Page 88 of Obey

I obey, closing my eyes even as a smile lingers on my lips.

The next swing is harder, and it burns more, but it’s still nothing I can’t handle. I grunt through it and focus on the heat in my muscles.

“Gonna take a lot more than that, Nayeem…” I taunt.

“Forget the swamp, I’m dumping you in a mud pit,” Knives growls. I’m about to taunt him again when the flogger lands on me again.

It isn’t a warm-up tap anymore. It’s a proper swing, intense, and the pain hits me instantly. The pain, then the pleasure, and the sound that it elicits comes from somewhere deeper this time. Yes. This is what I’ve wanted, what I’ve needed—what no other Dom has been able to satisfy.

Because it’s always been Knives.

It’s always been Nayeem.

He wields the flogger with skill, and one day, I’ll ask him where he learned when he’d been in prison for so long. Not now, though; I don’t want anything between us, let alone discussion of other people.

“Not complaining now, are you?” Knives asks between swings.

“I can… I can still talk…” I mumble, although my words are slurred. My body is trembling, and my forehead rests against the wood as I pant.

The next blow follows immediately, and I cry out. The way the flogger falls along my skin makes it spread wide, touching so much of my back with harsh leather. It feels so different from the usual, where whoever wields the flogger chooses something much softer. Even when they apply force, it doesn’t feel this fucking good.

Several strikes later, I’m panting, sweating, and if Knives taunted me, I wouldn’t be able to put any words together at all. My back is on fire, and each time the lashes land, I’m tempted to tell him to stop, that I’ve had enough.

Then the bliss following each blow hits hard, and all I want is more.

“Five more,” Knives finally murmurs. “Can you take five more?”

I nod, making some attempt at speech that doesn’t quite work.

I really do fall hard and deep.

The first strike is the worst, somehow, because now I’m anticipating the end. The second is a little better; the third is almost mild. But the fourth and the fifth have me screaming for more, and I realize I’ve been grinding my clothed cock against the cross to the point where I’m worried I might come at the slightest touch.

I wait for another blow, craving it and knowing it’ll be so much, too much, but it doesn’t come.

Knives steps closer, his breathing harsh and ragged. “If we were at home, I’d fuck you right now,” he whispers against my ear. “But we’re not. You don’t even know how many people are watching right now. They’re all so amazed at how much you took. At how red your back is.”

His fingers trace one of the welts, and I whimper at the prickle of pain.

“Could take more,” I manage, not sure whether I’m relieved or disappointed when he moves so he can unfasten my wrists from the cross.

“Not today,” he says. “I have other plans for you.”

Oh.

Right.

My mouth waters at the mere idea of getting to suck his cock, and having him fuck my face sounds like the perfect way to continue this perfect high.

I stumble, surprised at how uncoordinated I feel, but Knives is already holding me steady. He’s taking care of me, just like he had in that not-kink club and the god-awful swamp, just as he had back when we were dumb teenagers and I’d had nobody else I could trust.

I clutch his shirt and breathe in his scent. He’s sweaty, but that only makes it better, more primal.

“All right folks, show’s over,” Knives says in a gruff voice. I hear some people mutter and walk away.

Then Carl is there, standing in front of us. “Maddox, are you cool with this?” he asks gently.

Knives’s arm tightens around me.

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