*
There were three ways into the playroom, one of which was a circular staircase accessed through Frisco’s walk-in closet.
Cam walked down the steps with the knowledge of how much more impact play hurt on wet skin than dry.
His ass felt thoroughly fucked, his cock was as hard as the jailbird allowed, and he wasn’t guaranteed an orgasm any time they played. His grades had been good, so there was a decent chance he’d get one, but it wasn’t a sure thing.
Frisco’s dungeon wasn’t fancy. Unpainted cinder block walls, concrete floor slightly angled to the floor drain, and equipment mostly made from steel pipes.
Three pulley mechanisms hung from the ceiling — all with loud, noisy chains. A large washroom sink and a hose faucet were on one side of the room. Frisco didn’t hesitate to use the hose sprayer to clean up — whether it was spunk on the floor, slave puke after being gagged, or an unruly submissive who needed to be punished with icy cold water. The sprayer on the hose dialed from a spring shower to a narrow stream that Cam was certain could be used as a pressure washer. He’d had his balls nailed with it more than once and it wasn’t fun.
The floggers, whips, paddles, and other assorted tools were stored on the same wall to help assure they didn’t get hosed down as well.
Frisco’s playroom wasn’t huge, but it was efficient, and utilitarian, and scary .
Cam stood over the drain, laced his fingers behind his head, spread his legs, settled into good posture, and waited.
In the evening he might be here five minutes or two hours. In the morning? Probably not long. Especially since he was going to have to deal with impact play on wet skin.
Sure enough, Frisco looked as if he’d only taken the time to towel dry his hair and dry his body when he came down the steps. He had his keys in his hand, and Cam hoped it meant his cock was about to see some freedom. He hadn’t orgasmed in four days, and the cock cage not only kept him from getting fully erect, it made it painful to try.
“Who owns your cock?”
“You do, Master.”
“And your orgasms?”
“Aren’t to be taken for granted. You decide when I feel pleasure or pain.”
Frisco nodded. “I’m proud of you for the ninety-seven. I can’t give you a reward session this morning, so I’ll let you know ahead of time I intend to allow an orgasm at the end.”
Cam was floored; Frisco never let him know ahead of time. Sometimes he was held on the edge for-fucking-ever and then wasn’t allowed, and if he couldn’t go soft in a few minutes, was iced until it would fit in the cage. To know throughout the scene he would be allowed release was truly a gift, and his cock pulsed in its stainless steel cage at the thought.
“Thank you, Master.”
Frisco walked to the wall and worked the pulleys to let the bar at the ceiling down. The chains were loud, and Cam’s cock fruitlessly tried to swell to life again.
Wrist cuffs dangled from the ends of the spreader bar, and Frisco fastened them with efficiency. He worked the pulley until Cam nearly had to stand on tiptoe, and locked it in place.
He leaned down, unlocked the jailbird, and removed it. He gave Cam’s cock a cursory inspection before standing to fondle his own cock a few seconds as he watched Cam’s fill until it stood proud.
He looked at it a few more seconds, considering, and finally said, “I’m going to help keep you out of trouble.”
Oh, thank goodness. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Master.”
His Master walked to the side of the room, gathered a leather cock ring, and wrapped it around his slave’s cock and testicles. The damned thing made Cam’s package feel like a fucking pretzel, but would help keep him from coming before given permission.
Frisco cupped Cam’s cheek and then stroked down his neck, over and down his pecs, through the valley of his ab muscles, and around his Adonis belt.
“Take comfort in the knowledge this isn’t likely to last longer
There were three ways into the playroom, one of which was a circular staircase accessed through Frisco’s walk-in closet.
Cam walked down the steps with the knowledge of how much more impact play hurt on wet skin than dry.
His ass felt thoroughly fucked, his cock was as hard as the jailbird allowed, and he wasn’t guaranteed an orgasm any time they played. His grades had been good, so there was a decent chance he’d get one, but it wasn’t a sure thing.
Frisco’s dungeon wasn’t fancy. Unpainted cinder block walls, concrete floor slightly angled to the floor drain, and equipment mostly made from steel pipes.
Three pulley mechanisms hung from the ceiling — all with loud, noisy chains. A large washroom sink and a hose faucet were on one side of the room. Frisco didn’t hesitate to use the hose sprayer to clean up — whether it was spunk on the floor, slave puke after being gagged, or an unruly submissive who needed to be punished with icy cold water. The sprayer on the hose dialed from a spring shower to a narrow stream that Cam was certain could be used as a pressure washer. He’d had his balls nailed with it more than once and it wasn’t fun.
The floggers, whips, paddles, and other assorted tools were stored on the same wall to help assure they didn’t get hosed down as well.
Frisco’s playroom wasn’t huge, but it was efficient, and utilitarian, and scary .
Cam stood over the drain, laced his fingers behind his head, spread his legs, settled into good posture, and waited.
In the evening he might be here five minutes or two hours. In the morning? Probably not long. Especially since he was going to have to deal with impact play on wet skin.
Sure enough, Frisco looked as if he’d only taken the time to towel dry his hair and dry his body when he came down the steps. He had his keys in his hand, and Cam hoped it meant his cock was about to see some freedom. He hadn’t orgasmed in four days, and the cock cage not only kept him from getting fully erect, it made it painful to try.
“Who owns your cock?”
“You do, Master.”
“And your orgasms?”
“Aren’t to be taken for granted. You decide when I feel pleasure or pain.”
Frisco nodded. “I’m proud of you for the ninety-seven. I can’t give you a reward session this morning, so I’ll let you know ahead of time I intend to allow an orgasm at the end.”
Cam was floored; Frisco never let him know ahead of time. Sometimes he was held on the edge for-fucking-ever and then wasn’t allowed, and if he couldn’t go soft in a few minutes, was iced until it would fit in the cage. To know throughout the scene he would be allowed release was truly a gift, and his cock pulsed in its stainless steel cage at the thought.
“Thank you, Master.”
Frisco walked to the wall and worked the pulleys to let the bar at the ceiling down. The chains were loud, and Cam’s cock fruitlessly tried to swell to life again.
Wrist cuffs dangled from the ends of the spreader bar, and Frisco fastened them with efficiency. He worked the pulley until Cam nearly had to stand on tiptoe, and locked it in place.
He leaned down, unlocked the jailbird, and removed it. He gave Cam’s cock a cursory inspection before standing to fondle his own cock a few seconds as he watched Cam’s fill until it stood proud.
He looked at it a few more seconds, considering, and finally said, “I’m going to help keep you out of trouble.”
Oh, thank goodness. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Master.”
His Master walked to the side of the room, gathered a leather cock ring, and wrapped it around his slave’s cock and testicles. The damned thing made Cam’s package feel like a fucking pretzel, but would help keep him from coming before given permission.
Frisco cupped Cam’s cheek and then stroked down his neck, over and down his pecs, through the valley of his ab muscles, and around his Adonis belt.
“Take comfort in the knowledge this isn’t likely to last longer
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