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Thomas clenched his fists in the cuffs. His cock brushed against Marcus' as it rose high again, bumping his groin.
When Marcus glanced down and raised an ironic gaze, there was a tight smile on Thomas' lips, even as his eyes burned with need. "You said my lips. You didn't say anything else. "
Marcus pressed his temple to him. "So I did. I'm going to blindfold you now, dearest. I want your focus to be only on what's going on inside of you and what I'm doing. Let everything but that energy go and see where it takes you. " Thomas didn't reply, just stood still as Marcus fitted the blindfold over his eyes, unable to resist brushing his fingers over Thomas' fair lips one more time before he turned him, the heavy ankle chains having enough slack that he could make Thomas face away from him. Then he moved back, went to the weapon choices on the wall.
Let everything but the energy go, and see where it takes you. . .
That was what Thomas did when he painted. Thomas wondered if Marcus had knowingly provided him the right words to help him focus, give him something to hang onto. So much of the past hour had been instinct, no thought. There was no explaining why. As he strained to hear Marcus' movements, his footsteps, the portentous sound of something being retrieved from inside a cabinet, his body trembled with anxiety and arousal both. His cock was as stiff as it had been when Marcus was inside him, as if Marcus were still inside him.
Like a cruel poltergeist, the thought flitted through his mind of what his family would think. Jesus, would they be glad to accept he was "just gay" if they knew about this? No, he didn't want his thoughts to go there. But there it was. Rory or his mother, or even Celeste, seeing this. Was something wrong with him? Was he sick to crave this so much from Marcus' hand? He was about to be beaten, hard, and all he could think was yes, please. Give me the release.
His fists became knots, reflecting what was happening in his lower abdomen. Was this who he was? He couldn't even explain why he desired and wanted this to himself.
Was he just fucked up? What if -
The whistle of air announced the lick of flame which sliced down his back in a diagonal line from shoulder blade to mid-back. He arched on a gasp.
"Let everything go. You're disobeying your Master. Let me see if I can't help bring you in line. " Marcus' voice, stern, implacable, with a rough thread that told Thomas his instant response had aroused him.
Give me your pain. . .
The lash fell again. Holy God, what was Marcus using? The stinging provided a jolt, the weight of the tail like a knife cut that became a rope burn. But the pain released a wealth of inexplicable emotional and physical responses in him. It simply was and there was no defense against the reaction.
The tableau of broad shoulders, muscles bunching and rippling across Thomas' back, down to the tight flex of his buttocks and thighs, the curling of his toes, made Marcus harder, hotter. He was mindful of his strength, knowing the difference between administering pain for pleasure and pain for pain's sake. He was straddling the line with it, choosing different areas for each stroke, then going back, increasing the agony and the burn, but increasing something else too.
The wall beyond them was mirrored, so he could tell Thomas was getting closer to climax with every blow. His expulsion of breaths, the quiet grunts and trembling, the gleam of perspiration spreading on his smooth, firm skin, told Marcus what he'd always suspected, that Thomas was a sub to the hardcore, even if it was only with him.
That exclusivity suited him just fine. If anything, it drove his lust to levels that could easily make him insane.
He closed the distance between them. Before Thomas could anticipate, Marcus laid the hand still holding the whip on his back, letting Thomas feel the texture of the braided weapon along with the fingers holding it.
When Marcus wet three fingers from his own mouth and thrust them deep between his slave's buttocks, he nearly growled with possessive satisfaction at Thomas' groan of response. His thighs strained against the manacles. "Jesus. . . " He had raised red welts on his skin, so now Marcus made good on his promise.
Touching his lips to those marks, he felt Thomas shudder at each touch of his mouth.
"I'm going to move back in a minute and do it some more," Marcus said gruffly.
"Because of the pause, the initial blows will be more sensitive, so the first strikes will hurt. But instead of tensing, I want you to relax. Completely surrender to the pain, and to me. Can you do that?"
Thomas nodded, his head pressed hard against his arm. When he spoke, nerves made his voice shake. "Yes, Master. "
"Good. "
When Marcus moved his fingers in the tight channel of his ass, slow, steady, Thomas rocked against his touch. God, his cock was so hard Marcus ached. "You're so hot you'd go off like a volcano if I commanded it, wouldn't you?" Thomas jerked his head in another nod. "Yes, Master. "
"I love it when you call me that. When you know it's absolutely true, so I hear it in your voice. " Marcus bent his head, soothed another welt and noticed Thomas biting down on the inside of his mouth as if to keep from crying out.
He'd changed his mind. He wanted to hear Thomas cry out. In fact, he wanted to hear him scream.
* * * * *
Marcus was moving around to his front. The heat of his body brushed Thomas, the whip circling his waist, the loop of it dropping low on his ass. When Marcus released his ankles, Thomas heard some type of mechanism humming. His arms drew taut, his body stretching, his heels leaving the ground. . .
"Marcus - "
"Be still, pet. "
His feet left the floor completely, his shoulders straining with his own weight. He was moving, a conveyor taking him. . . backward? It was hard to tell blindfolded, but his body came up against an uneven vertical metal surface, like the bars of some type of cage. His shoulder blades, buttocks and heels were against them.
