[As those blows continue, he is unsurprised to find that the sting builds, steadily climbing to a height that straddles a line between a blister and a burn. His lower half flares with heat underneath Cy's hand. The distribution across both sides allows some leniency, some meager mercy, permitting him to reclaim the intake of his breath and focus on the moment, on the count, two, three, four—

By the fifth, noise jars out of his throat in a half-formed whimper. The desperate urge to writhe underneath the flat of Cy's palm only mounts, but his resilience is powerful and hard-earned. What he struggles with most is keeping his muscles from that natural wind of tension.

Cy's voice fills his ears, drawing him up from the undertow of sensation. His mouth falls slack, and when he speaks it's with a commendable amount of composure. All that gives him away is the slight shiver that has set into the lower half of his body. A fine, trembling crack in the glass.]

It's not... painful. [His tolerance must be high, because the ache is uncomfortable at worst.] The most difficult part, so far, is... not fighting back. Trying to get away. It's — it feels like an instinct.

But I'm okay. [His weight shifts in Cy's lap in that moment's pause, stiffly aware that his cock has hardened to a full and swollen state of arousal, tucked against the inside of Cy's other thigh.] You can keep going.