Page 22 of Surrender

“Daddy,” I mumble, digging my fingers into my own flesh.

Another strike. Sweat trickles down my forehead.

I get a few seconds break while Cristiano spanks Luke, then his hand is on my ass again, and I cry out, arching my back.

That was a mistake. My back burns, and more pain bursts out across my body.

“More,” I say, spreading my legs as much as I can. “My… my balls…”

Cristiano slaps my balls, then pinches them. For a moment, he focuses on me, and I’m only aware of the pain—the pain, and the pleasure.

I whine when he swaps back to Luke, but it doesn’t last long because Luke croaks out, “Red.”

Just like the responsible dom Cristiano apparently wants to pretend he is, he instantly stops striking Luke’s ass.

Luke groans, shifting so he’s on his knees in front of the bench instead of draped over it.

“K-Keep going.” I lift up my ass, even though that makes my entire body protest. I love how fuzzy my mind is getting though, the way I only exist for this pain and the pleasure kept infuriatingly at bay.

I probably would have come already if I wasn’t caged.

Cristiano goes back to my balls, alternating between hitting and pinching them again, and I have to rest my forehead against the bench to keep from turning into goo.

“Cris!” Luke says somewhere in the background of the haze.

“I told you not to call me that,” Cristiano hisses, his hand coming to a rest on my ass.

“You need to stop!” Luke counters, and he pushes Cristiano’s hand away. “He’s fucking bleeding!”

What? I’m bleeding? That doesn’t make any sense. Cristiano barely touched me. Just a lot of lovely open-handed slaps. Some light pinching. There weren’t even any knives involved.

“I’m fine,” I slur, trying to raise my hand. My shoulders do not like that movement, and I just let my arm flop back to my side.

“See?” Cristiano says, breathing heavily. “He’s fine. He hasn’t safe-worded. There’s no need to overreact, Luke.”

But to my utter disappointment, he stops instead of laying into me again. I feel him lift the back of my shirt, which has already ridden up a bit on my back, and he swears. “Fox, you should’ve fucking safe-worded,” he snaps at me. “Fuck!”

I don’t want to get out of here, but Cristiano ignores me.

“Do you need help?” Luke asks me. “What the hell happened to your back?”

“It wasn’t me, if that’s what you’re implying,” Cristiano snarls at him before turning his attention back to me. “Come on, little fox. Let’s get you home so I can take a proper look at that back of yours.”

“You can… you can keep going,” I say, trying to smile at him. “It’s good. Barely a sting. Daddy, my ‘dad’ hits harder than you.”

He hesitates before murmuring, “Fox…”

“Keep going,” I insist, glancing at him over my shoulder and trying to hide my wince as it stretches my back out more.

He doesn’t look convinced. “Luke, go get a bottle of water,” he orders.

“Do I need to get the medic?” Luke asks, his voice little more than an echo in the background. “He looks really bad, Cris.”

I can only guess just how pissed Cristiano must be getting with the constant nicknaming.

“No. I have a doctor on staff at home. They’re recent injuries. They must’ve reopened with all the squirming,” Cristiano says.

I close my eyes, trying to will my arms into moving again. Maybe if I sit up, I can convince him to keep going. Or if I get on my knees…

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