[The pain is exquisite, laying stripes across his breast in a bright red soon discolored to bruised shading. He weathers the first few, keeping count with his immobilized right hand, but the flesh is so sore and swollen, full with milk, that his composure degrades rapidly. His world narrows down to the sensation of the rod against his tits, overcome by pain, thoughts wiped from the canvas of his head like water on glass. He dwells on nothing in that state but the immediacy of its agony. He cries out, first with his jaw clenched shut around the noise and then eventually without restraint, sobbing around the toy in his throat, against the metal ring that keeps his teeth pried open. Tears wet his eyelashes and streak his flushed face, indiscernible from the messy smear of drool on his chin.
Yet the count doesn't waver. Cy uses his body like furniture in that lazy sprawl, feet kicked up and heavy on the small of his back. It's demeaning as much as it is full of ownership, possessive as the hand that finally extends to cup his breast after twenty weathered hits, nipple puffy and red from that last strike. Sasuke whines in his throat, overstimulated and too sensitive to the touch on skin that feels raw — he squirms as his belly is stroked, breathing hard through his nose.
He could live this life in reality, he thinks, if it was for Cy. If Cy was the one who owned him. If there was love, eventually, within it — even if it was something twisted and dark, he wouldn't mind. Because it would be for Cy.
The rough fingers at his clit coax another series of desperate noises from his throat, half-shaped pleases and nos made unintelligible by hollow silicone. Orgasm rolls through him this time less violently, but a hard clench of interior muscles down onto both toys filling his cunt and his ass signal the wave of its arrival. It isn't something he can control, not when Cy is touching him like this in the deepest display of trust, making him feel special, valuable, loved in this humiliating state.]
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Date: 2024-09-06 12:26 am (UTC)Yet the count doesn't waver. Cy uses his body like furniture in that lazy sprawl, feet kicked up and heavy on the small of his back. It's demeaning as much as it is full of ownership, possessive as the hand that finally extends to cup his breast after twenty weathered hits, nipple puffy and red from that last strike. Sasuke whines in his throat, overstimulated and too sensitive to the touch on skin that feels raw — he squirms as his belly is stroked, breathing hard through his nose.
He could live this life in reality, he thinks, if it was for Cy. If Cy was the one who owned him. If there was love, eventually, within it — even if it was something twisted and dark, he wouldn't mind. Because it would be for Cy.
The rough fingers at his clit coax another series of desperate noises from his throat, half-shaped pleases and nos made unintelligible by hollow silicone. Orgasm rolls through him this time less violently, but a hard clench of interior muscles down onto both toys filling his cunt and his ass signal the wave of its arrival. It isn't something he can control, not when Cy is touching him like this in the deepest display of trust, making him feel special, valuable, loved in this humiliating state.]