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His cock was visible through the open crotch of his unzipped jeans, and I wanted to ask him to pull them down, let me suck the wet head that shone with each step he took.
“Any siblings?”
“No, Sir.” The crop landed on my other arm.
“Best friends?”
“Yes, Sir. Daniel and Windy.”
The reward was a clamp with sharp teeth placed on my left nipple. I shifted from knee to knee, the concrete making bruises from all my kneeling over the last day. Still, I couldn’t remember thinking about my diagnosis or impending death in the last sixteen hours. Just Sir and pain. My new favorite things. And I’d tell him that if he asked.
I could love him. I could truly love him in a way that was real,because he’d seen the worst of me, and he hadn’t run away. Instead, he’d held me, hurt me, and made me fly.
I wanted to swoon from the crushing weight of my feelings.
“Do you suck their cocks?”
“No, Sir?” I said it like a question, and his lips quirked up in a kind of amused smile I hadn’t seen before. It made my heart skip. He was hot. I’d always known that. But he was cute too.
“I asked,” he said, as he readied the other clamp for my right nipple, “because some people are friends, and some people are sex friends, and some people are both.”
“I don’t fuck Windy or Daniel, Sir, or let them fuck me. They wouldn’t even want to, and I…” I bit back a cry as he fixed the clamp on, breathing harshly as I finished my thought, “I wouldn’t want to either. If I thought they wanted me like that, that’d kind of break me, Sir.”
He glanced up at that, his expression as intense as ever, but a softness, like candlelight, flickered in his eyes. He touched my cheek, more gently than I usually wanted, but this time it sent a flare of warmth to my belly, pooling there and making me feel soft too. “And what about me?”
“You, Sir?”
“If we became friends, but I still wanted to fuck you—”
A smile broke over my face despite knowing I should probably act like I didn’t care at all. Was I dreaming? Did Sir really want to hurt me the way I neededandbe with me outside of this room? After what I’d told him? Champagne joy popped all through my veins.
Sir kept his hand on my cheek and asked quietly, “Would that break you?”
Panting, I teased, “I thought youwantedto break me, Sir? Isn’t that what I’m doing here?”
Sir’s eyes closed a moment, and he let his hand grow rough onmy cheek, pulling down hard to clench my jaw and force my mouth open. “Breaking you is a goal of mine, yes.”
“I don’t fuck my friends,” I said. It sounded distorted around his pull on my jaw. “But I’d make an exception for you, Sir.”
He reached down, took hold of my balls, and I held very still. I knew he had no qualms about causing me pain there. He squeezed, but not enough to really hurt, just enough that I broke out into a cold sweat of anticipation. “What if I wanted to see you outside of these sessions? Take you to lunch? To dinner?”
“A date, Sir?” My heart was about to beat out of my chest, both in fear for my balls and in hope. Was it possible he wanted more from me than my tears and cum?
Sir swallowed, conflict warring on his face, and then he said in a voice that would have made my dick flex and my nipples zing with arousal if they weren’t being actively hurt. “Yes. A date.”
He clutched my balls a little tighter, and his eyes moved down to my lips. “What happens on a date, Mitchell?”
“We’d go out, Sir, to a movie or dinner, or something like that.” His eyes stayed on my mouth, and with a bolt of clarity I knew what he wanted to hear. “We’d kiss. Then I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me, however you wanted. You wouldn’t have to hurt me, unless you wanted to, Sir. I’d let you… just fuck me, if you wanted that.”
His eyes fluttered closed again, and then the pressure on my balls grew until I squealed. His lips twisted into that sadistic smirk, and he let go of me, leaving me alone on my knees. He whipped out his cock, squeezed the head, and said, “Open your mouth.”
I winced. I didn’t love piss play, but he knew that already, and now he used it most times we got together. I held still as he aimed, and the pungent flavor filled my mouth. I swallowed as some spilled over my throat, and then Sir shoved me to the floor, pissing in my hair and down my back. The heat of it was simultaneously grossand soothing, and when he was done, he used a hand in my wet hair to pull me up to kneeling.
“You look pretty all wet and ripe.”
“Thank you, Sir?” Again with the question. I didn’t know if I wanted to be told I was pretty in the middle of a scene right now. But then again, the idea that he wanted to go on a date with me, that he truly wanted to kiss me and treat me as a person instead of a thing to hurt and fuck was intoxicating. For that reason, I was glad I was pretty.
“My nasty little fuck toy,” he said. “Get on your hands and knees.”
