Chapter 33
GIBSON
It takes two weeks of careful use for me to train Christian’s hole from going into full blown raw, angry, swollen mode whenever I fuck him.
The night before he’s scheduled to leave for the Hamptons, I’m pleased to see that while we had sex the minute he walked into my office this morning, his asshole shows no lingering signs of abuse.
As it is in real estate—patience pays off, but sometimes time is short, and you have to know when it’s time to make a bold move.
I have him cuffed face down on my bed at the club, spread-eagled, with his cock aimed down. Presumably, he’ll be in a swimsuit this weekend, so I have to be judicious about this scene while still giving him what he needs—suffering. With a riding crop, I swat the soles of his feet.
He’s jumpy tonight. Overly responsive. He starts jerking before the crop even makes contact.
Christ, but he looks so good like this. His creamy skin against the dark bedding and leather restraints. His perfect pink hole and his rosy balls. His straw colored hair already damp at the roots with sweat. Fucking gorgeous. It’s almost hard to hurt him.
Almost.
It’s worth it.
Another spot that will be effective and yet subtle is his inner thighs. I surprise him there. He yelps—high pitched and so cute, I grin. I won’t be smiling soon, so I’ll enjoy what I can while it lasts. I alternate soft taps between his legs before snapping my wrist and making it sting.
“Oh—shit—”
If he’s still talking, he’s nowhere close to where he needs to be, but I enjoy a challenge. He’ll invite me to the goddamn Hamptons by dawn if I have to choke the words out of him. Stubborn little shit.
“Hold still,” I say with some sarcasm.
The problem with Christian is—among myriad other issues—he truly requires raw flesh to get into the state he needs to be.
Tuesday night, I didn’t make him cry, and he told me to forget the whole thing—that the scenes weren’t helping anymore.
Which of course made me panic, but only for a moment, because then he started talking. And talking and talking.
He talked about Trinity and her parents and God and her death for so long he made us both cry, and then he climbed on top of me, started kissing my neck and begging me to fuck him.
Irresistible.
Needless to say, he has not started seeing a therapist. He has no time. I blame myself for that, and I’m doing my best to give him what he needs without triggering something in him I’m not deft enough to handle.
“I don’t care if you leave marks,” he says again.
“I’m sorry—are you in charge here?”
Of course, we both know he is, but the illusion is the point.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
I’ve done my research, and too many male sex toys—especially the more brutal ones—I don’t trust myself with.
The worst thing I can imagine is damaging some fragile internal structure inside him and accidentally sterilizing him or something.
The risk/reward ratio is far too high. Clamps, shock devices—any sort of testicular stretching device—I won’t do.
Hot wax would probably only annoy him, and he’s increasingly difficult to humiliate.
I’ve had to step up my Dom game, and the opportunity to do so is welcome.
Christian is long-limbed, but the bed is large, and I have options for where I attach the restraints. He’s stretched taut, which means any movement will be uncomfortable. Sudden movements will be worse, and twisting movements will push him past his limits.
I open my newly stocked drawer and pull out a steel cock ring.
I bought this one in person, so I know it will fit.
I’m rough with him when I put it on. He’s got a flagging-semi, and the ring fits snugly around his cock and balls, bundling them together and preventing an easy orgasm, in case the rest of what I have planned actually works.
I’m jealous of the anal plug as soon as it breaches his hole.
Watching the way his ass clenches around it—the way the four-inch toy sinks inside him, has me stiffening in my pants.
His pelvis tilts, rocking against the mattress, and he groans as every muscle stretches—as his cock stretches. “What is this?” he murmurs.
“Are you going to use your safe word?”
“No.”
“Then stop asking questions.”
I press the button on my remote, and he jolts. “Fuck!”
As soon as he relaxes again and manages a deep breath, I push it again, holding it down for several seconds and making him squirm as the plug in his ass and its accompanying well-fitted cock ring vibrate. “Shit,” he gasps when I release the button.
I slap his feet with the crop again to confuse his attention, then go straight for his inner thighs. He doesn’t start breathing heavy, though, until I buzz him again.
Reaching between his thighs, I feel his cock, giving it a squeeze to test its firmness. Semi and growing. He tries to press into my touch because he truly can’t help himself, but I remove my hand and send the riding crop straight to his balls.
He makes a noise of total shock, and his thighs shake.
“Are you praying yet, pretty boy?”
He doesn’t respond, his gasps choked from the direct hit, so I buzz him again while I count to ten in my head.
He starts pulling at the restraints at five and jerking through spasms at eight.
The expression on his face is close to rapturous, and I know that look.
I’ve memorized it. I often jerk off to the image of it when I’m showering.
I release the buzzer just before he reaches his edge and go back to slapping his inner thighs.
I give his cock a few rough tugs with my hand to remind him I have options, and he’s got a safe word, and then I buzz him for a single second.
He digs his forehead into the bed, his neck bending as he pants heavily onto the mattress.
Tossing the crop onto the floor, I get into bed with him, settling my body between his spread open legs.
Torturing him with pleasure is still torture, and when it comes to him, I can only watch for so long. He’s become my biggest weakness.
I draw his balls into my mouth and get them as wet as possible so he can hear the slurping noise it makes when I suck on them again.
I lick the tiniest bead of precum from his strangled cock and then hit him with an eight count vibration.
Looking up, I watch his reaction. His hands open and close on air.
His hips rock, trying to fuck something, and his back heaves with sharp groans.
I follow up the long buzz with a series of short, rhythmic pulses that have him rigid and groaning. His muscles strain and pull, and it’s so gorgeous. So erotic. I can barely wait to replace the plug with my cock, but we’re not nearly done yet.
While I doubt he’ll safe word, I do think he’ll start to wish he weren’t so stubborn.
I deny him a second orgasm, and he grunts his frustration, flattening himself to the bed and cursing.
“It’s going to help if you can begin to accept what’s happening to you. What’s going to keep happening over and over and over until you break.”
He nods. I suck his balls again, just because I want to.
I put on some trance music and settle in for the long haul, edging him repeatedly both mentally and physically.
Because pleasure is involved, the moments of pain are necessarily shorter.
Between simulating his prostate and his cock with vibrations, I suck hickeys into his inner thighs, the creases beneath his ass, and of course, the holy grail of his body, his ass itself.
I lose count of how many orgasms he doesn’t have.
A playlist’s worth pass before I hear him wearing thin and meeting his defeat.
His body twitches uncontrollably. I can’t imagine the fatigue in his muscles and joints.
He’s glistening with sweat, covered in my marks, and his balls are a dusky shade of blue—swollen and painful looking.
At the end of a long buzz that has him ratcheting up again and his cock helplessly twitching, I cut him off and nip his scrotum with my teeth.
He sobs, finally.
I draw out his agony with a few long sucks of his cock that aren’t enough to get him off, especially with the cock ring, and his body shudders before going completely limp with a full show of surrender.
Sliding the plug out, but leaving the cock ring on, I crawl over his body, slide on a condom, and stuff myself inside him
Gritting my teeth at the tight squeeze, once I’m deep enough, he bears down and stops choking my dick with his ass. The plug had plenty of lube on it, and I slide through it easily, dying inside at the electric pleasure of his body enveloping and welcoming my cock.
He’s crying quietly as I fuck into him, lost in his head and giving up his body for me to use. I wrap my arms beneath his, press my cheek to his head and pump my hips methodically, humping him.
“Christ, oh Christ, oh Christ,” he chants.
I don’t particularly want to because he feels so fucking good like this, but I’m eager to end this scene.
It’s gone on an extremely long time, and it’s stretched my patience and my affection for him beyond what’s comfortable.
Meaning, I can’t bear seeing him like this anymore.
He’s much stronger than I am, though, because I think he would tolerate this as long as I dealt it out.
But I’ll never last. My need is so harsh, it has me chasing my own orgasm like my life is at risk, and I’ll die if I don’t come.
I reach down and manage to wrestle the cock ring off, but his dick is still smashed downward, and I have nearly my full weight on top of him.
My slow, gliding strokes turn to powerful thrusts that have him howling with the way his body has to fight the restraints.
He’ll wind up with cuff marks, but that’s not as bad as split skin.