Chapter 114: BDSM Play -3

Varek stood over Soren and stroked himself slowly, watching the way Soren’s open mouth and outstretched tongue waited without moving. The spit and precome on Soren’s face had started to dry in places, leaving shiny streaks across his cheeks and chin.

"Closer. On your knees, between my feet. Keep that tongue out."

Soren shuffled forward until his knees touched the insides of Varek’s boots. His cock hung hard and neglected between his own thighs, the earlier flogging marks still clear on the shaft. Varek rested the head of his cock on Soren’s tongue again, the same way he had earlier—weight and heat only, no thrust.

"Lick. Just the head. Slow. You’re cleaning, not sucking. If you try to take more than I give, I put the crop back on your cock until you remember the difference."

Soren’s tongue moved carefully. He licked the underside of the head in short, obedient strokes, tasting salt and skin. Varek watched every movement, one hand still wrapped around the base of his own shaft, controlling the angle.

"That’s it. A proper little service toy. You’re not here to get yourself off. You’re here to keep me clean and ready. Look at you—face already filthy, cock still standing like it thinks it deserves attention. It doesn’t."

He pulled his cock back an inch and tapped it against Soren’s tongue twice.

"Spit on it. Get it wetter."

Soren obeyed. A thick strand of saliva dropped onto the head. Varek smeared it around with the tip, then set it back on Soren’s tongue.

"Again. Lick it clean. You’re my personal wipe tonight. Every drop that comes out of me is going on you or in you eventually. Right now you’re just practicing."

Soren licked in steady, focused strokes. His own cock twitched hard between his legs, leaking onto the concrete in slow drips. Varek noticed and gave a short, cold laugh.

"Still dripping. Pathetic. A real man would have gone soft from being used like this. You get harder. That tells me everything I need to know about what you are."

He stepped back and pointed at the floor.

"Chest down. Ass up. Hands behind your head again. I want that marked-up hole on display while I decide the next thing you get."

Soren dropped forward at once. The position stretched him open. The welts on his ass and thighs stood out clearly under the overhead light. His cock pointed downward, still rigid, the head shiny.

Varek picked up the flogger and dragged the tails lightly over Soren’s hole, then across his balls, then along the length of his cock. He did not strike yet. He simply let the leather rest there.

"You’re going to ask me to flog it again. Not because you want the pain. Because you know you don’t get to choose. Ask properly."

Soren’s voice was rough against the floor.

"Please flog your property’s cock again, Sir. Please mark what’s yours."

Varek brought the flogger down in a short, precise arc. The tails cracked across the shaft. Soren’s body jolted, but he kept his hands locked behind his head. A second strike landed on the head. A third caught the balls.

"Thank me."

"Thank you for marking your property."

Varek struck three more times in quick succession, watching the cock bounce and redden further. Precome welled thickly at the tip and dripped to the floor.

"You’re a free-use hole that happens to have a dick. That’s all. I could leave you like this—ass up, cock striped, face covered in my mess—and go find something better to do. You’d still be hard when I came back. You’d still be waiting. Say it."

"I’m a free-use hole that happens to have a dick. I’d still be hard. I’d still be waiting."

Varek dropped the flogger and stepped in close behind him. He rested his cock between Soren’s cheeks again, the same slow, heavy drag as before, still without entering. He ground forward once, letting the wet head catch against the rim of Soren’s hole, then pulled back.

"Feel that. That’s what you’re for. Not yet, though. You’re not broken down enough. You still think you get to want things. You don’t. You get what I give you, when I give it, and nothing else."

He reached under Soren’s body and wrapped his hand around the base of Soren’s cock, squeezing tight enough to hurt.

"This stays hard because I say so. This leaks because I allow it. If I decide you don’t get to come at all tonight, you won’t. If I decide you come from nothing but the flogger and my voice, you will. You’re not in charge of any of it."

He released the cock and wiped his hand on Soren’s ass, spreading the precome across the welts.

"Back on your knees. Mouth open. You’re going to hold my cock on your tongue again and stay perfectly still while I talk. No licking this time. Just hold it."

Soren pushed himself up, knelt, and opened his mouth. Varek set the head of his cock on Soren’s tongue and left it there. He looked down at the mess he had already made of Soren’s face and the way Soren’s own cock still stood rigid and ignored.

Varek kept the head of his cock resting on Soren’s tongue for a long, silent stretch. Soren did not lick. He did not close his lips. He simply held position, mouth open, eyes lowered, the weight of it sitting there while his own cock remained hard and untouched between his knees.

Varek finally pulled back. A thin string of saliva connected them for a second before it broke.

"On your feet. Hands behind your head and spread your legs."

Soren stood. The change in position made his cock bob heavily. The marks from the flogger stood out dark against the flushed skin. Varek walked a slow circle around him, inspecting every welt, every smear of drying spit and precome on his face.

"You’re a mess. A marked-up, leaking mess that still thinks it might get what it wants if it stays quiet long enough. You won’t. Not until I say."

He stopped in front of Soren and gripped his cock in one hand—not stroking, just holding it in a tight, claiming fist.

"This belongs to me. The next time it gets any attention, it will be because I decided it deserved it, not because you needed it. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

Varek released him and pointed to the low bench again.

"Lie on your back. Ass at the edge. Legs up and open. Hands under your knees. Hold yourself spread."

Soren moved without hesitation. He lay back on the bench, pulled his knees toward his chest, and locked his hands under them, exposing everything—cock, balls, and hole—under the light. The position left him completely open and unable to hide any reaction.

Varek picked up the crop and tapped it lightly against the inside of Soren’s thigh.

"You’re going to stay exactly like this while I work on you. If your hands slip, I start the count over. If that cock softens, I put the flogger back on it until it’s standing again. Clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

The first strike of the crop landed across the sensitive skin of Soren’s inner thigh. The second caught the other side. Varek worked upward in steady, deliberate snaps—thighs, the crease where thigh met groin, then directly across the balls. Each impact was short and sharp. Soren’s cock jerked with every blow, but it stayed hard.

Varek paused and rested the flat end of the crop against the head of Soren’s cock.

"Look at it. Still standing. Still leaking. You’re so far gone you get harder when I hurt the parts that are supposed to make you soft. That makes you perfect property. Say it."

"I’m perfect property. I get harder when you hurt me."

Varek flicked the crop against the head—once, twice, three times. The sound was wet. Precome smeared across the leather. Soren’s breath stuttered, but his hands stayed locked under his knees.

"You’re going to ask me to use your hole next. Not because you’re ready. Because I want to hear you ask for something you’re not getting yet. Ask."

Soren’s voice was rough.

"Please use my hole, Sir. Please take what’s yours."

Varek gave a short, cold smile and set the crop aside. He stepped between Soren’s spread legs and rested his cock against the exposed hole, the same heavy, deliberate pressure as before—nothing more. He ground forward just enough to catch the rim, then held still.

"Feel that. That’s as close as you get right now. You’re going to stay open and ready while I decide whether you’ve earned more than the weight of it. You’re not in charge of the timeline. I am."

He pulled back and wiped the head of his cock across Soren’s balls, then up the shaft, leaving a shiny trail of his own precome mixed with Soren’s.

"You’re a free-use toy that exists to be marked and denied. I can keep you like this for the rest of the night—spread, hard, asking for things you won’t receive—and you’ll still thank me for it. Tell me why."

"Because I’m yours. Because I don’t get to choose. Because I exist for your use."

Varek reached down and wrapped his hand around Soren’s cock again. This time he gave it five slow, tight strokes—enough to make Soren’s hips try to push up—then stopped completely and squeezed hard at the base.

"No. You don’t get to thrust. You don’t get to chase it. You take what I give and nothing else."

He released the cock and stepped back.

"Stay spread. Keep your hands where they are. I’m going to walk around you and look at what’s mine. Every time I stop and touch you, you’re going to thank me for the attention, even if it hurts."

Varek moved slowly. He ran a hand over the welts on Soren’s thighs. Soren thanked him. He pinched one of the darker marks on his ass. Soren thanked him. He tapped the head of Soren’s cock with two fingers, hard enough to make it bounce. Soren thanked him again.

When he completed the circle, Varek stood between Soren’s legs once more and looked down at the open, marked body in front of him.

"We’re still not finished breaking you in for the night. You’re going to stay exactly like this - open, hard, and waiting - until I give the next order. And when I do, you’re going to obey it the same way you’ve obeyed every other one: without hesitation, because that’s what property does."