Chapter Nine
Snowballin’ Along
BJ
Paradise came at a stupendous price.
Hanging from the newest winch (the one over that unprecedentedly busy bed), BJ wasn’t referring to enduring twice the former amount of torture – two whips flensing him as he swung, screamed and struggled, or four hands dripping hot liquids or gripping and twisting his tenderest bits of skin with forceps instead of two. Even with each gorgeous torturer trying to top the other, outrageously raising the pain stakes, the fanatical masochist had no complaints. How could he? It was imperative to their communal future that they learn to channel their magnificent aggression into endlessly persecuting their property rather than directing any of it at each other.
Nor could any shamelessly slutty sissy rue a doubling of his s
