The Lupanar swallowed him: vast stone walls absorbing sound, steel rings glinting in overhead beams, the faint metallic scent of chains and restraint.
He put his clothes on a small table and then stood in the center, over the drain, and forced his feet to remain still when Emmy fastened heavy suspension cuffs onto his wrists.
Anxiety spiked again, a flutter in his chest, but anticipation won, devotion steadying him. He wanted this. Wanted to belong tobothof them.
He just preferred to have choice taken from him.
His arms were attached to the spreader bar overhead, elbows bent, since the bar was still low, barely over the top of his head.
The blindfold came first, thick leather pressing over his eyes, plunging him into darkness. Then earplugs, deep and silencing, the world narrowing to breath and heartbeat. He opened his mouth for the bit gag, and then moaned in both relief and despair when it pressed his tongue down. There would be no words until it was removed.
Finally, the heavy leather hood was buckled tight. The tiny piece of light he’d been able to see around the blindfold was now gone, and he knew the thick padding he could feel over his ears would further muffle any outside noises.
Sensory deprivation crashed over him like a wave, isolation absolute, every touch magnified a thousandfold.
Then the winch came alive above him, lifting him slowly until his feet came off the ground, toes scraping futilelybefore dangling free, shoulder and hip joints straining, the burn immediate and deep.
Zander’s cool hands spread his ankles, a spreader bar clicked into place, legs forced four feet apart, vulnerability complete.
And finally, his ankles were pulled downward, likely anchored to the floor rings. He hung there, body stretched taut, every breath pulling ropes tighter, ache blooming in joints and muscles.
Cool hands touched his shoulders, ran down his ribs to his hips, then came the blunt press at his entrance, slick and insistent. Impalement came swift, a violation, cool thickness stretching him wide, filling him completely in one claiming thrust that punched a muffled groan past the gag. Pleasure sparked sharp along his prostate, grounding him even as pain radiated from stretched shoulders and spread legs.
Then the front — Emmy’s hands fire against his skin, fingers circling his nipples.
White hot pain.Cruel teeth biting into his nipples, clamps pressing them deep. An explosion of agony in a sensory-deprived world, and he jerked in the ropes, body arching, a strangled cry lost in the hood as fire radiated outward, nerves screaming.
She didn’t pause. The flogger came next, stinging tails striking his belly fast and furious, each strike jolting the clamps and sending fresh agony spiking through his nipples. His stomach was fiery hot before long, and without warning, she changed her aim and struck his cock, the sting andimpact taking his breath away. She hit his dick over and over, again and again, her aim true, her technique keeping the falls in a tight pattern in rhythmic blows that built heat to firecracker red.
And then the blows came harder and faster, the fiery sting blooming sharp along the shaft, head throbbing as blood rushed, pain and pleasure battling fierce until he was rock hard, throbbing, almost missing the jolts when they paused.
He took a single breath in, and then weights were added to the clamps, yanking his nipples down, forcing the teeth farther into the tender skin, pulling everything downward in a relentless burn.
Emmy’s warm hands caressed his balls, and then grasped them andsqueezed, rolling them in her palms until ache turned to fire. The warmth of her hands left, but then sharp flicks made him yelp and twist, the motion yanking clamped nipples and swinging the weights worse.
And all the while, Zander’s cock slid in and out. In and out. Slow and steady.
Something clipped on over his balls, and then weights were added, gravity dragging them low, stretch intensifying to a burning pull, crushing his balls in their own skin, every jerk amplifying the torment.
The cane whistled and then pain exploded across the front of his right thigh — followed by the afterpain that always comes when compressed nerves bounce back and the agony is three-fold over the original strike.
Another came before he’d recovered from the first. Then another. And another. He didn’t try to count. His right thigh was under attack, and every jerk he made hurt his nipples and balls in an excruciating counterpoint as he danced in the taut ropes as much as he could manage.
Pain came fast and merciless without time to process, agony on top of agony, weights swinging wild, and all the while, his overheated cock throbbing with need, untouched and aching.
And then she started all over again with his left thigh, and all he could do was scream into the silence and jerk in the ropes, making his balls and nipples hurt on top of the cane strikes, his body a livewire of sensation.
Then came more weights to his nipples. Then his balls.
The flogger again, belly first, then nipples and chest.
Then back to his dick, the heat building and building — four strikes to his stretched balls made him dance and scream, the weights pulling worse, his nuts swinging, and Zander’s cool presence behind the only anchor — slow, grounding thrusts in a steady rhythm amid the storm, hands stroking his sides in silent comfort, and he floated a little in the chaos.
Until the next step up, a crueler hard-plastic flogger on his cock and balls, on his belly and chest, back to his cock. Hands squeezing his balls again, more weights on nipples and balls, the cane returning to his thighs, then the flogger on them.
Pain crashed over him in waves, no slow mercy, just relentless front assault while Zander held him steady from behind — tactile love in every cool touch, every deep stroke that reminded him he was theirs, safe even in the fire. Spence lost himself in it, surrender absolute, devotion the only truth left as the torment built and built.
And then, finally, Spence sighed out in a staccato pattern when Emmy’s hand grasped his cock with some lube on it, held him firm, and jacked him slow and even, matching Zander’s speed in his ass, fat length driving deep and slow, grounding him even as the chaos threatened to swamp him.
