[Lack of oxygen lingers like a burn in his throat, starry behind his eyelids when Cy draws away — the wipe of the man's cock against his cheek leaves a wet smear, an act so acutely belittling that it throbs in his cunt. Then there's the tease of that other affixed dildo as it's positioned just enough where he can feel the blunt end, but he can't satisfy himself by pushing down on it and taking it inside. Every action is deliberately cruel, intended to hurt or cause an ache of expectation for some future hurt, some pleasure held tantalizingly out of reach.
The man's palm is rough across his clit enough that he cries out, jerking in his bonds, those next words weaving a delirious web over his imagination. Cy fondles him, pinching a nipple made even more tender by the metal piercing hooked into it — his face is hot, sweat beginning to freckle his hairline with the strain of being trussed up. Milk is forced from his breast, dripping to the floor below in an obscene spill — it's painful, but with that sensation is a knife-edge of alleviation, too-full pressure eased by that forceful flow.]
Don't. It hurts when you touch them — stop. [A quiet plea, knowing that this glimmer of fear will be what Cy looks for. Covering his tits in bruises, or milking them, or dragging them down with weights: his fear is a shining beacon that allows tears to dampen his lashes.] I thought I said — to leave my men out of your... perversions. That was our agreement.
[His voice comes thin and strained, struggling where he's held bent at the hips, feeling that the slightest movement might push his pussy down onto the dildo and knowing he is wet enough it would slide right in.]
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Date: 2024-09-02 07:32 pm (UTC)The man's palm is rough across his clit enough that he cries out, jerking in his bonds, those next words weaving a delirious web over his imagination. Cy fondles him, pinching a nipple made even more tender by the metal piercing hooked into it — his face is hot, sweat beginning to freckle his hairline with the strain of being trussed up. Milk is forced from his breast, dripping to the floor below in an obscene spill — it's painful, but with that sensation is a knife-edge of alleviation, too-full pressure eased by that forceful flow.]
Don't. It hurts when you touch them — stop. [A quiet plea, knowing that this glimmer of fear will be what Cy looks for. Covering his tits in bruises, or milking them, or dragging them down with weights: his fear is a shining beacon that allows tears to dampen his lashes.] I thought I said — to leave my men out of your... perversions. That was our agreement.
[His voice comes thin and strained, struggling where he's held bent at the hips, feeling that the slightest movement might push his pussy down onto the dildo and knowing he is wet enough it would slide right in.]