Page 67 of Bottoms Up
I didn’t speak. Didn’t warn him. I leaned over the heated length of his torso and sank my fangs into his neck without anesthetic, and instead of the usual cocktail, I injected one thatburned like acid and blocked arousal entirely. No stimulation. No pleasure. Just pure, writhing pain.
I knew without looking, his cock went flaccid within ten of his heartbeats. His scent told the story. The acid of my venom pulsed through his arteries, veins, and capillaries. Every cell in his body hurt, and all of that without arousal to buffer the torment.
I stood and shoved my cock into his ass like I was claiming territory — no care, no finesse, no buildup, just one brutal drive and then I was fucking himhard, vampire-fast, piston-deep and relentless. The slap of my hips against his body echoed back to me.
There was no mercy. No slow buildup. Just force and venom and agony. I didn’t hold back.
It would’ve broken the hips of a human, but shapeshifters have stronger bones.
There were screams when the venom first burned him from the inside out. More when I entered and pounded him.
But his screams turned to something else.
Hesobbed.
He hadn’t cried while Silver and I tortured him, but on this night, he bawled. Full-body sobs that racked his entire being.
And I knew without probing past those walls in his head —thiswas the release he needed. The results of a different kind of pain. A surrender that wasn’t about submission or the normal, civilized rules of consent, but one that gave him a catharsis the other never could.
I came hard inside him, flooding him deep in his bowels while his body shuddered through violent sobs — and I bit his neck again, drank deeper this time, taking in his pain, his adrenaline, his exhaustion.
Nectar for the monster my maker created.
But I’m no longer that monster, so I injected the antidote for thecocktail di dolore e sofferenza— the cocktail of pain and suffering. However, I reinforced the cocktail to block arousal. It would wear off in four to six hours, but he wouldn’t come tonight because that edge of denial mattered. To complete the catharsis, he needed to suffer through the aftereffects — unrelieved, wrung out and emptied, without pleasure to soften it.
Denied the positive effects of arousal while he dealt with the physical and emotional fallout of our short session. Well, short for me. I have a feeling those fifteen minutes felt like hours to him.
My cock was still half-hard. My thighs ached. My fangs pulsed. There was something animal in my chest, still pacing, still hungry. I shoved it down.
He was crying too hard to stand. I lifted him off the station and carried him to the nearby couch.
He didn’t want to be touched, didn’t want to be held.
I held him anyway. Wrapped my arms around his shaking body and cradled him to my chest while the storm of grief and pain crashed through him.
He tried to push away, tried to resist, but I needed to give him a safe place to lose himself — human contact while he came apart, so he’d know someone cared enough to be here when it was over.
In an attempt to make him stop resisting, I told him, “If you were mine, we’d do that on a schedule. Not the same scenario every time because I wouldn’t let your body learn the pattern, but no arousal while I dole out more pain than you can handle. Pain without arousal. Total overload. Real tears once a month, or maybe every other week.” I considered the timing to keep it a rare-ish event, with anticipation and mounting fear as it neared, and said, “Once a month. Something to look forward to anddread at the same time. First Wednesday of the month, without fail.”
My ruse had worked. He stopped fighting my hold. He wasn’t relaxed, but he stopped trying to escape my embrace.
We sat like that for long moments, with him breathing through the aftermath, gaining control piece by piece until his breathing leveled out, still shaky, but steadier.
His eyes opened and he met my gaze. “Would you be interested in that? In taking me home?”
His voice was steady now, but underneath it, I could hear the anchor of restraint — that low, simmering control he utilized like armor.
He stared at the wall a few seconds and looked back up. “Having your own private security, someone you trust to keep you alive? I’m not looking for a traditional relationship, but working for a couple who can hurt me when it suits them would be the ideal situation for me — where both partners are comfortable involving me sexually on a regular basis, but without making me part of their emotional relationship. Outside the intimacy. That would be ideal.”
I wanted to stroke his face, but that would’ve been the wrong way to go. When he moved to sit up, I let him, but shifted him beside me on the couch, lest he try to walk to another chair, to put more distance between us.
Silver and I weren’t looking for a third, but both of us had been intrigued by Gavin’s idea of finding a live-in pet. Not a submissive, not a poly thing, but someone who wanted to be a human pet. Someone without an income who’d be mostly non-vocal throughout the day, servicing us when ordered, feeding me three or four times a week, handling simple tasks when commanded, and then tortured far beyond reasonable pain when my Silver and I were in a mood to do so. In my mind, we’dbring someone in who didn’t understand English, and we’d only train them to the commands we wanted them to know.
But how realistic was that? To find a shapeshifter with these desires and wishes, who’d actually fit into our lives?
Billy was great as a playtoy when we wanted to hurt someone together, but he belongs to Marco and is available to me through the coterie and my job. Atlas wouldneverbe a pet, but his proposition sounded intriguing. Also, it would solve the problem Silver had mentioned — we’d be able to trust him to know what Silver has in her jeans.
I was intrigued by the man, and by the sadistic aggression his very presence created in my mind. Violent, thrilling things.
