Page 34 of Natural-Born Cullers
Fucking drop.
Gray gripped Jack’s handcuffs, pulling his arms up, and it forced Jack away from the post, almost making him double as Gray pulled another chain down and snapped it into place around his cuffs, keeping his arms up, head down—the stretch in the muscles to his upper arms so painful as it exposed his ass. “Mouth. You don’teverfucking use it here.”
With Jack still on his knees, Gray cut three bamboo canings across the base of Jack’s left foot, then his right, biting into the most tender part, and he hit hard enough to make sure each one bled.
“Bastard.”
Gray hit twice more, criss-crossing the marks on his feet that forced Jack to try and dance out of its path. “Not. Fucking. Playing. Here. Jack.”
Choking hurt, Jack fell so quiet.
Routine….
Jack didn’t see it.
He was too fucking used to his back, his ass, upper thighs, being whipped. But hisfeet?
“Jesus fuckingChrist, Gray. Myfeet?”
Gray shivered, then ran a fingertip across the base of Jack’s foot, through a line of blood. He smiled, tilting his head to watch how blood marked his pad, but wasn’t quite full enough to pool… spill to drip…
Fucking drop.
Yeah. This was what life was all about.
Jack’s whole body shook against the brutality, and Gray tugged his look up with a grip to his hair. “Looks good on you.” He tugged his head up a little more and went in close, kissing at his neck, tasting the perspiration, the fear. “Hurt.”
Breathing hard, heavy, pain in his eyes, Jack shook Gray’s rough grip off, or tried to at least. “Fuck you.”
Gray offered a smile. Jack called control, tried to share it, because pushing Gray’s limits meant harder… faster. It meant Gray would burn Jack out quickly, then Jack would get at the culler. And the sooner he did, the sooner Gray would take his fill. This would be over.
Drip… fucking drop.
Gray brushed a thumb at Jack’s lips. “Seven hours.” He unclipped the chain to Jack’s handcuffs and pulled Jack up to kneeling by the scruff of his hair, hands still locked behind him, jogging pants still low on the top of his thighs as Gray knelt. “No longer. No… less.”
And Jack, in this moment: his reaction to being controlled, to having any sense of safety in routine removed….
Jack groaned, and he ran a look down his body, resting on his cock.
It matched Gray’s, only Jack tried to hide his, shift his body and conceal how hard and thick his cock pointed outfucking love all of you, the full exposure of his soul, and Gray smirked.
“Yeah. Fucking whore.” That grip in Jack’s hair keeping him still, Gray jacked him off roughly, all leather glove and hard hold running cock, making Jack fight against him in a whole host of different ways at the sudden rush that assaulted Jack’s body, how quickly he was forced to fight against coming.
Christ, Gray needed to take him to the floor and burn every ounce of twisted need out of him, fuck whether Jack came. Because this wasn’t about Jack. Not down here. As Gray bit into his throat, Jack failed so bloody miserably in the next breath, coming effortlessly in the threat of all Gray’s hurt because his eyes seemed to cry out how he knew this was all about Gray. What he needed. Wanted.
Because damn his own soul, he couldn’t relax and burn fully in Jack until Jack had nothing left, until all safety found in routine was obliterated… until Gray made sure Jack found safety in the streets he walked outside of the scope of any other psychopath, until no more—
Drip… fucked-up drop.
All heat came with the drive, but a heart-breaking sadness too, because when Jack finally found peace in the wildness of his head without routine, when they lay wasted in the aftermath, it wouldn’t ever last.
“Huh.” Jack tried to double into coming, but Gray kept him exactly where he was, not letting him hide his humiliation at being exposed to loving the brutality over just why come lined his abs for a third time. He shuddered in the comedown, in what was still to come, and Gray hit his cockhead with his hand once, twice… three times. Jack jolted with each one and tried to get away from theno more pleasecries of shock that hit, smashing headlong into his groin.
Jack could last for hours being bound and whipped in a BDSM scene, with mind and body-play the turn-on right along with the anticipation of the final fucking, but routine….
Gray chose fast and hard release each and every… fucking…. time. He’d burn him out because no other psychopath had rights to hold Jack like this, to own Gray in return like Jack did.
Wrapping a fist around the choker, Gray brought Jack in close as he played his hand again down Jack’s cock, making him wince, groan hurt, and try to shift out of the touch going on between his thighs.
