.”
Stephen watched, his breath hitching with every pass of Kenny’s fist. His cock, red and over-sensitized, pulsed in the tight tunnel of Kenny’s fingers. It was obscene, this resurrection, and his wide, glazed eyes held a kind of horrified fascination.
Kenny’s other hand drifted up to Stephen’s chest. His thumb brushed over a nipple, hard and pebbled and angry red from earlier abuse. Stephen flinched, a full-body shudder.
“Teeth or tongue?” Kenny asked, his voice conversational, even as his hand maintained its steady, rhythmic pace on Stephen’s cock.
Stephen’s mind seemed to stutter. His mouth opened, closed. “I… I don’t…” he finally managed, his voice shattered.
Kenny smiled, a slow, predatory thing. He lowered his head. “I’ll do both.”
He began with his tongue, laving the swollen nub in slow, broad circles, making it slick and shiny. Stephen gasped, his back arching. Then Kenny closed his lips around it and sucked, hard, drawing the sensitive flesh deep into the heat of his mouth. Stephen’s cry was strangled.
Kenny released the suction with a pop. “Now teeth,” he whispered, and then bit down, not enough to break skin, but with a sharp, exquisite pressure.
Stephen screamed, a raw, ragged sound that tore from the depths of his chest. His cock jumped in Kenny’s hand, leaking copiously. Kenny switched his attention to the other nipple, licking and sucking before grazing it with his teeth. He worked between them, a relentless cycle of softness and sharp pain, his hand on Stephen’s cock a constant, maddening counterpoint.
An hour bled into the next. Time lost all meaning in the sweltering penthouse. Kenny was a machine of sensation, a sculptor working on quivering, oversensitive marble. He brought Stephen to the edge with his mouth on his nipples and the tight twist of his fist, then backed off, letting the urgency subside into a trembling ache.
He’d whisper filth into Stephen’s ear. “Look at this. You’re a fucking fountain. You’re mine to turn on and off.” Then he’d return to his nipples, licking until they were numb before biting just hard enough to make Stephen yelp and buck.
Sweat poured off both of them, mixing with the drying and fresh layers of come that painted Stephen’s torso. Kenny was slick with it, his own exertion, his hand a sticky, efficient piston. Stephen’s protests had long since ceased. He was a vessel of sensation, his eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on Kenny’s working hand, his world narrowed to the brutal, beautiful rhythm of almost-there.
The final approach was a slow, agonizing climb. Kenny saw the signals—the tautening of Stephen’s stomach, the desperate flare of his nostrils, the shallow, panting breaths that hitched in his throat. He doubled the pressure on a nipple with his teeth and increased the pace of his strokes, his wrist a burning blur.
“Come on,” Kenny growled, his own voice strained. “Give it to me. The lucky one.”
Stephen’s orgasm was a silent, devastating rupture. His eyes rolled back, his mouth opened in a soundless scream, and his body bowed violently against the restraints. His cock pulsed in Kenny’s fist, but there was barely anything left—a few weak, clear spurts that dribbled over Kenny’s knuckles, a final, dry convulsion of his spent flesh.
Kenny did not stop. He kept stroking, his hand a tight, unrelenting vise, milking the empty, oversensitive shaft through the brutal aftershocks. Stephen writhed, sobbing from the overstimulation, his nerves screaming in protest. Kenny watched his face, watched the exquisite torture etch itself into every line, until the writhing subsided into helpless, flopping tremors.
Only then did Kenny release him. He let go of Stephen’s cock, which fell back against his thigh with a soft, spent slap. He unbuckled the leather cuffs from the bedposts, one and then the other, the clicks loud in the sudden, ringing quiet. Stephen’s arms collapsed to his sides, boneless.
For a long moment, Stephen just lay there, a vision of absolute ruin. His chest heaved. Tears leaked from the corners of his closed eyes, cutting new paths through the filth on his cheeks.
Kenny leaned over him. He placed a soft, chaste kiss on Stephen’s slack, parted lips. It was a closing kiss, a period at the end of a long, brutal sentence.
Stephen’s eyes fluttered open. They found Kenny’s, and held. The frantic need was gone, replaced by a hollowed-out, profound exhaustion. He tried to speak, his voice a shredded whisper. “Shower…”
He stopped. Swallowed. He looked at Kenny, really looked at him, at the sweat-streaked, beautiful man who had dismantled him so completely.
“No,” Stephen breathed, the word barely audible. He lifted a trembling hand, his fingers brushing Kenny’s wrist. “Sleep. Just… sleep with me.”