The Retired CEO's Guide To Being Spoiled Chapter 173: Sweet Torture

In his desperation, his hands flailed blindly until they found purchase on Ethan’s arms. He clung to the rock-hard biceps, his fingers digging into the muscle so hard that his fingernails left crescent-shaped indentations in the skin. He was past the point of pride; he was begging for a crumb of pity: "It’s... it’s going to co out... it’s so dirty... hic..."

However, Ethan Caldwell was a man who loved to bully the person he cherished to the absolute limit. He possessed a twisted affection, one that thrived on seeing this specific expression on Julian’s face, a look of resigned suffering mixed with overwhelming, undeniable lust.

He looked down at the eyes swimming in tears, the wet eyelashes fluttering helplessly like trapped butterflies, and that small, pitiful mouth trembling in a pout of agony. The sight acted like gasoline on a fire. The tyrannical desire and the urge to control every aspect of Julian’s existence flared up in his chest, burning hotter and fiercer than ever before.

The man lowered his head, capturing those trembling lips in a fierce, bruising kiss. His tongue forced its way past Julian’s teeth, invading the cavern of his mouth and effectively swallowing all the whines and pleas into his own stomach. Simultaneously, he ruthlessly grabbed Julian’s legs, wrestling them wider apart until the younger man was splayed open completely, allowing Ethan to bury himself even deeper, to the hilt.

"How could it be dirty?" Ethan whispered against Julian’s ear, his voice a husky, magnetic growl that vibrated through Julian’s skull: "Just let it go, baby. Shoot it all out. I don’t mind it at all, do I? Anything that cos from you... it’s all sweet to ."

As the man spoke those taunting words, his hips didn’t remain idle. With a sudden, brutal surge of power, Ethan Caldwell drove his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in a single, heart-stopping motion. The invasion was absolute, the hard length of him reaching the deepest, most secret sanctuary within Julian Sterling’s body. This rciless, deep impact elicited a broken, high-pitched scream from Julian’s throat, a sound that was half-pleasure, half-agony, tearing through the heavy air of the room. His entire body bowed violently, arching like a small, cooked shrimp exposed to high heat, while his toes curled and then hyperextended in a spasm of overwhelming sensation.

"D-Don’t... please, Hubby, don’t..." Julian wailed, his voice cracking and fracturing under the strain, losing all semblance of composure: "Hic... let ... let go to the bathroom... please, I’m begging you... I bow down to you, just let go..."

He shook his head frantically from side to side, his hair creating a ssy halo on the pillow, sending droplets of sweat and tears flying in every direction. The sensation of needing to urinate had surpassed the level of re discomfort; it had reached a critical, agonizing breaking point. His lower abdon felt as though a heavy, jagged boulder was crushing it, a dull and throbbing ache that radiated through his entire core. This torture was diabolically combined with the maddening, electric pleasure surging from behind, creating a chaotic storm where Julian could no longer distinguish between the sharp pangs of pain and the blinding heights of ecstasy.

Seeing Julian cry with such increasing intensity, his breath hitching in dangerous, choked gasps that sounded like he might hyperventilate, Ethan finally felt a twinge of genuine concern. He realized that if he pushed this teasing ga any further right now, the poor boy might actually faint from the sheer sensory overload and distress.

Moreover, despite the haze of alcohol clouding his own judgnt, Ethan retained enough clarity to rember a fundantal truth about his partner: Julian Sterling was a man who placed imnse importance on his dignity and face. He was proud. While they could play rough and indulge in wild fantasies behind closed doors, Julian would absolutely never psychologically recover from the humiliation of wetting himself right here in the middle of a rented private room, soaking the expensive carpets where strangers would later tread. If Ethan forced him to that point of public sha, Julian might very well hold a grudge, refusing to speak to him or let him touch him for an entire month.

Fine, Ethan thought to himself, resigning to a slight compromise. I’ll let him off the hook for now. But next ti... next ti when we are safe in the privacy of our own bedroom at ho, I will try this again. Perhaps in that sanctuary, I really can force him to lose all control and release his bladder right on our bed...

With that dark, tantalizing thought tucked away for the future, Ethan raised his large hand and brought it down in a sharp, resounding slap against the soft, trembling curve of Julian’s buttocks. The sound was crisp echoing in the quiet room.

"Alright, I’ll spare you this once." Ethan declared, his voice rough but granting rcy: "Turn around. Wrap your arms around my neck."

Julian heard the command through a fog of delirium. His brain was sluggish, but his body had been conditioned to obey the man’s voice. Acting on pure reflex, ignoring the terrifying fullness of his bladder and the exhausting weight of his limbs, he began to move. He disregarded the fact that the massive, throbbing erection was still buried deep inside him, acting as a pivot point as he slowly, agonizingly twisted his body to face his torntor.

The movent caused the hot, iron-hard rod to grind in a full circle against the tender, sensitive walls of his inner lining. The friction was incredible, sending a shudder through Julian’s spine that nearly made his eyes roll back. He lay there gasping for air, his chest heaving, needing several long monts to gather enough strength to lift his heavy arms and loop them around Ethan’s neck. His body was boneless, a puddle of lted wax, as he collapsed against the man’s broad, searingly hot chest, seeking support from the only solid thing in his spinning world.

Ethan’s arms, powerful and unyielding like steel clamps, slid under Julian’s thighs and buttocks. With terrifying ease, he hoisted Julian up into the air, carrying him in a front-facing embrace. He didn’t withdraw. He kept them connected as he began to walk steadily toward the ensuite bathroom connected to the VIP room.

Every step Ethan took was a fresh wave of torture for Julian. The motion of walking caused the object inside Julian’s body to shift, bumping and rubbing against his prostate with every stride. The vibration traveled up his spine, shaking his already precarious bladder. Even though the distance from the plush sofa to the bathroom door was rely a few ters, a distance that would normally take seconds to traverse, to Julian, it felt as though an entire decade was passing. The journey seed to stretch out into an eternity of endurance, each second elongated by the terrifying fear of losing control.

It wasn’t as if Julian had never been carried like this before. Being lifted and walked around while still impaled on Ethan’s mber was a staple of their intimacy, they had done it countless tis. But this ti was fundantally, horrifyingly different.

The difference lay in the pressure. The desperate, screaming need to ejaculate combined with the urgent, burning need to urinate created a biological crisis. Gravity was working against him.His bladder was being compressed by the vertical position, and the penis inside him was wreaking havoc with every jolt of Ethan’s footsteps. Julian felt as though he was going to go mad right there in Ethan’s arms. His entire being was focused on clenching his muscles, terrified that if he relaxed even a fraction of an inch, the floodgates would open, and everything would co pouring out in a shaful torrent.

Finally, after what felt like a century of struggle, Ethan carried him into the brightly lit bathroom. The sudden glare of the lights against the white tiles made Julian squint. He was completely spent, his head lolling against Ethan’s shoulder, clinging to the man like a fragile vine wrapping itself around a sturdy ancient tree for survival.