Page 82 of Bottoms Up
I didn’t want to be hard while this was happening, while my guts were full and churning, but the indignity, and all the anal pressure with the damned balloons on either side of my rectum — my body has a mind of its own.
The cramps churning in my gut were brutal. Sharp, twisting things that rolled through me like broken glass, made me clench on the nozzle. Total reflex, but it sent another spike of arousal through me, pressure blooming under the cage on my cock. This one had steel bars around it like a demented jail cell, constricting it in places, letting flesh balloon out between the bars when arousal filled it, when I could no longer remain soft.
Julian had walked me to the toilet earlier. Stroked my hair while I expelled, murmuring comfort while I moaned through the shame of it.
I’d thought that was the worst of it.
I was wrong.
That had beenkind. This wasn’t.
Because now I had a quart of body-warm, soap-heavy water draining into me, and he’d bound me to the table. Oh, sure, I could move around a little to try to ease the cramps, butfuck, it wasn’t helping.
Worse, he’d squeezed a few pumps of glycerin in first, just for fun, and now my gut was a live wire, the cramps like rabid weed eaters tearing through me, the violent urge togoso much worse.
I was curled on my side again, arms and ankles bound, wrists strapped to the edge of the bondage table.
The solution was going in too fast. Too much. I desperately wanted to beg him to let me release, or to slow the last of thewater, but the damned chopsticks on my tongue meant I was reduced to animal noises.
The cramps weren’t waves. They were knives. Moving. Twisting. Overlapping. They weren’t just bad — they wereindescribable. Blades. Hooks. Pressure that bent the edges of sanity.
I whimpered. Dug my top teeth into my arm a little to center me. Rocked gently against the restraints like movement might help.
Julian had left me like this while he went back to Atlas. Just like that. As if my body wasn’t screaming for mercy.
And yet… I couldn’t look away from Atlas.
He didn’t cry out. Not once. But his toes curled against the floor, and his cock jerked in the cage, trapped and swollen. Every few seconds his whole frame would stutter and spasm, like he was caught mid-seizure — a silent jolt like something inside him was shorting out.
God, he was beautiful.
Wrecked and restrained and obedient. Controlled. Everything Julian wanted.
EverythingIwanted, too, apparently, judging by the slickness on my thighs and the ache, the insistentthrobbingof my caged cock.
A long, broken whine escaped my throat, and Julian glanced over his shoulder at me.
“Time hasn’t even started for you yet,” he said calmly. “Pace yourself, my love.”
I whimpered. Dug my top teeth into my arm again to keep from screaming and begging.
He focused on Atlas again. Left me to the pain he’d inundated me with.
I closed my eyes, thought I heard footsteps, only to open them and see him still with Atlas. Still looking the other way while I burned.
Eventually, when he’d wrung every last tremor from Atlas and left him gasping, wrecked, Julian returned to me.
He brushed sweat-damp hair from my temple. Kissed it. “You held thirty minutes after it was in.” Another caress to my forehead. “Good piccolina.”
He unstrapped me, walked me to the toilet,finallyreleased the damned balloons. Sat beside me while I emptied. Watched me, as always. His toy. His property. Those eyes missnothing.
When I thought I was empty, he pointed me to the corner with the treadmill. My second-favorite pair of running shoes beside it.
It took four tries to make it a full mile.
The first time, I made it a tenth of a mile before I had to sprint back to the toilet, humiliation painting my face red as I nearly didn’t make it.
The second, a quarter mile.
