He’s held out for hours, but even his strength is waning in an unfamiliar position such as this one. He can feel tears of frustration pricking his eyes when he has to lower himself minimally, allowing the slick, smooth bulge of the fake cock to breach him farther.

Someone of the crowd around him cheers and it makes him pull himself back up in a last ditch effort, belly fluttering with his quick, panicked breaths. A day later, Endeavor would be able to look at himself in tabloids, his biggest shame hidden by black censor bars, but nothing to hide the long stretch of his body as he dangles helplessly and humiliatingly at the lamp post in downtown.

Up on the balls of his feet, the insidious toy is still breaching him just so. Just enough to make him needy and frustrated with the almost-stretch that never comes because he is too proud. Tries to hold out just to spite those horny onlookers that are jeering for him to give him.

His arms are numb, the cool breeze tickling the hair in his pits and making him squirm.

A few minutes later, even the jeers of the crowd around him can’t motivate him anymore to keep up. He looses the fight against his fatigued muscles and slides down in one smooth, sudden rush, arms pulled taut, head thrown back as the cone shaped cock glides into him deep and sudden, spearing into his guts and spreading his hole just this side of uncomfortable.

His mouth is open wide but no sound has come out.

As the crowd watches in perverse delight, Endeavor’s hips start rocking minimally, shamefully fucking himself after hours of holding out. He’s crying tears of frustration that evaporate immediately in the heat of his flames.