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Paul, trapped in the chair by Dexter’s hulking body hunched over his, gagged and fought for breath as Dexter filled him to the back of his throat and, grabbing Paul’s hair in his hands, began moving Paul’s head back and forth, back and forth on his rod.

This was only the beginning. And Dexter saved himself, wanting the virginal ass—and sooner rather than later. When he released Paul from the face fuck and turned to fish condoms out of the brief case, Paul made a struggling lurch out of the chair and for the door. This definitely wasn’t fantasy. This was overload.

But Dexter turned and tackled Paul down to the floor. He held Paul down with one strong hand holding the accountant’s arm twisted, painfully behind his back, Paul’s face buried in the carpet, while the erstwhile inmate jerked off Paul’s pants and briefs. Then, crowned, but without lubricant or any other preparation, Dexter pulled Paul up to his hands and knees, hunched over his pelvis, and brutally thrust his dick at Paul’s hole again and again and again, until he was in, past the sphincter, into the tight, previously unused channel.

Paul was gasping and crying out to the ceiling and writhing. Dexter was laughing and pounding away. Having a good old time. When Paul’s knees gave way, Dexter just rode him down to the carpet, and kept thrusting away.