Page 164 of Saving Sparrow
I positioned myself, digging my knees into the mattress, my palm leaving his ass as the belt whistled through the air. Elliott cried out on contact, head snapping back. I maintained the same level of force until I thought he was ready for more.
We were sweaty within minutes, Elliott’s knees slipping on the damp sheets. With a show of teeth, I raised my arm further back, kicking things up a notch.
His back arched, pink ass rising higher, begging for the next strike. It landed in the fold below his right butt cheek, and his elbows buckled.
“Again!” he shouted. The third strike made his shoulder twist.
The belt cracked down again and again, hitting a different area each time.
“I need you to be my eyes, Guelly.” Because I couldn’t see Elliott’s cock from my vantage point.
“H-he’s leaking precum all over the bed.”
I glanced at Miguel, noticing both heat and confusion in his stare.
“Again,” Elliott begged. The resulting blow sent him to his forearms, releasing an animalistic sound. He’d have a sore throat to match his bruised ass come morning.
“What’s happening, Guelly?” I asked between strikes. He had a front-row seat to this, and I needed the play-by-play.
“H-he bit his bottom lip. He just licked away the blood. His cockhead is dark, shiny,”—He paused, his voice deeper when he spoke again—“and wet.”
“Fuck,” I panted, my balls shriveling up tight. “I’m ready to dick you down, pretty girl.”
“Unngh, n-not yet,” Elliott stammered, taking hit after hit. “A-again. More!”
I hadn’t stopped since I started, but the fear of this ending made him sound panicked.
“Again!”
Strike…
“Again!”
Strike…
“Again!”
Strike…
“Again!”
Strike…
“A tear is rolling down his cheek.” Miguel’s voice was hoarse now. “And his mouth is slightly parted, just the way we like it.”
“Again… Again… Again…Please…”
My cock swelled with each blow until it felt like my skin was splitting open. Like I was too big for my body, too turned on to fucking breathe.
“He’s fisting the sheets tighter now, struggling for air.”
“Don’t you dare fucking come,” I warned, shaking out my shoulder and wrist.
“D-don’t… s-stop.”
“More tears now.” Miguel stood, creeping closer to the bed. “Don’t stop,” he said on Elliott’s behalf—or maybe his. “Don’t stop.”
I counted five more lashings before tossing the belt aside and rummaging through the nightstand for lube.
