Chapter 112: BDSM Play -1

Varek had known Soren for three years. They met at a private men’s club in the city, the kind that required references and a signed contract before anyone stepped past the lobby.

Varek was thirty-four, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and carried himself with the quiet certainty of a man who never asked twice.

Soren was twenty-eight, leaner, fair-haired, and had spent most of those three years learning exactly how far he could push his own limits under Varek’s hand.

They had negotiated everything in advance. Hard limits were written down. Soft limits were discussed. The safeword was simple.

Tonight’s scene had been agreed upon two days earlier: heavy verbal degradation, impact on sensitive areas, forced arousal, objectification, and ownership play. No penetration yet.

Soren had asked for that delay specifically. He wanted to be broken down first.

The room was stripped of everything soft. Concrete floor, a single wooden chair, a low bench, a leather flogger with dense tails, and a thick black collar already locked around Soren’s throat. The leash attached to it hung loose in Varek’s left hand.

Varek stood fully clothed in black trousers and an open shirt. Soren knelt naked at his feet, cock already half-hard from the simple act of being ordered to strip and wait.

Varek’s voice was low and even. "Stroke yourself. Get it hard. I want it standing up so I can see every twitch when I hit it."

Soren’s hand moved immediately. He wrapped his fingers around his own shaft and began to stroke, slow at first, then firmer when Varek’s eyes narrowed.

Blood rushed downward. His cock thickened and rose, the head flushing dark, the skin stretching tight. He kept his eyes down the way he had been trained.

Varek stepped closer and rested the tips of the flogger against the underside of Soren’s erection.

"Look at that. A pathetic little dick standing at attention because I told it to. You’re already leaking. Disgusting."

He raised the flogger and brought it down in a short, sharp arc. The leather tails cracked across the shaft. Soren jerked, a sharp sound escaping his throat, but his hand kept moving.

The second strike landed higher, closer to the head. The third caught the sensitive underside and made his hips jerk forward against nothing.

Varek did not stop. He flogged the standing cock in steady, measured blows - light enough to sting, heavy enough to leave the skin pink and throbbing. Each impact was paired with words that stripped Soren down further.

"You’re nothing but a hole that happens to have a dick. A warm piece of meat I own. Stroke it harder. Show me how desperate you are."

Soren stroked faster, the pain mixing with the forced arousal until his cock was fully rigid and glistening at the tip.

Varek circled him slowly, leash held taut, and kept striking. The flogger landed on the shaft, on the head, once across the balls.

Soren’s thighs trembled. His free hand stayed clenched against his own thigh because he had not been given permission to touch anything else.

Varek leaned down, mouth close to Soren’s ear. "You’re my property. My personal cumrag. My gagging little cocksucker when I decide I want a mouth. Right now you’re just a standing cock waiting to be hurt. Keep stroking. Don’t you dare stop."

He struck again, harder. Soren’s breath hitched. A bead of precome slid down the shaft and was immediately smeared by his own moving hand. Varek watched it with open contempt.

"Look at you. Hard from being treated like this. A real man wouldn’t get off on having his dick flogged while he jerks himself for someone else’s amusement. You’re weaker than that. You’re exactly what I say you are - a desperate bitchboy who needs to be used and degraded to feel anything."

Varek crouched in front of him, still fully dressed, and rested the flogger across Soren’s open thighs. He took the leash in both hands and forced Soren’s head up so their eyes met.

"You’re going to stay hard for me. You’re going to keep stroking until I tell you to stop. And every time I hit that useless cock, you’re going to thank me for reminding you what you are. Say it."

Soren’s voice was rough. "Thank you for reminding me what I am."

Varek brought the flogger down again. The leather cracked against the oversensitive shaft. Soren’s whole body jolted, but the motion of his hand continued without pause.

"Louder. And use the words I gave you."

"Thank you for reminding me I’m your property. Your hole. Your fucking toy."

Varek smiled without warmth. He struck the cock three more times in quick succession, watching it bounce and redden under the tails. Precome welled thicker now. Soren’s hips kept trying to push forward, seeking friction that was not allowed.

Varek stood and walked a slow circle around the kneeling man, leash tightening each time he passed behind him. He spoke as if Soren were furniture.

"You’ll crawl when I tell you. You’ll open your mouth when I tell you. You’ll take whatever I put in you when I decide the time is right. Tonight you’re going to stay on your knees with that marked-up dick standing straight while I remind you that you exist for my use. Nothing more."

He stopped in front of Soren again and raised the flogger once more. The next strike landed directly across the head. Soren cried out, short and broken, but the motion of his hand continued without pause.

Varek’s voice dropped lower. "Good. Keep it hard. Keep stroking. We’re nowhere near finished with you."

Varek let the silence stretch after the last strike. Soren’s cock stood rigid and reddened, the skin marked in faint overlapping lines from the flogger.

Precome had smeared down the shaft and over Soren’s knuckles. His breathing was uneven, but his hand never stopped moving.

Varek walked behind him and gave the leash a short, sharp tug. Soren’s head snapped back. The collar bit into his throat.

"On all fours. Now."

Soren dropped forward onto his hands and knees. His cock hung heavy between his thighs, still fully hard, the head shiny and dark. Varek stepped around him and planted one boot between Soren’s spread knees, forcing them wider.

"Keep stroking. I didn’t tell you to stop."

Soren shifted his weight onto one hand and reached back between his legs, gripping his cock again. The angle was awkward. Every upward stroke made his hips rock. Varek watched for a moment, then rested the flogger across the curve of Soren’s ass.

"You’re already dripping on the floor. Look at the mess you’re making. A useless little slut who can’t even stay still while he jerks himself for me."

He raised the flogger and brought it down hard across both ass cheeks. The sound cracked through the room. Soren’s body jerked, but his hand kept working his cock. Varek struck again, lower, catching the sensitive place where ass met thigh. Then again. Pink welts rose quickly.

"You’re my property. My free-use hole. I could leave you like this for hours and you’d still be hard, still leaking, still begging with that pathetic dick. Stroke faster."

Soren obeyed. The wet sound of his fist on his cock filled the gaps between the flogger strikes. Varek moved the leather tails higher and landed a blow directly on the exposed underside of Soren’s balls. Soren’s arms nearly gave out. A broken sound tore out of his throat.

Varek crouched beside him, one hand tight on the leash, the other still holding the flogger. He spoke close to Soren’s ear, voice flat and cold.

"You’re weaker than any man I’ve used. A real man wouldn’t stay hard after having his cock and balls flogged. You’re not a real man. You’re a thing I own. A warm, desperate piece of meat that gets off on being hurt and called names. Say it."

Soren’s voice cracked. "I’m not a real man. I’m a thing you own."

"Louder. And finish it properly."

"I’m a warm, desperate piece of meat that gets off on being hurt and called names. I’m your property. Your hole. Your fucking toy."

Varek stood and walked in front of him again. He unbuttoned his trousers just enough to free his own cock—already thick and heavy—but made no move to use it. He simply held it in one hand and looked down at Soren.

"Open your mouth. Tongue out."

Soren obeyed at once. Varek stepped closer and rested the head of his cock on Soren’s tongue, not pushing in, just letting the weight of it sit there. A thin string of spit connected them when he pulled back an inch.

"You’re going to stay like this while I decide what to do with you. Keep stroking that marked-up dick. If you stop, I start over with the flogger on your cock until you can’t think straight."

He tapped the head of his cock against Soren’s tongue twice, then wiped the wet tip across Soren’s cheek, leaving a shiny trail.

"You’re lucky I let you near it at all. Most of the time you’re only good for cleaning up after I’ve finished with something better. Tonight you’re my personal cumrag in training. You’ll take whatever I give you—spit, sweat, whatever I decide—and you’ll thank me for it."

Varek spat directly onto Soren’s tongue. Soren swallowed without being told. Varek’s mouth curved in a thin, humorless smile.

"Good boy. Filthy, but good. Now crawl forward. Keep your hand on your cock. I want to see it bounce while you move."

Soren crawled, one hand on the concrete, the other still pumping his reddened shaft. Each movement made his cock bob and drip. Varek walked backward, leash short, guiding him toward the low bench against the wall.

"You’re going to kneel up on that bench when I tell you. Legs spread. Chest down. Ass up. And you’re going to keep stroking until I say otherwise. We’re still nowhere near the part where I use you properly. Right now you’re just a marked-up toy learning its place."

He stopped Soren with a tug of the leash and pointed at the bench.

"Up. Now."

Soren climbed onto the bench, knees wide, chest pressed to the wood, ass raised high. His cock hung down, still gripped in his fist, the head almost brushing the surface below. Varek stepped behind him and laid the flogger across the backs of his thighs.

"Stroke. Slow. I want to watch it move while I work on the rest of you."

The first new strike landed across the already-pink cheeks. The second caught the sensitive crease. The third snapped lower, close to Soren’s hole. Soren’s hand never stopped. His breathing turned ragged. Precome stretched in a thin string from the tip of his cock to the bench.

Varek’s voice stayed calm and absolute.

"You’re mine to hurt. Mine to degrade. Mine to keep hard and desperate for as long as I want. Keep that fist moving. We’re only getting started."