Chapter 22 #2
I admired the pattern of diamonds on his very red ass. “More?”
“Um…sure?” His breathing was more labored.
Sweat broke out on my brow. Anyone who thought the Tops didn’t sweat either didn’t understand or wasn’t doing it the way I was. “Okay.” I gave him another ten light taps, then walloped him repeatedly.
“Jesus.” Sort of a yelp.
I laughed. Out loud. With vigor and enthusiasm.
He cut me a look.
I shrugged.
He grinned. “I can take it.”
I had no doubt. When we played in the future, I might allow him to sink into subspace. I’d been there once, in my early days, when I was learning what being a bottom felt like. I was also friends with topspace. A place I very much enjoyed, but I had to be careful with that. Not to lose control.
Again, I gave him another series of taps and a hard hit. “You won’t be able to sit tomorrow without pain.”
“I look forward to that, Sir.”
I laughed out loud. God, I love him. Shit. His sense of humor. I love his sense of humor.
On that thought, I tossed the paddle onto the bed. I knelt behind him to examine my handiwork. Yep, those would be very nasty bruises. As I’d hoped. I’d respect the no-marks rule—nothing where people might see them. No one was seeing Jack’s ass except me.
No one.
Because we were exclusive.
Thank Christ.
I pressed a kiss to one bruise.
He moaned as he shifted.
I repeated my actions. On every bruise and every diamond mark. Then I pulled his cheeks apart and ran my tongue along his crack above the plug.
He shuddered.
Remove the plug? Eat his ass now or later?
Bad shoulder.
Later…when he’s pliant and blissed out on the bed.
I opened my mouth and sank my teeth into the nastiest bruise. I bit. Hard.
“Jesus.”
After a good thirty seconds, I slowly released him.
My teeth marks were white in contrast to the purple bruise.
A moment later, they disappeared. God, I wish I could take a picture.
I had a digital folder under several layers of encryption—photos taken with the full permission and active participation of the bottoms. Never so they could be identified.
Quite a few of Mickey. He was, at heart, an exhibitionist.
I moved to Jack’s other cheek and bit again.
“Oh dear Lord.”
Yep. Perfect. Aware that time was passing, though, I stood and moved back to the bed. Whip. The implement most people associated with BDSM. The one I’d spent the most time learning—and then perfecting.
I took the proper stance behind Jack, double-checked the distance, then let the first throw go. I snapped it just beside his ear—but not touching him.
His sharp intake of breath assured me he’d figured out what I was doing.
I repeated the process with the other ear.
He shifted again.
When he didn’t speak—or object—I let go the first strike.
It perfectly hit his left shoulder.
Undoubtedly, he’d be confused.
The strike was a whisper. Barely a touch. And I continued with those gentle caresses as I hit so many places—shoulder, back, thigh, ass. Those hits had him squirming because, truthfully, even a light touch against those sore bruises would be a unique sensation. A sort of stinging.
Again, with precision and care, I increased the intensity of my strikes. Harder and harder. The goal was not to draw blood—because we hadn’t negotiated that—but welts were just fine.
Welts were perfect.
He shifted repeatedly. Which amused me greatly because he couldn’t predict where the next strike would land.
I let the final two strikes—the hardest—land exactly where I’d bitten him.
He howled.
Pleasure surged through me, and my cock thickened.
“Step toward the window, turn around, and place your back and ass against the glass.”
He scrambled to obey. His gaze shot to mine as the cold hit his welts and bruises. Ice was always recommended—I was just being creative.
I held up the whip. “Close your eyes and fucking keep them closed, okay? Do you understand?”
He nodded.
“Nope, I need to hear you say it.”
“I understand.” A little breathless. A lot turned on.
His cock bobbed.
He closed his eyes.
I did several strikes on his very lovely stomach. He wasn’t washboard ripped, but he was still stunning. Slowly, I eased my way up. Then, with a precision that would make my whip master proud, I struck first his right nipple. His left was an easy shot as well.
A tear ran down his cheek.
I hadn’t done more than a caress on his nipples—so potential pain from that wasn’t the cause.
These certainly weren’t the first tears I’d ever witnessed in a scene.
But they were the first that ate me right to the core. My heart seized.
I dropped the whip, and it fell, unheeded, to the floor. With deliberation, I moved to him. Gently I cupped his cheek.
He stirred, but he didn’t open his eyes. Whether because he was embarrassed or for some other reason, I couldn’t be certain.
With exquisite gentleness, I pressed my lips to the tear.
Another fell.
Then another.
I kissed them all. I ran my hands up and down his arms—offering whatever comfort I could.
He sniffed. He held in the sobs—even as he shook with them.
We hadn’t negotiated catharsis—a scene where we deliberately set out to enable a breakdown.
Where it was both initiated and welcomed.
I’d done those scenes. They were incredibly powerful for everyone involved.
And I usually only did them with a third party in the room.
Someone to comfort the submissive if they couldn’t accept the care from me.
But this?
Unexpected.
But I could work with it.
I had to work with it.
He sniffed again and slowly opened his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For all of it. I didn’t—”
I pressed a kiss to his lips. Yes, I would let him speak but, in this moment, he needed the reassurance that nothing was amiss. This was normal. I didn’t think less of him.
His insistent cock bobbed between the two of us. I would’ve expected it to go flaccid, but it hadn’t.
I pulled back and met his gaze. “May I give you a blowjob? You’re free to say—”
“Yes.” His pupils were blown and huge in the low light of the gray day, but the beautiful brown iris was still visible.
I held my gaze to his.
“One hundred percent, Devon. Hell, maybe a thousand. Please—” His breath hitched. He reached down to grasp the base of his cock. “I want to come in your mouth, Sir.”
“Then you shall.”