The hand rubbing the cut didn’t linger there long, but instead trailed down his body, following a winding path of scars as Master Ryan’s own fingers and mouth had trailed, hot and inquisitive and, dare he dream, possessive. He hadn’t tried to take any of his old scars, like several clients had, hadn’t overlaid them with fresh hurts or tried to sooth them with gentle kisses. It was just a confident,<em> yes, you hurt here once; surrender it to me. </em><br/><br/><em>…Do you trust me, Louis…</em><br/><br/>That blade, that wicked little knife, glinting and Master Ryan held it, moved it here and there, the cool edge prickling his skin.<em>He could have done anything… anything… and I would have let him</em>. It was disturbing, even frightening, knowing that. Remembering how eager he had been to surrender to the man. He would do it again. That rush…<br/><br/>He whimpered and crushed his lower lip between his teeth. Would he be able to leave that bite alone long enough to heal?<br/><br/>What would it feel like to give head with that constant pang of a reminder? What would it feel like to give Master Ryan head with it still burning? Deep throat would be a challenge and a half. His breath shook as he imagined it. Taking his time, tasting and teasing every inch with lips and tongue and the lightest brush of teeth, cupping his balls and holding his base steady so he could take the tip in. Rasp the flat of his tongue against the smooth head, working the salty slit until long fingered hands carded through his hair, grasping hard.<br/><br/><em>‘Swallow me. Take me to the hilt and I’ll give you what you wish, Louis…’  </em><br/><br/>His cock gave a hard, demanding twitch and he couldn’t contain another moan, his hips jumping up into the sponge, his free hand moved around behind him, caressing his sore hole.<br/>