But Zander only went in and out a half-dozen times before stepping away, and Spence knew this stage was finished.
Spence felt air stir around him, and then a horsewhip cracked down his back, lines of fire blooming hot and immediate, a dozen lashes that made him jerk and arch, weights swinging wild on his nipples and balls while Emmy stroked his cock. Up and down. Slow and steady.
Not even two seconds after the horsewhip paused, the strap struck his ass — the heavy, broad leather bruising deep in relentless volleys from the top of his ass to the bottom of his thighs, and then back up, curling vicious around sensitive flesh, pain exploding bright and deep. He twisted and fought the ropes, body fighting despite his will. He wanted to accept whatever was done to him, but the blows came too fast, too hard, and his body pointlessly fought, escape impossible —thank goodness.
Spencer had no idea how many times Zander switched from the whip to the strap, and then later, from the paddle to the cane, but he was certain it wasn’t over when everything stopped. Mostly because Emmy’s hand didn’t stop.
Cool fingers parted his cheeks wider, and then the first ice cube pressed against his ring, cold so sharp it burned, forced inside with a cruel, merciless press.
Spence’s body clenched instinctively, a muffled scream vibrating against the bit gag as the freezing intrusion bloomed deep in his gut. Then another. And another. Cramps radiated outward like frost cracking stone. Three cubes, then more, andmore —Zander feeding them in relentlessly, the chill spreading through his rectum and lower colon in icy waves that clashed violently underneath the fiery welts on his belly and thighs, pain layering inside and out until he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. His asshole froze around the invasion, muscles spasming to hold them in because no way would he rebel and push them out. His surrender was absolute even in this new hell, the cold cramping low while Zander kept adding to it.
Then came the heavy wooden paddle, each wallop jostling the cubes and sending fresh shocks through his core.
Breath came harder through the hood’s nose holes. The hood didn’t allow air in through his mouth, and every inhale was a desperate pull that never felt enough, oxygen thin and ragged as panic flickered at the edges. He fought for air, chest heaving, the deprivation amplifying everything: the swing ofweights on nipples and balls, the burn in stretched shoulders, the frozen ache clenching inside him.
And Zander was merciless. The cane after the paddle, and then the horsewhip again, slashing his back in rapid fire, ice shifting and freezing deep inside him. Then the heavy strap again, broad, thudding impacts on his ass and backs of thighs, then his outer thighs in relentless volleys that turned skin to throbbing heat, then inner thighs, the strap curling vicious around sensitive flesh — with Spence’s acceptance warring with instinct while cramps and fire radiated.
Then the paddle again, the heavy wood thudding against ass and thighs in bone-jarring blows, bruising deep, the impacts jolting ice and weights alike. Cane whistling sharp, mostly on the backs of thighs in clustered strikes that striped fire, a few random on his ass cheeks for chaos, each jerk sending frozen cramps spiking higher, and painful weights swinging wider. Zander switched implements in mere seconds — whip to strap to paddle to cane and back — fast and ruthless, no mercy, pain crashing relentlessly while the ice melted slow inside him, cold water trickling but the chill lingering like punishment.
And all the while, Emmy’s hand moved on his dick. Even when Zander stopped long enough to add more weights to his balls and nipples, she was a steady rhythm on his cock, a metronome grounding him through the chaos.
He drifted in the storm — raw, undone, every nerve screaming, breath labored through the mask, never enough air, the hood sealing him in isolation. Pain radiated frominside out, frozen rectum clenching desperately around melting ice, fiery welts and bruises layering endlessly, his body jerking and straining against ropes he couldn’t escape, didn’t want to.
And every jerk another sudden excruciating pull as Zander’s rhythm drove him forward into the void while warm hands continued with agonizingly slow strokes to his cock, and pain tore through him from behind.
When it finally ended — the last strike landing, Emmy’s hand gone from his cock, a single gentle pat to his ass — the silence crashed absolute. He swung alone in the dark, hood muffling everything, weights pulling steady, breath ragged and shallow. The ice had melted, but water slowly dripped out no matter how tightly he squeezed.
No touch, no presence he could feel, but heknewthey were near. Not once did he doubt they were close, despite the fact he couldn’t hear, see, or scent them. Devotion held him steady in the void, surrender complete, anticipation thrumming for whatever hell or heaven came next.
And still, the loss of Emmy’s warmth left his cock standing proud, cool air whispering over it, the sudden absence a cruel tease that left him throbbing harder in the dark abyss.
Chapter 20
The pause stretched, Spence swinging gently in the ropes, body a map of fire and ice. Welts throbbed hot across most of his body, weights pulled relentlessly on nipples and balls, the slow melt of cubes inside him made him shiver and cramp, and his breath came shallow through the hood’s nose holes, muffling the world to nothing but heartbeat and ache.
Zander’s cool hands settled at his hips, standing in front of him, and he felt Emmy’s hands on his ass, then something hard at his ass, slick and unyielding, ruthlessly pressing. Opening him.
It breached him slowly, a deliberate invasion that stretched the sensitive rim wider, gliding deep, then slowing. Stopping.
Then the inner balloon began to inflate, relentlessly swelling inside him, pressure blooming deep in his rectumas it expanded, locking the nozzle in place. The sensation was intimate and terrifying: something growing within, stretching his walls from the inside out, the burn sharp and undeniable as it filled space that wasn’t meant to be taken this way. His body clenched instinctively around it, muscles spasming in futile resistance, the weights on his balls swinging with the jerk, pulling fresh fire through stretched skin.
Pleasure sparked faintly along his prostate, but the foreign fullness dominated, a violation that sent his heart hammering harder in the silent dark, and his insides fluttered in helpless protest.
A second swell followed — the outer balloon, sealing him from the outside, the dual grip absolute with no escape possible. Panic flickered hot in his chest as realization crashed through him like ice water in his gut: this wasn’t just stretching or filling. This was going to be an enema. They were going to flood him, force him to hold it, the soap’s impending burn already a phantom threat in his mind. His stomach dropped, a sick, heavy lurch of dread and dark thrill, breath coming faster through the nose holes as he hung there — blind, deaf, and utterly at their mercy — waiting for the inevitable rush.
He felt the tug as the tube shifted, and then the flow began, cool solution surging fast, filling him with ruthless speed.
It took a few minutes for him to realize how much soap they’d put into the water, but the first cramp was brutal and left no doubt.
He couldn’t double over, though he fought the ropes and tried. And then from behind him came Emmy’s warmth, her palm sliding over his belly in slow, soothing circles that contrasted the chaos fighting in his guts.
He felt Zander’s hands on his shoulders a brief second before his Master released the buckles on the hood. Moments later, cool air hit his face, and he breathed in through his mouth, his first really good lungful of air in a long time. The earplugs came out, and Zander said, “Keep your eyes closed, Dearest. The lights are turned low, but take it slow.”
The blindfold came off, then the bit gag was gently removed, and Spence worked his jaw with his eyes still closed.
Meanwhile, the cramps inside him were vicious, and his gut twisted and churned as the liquid filled him, pressure building sharp and deep, the soap’s burn igniting nerves already raw from ice. He jerked in the ropes, his groans no longer muffled, body clenching desperately, trying to make it stop.
Emmy’s hands never stopped, rubbing firm over the swell of his abdomen, feeling the spasms ripple under her palms.
