“I can’t,” he whimpered.
I offered him a sound of disagreement in reply, then flipped him onto his back. He landed with a sharp exhale of breath, and before he could get comfortable, I bent his legs up and leveraged my weight on top of him. I grinded my knee into the pressure point on the already bruised part of his thighs, and Smith sobbed, a wet and gasping thing. I grabbed his hands with one of mine, making sure to avoid the fresh ink around his wrist, and I pinned him down into the sheets.
“Riggs.”
My name instead of Sir.
He was close.
Pulling my knee away, I used my hips to spread his legs, chuckling my approval when the absence of pressure hurt him more than the presence of it. I gave him time to process the hurt before curling my finger around the chain between his nipples and giving it a very gentle tug. Smith arched off the bed, pressing his leaking dick against me. His face was splotchy, his lashes wet.
Adjusting my stance, I shoved my hand down and grabbed his cock, stroking him tight and rough. His crown was slick, hisshaft engorged from being held by the ring. He was nowhere near a safe word, but the protests were right on the tip of his tongue, and I wasn’t going to stop until he gave them to me. I needed him to know I was a man of my word, that he wanted someone to push back against him, to know better.
“I need to come,” he whined, sucking down a desperate breath of air.
“No.”
“It hurts,” he said next.
“I know.”
I abandoned his dick for the nipple clamps, giving them one sharp pull when he’d clearly expected a tease. The tight buds of rubber tore away from his chest, and Smith’s eyes flew open alongside his mouth, but no sound came out. Yanking him up, I arranged him on my lap, on his knees, his ankles tucked against my thighs. I used my legs to spread him open, then I turned my attention to the inside of his thighs. I started with tickles and teases that quickly turned into pinches and slaps. He tried to close his legs, but I fought him back open, whispering a warning into his ear,
“Behave, baby, or you’ll go from not enough to too much very quickly.”
Smith was gone, but not gone enough to not listen, and I was careful to pay attention to the desperate punches of his breath as I pinched my way up the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
“Riggs, please,” he begged, head lolling back against my shoulder.
He was close, but he still wasn’t there.
I bared my teeth against the side of his neck, took his cock into one hand, and his thigh into the other. I bit and I sucked, I stroked, I pinched and pulled, and still Smith refused to give me the thing he was so desperate to be free of. Releasing him, Idragged my tongue across the hickey I’d left on his neck, then I rolled him onto his back and unsnapped the cock ring.
Cum shot out of his cock like it was a water cannon, the force of it knocking his body against mine so aggressively I almost fell onto my back. I wrapped an arm around his chest to hold us both upright and took his dick into my other hand, working him through the end of his orgasm and right into another.
“I warned you if you didn’t behave this is how it would go.”
He was a whimpering and trembling mess on my lap, and I refused to relent. This was what he asked for—in less words—and what he needed, and I was going to make sure he found it.
“I can’t,” he finally murmured, body boneless on my lap, save for the rigid erection still in my hand.
“Of course you can.”
He shook his head, tears streaming down his face.
“Yes,” I disagreed with his silent protest, letting him turn himself around on my lap until his face was buried against my shoulder. I didn’t let go of him, not the arm around his body or the hand on his cock. I brought him right to the edge of another painful release, and Smith quivered against me, breath, body, and words quaking.
“I can’t, Sir,” he tried again.
“I don’t believe you.”
He cried and held me, whispering into the crook of my neck. “I am so tired.”
“I’m not,” I promised.
I alternated rough and gentle hands on him as he soaked the front of my shirt with cum and tears. My wrist ached from use, and I was sure his cock wasn’t much better, but he could still take more. He needed more. After the fifth orgasm, which was more of an earthquake in his body than an emptying of his balls, Smith’s fingers scrabbled against my back and he shouted my name. It was almost as if he hadn’t been present for the lastcouple orgasms and was just now returning to his body to realize the torture hadn’t stopped.
“Please stop,” he finally pleaded, looking up at me with tired eyes and a swollen mouth. “Riggs, I can’t do this.”
