Page 107 of Caged In

Izz burst out into a full-blown laugh. Trust his friend to pull out some morbid scene, over sex.

Sin might be a serial killer but he’d never once hurt him, or done something he didn’t want. The same can’t be said for other inmates in here—well, they aren’t here anymore, are they . . .

33

Two weeks have come and gone since the day Izz had sex for the first time with Sin. And he’s not referring to the attempted time. No, the first time Sin had pinned him down and taken him until his legs were jelly and his ass was aching.

Since then, Sin has become more and more assertive, rougher—aggressive. Pushing Izz further each time they fuck. Or rather, each time Sin fucks him. He’s always the bottom, and he doesn’t mind. In fact, he revels in it.

He’s able to hold his breath longer, or rather, when he’s deprived oxygen, he could take it for longer and longer each time before his vision blurs. And he loves it. There are no limitations to how much it turns him on. To be held down and overpowered by Sin.

His body’s covered in bruises. In a whole range of colours. He can literally compare bruise colour ages in his skin. He has the whole healing colour chart mapped out on his body. And he couldn’t be happier.

Other inmates stay away from him. The whispers about him being killed by Sin are declining. The rest of the prison coming to terms with Izz sticking around to be Sin’s . . . plaything?

They are calling him the serial killer’s bitch boy. And he has no issues with it. He loves bottoming for Sin and he doesn’t care what the rest of the prison thinks about it. Just because he likes to be dominated doesn’t make him a coward or weak.

Sin’s opening his eyes to many darker sexual games he hadn’t known existed. Allowing him to accept who he is and not apologise for it. It doesn’t help that whenever he voices his annoyance with being called lesser for being the submissive intheir relationship, Sin will pin him down. And he’ll forget all about why it’s a bad idea to let a serial killer dominate him.

He’s learning more and more every time. About himself and how much he can take. Learning new terms and experiencing new levels of pleasure. And he must say, he thoroughly enjoys breath-play. As soon as Sin places a hand around his throat, he’s hard and begging to be bent over.

He also learnt what a drop and aftercare are. Sin taught him it’s normal to feel a stinging emptiness sometimes after submitting. Sin holds him and rubs his back during his drops. It’s a weird feeling, but he bounces back fast.

Sin explained to him how enjoyment derived from pain is nothing to be ashamed of. He’s learnt that people this way are known as masochists. And many people are into pain-play and other forms revolving around it.

Izz’s never in charge of their couplings—sure he can say no, or give the safe word, or action, to let Sin know he’s been pushed beyond his comfort zone.

But ultimately, Sin is running the games. He is in charge of how they play out. He controls how harsh, how brutal, howsadistiche will be to Izz.

Sadism is another term Izz has learnt. Dom, sub, the list goes on. He never knew there was such a vast variety to sex. So many terms and levels of play. Ranging from people who get off on being cut, or burnt. To people who want to be tied up, or humiliated in public.

Sin has expressed his interest in the darker kinks. The ones involving blood and pain—on Izz’s side of the deal, inflicted by Sin. He’s spoken of his enjoyment in watching the deep reds run over Izz’s tanned skin—his bites often break skin.

Izz’s on the fence with the whole slice and dice, playing with blades, side of things. He isn’t comfortable with Sin attemptingit, he’s nervous Sin will cut too deep and hit an artery or something equally unpleasant.

~~~

“Sin,” Izz groans, frustration building as the male sits over him, straddling his thighs. Refusing to touch him. And Izz can’t reach out to touch, with his hands firmly tied behind his back—a shirt torn to strips forming a makeshift rope, effectively bindinghim in place. Arms trapped under his body. Pinned to the male’s bunk in the Satanic cell, with Sin hovering over him fully clothed while Izz is completely bare to the room’s cold embrace.

“I’m going to try something new with you.” Sin leans down biting at Izz’s vulnerable throat. “You’re going to have to trust me.”

Izz gasps. Squirming in his bindings. “I do trust you. Please.” He is so hard he’s liable to burst open.

Sin pulls something out from behind him. At the same time gripping under Izz’s chin to push his head back. Preventing him from seeing what is happening. What Sin is holding.

Izz exhales his breath, his lungs working overtime to match his rapidly increasing heart rate. His entire body tingling with anticipation, associating Sin with pleasure—

He jumps a little at the cool touch—smooth, cold, some type of metal pressing against his skin over his ribs—

Sin takes his mouth in a surge of dominance. Kissing into him. Claiming him . . .

Izz’s mind leaves whatever object is cooling his skin, in favour of hungrily devouring Sin’s lips—

Sin bites him, a firm pressure on his lips which has him whining and arching, trying to press closer. He loves when Sin bites. The sharp licks of prickling pain amp up his desires.

A tingle in his side has him sucking in a sharp breath. The strength of the sting growing, working its way into his overwhelming lust. A small burn blooming—

Izz hisses a curse as the burn registers. The sting in his side building in intensity. Turning his head—as best he can with Sin’s hand holding his jaw—breaking the kiss.

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