（ there's a litany of filth intermingled with praise — how good he looks like this, bound and fucked and owned so completely that there is no question of whose name falls synonymous with god in the small sphere of sasuke's narrowed world. cy slips his thumb over the air hole, keeping eye contact with sasuke as he struggles, and then — relaxes into calm focus. there we go.

then he stoops, kissing his forehead. ）

My perfect little slave. Look at that, three holes all used, just like you deserve. You look good like this for me, owned so completely that no other man would ever dare to put a hand on you.

（ he cups sasuke's cheeks briefly, and then lets him go, turning back to the room itself. a chair is dragged — he could move it with magic, but it's more fun to hear the irascible creak of the heavy furnishings as he drags it across the floor — and then arranged at sasuke's side. then he selects a cruel implement from a rack on the far wall, a slender rod whose purpose can only be one thing, as he sits down beside the boy. a snap of the rod impacts against one breast, and cy gives sasuke a brief, precious moment to sort out his breathing before he continues: ）

See, there's two problems here. One, I was away long enough on campaign that all my bruises faded from your pretty skin. Two, your tits are clearly aching for another kind of attention.

（ he'd promised sasuke a whipping, after all. the rod rubs against one tender nipple, and then there's another sharp tap against it, deceptively hard for how closely the blow falls. ）

So I'll give you a choice. Would you rather be milked or struck? Show me with your hand — one finger for the first option, two for the second.