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)
For this evening’s session—because they really couldn’t be considered scenes; Max wasn’t playing Scott’s Dom, nor Scott his sub—Max again took things up another notch. Yeah, because that’s what lots of Dom liked to do; continue to raise the bar, to extend his sub’s comfort zones, gradually intensifying each experience. But also because Scott specifically asked him to. By the third time around the block, he’d clearly gotten the gist of things, and wanted to take full advantage. Which Max could respect, and absolutely appreciate.
So, gone went the paddle, and off went Scott’s shirt. He was going to experience his very first flogging. Something they’d been going at now for a good thirty minutes already. And Scott was definitely feeling it, maybe even enjoying it. In that unique way that only people like Scott could enjoy it.
He was also definitely feeling Max’s nipple clamps that they’d decided to put on halfway through. There was just no way around the pain of those. Max had pinched and tugged at Scott’s nips to get them ready, smirking all the while as Scott blushed. Then he’d attached those mean little fuckers, securing Scott’s areolas, too. Scott had grimaced, then flat-out cussed.
“Like that?” Max had asked.
Scott had growled. “I think so.”
He’d been wearing them for the duration ever since.
Max threw down another dozen splashes of leather, watching the tassels kiss Scott’s red skin. Scott hissed, muscles twitching, hands fidgeting against the wall. But his rock steady posture spoke loud and clear. He wasn’t done. He wanted more.
Which didn’t really surprise Max. Scott liked to push his mental limits. Nevertheless, he was Max’s buddy-slash-little brother, so he never gave Scott the full force of his strength. That methodology was for the super-tough fuckers who liked it hard, but not for very long. The masochists. The pain whores. And even they had their limits.
Scott was more of a slow and steady guy. Liked to go the distance. Make his punishment drag on. He liked that fixed rhythm. Seemed to endure more that way.
Max met out another set, the slap, slap tempo mesmerizing. Even to him. The deliverer. A title he loved. Because it stood for two very important things, with two very opposite meanings. The one who brought profound pain to his subjects, and in doing so, delivered them from it, too. The stuff they kept deep inside and couldn’t release on their own.
Scott shuddered, his spine bowing, breathless curses tumbling free. “Yeah. Shit, yeah. Goddamn. Fucking burns.”
Max lifted a brow. “We’ve been going for a while. Ready to lose those clamps?”
Scott shivered, moaned raggedly. “I think so, yeah.”
“Alright,” Max chuckled, sauntering over. “This shit’s gonna fill your tank good.”
Scott groaned under his breath. “I have no doubt.” And no doubt wanted nothing less.
Max stopped behind him, watching Scott pant. He’d worked him good. “Turn around.”
Scott shifted on his knees and faced Max fully.
Max gestured to the sofa. “Hold on.”
Scott nodded, face flushed, and gripped the back of the couch, his arms extended out on either side.
Max reached for both clamps. Scott braced with a wince.
Max flicked his tiny red nubs.
“Ah!!” Scott jerked.
Max smirked and gripped the clips. “On the count of three.”
Scott sucked in a breath.
“One… Two…”
Curt, swift releases. Like pulling off a Band-Aid.
“Ungh! Holy motherfucker!” Scott tumbled over onto the cushions, palming his pecs.
Max cracked up laughing. “Rub ‘em, Scott! Rub ‘em! You’ll love that shit.”
Scott shot him a skeptical look, but tried it anyway, then howled even louder than before. “Ah! Jesus fuck! How can something so small—”
“Hurt so bad? I know!”
Scott scowled, well tried to, but he was quickly laughing, too. Laughing through grimace-faced whimpers. “I think I’m done. That just put me over the edge.”
Again, Max smirked. “Yeah, thought it might.”
Tossing his flogger, he snagged a couple of waters, grabbed some ointment, then plopped down next to Scott on the couch. Scott winced—the bounce must have jostled his tender back—but took the water and quickly downed half. Sighing heavily, he closed his eyes.
Max watched him. “You’re good with pain. You take it well.”
Scott frowned, lids still closed. “This is nothing.”
And Max supposed it probably wasn’t. Not in comparison to what Scott’s dad had handed him as a boy. When Scott’s tolerance for pain was nonexistent.
Motioning for Scott to turn sideways, Max tended to his back, working ointment gently into his skin. Scott’s head dropped forward on a moan. He’d feel Max’s flogging for quite a few days, just the way Scott liked it.
Max wound his arms around Scott’s waist and eased him back against Max’s chest. “Your dad was an asshole,” he murmured gruffly. “And if he’d had half a brain he’d’ve fucking realized how lucky he was to have you.”
Scott sighed, idly rubbing his tender nipple, and rested his head on Max’s shoulder. “I dunno about that. But one thing I do know is that I’m lucky as fuck to have you.”