He let his mind wander, let his imagination remember the information he’d seen on the Internet. Channing, lean and blond and lovely, bound in leather, bare ass criss-crossed with blows. He’d had to fight a fit of anger and hurt the first time he’d seen it. That was supposed to be his job, after all, beating that ass rosy.
Then Bowie had decided he was grateful. Now he could find Channing and show the man what a really good beating felt like.
Much love, y'all.