The collar was slipped on as a band of cold, and Eliot couldn't see it but he knew it was there. Without a mirror he could only guess the unflattering thing it might say, or perhaps nothing at all, or like Sam's, just his name. He had no way of knowing until he saw a reflection, and in truth, he didn't want to know. The cold metal warmed quickly though and felt misleadingly comfortable, almost forgettable. He pressed his lips to a straight line at the kiss, and it wavered slightly, just slightly, when Sam tugged at the short chain.

His expression remained impassionate while Sam rolled his sensitive genitals, playing with them, stroking the engorged vein that ran in the erection above, just getting a feel for him. If Sam was a woman, if this wasn't Hell, Eliot would be enjoying it. Yet here he remained stock still, back uncomfortably straight like he was at attention to keep his shoulders back and trying to stay as detached as possible.

Still, Eliot couldn't help the shiver down his spine at Sam's whispered suggestion. No self respecting man wouldn't and if it wasn't for the contraption around his cock, he was sure his erection would flag a little too.

"Gotta love how everythin' heals," Eliot answered sarcastically while breathing heavily through his nose. He knew he had no control over his biological response, couldn't keep his erection from getting harder to Sam's teasing or his balls from filling. No control over his lifestyle or autonomy, will be made to live in humiliation and degradation, and he accepted that, but Sam will never control how Eliot will feel about it. He will never hear Eliot beg, or break, or fold just to make things easier.

Maybe, years down the line when the line blurred so badly it became a smudge, but then that wouldn't be Eliot, would it?