Page 31 of Destroyer

"Nico."

"I get my reward. You wash me."

It's not a question, but an order, and who can deny my brat.

I strip and enter the large cubicle with him.

"You are such a brat," I growl in his ear, reaching across him for the shampoo.

"I was not minding the baby play." Nico presses in against me. "But I am really wanting the hurt."

"Hurt?"

"Not pulling nails. But I do need it. I am always asking men how it feel to really hurt. Held down and hurt always get my cock hard."

This is not Nico moulding to be what I want. This is the real boy behind his various masks. I finish washing him and rush through drying his pale skin.

"You really want to know?" I question.

"Not will anyone ever show me," he sighs, leaning heavily into me.

"Nico." I rasp his name like a horny dog, practically ripping my belt from the trouser loops without even picking the clothing from where it was discarded pre-shower. He doesn’t stiffen as I cross his wrists behind his back, if anything, he relaxes more. I fix the belt around his wrists, capturing them in a way even a minx like him couldn't escape.

"Wait here." I lift him from my body, lowering him to his knees. I'm unprepared for a sub in my bedroom, but my collection of belts will do the job.

With them over my arm, I wrap one loosely around his throat and tug until he stands and follows me. I lead him to the foot of the bed and then fold him over, letting his shoulders hit the mattress.

"You can say stop or no if you want this to end," I warn him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," he mutters.

"You will not question pain again." I let a belt swing, cropping across his arse cheeks. It was a light tap, barely marking his skin, but I know he felt it.

"Yes," he breathes.

The next strike is a little harder, he flinches this time, but groans out the word yes.

My belt dances across his cheeks again and again, the pain will be his in quantity rather than force. Each hits him barely hard enough to mark but as the number grows, his cheeks redden. Each crack of my belt is met with a groan of yes, an automatic response from a boy as he drifts in blissful contentment he's probably never felt before.

"This is the last one," I warn him, he practically growls at me in response.

I know he can manage more, he's the type of pain addict who could keep me going all night, but that isn't the goal.

After delivering the final promised blow, I discard the belt and gather up his limp form.

He melts against me as I carry him around to the side of the bed and lie him on it, facing his back to me.

"Don't move," I order.

When I get back from the bathroom with lube and cream, he hasn't moved a muscle.

"I'm going to rub cream on your arse now," I warn, squeezing the cold cream into my fingers. I rub my hands together to warm the cream, but he still flinches when I apply it.

"Yes, yes, yes," he breathes dreamily.

I want to confirm that this is everything he dreamt it would be, because so far, it's everything I've ever wanted. My massaging hands creep closer to the crack of his arse, switching to coating of lube before caressing his opening.

As if he knows I need encouragement, his voice repeats the word yes over and over. It turns deeper and dirtier as my finger enters him. Pumping back and forth draws more of the sound from within him.

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