I controlled every point of access now.
To his body.
To his pain.
To his pleasure.
To the outside world.
No one reached Justin without passing through me first.
I entered the treatment room at dusk and found him still on his knees — the daily ritual had become sacred. Thighs spread wide on the raised medical bed, hands clasped behind his back, back straight despite the violent trembling in every exhausted muscle. His c**k hung heavy and flushed between his spread thighs, constantly leaking in slow, glistening strands. The calculated delay kept him alive but never strong. Every breath was labored. Every second of survival was a privilege I granted.
I circled him slowly, white coat open, letting him feel my gaze like a physical touch.
“Controlled access,” I said softly. “That is the new
