Chapter 3: The Mirror's Truth
braf spreads his legs in anticipation. hes about to loose his anal virginity
The slow, stretching burn was a live current, searing away the last of Braf's coherent thought. Tee didn't rush. He fed himself in by relentless, millimeter increments, his breath a steady counter-rhythm against Braf's ragged gasps. The fullness became an anatomical fact, a rearranging of his insides that was less about pain and more about shocking occupation.
"Look," Tee commanded, his voice rough-edged.
Braf's tear-blurred eyes focused on the vast mirror panel on the opposite wall. The reflection was a brutal still-life: his own slender body, pale and lace-clad, bent over the black leather; Tee's larger, clothed form looming behind, connected to him in the most vulgar way. He watched, hypnotized by the obscene truth of it.
"See that?" Tee whispered, his hips shifting to sink the last impossible inch. Braf felt a deep, internal nudge, a pressure that made his vision sparkle. "That's you. All of you now."
Braf’s mouth opened in a silent cry. His own cock, trapped and straining against the red lace, left a damp, dark smear on the sofa. The visual proof of his arousal, mirrored back at him, was a devastating betrayal. He tried to look away.
Tee’s hand snaked around his waist, fingers splaying possessively over his lower belly. “Eyes on the mirror, baby. Watch yourself get fucked.”
He began to move. The initial, careful strokes evolved into something harder, more purposeful. The sound was wet, crude, and undeniable. Each push drove a choked noise from Braf’s throat, a high, helpless sound that seemed to come from someone else. The pain had transmuted, melting into a deep, grinding friction that scraped directly against his nerves.
“You feel that?” Tee grunted, his rhythm evening out into something punishing and efficient. “That’s what you wanted. Don’t lie.”
Braf couldn’t lie. His body was answering for him, pushing back instinctively against the thrusts, seeking more of that terrifying friction. A broken moan escaped him. He was met, not with tenderness, but with a sharp, stinging slap on his ass. The shock of it jolted through him.
“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Tee’s voice was laced with dark amusement. He pulled Braf upright by the hair, forcing him to sit back on his lap, forcing him to take the penetration at a deeper, more vulnerable angle. The new position was unbearable. Braf’s head fell back against Tee’s shoulder, his mouth agape.
“Look,” Tee hissed again, turning Braf’s face toward the mirror.
There he was: impaled, draped back against a man he didn’t know, his face a wreck of pleasure and ruin. Tee’s blue eyes watched him from the reflection, sharp and evaluative.
“Tell me what you are,” Tee murmured, his lips against Braf’s ear. He thrust up hard to punctuate the demand.
Braf shook his head, a frantic denial. Tee stilled completely, a withholding more potent than violence.