Garrett tilts his head back with a high, thready moan, dragged out like a wavering sigh at the light drag of teeth over his skin- at the hand on his balls, touching him so lightly he wants to scream. Then oh, that pinch- his free hand holds tighter to the sheets clenched in his fist, twisting the bed-covers in his trembling attempt to keep himself still.

It works surprisingly well- his hips are still twitching, heels digging into the bed, shivers running hard up his spine, but the involuntary struggling has calmed, he's forcing himself to lie still and just take it. Whatever Owen wants to give him.

"Want it to stop," he keens, toes curling in the sheets as he shivers. "Please- fuck, it hurts-"

But he's tilting his head back with shaking moans, and trying so hard to quiet the instinctive protests of his body, and forcing himself not to fight. The torture is working- blood is starting to return to his cock, forced by the painful work of Owen's hand. He's not even close to halfway hard yet, but every bit of reaction seems to hurt from the inside, painful prickles as blood starts to pool in a cock not remotely ready for it. But it's a reaction- and oh, he doesn't intend to fight. Just whine and beg for it to stop while forcing himself to be good and take it.