Page 27 of Bottoms Up (Mythic Beast #4)

I sent her a visual of what I had in mind — so while Silver and I enjoyed each other, Atlas would be supporting himself in a one-armed handstand, the other arm bound so he’d have to choose whether to cause further pain to his crushed balls or his flattened nipples, with one ankle bound to the crusher itself.

A full-body stress trap. His muscles would be trembling to hold position, every shift a punishment, and losing his balance would bring about more pain than he could possibly endure.

“Devious,” she said. “ Fuck , I love you.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” Atlas said again when she returned, more automatic this time. Showing respect, I thought, more than asking for mercy.

She didn’t answer him. Just dropped a coil of heavy rope onto the table with a thud that made my chest tighten.

Before we started getting him into the bondage, Silver swapped his plug out for a thicker one, longer and more brutal, glistening with a fresh coat of pepper oil.

She’d put gloves on to do it earlier, but skipped them this time and washed her hands afterward, taking her time and doing it twice.

I was pretty sure she wanted him to have a few minutes alone with the new plug before she went to the next step.

Time to experience the double-burn of being stretched too wide and plugged so deeply plus the freshly applied hot pepper oil.

“Stand, boy. Do you know what tree pose is?” she asked.

He obeyed immediately, lifting one foot and pressing the heel into the opposite thigh, toes pointed down. Unstable posture. Muscles engaged. A subtle test of endurance already baked in.

“Excellent.”

Can you hook one wrist to the winch, so we can be sure he doesn’t fall? She telepathed.

Of course, I replied.

I moved to secure the wrist she’d indicated, but my eyes stayed on her — the curve of her spine as she worked, the precise control in her hands, the way her voice sent shivers across my skin even when it wasn’t directed at me.

She was safe. She was in her element. And fuck , I was in love with her.

I hooked his left wrist so it was straight over his head, and she wrapped a rope around his left ankle and right thigh several times, connecting both ends to his ankle cuff, to make sure it stayed put.

Once his ankle was secured so he couldn’t straighten the bent leg even a tiny bit, she tilted his foot so the toes pointed forward, so she could get to his balls easier.

Five minutes later, he had a ball crusher attached to his jewels — not tight yet, just enough to keep him aware — but she’d hooked his ankle to the crusher and then released the cuff from his other thigh, so he had to hold his leg up or risk ripping his nuts off.

I wanted to grab my own nuts, just watching it play out, but I stood and let the heat roll through me. My cock pulsed with sympathetic ache and dark anticipation, and my balls tucked themselves into my body.

The device was still on a loose setting, not even close to crushing his balls yet, but gravity was doing the work while he fought hard to keep his foot up, to keep from yanking on the already-bruised tissues, already throbbing from the rolling treatment.

She hadn’t rolled them flat, but enough to color them up nicely.

Layers of agony. She was still merely setting the stage.

Next, she screwed clamps onto his nipples until they were paper-flat and bloodless, tighter and tighter. A single tear rolled down his face — not sobbing, just one sharp escape of pain that leaked out when he couldn’t hold it back.

I’d shown her a great stress position to put him into, but she made it art, layering pain on pain until the poor bastard shook. My girl was in a savage mood tonight, and I couldn’t look away.

She’d never been more beautiful.

She strung a chain between the nipple clamps, then ran another from the chain to his right wrist cuff — and proceeded to run yet another chain down to the ankle cuff pulling on his balls.

It created a cruel geometry of pain. Every movement would punish some other part of him. A triangle of agony, stretched taut.

He’d literally have to either hurt his nipples to relieve his balls, or hurt his balls to relieve his nipples.

She looked him over from head to toe. “He needs a bigger plug and a fresh application of pepper oil.”

I held his cheeks apart for her to insert the near-troll-sized plug.

While Atlas’s scent told me how far he was into the hellish torment, he only gave a single grunt when Silver stopped pushing at the widest point, and then another low moan when it finally seated itself deep, deep in his body — while still holding his hole open wide enough I doubted his muscles would be able to get used to the stretch enough he could forget he was plugged, no matter how many other layers of torment we piled on top.

Finally, she walked to the wall and told him, her voice calm and cool, “Get your balance, Muscles. It’ll hurt like a bitch to fall right now.”

She worked the controls for the winch, lowering the chain, so it no longer supported him, and kept lowering it until it would easily reach the floor once disconnected from his wrist.

“Your turn,” she told me.

I disconnected the carabiner from his wrist and hooked it to his right ankle cuff, locking the mechanism so it couldn’t come off until someone slid it to unlock it.

Without warning him, I lifted Atlas into the air, turning him horizontal and then upside down, rotating him like the hands of a clock.

He didn’t expect it, and his screams filled the room.

Reflexes had him planting his left hand on the concrete floor once I had him upside down, and then Silver shortened the chain until his head hovered four inches above the floor.

He’d be able to hold himself up with that arm if he wanted to support himself and relieve the pressure on his ankle, but even a shapeshifter would eventually grow tired.

It was a truly devious position, and I suddenly wanted to make it worse. So much worse.

I stopped to examine the impulse, and realized part of it was what I was getting from his scent — pain, agony, and hopelessness for his predicament, sure, but also a little relief in the mix.

I went into his head to examine that further, and saw he was relieved we hadn’t disappointed him, that the human and vampire were indeed devious and without mercy, that we were cruel enough — and creative enough — to give him what he needed.

He was thankful for the pain, and relieved he wasn’t going to be bored while we fucked. Grateful none of this was pretend.

I gave a polite telepathic knock to Gavin, and when he responded, I said, I’d like to make him temporarily blind and deaf.

It fell into the parameters he’d given me, but it’s generally best to be certain someone can handle near-totally sensory deprivation.

He was silent about ten seconds before saying, You’ve done an excellent job with him.

I especially like the layers-of-agony bit you’ve put into his head.

Yes, I can see that trapping him in with his pain will make this a truly memorable experience, just be certain you use steel and not silver.

I might suggest you also take his voice from him, though in that position, vampire tricks will work better than a knife.

Thank you again for the use of such a lovely plaything. I’ll let you return to your evening.

He closed the connection, and I breathed a little easier.

I’ve met Gavin many times on Senatus business and have no particular reason to be afraid of him, but his power sends little frissons of fear through my psyche.

I’m pretty sure I do a good job of hiding it, but I was relieved when the connection closed.

I moved to the wall of clear drawers, lifted one of the long needles I’d seen earlier, squeezed it in my fingers to be certain there was no silver, and then decided to stab myself in the arm, just to be sure. My arm bled a few drops, and then stopped when the tiny hole healed. Not silver.

I turned to Atlas, watching me from a dozen feet away, upside down.

The scent of his terror filled the room. But it wasn’t sharp. It was layered. Metallic. Sour with memory. The kind of fear that comes from history, not just anticipation.

Gavin had given me the okay, though, and he knew his history.

“Ears first, or eyes?” I asked him.

He shook his head, already panting. I could hear his heart racing, his pulse drumming through his arteries.

I tilted my head. “If you don’t decide, it’ll be left ear, then left eye, right ear, then right eye.”

He took a deep breath, blew it out. “Dealer’s choice, Sir.”

I grabbed three more needles, testing them one at a time to be certain none were silver, and stepped to him with measured calm. Upping the tension. Letting the moment stretch like sinew under a blade.

His body trembled and something shifted. Not just his scent, but his thoughts.

A flash. Unbidden.

A room — white, sterile. Surgical lights overhead.

His body bound, shaved everywhere. Electrodes mapped across his skin like a circuit diagram — scalp, chest, cock, balls, thighs.

A tool going in and around his eyeball, prying it out.

He was screaming, and they were asking questions.

One leaned in close. Spoke Russian. The accent was Moscow-trained. Clean. Why did you come?

The door slammed shut in his mind, and the scene was gone.

His heart beat wildly in his chest. His breathing came in gasps. He wasn’t trying to hide his terror now.

Good.

I sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him. Slow. Intentional.

I froze his head and neck muscles with mind tricks, along with the arm holding him up, and took my time inserting the first needle slowly into his ear canal until I felt resistance, then ruthlessly pushed another quarter inch.

Because the needle must stay in once inserted. Strong shifters can begin to heal damage even without changing . It wasn’t likely this one could with the stasis bracelet, but I wanted to be certain.

The eyes are trickier. One has to go into the center of the eye, all the way to the optic nerve at the back, and then press far enough in to hold the needle in place.

With his eyes frozen, he couldn’t blink. Couldn’t look away. Had to watch my hand approaching slowly with the needle, building tension, nearing millimeter by millimeter toward the exact center of his vision until it penetrated his eyeball and kept going until it hit the optic nerve at the back.

And then pressed into it.

And still — he didn’t scream. His breathing was ragged, but he didn’t utter a single vocal sound.

His scent flared and flattened throughout, full-body fear without edging all the way into panic. He’d been trained to go beyond the fight-or-flight response, to reason through anything .

I could hear Silver behind me, breathing as if she was climbing the boulder. Her scent told me all I needed to know — she was horrified and intensely aroused.

My cock throbbed in response even before the needle broke the surface.

Because this wasn’t only about pain.

Silver trusted me to control Atlas, to control her, to direct the scene, to make it work for everyone, even me.

And I trusted her — with everything .

I focused on Atlas again, and pierced his other ear, just as slow and measured, until his world went silent.

And then his other eye, watching the terror as the needle neared, pierced, and kept going.

He let out a long, keening, bone-deep wail when his world went dark. The vibrations so low, I wasn’t sure Silver’s human ears caught them, but my vampire senses caught every fractured note, and a chill rose through me, slow and cold, like desolation crawling up my spine.

I shook it off and stood — and cranked the ball crusher three times, when a half-turn of this device would be devastating.

As expected, his screams filled the room, his whole body jerking, his hand and foot moving to add to the insult, more screams, more jerking — until I shut down the part of his brain that controlled his vocal cords, and there was only the release of air.

The next ten seconds were a silent scream, and when he finally stopped to take a longer breath, I telepathed, You can contact me this way if you want, but annoy me too much and I’ll close the path.

He blew the breath out rapidly, rather than trying to scream, and responded, Thank you, Sir.

I didn’t have to ask what he was thanking me for — it was an all-encompassing feeling.

He was thanking me for the entire scene, for the pain, the cruelty, the deprivation.

For the twisted position that made him have to choose between hurting nipples or balls, whether to exhaust his arm or hurt his ankle.

For the layers and layers of pain we’d saddled him with.

I turned to Silver, and she said, “ Damn , Julian. I’m actually kind of glad I’m human right now.”

“You should always be happy for your humanity.” I turned toward Atlas, deciding where to drink from him. “I’m going to bite him and add a layer of painful arousal, and then I shall focus completely on you, darling Silver.”

She didn’t answer with words. Just liquid, glorious heat, and a whisper of permission.

Before I stepped closer to him, I shut Atlas’s olfactory senses down — both so he wouldn’t scent me coming, but also because I’d be hurting my lovely Silver soon, and he didn’t need to scent her pain.

That was for me. Not him.