Read Online The Deeper He Hurts by Lynda Aicher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynda Aicher
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different.
“Do you fly?” he asked, nipping a path over Sawyer’s shoulder. He ground into Sawyer’s ass, his dick rolling over each cheek before settling in the cleft.
“No.”
The grit-filled response came out tight and fed Ash even more. No escaping for Sawyer. He wasn’t addicted to the endorphin rush like many masochists. And none of this was sexual.
He rocked his hips, his dick sliding between the snug crease of Sawyer’s ass. His lust simmered close to the edge, dancing with his need to inflict pain, to see and experience it through others. The intensity of his sexual desire was unique when he usually kept it contained.
And he would now.
He sunk his teeth into the juncture of Sawyer’s shoulder and neck and flicked the switch so it hit the outside of Sawyer’s thigh. The muscles tensed beneath his teeth and he reached past Sawyer’s dick to find his balls. Everything seemed to vibrate, the air humming with the need for more, for what was coming.
Two thin welts were scored into the underside of Sawyer’s sac, each one a ridge of tenderness he played with before he dug his fingernails into the lines and squeezed. He let the switch fly again and bit down harder on Sawyer’s neck.
“Fucker.”
The barked curse was muffled behind the low grunts and Ash sighed with pleasure. His chuckle rumbled over Sawyer’s nape as he hit him with the switch again. Sawyer’s balls pulsed in his palm and he dug his nails in more, careful to not break the skin, but savoring the feel of the testicles compressing within his grip.
Sawyer’s left leg trembled uncontrollably now, his weight balanced primarily on that foot. Ash had intentionally focused Sawyer’s right side, and the imbalance showed in his struggle.
He released Sawyer’s nuts, scraping his nails along the underside lines. He set up a consistent beat of hits on Sawyer’s thigh with the switch and grabbed his semihard dick. He timed his strokes to match his strikes, each hit hard enough to sting without overpowering. The build was his intent, the slow morphing from irritating to flaming that would simmer under the skin before going deep.
“How long can you last?” he taunted.
Sawyer gave a harsh snort, his breath catching when Ash dug a nail into his piss slit. “Longer than you,” he finally grunted out. The deep anger-laced grit in his voice slid over Ash in a taunt of its own.
Responding to words obviously meant to incite would give Sawyer what he wanted. So he kept his pace the same, the pressure and hits just shy of pleasure or pain.
“Where’s your head?” Ash tossed out the question with an element of demand.
“On my neck.”
He let go of Sawyer’s dick and ran a hand over his thigh, hunting and finding the rough and smooth patches of scars he assumed were there. Sawyer flinched, leg twisting away before he stopped himself, freezing. Ash stilled as well, resting the switch against Sawyer’s thigh.
The night sounds crept in. The small scramble of some critter, the rustle of the wind in the trees. The world seemed to wait, the tension springing from Sawyer as Ash slowly inspected the abused skin. His fingertips communicated wider patches along with thin lines, some overlapping, others close without touching.
Many were faint, the skin smoothing out with time, only a bump remaining to indicate an injury had been there. A shudder skimmed though Sawyer, the shake trembling into Ash. He dipped lower, reaching until the soft ruffle of leg hair tickled his palm. The scars were either hidden or nonexistent on the lower areas.
He continued to search, outlining a history of pain. The inner thigh had the most damage, but there were marks around his entire upper thigh. Every time he found another, pausing to feel it until he’d identified a possible cause, Sawyer tensed, the tiny compressions more like twitches. He said nothing, but his breaths deepened, the long pulls lifting into Ash’s chest.
“Are you done?” Sawyer finally snapped.
“Do you fly?” he asked, nipping a path over Sawyer’s shoulder. He ground into Sawyer’s ass, his dick rolling over each cheek before settling in the cleft.
“No.”
The grit-filled response came out tight and fed Ash even more. No escaping for Sawyer. He wasn’t addicted to the endorphin rush like many masochists. And none of this was sexual.
He rocked his hips, his dick sliding between the snug crease of Sawyer’s ass. His lust simmered close to the edge, dancing with his need to inflict pain, to see and experience it through others. The intensity of his sexual desire was unique when he usually kept it contained.
And he would now.
He sunk his teeth into the juncture of Sawyer’s shoulder and neck and flicked the switch so it hit the outside of Sawyer’s thigh. The muscles tensed beneath his teeth and he reached past Sawyer’s dick to find his balls. Everything seemed to vibrate, the air humming with the need for more, for what was coming.
Two thin welts were scored into the underside of Sawyer’s sac, each one a ridge of tenderness he played with before he dug his fingernails into the lines and squeezed. He let the switch fly again and bit down harder on Sawyer’s neck.
“Fucker.”
The barked curse was muffled behind the low grunts and Ash sighed with pleasure. His chuckle rumbled over Sawyer’s nape as he hit him with the switch again. Sawyer’s balls pulsed in his palm and he dug his nails in more, careful to not break the skin, but savoring the feel of the testicles compressing within his grip.
Sawyer’s left leg trembled uncontrollably now, his weight balanced primarily on that foot. Ash had intentionally focused Sawyer’s right side, and the imbalance showed in his struggle.
He released Sawyer’s nuts, scraping his nails along the underside lines. He set up a consistent beat of hits on Sawyer’s thigh with the switch and grabbed his semihard dick. He timed his strokes to match his strikes, each hit hard enough to sting without overpowering. The build was his intent, the slow morphing from irritating to flaming that would simmer under the skin before going deep.
“How long can you last?” he taunted.
Sawyer gave a harsh snort, his breath catching when Ash dug a nail into his piss slit. “Longer than you,” he finally grunted out. The deep anger-laced grit in his voice slid over Ash in a taunt of its own.
Responding to words obviously meant to incite would give Sawyer what he wanted. So he kept his pace the same, the pressure and hits just shy of pleasure or pain.
“Where’s your head?” Ash tossed out the question with an element of demand.
“On my neck.”
He let go of Sawyer’s dick and ran a hand over his thigh, hunting and finding the rough and smooth patches of scars he assumed were there. Sawyer flinched, leg twisting away before he stopped himself, freezing. Ash stilled as well, resting the switch against Sawyer’s thigh.
The night sounds crept in. The small scramble of some critter, the rustle of the wind in the trees. The world seemed to wait, the tension springing from Sawyer as Ash slowly inspected the abused skin. His fingertips communicated wider patches along with thin lines, some overlapping, others close without touching.
Many were faint, the skin smoothing out with time, only a bump remaining to indicate an injury had been there. A shudder skimmed though Sawyer, the shake trembling into Ash. He dipped lower, reaching until the soft ruffle of leg hair tickled his palm. The scars were either hidden or nonexistent on the lower areas.
He continued to search, outlining a history of pain. The inner thigh had the most damage, but there were marks around his entire upper thigh. Every time he found another, pausing to feel it until he’d identified a possible cause, Sawyer tensed, the tiny compressions more like twitches. He said nothing, but his breaths deepened, the long pulls lifting into Ash’s chest.
“Are you done?” Sawyer finally snapped.
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