Sabotaging No Nut November - Chapter 6

(All acts described are consensual)

He froze, those dark eyes boring into me – not with anger, but calculation. Then his smirk returned, colder this time. "Talking won't save you now." His hand wrenched free, shoving my jeans and boxers down my thighs in one brutal motion. My cock sprang free, flushed and already leaking against my stomach.

"Jesus, Ryan!" I wanted this.

"Shut up." His grip tightened impossibly, a vise of knuckles and palm, dragging upwards with deliberate, grinding pressure over the swollen head. Precum smeared slickly under his thumb as he twisted. Pleasure ripped through me, sharp and almost painful. "This what you wanted? Huh? Think you're so fucking clever?" His other hand clamped onto my hip, pinning me to the desk edge, the wood digging grooves into my skin.

"Yes... I needed this."

My hips bucked uncontrollably, trying to fuck his fist. Sweat beaded on my forehead. "Fucking... harder..." The demand tore out of me, ragged. He complied instantly, his strokes turning ruthless, a fast, brutal pump that left no room for thought, only raw sensation. His thumb pressed relentlessly against the sensitive slit each time he reached the top, sending electric jolts down my spine. My balls drew up tight.

"Gonna cum?" he growled, leaning close. His breath was hot on my ear, his own body rigid against my thigh, but his cock still constrained within his sweats. I could feel the heat radiating from it. "Gonna lose all over my hand? Like the pathetic little cumslut you are?"

The pressure in my groin was volcanic, unstoppable. "Yes! Oh god, yes!" I babbled, past pride, past the bet. "Gonna... gonna fucking..." My spine arched violently off the desk. "Ryan!"

the first thick rope of cum shot out, splattering hot and sticky across my own heaving stomach.The second followed, then the third, each pulse wrenched from me by his hand. I shuddered through it, a guttural moan ripped from my throat, the desk rattling beneath me. He milked me dry, his strokes slowing when the last tremor subsided, leaving me gasping, trembling, spent.

Silence descended, thick and sticky as the mess cooling on my skin. My head swam, limbs weak. Ryan slowly withdrew his hand, glistening. He looked down at his own rigid cock, tenting the front of his sweats, then deliberately lifted his watch. The screen glowed a steady, unyielding green. He met my shattered gaze, his expression utterly composed, wiped clean of the ferocity of moments before.

"Going to take more than that to make me lose, Evan," he stated calmly, his voice like stone. He plucked a tissue from the box on his desk and meticulously wiped his hand clean. The clinical precision of it was worse than any insult. "Clean yourself up. Get out."

The humiliation crashed over me, colder than the air on my sticky skin. The triumph I'd felt with Mason, Tyler, Leo – hollow now. Utterly fucking hollow. I fumbled my jeans up, my movements clumsy, unable to look at him. The scent of my own release mixed sickeningly with his sandalwood cologne. My legs felt like rubber as I slid off the desk. I didn't say a word. Couldn't. My throat was too tight.

I grabbed my bag, my hand shaking. The door handle felt impossibly cold. Behind me, I heard the rustle of textbook pages turning. I didn't look back. Pulling the door open, the chaotic roar of the party hit me like a physical blow – laughter, bass thumping, the shriek of a girl. Stepping out into the bright hallway felt like stepping onto a stage naked. I kept my head down, pushing through bodies, smelling weed and cheap beer, avoiding every glance. My skin felt raw.

Sooner or later, Ryan, I thought, the taste of defeat bitter as ash. Sooner or fucking later, you will lose. And I will be there to see it. The green glow of his watch burned behind my eyelids. It wouldn't stay green forever. It couldn't.