The way I like to.
He squats down and fists my cock in his hand, his grip painful around my swollen tip. He pushes me back onto my heels and pulls a short length of rope from his back pocket and wraps it around my balls, stretching them until I wince, then he threads the rope around my collar.
I wish he would have let me come earlier, because I’m about to now.
“It seems there’s no table.” He shoves me back onto all fours, and I stare at the shiny black of Raf’s boots and I want to lick the polished leather. I know the taste against my tongue because he’s made me do it before. I’ve begged to do it before.
He walks away and I stay because he hasn’t told me to follow. Metal clinks and drawers open, and then he’s back with me. He squats down behind me and wraps cool leather cuffs around my ankles and I can’t close my legs. He must have used a spreader bar, and I’m bared open like this—to him, and for him, and for whoever else he wants to see me like this.
He moves and cuffs my wrists in front of me, clipping the d-rings to another bar. My body is spread and rigid, and I can’t go anywhere. Not that I’d want to, anyway. He threads a long bar beneath me, fastening it to the bar between my wrists and the one between my legs. I’m immobilized, and he stands up and smooths his hand down my spine. He touches my ass again. My cheeks are spread apart because my legs are, and he drizzles some lube down my crack. He pushes two fingers inside of me and rubs my prostate until I’m begging him for more.
And he stops. Because he loves me.
His fingers are gone, replaced with something cold, and hard, and round, then rounder and rounder as he’s pushing whatever it is inside of me. My ass seals closed around every ball that pushes into my channel until the penetration is deep and the stretch burns, and Raf laughs, pushing deeper still with a twist of his wrist.
I cry out but can’t escape him.
“It’s going to feel so good when someone takes that out of you,” he promises, standing up. I notice he says ‘someone,’ not him, which means…
Which means…
My lashes flutter and I look down at the floor.
“What is your safeword, Charles?” He uses my given name, indicating the scene is on.
“Red, Your Grace,” I whisper, and then the room is silent and I’m alone.
