Mike's breathing is heavy, and it's less lust--though he always finds anything Liam does to be sexy, as long as it doesn't make Liam mad. He hates when Liam gets mad. It's more pain and surprise, and he swears Liam's hand, soft on the raised welt, is just spreading the stinging sensation around.

It doesn't leave--it lingers, like a bad taste in Mike's mouth, but he's distracted by Liam's hands on his dick. Finally, even if it's just two strokes, they're good and Mike is already rutting, murmuring inaudible noises of encouragement. This is what he needs--he needs--

--A second time, and Mike tenses again, and that same desperate growl is in his voice, as if vocalizing the pain somehow makes it better. "Three, sir," he says, and no sooner than he does then another blow reigns down on his ass. His hips buck, his whole body tenses, and it takes a brief second for him to remember how to speak, pulse and heart racing.

"Four sir," he says loudly and quickly, and he tries to shift so the straight jacket is a little more comfortable. It isn't, and his left arm is slightly numb, but all he gives a shit about is this over so Liam can finally fuck him. He just has to wait it out--as intense as it is.

But he wants that hand back. He wants that hand back, or Liam's lips on his cock. He rolls his hips, grunting, trying to keep his ass steady in the air when all he wants is to rut against the sheets and come.