For you, I am Lord! Reborn.

The moment contracted until it became a single point of existence. The vibrator rotated inside him with a slowness that was worse than any brutality — each rotation calculated to brush the prostate with surgical precision, sending waves of pleasure rising up his spine like liquid electricity, crashing against the barrier of the metal ring that Alex had not removed.

Marcos gasped, a sound that seemed torn from the deepest part of his lungs. His mind, which had been floating in that haze of surrender, suddenly had to become a knife edge.

“Don’t come,” Alex had said, and they were only three words, but they weighed like a physical law.

He closed his eyes, trying to find an anchor in the darkness behind his eyelids, but the darkness only intensified the sensations. He could feel every millimeter of the silicone rotating, pressing, massaging the point that turned his body into an instrument of torture and ecstasy. The ring around his base kept the blood trapped, his cock swollen to a point bordering on unbearable pain, the glans rubbing against the inside of the suction cylinder with a friction that drove him insane.

“Please...” he whispered, and the word broke in his throat.

“Please what?” Alex’s voice was right behind his ear, his warm breath contrasting with the cold of the basement.

“Please... Sir... I can’t...”

“You can’t what?” Alex moved the vibrator a millimeter deeper, and Marcos screamed, a sharp sound he did not recognize as his own. “Be specific, Marcos. Your owner needs exact words.”

Marcos swallowed, tasting the residual flavor of Alex’s semen, and that added humiliation made his cock throb even harder against his will. He was so close. He could feel the orgasm building at the base of his spine, that inevitable pull, the moment before the fall. But the ring stopped him, or perhaps it was the willpower Alex demanded, a discipline Marcos had not known he possessed until he had to exercise it.

“I can’t... hold back anymore...” he gasped, each syllable an effort. “I’m going to... please, Sir... permission to...”

“No.”

A single syllable, hard as steel.

Alex increased the vibrator’s speed, and Marcos felt his mind fracture. The pleasure was too much, a pressure with no release valve. His thighs were trembling violently, the muscles of his abdomen contracted into stone. He was making desperate calculations in his head — breathe, think of something cold, the literature exam, Alex explaining the depth of The House of Bernarda Alba, Alex... no shit! — but the vibrator kept turning and turning, and each rotation erased a little more of his conscious mind.

From his perspective, Alex watched the struggle with the attention of an entomologist examining an insect under a microscope. He could see the sweat running down Marcos’s back, the way his knuckles had turned white gripping...