Page 89 of Bottoms Up

I focused on Atlas again. When the countdown hit ten minutes, I released the balloons.

The fluid surged out of him in a rush, splattering his legs, the concrete, everything within six feet. He groaned — not from shame, but the pure release of pressure. More tears fell to the floor.

When I thought the majority of the water was out, I released his chest first, then the bar spreading his thighs, down near his knees. I loosened the chains at his ankles, but didn’t release them. He could move his feet eighteen inches in any direction, and the chains would make music when he did.

I lifted him slowly, helping him stand. He staggered. I held him around his waist.

Then I bound his arms above his head, supporting him, and showed him the horse whip before I walked behind him and made himdance.

Random strikes, from hard to harder to brutal, placement designed to make him move. He didn’t, at first, but I knew he would. Everyone does.

It took seven minutes before he danced for me, the chains creating a sadistic music, his feet tapping out their own beat. To the left, to the right. Constant movement. Just as the treadmillhad shaken the last bits of water out of Silver, this movement did for Atlas.

And the thing about hot pepper powder is that it burns something fierce coming out, so there were shouts and tears, sobs all over again, every time more water released.

The whip landed again.

And again.

And again.

He twitched, stumbled, cried out, incoherent with pain.

But he danced for the whip. Never stopped.

Even when nothing else leaked from him, the movement wrung more from his gut.

An hour passed.

Still, occasional water.

Only when nothing had fallen for twenty minutes did I end the session and guide him to the shower. He collapsed under the spray, sobbing silently.

When he was clean, I led him to the platform we needed him on. The cock cage had gone back on in the shower. The weights on his balls, too.

Silver was waiting — cock hard and aching, flesh pulsing through the cruel bars. Time for her adorable little cock to be freed. I touched the lock holding the harness on, my thumb the key to free her.

“Put it in the sink and return.”

I turned to Atlas, signedclimband thenkneesin ASL, and he climbed onto the platform and dropped to his knees.

“All fours, cocksleeve.”

When he was in place, Silver stepped onto the little riser to put her at the correct height, gripped his hair, and — when I nodded permission — slid into his mouth, which he opened without her needing to say a word.

I didn’t need a platform to stand on. We’d placed him at the right height for my dick to ram right into his ass, and I drove into the heat of him in one vicious thrust. Enough pepper residue was left to give me a tiny taste of pain. Just the way I like it.

Atlas trembled, but stayed in place.

We used him.

We owned him.

And I owned Silver. Neither Silver nor Atlas were allowed release. I came deep inside our painwhore, though.

When it was over, I rubbed more pepper oil on a plug and crammed it into the asshole I’d just abused. It was huge going in, but only held his hole open moderately wide.

I wanted to make sure it didn’t accidentally come out.