Page 145 of Broken Bonds
He starts stripping, and I’m wondering if he’s going to fuck me, but then I realize he’s not hard, so probably not.
At least, not right now.
Except neither am I, come to think of it.
“How will I know if anything’s happening?” I ask. “If it’s working?”
“Oh, you’ll be able to tell if it does.” I spot a set of MMA floor mats I didn’t notice earlier, and he sits on them, on a towel, closes his eyes, and it looks like he’s…
Doing yoga?
“Can I ask you?—”
“Shh.” He even puts his finger to his lips but doesn’t open his eyes. Over the hum of the AC, I hear him breathing, long, slow inhales and exhales, his body language relaxing. I spot a few bottles of water, another thermos, and two more plastic tumblers on his far side. One concoction is green, although a different shade than mine, and one of them is only half full, but the slurry inside is reddish-orange.
I can’t see a clock, and there’s no way for me to tell time because the only two windows are covered with thick, black moving pads. There’s nothing for me to do but hang out and watch Shawn.
I’ve never done yoga before, but he does some stretches, slowly and fluidly transitioning into different poses, and it’s sort of…hypnotizing.
I tip my head sideways as best I can in my restraints and stare at his ass, which is firm and lickable. He’s built differently than Todd, not nearly as large, but his lean muscles and iron thighs could probably clamp down on my head if I were trapped between them with his cock down my throat.
I don’t know how long I stare at him, but then he is suddenly in front of me, staring into my eyes, and I don’t even know when he moved.
“Pup?”
I want to respond, but my mouth’s dry, my tongue thick, my lips don’t want to work. He correctly interprets I’m thirsty and holds a water bottle for me, carefully tipping it so he doesn’t choke me.
He reaches up with his other hand and touches my throat, holds there, and I think maybe he’s taking my pulse, but his touch sends electrical zaps straight to my?—
Oh.
I lick my lips and try again to speak. “Shawn?”
His gaze narrows as he studies me, then he runs his hand through my hair and I gasp, my hips involuntarily bucking against the restraints.
I can’t…think. I just can’t seem to…
He ruffles my hair again. “It’s okay, pup. Let it happen. I added some kratom, caffeine, and some Jack the Ripper to the mix. That’s a sativa cannabis strain. Hopefully, to amplify your anxiety but not slow you down too much. I don’t use those for me, but after the feedback I received, I’m stacking the deck in your favor. I’m hoping they only juice you up for a little while, and ironically, it was easier to get my hands on those than it was Adderall.”
I mean… Words are coming from his mouth…
I squint, trying to listen as I watch him speak, but it’s hard to do that when it suddenly feels like my cock wants to rip itself off my body and try to fuck anything it can jump into.
He stands and leans over, like he’s looking underneath me. “There we go.” He ruffles my hair again and, again, my hips jerk against my restraints.
He walks over to a cart and gets a couple of things. Then I feel him down there, wrapping something around my cock and balls, and then he slathers something all over my cock.
“Sorry, that’s a little mean of me, but we can’t let you come.” I hear him strip off gloves—when did he even put those on?—and he returns to squat in front of me, eye-to-eye.
He stares into my eyes. “Pink marking paint,” he says.
I’m… not much is computing. “Wh…what?”
He grabs my head in his hands. “Say it with me. Pink.”
“P-pink.”
“Marking.”
