Chapter 10: Balcony Exhibition
The jasmine-scented air on the penthouse balcony did nothing to cleanse the smell of Bima’s office from Rifki’s skin. Abang’s gaze was a physical weight as he backed Rifki against the cold steel railing, the city’s lights sprawled below them like a scattered necklace. “The manager texted me the security footage,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble against Rifki’s ear as his hands pushed the thin silk robe off his shoulders. “Showed me how you begged for his cock like a stray cat.” He turned Rifki around to face the vast, open dark, bending him forward until his chest was pressed to the top rail, his ass presented high. A balcony light flicked on in the tower across the way, a silhouette pausing behind glass. Abang spat into his palm, slicked his thick length, and pressed the head against Rifki’s hole, still loose and tender from the night’s violations. “They’re watching now,” he growled, and sheathed himself in one relentless thrust that forced a choked scream from Rifki’s throat. He set a brutal, piston-like rhythm, each drive grinding Rifki’s pelvis into the unyielding metal. “You’re my public toilet,” Abang grunted, his grip vise-like on Rifki’s hips. “Let them see the needy little fuckhole you chose to be.” Rifki’s eyes, blurry with tears, locked onto the distant silhouette now joined by another, their forms dark against the lit window. A sick, jittering pride flared in his gut alongside the shame, his body convulsing around the invading cock as he came untouched, his own useless dick dribbling onto the balcony floor. “Pathetic,” Abang sneered, pounding him through the spasms, his pace never faltering. “This is all you’re for.” He came with a final, deep grind, his heat flooding Rifki’s core as the spectators across the chasm turned away.
Abang withdrew, his cock making a wet, obscene sound as it slipped from Rifki’s ravaged hole. “Stay bent,” he commanded, his voice chillingly casual as he stepped back, lighting a cigarette. “Let it drip.” The warm trickle of seed down Rifki’s inner thigh felt like a brand. “Now turn around and show me that worthless face.”
Rifki shuddered, pushing himself upright on trembling arms, the metal rail biting into his back as he turned. Abang exhaled a plume of smoke, his eyes raking over Rifki’s tear-streaked makeup and heaving chest. “Open your mouth, princess.” Rifki obeyed, his jaw slack, and Abang tapped his ash directly onto Rifki’s waiting tongue. The bitter grit mixed with the salt of his own spit. “Swallow it.”
Rifki gulped, a pathetic little click in his throat.
“Good bitch,” Abang said, grabbing a handful of Rifki’s hair and yanking him down to his knees on the hard concrete. “Now clean me up.” He shoved his still-glistening cock past Rifki’s lips, fucking his face with short, brutal jabs that hit the back of his throat. Rifki gagged, tears burning anew, as he tasted the mingled filth of himself, Abang, and Bima’s earlier deposit. “Suck it like you mean it, you hungry cocksleeve,” Abang grunted, hips pistoning, his balls slapping against Rifki’s chin.
Across the void, a curtain twitched.
Abang saw it. He pulled out, his cock slick with spit, and smacked it against Rifki’s cheek. “They want a show? Give them one.” He forced two fingers into Rifki’s drooling mouth, then shoved them deep into his ass, stretching the cum-filled channel. “Tell them what you are.” Rifki’s voice was a broken rasp, pitched to carry. “I’m a… I’m a public fuckhole!” he cried out, the words scraping his throat raw. “I’m a cumdump for any cock!” Abang smiled, a cold slice of triumph, and replaced his fingers with his thickness, re-entering Rifki’s ass in a single, conquering thrust that stole his breath. “Damn right you are.”