Fisting was now permanently off the table—at least until Peter could admit that he’d been an ass about it.
And Chad didn’t even want to think about cock and ball torture. The only time they’d tried it Peter had put his balls in a strange sleeve that pushed his testicles down into the very bottom of their sac, squeezing them unbearably tight, and tapped them with the end of his crop until Chad had been a sweaty mess. The pain had been strange and awful—and completely out of proportion to how lightly Peter had been hitting him.
“Well?” Peter asked, his hand coming up and stroking over Chad’s chest. He twirled Chad’s left nipple between his thumb and index finger, not pinching down at all, making small thrills travel down Chad’s stomach and into his cock.
“Cock and ball torture,” Chad said, surprising himself. His nuts were pulled tight in anticipation of what Peter was going to do to them—or maybe they were just trying to escape back into his body in horror of Chad’s decision.
Peter seemed surprised too.
“Really?” he asked, moving his hand down from Chad’s chest and cupping his balls. He lifted them up like he was feeling their weight, just letting them rest in the palm of his hand.
“Yeah,” Chad said, his gut clenching when Peter’s fingers curled up and enveloped his balls in their grip. Peter wasn’t squeezing, but all it would take was a clench of his fist and Chad would be in agony.
“Fine with me,” Peter said, his voice dark and pleased. He dropped Chad’s balls and stepped away, leaving Chad feeling unsteady and wondering what was going to happen next.
He couldn’t wait to find out.
***
