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Carter closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of the straps against his skin and the buzzing of the vibrator in his ass and the pleasure pooling in his gut. He pretends he's in the bedroom with sir.Just him and sir. The loud, cruel laughter and cheering from the audience is the television. Sir is going to hurt him in a minute, but that's okay. He'll hurt Carter, but then he'll fuck him, and call him a good boy, and make him feel amazing. It'll be worth it. The pain is always worth it when it comes to sir.
“Count each stroke, slave,” sir says loudly.
Carter accidentally opens his eyes, seeing the audience again. He quickly drops his gaze.
The first hit lands between his shoulder blades. Leather. Multiple pieces of it.
A flogger.
Sir is flogging him.
And he needs to count.
“One!”
“One, sir,” sir corrects, hitting him in the same spot again to punish him for the mistake.
Carter shudders. “One, sir. Sorry, sir!”
He’s not praised, sir just hitting him instead, this time across the middle of the back. He’s not sure what’s worse – the pain of the hit, or the pain of no praise. But he’s only a slave, and it doesn’t matter what a slave wants, so he forgets about his desire for praise and counts instead.
“Two, sir!”
The hits aren't bad at first. They sting, and then throb, but they aren't anything close to some of the later hits to his ass and thighs from the line of guests.
But then they reach hit 12, and sir brings the flogger down on his abused ass for the first time, and – and – and Carter can’t think.
He can’t fuckingbreathe.
By some miracle, his mouth still manages a choked, breathless, "T-twelve, sir…"
Sir hits his thighs next.
Carter’s eyes and lungs and skin burns.
The crowd counts with him for that one - drowning out his barely whispered number. He never thought he'd be thankful for the audience, but he is in that moment, and the moments that follow as they continue counting with him. All he has to do is move his lips for 14, 15, 16, and 17 - all hits to his ass and thighs - because they're all too loud to know he isn't making any sound. He waits for sir to yell at him anyway, but he doesn't.
Hit 18 is on his back again.
Carter sobs in relief. The crowd laughs and shouts and someone throws something close enough to the stage for Benny to shout, "Settle down!"
19 is between his shoulder blades. The audience is still counting.
Carter catches his breath and finally manages to count with them - loud enough for sir to hear at least. Not loud enough to hear over the deafening guests.
20, 21, 22, 23, and 24 stay above his waist.
Sir turns the vibrator up to medium and wraps a hand around Carter's cock, stroking him once, twice, three times as the crowd laughs.
“Fucking whore!” a guest yells.
“Slut likes it!”
“Gonna come from getting whipped, slave?”
“If only Maison could see his slut brother now, hey?”
25 is on his ass.
