Once I lubed two fingers generously, I walked around behind the cowboy. His legs were spread wide, his cock already thick and heavy, eager for my attention. But it was his ass I was interested in.
I hooked one hand over his shoulder, ensuring he was aware of my presence. Without preamble, I inched one lubed finger into his ass, enjoying the way his sphincter squeezed me. I worked the lube in as deep as I could, then added another finger. I fucked him a few times, enjoying the way his breaths increased. At the point where I knew he was enjoying it, I withdrew my fingers and pushed in a thick plug.
I changed gloves and did the same to the pretty boy.
Neither of them moaned, groaned, or even sighed.
So far, so good.
When they were both plugged, their asses being stretched nicely, I took a moment to admire my work. The quick trip I’d taken to the adult toy store before I came here was well worth it. I’d found a couple of things I looked forward to using on them—the plugs included. However, the more complicated torture devices couldn’t be picked up at an adult novelty store. No, the tools in my arsenal were of a much higher quality. Had to be. I was hard on my toys. Especially the human ones.
After disposing of the second glove, I pulled on a fresh one, retrieved the lube, and took my time coating their balls, kneading and pulling firmly. First the cowboy. I wasn’t gentle and I was impressed that he didn’t so much as hiss although I knew it had to be rather unpleasant. It was also pleasurable, I could tell by the way he was breathing.
The pretty boy handled it equally well, not moving a single one of those deliciously defined muscles even as I roughly squeezed and tugged. In a few minutes, he wouldn’t even remember that pain.
Once they were ready, I retrieved the two parachute ball stretchers that I had brought with me. These were devious little torture devices made of a thick, supple adjustable leather that looked like shortened, upside-down funnels. From their positions, my fuck toys wouldn’t even know there were roughly twenty stainless steel tacks with five spikes darting out from each on the underside. Those would give just enough sensation to keep their attention where I wanted it. When I added weights to the chains that dangled down, they would get the full effect.
I garnered a sharp inhale from the cowboy when I fastened the leather around the top of his scrotum, ensuring it wasn’t too tight. I carefully worked it in place, covering half of his ball sac. It was about causing him pain, not irreversible damage. When satisfied, I moved to the pretty boy. He remained motionless when I put his in position. I could tell immediately that he would require more weight than the cowboy.
But that would come in time.
While I had no intention of asking them whether they were okay or not, I did make a valiant effort to watch their body language. While some Doms preferred a verbal response, some sort of confirmation that they were doing the right thing, I didn’t. I wasn’t here to get their approval. I didn’t care if they were comfortable.
On the other hand, I did care that I wasn’t causing unintentional physical damage. I consistently glanced at their hands, which were cuffed high above their heads. I didn’t want to cut off any circulation or cause nerve damage. So, while it appeared I didn’t give a shit one way or another, I was constantly assessing the scene. Their safety was paramount and just as important to me as their pain.
The key was not letting them know that. It was all about the mind fuck. Getting into their heads, building the fear, the uncertainty, then delivering what would send them into subspace if that was something they could achieve. I got the feeling the cowboy could with little effort. Pretty boy was harder to read. I could tell by his lack of responses that he was used to being let down, not getting what he truly needed.
“Ever worn a parachute harness before, cowboy?”
“No, Zeke.”
“Tell me what it feels like.”
“Little spikes stabbing my balls.” His breaths were coming rapidly, his eyes wide with desire.
I wasn’t going to be quite so kind to the pretty boy. I grabbed my crop from the table and moved closer to him.
“You enjoy the spikes.” It wasn’t a question and he knew that. When he didn’t answer, I smacked his cock with the crop. Not for doing anything wrong. Quite the opposite. My fuck toys would know I detested bad behavior, and that I would certainly reward them when they pleased me. As for punishment … well, let’s just say they’d be very aware of the difference.
