Page 26 of Bottoms Up (Mythic Beast #4)

Julian

I walked into the playroom Gavin had offered for our use, fully in charge. Atlas followed, stripped without prompting, and fastened wrist and ankle cuffs onto himself as instructed.

I’d telepathed Gavin’s instructions about Atlas’s scarring to Silver on the walk from the limo.

He has scarring on one nut and one ass cheek.

We are not to mention it. The scene will end if we do.

Gavin says we can touch and fondle those areas if we can do so without revulsion, without pity — and he’ll pick up on our scents, so it’s important he only gets acceptance.

If we can’t do that, we should ignore the scars.

Now, I saw the scarring on his ass, and it was bad. Burns overlaid with burns plus blade work. And all of it had to have been burned and carved into his flesh with silver. Shapeshifters can heal everything else. Okay, except hellfire, but what were the odds?

Atlas moved with quiet competence. No hesitation, no eagerness, but practiced surrender. Not true submission, but that was fine. He hadn’t offered more than what was necessary to get his next fix.

And we weren’t here to offer him anything else.

With my new power level, I could get past shields better, and I’d been through his top-level memories.

It would take some time and finesse to go deeper, but one of the things I’d learned was where his nickname had come from — he knows every country on the planet, where it is on a map, and the geopolitics of every area as well as the specific geography and how best to survive it without being seen or noticed.

“You were named Atlas because of your intellect,” I told him. “When in this room, or any other with the same purpose, I’ll call you Muscles.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

I’m getting better at looking for specific memories, even in shifters with decent shielding , I told Silver.

Handy. I’ll follow your lead, Sir.

I know you will. He prefers sustained pain that has to be endured, and he doesn’t disassociate. He wants to be fully present to experience the full agony. Look at me, Silver.

She turned and met my gaze, and I telepathed, I’d like to watch you crush someone else’s balls. Probably best not to roll them completely flat right off the bat, but you could maybe at least psych him out with the handle of the squid whip.

Gavin had assured me he’d taken everything personal out of the room, and we could use anything in here. There was a bin for us to put the things we use, so items can be sterilized.

I found a stasis bracelet and locked it onto Atlas’s wrist. “Gavin assures me you have control and won’t change , no matter what, but the love of my life is a human, and I need to be certain.”

He sucked air in and grimaced, and I rubbed his arm. “I can scent your agony. We’ll call that the first layer of anguish.”

Some bracelets merely keep shapeshifters from changing , while others block their inner animal completely, along with all the magic of a shifter.

The loss of it is supposed to be a huge hit, and rather excruciating.

I hadn’t known for certain what kind of device it was, but I wasn’t surprised Gavin had one of the more painful ones in his playroom.

His breathing remained even after the initial response. His expression didn’t twitch. But I could feel how raw and empty it made him inside, losing touch with his inner beast. How deeply the silence cost. He was in hell, and he welcomed it.

I looked through the cock cages, found one I thought would be fairly uncomfortable for him, and deftly ran his balls through the trap part, threaded his dick into it. And then tested to make sure it was secure.

It was.

I imagine that, if a slave drain was put in me now that I’m used to having more magic flowing through me, I’d feel a similar agony.

Rather than being at the bottom of the hierarchy, I’m stronger than about half the coterie, possibly slightly more.

My fears about being everyone’s bitch weren’t going to happen.

Also, Marco tells me it’s clear I’m still growing magically, and this is why those who are over me are treating me with respect, since there’s a chance I’ll be stronger than them in a century or two.

“Layers,” Silver said. “An excellent plan. I see a bottle labeled pepper lube. Let’s start with a medium plug and work our way up. That way we can stretch him wider and wider, and he’ll get a new dose of the pepper oil each time.”

“Oh, cuore mio, mon trésor, amore mio . I’ve missed this, with you.”

My heart, my treasure, my love — was there any better way to describe what my Silver is to me?

I’ve missed you, too — and I’ve missed hearing you call me all your little Italian endearments more than I’d realized.

Before I could respond, she looked at our playtoy and said, “Bend over the bondage table, Muscles.”

He immediately obeyed, legs spread without having to be told, and my Silver lubed a plug and inserted it without fanfare. Atlas’s scent told me exactly how badly it hurt, though our little soldier managed to remain silent.

Okay, not little. He was smaller than me, but most everyone is. He was half a foot taller than Silver, though.

She connected his wrist cuffs behind him and ordered, “Onto the table, sitting up with your legs spread. Let’s see how much control you have.”

When I saw that she planned to abuse his balls without binding him, other than having his hands fastened behind his back, I started to step forward and connect his ankles to the outside of the table, but I didn’t.

Silver’s a great judge of what someone needs, in these scenes.

I stood close, though, to make sure he didn’t kick her out of reflex. I’m absolutely positive there’s no way I could sit still while not bound and allow that kind of pain.

He was decently flexible, but she had him bend his legs so his feet were near his ass, out to the side. His legs folded and out of the way.

Silver met his gaze and told him, “If you want pain, you’ll sit still and let it happen. I’ll bind you later, but not yet. Show me how much you need…”

She shrugged. “Is it the pain itself for you? Or the endorphins?” No sooner than the last word was out, she shook her head. “Don’t answer that. It’s too personal for today’s scene. Your reasons are your own, but my point is the same — prove to me how badly you need it.”

He didn’t speak, didn’t blink. Zero emotions, just a curt nod.

Atlas was comfortable with pain. He’d made friends with it.

Silver started slow, rolling the whip handle over his ball sack enough for discomfort but not pain. Not enough to bruise. Yet .

Her rhythm was patient. Controlled. Designed to build dread as much as pain.

My breath caught at a stray memory — I’d known this might be hard to watch, but it was my past now. I was fine.

Atlas’s cock strained in the cage. One testicle twitched.

I watched her press the roller across the unscarred side first, the skin tight and reactive — then over the other, the one Gavin warned us about.

The scarring was dense and raised, uneven with heat lines and something more brutal beneath.

Burns layered with blades. The kind of damage he’d have dealt with for weeks.

Months. Silver never heals clean, and add in this much of it, applied in messy layers. It must’ve been hell.

The roller didn’t pause, no matter which nut she worked over. Neither did she. Her scent didn’t change. Not when she worked the unscarred ball. Not when she passed over the ruined one. Steady. Present. Utterly unfazed.

Pride rose in my chest, but I wasn’t surprised. She knew what it was like to be looked at as a freak of nature.

I watched Atlas’s muscles twitch and tense, and when I was certain he was about to push himself backward, away from her, she asked, “How does the plug feel, boy?”

Her voice made me smile. Such soft, sweet cruelty.

Atlas was in so much pain, so far into the experience, her calling him boy made him one, and his voice rose half a pitch when he answered, “It hurts, ma’am. It burns so much!”

The question had done what she wanted — diverted his attention from his balls for the moment, and she changed direction with the roller and pressed harder.

This time, he did push backward, and she made a little tsk-tsk noise.

“I’m sorry, ma’am! I’ll put myself back!”

He did, immediately — and that told me more than a file ever could. He hadn’t asked for leniency, just corrected his mistake.

But Silver only made the tsking sound again, quieter this time, and I knew what it meant.

Things were about to escalate. Fast.

My cock throbbed behind the zipper of my slacks, and I had to force myself not to adjust. That little noise from her had my whole body reacting. Not just arousal, but possessiveness. Love. Need.

When she slid off the table, I reached for her without thought, caught her by the hips, pulled her in, and kissed her like a man starved. Not soft. Not sweet. Just mine .

She melted into it, her weight shifting, hands pressed to my chest but not pushing. Letting me have the reins. Letting me lead, and I leaned back farther, controlling her more — for the first time in far too long, my Silver was finally back in my arms the way we both needed her to be.

When I finally let her go, she was flushed and smiling. Wow , she telepathed, breathless. Talk about missing something. Can’t wait for you to take control of me once we get our boy strung up and desperately trying to manage his layers and layers of agony.

“I’m thinking asymmetrical bondage,” I said aloud, and finally gave in and adjusted my dick in my pants.