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The Hitachi is truly a fantastic investment. Jon can't believe he's only now got himself one, given the effects.
Right now, Martin is squirming and sobbing, "I can't, I can't, I can't." His hands are firm on the headboard, though. If he moves them away, Jon will take away the toy. Martin hangs on for dear life even as tears stream down his face.
Jon flicks the nipple clamps Martin's wearing with a finger. "But you wanted to come," he says, striving for innocent and coming out flat instead. This, this is why he doesn't like saying out loud words he'll type without a second thought. Audible tones are a menace.
"Too much," Martin gasps, "too much, I can't," but when Jon turns the Hitachi's dial another notch up, the words are swallowed up in a wail. Even when his body stops spasming, Martin doesn't speak, just makes endless overwhelmed noises that Jon jealously hoards.
He stays nonverbal through his next orgasm, and the one after that. He seems to hit a plateau then, struggling to achieve climax and not quite getting there, the sounds he makes growing more pitiful.
Jon kisses his temple. "Shh. Shh. What do you need?" Martin stares up at him, glassy eyed and uncomprehending. "Do you want some fingers in your cunt?" Cunt seemed to be the word to use earlier, Jon hopes it still is.
If it isn't, Martin doesn't seem to notice. He nods, dazed, and bites his lip when Jon gets a couple of fingers inside him.
"So wet," Jon whispers in his ear. "Is there anything you won't take for me?"
Hesitation, and then Martin shakes his head even as he weakly convulses around Jon's fingers. Jon crooks them to feel him twitch. "Was that another one?" Nod. "My, aren't you needy today."
The next thing Martin says, about twenty minutes and an orgasm later, is, "Please."
"I see you've graduated out of I can't," Jon says. "That's good, because evidently you can. So what are you asking for?"
Martin's closed eyelids flutter. "Deeper." His voice is barely more than breath.
Jon smiles. "That's good." He kisses Martin's cheek. Weird, how much easier it is to kiss people when he has them under his thumb like this. He angles his fingers inside Martin, pushing them until he feels the resistance of Martin's cervix, hears the keening sound Martin makes when he hits it. "Like this?"
Martin cries harder and spasms in a climax that doesn't seem to end.
He plateaus again two orgams later, back to wordlessly shaking his head. He's past words but he gives Jon a beseeching look.
"Looks like you need more," Jon says. He takes out his fingers, lubes the small plug he had ready by the bedside, and pushes it carefully up Martin's back hole. He lies so he can whisper in Martin's ear, "Think you can go like this? Can you come with your cunt empty if the rest of you is full?"
Martin whimpers and shakes his head. Jon gives him a few minutes, watches him wind himself up and fail to reach orgasm, before relenting and slipping his fingers in Martin's mouth - his right hand, still wet with Martin's own slick. Martin sucks his fingers like he was born to do it and actually does come a minute later, doing his best to swallow around them.
"You'd suck anything I gave you now." That's not so hard to say. It's a plain statement of fact. "Anyone could come in and shove his cock down your throat, and you'd take it in your desperation for more. Is there anything you wouldn't let me do, now?"
Slowly, his range of movement limited because of the fingers still in his mouth, Martin shakes his head. Love ignites in Jon's chest like a bonfire.
When Jon decides Martin's had enough, or almost enough, Martin is still clutching the headboard. He's crying continuously now, properly, so that Jon can't quite tell whether the sobs wracking his body are pleasure or pain.
Martin looks up at him blearily, sniffling. Jon kisses his jaw. "Nearly done," he promises. He turns off the Hitachi, and watches as Martin's entire body loses tension, melting like an ice cube on a hot pan. "Just one more thing."
Martin still has the plug in him. When Jon shoulders between his legs, he can see the flared base of it peeking out, sees Martin's holes red and wrecked, his cock looking almost bruised. He yelps when Jon takes it between his lips.
Jon usually isn't much for oral in any direction, but he'll make an exception for this: Martin, under him, trembling and crying. He pulls back for long enough to say, "Just one more orgasm, for me," and goes back to sucking Martin's cock.
It takes a long time. That's okay. Jon is in no rush. When Martin's orgasm finally comes it's a small thing, heralded by a sigh and further bone-melting relaxation, followed by weak crying.
Jon wipes his face on the sheet, climbs up the bed and holds Martin, kisses his head. "You've done so well," he whispers in his ear. He takes off the nipple clamps gently and hugs Martin through the ensuing pain. "You've taken it so nicely for me. So beautiful."
For a while they lie together without speaking, Martin clinging to him with a shamelessness Jon loves. His face is buried in Martin's hair, smelling shampoo and fresh sweat. Finally, Jon says, "How are you?"
Instead of answering, Martin giggles. The giggles grow in volume until they turn into full grown laughter, and thence into sobs. Jon holds him through it.
"I'm good," Martin says, when he can finally speak properly again. "Fuck, I needed that. I don't think my genitals are going to be operational for a week at least, but it was worth it."
"I'm glad you think so." Jon considers. "I'll go get you some tea and biscuits," he says. "What else do you need?"
Martin hesitates.
Jon kisses his cheek, still flushed. "Please. I need to know how to take care of you."
Martin closes his eyes. "Don't go," he whispers. "Don't leave me."
Oh. Without intending to, Jon's arms wind tight around Martin. "Never," he says, with a ferocity that should surprise him but doesn't.