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“Not a chance, baby,” my Angel Daddy commanded, and my blood chilled at the authority in his voice. “You’re going to stay right there and take it.”

Holy shit. I froze in place, fighting a wince against the onslaught of the water. It pelted against my sensitive hole, but despite the pain, I loved it. Tris commanding me into suffering was goddamn everything.

Then he upped the stakes. A hard smack landed against my right cheek, and I yelped at the sting. But like the good Daddy I wanted to be for my boy, I stayed in place, ensuring I was still in the path of the merciless spray. My Devil Daddy slapped my other cheek, and soon, he was raining down spanks on my ass as the water continued to obliterate my hole.

I’d never really been into pain in this way, but then again, I’d never been in this kind of scenario. But as Tristan reddened my ass for no other reason than his—and my—pleasure, I realized I really fucking liked it. Edging myself—its own form of torture—had only given me a tiny glimpse into the kind of pain I liked. Pain administered by the hand of someone I trusted implicitly, completely, someone I wanted to give everything to, was perfect.

Tristan’s smacks eventually tapered off, and I was glad. I wouldn’t want this all the time, but giving into Tris’s whims and letting him call the shots—letting him give me the pain I only now realized I’d wanted—was something I’d love to try again.

In the next second, the water jet was gone, and Tristan’s warm tongue dove in, caressing my hole. I moaned loudly, relishing in the sound of it reverberating off the tiles and glass.

The tip of his tongue played with the edges of my overly sensitive hole. He pressed against it, seeking entrance, and I sighed as I relaxed into the sensation. Then his tongue was inside me, and I swore nothing would ever feel this good. I wanted this feeling every day for the rest of my life.

The thought didn’t scare me, but I knew it would terrify Tristan. So instead of confessing my feelings, I moaned into the otherwise quiet bathroom, letting him know I loved what he was doing, wordlessly begging him to keep going.

He obliged, his tongue exploring me until I felt like he was going to turn me inside out. I started shuddering, and I felt the telltale signs of orgasm build up inside me. My stomach clenched, my balls tightened, and my dick throbbed as it bobbed, untouched, in front of me. I released a hand from the glass wall to reach for it, and Tristan smacked my ass even with his face still buried between my cheeks.

He wasn’t going to let me touch myself.

Jesus, why was that so hot?

Despite the small distraction—though honestly the spanking just turned me on even more—I soon felt my orgasm threatening again. Tristan moaned into my hole, his ministrations making me see stars as my cock tightened then released untouched. Ropes of cum painted the glass in front of me as Tristan’s tongue caressed the edges of my hole with dizzying speed. I lurched forward as I sprayed, shouting through my release as I saw heaven on earth.

Tristan still didn’t let up when I’d released a massive load of cum, and then, in the hottest display of dominance I’d ever experienced, he grabbed my spent but still-hard cock and started stroking it. I groaned, the feeling edging on pain, but somehow, he knew I wanted this.

His strokes picked up as the last of my cum dribbled out of my hard, sensitive cock, and I moaned louder. “Angel Daddy, please,” I begged, loving the endearment on my lips. “Please, I’m so sensitive it hurts.”

Tristan just squeezed me harder, then his hand came up over the tip, and I shouted.

“Fuck!”

He pulled back just enough to speak. “You know what to say to make this stop, Henry.”

I did. And despite my pleading, I didn’t want it to. I wanted Tristan to make me hurt for him until he was done with me.

And he did. He forced me to endure another minute or two of insanely intense sensation before he dropped my cock then shoved a cum-coated finger inside my asshole. Impossibly, he found my prostate instantly and stroked it, making my toes curl as I raised up onto them. Tristan must’ve stood then, because his lips were nibbling at my earlobe as he massaged my prostate like he owned it.

Because he did.

“How’s that, Daddy?”

I groaned, wincing under that glorious, perfect pain. My entire body felt like a live wire that Tris had worked up, pushed over the edge, and dragged further into agony.

Tristan’s answering snicker was downright wicked.

I was sweating as I endured the onslaught, and I started begging again. “Please, Devil Daddy, please. I need to stop. Please.”

“You know what to say, then.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to safeword. I wanted Tristan to take me right to the edge of what I could endure then pull away.

“Okay, then. One more minute, and I’ll let you go.”

My eyes flashed wide as my head whipped around to find his gaze. “A full sixty seconds?” I didn’t think I’d survive.

Tristan’s eyes found mine, and the heat in them made my knees weak. “You can do it, Daddy. For me.”

I whimpered as he stroked over my way-too-sensitive prostate again, and tears welled in the corners of my eyes. How could this man know exactly how to treat me? How could he intuit precisely what I wanted, what I needed? How could he be this perfect for me?