It was true Nate had been warring with his desires, but after the last heat cycle his passion and lust for Alan had grown. It was also true that he wasn't entirely sure what all he was okay with Alan doing to him, mostly because of how humiliated he got. But Alan never insulted his intelligence or made him feel less than significant. His chest rose and fell with his arousal. It was a bit of a wonder why he wasn't running for the hills, but he was the one who had come to Alan's bed, and made a mess of his pillow. He was also the one walking around the house in skimpy clothes. "Oh, oh..." he moaned, pressing his ass against the teasing digits.<br/><br/>The stroking was driving him mad. There was no relief, and his hole fluttered and parted, desperate for something inside of him. Yet Alan wouldn't give in, wouldn't do what he wanted him to do. His skin was hypersensitive, extremely aroused, and he groaned again, then shook his head. He tried, but never got anywhere. "I don't want to tell you," he muttered, falling deep into that fantasy world of denying Alan to push him to do more to him. He was so hard, so aching. It was like a phantom heat. "Please Alan I need your fingers inside me," he breathed. Two things wrong with that sentence. He hadn't said sir, though a scene hadn't quite been set up, and he still admittedly had trouble referring to his hole as a pussy.<br/><br/>But he didn't keep begging, just continued to squirm and wriggle on top of him. He reached down to touch himself, wondering what Alan would do about it. He hadn't restrained his arms, and his hands were busy tormenting his body anyway.