Yes, but not without a fight

Jameson had the toy crushed beneath him, hips rolling slow and heavy, every thrust forcing thick, wet noises from the overstuffed tunnel.

“That’s it… no more fucking games,” he rasped, sweat dripping off his chest onto the silicone belly. “You’re done.”

The toy disagreed.

Without warning it locked every ring at once, harder than it ever had. Jameson felt the pressure skyrocket inside, an impossible swelling that made his eyes widen.

“Oh shit—”

A violent, wet *BOOM* erupted around his cock as the trapped gel detonated outward. Lube blasted in every direction: up his stomach, across his thighs, splattering the ceiling in sticky ropes. The recoil bucked the toy so hard his hips lifted an inch, but he slammed back down, snarling, pinning it flat again.

“Nice try, still not going anywhere.”

The toy instantly switched tactics. It twisted ninety degrees beneath him, cheeks grinding against the carpet, trying to roll out like a greased barrel. The gel made it frictionless; the whole torso spun wildly under his weight. Jameson’s knees skidded, his cock bent at a dangerous angle inside, but he threw his full weight forward and crushed it back down, chest heaving.

“Quit—fucking—spinning!”

It was panting now, or would be if it had lungs. One last, **** card. Deep inside, it **** every remaining drop of thick gel into a fat, pressurized ring right behind his head. Then it snapped everything open at once. The ring surged forward like a piston, trying to shove him clean out. For one heart-stopping second Jameson felt himself sliding, the toy almost slipping free.

He roared and slammed his hips down so hard the carpet burned his knees.

The piston of lube collapsed uselessly around his base, foaming out in a defeated gush.

That was the exact moment every failed escape, every brutal clench, every syrupy drag of gel finally broke him.

“Fuck—fuck—FUCK—”

Jameson’s back arched, eyes rolling white. He buried himself to the root and came in thick, endless pulses, flooding the already-ruined tunnel with heat. The toy clamped down one final, instinctive time, milking him through it like it wanted every drop as punishment.

His arms gave out.

He rolled sideways with a hoarse groan, collapsing onto his back, chest heaving, cock slipping free in a long, glistening string of cum and gel. His hands flopped to the carpet, limp, spent, brain blissfully empty.

The toy lay beside him for two full seconds, trembling, both holes gaping and drooling a slow, creamy river onto the floor.

Then it moved.

Cheeks clenched. Labia kissed the carpet.

Fop… fop… fop…

It inched away, slow but deliberate, dragging its ruined, overflowing body toward the dark safety of the open closet, leaving a wide, obscene trail behind it like a victorious, cum-drunk snail.

Jameson watched through half-lidded eyes, too wrecked to move.

“Yeah… run,” he slurred, voice hoarse and fond. “I’ll find you in ten minutes.”

The toy disappeared into the shadows without looking back.