Porter stomps ahead of him, pulls out a chair, and sits with his legs spread wide. He rubs crudely at the bulge in his pants.
"Then get to work."
Rumlow hesitates. It's going to take a minute to stand up and walk over there—
Stone slaps him hard on the ass. Ignoring Rumlow's hiss, he orders, "Get over there! We don't have all damn day." And then when Rumlow sits perfectly still, hating him and entertaining revenge fantasies, he grabs hold of Rumlow's hair and starts dragging him towards Porter.
Rumlow doesn't even try to raise his hands to bat at Stone. He shuffles along on his knees, neck bent, but when he reaches Porter, Stone does not let go. Porter doesn't smile with his teeth; his power is all in his eyes, hard and domineering. He says, "Ask me for it."
"What?" Rumlow squeezes out between clenched teeth.
"Don't get shy now. You sucked Davis like a good little whore. Ask me for the privilege of sucking my cock."
Rumlow wants to tell Porter, in varied and explicit ways, what absolute human garbage he is. But then his more practical voice comes back: Get it over with. Move on. So he licks his lips and asks with a voice like sharp gravel, "Please let me suck your cock."
“Address me with respect, newbie.”
“...please let me suck your cock— sir.”
"Good job," Porter says. He opens his zipper and shoves his pants down to his ankles. Then he settles back, hand steadying his erection. "Make it worthwhile, I've been waiting."
Stone lets Rumlow free, then, moving around to take his wrists and pin them in a firm grip behind his back. It's actually helpful to have them secured rather than swinging. Rumlow doesn't fight the hold or even care to, just gets to work as fast as he can.
This time there's no one forcing his pace and so he feels at a slight loss as to how to get going. It's a deceptively simple task; it had always looked easy when he was watching from above. As he takes the cock in and lathers it with saliva, Porter immediately shows his approval with a stream of soft groaning. Rumlow’s faltering pace eventually falls into an acceptable rhythm.
He pulls off more than once to spit on it or to lick his own lips, to get a breath or to rest his jaw. No one stops him. He's free to bob his head as he sucks, and Porter doesn't try to fuck his mouth. As long as he doesn't fight them, as long as he plays by their rules, they let him move freely.
He’s only vaguely aware of the way he must look, giving himself easily like this, sucking another man’s dick just because he was told. Like a whore, probably. There must be worse things, though— there are. Coward is one of them.
Porter whispers his encouragements— "Just like that" —over the slurp of Rumlow's messy technique. Rumlow feels a slight tug at his anus; Stone might be fingering him, but he doesn't even notice anymore. Towards what he later realizes is Porter's end, Porter lifts himself up and exposes his balls. Rumlow doesn’t need to be told; he even sort of appreciates kissing them as a break from having his mouth stretched wide.
Determined to push Rumlow to his limits, however, Porter guides him downwards. Rumlow chews on the inside of his cheek in stomach-roiling disgust, but eventually sticks his tongue out to lick at Porter’s anus. Satisfied by his easy capitulation, Porter doesn't hold him there long but allows him to resume sucking cock.
When Porter's thick length jerks in his mouth, he is held to take the load— but no one reprimands him when, seconds later, he pulls off and spits it all out on the floor.
“Well?” Porter prompts.
Rumlow breathlessly responds, “Thank you, sir”, to which Porter smirks, tucks himself back in, and vacates the chair.
Stone helps Rumlow lean back and brushes his face with his knuckles, uncaring for the filth as his hands are already dirtied. His voice in Rumlow’s ear vibrates low like quiet thunder. “All worn out, Rumlow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You done fighting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gonna do what you’re told from now on?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Stone says. “Prove it. You’ve got one more job to do.”
He helps Rumlow to his feet by letting Rumlow lean heavily on one thick arm, never letting go of Rumlow’s wrists; at this point, such is kindness. They shuffle around each other, Rumlow swaying, until Stone can take the chair Porter had just vacated. Rumlow spaces out a little; it feels like a dream when he’s gently guided moments later to sit on Stone’s dick. The finished men gather closer, the occasional hand darting out— not hurting him, not anymore, but steadying or bracing.
“Bounce on it, Rumlow.”
Rumlow flexes his thighs, already feeling like he’s run for miles and miles. He’s too tired to keep his eyes open, and so he closes them; he’s too tired to keep his mouth shut, and so he wheezes and moans with his exertion. Hands close around him without squeezing, helping him rock. Stone’s free hand settles broadly on his hip.
At the point when Stone begins to drive upwards, Rumlow’s eyes open sluggishly. His comrades nod curtly or smile briefly, approving, but mostly they are straight-faced soldiers. Davis mutters soft appreciation. Frederick strokes his arm. Cook stares hard into his eyes. Mathers doesn’t really look at him at all.
Rumlow looks around. The unnamed one is gone. Since when? Oh well. He supposes they didn’t need him anymore. He was there to enforce; mission completed.
[FILL] Order [11] (rumlow gangrape)
"Then get to work."
Rumlow hesitates. It's going to take a minute to stand up and walk over there—
Stone slaps him hard on the ass. Ignoring Rumlow's hiss, he orders, "Get over there! We don't have all damn day." And then when Rumlow sits perfectly still, hating him and entertaining revenge fantasies, he grabs hold of Rumlow's hair and starts dragging him towards Porter.
Rumlow doesn't even try to raise his hands to bat at Stone. He shuffles along on his knees, neck bent, but when he reaches Porter, Stone does not let go. Porter doesn't smile with his teeth; his power is all in his eyes, hard and domineering. He says, "Ask me for it."
"What?" Rumlow squeezes out between clenched teeth.
"Don't get shy now. You sucked Davis like a good little whore. Ask me for the privilege of sucking my cock."
Rumlow wants to tell Porter, in varied and explicit ways, what absolute human garbage he is. But then his more practical voice comes back: Get it over with. Move on. So he licks his lips and asks with a voice like sharp gravel, "Please let me suck your cock."
“Address me with respect, newbie.”
“...please let me suck your cock— sir.”
"Good job," Porter says. He opens his zipper and shoves his pants down to his ankles. Then he settles back, hand steadying his erection. "Make it worthwhile, I've been waiting."
Stone lets Rumlow free, then, moving around to take his wrists and pin them in a firm grip behind his back. It's actually helpful to have them secured rather than swinging. Rumlow doesn't fight the hold or even care to, just gets to work as fast as he can.
This time there's no one forcing his pace and so he feels at a slight loss as to how to get going. It's a deceptively simple task; it had always looked easy when he was watching from above. As he takes the cock in and lathers it with saliva, Porter immediately shows his approval with a stream of soft groaning. Rumlow’s faltering pace eventually falls into an acceptable rhythm.
He pulls off more than once to spit on it or to lick his own lips, to get a breath or to rest his jaw. No one stops him. He's free to bob his head as he sucks, and Porter doesn't try to fuck his mouth. As long as he doesn't fight them, as long as he plays by their rules, they let him move freely.
He’s only vaguely aware of the way he must look, giving himself easily like this, sucking another man’s dick just because he was told. Like a whore, probably. There must be worse things, though— there are. Coward is one of them.
Porter whispers his encouragements— "Just like that" —over the slurp of Rumlow's messy technique. Rumlow feels a slight tug at his anus; Stone might be fingering him, but he doesn't even notice anymore. Towards what he later realizes is Porter's end, Porter lifts himself up and exposes his balls. Rumlow doesn’t need to be told; he even sort of appreciates kissing them as a break from having his mouth stretched wide.
Determined to push Rumlow to his limits, however, Porter guides him downwards. Rumlow chews on the inside of his cheek in stomach-roiling disgust, but eventually sticks his tongue out to lick at Porter’s anus. Satisfied by his easy capitulation, Porter doesn't hold him there long but allows him to resume sucking cock.
When Porter's thick length jerks in his mouth, he is held to take the load— but no one reprimands him when, seconds later, he pulls off and spits it all out on the floor.
“Well?” Porter prompts.
Rumlow breathlessly responds, “Thank you, sir”, to which Porter smirks, tucks himself back in, and vacates the chair.
Stone helps Rumlow lean back and brushes his face with his knuckles, uncaring for the filth as his hands are already dirtied. His voice in Rumlow’s ear vibrates low like quiet thunder. “All worn out, Rumlow?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You done fighting?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gonna do what you’re told from now on?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Stone says. “Prove it. You’ve got one more job to do.”
He helps Rumlow to his feet by letting Rumlow lean heavily on one thick arm, never letting go of Rumlow’s wrists; at this point, such is kindness. They shuffle around each other, Rumlow swaying, until Stone can take the chair Porter had just vacated. Rumlow spaces out a little; it feels like a dream when he’s gently guided moments later to sit on Stone’s dick. The finished men gather closer, the occasional hand darting out— not hurting him, not anymore, but steadying or bracing.
“Bounce on it, Rumlow.”
Rumlow flexes his thighs, already feeling like he’s run for miles and miles. He’s too tired to keep his eyes open, and so he closes them; he’s too tired to keep his mouth shut, and so he wheezes and moans with his exertion. Hands close around him without squeezing, helping him rock. Stone’s free hand settles broadly on his hip.
At the point when Stone begins to drive upwards, Rumlow’s eyes open sluggishly. His comrades nod curtly or smile briefly, approving, but mostly they are straight-faced soldiers. Davis mutters soft appreciation. Frederick strokes his arm. Cook stares hard into his eyes. Mathers doesn’t really look at him at all.
Rumlow looks around. The unnamed one is gone. Since when? Oh well. He supposes they didn’t need him anymore. He was there to enforce; mission completed.