Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 709(@200wpm)___ 567(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Max cleared his throat. “My job. At night. I told you I dom.”
Scott mumbled, “Uh huh. And that’s all you’d tell me.”
Max nodded again. “Yeah. ‘Cause you’re young, and it’s seedy.”
“I’m only two years younger than you.”
“Yeah. I know. Just… Quiet and listen.”
Scott canted his head, his big brown eyes watching him.
Max shifted. Cracked his neck. Drummed his thumbs on the top of the chair. “I’d like to try using some of my methods on you. I think you might like them. A lot.”
Scott tensed. Sat up stiffly. Scratched his peach fuzz cheek. “Wow. Um… Damn, man. I dunno. Isn’t that stuff like all sex and violence?”
Max shook his head. “No. I mean it can be, but only for those who want that. Honestly, it can be anything we want. Sex. No sex. Violence. No violence. Bondage. Even different forms of—”
“Pain,” Scott muttered.
Max paused, then nodded. “Yeah. Different forms of pain.”
Scott frowned and looked away.
Max’s ribs clenched tight. Scott was breaking his fucking heart. Because his expression said it all. That and his tone. The pain Max could dish was all the guy was interested in. But as much as he wanted it, he was afraid of it, too. Which was only natural. Pain, after all, was typically bad. But some could be good as well. Like the kind Max was offering.
“Do you trust me?” Max heard himself murmur in the quiet.
Scott looked at him… and nodded.
Max’s heart thumped gratefully. “Good. Because you should. I’m not like your asshole boyfriends.”
Scott smirked. “Thank fuck.” But then he paused. “We won’t be having sex or anything, right?”
Max grunted. “Hell, no. You couldn’t handle my dick.”
Scott barked out a laugh. “Have you not seen my boyfriends?”
Max scoffed and stood up. “Yeah, I have. And I still plan on kicking Jeb’s ass.”
Scott’s smile dwindled. “Right. So, this thing you wanna do?”
Max strode to the door. “In a couple of days. You’ve already been roughed-up enough.”
* * * * *
“You still okay, Scott? Want me to stop?”
“No.”
“You want me to keep going?”
“Yes.”
Max cocked his head and studied Scott’s body, reading every sign it emitted. All those tiny little shudders as Scott knelt on the couch, facing backward, with his hands against the wall. How often he shifted, how tight his fingers fisted, how fast his ribs expanded and contracted. Shirtless, in only a pair of jeans, Scott’s entire back was bright red and glistening. A testament to the lengthy little workout they’d been having. Even all of Scott’s dark hair was soaked.
But the guy wasn’t done. Not even close. Was a trooper like Max never imagined. A fact he’d discovered during their very first session, when Scott held out twice as long as Max expected. Either the kid had a super-high threshold for pain, or he really truly relished being punished.
Max had gone easy on him, though, that very first time. Just a spanking in his boxers with his jeans pulled down as he leaned over the back of their living room armchair. Max had used one of his tamer cushioned paddles, and taken things at a slow, easy pace. At first, it’d been awkward, there was just no way around that. But as soon as the burn started setting in, Scott forgot all about being embarrassed. No joke. After a good six or seven sets, he fell into a completely different headspace. Which shouldn’t have surprised Max. Unlike others who tried to distract themselves from the pain, Scott straight-up fucking concentrated on the shit.
Because that’s what he wanted. Because that’s what he needed. A way to decompress outside the norm of boyfriends beating him, with someone he trusted more than anyone else on earth. Hell, by the end of that very first session, Scott appeared not only sold, but utterly grateful. Guess he liked Max’s kind of penance better than his boyfriends’ fists.
The second time they went at it, Max used the typical paddle. The rigid kind that stung on the very first swat. The kind that meant fucking business. But even then, he started things nice and slow, upping the intensity in tiny increments. Never giving more than Scott specifically asked for as he laid bent over their small dinette table. Still in his boxers with jeans at his knees, still in a shirt up top. He’d taken that paddling like quite the champ, too, even though he hadn’t lasted as long. But that was understandable. That first spanking was for amateurs, and Max hadn’t wanted to scare Scott off. The second session, however, Scott got the real deal. Not hardcore or anything, but Max had wanted to get a bead on him. See just how much Scott could handle. And he handled a lot. By the time they were done, Max could see the red peeking past his boxers. Scott must’ve felt that shit for days. Which Max suspected was exactly what he’d wanted.