Page 70 of Damian & Jun, Episodes 9-12
“Thank you, sir.”
Richard eased Damian’s pants down his legs, checking his lower half with the same attention, picking up Damian’s feet and running his thumb across the arches, measuring the tension.
Satisfied, Richard stood and stepped back. He went to one of the cabinets. Damian focused on the sound of his own heartbeat, on what he wanted to leave behind in the coming sweat and tears. Whatever Richard chose, he was content with it. His dom knew him inside and out.
Richard’s heat spread across Damian’s back. His dom had come right up to him. “Ready, Pup?”
“Yes, sir.”
Richard pressed his lips to the side of Damian’s neck, the opposite of Jun’s teeth marks.
“Just let go. This is warm-up.”
Richard stepped back. The sound of a long, soft leather flogger swished through the air.
Damian’s skin bloomed under the first fall of the strands. Damian groaned, not in pain but in relief. He pulled back, chasing their touch. Richard didn’t make him wait. Stroke by stroke, he brushed Damian’s skin, shoulders to waist and along the backs of his arm, keeping away from his face.
Soft warmth spread through Damian’s center. The strikes grew deeper, focusing on the fleshy parts of his back. Richard painted the flogger across Damian’s buttocks and down his thighs.
Damian let his forehead rest against the pad on the wall specifically meant for protecting his face. His body opened up under long practice beneath Richard’s attentions. He needed more, but Richard would take him there safely.
When there was warmth everywhere, Richard stepped toward him, pressing his hips against Damian. He pressed another kiss to Damian’s shoulder.
“This isn’t a punishment, Pup.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going to ask you questions as we go. I want you to answer as honestly as you are able.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t care how ugly the answer, boy. I don’t care who it implicates. I don’t care what someone outside this room might think of what you say. This space is sacred, just you and I, Pup.”
“Yes, sir.”
Richard pressed his lips to Damian’s skin again in a benediction.
This time when Richard stepped back, Damian expected pain, and it came, a hard strike of soft leather falls across his upper back. It rocked him forward. He gripped the bars curled under his fingers inside the restraints.
More. He needed more. Pain, bright and clean or dark and deep, either had the power to bring clarity and cleansing.
Tension spread back through his limbs. Strike after strike, a steady stripping away the outer facade, the performance, the poise, the control, revealing the man beneath.
Richard approached, his hand skimming over Damian’s warm skin. “Color, Pup.”
“Green,” Damian breathed.
Richard ran his hand over Damian’s bent head. “We’re going to start with Howser. You said there is guilt. Tell me what you could have done differently. Enumerate your transgressions toward him.”
Damian ran his tongue around his mouth to gather saliva. Transgressions? Wasn’t it obvious?
“I left him behind, sir.”
“When?” Richard moved a few steps away.
“When I left the house.”
“How old was he?”
