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Everything starts to burn – that one spot on his ass the worst.
Someone smacks the bottom of a foot. That fuckinghurts. Carter screams. Everyone laughs.
Quite a few people hit his feet after that before they all seem to grow tired of just hitting feet - but not before Carter's feet feel swollen and hot.
His thighs throb.
His ass burns.
His cock is shriveled up into nearly nothing where it thankfully lays safely between him and the bench.
People keep coming. And coming. And coming.
At one point, Carter thinks theymustbe close to done, turning his head to look at the line. It seems not to have shortened at all.Is sir letting them repeat? Have new guests arrived since they started? Do guests who haven't gone yet keep deciding to jump in line as it dwindles?
Sir pauses things, removing his plug and working a vibrator into him instead. He turns it on low, angling it so it’s pressed right against Carter’s prostate. Then he steps back and allows the guests to continue.
For a few hits, the pleasure overrides the pain. He even starts to get hard against the cool leather of the bench.
But then the guests begin to focus on that spot on his ass again, and he begins to openly cry, his body trembling in pain, sweat breaking out on his skin. After a particularly hard hit, sir places a hand over the spot and tells the next person, "Not there. I'd rather not clean up blood tonight."
The hand remains. People hit around it. Whenever there's the slightest break, sir gently rubs at the patch of white-hot skin. It feels soothing, even though it shouldn't. Carter always breathes a little easier when sir does that.
The hits blur again. Carter closes his eyes, pretending it’s sir hitting him. It helps the pain ease. Helps the pleasure come forward. He’s just starting to subtly - hopefully secretly - shift his hips and rub against the bench when he hears sir say, "Vasco - I hoped you'd join in the fun."
Carter drifts to the surface of his mind at the name, distantly recalling its importance.
“I just wanted to be last,” he says, a smirk in his tone. “Mind if I hit his hole?”
Sir chuckles. "Go ahead. You can remove the toy. He's getting something more fun now that it's my turn."
The vibrator is tugged out harshly. Sir's hands spread his cheeks wide. The audience hoots and hollers and cheers. Carter tucks his face against the leather, wishing for a blindfold again as his face grows hotter than his abused skin.
A hit lands on his hole, wrenching a final cry from him.
And then it’s done.
Well, the first part is at least.
Carter sags against the bench and tries to calm his body as sir prepares for round two. He doesn’t make it very far before sir returns to him. His breathing hasn’t steadied, his erection hasn’t gone down, and his fear and humiliation haven’t ebbed. The erection part gets even worse when sir slides the freshly lubricated vibrator back into his hole and turns it on low, just like before.
“I’m going to move the bench," sir warns. "And then I'm going to put on a show for them. You'll be a good boy, won't you, pet?"
Carter nods firmly, wanting nothing more than to be good for him. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Sir adjusts the bench, making it so Carter is sitting nearly straight up. More straps are added to his body, two around his biceps and one around his waist, all making it so he's held firmly in place against the leather despite the shift in gravity.
The vibrator starts to slide out of his hole. Sir tugs harshly at Carter's hips, forcing him into a slightly uncomfortable position that keeps his hole pressed against the leather so the toy has nowhere to go.
“Don’t let that fall out,” sir orders. The words are low. Threatening.
Carter shivers and nods. “Yes, sir.”
Sir moves away then, towards the wall of instruments meant for pain.
“Who is ready for a birthday celebration?” sir calls out.
The audience erupts.
