Not Safe for Work(78)

He gulped. “Fuck…”

“Pretty much, yeah. Now strip.”

Though he still regarded the machine warily, he obeyed, peeling off his shirt.

While he undressed, I adjusted the table he’d be tied to. It was usually set up for someone lying on their back but could be configured to accommodate a person on his hands and knees. That way he could be tied in that position but had enough padding and support to keep from getting fatigued. Which meant we could go for a long time if I wanted to.

And since the hot wax would pull the hair out of his chest and stomach, I wanted his back exposed instead.

I faced him and grinned. Everything was exposed now. He watched me with wide eyes, standing there naked against the backdrop of my home dungeon.

Oh, Rick. You are all mine tonight.

I somehow kept myself from licking my chops and patted the table. “Hands and knees.”

He eyed the table, probably trying to work out how he was supposed to get on it. He figured it out quickly enough, though, and climbed on. Excellent—his ass was in the air, at just the right height for the machine to f*ck him while I tormented him. His shins and forearms rested on pads that would keep them comfortable, and also happened to conveniently position them perfectly for a bastard Dom to come along and tie them down. Good thing that bastard Dom had a few coils of rope handy.

I took my time tying him down. I didn’t say a word the whole time either. Instead, I let his surroundings sink in. The relative quiet of the dungeon. The faint smell of hot, melted wax. The sex machine sitting behind him, silent and still, ready to f*ck him senseless.

“Feel all right?” I secured the last rope, this one around his arm. “Nothing numb or tingling?”

He gulped. “I’m good.”

“Then let’s get started, shall we?”

He turned a bit, looking up at me with round eyes. We haven’t started yet?

I chuckled, patted his shoulder and moved to the other side of the table. First things first—the machine.

I put plenty of lube on the toy and also on him, and slid it into him a few times to make sure he was good and relaxed. Then I reattached it to the machine, positioned it, and turned it on.

The motor whirred to life. The arm started moving, slowly at first, and then faster as I cranked it up, and Rick moaned as the toy moved in and out of him.

“Feel good?” I asked.

“Mmhmm.”

“Straight answers, Rick,” I said sharply.

“Yes. Yes, it feels… Feels good.”

“Much better.” I patted his leg.

While the machine kept going, I moved to the Crock-Pot and stirred the thick, white liquid with the long-handled ladle. That setup was well within Rick’s view when he turned his head, and he watched me, eyes fixed on the ladle as his fingers kneaded the armrests.

I dipped the ladle in and raised it, watching his gaze, and as I turned it and let the wax fall back into the pot, he shuddered.

“Ready?” I asked.

He licked his lips and nodded. “Ready.”

I stirred the wax a little more and then scooped some out. Carefully holding it several inches above his skin, I turned the ladle and drizzled the wax across the back of his shoulder.

He hissed, his muscles twitching beneath the liquid.

“That hurt?” I asked.

“Of course it f*cking hurts.” He forced out a breath.

I turned up the machine. As it f*cked him faster, he swore softly, his head falling forward and his arms trembling beneath him.

“Let’s try that again,” I said. “Does the wax hurt?”

He inhaled slowly. “Yes. It hurts.”

“Much better.”

I didn’t slow the machine down, though.

With the wax again, I started at the base of his neck and drew a single line of liquid heat downward. His spine bowed, and as I neared his lower back, he whimpered, ass cheeks clenching and thigh muscles tensing. All his focus had to have been concentrated there, between the hot wax I was pooling at the base of his spine and the toy continuing to pound his well-f*cked ass.

I dipped the ladle and moved to his shoulders. As soon as the wax hit, he grunted, every muscle in his torso tensing so hard, some of the dried wax cracked and popped off his skin.

“W-wait. The…” He tensed, pulling in a sharp breath that made my stomach clench.

“Easy, Rick.” I touched his shoulder. “Are you using your safe word?”

“N-no. The machine. Too much.”

Without hesitation, I turned the machine down and then off. “Better?”

He nodded.

“Do you want me to remove it completely?”

“No. No, this is…” He rocked back and forth just slightly, still f*cking himself on the stationary toy. “Is good.”

“We can stop if—”

“Please don’t stop.”

I picked up the ladle again. “Tell me your safe word.”

“Red.”

“And you’re not using it now?”

“No.”

“Good.”

He closed his eyes and exhaled. The tension in his muscles—what wasn’t hidden beneath the layer of wax—started to ease.

So I poured some more on and let his whimpers give me goose bumps all over again.

As much as I enjoyed the exhibitionist aspect of clubs like the one we’d tried to attend, there was something to be said for having him like this. Alone, contained within one room with the rest of the world locked outside. In here, every cry, every whispered curse, every catch of his breath, was for me and me alone to hear.