Christmas, Bloody Christmas

around his cock. His dick was swollen and flushed an angry red. I moved higher. I loved keeping him on edge pleasure or pain or denial.
“It is my decision whether you were good or not.” I smacked his tender inner thighs and loved the ripple of his flesh. His softness as much as his submission turned me on. His pain made it so much sweeter.
“Why should I give you Sir’s cum, boy?”
I don’t know what possessed me, but I sensed that I’d never grow tired of my boy and the gifts he’d given me. He was the perfect embodiment of willing masochist. Always ready to be punished and to thank me for it. I held his fevered gaze as I raised my hands to remove the chain from around my neck. I slowly freed him of the cock cage that I’d made him wear for days. Teasing him to the point tears flowed from his eyes as I denied him the ecstasy of release.
I threw the items aside and jacked his pretty cock. He fought against his restraints as he tried to hasten my strokes.
“Do you enjoy being your Sir’s whore?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Are you honored to be my whore?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Precum pooled in the thick hair on his lower belly. His length thickened and pulsed in my grip. “My boy is always the sexiest when you have my cum leaking from your abused hole.” I growled as he slipped his arms beneath him and spread his cheeks wider. I took my cock in one hand, placed the fat, leaking tip to his hole and leaned forward until I could shove two fingers past his lips. I pushed down on his tongue, felt his gag reflex, and then I took him harder and faster.
I pounded his ass until his muffled screams rose above my grunts. I never grew tired of owning his ass and mouth; my ownership of him clear in the pale scars on his back and ass; mixed in with the fresher wounds. The bruises forming around his nipples from my teeth and mouth.
I froze balls deep and met his panicked gaze, a feral smile pulled at the corners of my mouth as I pulled from him. I released the ropes with a single pull and flipped him The rope banding his thighs and calves had him in the perfect position. I spanked his ass cheeks until I was satisfied by the red and ravaged curves.
“Sir, please, hurt me more.”
I didn’t make him wait, I took him in one brutal thrust and blanketed his back. I gripped his throat. His grunts were raspy as I forced them from him. I sipped at the moisture at the corner of his eye. His mouth was wide as I restricted his breathing, then allowed him a few deep ones before I controlled him again.
Loud sobs and whines, sweaty skin connecting, and the nasty sounds of his well-slicked hole being fucked blended to create the most beautiful symphony of agony. I hurt him because it’s what we both wanted—needed.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I’ll never tire of your pain.” My guttural voice was even harsher. My muscles protested my pace, but I couldn’t slow or stop. I relished the pain of his ass strangling my cock and the sting of my hips meeting his ass. I lifted my eyes to find where his nails were adding new grooves to the headboard. I released his throat and brought my hands to his hips.
“May I, Sir?”
I knew what he was asking for, and I debated making him wait or not allow him to orgasm at all.
“Tell Sir what he wants to hear.”
He turned until he stared into my eyes, and I leaned in just enough so I could feel the words brushing my lips when he whispered it.
“I love you, Cowen.”
It was never Sir. It was always my name and he never closed his eyes. I heard and saw the truth, tasted the words on my tongue. I kissed him as I increased my pace, and he was grunting and cursing. I knew he was working his cock, and then his ass tightened. I buried my length to the hilt and filled him with every drop of my release. I straightened to watch as I fucked until it was painful to move. My cock slicked with lube and cum, and I forced his cheeks wider to get deeper. I pulled all the way out, seeing the seed in the hair around his hole. I shoved the plug back in to keep the sign of my ownership where it belonged.
I disassembled the intricate pattern of the ropes until he was free and I rolled him to his back. I massaged his inner thighs and hips as he laid there with his legs wide.
“Do you really, boy?”
“I know you can never say it to me”— I observed his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed— “but it, I don’t know why sometimes, but it doesn’t change the fact I do.”
“I can’t be different, Harrison. But I don’t want to kill you.”
“I think that’s the sweetest thing you say to me.”
“You’re weird and I’m being serious.”
“I was, too.”
I smacked his thigh and eased him off the bed to take him to bathe. I started the shower and stepped inside with him, enjoying his protests as cold water hit his back. I washed him slowly, tending gently to the small wounds on his back and ass. Sometimes I wondered if it would be an act of mercy to let him go before I broke him, and then I realized I couldn’t do it, not to save either of us.

4
Harrison
Sir’s jaw clenched in a regular rhythm as Christmas music filled the cabin, and he watched me as I prepared breakfast. I tried to pretend calmness as I pictured the presents under the tree. The sheer number of them had shocked me when I came down that morning. My anticipation was great, but he had informed me in his calm voice