Page 37 of Natural-Born Cullers

Gray knew his craft. This was a modified bamboo version of barbed wire, distorting Japanese torture techniques, utterly screwing with the head over the threat of being fucked by it if Jack moved. It wouldn’t just hurt, it would tear him up if he moved, so control was put back in Jack’s hands to not move against his binds and be torn apart.

Jack kept so still, heat and sweat infusing his body, the perspiration between his thighs almost racing to try and help ease the threat of the tube, of it being pulled away and leaving him to face the bamboo and its barbs in his ass, one-on-one.

Gray’s cock hurt, seeing the fight for control. But control was always his, and he gripped Jack’s balls, making sure he kept still as the milking machine… distracted. Then Jack groaned as the tube slipped up him, hitting his prostate.

“Shush, stunner.” Keeping his look on Jack—Gray slowly eased the tube out.

“Fuh—” Jack mumbled that against his gag, his ass muscle automatically closing around the knotted spike of the middle of the bamboo…. Gray knew him like no other, how deep his prostate was, how the remaining short spike on the tip teased against it. The love of torture on… in the body… with the outcome put entirely in Jack’s hands.

Gray gripped his own cock, forcing his own body to deny loving just what threat played out here, all…

Drip… fucking drop.

The barbed bamboo wouldn’t hurt unless Jack came, unless his whole body tensed into coming, tightening his ass muscle on the knot.

So Jack had to fight to deny his orgasm because the milking machine gave him no optionbutto come.

Gray slowly stroked his own cock. He’d forced Jack to fight it, resist it… fall naturally into taking his time and enjoy the milking and control his body or fear the consequences in his ass for letting go. But he would eventually have to let go.

Jack tried to growl something into his gag as he tried to adjust to what was happening to his body, but Gray transcribed the fear more personally in every twist of his abs as he dragged his touch down one, then eased down and stroked his cock against Jack’s hip. Another fuck with routine, with how Jack had spent years stroking himself against Gray’s hip as he’d tried to come to terms with what played through his head and body over the years. He’d owned Gray by doing it, so now Gray owned Jack, shattering through routine, owning Jack with it now.

Jack groaned at the reverse play, and he rose into Gray before dropping back down and crying out. The barb had caught in his ass, and Gray smirked.

After moving back, he hitched up the speed on the milking machine a moment later, slipping into harder… faster, and Jack fought tooth and nail against his binds to deny the pull on his body.

Then a hand resting on the fine V of hips, Gray took hold of the bamboo knot, his look not leaving Jack’s as Jack stilled.

Keeping it soft, subtle, Gray gently started shifting the barbed bamboo, threatening to ease it in, out, to fuck it back into him, and Jack cried out, trying to close his legs.

Giving a smile, leaving him with that… threat, Gray picked up a packet from his side, then opened it up and tipped it on his tongue.

The bitter taste of salt stung, and Gray kept it there on his tongue as he leaned down and licked at the cut he’d made on Jack’s thigh.

Salt instantly kicked in, burning its way into the cut, and now Jack lost it.

The cut on his thigh had been so subtle, the sting left there to edge him, ride him into the milking of his cock, but add a little chemical play….

Gray gave him control in one hand, but took it in another as his head transpired against him, to run with his body, how much he loved the feel of a cut on his skin, the burn—how much he needed, wanted to be fucked and cut inside out, all…

Drip… fucking drop.

Jack came into his own now, writhing on the covers, his body calling out one cut wasn’t enough, and Gray let it all play out under his touch on his stomach. Each twist cried out he wanted more. He needed it to hurt. To turn more violent, to tear into him, and Gray dipped his head, loving the cry off Jack for him to take him through every bloody cry.

Briefly closing his eyes, he stroked long lengths down his own cock, needing control, but failing so badly in the next breath. The next few moments could be so bloody dangerous.

Another touch on Jack’s abs making sure he stayed still, Gray flicked a switch, retracting the spikes completely, then eased the bamboo knot out of him—then back in, fucking him slowly with it.

Jack had seen the brutality to the spikes, so Gray took all of Jack’s perception and fucked with his head, letting Jack’s mind and body override the reality in thinking Gray would risk making him bleed by fucking him with it even though, in reality, he’d retracted the spikes.

All Gray ever needed was the subtle mind play when it came to Jack, and it worked so well against him now.

Back arched, Jack came, his whole body tensing into the perceived brutality—and now he really cried out as Gray held the knot still inside him and flicked the switch again, the spikes at full play.

Jack’s ass clenched automatically on the one, and Gray tilted his head to Jack’s beauty as it played on the bedsheet before him, how such brutal hurt mated with the heat of coming, all the twists and turns it forced Jack to take with his body.

He knew Jack would hurt in the comedown, that the price for coming would hurt for hours to come in Jack’s ass, but Jack didn’t care in that moment: he called it out, rode it, drove into it, with the most intense twist of body that pleasure and agony brought.

And there. There it was.

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