The waiting game stretched into the small hours of the morning.
I had left Justin exactly as he was — on his knees, the neutral sensitizer still coursing through his veins in precise micro-doses. The chamber was quiet except for the soft drip of his constant leak hitting the sheets and the shallow, labored rhythm of his breathing. The golden light had faded to silver moonlight, casting long shadows across his trembling form. His c**k remained rigidly hard, flushed dark and glistening, the head swollen and weeping steadily. Every nerve ending sang under the sensitizer’s influence, turning the brush of air, the pull of gravity, the simple act of existing into exquisite, unrelenting torment.
He endured in silence.
No pleas.
No begging.
Only the quiet, total surrender I had carved into him.
