Forbidden fruit

The bald, muscular man kneels with his ass raised as the dark-haired one cracks the flogger against his bare skin, the sharp stings cutting through the air before the rope binds his wrists to the wooden frame. His clean-shaven face twists in sharp breath as the other, average build, clean-shaven, presses his lips to the marks, tongue tracing the red lines while their hands grip each other’s shoulders. The flogger’s lash falls again, each strike a deliberate rhythm, the wooden structure groaning under the weight of restraint.