It would probably have been easier for Dylan if August had just yanked it out like he’d been doing before, rather than stretching it out and making him feel every second of the obviously excruciating exit.
“Untie his ankles, would you?” August asked, letting the dildo fall to the floor. He nodded his chin toward Dylan’s legs. “I’ll get his hands.”
Dylan looked both relieved and a little disappointed to be released from his bondage. Ryker unhooked the carabiner holding his legs together, pushing his legs away from his head and making him grimace at the change in position.
August unclipped the bondage mittens from Dylan’s collar and slipped them off his hands, taking his palms into his fingers and rubbing into them with his thumbs.
Dylan’s legs dangled over the end of the bondage bench, awkward and flailing, and so Ryker lifted his torso up and helped him sit. He put his hands on Dylan’s shoulders and gave them a squeeze.
“Better?”
Dylan grimaced, shifting from side to side as he struggled not to put any weight on his abused hole.
“Yeah. I just felt like I was going to get a cramp in my leg.”
August took the words as a cue. He crouched down in front of the bench by Dylan’s legs, taking his thigh in his hands and glancing up at him. “Which leg?”
Dylan froze, looking surprised to see August crouching down in front of him. He swallowed, his gaze fixing on August’s hands on his thigh.
“The left one.”
August shifted his grip to Dylan’s left thigh and started massaging the muscle with firm strokes of his gloved hand.
Dylan sat there, staring down at August with reverent worship radiating from his expression.
“We don’t want you to cramp,” August said, wrapping his hand around the back of Dylan’s thigh and leaning in to place a gentle kiss behind his knee. “Only the good kind of hurt for our boy.”
Dylan’s skin prickled, spreading from his neck and down his upper arms, and Ryker smirked. He reached out and brushed the pad of his index finger down Dylan’s shoulder, making him shudder as he smoothed out the tiny bumps.
“Do you want to continue?” Ryker asked, keeping his hand on Dylan’s shoulder and leaning down to kiss the top of his head.
Dylan closed his eyes, his breathing still a little fast, and nodded. When he opened his eyes, he looked over his shoulder and met Ryker’s gaze.
“Can we move things to the bedroom?” He bit his lip and swallowed. “And just have normal sex, this time?”
Staring into Dylan’s big eyes as the boy begged to be taken to bed and fucked, Ryker just about melted.
“Of course. Right, August?”
August, mouth still pressing kisses to Dylan’s inner thigh and behind his knee, chuckled.
“Of course.”
10
AUGUST
Monday morning found August riding the elevator up to his clinic with a wide grin on his face.
He and Ryker had been on two more dates with Dylan since their first official outing, cooking him dinner at their apartment on Friday night and taking him to the movies and then back to their apartment on Sunday, and both evenings had gone swimmingly.
Dylan was adorably shy – his real-life personality a far cry from the rather forward way he’d presented himself online – but August liked the real-life version of Dylan much better than his online persona. He might not have as much kink experience as he’d claimed – oranykink experience – but he was eager to try things out, and he was good at letting August and Ryker know when something was too much for him.
To August’s consternation, he was still refusing to budge on wearing the chastity cage. August had pushed the issue on their Friday night date – going so far as to bring the cage with him to the bedroom and taking it out when he was knot deep in Dylan’s hole – but Dylan had balked and now Ryker had forbidden him from bringing it up again.
August had been tempted to just put the boy into the cage when he was fucked out and blissfully unaware of his surroundings, but Ryker had given him a look that promised violence if he so much as attempted it.
It was crazy how Ryker always seemed to know what he was thinking. Like on Sunday night, when without even discussing it they’d looked at each other across the dinner table and decided that they were putting Dylan in a straitjacket and spit-roasting him while Ryker smacked his ass with his favorite riding crop.
