Page 18 of Only You, No One Else

“What’s your safe word, baby?” The whisper, still close, too close, stole his breath.

“Train.”

“Good.”

Mark may have imagined the kiss to his temple, but he was too busy enjoying the hum of pleasure at Caster’s pride. He closed his eyes and took a breath. It was clear just from the last few minutes that he would need every ounce of his strength if he was to get through this without disappointing his dominant.

The sound of Caster gathering the tools he would need reached his ears, and the choice to secure him facing away from the room became apparent. With just the imposing whiteness of the wall for company, Mark could only imagine Caster’s plans. History, his association with other dominants, few as they may have been, had taught him not to anticipate. But he couldn’t stop his mind from imagining all the options open to Caster.

He’d been telling the truth when he said he didn’t have many limits, at least when it came to pain. He was what his trainer had called a pure Masochist. He didn’t just enjoy physical pain; he craved it.

The signature of the cool air against his skin changed a fraction, and the distinct quality of Caster’s scent intensified. The hand on his ass was not bare. Was he wearing gloves? Why would—

He heard the sound before his body registered the pain, the blow from Caster’s palm delivering more impact than if he’d used a paddle. “Stop thinking!”

His mind, like his body, had no choice but to bow to Caster’s will. All thoughts ceased, the consequential pain of his latest misstep still stinging. He refocused his strength on his breath when Caster’s palm rubbed at his abused flesh, transforming the pain into pinpricks of pleasure. His cock throbbed, its need insistent.

Caster pressed his body into his, his palm splaying over his lower abdomen. “Conserve your energy, baby. You’ll need it.”

He moaned at Caster’s cock pressing against his bare ass, never mind that it remained concealed by his clothing.

“Now, what is the most important rule again?” His voice was a whisper caressing his mind, goading him.

“I can’t come without your permission.”

“Good.”

Then he was gone, replaced by the cool air of the room and the weight of anticipation. Mark’s muscles tightened with every passing second of nothing.

And just as he was about to give up and beg for something, anything, Caster’s hand on his ass returned. A squirting sound joined his harsh breaths, and he jumped when Caster’s cold finger pressed against the tight muscle of his ass, only to relax a second later. The finger went in with ease, drawing a moan from him. He turned his head to the side and pressed his forehead into the frame of the cross, his restraints tightening when Caster withdrew his finger and replaced it with two.

The fingers thrust inside him in a rhythm that tore at his control, the pressure unrelenting as he granted Caster access to the most intimate part of himself. His cock throbbed, his moans rose in both volume and intent, a plea for more, a plea for relief.

The fingers disappeared, and he gasped, his breath returning to a more natural rhythm. But Caster only allowed him a single cycle before the torture resumed. The squirting sound he’d heard before rose above his next exhale, and something unyielding, harder pressed against his stretched hole. It lacked the smooth familiarity of Caster’s cock. It was hard, too hard, perhaps impossibly so, and it stretched him to painful proportions. He breathed through the assault, his cock deflating as he took it in, only to roar back to life when Caster pulled it out and pushed it back in.

Mark’s restraints jiggled, as his body trembled with the consequence of what he was now certain was a toy hitting the right spot every time Caster pushed it in. He cried out, he pleaded, he tried to push into it, rising to his tiptoes to get better purchase, but he couldn’t overcome his dominant’s will. His body throbbed with pleasure, his cock begged for permission, and he forced himself to breathe through it.

Then just as fast as it had started, it all stopped. His ass was still full of that maddening toy, his cock hard and leaking, his breath shallow. He moaned his protest, his plea; he wasn’t sure which one. He was mid-fortifying breath when a buzzing sound reached his ears in concert with a vibration that began inside him and ended at the tip of his cock.

He’d thought he was prepared for anything, but he hadn’t thought he’d be battling his need to cross the line this soon. Mark couldn’t hold on to his cries if he’d wanted to. The torturous pleasure from the vibrating plug rippled through his body, and he lost all thought of everything, his vision blurring as he tried to focus on holding on.

His safe word echoed in his mind, but he knew Caster would only heed the one explicitly spoken. Yet, try as he might, he couldn’t get his tongue to form the words. He’d just found that connection, the single word on the tip of his tongue, when the vibration eased, the torture subsiding, and his need became manageable. His short, broken gasps were in perfect concert with the tremble of his muscles.

Caster’s body pressing into his tore a defeated moan from his lips. “You’re so good, my love. Just a little more?”

He moaned his response, unable to deny Caster anything. But the torture device still inside him didn’t roar back to life. Instead, he whined his protest when Caster moved away from him, the cool air in the room wafting across his flushed skin.

He took a breath, battling a headache that formed at his temples. The shuffle of Caster’s feet broke the momentary silence. Where was he going? The panic that he was moving further away from him disappeared with the warmth of his body at his back and the caress of his palm over his ass, the glove still covering his skin, a nuisance Mark resolved to get over.

“Still thinking too hard, huh?” Caster’s amused voice floated somewhere in his pleasure-drunk mind, but he was too far gone to worry about the consequences. “Let’s fix that.”

He stepped back, and Mark’s body tightened in anticipation, but the Caster who begged him to relax was no longer in the room. He didn’t have time to take a breath before the first of the blows landed. Again, Caster didn’t hold back. The pain tore Mark apart, rising like a wave to steal his breath, so painful his cock deflated, the prospect of pleasure forgotten.

He choked when Caster’s soothing palm increased the sting. But the balm was short-lived, the second impact of the paddle landing at the same place. Mark cried out. This was pain, just pain, none of the push and pull of the pain-pleasure pendulum, and the masochist in him reveled in it. The third came much faster, and even his anticipation couldn’t have prepared him for it. He heard his own scream echo in the room, reverberate in his mind, and his wolf awoke with a start.

The fourth lacked the intense dullness of a paddle. This one stung like a whip, the pain spreading in a straight pattern across his lower back. This time, his scream was a silent cry. His wolf howled out their shared pain, but then retreated as the pain pushed him past the line into pleasure.

The next crack of the whip over his skin awakened his desire, his cock surging back to life. His cry this time was a moan, but Caster was done coddling him. The paddle’s dull, bare pain returned with the next blow and, within the space of half a breath, was replaced by the whip’s impact on his back. Caster alternated between the two with remarkable precision and speed, and Mark’s moans lost their intensity with each.