CHAPTER 11
Every cell in Mark’s body surrendered all control to that command.
His legs shook; the phantom of the pain Caster’s grip on his thigh had brought a memory he wanted to revisit.
But more compelling was the desire to please Caster.
The tremble in his legs didn’t abate; the weakness was a consequence not of the orgasm he’d shuddered through a few minutes earlier, but his new arousal, of the effort it took to keep from tumbling past that line again.
Caster’s chuckle drew him away from that effort. “That’s the only one you’ll get for a while.” Then he was in his face, his hand gripping his cock tight enough to bring a stinging pain. His breath wafted across his face. “The last thing you want to do today is make me angry. What is the main rule?”
“I can’t come without your permission.” The words tumbled past his mouth too fast.
“Yes. And the other?”
He frowned, but then the memory of their “everything” day together cleared up any confusion. “I will do everything you ask, the way you tell me to.”
“Good.” His reward was a single stroke, the grip loosening just enough to transform pain into pleasure. He moaned when Caster granted him a second stroke and only just held back the frustrated groan when his hand disappeared.
Their proximity, the clash of his naked form against Caster’s fully clothed one, ratcheted up his arousal to impossible proportions. Other than that night at the club, he hadn’t handed over total control in so long, he feared he would be less than successful.
“That will only happen if you fail to trust me.” Once again, Caster read his mind, deciphered his emotions with zero effort.
“I trust you.” He took a breath, his voice stronger. “I love you.”
The smile on Caster’s face was genuine. “Then let me give you everything you want.”
He may have said yes or moaned his acceptance, but the thumb on his lips, the look of intense desire on Caster’s determined face as his eyes followed the path his thumb traced, was too distracting.
The kiss he expected, hoped for, begged for in his mind didn’t come.
Instead, Caster stepped away from him and reached for his hand.
The first test of his trust. He placed his hand in Caster’s.
Nothing would ever make him choose otherwise, and he allowed himself to be led to the equipment Caster chose.
The lack of analysis, his mind devoid of all thought but the desire to do whatever his dominant wanted, surprised him.
Even as he’d begged Caster to make it all go away, he’d known the challenge would be his resistance, the guilt of the past echoing through a mind that was still reeling from the events of the last few days.
But all he felt now was safety, security that allowed his mind the freedom to think of nothing at all.
Caster said nothing, even though he had to have been privy to the thought as he led Mark to the cross.
Its imposing black color was only broken by the vivid red of the cuffs on its edges, the cuffs that would hold him in place.
Caster guided him with care and secured his hands and then his feet to the cuffs so he faced the wall, his back to Caster.
He’d wanted to see him, but he wasn’t about to question his dominant’s choices.
Mark waited for panic, but all he felt was calm, even safe.
The restraints were tight enough that he couldn’t move, but not enough to cause pain.
The edges of the leather dug into his skin as he tested their strength, spreading his palm over the black wood of the cross.
“Good?”
He nodded his reply, and a sharp slap landed on his bare ass. The pain was nothing compared to what he expected would come later, but it still left him sore, the cool air in the room intensifying the sting.
“Use your words.”
“Yes, Caster.”
Caster’s hand floated through his hair to grip the short strands at the back of his head.
He pulled hard, and Mark moaned, unable to prevent his head from following the movement.
His whisper spoken into his ear did nothing to ease the insistent throb of his erection.
“I would gag you, but I love the noises you make.”
His moan ended on a sigh when Caster pressed his body into him, pushing him further into the cross.
“Like that. I want to hear that.” The tight grip in his hair eased into a caress. “This room is soundproof. Don’t hold back, yes?”
Mark was quick to verbalize his answer. An angry Caster is not what he needs.
“What’s your safe word, baby?” The whisper, still close, too close, stole his breath.
“Train.”
“Good.”
Mark may have imagined the kiss to his temple, but he was too busy enjoying the hum of pleasure at Caster’s pride.
He closed his eyes and took a breath. It was clear just from the last few minutes that he would need every ounce of his strength if he was to get through this without disappointing his dominant.
The sound of Caster gathering the tools he would need reached his ears, and the choice to secure him facing away from the room became apparent.
With just the imposing whiteness of the wall for company, Mark could only imagine Caster’s plans.
History, his association with other dominants, few as they may have been, had taught him not to anticipate.
But he couldn’t stop his mind from imagining all the options open to Caster.
He’d been telling the truth when he said he didn’t have many limits, at least when it came to pain. He was what his trainer had called a pure Masochist. He didn’t just enjoy physical pain; he craved it.
The signature of the cool air against his skin changed a fraction, and the distinct quality of Caster’s scent intensified. The hand on his ass was not bare. Was he wearing gloves? Why would—
He heard the sound before his body registered the pain, the blow from Caster’s palm delivering more impact than if he’d used a paddle. “Stop thinking!”
His mind, like his body, had no choice but to bow to Caster’s will.
All thoughts ceased, the consequential pain of his latest misstep still stinging.
He refocused his strength on his breath when Caster’s palm rubbed at his abused flesh, transforming the pain into pinpricks of pleasure. His cock throbbed, its need insistent.
Caster pressed his body into his, his palm splaying over his lower abdomen. “Conserve your energy, baby. You’ll need it.”
He moaned at Caster’s cock pressing against his bare ass, never mind that it remained concealed by his clothing.
“Now, what is the most important rule again?” His voice was a whisper caressing his mind, goading him.
“I can’t come without your permission.”
“Good.”
Then he was gone, replaced by the cool air of the room and the weight of anticipation. Mark’s muscles tightened with every passing second of nothing.
And just as he was about to give up and beg for something, anything, Caster’s hand on his ass returned.
A squirting sound joined his harsh breaths, and he jumped when Caster’s cold finger pressed against the tight muscle of his ass, only to relax a second later.
The finger went in with ease, drawing a moan from him.
He turned his head to the side and pressed his forehead into the frame of the cross, his restraints tightening when Caster withdrew his finger and replaced it with two.
The fingers thrust inside him in a rhythm that tore at his control, the pressure unrelenting as he granted Caster access to the most intimate part of himself. His cock throbbed, his moans rose in both volume and intent, a plea for more, a plea for relief.
The fingers disappeared, and he gasped, his breath returning to a more natural rhythm.
But Caster only allowed him a single cycle before the torture resumed.
The squirting sound he’d heard before rose above his next exhale, and something unyielding, harder pressed against his stretched hole.
It lacked the smooth familiarity of Caster’s cock.
It was hard, too hard, perhaps impossibly so, and it stretched him to painful proportions.
He breathed through the assault, his cock deflating as he took it in, only to roar back to life when Caster pulled it out and pushed it back in.
Mark’s restraints jiggled, as his body trembled with the consequence of what he was now certain was a toy hitting the right spot every time Caster pushed it in.
He cried out, he pleaded, he tried to push into it, rising to his tiptoes to get better purchase, but he couldn’t overcome his dominant’s will.
His body throbbed with pleasure, his cock begged for permission, and he forced himself to breathe through it.
Then just as fast as it had started, it all stopped.
His ass was still full of that maddening toy, his cock hard and leaking, his breath shallow.
He moaned his protest, his plea; he wasn’t sure which one.
He was mid-fortifying breath when a buzzing sound reached his ears in concert with a vibration that began inside him and ended at the tip of his cock.
He’d thought he was prepared for anything, but he hadn’t thought he’d be battling his need to cross the line this soon.
Mark couldn’t hold on to his cries if he’d wanted to.
The torturous pleasure from the vibrating plug rippled through his body, and he lost all thought of everything, his vision blurring as he tried to focus on holding on.
His safe word echoed in his mind, but he knew Caster would only heed the one explicitly spoken.
Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t get his tongue to form the words.
He’d just found that connection, the single word on the tip of his tongue, when the vibration eased, the torture subsiding, and his need became manageable.
His short, broken gasps were in perfect concert with the tremble of his muscles.
Caster’s body pressing into his tore a defeated moan from his lips. “You’re so good, my love. Just a little more?”
He moaned his response, unable to deny Caster anything. But the torture device still inside him didn’t roar back to life. Instead, he whined his protest when Caster moved away from him, the cool air in the room wafting across his flushed skin.
He took a breath, battling a headache that formed at his temples.
The shuffle of Caster’s feet broke the momentary silence.
Where was he going? The panic that he was moving further away from him disappeared with the warmth of his body at his back and the caress of his palm over his ass, the glove still covering his skin, a nuisance Mark resolved to get over.
“Still thinking too hard, huh?” Caster’s amused voice floated somewhere in his pleasure-drunk mind, but he was too far gone to worry about the consequences. “Let’s fix that.”
He stepped back, and Mark’s body tightened in anticipation, but the Caster who begged him to relax was no longer in the room.
He didn’t have time to take a breath before the first of the blows landed.
Again, Caster didn’t hold back. The pain tore Mark apart, rising like a wave to steal his breath, so painful his cock deflated, the prospect of pleasure forgotten.
He choked when Caster’s soothing palm increased the sting.
But the balm was short-lived, the second impact of the paddle landing at the same place.
Mark cried out. This was pain, just pain, none of the push and pull of the pain-pleasure pendulum, and the masochist in him reveled in it.
The third came much faster, and even his anticipation couldn’t have prepared him for it.
He heard his own scream echo in the room, reverberate in his mind, and his wolf awoke with a start.
The fourth lacked the intense dullness of a paddle. This one stung like a whip, the pain spreading in a straight pattern across his lower back. This time, his scream was a silent cry. His wolf howled out their shared pain, but then retreated as the pain pushed him past the line into pleasure.
The next crack of the whip over his skin awakened his desire, his cock surging back to life.
His cry this time was a moan, but Caster was done coddling him.
The paddle’s dull, bare pain returned with the next blow and, within the space of half a breath, was replaced by the whip’s impact on his back.
Caster alternated between the two with remarkable precision and speed, and Mark’s moans lost their intensity with each.
Warm liquid trickled down his back. Blood.
His blood. And still the insistent blow of the paddle and then crack of the whip in quick succession didn’t relent.
Again, he was there on that line. He cried out a warning, a warning Caster refused to heed as his fingers dug into the wood of the cross, seeking some relief and more pain in equal measure.
He could see that line; he could almost touch it, and the pleasure it promised was too much. Tears tumbled past unseeing eyes as Caster delivered the latest blow of the paddle, and just as he was about to admit his failure, the cool balm of Caster’s palm pulled him back from the edge.
He swung back to the pain side of the pendulum, and he moaned, the intensity of it like nothing he’d ever experienced.
“You’re so fucking beautiful!” Caster’s rough voice was somewhere above him. He floated back to himself, reaching for it, only for that torturous plug to whirr back to life.
The combination of intense pleasure and intense pain in almost equal measure was nothing short of sadistic.
His subdued moans became insistent cries, pleading with Caster to relent, but also to keep going.
His wolf was alive with everything they both felt, but it did nothing to ease his pain.
It seemed even he was held captive by Caster’s will.
Mark’s cries died to a few moans and short, sharp gasps of breath when the vibration stopped.
He was drenched in sweat, too hot, unsure of his own mind or even his feelings.
There was just Caster’s palm on his ass, spreading the fire of his work through his skin, his throbbing cock, and the impossible fullness in his ass.