It did not matter which Raikov the sound had come from; it would always be a beautiful sigh, a gentle noise to contrast his harsher, hardened exterior and his gruffer means in the art of fucking someone in the ass senseless. His thrusts remained short and shallow, but his hand continued to work; he had the stamina in his older body to do so despite the creeping edge of discomfort nibbling at the fringes.

But still, Volgin asked:

"Yes, my little Vanya?"

His hand grasped around as much cock as it could, which was not a terribly difficult feat given the size of it versus the size of Ivan's length. It was closing around him dangerously. There was a tension in Volgin's hand, like he was priming something.

It might have been all too easy to figure out exactly what it was.

"What was this about you finishing before me?"