Sawyer studied Asher as he strode from the bathroom, expression flat. What had Sawyer missed? Or more likely, what was he deliberately not acknowledging to himself?
Asher ran his hand over Sawyer’s chest when he was close enough, fingers plucking at his nipple. All emotion had been wiped from his expression, in a bland imitation of the Doms who tried too hard to be dominant.
Ash continued to pluck at his nipples, both hands joining in the dual stimulation that prickled over his chest and spread south to his dick. Sawyer tried to figure out his game, eyes narrowing. Nipple play? Clamps and electrical stimulation? The entire ball-shaving event had been executed with a clinical precision. Definitely not foreplay or even a mind fuck with the sharp edge of the razor on his nuts.
“Tell me to stop and I will.” The words came out deadly serious. Asher stared at him, intent hard in his eyes, expression equally stony. The distance was disarming in itself. Asher didn’t play that way. He’d always been right there, too close, absorbing everything while taking more.
“Okay.” He stated his understanding, even though Asher had hammered it in every time they’d played.
The grip on his dick made him inhale, but the touch was gentle, the strokes nice. He groaned, responding to the stimulation with a speed that came from wanting more of it. Pleasure shot through his groin and filled him with the longing that only Asher evoked.
His erection hardened under Asher’s knowing touch. He found every sensitive spot, paced his glides and held his grip in that way guaranteed to get Sawyer off, using all the tricks he’d learned over the last weeks of their fucking each other blind.
When had the lines crossed so badly, smoothly?
Asher closed his eyes, hand stilling. Sawyer tried to sway into the touch, but the binds wouldn’t give. Not even an inch. The hip and thigh straps dug into his skin when he pressed forward, so he let his head fall until his temple rested against Asher’s. He breathed in his spicy scent, absorbed the closeness while he was safely contained, limited in what he could get.
He floated in the gentle haze of lust and pleasure that slid in between the cracks around his heart. He couldn’t want this, yet he did.
Asher’s breath hitched, hand convulsing before he stepped away. The emptiness swept in to slap at Sawyer.
The coldness had returned, wedged between them like a block of ice when he was on fire. He clenched his teeth as Asher cinched a ring around the base of his dick and balls, his nuts clamped tightly beneath his erection. The pressure throbbed near the leather strap, his hard dick straining before him.
Cock torture, then. With the wand.
Anticipation danced with the adrenaline flooding his system. The imagined pain lured him into that heady state of expectancy and resistance. He shouldn’t want this—any of it. But knowing he could, that he’d get to feel before he went numb was his draw. He could conquer the physical pain. Destroy it and revel in it, before reality slipped back in.
Asher’s movements were precise, no taunting or implied threats layered into his preparation. He bound the violet wand probe to Sawyer’s leg with an Ace bandage, the body attachment snug against his skin. He was going to be the conduit for the electricity produced by the wand, the voltage charging through him to ignite wherever Asher touched him, shocking him from the inside. The intensity and thus the pain would depend on the width of the metal object Asher held. The smaller the tip, the more concentrated and forceful the jolt would be.
His groan rippled through his chest, want lacing in.
Asher didn’t respond to him, and his distance dug away at Sawyer. What was his deal? Why the shift? What was his angle?
He spun through the possibilities while simultaneously berating himself for wondering at all. There was no point in chasing thoughts, when he usually sank into the quiet before the pain hit.
He forced his breaths to slow, closed his eyes, and rested his head against the board. He counted his heartbeats. The roll of Asher’s stool and subsequent adjustment of the seat clicked into his brain.
Then the violet wand was turned on, the low hum filling the air and sensitizing his skin from memory alone. He wet his lips, swallowed, and remembered to breathe when the humming intensified as Asher increased the voltage level to what sounded like its highest setting.
His muscles were tensed against the expected zap. He could open his eyes, watch what Asher intended, but the not knowing was part of the fun. The state of his cock pretty much clued him in to where the focus would be. It was the how and the with what that enticed his craving.
The first shock nailed him near the base of his shaft. He flinched, straining at the bands as his muscles contracted against the zap of electricity that shot through his balls. It was gone a moment later, and he sagged in the bindings. The first hit was always the hardest for him, no matter what or where it was.
“Stop works tonight.” Asher restated yet again. Another warning on the level of pain to come.
Asher didn’t wait for a response. The sharp shock sliced over Sawyer’s skin, the low popping of sparks igniting the air. The static electricity–type bite was magnified by the consistent prolonged hit. Amplified by the concentrated focal point.
Shit. Shit. Shit. A thin line sliced over his dick and wedged deep into this groin. He clenched his teeth, hands fisting, but didn’t fight the contact. The pinpoint intensity, reinforced by the actual contact of the tool, was like an ice pick digging a line in his skin. Or a knife.
Then it was gone. His breath gushed out in a harsh rasp, his muscles going slack. Pain flooded his senses, and he pried his eyes open to stare down at the thin red line burned into his dick by the tiny tip of the dental pick in Asher’s hand. He was stunned to realize the mark was only a half-inch long, when it felt like his dick had been severed off.
The scent hit him with his next inhalation. Bile rose up his throat so fast it almost spewed out before he choked it back. The smell of scorched flesh stuck in his nose and clawed into his mind. It wasn’t new to him, and he should’ve expected it. But he hadn’t, and the impact was worse than the physical pain.
Memories screamed back. Fire, flames, heat, smoke—they danced before him until they merged with his own skin, sizzling under the hot knife he’d pressed into his own thigh as he’d watched it with a detached fascination, the agony blazing into his soul.
No!
He breathed through the panic, eyes glued to the metal tool held inches above his dick. The leather cock ring kept his erection in place when it wanted nothing more than to shrink up and hide.
Asher met his gaze, expression blank. He waited a beat, then returned his attention to his task. He lowered the tool, the sharp point making another pass down the line that was already there. The agony dug deeper this time, ripping into his groin to sever everything in its path. His grunt ripped free, muscles so tense they ached. Sparks hissed and danced in his ears with every small touch of the pick, the electrical discharge cracking in the air.
His stomach rolled with the sick swim of nausea, the pain so intense and sinking so deeply he battled to hold it in. It helped to watch, though, to see the blisters forming beneath the tool as the current burned his skin. His strange fascination was another bizarre part of his kink. His enjoyment factor hiked up a level whenever he got to see the pain being inflicted on him. At the same time, his brain detached from it while somehow absorbing it.
His world zeroed down to the raging pain that spread to encompass his entire body and the man inflicting each hit, one tiny touch at a time. He was coated in sweat by the time he processed that the letter A was being branded into his skin. On his dick.
He blinked, breaths heaving during a pause. A. The letter penetrated his haze to connect it with Asher. He swallowed, hunted for saliva.
“A,” he rasped, barely hearing himself over the buzzing of the wand.
Asher sat up, searched him from head to toe before standing. “Yes?” He was so close, but he couldn’t touch Sawyer without shocking him. Not unless he turned the wand off.
“A,” he said again. “Asher.”
“Yes.”
The single-word statement confirmed what he was trying to process. Asher was branding his name onto Sawyer’s dick.
Asher’s eyes narrowed, that calculating wrinkle appearing between his brows. Sawyer became captivated. What was he thinking? It was easier to wonder about that than to acknowledge the demons circling closer.
“Are you okay?”
He almost laughed at that. He would’ve if he had it in him. The endorphins were sucking at his reasoning. The happy juice took his pain from him when he wanted to wallow in it. Die in it like his family had.
Voicing any of that would stop the pain, though. Asher would run so fast from him—and he should—if he knew how close Sawyer was to losing himself in the pain forever.
But then, maybe he already did.
“Yes,” he said, breathing into the fire consuming him from the inside. “Don’t stop.” Until he was nothing but cinder and ash. Until the anguish buried his guilt and smothered what was left of his will.
Then maybe he’d finally be free.