by J. A. Rock
Bowser withdrew. I swallowed.
Drix ran the whip down my back. I felt hyperalert, my mind working frantically to process the pain and to anticipate what might come next.
His fingertips moved in light circles over my nape, and I slowly calmed.
Bowser had made his way unsteadily toward the gear bag. “We brought something to decorate your cock.” He held up a cock cage. Stainless steel, three bands. The middle band had six sharp points that could be screwed progressively tighter. And at the top of the cage was a urethral plug.
I moaned, wishing I could beg for mercy even as my cock swelled at the thought of more pain.
“And look what I made.” Drix held up black leather gloves. The palm sides glittered with tiny spikes.
Bowser sent Drix into the kitchen for some ice, and they held the cubes against my balls until my erection wilted.
Drix put on a vampire glove and pulled a small vial from the bag.
Cinnamon oil.
Drix took the cock cage from Bowser, dipped the urethra plug into the diluted oil, then snapped his fingers and beckoned me over. I crawled to him. Knelt up, spread my legs. I was still breathing hard. He stroked my cheek for a moment with the gloved hand. The tiny needles scraped my skin, made me sigh with pleasure. He got on the floor in front of me, opened the cage, and set my cock inside it. I yelped, jerking. The metal was freezing.
Drix flashed his pointed teeth. “We kept it in a cooler on the way here. Little chilly, huh?”
“You bastard. I think you should—”
“Uh-uh-uhhhh. You’re not in charge tonight, Miles.” He scratched my scalp gently with the glove until I moaned. He hooked two fingers of his bare hand around my lower lip and ran them back and forth along the edges of my teeth. “Are you?” He took his fingers away and kissed me softly.
“No,” I whispered as he fastened the cage around my cock.
I don’t have a choice.
It felt fucking amazing.
The cold metal made me shiver. I winced as the spikes in the central band dug into my shaft. Held my breath as the tip of the plug pressed against the slit. “Get ready,” Drix warned.
He began to push the plug into my cock.
There was a sharp pain, then an ache that went on and on as the plug was forced down my urethra. The cinnamon oil started to burn.
And burn.
I grabbed his wrist, breathing through my teeth.
I’d done chemical play with almost everything in the book: gingerroot, ginger extract, peppermint oil, toothpaste, seven varieties of hot sauce, radishes, hot pepper soap plugs, you name it. The only thing that burned worse than cinnamon oil was Spicy Sam’s Wowza! Ghost Pepper Sauce (Now with twenty percent more Wowza). I squirmed, arching my back in an effort to take my mind off the pain. I had to piss, had to come, had to escape . . .
Bowser knelt beside us and screwed the cock cage’s spikes tighter and tighter. I opened my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut. Bowser tightened each spike until it dug into my shaft. At first the pain was too big to process, and then slowly I began to feel the gut-wrenching sting of each individual spike.
“Get up,” Bowser said with a hearty slap to my ass.
I couldn’t see anything through the tears. My stomach churned, the back of my throat ached. I tried to climb to my feet, but stumbled.
Drix caught me.
I exhaled in a shuddering whoosh. He held me tight against him. The glove’s points scratched my sweat-drenched skin, and I clung to him, letting out harsh, wet breaths as the cinnamon oil continued to sear the inside of my dick. My sobs didn’t even sound like me. I flexed my legs, trying to press them together. I was vaguely aware of Drix murmuring something, but my hips were jerking involuntarily, my shoulders tense and my throat tight, and I couldn’t pay attention.
“Miles,” I heard him whisper. “Miles, it’s okay.”
Drix passed the ungloved hand down my back and around, and then slowly gripped my balls. He squeezed. I clenched my hands into fists, still holding him. He brushed his lips over my nape and then sank his teeth into the soft skin there. My cock tried to harden again as his teeth pricked me. But as it rose, the spikes plunged into the shaft, and I gripped Drix with all my strength. The burn from the oil and the pain of the spikes eclipsed every other thought. I was almost relieved when he pulled me down onto my stomach over his lap.
I couldn’t tell what he was doing, but after a moment he rubbed a slick finger over my hole. Then pushed it inside. The burn started a second later. His finger was coated in oil. He added a second finger and spread the oil inside me, thrusting until it felt like he was fucking me with fire. I choked and panted. This was what I needed. What I had needed my whole fucking life. To hurt for someone I loved.
Drix shifted me over his lap and smacked my ass with his bare hand. Did it again.
Oh hell no.
“What do you think?” I could hear the amusement in Drix’s voice. “Too juvenile?”
I couldn’t answer. Drix kept swatting me, and then he stopped and dragged his gloved hand over the smarting skin. The points caught on the welts from the whip. He grabbed my left leg and bent it back, using the glove against the sole of my foot.
I grasped his thigh, tensing.
“I don’t think he likes being spanked,” Drix said innocently to Bowser.
No. No, he does not.
“Hmm,” Bowser said.
“You want to try?” Drix asked. He stood, dragging me with him, and all but threw me onto Bowser, who bent me over his hip. His huge hand rose and fell with a speed and strength I wouldn’t have thought possible.
I tried to stay still and take it, but almost every part of me hurt, and I was making muffled sounds of pain long before he was done. When Bowser let me go, I sank to my knees, head bowed, waiting for the worst to pass.
They gave me a minute, and then Drix called my name softly. I looked up. Tried to focus. Drix had taken off the glove and was holding something. Thin silver chain . . . talon clamps. I groaned, and Drix laughed. “Come on over here, Miles.”
I crawled to him once more. Hesitated only a second before setting my chin on his knee and gazing up at him. He appeared surprised for a moment, and then his eyes filled with wonder, and he stroked my scalp. I closed my eyes. Kept them closed as he pinched my left nipple, rolling it until it was stiff and aching. Then the five sharp conductors sprang shut around it, and I hissed and clutched his leg to keep from pulling away. The talon clamps never got easier to take. The sensation they produced was constant, unrelenting. If it had been a sound, it would have been high-pitched, unbearable. Nails on a chalkboard.
He put the second one on mercifully quickly. I could feel every individual conductor digging in. If I tried to concentrate on the pain on one side, the pain on the other side became even sharper until it pulled my focus.
I opened my eyes, listening to the broken rhythm of my own breath. Drix stared back at me, his expression kind. He leaned forward and kissed my forehead, and that was nearly what destroyed me. The softness of his lips, the love in that gesture. I steadied my breathing and tipped my chin up to kiss him on the lips, my heartbeat echoing through my entire body.
This is for you. For you.
He picked up another set of talon clamps. I winced as he fixed them to my balls, but I didn’t cry out. I was slipping into a place where the pain all blended together. Where nothing really mattered but Drix. But every time I started to slip, something pulled me back: the burn in my dick. The talons digging into my nipples, my balls. The welts on my ass.
He and Bowser helped me to my feet. They put Drix’s long coat on me and tied it shut, but they made me leave my clothes. They gathered the gear bag and ushered me outside, to Drix’s SUV. Opened the door and indicated one of the middle seats.
There was something on the seat. A wooden board with upside-down bottle caps glued to it. Bowser pulled my coat up in the back so that I had to sit bare-assed on the bottle caps. I refused to so much as flinch, b
ut it hurt like hell, all those rough metal edges cutting into my welts. Drix put my seat belt on.
They made me keep my coat open. Drix drove, and Bowser sat next to me and grabbed my balls. Twisted them, pushed at them with his thumb, jarring the talon clamps. The cock cage’s teeth dug so deep into my swelling shaft that I started to cry. The burn from the oil dulled as new sources of pain competed for my attention. He used the genital whip on my balls and nipples, right at the base of the talon clamps, and I could see Drix’s mouth in the rearview mirror, smiling as he listened to me sob.
At red lights, he’d reach back and play with me too, and all I could do was sit there on the bottle caps with my legs spread and take it. I forced myself to look up so Drix could see my tears. When I did, Bowser gave my balls another lash with the whip, and I let out a strangled scream, my gaze never leaving Drix’s. Bowser put aside the whip and wrapped an arm around me, stroking and shushing me. But still playing gently with my cock and balls.
This was it. This was fucking trouble. If we got pulled over, I’d bite my cyanide capsule.
When we reached Bowser’s house, they dragged me inside and upstairs. Not to the doctor’s office, but to a spare bedroom I’d only seen once, several years ago. There was a double bed in one corner, covered in towels, and there were pulleys and hooks in the ceiling and walls. Several oddly shaped pieces of furniture had been set throughout the room. They led me around by the chains of the talon clamps, making me scream again as they pulled in different directions. Then they were all over me, grabbing my caged cock, slapping my ass, my thighs. Punching my chest and stomach, making the urethral plug shift and sting inside me.
I felt disoriented until Drix started kissing me. Then my whole body seemed to gravitate toward him. My bare skin pressed against the fabric of his black shirt, his tight jeans. I rubbed my cock against his groin, ignoring the pain of the clamps and the cage.
He whimpered into my mouth, but then pushed me gently away and led me to the bed. “I have a surprise,” he whispered.
I could hear Bowser across the room, setting up.
Drix opened the cupboard under the nightstand and held something up. “Look at this.”
I could only stare.
He had a scold’s bridle. Not just some cheap tin imitation of a scold’s bridle, but one that actually looked like it belonged in a torture museum.
The metal framework almost resembled a royal crown, and the muzzle had a bit plate that went into the mouth. The bit plate was spiked. “Oh my God,” I whispered.
He set it on the night table, grinning. “We thought you’d like it.”
I put the tip of my finger against one of the spikes. It was blunted, but still sharp enough to send a shiver through me.
“They won’t actually cut if you try to talk.” Drix put his hand on top of mine and pushed my finger harder against the spike. I gasped and tensed, my balls pulling tight. “But it’ll hurt like hell.”
“Put it on,” I said impatiently.
Drix reached out and stroked my cheek. Ran his fingers down to the corner of my mouth. “So demanding,” he murmured. “Better get it out of your system now.”
I sighed and opened my mouth. He put his finger inside, and I sucked on it until he moaned softly, shifting. I placed a hand on the front of his pants and rubbed the bulge there. Scraped my teeth along his finger and sucked harder. “Oh . . .” he whispered.
I flicked my tongue against his fingertip.
“You’re distracting me,” he said, slapping my cheek lightly with his other hand.
I let go of his finger. Gazed at him.
“Open up.” He was soft-voiced. Steady.
I obeyed. The heavy cage went over my head, and Drix eased the curb plate into my mouth. My chest tightened with panic as I felt the spikes. I wasn’t sure where to put my tongue to avoid them. Drix proceeded slowly, though, and rubbed the back of my neck for a moment before locking the bridle in place. I moved my head slightly, just to test the weight, but held my tongue still. I glanced up at Drix, who smiled back at me. “Looks good,” he said. “Stand up.”
He led me over to Bowser, who was sterilizing an anal hook. I watched him through the bridle, my heart pounding. Saliva was starting to drip from the corners of my mouth.
“You know what this means?” Drix asked in my ear. “Means we can do anything we want to you. And you can’t scream.”
I would have come if the cage hadn’t been around my cock, I was pretty damn sure. I drew ragged breaths around the plate, shaking with adrenaline.
Bowser handed Drix the anal hook. “There’s bigger balls over there.” He nodded at the medical stand.
“That’s definitely what she said.” Drix grinned and walked over to the tray. I watched as he confidently unscrewed the steel ball on the hook and replaced it with a much larger one.
My cock tried to rise.
“We both have shears.” Bowser showed me his. “You signal if you want us to cut the rope. Show me the signal to stop.”
I held up two fingers.
“What’s the signal if you need to stop for a minute and talk to us?”
I held up one finger.
They tied me with my ankles chained to rings in the floor, my arms bound above my head with leather cuffs and rope. Drix hummed softly as he worked, which made me laugh. The sound was muffled by the bridle, but Drix heard it and grinned at me.
I shifted, flexing my arms to feel the resistance from the ropes. I kept doing that, partly for the thrill the pain gave me, and partly to keep my mind off what they were about to do.
They rigged the anal hook to a pulley in the ceiling. But instead of putting the hook up my ass right away, they placed it around my neck. Then they hoisted me onto my toes. Fear flashed through me, and I loved it. They’d adjusted it so none of my weight was actually supported by my neck—the wrist cuffs were keeping me on the balls of my feet. And yet the feel of that metal hook around my throat, the illusion that if I broke position I’d choke myself, gave me a massive adrenaline rush. I squirmed, exhaling against the metal plate in my mouth, dipping my head to make the hook press against my windpipe, and watching my drool puddle on the floor.
Drix took the cock cage off. I sighed with relief and then yelped a second later as the blood rushed back to the spots where the spikes had been pressing, and the cinnamon oil seemed to burn with renewed strength now that the plug was out. He rubbed my shaft gently, and I started to lose myself in the pleasure of the sensation. Bowser’s fingers slid along my welted shoulders, and I struggled not to come. I concentrated on the weight of the cage around my head, the sharpness of the spikes against my tongue.
Eventually they both stepped back.
I heard something swish behind me. A cane. Then another swish a few feet away.
They both had canes.
Drix tapped my ass with his—Delrin, fairly thick—and I bowed my head.
The cane whooshed and cracked sharply across both cheeks. I bit back a groan and went as far up on my toes as I could manage, my muscles tensing and releasing. Another thwack, and I jumped, moaning.
The next time I felt the cane, it was against my shoulders. Two warning taps, then a swish, followed by an acid burn that bled into my throat, made my stomach clench and my eyes sting. I panted helplessly, hauling on the ropes just to give myself another sensation to concentrate on.
Bowser tapped me with a much thinner rattan cane, just under my arm. Then he gave me a sharp stroke across the armpit. I hissed, jerking in my bonds. Drix’s cane fell again on my ass, and Bowser worked on my upper arms and shoulders. Drix even pulled my cheeks apart and smacked my hole three times with the Delrin tip. I gripped the ropes that bound my wrists, trembling furiously as my hole spasmed.
The blows came fast, and I was never sure what to expect. Drix’s strokes were heavy and even; Bowser’s were done with more of a wrist flick, the cane’s tip often landing before the rest of it. But they didn’t alternate consistently, and the unpredictability of w
ho was going to hit me next and where forced me to stay present. To experience, fully, everything they did.
And yet I found that it was possible, to an extent, to choose my focus. I concentrated on Drix’s movements. On sensing where he was in relation to me. Recognizing the sound of his cane, the unique style of his blows. I could feel him learning me—playing me like an instrument to produce the sounds he wanted, the jerks and shudders. I was peripherally aware of Bowser and the pain he caused—the way it supplemented, harmonized with what Drix was doing. But I was suffering because of Drix. For Drix. And I knew he knew it.
By the time they were done, my entire back and ass were raw, and I could feel blood trickling down my thighs. But it was breaking the connection with Drix that left me stunned, disoriented. Cold and anxious. They untied me, and Drix led me over to the bed. I walked so close to him that I tripped. He bent me over gently and cleaned the broken skin while Bowser set up for the next part of the scene.
“You all right?” Drix asked.
I nodded. Mumbled, spreading my legs to show him my swollen cock.
Drix laughed, making a loose fist around my shaft, then squeezing the base until my breath caught. “Not yet.”
Bowser pulled the bench to the center of the room. It looked like a piece of exercise equipment—metal frame, and a black plastic surface angled downward. At the bottom was a footrest.
Drix helped me climb onto the bench, while Bowser sorted through the rope. I winced as my thighs made contact with the plastic. Everywhere Drix touched me my skin was hot and the sting made me shudder and gasp. I felt beyond human. Beyond speech, beyond pleasure and pain both. My body was just chemical reactions. But at the heart of that tangle of chemistry was a reckless gratitude toward Drix. Toward both of them.
I reached out and grabbed his hand. He squeezed me hard. “Signal?” he asked.
I held up two fingers.
“Good deal.” He leaned down and ran his lips over my ear. Nipped the lobe, jabbing a fang into the flesh.
I moaned and laughed, my head lolling.
