Vrenille breathes a scoffing sort of snort at the belated "respect" of Mustang's words. It's not really a question of whether the man wilfully misunderstood or not, as he sees it, because either way there's still evidence of the lack of submission. Subjectively, that's not so bad, and Vrenille is hardly a stickler for the city rules enough to have a problem with it, but it's still distinctly, and within the context of the set-up they began with, a place of play.
If nothing else, for the moment, it puts Mustang in the role of the "brat" and Vrenille in that of the "brat tamer." And if that's the game they're going with, then Vrenille has no trouble at all taking it up.
So as "punishment" for Mustang's insolent disobedience, Vrenille takes the liberty to just fuck him selfishly--really use him like some sort of doll, some sort of sex toy, purely for his own pleasure. After all, Mustang has already seen to himself, why shouldn't he receive the same treatment back in spades?
All that means that he doesn't pound into Mustang as hard or fast as he can. His thrusts are forceful with an extra push right at the top like he's trying to get ever deeper inside the man's hole, even if he very possibly hurts him a bit by doing so, but his pace is steady and measured enough to let him savour each sensation, and for a time, the only sound is the low grunt of exertion at the force of each stroke.
He doesn't really care how tired Mustang is now or how his spent cock swings between his legs, and he's not really paying attention to the amount of time he takes before deciding that just keeping his hands behind his back that way isn't enough. Wrenching him back to put some further distance between them and the mirror, he shifts his grip so that Mustang's arms are stretched out straight behind him, Vrenille's hands gripping his wrists and he hangs forward from them. It gives him just that little extra leverage to drive into him even harder.
"Mmm, that's it," he purrs finally in a low growl. "Good little hole. Why don't you ask for my cum now 'n I'll decide if I'm ready to give it to you," he says it like it's just a suggestion, even though it's most certainly not.
no subject
If nothing else, for the moment, it puts Mustang in the role of the "brat" and Vrenille in that of the "brat tamer." And if that's the game they're going with, then Vrenille has no trouble at all taking it up.
So as "punishment" for Mustang's insolent disobedience, Vrenille takes the liberty to just fuck him selfishly--really use him like some sort of doll, some sort of sex toy, purely for his own pleasure. After all, Mustang has already seen to himself, why shouldn't he receive the same treatment back in spades?
All that means that he doesn't pound into Mustang as hard or fast as he can. His thrusts are forceful with an extra push right at the top like he's trying to get ever deeper inside the man's hole, even if he very possibly hurts him a bit by doing so, but his pace is steady and measured enough to let him savour each sensation, and for a time, the only sound is the low grunt of exertion at the force of each stroke.
He doesn't really care how tired Mustang is now or how his spent cock swings between his legs, and he's not really paying attention to the amount of time he takes before deciding that just keeping his hands behind his back that way isn't enough. Wrenching him back to put some further distance between them and the mirror, he shifts his grip so that Mustang's arms are stretched out straight behind him, Vrenille's hands gripping his wrists and he hangs forward from them. It gives him just that little extra leverage to drive into him even harder.
"Mmm, that's it," he purrs finally in a low growl. "Good little hole. Why don't you ask for my cum now 'n I'll decide if I'm ready to give it to you," he says it like it's just a suggestion, even though it's most certainly not.