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stand bolt-upright by a steel collar pulled tight around his neck, Cole’s lean, athletic body is racked with . His chest and stomach are covered with welts from a riding crop – and his young continues to whip him at will. All Cole can do is endure it, knowing he can’t be “permanently damaged,” just fucked and until the rich man who seized him off the street gets bored. Then the muscle twink puts on hard-rubber sparring gloves and punches Cole hard in the abs – over and over. Cole feels like he might but he knows he can’t; the steel collar could him. After delivering more than two dozen blows, the boy pulls the gloves off. “See you tomorrow, bitch,” he announces and leaves the dungeon. leave me,” Cole begs. He will spend the night from his neck, in agony.
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