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Willard Hobbes ducks as he steps out of the helicopter, eyes squinting away from the whipped up gale around the transport. The ground is damp from a recent drizzle, his loafers crunching satisfyingly as he glides past one of the fumbling men trying to lead him to his quarters for the next 40 hours, but fails to do so without biting on his own tongue. Thus, he simply resigns himself to follow him like an obedient beagle.
Warden Hobbes made no pretence that he was interested in anything sputtered by the appointed receiver, he had been briefed on the schedule beforehand and the time apportionment would undoubtedly exclude him from being bothered by any irrelevant matters. Rather than Drake doing the democratic favours as per usual, he had been informed that this sponsor, Wren, is exceedingly generous with his pockets, and would continue to be so if the warden would be able to join him in a discussion on their future transactions in person. Despite the hospitality permeated in the electronic invitation, Hobbes had a group of his men reach a week before, while those who were rooted on the land speculated the site and submitted the alternate escape proposals.
He shuts the door on the babbling man’s face, receiving a salute from one of his men guarding by the door.
His soles thump dully on the soft carpet, and his mind goes to the other bird of this trip. Sightings called for Henry Gale were very near to Hobbes’ current position and Hobbes recounts the last time he was able to track ‘Henry Gale’, approximately two months ago. They lost track of him within two hours after they implanted the GPS chip. The man who can disappear from the surface of land and sea at will, and render Willard Hobbes effectively sexually inactive for two months. If his henchmen hadn’t screwed up, he would have this little bird in his room right around-
‘There you are.’ Hobbes walks into the dining room in mock surprise, the slight looking man sitting at the end of the dining table with a few of Hobbes’ other subordinates towering over him. From the looks of it, Ben didn’t put up any fight this time, noting his lack of bruises and his still pristine suit coupled with a pair of round lens glasses. Maybe he should be surprised. He waves his hand after checking how tight Ben is tied to the chair. His men leaves and he takes the seat beside the table.
Hobbes spared one of Ben’s suit-clad-ankle from the ropes binding him to the chair (just some slight marks, freshly captured), eyeing his attire amusingly.
‘You look civilized, Ben. Have a date?’
‘Not with you, initially,’ Ben sneered with his wrists still tied to the back of the chair. Hobbes picks on his black paisley vest buttons and carmine silk tie pulled out of his pink shirt collar thoughtfully. If it weren’t for the usual haughtiness in Ben’s tone and gaze, he would have taken this as a doppelganger with the same characteristics retained -cool, reserved, calculative- but the outfit he is in smoothened his prickling atmosphere and made him look like a gentleman off for a multi-billion business meeting, taunting Hobbes to fuck his brains out instantly.
‘We have some hours to spare,’ Hobbes unties one of his wrists, save the casualty of patting him up for weapons and immediately blocks one of Ben’s sharp jab aiming for his torso, his left hand gripping onto Ben’s neck effortlessly.
‘Your usual formalities, Ben?’ His feet stepping on Ben’s, hand clenched on his, ‘Cute but it’s getting boring. If you wanted more fun,’ Tightening his grip on the delicately thin throat, Hobbes lowers his head to gnaw at the pink lips, ‘I would be more than happy to cater.’
Just as he releases his throat, the tiny gasps and slippery tongue are sucked happily into his mouth. Ben’s left hand tries to claw its way out of his vice with futile effort. Evading the pearly teeth trying to rip his tongue out, Hobbes caresses the back of his neck, just like a duly lover.
But they are on a tight schedule, so they will have to make do with the limited time, Hobbes mused as he pierces Ben’s neck with a small syringe. Ben may have some tricks up his sleeves, but his crafts are predictable to a certain extent. The furious blue eyes went dim and shut close, jaws gone slack. Untying the limp limbs from the other shackles, he swiftly pockets the fake identification documents and carries him to the bedroom.
All but the silk tie stayed. Hobbes grew fond of it as he was tying the right wrist and ankle together, while Ben’s other hand was tied to the headboard with a rope he acquired from the chair before.
He got a taste of the bourbon in the room while he waited for his little bird to wake up. It was adequate.
Willard Hobbes would not perceive himself as a man of desire, his sexual urges perhaps slightly lower than his thirst for imminent wealth. But he does take pleasure out of fucking Ben in various positions in any time possible, stripping him bare of his fraudulence.
Though he actually does enjoy fucking Ben in a full suit, save for the pants and underwear pooling around his shivering thighs as he gets bent over a table while having his ass pounded. Hobbes would pull both his arms to pull him away from the table, while thrusting into the drenched hole, forming the fulcrum in their motion and forcing the sobbing whines out of Ben’s mouth. Ben would have cum just from that, staining his pretty little suit and the mahogany table.
As fun as it may be to crush his pristine appearances into high pitch moans and frustrating cries, the temptation to reduce Ben into his primordial state is far greater. White little teeth trying to bite as he bruises his ass with his palms, the sight of little Ben sweating and swearing for his cock to satisfy the little bitch in him provides great satisfaction.
It’s like playing with a vicious pet, but you don’t really fuck your pet, do you? Hobbes ponders and grimaces a bit at the thought, thrusting three of his fingers forcefully into the wet hole, now focusing on the spot that would make Ben’s pink cock leak harder. Just as Ben is about to cum -he would be incapable of swearing and make these weak breathy whimpers- he takes out his fingers graciously and thumbs the opening of Ben’s cock before thrusting his own in. Then the swearing would start all over again, repetitive profanities spewing from the pink lips because Ben didn’t make an effort to learn cruder words, and he will shut him up by devouring his lips fervently.
He couldn’t tell if Ben enjoys getting his mouth fucked, he never tried. But the nervous clenching around his cock when he sucks on his tongue may indicate a positive, Hobbes notes. Perhaps he isn’t focused on their current intercourse enough because Ben manages to bite his tongue just as he wanted to leave. The smug is quickly erased when he slaps the pink ass hard with his palm, plunging in balls deep as he folds the body into half.
He has his own set of profanities to share with Ben, details on how he’s going to make Ben crawl on the floor while he fucks him if he remains disobedient made the little liar growl but his ass doesn’t shy away from the idea. Putting his hand on his belly and pressing, Hobbes grins.
‘You’re like my pretty little fuck toy, always taking everything in,’ He wonders if he could touch the outline of his cock if he presses hard enough, and so he stops, ‘Like a bitch in heat when I fuck you just right,’ He realizes he couldn’t, and so continues impaling, Ben’s cock is already leaking cum, his ejaculation slow. Hobbes never bothers to wear a condom. It should be well against his principles, but the sight of having his seed leak out of Ben’s puffy red rim seems to justify the action in his mind.
‘And how do you know you’re not just a dildo to me?’ Ben gasps, tears falling out despite his efforts to remain dignified. Hobbes wanted to laugh but decided not to.
‘Because we both know you won’t be satisfied by a dildo. We tried, remember?’ He further decided to stop the conversation because he’s close to coming, thus he did and mounts him rhythmically. He is rewarded with a series of frantic clenching around his cock, right before he releases as deep as he could into the heated flesh.
After pulling out, Hobbes stretches the rim with his thumbs, forefinger reaching in to lead the semen out the hole. He eyes Ben’s pool of cum on his belly, and smears it onto the swollen right nipple. Ben is effectively worn out, but that never stops him from teasing.
‘If you don’t be a good boy a bit later, I promise I will fuck you here,’ Hobbes gropes his breasts, amused as a small cleavage formed that Ben did not equally appreciate, ‘the next time, just like how I did with your ass,’ Effectively reminding him of their previous rendezvous in one of Paris’ public restroom. The proposal causes Ben to utter a frustrated sound and his other leg tried to kick Hobbes’ face, yet the attractive shade of red taking over his face implies only reluctance, and Hobbes is willing to help him overcome it however he could.
‘Now, lets start by telling me your business in New York, Benjamin.’