Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

I rise up on my toes as my orgasm rips through me. He takes a step back, crosses his arms over his chest, with the knife tucked into his elbow, and just waits until my dick stops spurting come all over my shredded jeans, stomach, and the wood floor between my spread-apart bare feet.

When it's over, I let the chains suspend my sagging body and hang my head between my arms. "I'm sorry, Sir," I whisper.

He snorts. "I doubt that, but you will be."

He leaves me hanging in the chains for a few minutes and I try to catch my breath and calm my racing heart. He disappears into the bathroom—I think—my vision has kind of tunneled down to the spot on the floor where my come has spattered.

When he comes back, there's a sharp smell that wafts up to my nose, along with his scent of citrus and spice. He's got an antiseptic wipe in his hand, which he scrubs over the cuts he made in my chest. It's cold and stings and he's not terribly gentle about it, but I just hang there and let him do whatever he's going to do to me.

He scrubs at the cuts on my thighs, then takes the wipes to the kitchen and tosses them in the trash. He returns with a handful of paper towels and cleans my come off the floor, then throws those away, too.

He squats to detach the cuffs around my ankles from the spreader bar, reaches up and pulls the remnants of my jean shorts down, then lifts each foot in turn to get them off me.

He does all this with an efficiency that borders on disinterest. And while normally my Daddy takes care of me afterwards with loving gentleness, there's something about this…disdain or something…that's really working for me right now. I came too hard to get hard again so soon, but I can feel renewed arousal hovering around my edges.

Then he stands up and his cock is tenting his slacks and yeah, he's not disinterested at all. He sees me looking at it. "You want my cock, boy?"

I nod, but that's not enough of an answer for him and he grabs me around the back of my neck. My hair tangles in his fingers and when he squeezes, he pulls my hair hard, until tears spring to my eyes. "Yes, Sir."

My mouth falls open and saliva floods it. I'm waiting for him to shove me onto my knees and shove his cock down my throat.

Except my arms are still attached to the chains. He looks me up and down, like he's trying to decide what to do with me next. Finally, he lets go of my hair and shakes his head.

"I am going to fuck your hole as long as I want to, for my own pleasure," he says. "But not yet."

He leaves me hanging there for a minute and when he returns, he's got my cock cage in his hand. He fits it over my soft dick and tucks my balls inside the metal rings, and this time, he is more gentle than he's been since we started, because my piercings make getting me safely into the cage a little complicated.

Once he's locked me down, he tosses the Allen wrench on the kitchen table and unhooks my wrists from the chains. He leaves the cuffs on both my wrists and ankles and points to the bench near the end of the bed.

"On your stomach."

Still wobbly from my orgasm, I manage to walk the few feet without stumbling and he follows right behind me, an implacable presence keeping me from even thinking about bolting for the door. The bench is about waist high, and I have to kind of hoist myself up and scramble awkwardly, but I manage.

Once I'm lying on my stomach, my arms drape over the sides of the bench and rest on the padded supports below. Same with my legs—the main bench ends just above my caged dick and the leg rests are at just the right height to support my knees and shins. There's a padded headrest, too, with a cutout for my face, like a kinky massage table, and I rest my forehead on it and close my eyes.

He moves around me, fiddling with the height of the arm rests and headrest, and then I feel soft leather wrapped around my forearms. He cinches the straps firmly and I can wiggle my fingers, but I can't otherwise move my arms.

He does the same thing to my legs, strapping me down just below my knees and hooking the cuffs around my ankles to the leg rests.

There's a waft of cool air behind me and it's not like I didn't already know, but I flush hotly at what I must look like to an observer. Ass up, legs spread, strapped down on a sex bench, my hole completely exposed and my captor ready to do anything he wants to me.

Oh jeez. If I weren't caged, I'd be hard again already.

His footsteps recede and then return. There's a sound like something sliding against fabric that I can't quite place. Until he says, "Remember when I said I'd blister your ass until you can't sit down for a week?"

There's another rustling sound behind me and then an unmistakable thwack that I hundred percent recognize. My skin tightens with anticipation and my stomach drops.

He is going to make this hurt .

"Sir, please."

Soft leather trails lightly over my ass, a contradictory tease of what's to come. "Please what?"

My whole body gives a deep shiver. The moment before the first impact stretches out impossibly.

I want it.

I don't want it.

"Please…yes?" He trails the end of his belt over my skin again. It falls between my ass cheeks and slides along my crack.

"Please…no?" He snaps the folded belt between his hands again, and the threatening sound ramps up my anticipatory dread.

I don't want to choose. " Please, " I whimper.

I don't get to choose, which is exactly why I'm strapped to this bench, and he is standing over me with all the accoutrements of his choice at his hand.

And despite the warning and the teasing touches, he still catches me off guard when the first blow lands.