Page 66 of His Pet

God, yes. That’s what I needed. I just about melt into the cold floor, but a smack on my ass brings me back to the present. “Ass up,” Cameron reminds me. The position is uncomfortable, with the tile pressing against my knees and cheek, but I hold it. I want Cameron to praise me again.

He slaps my ass a few times. Not for punishment, it barely hurts. It’s probably to distract himself from the meeting.

Oh god, the meeting. I won’t be forced to stay in this position while he talks business with that super powerful criminal, will I? I’m suddenly grateful for the cold floor when my cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

Cameron opens the bag he brought along. I never saw the contents, but I assumed there were toys. I just thought he’d wait to use them until after the meeting.

A click of a bottle cap. Cold lube drizzling between my cheeks. It looks like I’m about to squirm through Cameron’s meeting with some infernal device up my ass. A plug, judging by the shape pressing into me. I wince, still sore from the sex marathon the previous night, but the plug isn’t asking, it’s demanding entrance, and my body obeys.

It burns. Not just the stretch, but the entire plug. My entire hole. Fuck, it must be the lube. It’s warming up, burning, not painful, but distracting enough to make me whimper and squirm. My cock twitches, a drop of pre-cum slipping from the tip. Cameron chuckles. Coating his fingers in that terrible lube, he spreads the burning to my shaft.

“Please, don’t. Please,” I beg, quietly but insistently.

“Quiet. Stop squirming.”

His hand moves up, and my cockhead starts burning too. I whimper and yank on the cuffs, desperate to wipe the devilish substance off. The cuffs hold, and the only thing I earn myself is a few sharper smacks on my bruised ass. Oh, and laughter. Not from Cameron, but from someone behind me. Multiple someones. We’ve gained an audience, and it makes my face burn almost as hot as my cock.

There’s a metallic clink as Cameron pulls something else out of his bag of horrors. The audience hums appreciatively. A feminine voice notes that this is her favorite. Some men laugh, calling her a mean bitch.

Cameron squeezes my balls. The lube doesn’t burn quite as badly on them as on my cock and ass, but I certainly feel it. I fight not to squirm as he pulls my balls back between my legs, the skin of my sack growing painfully taut. The pain grows worse. Then cold metal touches my sack, clicking around it and securing it in position.

My balls are squeezed down on the very bottom, and it feels like they’re about to burst through my skin any moment. What’s worse, whatever Cameron attached to my sack is long enough to rest against the backs of my thighs, making sure my balls stay pulled all the way back. Even bent over like this, it's uncomfortable. I can’t even imagine straightening up, which must be the point of the whole contraption.

I yelp when Cameron’s hand sharply lands on my poor balls. They’re so fucking sensitive I nearly piss myself from the pain, even though the strike wasn’t all that hard.

“That’s when you break out the cane,” the feminine voice says. I bite my lip not to start crying. What the hell is wrong with these people?

To my relief, Cameron stops making my position even more precarious. “Maybe later,” he says to appease the torture-hungry audience. At least I hope it’s just to appease them. If he takes a cane on my balls, I’ll pass out.

I remind myself that I trust him. He said he’s not into hard torture and has given me no reason to doubt that. The position he put me in is humiliating and wildly uncomfortable, but I wouldn’t exactly call it torture. Definitely not compared to other things happening in this place.

As if sensing my thoughts or seeing my body relax, Cameron runs his hand down my back in a gentle caress. He squeezes my bound hands, the simple gesture letting me know he’s there with me and I have nothing to worry about.

I’m safe with him.

Chapter 42

Cameron

They’re jealous. They might hate me for being a rat, but they came to watch the little show I put on anyway, because Justin is perfect. I can gloat over that, at least, even if the rest of the experience sucks. Not even the people who claimed to believe my innocence will approach me. They might trust I’m being set up, but they won’t risk being seen talking to me. It’s like I have the plague.

I don’t blame them. I would have probably acted the same in their position. It still pisses me off.

Justin serves as a great distraction, and I’m increasingly grateful I brought him along. Without him, I’d sit here on my own, ignored and glared at until Rossi decided to grace me with his presence. I’m sure Sin would come eventually, but she tends to be quite busy on Friday nights.

Justin whimpers, his muscles tightening as he struggles to stay still. He tries, though. For me. Not because I threatened him, but because he wants to please me. It’s a heady feeling that almost makes up for the general distaste emanating from the club patrons.

I grab his shoulders and gently guide him back onto his heels. His back and neck will be grateful for the change in position, but he’ll quickly discover what the device I put on him does, other than squeeze his balls so tight they’re now an enticing dark red color. Like cherries ready to be devoured.

He gasps as he tries to straighten up but stays hunched over.

I can’t help but laugh. “Come on, pet. Straighten your back. Chin up.”

“Oh my god,” Justin moans as he tries. The metal arms of the humbler are lodged firmly behind his legs, pulling his balls back every time he tries to straighten. The kneeling position isn’t even that difficult. If I wanted to be extra mean, I’d make him stand up. That one’s practically impossible.

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Don’t you want to be a good boy for me?”