Come over tonight, Persektor… I’ve been waiting for this all week.
Door’s unlocked.
I see you step in wearing that backwards cap, flannel shirt stretched tight over your chest, looking like a goddamn lumberjack ready to chop something down. Except tonight, the tree is me.
You don’t even say hello.
Just push me back against the wall, big rough hand pinning my throat for a second, then dropping straight to my abs.
First punch lands hard — deep, twisting — and I roar, half growl, half moan.
‘F… harder,’ I beg through gritted teeth.
You smirk under the brim of that cap.
Then the real beating starts.
Left, right, left, right — steady, brutal rhythm, each fist sinking into my gut like it’s trying to reach my spine.
My abs clench uselessly, trembling, burning.
Every impact forces a loud, broken bellow out of me — pleasure and pain so tangled I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
‘Take it, Viny,’ you growl low, voice rough like sawdust.
‘Louder.’
And I do.
I fucking roar for you with every soco that craters my stomach, body jerking, sweat dripping, cock throbbing against my jeans while you methodically destroy my core like it’s your personal punching bag.
Hat still on.
Flannel sleeves rolled up.
Fists dripping with my surrender.
Come wreck me again soon, lumberjack
