He's breathing so heavily he thinks his heart is going to explode, the stinging of the cane still feeling like it's prickling through his skin. There are already a multitude of bruises on his ass, littered around, but even the cuts are turning a purple-yellow colour around the blood. Mike is trying his best not to whimper.

It fails when Liam sounds agitated, sounds angry and Mike whimpers, finally finding his footing and something magical happens. Something he'd honestly never thought would happen.

It doesn't even occur to Mike that Liam's being sarcastic, or he's being treated like a dog. All that matters is it's praise and he needs it, he craves it, now, more than Oxy, he thinks. He's being good. He's being a good boy.

Fuck. This whole thing is absolutely humiliating. It will sink in later, when that hand isn't on his cock and making it feel so good, when he isn't half-laying down half raising his ass up and in a straight jacket. His eyes are shut tight, breathing heavily, wanting so much to say anything he could. He's not even sure if he can respond to Liam's words. Right now, all he can do is moan, loud and needy as his cock finally gets the attention it craves.

This is all he wanted. This is worth the pain, he tells himself, the humiliation and degradation.