And in response, he hit me again.
The leather of the tawse felt like fire, worse than any other toy he had in his arsenal, and he struck me with it relentlessly until the blindfold slipped loose from how wet my tears had made it. Instead of fixing it, Ronan pulled it down, and I blinked my reflection into focus in the mirror on top of the dresser.
Ronan’s phone continued to record, and he continued to hit me, taking breaks only to tease my balls with the threat of the tawse’s bitter kiss.
“What will people will think when they see you like this?” he asked, changing from the tawse to his hand. The warm impact of his palm was practically a welcome relief after the sting of the leather and he knew it, so he made a fist around my flesh, gouging his nails into my bruised and broken skin.
“That I’m yours,” I managed, the first thought that came to mind.
The glaring truth of my life.
“That was never in question,” he rasped, spanking me again.
His other hand plucked at the rope connected between the anal hook and the collar, pulling up at it, stretching my neck and my ass at the same time. I whimpered, the tears finally slowing because I’d cried them all out. I gasped, sputtering for breath, but all that existed was desperation and need.
“Ronan,” I whispered his name like a prayer, and he reached around me and between my legs, making a loose fist around my throbbing erection. He barely touched me, dragging his fingers from base to tip. My body shook on its own accord. I no longer had control of if I sweat or trembled, if I cried, what sounds I made. A guttural noise ripped out of my throat, my thighs quaking, pulling and pushing against the wood that stretched my balls, and Ronan took his hand away.
He waited, stoic and silent, then when I quieted, he returned his touch to the hottest part of my body. I swerved and twisted, finding no relief between the humbler and the hook. No longer seeing the pain in either, my muscles flexed and tensed, feeling nothing but pleasure in every acute throb of agony that coursed through me. The ghost of Ronan’s touch across my dick, the lilt of his laugh in my ear.
I needed to come.
I needed to breathe.
I needed something.
Ronan circled his hand around the swollen head of my cock, squeezing like he was trying to wring a sponge dry. My back arched and bowed, pressure building inside of me and I screamed. The sound that tore from my throat didn’t sound human to my ears, and the desperation echoed around us until my voice cracked. I sucked in a breath, a whimper, my balls hot as coals stretched behind my thighs.
“Hush now,” Ronan soothed in my ear, releasing the vise grip he’d had on my cock. “Hush. Hush. You’re safe.”
I knew I was safe.
I knew.
But fuck, I hurt.
I needed.
Pleasure ebbed back toward pain and I felt every point of contact on my skin. The smooth nylon threads of rope against my spine, the metal in my ass that had warmed like a cock, the wood and metal against the backs of my thighs no longer felt foreign. Even the collar around my throat that kept me on display felt rough and welcome against my Adam’s apple. I closed my eyes, air not even coming close to filling my lungs. Everything hurt, but I’d never felt more alive. Every breath stuttered, abandoning itself in my throat, and I closed my eyes to stop my vision from doing the same.
“Ronan,” I croaked again, and I felt his hands return to me, petting their way down my body. Over the bumps of my spine and the curve of my waist and hips. Every pain point morphed into pleasure, replaced by Ronan’s delicate and tender touches. His affirmation and his praise.
His skilled fingers worked the rope loose from the collar, the coil landing gently against my back. Ronan massaged the back of my neck, my shoulders, then kissed me softly on the shell of my ear. He eased the hook out of me, dropping it on the ground with a thud. My hole gaped, searching to be filled, and Ronan obliged, shoving three fingers right into me.
“Pick up the phone,” he instructed from behind me, one hand against the spot between my shoulder blades, the other inside of me. I didn’t see when he’d moved it from the dresser and put it there, but I reached forward, picking it up and seeing myself on the screen.
“Push play,” he said, shoving a fourth finger into me. Cold and thick lube squelched around my hole as Ronan used his fingers to work me open.
I tapped the screen and relived the beginning of our session, eyes fixated on the way Ronan played my body like an instrument he’d known his whole life. When I screamed, he pushed his entire fist inside of me, and somehow, I came. Cum leaked out of my dick, a steady stream pooling on the sheets, and I screamed again, surging away from his hand, only for him to follow. He pulled his fist out and punched back in, and I came more, and more, and more.
I thought I’d cried myself free of tears earlier, but Ronan proved me wrong. Because when my balls had been emptied of every last drop, fresh tears slicked down my face, and I came apart in Ronan’s arms.
Chapter Nineteen
Ronan
Kevin and his promise of obedience lasted until Foster walked into the condo on Monday night. I’d been braced for a fight, but I’d expected it from Foster, not him. Foster was mad we’d come home, as if we could put our lives on hold and fuck ourselves into oblivion until he decided it was acceptable for us to come back to L.A.
“I have to go to work.” I threw an accusatory glance in Foster’s direction as he made himself at home on the couch.
