The Tiger: Part 3

And, it’s time for the last piece of “The Tiger.”  The first two sections are here and here.

I tugged his belt loose from Daniel’s jeans. It was an unusually thick piece of black leather, soft and flexible, as if it were used often.

Pulling Daniel’s hair, I brought him to heel on his hands and knees and led him, as he tripped over his loose jeans, to the futon.

“Kneel and bend forward over the edge of the bed,” I ordered. “Put your hands on the back of your neck and cover your face with your arms. Very good.” I ruffled his hair as if he were some favored pet, then folded it forward over his shoulder. But for the brand, his skin was not marked.

Daniel was no toy. He was a live person, with his own tangled motives and responses. Seeing him kneel there, I could have forgotten that. Daniel’s submission matched my dreams so perfectly that I could scarcely believe him other than a personal fantasy. And I dare not forget that I hurt someone real.

Doubling up the belt, I tucked the buckle safely into my hand.

“Count for me, Daniel,” I said, and struck backhanded.

The belt left a wide, white mark diagonally down his left shoulder.

“One,” he said, as the welt began to turn pink.

Daniel never lost count, though his voice rose somewhat in pitch and he took more and more time after each stroke to come up with an answer. I gave him no rest from the pain. Around sixty he developed a violent tremor in his muscles, almost as violent as the one I’d have in my right arm tomorrow when the muscles had stiffened. The places I had struck repeatedly were turning purple. At ninety, Daniel broke. He turned suddenly, covered his face with his hands, and lay his head back against the futon. This left his torso arched and his thighs splayed out in tempting targets. His penis was still erect against the black curls of his pubic hair.

It was a clever bottom’s gamble to disobey this way. Daniel would be hoping that I’d spare his welted back and vent my displeasure on his unmarked chest and thighs. If I were getting tired, it wouldn’t hurt him nearly as much.

I was getting tired. Time to try something else.

“Take your hands down,” I ordered.

Daniel’s eyes were wide and moisture spilled out the corners. He met my gaze squarely though, and wouldn’t look away.

“Lovely,” I said. I watched his face as I snapped the belt across his cock. “Most lovely. Take your pants off, and lie down on your back.

He obeyed slowly and with a clumsiness that obviously pained him, perhaps more than his back did. Very few people can look proud and graceful sprawled naked on a bed with every breath reminding them of a recent beating.

Gena had left nipple clips in the dresser, but I wanted something a little bit crueler. My briefcase had been set in a corner. I went to it and flipped through the manuscripts until I found two that were held together with black, triangular binder clips.

Daniel couldn’t see what I was doing. I kept the clips hidden in one hand while I leaned over him and took his left nipple in my mouth. I sucked it briefly, then pressed my tongue down into it, grinding it against the bones of his ribs.

No matter how hurt, Daniel still melted. This was one of his favorite ways to be touched, and he knew better than to hold a grudge. Daniel writhed beneath me, as if he could distract me from any other thought but of making love to him. He made one soft, startled noise as the clamp bit his nipple, then was silent again. I repeated the procedure with his right nipple.

Daniel’s eyes lost focus. A touch of a finger against the clamps brought a violent flicker of emotion to his face, which smoothed over as the numbness returned. His hands clenched the covers, then vanished behind the back of his neck as he conquered the urge to pull off the clips.

I cupped his balls in one hand and stroked his penis with the other.

“I’ll be sure to tell Gena how good you were, and how you stayed hard no matter what I did to you.”

Be safe, Gena had told me. I found a glove and lubricant in the drawer. Then, properly equipped for safe sex, I pressed my thumb against the tender flesh behind his balls and stroked the shaft with my fingers, much too lightly. My fingers spread lube over the circumcised head. Daniel was even now close to coming. Very hungry. Heat radiated from his genitals, and a thin line of sweat trickled down his forehead into his hair. It was a challenge to stroke him but not let him off just yet. He could take pain much more easily when on the very edge of orgasm, even when he moved and jolted the clips.

I concentrated my touches on the satin skin just below the head of his cock. Daniel’s expression didn’t change, though I watched his eyes for some sign of feeling as he came over my fingers. His jaw clenched, then relaxed. When the long, hot spasms has subsided and the tension left his belly,, I reached up and pulled off the clips.

And he still didn’t scream.

His eyes were open again, self-possessed and almost mocking.

“What do you get from being so cold?” I asked him.

He said, “What would you get from seeing me lose it?”

My fingers, still slick and gloved, went down between his legs and into his ass, so suddenly that his jaw clicked shut on empty air. Daniel’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“You looked outraged,” I told him. “You’re not tight enough to be a virgin.”

He took three fingers easily. My probing thumb met resistance. I settled for the three. I’d forgotten just how hot a human body was at its core, and how soft the lining of the ass, and how swiftly the right touch could bring a spent cock to attention.

With my clean hand, I reached into a pocket and pulled out the condom I’d stashed there earlier.

“Put this on,” I told Daniel. “And if you go soft, you’ll be bending over for my fist.”

This was sufficient threat to keep Daniel’s hand on his penis while I lost my clothes and discarded the glove. I was wet and slick inside when I straddled him and fit our two bodies together. This wouldn’t get me off. I required a more delicate touch to achieve orgasm. I wasn’t trying to make me come.

Daniel didn’t know this, though. He kissed me and ran his hands down my body, perhaps wishing I’d let him alone once I’d had my pleasure. The sweat on his skin had the taste o exhaustion. He took so long to come this time that I was starting to dry. Then, while I wound my tongue deep into his ear and rubbed one sore nipple between my fingers, Daniel cried out.

It was the sound of some animal in pain or suddenly bereft. Daniel’s body shuddered and twisted, and tears ran down his cheeks. He still moaned when he had finished thrusting into me.

I gathered up his hair in one hand and kissed his throat.

“That’s better,” I said, pinching him and hearing him whimper. “Much better.”

Later that night I turned over in the dark in a strange futon. There was supposed to be someone beside me.

There.

In the square of window light, Daniel sat on the floor. He was clothed in jeans and nothing else. His arms were folded across his chest, and his long hair covered his face. Daniel made no sound, yet I could not mistake the shuddering of his body. He was weeping.

Wrapped in the warmth of the blankets, I grew suddenly so cold that I hurt. But I had destroyed all power in me to comfort, and at last I fell asleep again, long before Daniel came back to bed.