Exclusive Excerpt from By Way of Pain
by J.M. Dabney
A deadly calm seemed to come over my captor as the leather slithered through the man’s slim, elegant hands that were encased in tight black leather. “Remove the blanket, stand and return to the support in the center of the room.”
Every inch of my body shook as I did as he asked. The chill in the air had goosebumps rising and caused the hair to stand up on my arms. When I straightened, I used my hands to cover my crotch. Each step I took fought against my instinct to survive. He said he’d do away with me, and if he felt merciful, he’d make my death quick. As much as that should have terrified me, it brought me a sense of comfort that once he was done with me, he wouldn’t make me suffer.
I yelped and covered my eyes as the single, naked bulb burned bright.
“Face the support and grab the hook. Do not remove your hands from it at any time or you will earn an extra lash.”
My captor’s voice turned deeper, almost what I assumed a lover would sound like.
“What are you going to do with me?”
“I’m going to teach you, boy, that pain is pleasure. When I’m done, you will beg for each lash you receive in punishment.”
I arched my back as he drew the hilt of the whip down the indent of my spine and then I felt his breath fan my ear. “You have to embrace pain to truly appreciate pleasure. For some of us, they are one and the s
That he believed what he was saying was scarier than the inevitability of my death.
My captor pressed his clothed form fully to my back. The man was lean, but I felt the power in those muscles, and I cried out as strong fingers winched my head back. I closed my eyes at the burning sting on my scalp. The rough support abraded my skin—only the cage on my cock protected the tender skin. My big, hairy body was too on display, and I didn’t want him to look at me.
Suddenly the heat and presence of him was gone, and the chilliness of the damp basement washed over me. I didn’t dare turn around. I didn’t want to see what was about to happen. I knew that was stupid. He was going to whip me and seeing would allow me to brace myself for the pain.
“Breathe, boy. I own every inch of you, and that includes your pain.”
As soon as the last syllable slipped from his tongue, I felt the fire of the first kiss of the whip. Strangely, I flinched more at the crack of the leather than I did the first strike. I moved to wrap my arms around the support, hugging it tight and pressing my sweaty brow to the splintered surface. Each strike of the whip made me writhe and beg. I wanted the pain to stop. I felt the first trickles of blood down my back. It was a tickling sensation as it flowed over my ass—the backs of my thighs.
It wasn’t as much as I’d assumed, as if just the tip of the whip grazed my back. The agony reached the point that a sort of numbness took over. The nerves had deadened under the exposure of overwhelming suffering. My vision was dimming at the edges, and my heart beat too fast, I cried out with each new lick of leather. I was posed on my tiptoes, and my thighs shook, I was on the edge of collapse.
I was granted a reprieve, and I screamed as his soft shirt felt like sandpaper on my abused back. “Good boy, you did better than I expected.” His voice sounded almost…caring, and that was so unlike the mental picture I’d formed of him. I gritted my teeth as he drew his palm from my shoulder
to hip. I was oversensitive and shoved myself harder into the beam.
“Easy, boy, you did so good. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful in the throes of their pain.” Continue reading