Page 100 of Bottoms Up
My chest heaved with my sobs, and he worked my dick until my breathing was at least a little under control before he straightened and wrapped a hairband around the head — and he hooked it to line attached to the floor that I hadn’t noticed.
The length of my dick was pulled down until it was horizontal, and I couldn’t lean forward to relieve the strain.
“Won’t be on long enough to worry about cutting circulation off,” he told me, and then proceeded to beat the top side of my dick.
I screamed into the room with each cruel blow. Tears blurred my vision. Eight times, and he probably took two minutes to deliver them all, but the next devastating lash always arrived before I could handle it.
As promised, the hairband came off as soon as he finished, and my dick once again stood proud, throbbing like fuck, red and trembling, while tears flowed down my face.
I couldn’t evenbeginto imagine surviving another round.
* * * *
Julian
Silver needs this, sometimes. She so rarely needs to be punished, but a prearranged ordeal slides into the energy of discipline, where dread simmers quietly, long before the first strike arrives, when you just have to survive it because there’s no escape.
The best part of it, for me, is helping her through the hellscape, loving her through it, and then caring for her after.
This last group would be unbearable — exquisite in its cruelty, and it was my job to empathize and love her while simultaneously increasing her levels of dread and terror.
I cupped her tearstained cheek in my palm. “Poor, poor Silver. Paying the price for all those lovely orgasms. You’re beautiful when you cry,amore mio. Breathe in for me.”
She only managed a shallow inhale, so I changed my tone to leave no doubt it was an order. “Deep breath.”
In between talking her through more deep breaths, I told her how much I love her pain, her anguish, her gasps, her trembles.
And I kept telling her how much more this last set would hurt, given over the top of the first set. And unspoken, the fact sheknowsthe final group is always given with harder strikes.
Her scent told me her fear levels, and I kept talking until I reached my goal.
I wanted her to dread it down to the marrow.
Five minutes later, the room was filled with the scent of her pain, dread, and fear, and I stepped back, took aim, and delivered the final eight.
Clean, brutal, spaced just far enough apart to let each blow echo in her body, her mind, before the next landed.
She sagged in her restraints, sobbing. I didn’t linger.
I released her arms and legs, scooped her into my arms, and carried her to the bondage table. The same one she’d used to roll my balls flat. It’soursin a way nothing else can ever be.
She wanted to curl into a ball, but I connected her wrists over her head, straightened her body, and stretched out beside her. Held her. Pet her.
Her body shook, her sobs and gasps racking her small frame. I stroked her hair. “What is it about pain,il mio sole?”
“Affection, Sir,” she managed. “Pain equals affection, Sir.”
“That’s right,amore mio bellissimo.”
My sun, the warmth I lost when my maker took my humanity.My beautiful love. My Silver is all of that, and more.
But our evening wasn’t over. Trying to negotiate her way out of consequences isn’t part of our deal. I make the rules, she follows them.
I didn’t carry her back to the cross, but held her hand and walked her. She didn’t want to go, but didn’t protest. The lesson was there, acknowledged, but now I had to make it stick.
A lesson in why we don’t negotiate with sadists while in a scene.
I bound her to the cross facing it and delivered the exact chastisement she’d offered — a whip to her back, followed by the cane on her ass and then to the backs of her thighs — thirty-six for each location, given twelve at a time. I gave her little breaks between sets, but my poor girl was wrecked when I finally gathered her up and carried her to our suite.
