Daddyz Boyz

Naked, Draven Torres grips the arms of a St. Andrew's cross in a dark room while Tony Buff works him over with the flogger. Draven's jet-black hair stands stiff in a Mohawk; his high, round ass catches the light. He drives his neck deep into the V of the cross like a blade is about to drop. Tony talks him through it, voice low, steady. Then the tails fly faster, heavier. Draven's face twists, tears streak his cheeks. Tony stops, rests his cheek on Draven's shoulder, rubs the heat from his back, then starts again—shoulders, ass, thighs. Draven screams into the quiet. Tony pulls him close. Draven signals for more. He could quit, but he won't. Tony swaps floggers. Draven's back is a ladder of swollen welts. His hands leave the wood, yet he stays, begging with his body for the next stroke.