Chapter 135: The Bottom’s Experiment -4

Riven typed the last line of the paragraph, then closed the laptop.

The words on the screen were clean now. Real. He could feel the difference.

He stood up and walked back to Torren.

The bigger man was still on his knees exactly where Riven had left him.

Hands locked behind his back. Chest rising and falling in slow, controlled pulls. His cock stood out from his body, dark and marked, the skin tight and shiny with old precum.

The air around him smelled like sweat and leather and the sharp metallic edge of pain.

Riven crouched in front of him and rested both hands on Torren’s thighs. The muscle under his palms was hot and trembling.

"Last round," he said. "I’m going to take everything I still need. You’re going to stay hard until I decide you’re done. Then I’m going to write the ending while you watch."

Torren’s throat moved as he swallowed. He didn’t speak.

Riven picked up the clamps one more time. He stretched the skin of each ball and locked them on tighter than before.

The spring bit deep. Torren’s breath punched out of him in a single rough sound. His cock jumped hard, a thick bead of precum welling at the slit and rolling down the underside in a slow, sticky trail.

Riven started the timer.

He took the thin flogger and began on the shaft - short, vicious snaps that made the skin jump. Each strike left a bright red line. The sound was wet and sharp in the quiet room.

Torren’s shoulders bunched. Sweat slid down the side of his neck and disappeared under the collar.

Riven moved lower. He flogged the clamped balls in careful, stinging arcs. The tails wrapped and bit.

Torren’s head tipped back. A low, broken noise scraped out of his throat. His thighs shook hard enough that Riven could feel the vibration through the floor.

Four minutes.

Riven dropped the flogger and wrapped one hand around the base of Torren’s cock.

He squeezed until the head turned almost purple, then stroked him in long, tight pulls—fast enough to force more blood into the shaft, rough enough that the friction burned.

Torren’s hips tried to push forward. Riven dug his thumbnail into the slit and watched the bigger man’s whole body lock up.

"Still hard," Riven murmured, eyes on the timer. "Five minutes twenty."

He kept the strokes going while his other hand twisted one of the clamps. Torren’s voice cracked open on a raw sound.

Precum spilled over Riven’s knuckles in thick, clear strings. The smell of it was sharp and clean under the heavier scent of sweat.

Riven let go of the cock and picked up the paddle.

He moved behind Torren and brought it down across both ass cheeks in heavy, measured cracks.

The skin was already red from earlier. Each new hit bloomed hotter, the flesh jumping under the wood. Torren rocked forward with every strike, the chain between his cuffs rattling.

Riven reached around and cupped the clamped balls, rolling them hard in his palm while he kept paddling.

The dual pain made Torren’s breath stutter into short, broken pulls. His cock bobbed untouched in the air, still rigid, the head shiny and dark.

Riven stopped the paddle at seven minutes and came back around. He removed the clamps one at a time. Blood rushed back in a hot, vicious wave.

Torren’s mouth opened on a silent shout. His cock jerked so hard it slapped against his stomach, leaving a wet streak.

Riven grabbed it again. He stroked fast and mean, thumb grinding over the head on every upstroke. Torren’s arms strained against the cuffs. His thighs spread wider without being told. The muscles in his stomach jumped under the skin.

"You’re close," Riven said. His voice stayed calm, almost soft. "I can feel it. You’re going to come when I say. Not before. I need to know the exact second your body gives up so I can write it right."

Torren’s eyes were glassy, wet at the corners. His breath came in harsh, open-mouthed pants. The head of his cock was so swollen it looked painful.

Riven tightened his grip and slowed the strokes to a cruel, dragging pace. He watched every flicker in Torren’s face—the way his brows pulled together, the way his lower lip trembled, the exact moment his control started to crack.

"Now," Riven said.

Torren came with a raw, punched-out sound. Thick ropes spilled over Riven’s fist and onto the floor in heavy pulses. His whole body shook through it—shoulders, thighs, the chain between his wrists rattling hard. Riven kept stroking him through every spurt, dragging it out until Torren was making small, wrecked noises and trying to curl forward.

Only then did Riven let go.

He stood there for a moment, looking down at the mess—the striped cock still twitching, the red marks on the balls, the sweat running down Torren’s chest, the way his head hung forward while he tried to remember how to breathe.

Riven wiped his hand on the towel, picked up the notebook, and wrote the final lines in clear, steady script.

*Final endurance test – full CBT + impact + forced orgasm

*Stayed hard under heavy clamps and flogging: 7 min 10 sec

*Orgasm triggered by tight, slow stroking after clamps removed

*Body reaction: full-body tremor, voice completely broken, heavy volume

*Key sensory notes for the scene: the wet sound of the flogger on already-marked skin, the exact heat of the ass under the paddle, the way precum runs in long strings when the pain peaks, the smell of sweat and leather and spent cock

*This is accurate. This is what it actually looks like when a stronger man breaks on his knees for someone smaller.

He closed the notebook.

Then he uncuffed Torren’s wrists, unbuckled the collar, and set everything aside. Torren stayed on his knees a moment longer, breathing hard, before he finally sat back on his heels. His hands rested open on his thighs. His cock hung spent and marked between them.

Riven looked at him and felt the last of the uncertainty leave his chest.

He had what he needed.

Every detail. Every sound. Every second.

When he sat down at the laptop again later that night, the scene poured out of him without a single pause - clean, sharp, and real enough that no reader would ever doubt it.