Submission (Submit for Redemption, #1) by Robert Cage & Kathryn Sparrow – NSFW Excerpt

Everett was rudely awakened by a deep voice and the warm firm grasp of leather on his balls. They were being gently cradled and fondled. His eyes opened and fixed on Reggie’s enraptured face. He swore he saw him tremble with excitement.

“Oh, my dear captain! My heart is a-flutter!”

Hot rays beamed in from the floor-to-ceiling beveled glass in the library, the early morning sun shower blinding him. It was hot, but no hotter than the flames baking his rear from the fireplace for the past five hours.
The regally attired man daintily removed his right glove and slowly licked his index finger, bringing it behind the captain’s firm ass. Without any subtlety whatsoever, Reggie plunged the wet digit into his hole, slowly rotating it as he did. Moving closer, he replaced the glove and dug both leathered hands into his sweaty buttocks.
Reggie’s eyes closed as he seemed to listen to the combination of creaky cowhide and Ev’s moans of protest. The aristocrat’s head moved in slowly, and his tongue flicked out, licking Everett’s staff sensuously, like a lollypop.
“Goddamn it, Reggie!” the captain spat, shaking his head in irritation. “What the fuck is going on?” He fought to control his rage, swearing at the sedatives that still clogged his bloodstream. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him.
Reggie stepped back and laughed. It was a chillingly sadistic low evil chortle, a laugh of depraved pleasure.
“Sorry, Ev—I should have warned you about this part. Just what did you think I would do? Sit you down and have a conference with you? Ask you how you wanted to suffer? Discuss your options? What fun would that be? Silly boy, there are so many ways to be tortured. And you, my ‘straight’-laced young friend, you need to enjoy yourself. You’re strapped in now. Why not enjoy the ride? Relax! After all, that is what I intend to do. Oh yes,” he gloated, “I intend to enjoy myself very much.”

Everett bit back a chunk of bile in his throat as he realized how much Reggie would indeed enjoy shaming and hurting him. Didn’t men like him live for this sick shit? Some part of him stupidly had—as Reggie described—thought this was all for show. But the worst part was that his own cock was betraying him, responding already to the aristocrat’s personal treatment.

Reggie swaggered slowly to the small liquor cart that they had utilized only hours before. It was now laid out like a mini-breakfast buffet with a few pastries, freshly-made bloody marys, and a pyramid of crepes, dripping with brown sugar and whipped cream. The big man lifted one of the crepes like a cannoli and dunked it in a warmed china bowl containing what looked to be some kind of syrup. He turned and walked deliberately toward Everett, munching intently, his gloved hand dangling the crop by its keeper loop.

He grinned evilly at Everett and again wrapped his lips around the plump pastry, biting into it, humming with obvious bliss as the delicacy gushed over his palate. Everett felt his stomach surge with acid. He had never been so hungry in his life, and he was now just realizing it. When had he eaten last? He honestly couldn’t remember.

“Would you care for a bite, my good captain?” Reggie inquired pleasantly. Everett continued to stare at the small roll as it gradually vanished down Reggie’s gullet. “You’re a bit too high up for feeding, but perhaps later,” he taunted. “Maybe you’d enjoy some maple syrup, first? It’s quite rare and expensive to import in these parts. The man who sends it to me from a small farm in the so-called Northeast Kingdom of Vermont has written personally, many times, telling me what an honor it is to serve a member of the Peerage. Apparently he finds my title impressive. Or perhaps it’s the hand crafted, embossed stationary in which my checks are delivered.” His chuckle was almost a growl. He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally.

Everett felt himself growing weaker in the chains. It disturbed him how Reggie had seemed to forget about him entirely, apparently thinking only of his appetite, his royal pedigree, and his obscene wealth. He watched his tailored velvet-clad form saunter back toward the cart and curiously lift the bowl of syrup, inspecting it lovingly.

“I’ve told him that I love sweet things,” he continued obsequiously. “And you, dearest captain, surely rank with those. It’s amazing how satisfying meat can be, by the way, when added to this mélange… especially a tenderized, mouth-watering sausage, perhaps?”

Reggie licked a stray tendril of cream from his glove and bared his teeth. Still carrying the bowl of syrup, he raised the whip above his head, sending it zinging toward the young captain’s ball sack but only lightly clipping it. He hadn’t even spilled any of the warmed syrup in the process.

“Ahh! God!” Ev sang. Immediately he began to feel the swelling. It was almost the exact sensation as being kicked in the groin, only somehow worse. Whereas the latter experience produced only a dull ache, this new sensation was similar, but turned quickly into a lacerating burn. It didn’t stop for minutes afterward.
Reggie laughed heartily and placed the bowl of syrup on the mantle, raising a long black cigarette holder, a much more formal and pretentious model than he had used earlier. He clicked open his lighter, puffing with satisfaction, hands behind his back, looking very full of himself. This man was a true piece of work, Everett marveled. He’s enjoying my pain. He was unsure of how far he would take this; this turn of events was too drastic, too perverse. Yet something gnawed at him, a feeling he couldn’t entirely deny or distrust. Pleasure? He recoiled, repulsed with himself.

“Now, my good captain,” his tormentor smirked. “Was that more what you were seeking?”

Everett shuddered, the motion sending him swaying in his bindings, as every new sensation washed over him like rose-tinted sewage. Although all of this was foreign and terrifying, his cock didn’t care, hardening at some hidden promise these new experiences held for it, for him. It bobbed, almost slapping his stomach, anticipating what awaited: his complete helplessness, this brute’s obvious pleasure, other unknown humiliations and tortures, and still, above all, the pain. The glorious, mind-numbing pain! For a minute, nothing existed but agony. And it was good, too good. And the least he deserved.

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