Peter reeled, shocked and delighted to find himself pinned over Carver’s thick thigh.
“Yes, alpha,” he said, pushing his ass up. His cock was straining against the confines of the cage, heat pooling in his gut.
“Tex, would you find it for me?” Carver asked, rubbing Peter’s ass. “It’s in the bag over there.”
Tex retrieved the paddle, and without any ceremony, Carver brought it down on Peter’s ass.
“Ow!” Peter cried, thrashing and forcing Carver to pin him with a heavy hand to his lower back.
“Count,” Carver commanded, utterly unmoved by Peter’s cry of pain.
“One, alpha,” Peter mumbled, his ass stinging. The paddle stung, but it was also blunt, the pain moving deeper into his ass than Peter was used to.
Carver brought the paddle down again, and Peter counted out the strokes, each hit making his hole clench and his cock weep in its cage.
Peter hadn’t known he could produce pre-come without being hard.
By the tenth stroke, Peter was crying, Tex crouching down next to him and stroking his hair, telling him what a good boy he was.
After that, Peter didn’t even register what was happening. He stopped counting the hits from the paddle, his mind going to a floaty happy place where everything was bliss.
“You’re not counting,” Carver warned, smacking the paddle down twice in quick succession.
Peter moaned, the pain blinding. If he didn’t count, Carver would keep hitting his ass and the blissed-out floaty feeling would go on forever.
“He’s out of it,” Tex said, making Carver growl and slam the paddle down on Peter’s ass.
The pain was euphoric.
“Take it easy,” Tex said, reprimanding. Peter wished he would shut up.
“He loves it,” Carver said with vicious satisfaction, slamming the paddle down again. It hurt deep into his bones, slamming him into Carver’s thigh with bruising force.
Peter didn’t even care if he couldn’t get hard. He was in heaven.
“One last stroke,” Carver warned, rubbing the paddle on Peter’s ass. Peter grinned, the whooshing sound of the paddle crashing down toward his ass making his whole body tense in anticipation.
The last hit was the hardest, and even though he loved it—needed it—Peter burst into great hulking sobs.
He didn’t know if it was the pain or the knowledge that Carver was finished, but either way, he was overwhelmed and disoriented. Carver pulled him up and crushed him against his chest in a tight bearhug, whispering soothing words and stroking his back.
Leaning his cheek on Carver’s shoulder, hard and warm through his white dress shirt, Peter listened to the sound of his alpha’s voice rumbling in his chest and allowed his mind to drift. He felt peaceful and happy, and when Tex started rubbing his shoulders it only added to the happy floaty feeling.
Closing his eyes, ass throbbing and mind at peace, Peter drifted off to sleep.
37
Tex
Birds were chirping outside the window.
Tex stared up at the ceiling, the morning light casting a warm glow over the room, listening to Carver and Peter breathing softly beside him.
Both of them were asleep and peaceful. Carver was on his side, his thick thigh pushed up over Peter’s legs, while Peter was on his back with a trail of drool running down the side of his chin.
Tex watched them, feeling fond and sleepy and wondering how he’d gotten so lucky. Then he remembered the night before—remembered how Carver had grinned as he made Peter cry like a baby—and the good feeling faded.
He’d always known that Carver was something of a sadist—he even had the paperwork to prove it—but seeing it was disconcerting.
