Who's the Little Bitch Now?

Rico comes slinking back for more. Same boiler room, same bitch he can’t quit. He drags himself in looking wrecked—dirty toenails, mangled pronunciation, mouth still running. I rope his cock tight and bolt the other end to the wall. The second the line goes taut, the fight drains out of him. He lunges forward anyway, tongue stretching for my hole, every inch of stretch yanking his balls harder. Sweat beads on his forehead. He still can’t stop reaching. The cane sings across his ass. The flogger paints stripes over his shoulders. Cattle-prod jolts crackle through the damp air. Every time he flinches, the rope tugs. I switch to the strap-on, sink it deep, pound him flat against the brick while latex squeaks on skin. He moans like the little bitch he swore he wasn’t. He asked for round two. Now he gets to find out exactly how deep that hole really goes.