Then I lean in, voice right in his ear.
“If you want to get out of this room, you’re going to have to earn it.”
I want him nervous. Not afraid, just… aware.
He still isn’t quite understanding, so I select a different flogger, thick-cut buffalo leather, not the soft suede from before. The weight of it is perfect, balanced, easy to control. I run the tails over my hand, then over his back. He shudders, more anticipation than fear.
I start slow. Three lashes, building from shoulder blades to lower back, the noise sharp and echoing. He bites his lip, breath hissing out between clenched teeth. I pause, let the sensation sink in.
“Do you know what I love about this?” I ask.
He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes.
I deliver a single, measured strike to his ass, right where the plug is buried. He yelps, the sound ricocheting off the walls.
“I love the way people think they can handle pain. But pain is never the point. Control is.”
I step closer, dragging my nails down the line of his spine, over the welts I left. He leans into the touch, almost involuntarily. His cock is hard as a rock and leaving a small puddle of pre-cum on the floor.
“You don’t break people with pain. You break them with the promise of it. With the knowledge that I can stop at any second, but I won’t.”
He looks at me over his shoulder, lips parted.
I drop the flogger, run my hand over the marks, then grab his cock. It’s hard, rigid, the skin flushed almost purple.
“Why are you hard?” I ask.
He tries to pull back, but the restraints give only a little. “I don’t know.”
I stroke him, slow, once, twice, then stop. “Liar.”
He glares at me, then looks away.
I slap his cock, the sound muted but the effect immediate. He flinches, a line of wetness beading at the tip. I use my thumb to smear it across the head, then step back.
“You like this,” I say, matter-of-fact.
He closes his eyes. “No, I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Landon. You’re terrible at it.”
I walk in a slow circle, let him feel me behind him, then deliver a quick succession of strikes across his back and thighs. He grunts, pain mixing with something else. He’s breathing harder now, sweat breaking across his skin.
I grab the base of his cock again, squeeze until his knees shake, then whisper in his ear, “Say it.”
He’s shaking, but he finally gives in, “I like it.”
I reward him with a gentle kiss to his shoulder, then a rougher stroke to his cock. He almost whimpers, then catches himself.
“See?” I say, “Not so hard.”
Walking to my vault of toys, I pick out a bigger plug than the one he’s wearing. He sees it, eyes wide. “No. Please.”
I smile, then pull out the smaller plug with a slick, wet pop. He shudders, knees almost buckling. I rub a little lube on the new one, then press it to his hole. He clenches, but I push, relentless, until the tip slides in.
He yells, a raw, animal noise, but I don’t stop. I work it deeper, inch by inch, until it seats inside him, stretching him wide.
I stroke his cock, gentle now, and he sobs, the pleasure and pain colliding in his nerves.
