There was no romance between them, no love. Both were clear this was just two people enjoying each other’s bodies, but it worked for both of them.
And they were friends, so ofcourseshe would make sure he was okay after she hurt him.
He was a mess after the two dozen strikes, but she wrapped her hand around his cock and jacked it instead of soothing him this time. He’d softened a tiny bit, so she made sure he was granite hard before she did it again.
Only a dozen strikes this time, but harder. Dragons are strong, and she swung with all she had.
And her wonderful Felix screamed and cried, but never safeworded.
She needed to see him under the winch, so she moved him to it, but she didn’t suspend him. Her shoulders and arms had fuckingachedfrom holding her weight.
She did pull it up enough to lengthen his spine, but she put the spreader bar on first, before she lifted his arms over his head. For good measure, she connected the ankle cuffs to the floor, but that was more about making him feel helpless than worry he might try to kick her.
And then she lifted the flogger. Her own personal cock flogger is hard plastic and painful, but this one, from the playroom’s drawers, was hard plastic beads and would hurt sofuckingmuch more.
She’d hit herself with it earlier, to get an idea of how hard she could use it.
And then she put a device on to separate his balls and pull them forward. Keep them out of his body and available to be struck.
A few caresses with the flogger first, and she watched his cock jerk, scented his arousal and fear. Spicy sweet rather than sour.
She walked across the room, rolled a stool over, took her time adjusting the height. And then caressed his cock with her hands and fingers a few minutes, drawing it out a little more before the pain started.
Because she was going to hurt him bad. They both knew it, both anticipated it for entirely different reasons.
When she finally let the cruel plastic strands fly, she did so a dozen times before she paused. No buildup for his poor cock and balls, she hit him hard and fast right out of the gate, and he thrashed as much as his bondage allowed. His screams filled the room, pain and panic, adrenaline — edging toward sheer terror.
But she didn’t let him get all the way there before stopping and running a single finger from the head to the base, and then cupping his balls. He tensed, afraid she’d squeeze, but she didn’t. She had in the past, but today wasn’t about that. This wasn’t traditional CBT. Only one specific kind.
The cruelest plastic flogger.
She gave him slow strikes for a while, much harder, but one every seven seconds. Or however long a slow count of seven in her head was.
He didn’t know if she’d focus on the head of his cock, the shaft, or his balls. He only knew he had a set amount of time to recover from the last strike before the next arrived.
Eventually, she went back to fast, giving him a dozen, a little time to recover, and a dozen more. Not as hard, but one-after-another and all over the place.
His entire body trembled, tears streaked his face, and his cock was deep red and twitching.
She released his feet first, then his arms, but she immediately connected his wrists behind his back.
She walked him to the large bondage table and gave a single order. “Kneel in the center facing the cross.”
He obeyed, tears still slipping down his cheeks despite the fact he was no longer sobbing.
He had to move his knees wider when she connected his ankles to the sides of the table. He’d be able to lean forwards to eat her out, to go to knees and chest for her to fuck his ass, and to lie on his back so she could ride his cock.
And if she decided to allow it, he’d be able to fuck her however she wanted him to at the end.
But she was getting ahead of herself.
She walked across the room, removed her clothes and put them with his, lifted the cinnamon oil concoction, returned, and sat in front of him.
She used the eyedropper to release a few drops onto the head of his cock and then ran her fingers through the oil to distribute it.
Felix jerked hard, and a strangled sound tore from his throat as the burn bloomed. His hips tried to thrust, tried toescape and chase friction at the same time, but the cuffs held him where she wanted him, and his hands were trapped behind his back.
More drops on his cock. A dozen drops on her palm, and Emmy stroked him slowly, deliberately, every pass of her slick hand driving the oil deeper, until the scent of his arousal was thick under the sharp burn of spice.
