Chapter 133: The Bottom’s Experiment -2

Riven buckled the collar around Torren’s throat. It sat snug against his skin, the metal ring at the front hanging heavy. He clipped a short leash to it and let the leather rest against Torren’s chest.

"Look at me."

Torren lifted his eyes. They were already darker than when he walked in.

Riven crouched in front of him, close enough that Torren could feel his breath. He reached down and cupped the front of Torren’s jeans, squeezing the soft bulk there with deliberate pressure.

"You’re going to get hard for me," he said. "And then I’m going to hurt it. You’re not going to come. You’re not going to ask. You’re just going to take it while I learn exactly how much you can handle. Nod."

Torren nodded.

Riven stood and pointed at the floor again. "Stay on your knees. Hands stay behind your back. If they move, I add time."

He walked to the side table and picked up the small black clamp first—the kind with rubber tips and a tight spring. Then the thin leather flogger meant for sensitive skin. Then the wider paddle. He set them on the coffee table within easy reach.

Torren watched every movement.

Riven stepped back in front of him and popped the button on Torren’s jeans. He slowly unzipped him.

He shoved the fabric and the underwear down just far enough to free Torren’s cock and balls. They hung heavy, still soft, the head already starting to thicken from the attention.

Riven wrapped his fingers around the shaft and gave it three firm strokes. Torren’s breath hitched. The cock filled fast under his hand, thickening, lengthening, the vein along the side standing out. Riven kept stroking until it was fully hard, the head flushed dark and wet at the tip.

"There," Riven said quietly. "That’s better."

He let go and picked up the clamp.

Torren’s eyes flicked to it, then back to Riven’s face.

Riven pinched the loose skin of Torren’s left ball between two fingers, stretched it slightly, and locked the clamp on.

The spring bit down hard. Torren’s whole body jerked. A sharp sound left his throat before he locked his jaw.

Riven watched the muscle in Torren’s thigh jump. He waited ten full seconds, then attached the second clamp to the other ball. Same tight pressure. Torren’s cock twitched hard in the air, leaking a thin string of precum that stretched toward the floor.

"Breathe," Riven said. "You’re going to feel that for a while."

He picked up the thin flogger. The tails were narrow and stinging. He didn’t warn Torren. He just brought it down across the shaft of Torren’s hard cock in a sharp, controlled snap.

Torren hissed through his teeth. His hips jerked forward once before he forced them still.

Riven hit him again. Lower this time, right across the clamped balls. The sound was wet and ugly. Torren’s head dropped forward, shoulders shaking.

"Head up," Riven ordered.

Torren lifted it. His eyes were wet at the corners.

Riven flogged the cock again—three quick, precise strikes that left faint red lines across the shaft. Then he switched to the balls, letting the tails wrap and sting around the clamps. Torren’s breathing turned ragged. His cock stayed hard, bobbing with every hit, the head shiny and dark.

Riven set the flogger down and walked behind him. He shoved Torren’s jeans the rest of the way down his thighs so his ass was bare. Then he picked up the paddle.

The first slap landed hard on the left cheek. The sound cracked through the quiet apartment. Torren rocked forward on his knees but didn’t break position.

Riven hit the right cheek just as hard. Then the left again. He kept a steady rhythm, watching the skin turn pink, then red.

Every few strikes he reached around and gave Torren’s clamped balls a firm squeeze, just to remind him they were still there.

Torren’s arms stayed locked behind his back. His thighs trembled. Sweat started to shine at the base of his spine.

Riven stopped paddling and moved back in front of him. He took the clamps off one at a time. Blood rushed back in a hot wave. Torren made a broken sound and his cock jerked hard, another thick drop of precum sliding down the shaft.

Riven wrapped his hand around it again and stroked slow, tight, from base to head. Torren’s hips tried to push into the grip. Riven squeezed the head hard enough to make him gasp and stopped moving.

"No," he said. "You don’t get to fuck my hand. You stay still and feel it."

He kept the pressure on the head for a long moment, then let go and picked the flogger back up.

This time he aimed lower. He flogged the sensitive underside of the shaft, then the head itself in short, stinging flicks.

Torren’s thighs spread wider without being told, like his body was trying to offer more surface. His cock was dark red now, the skin marked with thin welts. Every hit made it jump.

Riven crouched again and took both of Torren’s balls in one hand, rolling them, squeezing until Torren’s breath stuttered. He kept the pressure steady while he spoke.

"This is what I needed to know," he said. "How your voice changes. How long you can stay hard while it hurts. How red your cock gets when someone smaller than you decides it belongs to him for the night."

He released the balls and stood.

"Stand up. Keep your hands behind your back."

Torren rose carefully, jeans still tangled around his thighs, cock hard and marked and dripping. Riven walked a slow circle around him again, running one hand over the heated skin of his ass, then down between his legs to cup the sore balls and give them another firm squeeze.

Torren’s breath left him in a shaky rush.

Riven stopped in front of him and looked up at his face.

"We’re just getting started," he said. "I’m going to keep hurting this cock until I understand exactly how much it can take. You’re going to stay hard for me the whole time. If you start to go soft, I’ll make it worse until it’s hard again. Clear?"

Torren’s voice came out rough. "Clear."

Riven picked up the clamps again.