The first thing I used was a feather.
Simple, maybe, but it made the biggest men wither when you did it right. I flicked it over his nipple, watched the way he gasped and arched. His hands gripped the edge of the raised bed.He moaned, helpless. The feather flicked over his chest, back and forth, and he shuddered like he didn’t know how to handle it. His cock twitched, hardening some more, but he didn’t move. God, the control.
I leaned closer, breathing in the scent of his skin. Older, yes, but not used up. Not even close. The years made him interesting. The scars, the roughness, the way he tried to brace for pain and then fell apart when it didn’t come. I’d take that over any pretty boy, any day.
I dragged the feather down, across his stomach, then let it trail over the soft inside of his thighs. The gasp he gave was pure instinct. He jerked, but only a little, just enough to tell me he wanted more. I pushed the feather between his legs, and he whimpered, thighs trembling.
“Sensitive here?” I didn’t wait for an answer. I already knew.
He bit his lip. “Yes, sir.”
Perfect. I swapped the feather for a strip of soft suede and laid it flat against his hip. The fabric dragged slow, just enough friction to wake every nerve. He made a desperate sound, hands fisting tighter.
“That’s good,” I told him, low and even. “That’s what I want.”
I kept going, switching textures every few seconds. Silk. Then the dull side of a paddle, not to hit, just to press and tease. He tensed up, expecting pain, but all I gave him was a careful stroke across his outer thighs.
He made a sound, deep in his throat, and his cock lifted, hard and flushed. I almost grinned.
I set the paddle aside and touched his leg with my bare hand, then trailed it up, slow, up his inner thigh, careful of the joint. He shivered. Turned his head, blindfolded, but he didn’t lose focus.
He needed this. Maybe more than he knew.
I watched his chest rise and fall, the way sweat started to bead along his ribs. I went back to the feather, this time over his nipples, and he gasped again, louder.
“Color?” I asked, wanting to make sure he was in the headspace I wanted.
“Green,” he said instantly, voice wrecked. “Please.”
I made sure he heard my approval. “Good boy.”
The words hit him hard. I saw it in the tremor that ran all the way to his toes.
Enough teasing. I picked up the spiked gloves. Not the brutal ones, just soft rubber tips that would scratch and drag, not break skin. I let him hear the sound as I pulled them on. His whole body tensed.
I stroked the spikes over his chest, down his sides, and he almost arched off the bed. The difference—the way his skin had to adjust from soft to bite—wrecked him.
He groaned. “Sir,” he gasped, like he couldn’t hold it in.
“Take it,” I told him softly. “You can do more.”
I kept going, gentle at first, then a little harder, dragging the spikes in slow lines over his stomach, the insides of his elbows, his inner thighs. He shuddered, nearly squirming off the bed, but he didn’t move his arms. Good. He was already trained. I could have praised him again, but I wanted him to feel the burn of needing it.
“Breathe, Clayton.” I dragged the spikes down, slow, careful, over his thighs, stopping just at the inside of his knee. “You feel it?”
He nodded, blindfold shifting. “Yes, sir.” His voice was rough, low, almost a whimper.
I set my hand at his hip, steadying him, then let the gloves brush higher. Delicate, just a tickle along the crease of his thigh. He gasped, hands gripping harder at the edge of the mattress.His cock was thick, leaking onto his stomach. I knew he wanted to hide it, but I wasn’t about to let him.
I slipped the glove off and ran my palm up his leg, then traced the tip of my finger right under his balls, feather-light. He jerked, swearing. I leaned over him, let my beard scratch at his ear.
“You like this?” I rumbled. “Being touched everywhere?” He made a noise, high and desperate, and I felt it all through my cock, hot and hard. “Answer.”
“Yes, sir.” He was panting now. “Please, I need…”
I grinned. “You need what? More?”
He nodded so fast the blindfold slipped again. I let him squirm, touched his chest, dragged my fingers over his nipples. He sobbed, the sound pure want.
