“I’ll do it,” you demand. You’re the one who hurt him after all. The domme nods and gives the water to you.
“There’s a bathroom over there,” she says, pointing towards one corner of the room. “Help him wash.” Then she leaves.
“Are you okay?” you ask the sub. He nods, and you look at all his chains. Luckily you have a key – and it works on his nearest wrist lock.
Unlocking everything gives you the chance to see what you’ve done up close. The welts are like a map over his body, angry, red. You make a pained sound on his behalf, unlocking his last ankle, and he shakes his head.
“Don’t apologize.” He’s still panting a little from the pain, his expression distant, drugged on his own endorphins. He’s clinging to the cross to stand.
“Let me help you,” you suggest, and take his nearest hand.
