“You won’t,” Scott whispered, shoving his face into the crook of Thomas’s neck.
Thomas held him close.
“Come on,” he mumbled, getting to his feet and taking Scott with him. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Chapter twenty-eight
Epilogue
Threemonthslater
“You sick, sick man,” Scott panted, tugging on the restraints securing his wrists to the bed. His sweaty back stuck to the sheet beneath, and the flush in his skin went from his ears to his toes. It was humiliation, shame even, but above all else, it was evidence of his own enjoyment. He shouldn’t have been loving what Thomas was doing to him. He should’ve been shouting out balloon and calling time on this particular video, but he wasn’t.
No. He wasn’t.
He was panting, squirming on the bed, waiting for Thomas to give him more. His dick was too hard, his skin was too sensitive, and Thomas’s gloating face was everything. He’d made Scott crave something he would’ve recoiled at six months before.
This was Sex Toys and Control, with Thomas fully taking charge, with a sex toy so crazy, so obscene, Scott had been convinced Thomas was lying to him all until he got a taste of it across his tongue
It was made of him.
Things got very real after that.
Scott only had himself to blame. He kept asking what Thomas had done with his cum, and Thomas refused to tell him, claiming Scott wasn’t ready yet.
It was too much of a leap for someone so vanilla.
Of course, Scott had seen that as a challenge and demanded to know, pouting and sulking for days until Thomas gave in.
That’s how he found himself in this position, tied down to the bed with a dildo made from his own cum being used on his hole. This particular dildo was ice cold in a vague rocket shape and had been kept in the freezer, covered in labels to prevent Scott or one of the staff from eating it.
It had been there for months.
All through Scott’s recovery.
It had been there, waiting…waiting to fuck him, Thomas had whispered into his ear when he’d first put it in, and those blunt words had made his cock jump inside the pump Thomas had it trapped in.
When summer changed to autumn, Jay had mentioned wanting to throw the ice lolly out, and Thomas had gone feral, threatening to throw Jay out the window instead.
Scott should’ve realised then that it was no ordinary ice lolly.
It was an implement of torture of a specific kind.
“Sick man,” Scott repeated, tossing his head back and forth against the pillow.
His hair had grown a few inches but wasn’t back to the luscious strands he’d once had. He couldn’t tuck it behind his ears, and the length at the front had reached the annoying stage where it itched Scott’s forehead and tickled his eyebrows. It didn’t bother him during the videos though, not with him sweating buckets and Thomas brushing it back with his fingers.
“Am I the sick one?” Thomas murmured, lounging beside Scott on the bed. He was fully dressed, propping his head up on one hand as he rubbed Scott’s nipples into peaks with the nose cone of the rocket.
“Yes,” Scott replied, gritting his teeth, trying to shift his body away from the ice. It was no use; Thomas had thoroughly strapped him down, not just his wrists, but there were belts across Scott’s chest, and the top of his legs, keeping him pinned.
It was one of Thomas’s fantasies, but he’d let Scott know he didn’t have to do it, especially if feeling that helpless brought back bad memories.
It didn’t bring back any memories.
But they were making them.
Scott found himself fully immersed in the present.
