Cory looked at their joined hands. At the calluses on Marcus's palms from the ropes. At the steady, patient way he held on.
And when he finally tied Cory's wrists to the overhead ring and began to work a flogger across his back in slow, rhythmic thuds—not hard, not soft, just present —Cory felt it.
"Okay," Cory said. "Small."
"That's the shame leaving," Marcus said quietly. "Let it out." For three months, Cory was sober. Not from substances—from the hunt . He deleted the apps. He stopped scrolling thirst traps at 2 a.m. He went to Marcus's house every Tuesday and Thursday, knelt on that foam pad, and let someone else decide when he was allowed to feel wanted.
Marcus smiled. It was a small smile. And somehow, that was the most terrifying and beautiful thing Cory had ever seen. love junkie sub
He went home with Derrick. Derrick didn't ask about limits. He didn't show him the rope. He just pushed Cory onto his stomach, held him down by the back of the neck, and took what he wanted.
Cory didn't have a sponsor. He had a list of dating apps, a blocked account on a camming site, and a hollow, humming ache behind his sternum that told him he was worthless unless someone was looking at him like he mattered. Cory looked at their joined hands
"But I went looking for it," Cory said. "I wanted to feel out of control."