Peter could feel it, the steady swing of Carver’s balls knocking into him a familiar sensation made strange by the hood.
That wasn’t the only thing that was different. He missed the scent of Carver’s body. Usually when Carver fucked him like this, Peter was overwhelmed by the smell of sweat and alpha musk, but now the dominant scent filling his nose was that of the leather hood.
It was nowhere near as good.
Opening his throat, hands clenched into fists by his side, Peter started to drift as Carver grabbed his feet and held on as he jackhammered his cock into Peter’s mouth. He timed his breaths to Carver’s thrusts, and though getting enough air was a challenge, he didn’t feel like he was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.
Despite his fear over the loss of his safety signal, Peter was getting off on Carver’s inconsiderate treatment.
His cock, trapped and helpless in its new cage, struggled to get hard, his hole clenching down like it could compensate for the lost pleasure if it only got something inside of it.
Instead of playing with his hole, Peter felt Carver’s fingers pinch down on his nipples. He was wearing his sandpaper gloves, and as he squeezed Peter’s tender nubs, he rubbed them between his thumb and index finger, pain shot down Peter’s chest like lightning.
He screamed around Carver’s cock, but that only made Carver tug harder.
Ithurt. Peter’s cock throbbed against the tight plastic of the cage, his hole an empty cavern, each cruel tug and rub on his chest making him more and more desperate to come.
Carver slammed his hips forward, cock throbbing as Carver came, shooting thick ropes of come into his belly and locking his knot into place behind his teeth. His cock filled Peter’s throat, stretching it and making it bulge, the base of his ball-sac nestled over Peter’s nose. The scent of Carver’s body was finally more pronounced than the new leather of his hood.
Peter wondered if Carver was talking to him. Usually, this was the point when he’d start telling him what a good little slut Peter was, and Peter missed hearing it.
Carver let go of Peter’s right nipple, gloved hand clamping down over his Adam’s apple and squeezing the bulge he’d created in Peter’s throat. The coarse texture of his glove rubbed the skin of Peter’s throat raw, the pressure choking him and making it impossible to breathe.
Vision going white, Peter gurgled on Carver’s cock as he tugged uselessly on his restrained wrists.
Overwhelmed, this was the point where Peter would have slapped Carver’s thigh to make him take it a little easier, but with his wrists bound, he didn’t have the option and Carver kept on choking him.
On the verge of passing out, Carver finally released his grip and moved his hand back to Peter’s nipple. He twisted it roughly, ramping up the intensity of the abuse, rubbing both of Peter’s nipples raw between his fingers like he was trying to make them bleed.
Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he succeeded.
Floating on a cloud of agonized pleasure, Peter almost didn’t notice when Carver took off his gloves and rubbed his raw nipples tenderly. The feel of callused skin, so soft in comparison, was like a balm.
Then Carver put on the nipple clamps and Peter’s vision went white as the pain rocked him to his core.
If this was how much the clamps hurt going on, Peter didn’t even want to imagine what they would feel like when Carver tore them off.
Then Carver reached for Peter’s hole and the pain of the clamps was worth it. Carver pushed into his ass with three fingers, rough and brutal, tugging on his rim and stretching him open with brutal efficiency.
Peter wanted more, and Carver obliged. Three fingers became four, Carver pushing into his hole down to his knuckles, thumb stroking over his taint and pushing down on his prostate from either direction.
Peter didn’t know how, but the pressure on his prostate combined with the sheer agony in his nipples pushed him over the edge and made him come. His cock, soft and useless, spilled its load with a seeping sort of slowness that was entirely unsatisfying.
It was by far the worst orgasm of Peter’s life, leaving him more frustrated than he’d been before he came.
Carver ignored the orgasm entirely, massaging Peter’s prostate until he was squirming and thrashing from sheer overstimulation.
Peter checked out. Hurting, frustrated, and turned on, he allowed the floaty feeling to overtake him completely. Carver tugged on the nipple clamps and played with his ass, but Peter didn’t notice. It felt like he was underwater, the sound of his pulse the only sound thrumming in his ears.
Knot going down, Carver’s cock slipped out of his mouth. He immediately replaced it with the gag, buckling it into place before releasing Peter from the bench.
Standing on his own two feet, thighs trembling, Peter was dizzy from the sudden change in position. He leaned against Carver, off-kilter and clutching after his alpha for reassurance.
Carver took his hands, holding them both in one big mitt and squeezing them gently. He reached up and brushed over Peter’s nipple, making him hiss and jerk away.
Carver relented, and Peter imagined that he was grinning that smug grin he got whenever he’d knotted Pete’s mouth. It was as obnoxious as it was hot.
Wondering what was going to happen now, Peter was surprised when Carver bent down and grabbed his leg, helping him back into his pants. He then put Peter’s shirt on, the tight cotton rubbing his nipples—still in the brutal clamps—and nearly making him pass out from the pain.
