His breathing grew labored as he worked himself toward climax. When his thighs began to tremble, I knew he was close.
"Stop."
His hand froze instantly. A groan escaped him, but he didn't argue. He simply obeyed, his cock throbbing against his abdomen.
I set my glass aside and moved toward the bed.
"Spread your legs. Wider."
He complied immediately.
The first touch of the crop was gentle, almost a caress as I traced it up the inside of his thigh. His muscles jumped beneath the leather.
"You enjoy pain," I observed. "Not agony. But a certain kind of hurt."
"Yes," he admitted.
"Why?"
He considered carefully. "It grounds me. Simplifies everything. When I hurt for you, there's nothing else. Just you and me and the pain connecting us."
I rewarded him with a sharp tap against his inner thigh, hard enough to leave a vivid red mark. His cock twitched in response.
I delivered a series of light taps to his perineum. His eyes clouded, unfocused. Tap. A sharp intake of breath. Tap. His lips parted. Tap. His stomach muscles contracted. Each response revealed a different facet of his surrender.
"Do you trust me?" I asked.
"Yes." No hesitation, though his voice cracked.
The crop landed with precise control across his balls. His entire body jerked, a sharp cry escaping before he could contain it. I watched his face carefully, caught the initial flash of genuine pain. Then came the conscious choice. The decision to accept it for me.
"More?"
"Yes," he breathed. “If it pleases you.”
I struck again, harder. His back arched, mouth opening in a silent scream. When his body settled, I noticed the first signs of the transition. His eyes lost their sharp focus. His breathing steadied into a deeper rhythm.
A third strike. This time, instead of fighting against it, he melted into the pain. His thighs relaxed. His fingers uncurled from the sheets.
"That's it," I murmured. "Let go."
The fourth strike was harder. His body accepted it, absorbed it. A soft sound escaped him, something deeper than a moan. His head rolled to the side, eyes half-lidded, gazing at something beyond the room.
I ran my palm over his reddened skin. "Look at me, Maxime."
It took several seconds for him to comply. When his eyes found mine, they were glassy and unfocused.
I set the crop aside and crawled onto the bed beside him. When I wrapped my hand around his cock, his whole body shuddered.
"You've pleased me," I told him. "Now you can come."
I stroked him quickly, efficiently, until his body arched beneath my hand, a cry torn from his throat as thick ropes of cum erupted over my fist. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes.
I kept stroking through each pulse, each wave. His body shook with the force of his release.
And I waited.
His eyes found mine, swimming with tears and need. His lips parted.
