Cracking His Code
The straps cage his ribs, wrap around his upper thighs, and pull tight through the cleft of his ass, pulling taut between his legs to lock into the thick black silicone ring at the base of his cock.
He’s trussed up, offering himself to me.
He looks exactly the way I pictured it in the shop. Like a piece of art engineered exclusively to be owned by my hands.
The ring is already doing its job. He’s painfully hard, the skin flushed a deep, angry red from the restricted blood flow.
He looks up at me, trying to hold onto that arrogant, bratty smirk, but his thighs are literally trembling against the duvet.
"You're early," he accuses. His voice shakes on the last word.
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