At first, Ezio did not comply. He still stood before the artist, awkwardly, trying to not show his discomfort by squirming around, because he was uncomfortable. His hair tie added an unwanted pressure to his now weeping cock, a dull pain throbbing every time his heart pounded. He wanted desperately to untie the thing and come, but that would be against the rules and not the point of all their lessons. Even so, as he looked down at Leonardo, most of his clothing still on and his legs opened wide to welcome him back down between them, Ezio still thought to disobey and touch himself. To squeeze, pinch, rub, anything to stop the torturous ache that seemed to crawl all over his body now. It was Leonardo’s eyes, as he noticed the hesitation in Ezio’s own, that forced him back down.
“Much better.” Leonardo commented, patting his head gently as the assassin fell to his knees and almost instantly ran his tongue over the head of his cock. “If I find you trying to finish again, you will find a much more severe punishment in store then a simple red string.” If it was anyone but Leonardo, Ezio might have taken that last comment as a threatened snarl. But it wasn’t. Just a light reminder, emphasized by the artist kicking the assassin’s legs apart further, making it more difficult for him to angle a thrust properly, and to clearly show off the hard dick bobbing between his legs.
Leonardo heard Ezio hiss and chuckled, downing the last of the wine in his glass and reached down to grab the almost empty bottle sitting next to him on the floor. He poured the last of the dark wine into his glass, taking another long drink, before looking back down at Ezio, who was still lapping at the head of his cock, catching the beads of pre-come on his tongue.
“Are you thirst?” The question was almost random. It didn’t really need a reply, but Ezio still looked up with a very innocent look, eyes wide and open as he lapped at the cock, panting softly. His eyes gave the answer (desperate, wanting, lust-filled) so Leonardo, being the gentleman that he was, gave him what he planned to.
The liquid was cold as it poor down his stomach, sensing shivers dancing up his spine. It pooled in the grooves of his body, spilling down, leaving a trail of went red-violet in its wake. Ezio coughed as it hit his tongue, the strong odor of alcohol filling his nose, the taste mixing with the essence of the man above him. Though, it was no particularly unpleasant. After the initial shock, he went back to licking, this time following the trail of wine left behind, trying to catch the drops before they fell to the floor.
“Better?” The word was emphasized with an almost too caring tone and cock of the head.
With one final lick, all the way up to suck the wine that caught in the artist’s belly button, he nodded.
Leonardo smiled, tangling his fingers once more in Ezio’s hair. “Good, now, get back down.” He pushed the assassin’s back down, practically shoving his cock down his throat again. This time, Ezio was ready and took it all, relaxing his throat until the head jabbed at the back of it and swallowed, the taste of musk and red wine heavy on his tongue.
Leonardo moaned at the enthusiasm of the activity, arching his back off the chair and moaned loud, almost dropping the glass with the sheer pleasure that shook his body.
“That’s a good boy.” Leonardo purred, pushing strands of hair from Ezio’s face so he could clearly see those clouded amber-brown eyes. “Just—like—that!” With every word, he thrust his hips up into that waiting mouth where Ezio swallowed every one of them.
His own thighs were shaking with the effort to hold back, because the words that spilled from Leonardo’s mouth as he slowly lost control were going to drive him mad. It was beautiful. How his mouth fell open, lips parted and panting. How his head fell back over the edge of the chair, rolling, muttering (Yes, yes, yes!) and, god, what that did to him. Desperate, his dick ached, throbbed painfully between his legs, if only he could get that string undone. If not, he might soon go mad with the effort of holding back.
Re: Squirm for me, Assassin [3/?]
---
At first, Ezio did not comply. He still stood before the artist, awkwardly, trying to not show his discomfort by squirming around, because he was uncomfortable. His hair tie added an unwanted pressure to his now weeping cock, a dull pain throbbing every time his heart pounded. He wanted desperately to untie the thing and come, but that would be against the rules and not the point of all their lessons. Even so, as he looked down at Leonardo, most of his clothing still on and his legs opened wide to welcome him back down between them, Ezio still thought to disobey and touch himself. To squeeze, pinch, rub, anything to stop the torturous ache that seemed to crawl all over his body now. It was Leonardo’s eyes, as he noticed the hesitation in Ezio’s own, that forced him back down.
“Much better.” Leonardo commented, patting his head gently as the assassin fell to his knees and almost instantly ran his tongue over the head of his cock. “If I find you trying to finish again, you will find a much more severe punishment in store then a simple red string.” If it was anyone but Leonardo, Ezio might have taken that last comment as a threatened snarl. But it wasn’t. Just a light reminder, emphasized by the artist kicking the assassin’s legs apart further, making it more difficult for him to angle a thrust properly, and to clearly show off the hard dick bobbing between his legs.
Leonardo heard Ezio hiss and chuckled, downing the last of the wine in his glass and reached down to grab the almost empty bottle sitting next to him on the floor. He poured the last of the dark wine into his glass, taking another long drink, before looking back down at Ezio, who was still lapping at the head of his cock, catching the beads of pre-come on his tongue.
“Are you thirst?” The question was almost random. It didn’t really need a reply, but Ezio still looked up with a very innocent look, eyes wide and open as he lapped at the cock, panting softly. His eyes gave the answer (desperate, wanting, lust-filled) so Leonardo, being the gentleman that he was, gave him what he planned to.
The liquid was cold as it poor down his stomach, sensing shivers dancing up his spine. It pooled in the grooves of his body, spilling down, leaving a trail of went red-violet in its wake. Ezio coughed as it hit his tongue, the strong odor of alcohol filling his nose, the taste mixing with the essence of the man above him. Though, it was no particularly unpleasant. After the initial shock, he went back to licking, this time following the trail of wine left behind, trying to catch the drops before they fell to the floor.
“Better?” The word was emphasized with an almost too caring tone and cock of the head.
With one final lick, all the way up to suck the wine that caught in the artist’s belly button, he nodded.
Leonardo smiled, tangling his fingers once more in Ezio’s hair. “Good, now, get back down.” He pushed the assassin’s back down, practically shoving his cock down his throat again. This time, Ezio was ready and took it all, relaxing his throat until the head jabbed at the back of it and swallowed, the taste of musk and red wine heavy on his tongue.
Leonardo moaned at the enthusiasm of the activity, arching his back off the chair and moaned loud, almost dropping the glass with the sheer pleasure that shook his body.
“That’s a good boy.” Leonardo purred, pushing strands of hair from Ezio’s face so he could clearly see those clouded amber-brown eyes. “Just—like—that!” With every word, he thrust his hips up into that waiting mouth where Ezio swallowed every one of them.
His own thighs were shaking with the effort to hold back, because the words that spilled from Leonardo’s mouth as he slowly lost control were going to drive him mad. It was beautiful. How his mouth fell open, lips parted and panting. How his head fell back over the edge of the chair, rolling, muttering (Yes, yes, yes!) and, god, what that did to him. Desperate, his dick ached, throbbed painfully between his legs, if only he could get that string undone. If not, he might soon go mad with the effort of holding back.