February 13th, xxxy
TIED LIKE A RAM for slaughter, hands bound, neck locked, Precious skin burns red hot; flushed and in pain yet begging Kamil for more, the sound of the lashes a background noise to his own.
Kamil tells him to bend forward but Precious doesn't want to, he can't, he wants to stay like this: fucking himself on a dildo, his eyes glommed on Kamil's cock but Kamil doesn't like his stubbornness—the sadist—walks around him and kicks him forward.
Precious falls over on his hands and knees, ass exposed, eyes glued shut. His back crackles and he arches his spine, a pained cry broken from his lips.
He has been begging Baby, Baby but Kamil ignores him. Doesn't touch him, doesn't allow their skin to even graze.
What Kamil does is instructs him to move his hips, to bare his neck, to keep his eyes open, to not dare touch his cock with his tongue, to cry as loud as he wants.
