Marton admired the sight in front of him the way any artist would admire his creation. Craig's thighs flexed as a supple back arched. His head bowed, arms stretched to the point of pain, clasping the iron rails in a tight grip. Marton walked around the bed, checking every angle. "Ready?" he asked, drawing a finger across a thin welt -- angry-red on golden skin. Watched as Craig shivered, moaned, curved into the next lash, pleading with his body, his very soul. "Please..."
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