[The reminder helps, tethering him to the moment, working to make room for the ripples of pain that ride through his body. Breathing by a count of four, four, four. As relaxation comes, so does that emptiness of thought—and his breath is slower but stuttered, damply rasping, as he listens to Cy's words. Calmed like a cat under a hand.
It's not how he's worked through injuries in the past; those were borne with gritted teeth, distraction, adrenaline, and the presence of mind to move forward toward a goal. This allows him to revel in it, the sear of the stretch as he's filled by the dildo still unmoved in his hand.]
I know. Cyram. It's okay. [Sensations: the scratchy towel, the sticky gel, the sweat, the bedsheet. He realizes he's rolled partially over onto his stomach. His cock is hard, and he feels it pressed chafing to the mattress, but he doesn't move.] It's just—a lot.
[The pain becomes a continual, pulsing throb at that point where the toy has slid in to the hilt and remains in stasis.]
no subject
It's not how he's worked through injuries in the past; those were borne with gritted teeth, distraction, adrenaline, and the presence of mind to move forward toward a goal. This allows him to revel in it, the sear of the stretch as he's filled by the dildo still unmoved in his hand.]
I know. Cyram. It's okay. [Sensations: the scratchy towel, the sticky gel, the sweat, the bedsheet. He realizes he's rolled partially over onto his stomach. His cock is hard, and he feels it pressed chafing to the mattress, but he doesn't move.] It's just—a lot.
[The pain becomes a continual, pulsing throb at that point where the toy has slid in to the hilt and remains in stasis.]
But better imagining that it's you.