At about the same time, Hugh Lyveson was lying on his own bed, considering his tortures of two or three hours ago. He lay on his back, with a pillow under the small of his back to raise his scalded bottom as much as possible from the bed and so ease the pain that came from contact with the bedclothes. He was naked, and his legs were wide open. The windows of his bedroom were also wide open, in order that the cool air might play around his scalded genitals and bring them some measure of relief.
In spite of his discomfort he felt very excited. He was, in fact, in a state of elation. He had virtually forgotten the agony of the minutes in the bath under the scalding spray, and the pain of the stiletto heels piercing his chest, his stomach, and his testicle-bag. What he remembered now was the awesome ritual of the whole thing, the horrifying yet flaming excitement of his having been so thoroughly subjugated by two lovely girls.
He put his hands to his penis, bright red and very stiff. Lightly he ran them over the inflamed skin, and revelled in the pain of his touch. He would have to put this inflamed penis into one, or both, of their vaginas within the next few hours, and he knew that it would hurt him very much. He also knew that he would relish the hurt.
It occurred to him suddenly that, since there were now two of them, one would certainly be whipping him while he pushed his penis into the other. And his bottom was equally inflamed… He would probably faint with the pain.
The thought of fainting under the pain transported him momentarily into a condition of sexual delirium. He felt his juices gathering and mounting. He ran a finger lightly up and down the central vein of his penis, the rest of his body relaxed and inert. As his juices spilled out of his penis, over his fingers, only his mind was active. He was picturing vividly the two girls. They were standing above him, whips flailing in their arms. They were flogging his scalded genitals.