BRIAN’S POV

 

 

 

Thanks to the wine he drank the night before, Justin awoke Sunday morning with an ache in his head rather than his ass so you went for a run because they were calling for rain that afternoon. When you returned, he was sitting in the kitchen reading the paper. You drank a little coffee, took a vitamin, and then leaned on the door jamb in between the kitchen and hallway until he looked up from his crossword puzzle. When he did you said, “What’s a six letter word meaning ‘he who better get his pretty ass upstairs?’” He smiled and asked, “Me?”

 

 

 

“You can’t count, Sunshine.”

 

 

 

“Oh, wait, ‘mememe?’”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Sunday mornings are always about fucking in your relationship which admittedly doesn’t really distinguish them from any other morning, but perception-and the more recent the better--is ninety percent of everything and besides, it’s his job to soap your entire body anytime you want him to, and you wanted it. So as you stood in the shower with Justin that morning, you were happy to see how quickly he got to work when you handed him the bar of soap, how you didn’t have to say a word, how you could just stand there with your head bowed while the hot water pelted your back and enjoy all of the attention you were getting. He was quiet, too—very quiet—which was always a good omen in that particular situation. “I’m done,” he said when his task was completed, and you opened your eyes and looked right into his, two bright blue question marks staring back at you requesting confirmation as you took the soap out of his hand, put your other hand behind his head and pulled him up a little so you could kiss him. His eyes closed immediately; you could feel the incremental relaxation ripple down his body. “That was nice,” you told him when the kiss was over, “You took your time.”

 

 

 

“I don’t even know what time is anymore,” he said, his hand sliding behind your head, “And I don’t care to get reacquainted.”

 

 

 

Sometimes, even after all these years, Justin has an authentic innocence about him that makes your dick believe he’s a virgin again, and the reason your relationship with Justin is never boring is because, quite frankly, you don’t argue with your dick.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

You’ve known Justin for so long and so intimately that you can feel what he’s feeling when he touches you; you can tell that the increasing pressure on the back of your neck means that he’s making plans to surrender sooner rather than later. You walk him a few steps back so he can lean against the wall and then take your time washing every single inch of him. It’s less of a task for you and more of a signal for him, one he really doesn’t need, but you don’t really care because you like reminding him—as you turn him around to face the wall—that he belongs to you and, more importantly, that you’re going to take very good care of him. The soap will disappear at some point; it always does, and he’ll just feel your hands reminding him again. He sits down on the molded seat in the corner when you’re finally done, his arm slipping around your waist and pulling you closer. You adjust the water so that you’re both getting a warm mist and brace yourself, your hands out in front of you at first, planted on the shower walls.

 

 

 

Within less than a minute, your foot is resting on that bench right next to him, your hand has fallen to his face curling beneath his chin; the shower sounds like the inside of a conch shell, a wonderful faraway place. Your thumb pushes on the hinge of his jaw, “Open up for me.” He obeys you just enough to tease you, to taste you, but you don’t care because he knows what he’s doing. This game is no game to him. His head leans to the right just a little, just enough to rest on your thigh and like clockwork, you slide right inside his mouth.

 

 

 

You have a flashback of fucking his face in the backroom of Babylon ages ago, in a dark corner with cinderblock walls behind him, only he was wearing jeans and sneakers and a white t-shirt that said ‘you wish.’ When you close your eyes, you can smell him, see him, the way his eyes always lit up and he’d bounce on his toes every time you pulled him back there. He’s not that boy anymore; well, not as much. He doesn’t have to wonder what you want; he knows. Hell, he’s the one that made you want it.

 

 

 

His hand reaches up, gliding up your stomach, his fingers outstretched and stopping on your chest. There’s an acceptable and momentary pause as you lube them, and when you’re done, everything resumes right where it left off. His hand slips down between your legs and then he makes you stand there while his wet finger passes over a place that really wants its company. <i>“Go,”</i> you tell the steam that’s thickened around both of you, and he relaxes his mouth and fills your ass with more than you were expecting. You grab the back of his neck and push yourself all the way down his throat and let your head rest against the shower wall; you hold him there until you can feel him choking on you, that talented little tug in the back of his throat…

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

<B>JUSTIN’S POV</B>

 

 

 

The towel Brian barely runs down your back after he steers you face down into the sheets feels like a maddening barrier when you just want him to take you. The sheets are sticking to your chest as he lays down on top of you. He’s not moaning; he’s growling. He’s out of his cage. And he’s hasn’t had breakfast.

 

 

 

The freedom you feel when you’re trapped underneath him, when you can’t move, when he overpowers you, it would appear paradoxical to anyone watching from across the room, but you’re helpless in this situation by three of the most beautiful words in the English language: pure, unadulterated choice.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

<B>BRIAN’S POV</B>

 

 

 

Sometimes it’s insane to want him this much, to know that he’s lying underneath you begging inside his pretty little head. Sometimes you feel like you could annihilate him if you let all of your desire for him loose at once so you toy with yourself, tell yourself that your task is to rein it in and then release it bit by bit, always a few seconds after he just has to have it. You kiss the back of his neck, his wet hair pushed out of the way as you ponder how to accomplish that this time. When you touch his hand, cover it with yours, he says, <I>“God, I want you.”</I> The words start bleeding out, making room for all of the space you’ll occupy inside him. <I>“Like in the shower,” </i> he whispers, <I>“But harder…like when you force me.”</I>

 

……

 

……

 

 

 

You run your finger down the side of his face as you gather and tame your thoughts, tucking his hair behind his ear, “You’re always such a good boy, aren’t you?”

 

 

 

<I>“Make me a better one.”</I>

 

 

 

“You need to be careful; that could be a dangerous proposition,” you warn him.

 

 

 

“I don’t want to be careful. I want you.”

 

 

 

……

 

 

 

His eyes are a sea of baby blue gratitude when you snap his collar around his neck.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

<B>JUSTIN’S POV</B>

 

 

 

If your bedroom was a casino, you might have just doubled down, but all you want is to get hopelessly lost in what Brian’s going to do to you; you want him to drag you kicking and screaming into a dark forest of desire and then leave you there, forcing you to crawl back on your own as you go mad because you think the wind must be Brian’s voice whistling your name. You admit as much when his finger traces the outline of your lips. His breathing is louder than yours; that’s how he sounds right before he completely takes over and within seconds you’re conquered, and he didn’t have to say a thing. His touch is omniscient, possessive and thorough. You feel a warmth flow out of every pore in your skin when his hand is between your legs. You fuck the sheets, and he hums behind your ear, whispering as he slips a finger inside you, <i>“Tight boy.”</i>

 

 

 

<i>“More.”</i>

 

 

 

He obliges you, pushing his fingers deeper inside you, harder as he confesses, “All I could think about when I was running was coming home to spank you.” Your face is numb; the blood in your body has rushed to where his hand is. He bites your ear lobe like he knows this, “You can’t feel the mattress underneath you anymore, can you?”

 

 

 

<i>“It must be here somewhere,” </i> you whisper, patting your hand on the sheets.

 

 

 

He laughs, licking the hot skin behind your ear, “Not for long.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

You can barely keep a thought in your head when he’s touching you like this, and he knows it and exploits it, and he’s kissing you right between your shoulder blades as his fingers fuck you and fuck you and fuck you, and you close your eyes and enjoy it. You start to relax, to really relax, to give in to him because it’s so fucking easy and he’s so fucking good, and you sense a shadow coming over you even with your eyes closed, and you can feel his cock bumping up against you as you begin to absorb the weight of his body, and then he’s half on top of you and half beside you, and you feel him breathing, <i>“Justin,”</i> and you open your eyes and he’s right there when you come. He smiles and kisses you until you’re in that sleepy place and then he says, “You’re welcome.”

 

 

 

“Thank you.”

 

 

 

“You look like you’re in a dream world.”

 

 

 

“That’s because I am.”

 

 

 

A few minutes later, he breathes into your wet hair as his fingers comb through it and then his body moves, shifting slowly, until he’s no longer on top of you at all but lying beside you. One of his hands is a prop for his head and the other is resting on your ass; his eyes travel back and forth from there to your face and back again. You feel oddly exposed.

 

 

 

It’s <i>delicious.</i>

 

 

 

He kisses you again—gently, slowly, torturing you. Your hips roll up toward his hand, and he pushes them back down. Brian has a way of reminding you that there’s a collar around your neck that never involves actually reminding you that there’s a collar around your neck.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

<b>BRIAN’S POV</b>

 

 

 

Your morning run wasn’t quite the workout it should’ve been because you were intensely preoccupied by what…or rather whom…you’d left behind. Justin was less than amicable when he woke up but that almost made him more irresistible as he bitched at you, determined to lie there in all of his queeny, spoiled rotten glory and go back to sleep. But now he’s lying next to you surfing an ocean of bliss in his pretty little head thanks to the pleasure you bestowed upon his pretty little ass.

 

 

 

You know a secret about Justin that thanks to your domineering presence in his life few others do and were you were strapped to a lie detector, you’d have to confess that it’s the main reason that first night with him never exactly ended. The casual observer would assume that your age, physical attributes and lifestyle would’ve automatically made you the force to be reckoned with in your relationship, but they’d be wrong, unable to see the sleeper cell you’re married to. After all, how hard was it to pluck a pre-twink off the streets of your fag-friendly neighborhood, take him home and fuck him all night? Not very. But to be the pre-twink who went willingly into that lair and kept up with you all night and the next morning and then forever and ever and ever and ever…? Sometimes you wonder what you got yourself into. Somehow Justin was jail bait in a town where he just also happened to be the sheriff-in-training and once he got you into lockup, he immediately surrendered and gave you the keys.

 

 

 

And a job description.

 

 

 

And when you take on a job, you don’t just go to work.

 

 

 

You buy the company.

 

 

 

And run the hell out of it.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

And now, this morning, there’s a method to your madness as Justin’s always the most malleable after he’s orgasmed. He’s a bit of an odd duck among men, admittedly, as most men will do anything you want <i>prior</i>  to orgasm, but since you raised Justin in captivity, he’s not exactly like most men. And that’s fine with you because you’re a man among men yourself.

 

 

 

Thank you very much.

 

 

 

You decide to take him on the ride of his life, to push him out on the end of a diving board because he’s already halfway there in his head, every inch of his skin has gotten warmer since he got off. You keep him close, hovering over his head and shoulders as you broach the subject that’s been coming up between you the last few days, “You know, you’re right; you do need to be spanked every day.” He looks at you with a coy lust for humiliation that disappears as fast as it came. “And pardon the pun, but you’re painfully out of practice.”

 

 

 

“Don’t I know it.”

 

 

 

Your eyebrow goes all the way up before you can stop it. “Well, clearly, that’s the least of your worries.”

 

 

 

Funny, he immediately reconsiders.

 

 

 

……

 

 

 

……

 

 

Dominating Justin is (naturally) extraordinarily complicated. At first, it’s always about control and pain and humiliation; it’s about taking him somewhere very nefarious, very primitive, and then forcing him to trust you to get him back safely. The further you can take him, the more treacherous the journey becomes, and in return, the more intimate the journey home will be, and that’s what gets you high, what makes you feel closer to him than anything you’ve ever felt. But the longer you love him, the harder it gets to play this game because you always have to play both sides of the court; he’s always the ball up in the air.

 

 

 

It’s no secret that Justin prides himself on being able to take anything that you can dish out, and he’s definitely no wallflower between the sheets regardless of any role he decides to play, but there’s a quiet (yet demanding) acceptance in your bed that you make the rules and as the years have gone by, Justin’s made it very clear that that particular rule better never change. He’s purposely forgotten every safe word you’ve ever given him, and you quit offering one years ago because you were tired of the smirk on his face.

 

 

 

There’s no smirk now.

 

 

 

And while you make the rules, there are some that you both follow that are not negotiable. They’re the ones that make it possible for you to go a little further each time with impunity. He has an eject button; all he has to do is take his collar off and everything stops; no questions asked. He’s never touched it in seventeen years.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

<B>JUSTIN’S POV</b>

 

 

 

Brian has a way of making you feel like you’re the center of attention even when he’s ignoring you. And he’s a master of timing, using it to his advantage, not yours. Like now, when he leaves you alone, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a glass of water and a lot of Valium. You question him, “Why do I have to take these now?” acting inconvenienced when in reality it thrills you that he’s doing this to you. You’re tempted to see if he wants to get high, too, but this isn’t your show to run. He takes the glass away, sets it on the nightstand after you swallow, and then lies back down on top of you, “Because it’s going to be to your advantage to be very relaxed today.” When you give him a quizzical look, he smoothes away the lines forming on your forehead, “I’m going to take very good care of you. That’s all you need to know.” The massage he’s giving your forehead feels really, really good. “Yeah, well, it’s just that you usually drug me when we’re done,” you remind him.

 

 

 

“Don’t worry; I’ll drug you when we’re done, too.”

 

 

 

“Oh, that’s reassuring.”

 

 

 

His elbows rest by on either side of your head. You want him to kiss you, but he asks you a question instead, “Can I give you a piece of advice?”

 

 

 

“Uh…sure.”

 

 

 

“This smart ass thing you’ve got going on, if I were you, I’d scale it back a bit.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

 

<b>BRIAN’S POV</b>

 

 

 

For a brief second, his facial expression looks like you just threw him off of a cruise ship into the Antarctic, but sometimes that’s how the game has to begin. He’s brimming with contrition, but he knows you’ve moved past that, and now he’s trying to keep up because you’re explaining to him that he really is going to be spanked every day, and he doesn’t like it one bit (which is perfect because he’s not supposed to.)

 

 

 

“I don’t want to go on ‘Maintenance,’” he says, the custom-ordered angst in his voice going straight to your dick.

 

 

 

You reach down between his legs for evidence to the contrary, “Well, your dick does.”

 

 

 

“It doesn’t have to be every day.”

 

 

 

“Yeah, um…that’s what Maintenance is. You know that.”

 

 

 

“Brian, please.”

 

 

 

“If memory serves, you asked for this, Sunshine, and there’s no way in hell I’m not going to give you what you want. I couldn’t live with myself.”

 

 

 

“I hate you sometimes.”

 

 

 

“Which is precisely why you need be spanked.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

So the first time you spank him that morning, it’s to remind him what a Maintenance spanking feels like, how quick and unrelenting it is, how there’s no warm up or seduction involved, how it’s nothing but a reminder as to who owns his pretty little ass, and in this particular moment, how painful it’ll be if he does what he’s doing right now ever again—reaching back to try and stop you. There’s nothing he ‘hates’ worse than being spanked with his hands pinned behind his back, except being fucked liked that. A Maintenance spanking is hard and fast and demeaning but a punitive fuck coming right behind it makes it a hundred times worse. He lies on his stomach, defeated when it’s over; you’re sitting up right next to him smoking a cigarette. You offer him one, and he ignores you.

 

 

 

“Oh, so now you’re pissed off,” you point out.

 

 

 

“That really hurt,” he says.

 

 

 

“You’ll get used to it.”

 

 

 

He turns his head back in your direction, practically glares at you, and then lies right to your face, “You know I don’t like to be fucked like that.” <i>Oh, he lies as sweet as he looks…</i>

 

 

 

“Well, I guess you’ll keep your hands out of my way next time.”

 

 

 

“Yeah, and that’s why you drugged me,” he says, “To keep me from fighting back.”

 

 

 

You start to laugh; the drugs (and desire) are affecting his brain, not his body, so you clarify things for him, “You can fight back as much as you want. In fact, I’ll even give you extra credit if you don’t come while you’re doing it.”

 

 

 

The look on his face.

 

 

 

But it’s worth it because you want him this part of him back; you want to feel the game he plays with himself before he’ll submit to you; you want to toy with the anxiety he brings; you want to indulge him, fight him, force him, punish him, shame him, break him and be waiting for him when he comes out on the other side because sometimes you just have to call a spade, a spade. You may be hot as hell and have more money than he even wants to understand, but that’s not why he’s in bed with you. He’s in bed with you because you deliver on what you promise…because nothing he needs is ever off the table even when he thinks he doesn’t need it anymore. Justin’s never achieved anything of any significance that wasn’t against the odds. And while you might be pushing him further than he’s gone before, you’re always very aware of the fact that he’s trying to one-up you the entire time. The first time you spoke to Justin, you learned a very valuable piece of information. He’s a stealth little flirt with his own agenda; he’ll seduce the fuck out of you, and the minute you bite, he’ll surrender and let you drag him kicking and screaming to the edge of a steep cliff, but don’t think for one minute that he needs you to push him over the edge. He’s completely fearless; look away for a second, and he’ll tie a rope around his ankle and <i>yours</i>  and jump.

 

 

 

So the room stills as he stares at you, darkening as the clouds move in ahead of the rain forecasted for the afternoon. You both turn and look out the window as the wind picks up, trees bowing in response. They respect authority better than he does. You look back at him as the sky opens up and slide down next to him, your cigarette gone. You may be toying with him and teasing him, but that only deepens your obligation to him when he’s walking toward you on an emotional tightrope. You can’t let him get too far away from you when he’s this vulnerable or you’ll lose him. There’d be hell to pay if that happened, a hell you can’t even imagine. Rich you may be, but not when it comes to that kind of money. You’d be homeless in a hot minute.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

<b>JUSTIN’S POV</b>

 

 

 

Brian can come on so strong and so fast that you feel that same rush you felt the night you met him, the same drop in your stomach you felt when you decided to stay and shut his door for the first time, but you haven’t really felt this in months, this erotic fear he fills you with, the isolation he weaves around you. There’s always an endorphin rush that comes with it as it drops you into a dark well. Every time he touches you, every time you feel him breathe, you feel your personal worth evaporating. You feel like an insignificant treasure as you lie on your stomach, like something that only exists when and because he wants it to. He lies beside you and begins an intimate conversation; his face is next right next to yours, his hand on your ass. You stay quiet because your ability to form a coherent thought is disintegrating. “Sore boy, aren’t you?” Brian asks you like it’s your name now. You don’t dare ignore him when he’s like this or lie to him anymore. “Yes.”

 

 

 

His voice lowers again, “You needed that spanking, didn’t you?”

 

 

 

“Yes,” you admit, swallowing hard as his hand slips between your cheeks. “Justin, look at me,” he reminds you because you’re looking elsewhere, down the length of his body at how hard his he is. He scoots in closer to you so you can’t do that anymore, but you can feel it now, so that’s not really helping. “So if we agree that you needed it, then explain to me why you put your hands in my way.” The spell he’s casting is already working. You close your eyes and apologize, “I’m sorry.” His hand leaves your ass so his thumb can brush over your cheekbone because again, you’re not looking at him, “Please don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid.”

 

 

 

You can tell by the tone of his voice and his demeanor that he’s not kidding because he’s being way too nice, and yet you just repeat yourself, “I’m serious. I’m sorry.”

 

 

 

He puts his arm over your shoulders, purposely weighing you down, “Are you trying to tell me that you don’t know what the consequences are when you smart off and then interfere when I’m spanking you? Because if that’s the case, we have <i>a lot</i> more work to do today.”

 

 

 

“No. I know.”

 

 

 

“So ‘sorry’ is a waste of my time, right?”

 

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

His fingers thread up through your hair, starting at the back of your neck, pushing your head down on the sheets, “And if you know the consequences, then you made a conscious decision to go down this road, didn’t you?”

 

 

 

You feel like your mouth is stuffed full of cotton, “Yes.”

 

 

 

“So apparently that first spanking didn’t exactly do the trick, huh?”

 

 

 

You feel dizzy and hot all of a sudden, “No.”

 

 

 

He leans in a little and kisses you, gentle and sweet and then, “Then I’m the one who should apologize. I’m going to fix that for you.”

 

 

 

……

 

……

 

……

 

 

 

For some reason you actually say, “Thanks.”

 

 

 

He thinks you’re cute when you’re nervous, “You’re more than welcome.”

 

 

 

……

 

……

 

……

 

 

 

He tells you he loves you when he blindfolds you.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

“Remember what I said; I’m going to take very good care of you,” he promises you as he rests your head back on the mattress. His voice feels like silk as he tells you the rest of the truth, “And, by the way, <i>this</i> is why I drugged you.” A chill runs all the way down your body yet for some reason, you feel safer like this because you know that the weaker and more compromised he makes you, the more fragile he ultimately treats you. You force yourself to enjoy the drugs coursing through your system and relax.

 

 

 

You lie still, barely breathing so you can hear everything. He’s unlocking the bottom drawer of his nightstand. You know where he keeps the key, and he knows you know, but you don’t ever talk about it. You reach to feel where he is on the bed, find his kneecap and then run your hand down his shin; he’s sitting beside you, one leg bent, the other probably hanging off the bed. You expect him to push your hand away because that’s what he always does, but he picks it up instead and wraps a leather cuff around it. He reaches for your other wrist and performs the same ritual, clipping your wrists together and pushing them over your head. There’s always a rope there to hook them to. And then you feel his hand on your stomach, “Show me that you can reach your collar,” so you pull your hands down and show him that you have enough leeway to take it off, and for the rest of the short conversation his hand moves a little lower. You roll toward his voice as he strokes you; he puts his other hand on your face, “You need to promise me that you’ll take your collar off if we go too far because at some point, that’s going to be your only option.”

 

 

 

“That’s one of the sweetest things you’ve ever said to me.”

 

 

 

You feel his weight shift on the bed, and then he’s right in front of your face, “I really want to devour you right now, so will you please acknowledge what I said and promise me that you’ll take it off if you’re uncomfortable?”

 

 

 

You stick your tongue to see how close he is, just a little bit, and he’s <i>that</i> close. “If you kiss me, I will.”

 

 

 

“I’m not going to kiss you until you promise.”

 

 

 

“I promise. Jesus.”

 

 

 

And then he starts to kiss you, and it’s <i>perfect</i>, but you can’t hold onto him; you can’t keep him there so you just whine when he stops, and he comes right back, and his mouth is right in front of yours…

 

 

 

<i>“Brian, please…”</i>

 

 

 

“You’re so sweet when you’re desperate.”

 

 

 

“Please kiss me.”

 

 

 

“I don’t know. I kind of like it when you fuss.” You pull on your cuffs wishing you had enough slack to put your arms around his head, but you don’t. Your feet are free; you consider telling your lower body to throw a temper tantrum, but decide against it for your own good. “If I were you, I’d save your energy,” he tells you and then he finally kisses you and kisses you and kisses you, holding you down when he pulls away, “I’ll be right back, and you look beautiful.”

 

 

 

“So do you,” you admit from beneath your blindfold.

 

 

 

He smacks your stomach, laughing, “Shut up.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

<b>BRIAN’S POV</b>

 

 

 

“We’re going to do this every Sunday until Maintenance is over,” you tell him as you warm the shaving cream in your hands, and he doesn’t dare ask when that will be because his track record has been less than stellar today. He seems calm enough from your vantage point between his legs, his ass resting on a fluffy towel. You touch his abdomen and smooth your hands down and out and he arches his back, “Oh my god, it tingles.”

 

 

 

“It shouldn’t. There’s nothing tingly in it.”

 

 

 

“There’s not?”

 

 

 

“No. I’m not quite that sadistic.” He laughs nervously and you watch his stomach muscles flutter and then tell him that he needs to be still. The room fills with a tactile silence as you tap, tap, tap the razor against the plastic tumbler of water in your hand out of habit, and he moans…out of habit. <i>“Shh,”</i>  you tell him, “When you moan, you move.”

 

 

 

“Sorry.”

 

 

 

You watch the blade erase his pleasure trail as goose bumps form all over him. You stop for a second because you know he’s going to move; he apologizes again. It’s a painfully slow, very quiet process allowing you to concentrate on every place you want to touch while he tries like hell to lay perfectly still. You stay quiet (but flattered) when his cock beads, while his fingers twist around the rope while he keeps the rest of his body still and whispers your name. When you’re halfway through, he feels your hands move to his left side, and you hear your name again, only it’s not a whisper anyone. “You okay?” you ask him.

 

 

 

“Yeah…I’m good.”

 

 

 

“What’s going on in your blond little brain?” you ask him. There’s always a catch-22 when you blindfold him; his imagination takes off, sometimes without you.

 

 

 

“A lot of really, really bad things,” he says.

 

 

 

“Do they involve me?” you ask, a little laughter in your voice.

 

 

 

“They always involve you.”

 

 

 

“I’m listening,” you tell him as you finish shaving him, clean him up, and survey the beautiful work you did. You prop your body on top of his and kiss him. He responds so much differently when he can’t see you or touch you; he follows you physically as far as he can go, his face rising up off the bed. “Start talking,” you urge him as you push him back down.

 

 

 

“God, you feel so good,” he gushes when he can feel you again. You reach up and pry his fingers off the rope and unhook his hands from their position over his head, and he immediately thanks you, hanging his cuffed hands around your neck and tying his legs around you to keep you right where you are. You kiss him and he settles down. Being blindfolded always gives him a jolt of courage that you love to exploit. “I’m listening,” you remind him.

 

 

 

And so he begins, “I want to know what happens…if you’re serious….”

 

 

 

“About spanking you every night?”

 

 

 

“Yeah.”

 

 

 

“I’m very serious,” you assure him.

 

 

 

“So, how? I mean, what’s going to happen?”

 

 

 

You touch his lips with your fingertip, kiss the tip of his nose. “You really don’t need that information do you? Just know that I’m going to spank you every night right when I get from work—"

 

 

 

“Just weeknights?” He’s so nosy, “Okay, yes, just weeknights, and you need to be waiting for me with your collar in hand.” He tries to ask you another question, but you stop him, putting a finger over his mouth, “Don’t ask me anything else. That’s all you need to know right now,” and then you introduce him to the real reason he’s not going to ask you any more questions, “Open your mouth.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

There’s more than a tense moment between you when he realizes what you’re doing because you’ve never gagged him before, not like this with a real ball gag, an obnoxious red one at that. It’s a thrill you’ll enjoy by yourself because he has no clue what color it is or that he looks like any horny bottom in a fetish film. He fights you at first, turning his head away, but when you talk to him about it, when you tell him…

 

 

 

“I like you like this, all pretty and helpless, when you have to concentrate on breathing when you want to be concentrating on something else.” You kiss him even though he can’t kiss you back, running your tongue over his lips and the ball just to feel him try. “You try so hard to be a good boy, don't you?" you ask him, and he nods like he's glad you noticed, but you weren't done, "But is it because you want to make me happy or because it gets you what you want?" Suddenly, he finds the gag extremely convenient...and so do you; for once, he can't talk back.

 

 

 

 

He struggles with the device which is dick-hardening because he’s starts to drool, and Christ, that’s beautiful. You stay with him while he practices breathing with it, kissing his face, his neck, running your fingers all over the place and keeping him close to you while you continue your one-sided conversation, <i>"Because I'll bet every dime we have in the bank that you'll do anything I ask of you if you think your privileged little ass will be stuffed full and pounded when it's over. Am I right?"</i>  His head is cradled in your hands when he nods, and you feel another wave of invisibility come over you. <i>“Feel how fucking hard you make me?”</i> you ask him, your hips bearing down hard between his legs. He moans, beautifully muffled. You reach back and slap him so he loosens his legs and lets you go, moaning as you kiss your way down his neck, chest, stomach, and then stop at his beautiful, bare, hard cock. He seems so innocent all of a sudden, so innocent and blond and sweet and tied up and clean, so seemingly undeserving of what you’re about to do to him.

 

 

BRIAN’S POV

 

 

The room gets nice and quiet as you slip inside the moment with him, as you say nothing while his knees bend next to your head. You don’t stop him when he tilts his hips so his cock can slide right in your mouth, his feet pressing on the sheets for leverage. You glance up; your eyes skimming up his torso, over his compromised face and see his hands clutching the bed frame over his head. You realize how much you miss hearing his voice, how badly you want him to talk just so you can tell him to be quiet. He moans at the same time as if the very same thing is frustrating him, but you let him enjoy fucking your face for awhile. There’s something so satisfying about feeling his thighs tighten around your shoulders.

 

 

 

 

Eventually, you work your way back up to his face, and you can feel how anxious he his so you pry his fingers off of the headboard; he wraps his legs around you in gratitude for your return. His face is wet; you wipe it dry with the back of your hand. “This is harder than I thought it would be,” you tell him, feeling his body relax a little underneath you at the sound of your voice. Your hands slide underneath his shoulders as you continue, “I never really thought about how much I need to hear your voice.” One of his legs unwinds and extends down the back of your leg in agreement. You hold him close as you remind him for the last time that he has an eject button; he can pull his collar off and stop what’s about to happen at any time, and he kicks the back of your leg, an admonishment; he’s not interested in that idea. You’re not interested in being kicked, and he gets that message when you reach back and pop him hard. “You like to learn everything the hard way, don’t you?”

 

 

 

…..

 

…..

 

 

 

“I know you’re nervous. I want you nervous,” you tell him as you kiss the sweet, warm place behind his ear, “You can open that ring, let your hands down.” He works quickly, surprised that you’re giving him any power at all; your eyes shift upward, watching his fingers feel for and loosen the D-ring that’s keeping his cuffed hands over his head. The second he’s freed them, he hangs them around your neck. The victory is fleeting for him but worth it until he realizes that you only let him do that because it’s time to roll over.

 

 

 

He doesn’t exactly go willingly.

 

 

 

He’s not supposed to.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

JUSTIN’S POV

 

 

 

You want to scream at Brian because you’ve waited so long for this, hit him, no, fucking strangle him for being capable of this and holding out on you, for making you doubt that he could…

 

 

 

You picture what the two of you must look like, what Brian must look like doing this to you; your heart swells so much that you choke on it. Your skin feels brand new and guilty and every time he touches you; his hand slides down your crack and then he asks you, “Do you want your bottom plugged?” You nod in the sheets. He disappears for a second and then returns, kneeling between your legs. He touches you again; his hand is wet; his voice is eerily calm, “Up…on your knees…”

 

 

 

He doesn’t help you; he lets you struggle; you can’t close your legs because he’s between them. You feel the plug in his hand as it runs up the inside of your leg. And then you feel him, his mouth hot, licking you, and your eyes roll back in your head.

 

 

 

“Don’t come,” he warns you when you finally feel the plug in place of his tongue. He goes so slow that you push back into it; he stops and spanks the inside of your leg until you mumble behind your gag that you’re sorry but you’re so aroused by then that you come anyway as he fills you. He spanks you hard for the infraction, making sure that he smacks the plug every single time. He doesn’t stop until he realizes that you’re crying.

 

 

 

You feel the gag snap loose; your knees slide out from under you.

 

 

 

“You’ll pass out,” he says meaning that’s why he took the gag off. He pulls you back against him and presses himself against your ass. “Please fuck me,” you whisper but he tells you, “No, don’t ask me for something you don’t deserve.”

 

 

 

Desire infects you like a fever and leaves you paralyzed.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

A few minutes later, he stops holding you…and even being in bed with you.

 

 

 

You need to apologize for something, but you can’t. You feel flushed and dizzy and scared.

 

 

 

……

 

 

 

You hear him in the closet.

 

 

 

He’s getting dressed.

 

 

 

……

 

 

 

Your heart starts to pound as you try to think of something to say, a way to express what you’re not supposed to be expressing, but then he’s back, sitting on the bed. You’re brave enough to try to slide your body close enough to touch him. He’s wearing jeans. He touches you, and you’re disgustingly grateful for the attention.

 

 

 

“Open your mouth,” he says, putting the gag back on. You listen as he opens a drawer, seconds pass and then you feel rope being wrapped around your ankle. “I’ll be back in less than an hour,” he says, “And you better be right where I’m leaving you.” You start to object, to grunt at him, but you don’t want to get in any more trouble…

 

 

 

But he’s leaving you….

 

 

 

……

 

……

 

 

 

You’re not okay with this.

 

 

 

……

 

 

 

At all.

 

…….

 

……

 

 

 

And he knows it, so he sits there and goes nowhere and says nothing.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

Several minutes of silence pass between you only they don’t feel like silence to you; they feel like backtracking desperation; your mind is racing, and it doesn’t stop until Brian stops it. His fingers now in your hair, “You really think I’d leave you here, bound, blindfolded and gagged, and pathologically aroused?” He leans down and puts his face right in front of yours and continues, “Especially when I smell like your ass?” And then he kisses you like the gag is always there like he’s kissed you that way a million times. “You know better than that,” he scolds you.

 

 

 

The silence returns.

 

 

 

You use up all of your energy trying to stop the tears from coming back, but you can’t. His hand rests on your shoulder while he talks, “I’m almost convinced that you’re sorry.” You nod your head because you are sorry…you’re just not sure of what exactly. “I’m not leaving the house,” he says, and he puts the phone right on the bed next to you and makes sure you can feel it. “Just press the intercom button if you need me. If I hear the speaker click, I’ll come back up here right away.”

 

 

 

He promises you he won’t be more than fifteen minutes and then he walks out of your bedroom and shuts the door behind him. You can’t decide if what you think are his footsteps is actually your heartbeat.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

BRIAN’S POV

 

 

 

That Sunday morning, four days after Justin made your lack of attention to this sector of your relationship a four alarm fire, you start finding your way back to him in the strangest of ways, by forcing him to submit to you so you can be with the Justin you met that very first night, the one that was hopelessly honest because he couldn’t think of a reason not to be. You open the door to the basement with a set of keys in your hand.

 

 

 

Justin’s insistence that this part of your relationship needs routine attention is well-founded, but sometimes your avoidance of it is intentional. You open the wine cellar, walk to the back, remove an empty rack, and unlock a door that Justin doesn’t even know exists—although you know that his petulant behavior of late isn’t for naught. He knows you’ve been up to something; he just can’t quite figure out what. He’s about to find out.

 

 

 

Your footsteps echo inside as you walk to the phone and make sure it’s working. The room isn’t completely finished; it was supposed to be his Christmas present two years ago and then last year and now this year, but you found it difficult to make every decision without him, so you finally resigned yourself to furnishing his soon-to-be dungeon with the things that mattered to you…for now.

 

 

 

The floor is a matte black linoleum with a drain in the middle. The walls are a dark gray. There are black iron hooks along the wall for every little thing you’ve ever wanted to have in your hand when you’re spanking him and almost every hook is occupied. There’s a built-in fireplace that you turn on the minute you walk in, and a dresser on top of which three white candles and a box of matches are sitting. There’s a closet with a shelving unit, and on the right side, his side, there’s a stack of white t-shirts and a stack of light gray pants, the only clothes he’s allowed to wear in the house when you’re done with him—and a drawer of brand new white socks. Your side of the closet has a few shirts and sweatpants and a locked cabinet secured by a combination lock. It hides the only working clock in the room and the remote controls for the huge flat screen television and stereo system. You open the door to the bathroom and unwrap soap for the shower. Gray towels hang there waiting; you flip a switch so they start warming up.

 

 

 

The main bed is against the wall, an ornate wrought iron frame supporting a mattress adorned with black sheets. There are night tables on either side stocked with all of his beloved dildos, paddles, and plugs, most of which he thinks are still in your bedroom. There’s an imposing ugly gray medical table complete with stirrups in the corner accompanied by steel racks on wheels holding enema bags. The cabinet under the medical table is stocked with lube, tubing, nozzles, gloves (short and long), lotion, protein bars, and drugs. There’s a small mini bar and refrigerator next to the medical table where refrigerated drugs, specimen cups (pre-labeled with his name and date of birth), bottled water, liquor, glasses, and ice are waiting. In the far corner of the room, there’s a black wingback chair next to a round table, and that’s where you sit and boot the laptop you keep in that room.

 

 

 

He doesn’t know that the security cameras in the house actually work because for years they didn’t, but you kept him busy in the city one day about a year ago and had that fixed and upgraded. There are cameras in the house that he doesn’t even know about, and you’re watching him on one of them right now.

 

 

 

But you don’t watch for long.

 

 

 

He’s still upset. You can’t see his face; he’s propped himself up on his side, but you can see his body jerking…

 

 

 

Your first instinct is to assume that he’s playing you, but then you square that with the fact that he doesn’t know you’re watching him. You close the laptop and head back upstairs with his new clothes in hand.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

His back is to you when you open the bedroom door; he doesn’t jump; you made sure he could hear you coming. You sit down beside him, his back resting against your thigh. “Don’t,” you tell him as your hand slips around his waist, “I’m here; you’re okay.” His tries to hide the fact that he was crying; you can feel the tension in his body; he lies very still as your hand slides lower. He’s nervous and hard—more or less the way you want him. Eventually, you untie his ankle and ask him to sit up, un-cuffing his hands when he complies. “C’mere,” you say, pulling him against you, your arms wrapped around him. You can tell by the way he responds that he’s afraid to touch you, that being gagged and blindfolded for this long is really starting to fuck with him. “This is too much for you,” you propose, not exactly a question or a statement, just words hanging in the air between you. His hand slips underneath your shirt and fans out across your chest; you hold onto him a little tighter, and he moans and relaxes a little. “I’m as hard as you are,” you tell him, your hand rubbing the inside of his leg, “You know you make me fucking crazy when you get like this.” He tries to pull you down on top of him, but you resist him, putting his clothes in his lap. “You need to get dressed; we’re relocating.” His participation in the task is charmingly reluctant. “You just need to trust me,” you tell him as you help him put his white t-shirt on and then his gray pants. He recognizes the feel; he knows what he has on and that they’re brand new. You cuff his hands back together in front of him.

 

 

 

“I need to take you downstairs, so I’m going to take your blindfold off for the time being.” You slip the black silk off and tuck it in your pocket. His eyes are red and swollen.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

He’s intrigued when you start walking down the stairs, but when you open the door to the basement, the realization that he really doesn’t know what’s going on brings a nervous expression back to his face. At the bottom of the stairs and in front of the entrance to the wine cellar, somewhere he didn’t even think he’d be, you slip his blindfold back on. “Your behavior has made Christmas come early this year,” you tell him as you pull him forward through the wine cellar, turning right toward the back where the door to his new room is halfway open. You urge him forward and inside the room, shutting the door behind you. The room is noticeably warmer than the basement and the wine cellar, and you make him stand against the wall while you go and sit down a few feet away on the bed. “I know that you know that I was up to something,” you tell him, “And I know that you got tired of waiting a long time ago.” He shakes his head no because he’s afraid to say yes.

 

 

 

“It’s okay, Justin. I’m not mad about it. You can undo your hands and lose the blindfold.” He works at it slowly, forecasting that this transition isn’t easy for him. You know that; it’s why you let him free himself. When he finally really looks at you, he’s seeking permission to come toward you, to give you the restraints he just removed. You realize quickly that his new surroundings are not a priority for him right now; he took the midnight train to subspace the second he came without your permission. You have enough respect for that train and its desired destination to make sure it keeps running on time.

 

 

 

“You can come over here.” He walks over to you, his hands offering the blindfold and the cuffs. You take them and set them beside you on the bed. You can tell when you touch him that he’s in shock; this was the clearly the last thing he expected to happen today. You unbuckle his gag and have to peel it off his face. “Are you okay?” you ask him, and he licks his lips out of nervousness and nods as your hands slip under the dry hem of his shirt and rest on his waist. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

 

 

 

“I’m trying to catch up,” he says, subtly tucking your hands inside the waistband of his pants. (God, you want to throw him down and fuck him when he does that…)

 

 

 

“What do you mean, ‘Catch up?’”

 

 

 

“Well, the first time you left me alone this morning, I thought you were going to get coffee for both of us, but you left the house and went running in the rain. The second time you left me, well…..” And then he just stops talking, his hands resting on top of your hands.

 

 

 

“Well, what?”

 

 

 

“Nevermind, okay?”

 

 

 

“Nope, not okay.”

 

 

 

“Okay, like you’ve been letting me bitch you out for never cleaning out the garage when clearly you were never intending to clean out the garage. You were working on this.” You laugh and so does he because you (pretended) to bitch about the garage, so he told you (repeatedly) to shut the fuck up about it and clean it up if it bothers you ‘cause he’s tired of hearing it, and well, “Then you opened the door to the basement, and I thought you’d gone bananas, that you had some new fetish about bondage and de-cluttering or something.”

 

 

 

“Like I was going to make you clean it and just watch or something?”

 

 

 

He laughs and his smile lights up the room, “Yeah…well….”

 

 

 

“Want me to tell you a secret?” you ask him.

 

 

 

“Sure.”

 

 

 

“I never had any intention of cleaning out the garage.”

 

 

 

“You don’t know how many times I was minutes away from hiring somebody to do it for you.”

 

 

 

You smack him on the ass which accidentally pushes him into you a little, and he steals the moment and kisses you, sneaking in his real agenda, “Please take my pants off.”

 

 

 

“Oh no, I hired somebody to do that for me.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

JUSTIN’S POV

 

 

 

“Oh yeah? Who?”

 

 

 

“Well, let’s just say that he’s on retainer if you don’t behave. I don’t think you want some strange man to pull your pants down, do you?”

 

 

 

“I didn’t know we were reminiscing.”

 

 

 

Your eyebrow goes up, “Next time, I’ll give you a heads up. Take your pants off.”

 

 

 

The air around you feels like a thick fog; the way it always does when he’s watching and waiting. He smiles when you push them down, step out of them, and kick them out of the way. His hands wrap around both of your legs right below your ass; he squeezes and says, “Lose the shirt, too.” You peel it off for him and toss it in the direction of your pants. He smiles at you, a really sweet smile, the way he looks at you right before he kisses you or tells you he loves you, and it makes you a little nervous because although you’ve lived in Brian’s heart for years, you never forget how perilous the journey was getting here or how half the time you thought you were hallucinating about the existence of a real destination.

 

 

 

Brian’s ungodly beautiful when he’s calm and controlling, and you don’t know what you did that flipped this switch in him, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to switch it off. If you have to, you’ll live out your remaining years in your uber-high class dungeon and never see anyone else or a freaking paintbrush ever again. It smells so new in here; it must be the leather. He smells new and dangerous, the way he smelled the night you met him. “I don’t even know what to call half the things hanging on that wall, Brian,” and he tells you not to worry, that he doesn’t either. “But you’re the one who bought them.”

 

 

 

“No. No, I didn’t. I registered your ass as a charitable foundation and donations have been pouring in ever since.”

 

 

 

You laugh, “Some people woo their lovers with flowers and chocolate; you woo me with sarcasm.”

 

 

 

“There’s no other way to woo you…unless you count pounding your hungry little ass twice a day.”

 

 

 

“True, that’s a close second.”

 

 

 

“One that just got a lot closer.”

 

 

 

……

 

 

 

“What are you going to do to me?” you ask him; he kisses you and tells you that you don’t need to be nervous and that the next move is yours. “Mine?” you question, and he nods his head and says, “If it were up to you right this second, what would you do?”

 

 

 

“I don’t know.”

 

 

 

“Well, figure it out,” and then his voice gets softer, “And then go to it.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

BRIAN’S POV

 

 

 

You watch him walk away from you, go to the dresser, and pick up one of the white pillar candles on top of it. He sniffs it to make sure it’s the scent he likes, (you don’t make that mistake anymore), picks up the matches next to the trio and lights all three of them. Before he comes back to you, he turns off all the other lights in the room; only the orange glow from the fireplace joins the candles as they try to illuminate things. He comes back and stands between your legs again and asks if what he did was okay, and you tell him, “Of course. You don’t need to ask me that.”

 

 

 

“Is it still my turn?” he asks.

 

 

 

“Yeah, lighting candles doesn’t really count.”

 

 

 

He proceeds cautiously…. It fascinates you and helps you relax; you like this side of him. “Honestly, lighting candles is enough for me right now.”

 

 

 

You smile, “That wore you out, huh?”

 

 

 

“Not as much as you do.”

 

 

 

“Are you trying to provoke me?” you ask him.

 

 

 

He leans against you, whispering, “Yes,” behind your ear.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

“Come on,” you say, standing up and taking his hand. You walk him to the wall lined with floggers, crops, canes, and paddles and stand with your arms wrapped around him. He’s so hard, his cock is pointing toward the objects in question. You stroke him while he decides what he wants you to use. You let him go when you feel him pulling away.

 

 

 

He walks up to the wall and takes down a black leather flogger, looks at you, smiles, and then tosses it on the bed, and then he walks back and takes down both crops hanging on the wall and examines them, finally tossing the larger one on the bed. “I’m done,” he announces, pulling you back to the bed. The scent of the candles is finally hitting your nose as he lays back down in the sheets. He has the flogger in his hand again because it’s brand new, and he adores the smell of the leather. You lie down beside him after undressing and take it away from him. “Close your eyes,” you tell him as you hold his hands over his head.

 

 

 

You explain to him why you built this room while he lays there listening. You tell him that he’s kept you running since the day you met him, that he’s never been completely satisfied. “That’s why you and I are so insatiably attracted to one another. We’re both cut from the same cloth. I need you this way; I don’t ever want to wake up one morning and feel like our sex life has gone into syndication.” He makes a joke about ‘sin-dick-ation’ and you laugh. “I want you to wake up every day of your life and feel like there’s still some pleasure out there that you can’t quite get your hands on.”

 

 

 

“I do,” he says quietly. “That’s why I want your hands on it.” His eyes are still closed, but he’s not surprised when you kiss him. He takes the flogger out of your hand and directs your hand to his ass, pressing himself against you. ”I want to be perfect for you,”< he whispers.

 

 

 

“If you get any more perfect, I’ll end up dungeon-fying the whole house.”

 

 

 

His eyes open and look right at you, “I want you inside me really badly right now, so you better distract me before I sit on your cock.”

 

 

 

“Close your eyes.”

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

He moans when the flogger hits his chest, and then his stomach, and then his cock; the force increasing with new each pass you make down his body. He’s smiling as you flog his thighs, his shins, his feet, and then work your way back up to his shoulders again. His skin is warm and pink when you tell him to roll over. He slips one of his hands out of yours when you start flogging his upper back; it disappears between his legs. You like that because his bottom tilts perfectly while he’s masturbating.

 

 

 

“Harder,” he whispers, spreading his legs a little.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

JUSTIN’S POV

 

 

 

The flogger makes your entire body tingle with pain and attention that you desperately want; feeling the leather strips come down again and again on your lower back is heaven. The longer it goes on, the more you feel like Brian is the flogger itself, and you want it even more. Pleasure burns up inside you like a gasoline fire.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

BRIAN’S POV

 

 

 

You like this (a lot), watching him jerk off, and he moans from somewhere you wish you were when you abandon the flogger for the crop. The sting makes him freeze for a second, but now the swish the crop makes before impact makes his hips move faster.

 

 

 

“Please let me come like this,” he says, and you tell him that he will, “When I tell you to.” Minutes later, you ditch the crop, remove his plug and finish the job with your hand. You work to find the perfect rhythm, the perfect intensity because he wants this; you wait until your hand is sore and then slip your hot fingers inside him hard.

 

 

 

Again, his eyes open; he says, “Push,” right before you feel his orgasm start. You give in to his demand, whispering, “Good boy,” on the back of his neck. You hold him down and spank him through every second of that release.

 

 

 

……

 

 

“Don’t move,” you tell him because this is exactly how you want to fuck him, spent and sore, and the heat coming off of his skin….you fear your dick may melt inside him. You won’t let him move when it’s over either; you stay deep inside him and fall asleep.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

JUSTIN’S POV

 

 

 

Your fingers are entwined with his, and you stare at them while you feel him falling asleep. He thinks you like this because he’s inside you, but the truth is, you like it most because of how heavy he feels when he falls asleep, because you want to stay underneath him like this for the rest of your life.

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

 

BRIAN’S POV

 

 

 

3:00 p.m.

 

 

 

He’s hungry, so you bathe him and dress him and take him out to lunch at a quaint, old-timey diner that reminds you of Debbie and your youth. He’s quiet in the car, quiet at lunch, but the entire time, he has an almost dreamy smile on his face. You wait until you’re driving home to talk to him about the morning. You’re stopped at a stoplight when the conversation starts. “Do you like your Christmas present?” you ask him.

 

 

 

He grins, “This is the best not-really-Christmas ever.”

 

 

 

“Hmm, now I’m wondering what you’re going to get me.”

 

 

 

“I already know, and you’re getting it tonight.”

 

 

 

“Really?” You’re intrigued.

 

 

 

He laughs, looking straight ahead, “Yes, really.”

 

 

 

“Can I try to guess what it is?”

 

 

 

“No.”

 

 

 

“Can I play Twenty Questions?”

 

 

 

“Yes, but you only get one question, so choose wisely.”

 

 

 

“Hmmm….”

 

 

 

“Could you get off that guy’s ass please? You’re following too close,” he complains.

 

 

 

“I’m pre-occupied.”

 

 

 

“I know you are. That’s why I intervened.”

 

 

 

You decide what your question is going to be as you’re pulling into the driveway. You hit the button for the garage door and then spring it on him, “Who actually physically paid for my present?”

 

 

 

He turns to you, flicks you on the temple, and says, “You did, I presume. Or, it may have been a charitable contribution. I’m not sure.”

 

 

 

“It’s so nice to get a boner about charities right before Christmas.”

 

 

 

He gets a rather wanton look on his face, “Brian?”

 

 

 

“Yes.”

 

 

 

“May I please go back to my dungeon now?”

 

 

 

You open his car door, take his hand, and lead the way.

 

 

 

 

 

BRIAN’S POV

 

This is the reason you’re madly in love with Justin, because when he gets going, there’s no stopping him save a worldwide pandemic or a meteor strike. And when his hot little ‘switch’ is stuck on on, you always know it’s going to be a wonderful holiday. You start singing O’ Cum All Ye Faithful in your head. He pushes you against the wall the second you close the dungeon door behind you and kisses you hard. He has one hand wrapped around your neck and the other undoing your pants. His hand in your pants is the best present ever. Somehow he’s gotten the impression that this is his show to run, and he’s so, so wrong. So wrong that you take his hand out of your pants and walk him over to the black chair in the corner. You sit down and point to the floor, “Down.” He kneels down on the floor between your legs.

 

 

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a misbehaving puppy,” he says. You pat him on the head and smile because, of course, you do.

 

 

He starts up again, “Let me tell you a story. Once there was this very, very hot, handsome man who had the cutest little puppy anyone had even seen—“

 

 

“Does he pee on the carpet?” you ask.

 

 

“Only if you tell him to to."

 

 

“Continue.”

 

 

His hands rest on your denim-clad knees, “So every day, this incredibly handsome man took his puppy for a walk and every day they took the exact same route—“

 

 

“This is fascinating.”

 

 

“Shut up and listen. Until one day, the puppy saw that a brand new road had been opened, and he pulled his very hot owner in that direction.”

 

 

“Does this story have a climax?”

 

 

“Do you want to climax at all this afternoon?” he asks you full of contempt. You zip your lip. “The owner was reluctant to go down the new road, but the puppy insisted, so he finally gave in. Turns out, the puppy had found a shortcut which meant that that particular day they could get back home much sooner—“

 

 

“So the owner can have sex with the puppy?”

 

 

“No, because the puppy realized that it was about to rain cats and—“

 

 

“Puppies?”

 

 

He slaps your leg and you apologize so he’ll finish the dumb story, “So on that particular day, letting the puppy take the lead actually saved the owner from being castrated by lightning.”

 

 

“Okay, I never saw castration coming. I’ll give you that.”

 

 

“It didn’t start out as castration,” he warns you. “I changed it halfway through.”

 

 

“Was that before or after the rabbi and a priest walked into a bar?”

 

 

“I hate you," he declares.

 

 

“Well, lucky for you, I love head-strong puppies.”

 

 

“You could’ve fooled me.”

 

 

“You’re a puppy. You’re easily fooled.” He rolls his eyes at you; you put your hand on his face, your fingers propping up his pretty little head. “You know what I love best about puppies?”

 

 

“What?”

 

 

“When they do this…,” and you pull his head forehead and press it against your crotch.He runs his nose up and down your zipper. You close your eyes, moan, and pet him profusely.   His lips run over your balls and your thighs, and you finally stop thinking about puppies and just about him. He pushes your shirt up and kisses your stomach, his mouth trailing the top of your jeans. Christ, suck me. His fingertips dip inside your pants. “You’re wet,” he says as he starts to unbutton them. He tugs your zipper down with his teeth, and how your pants disappeared so fast after that…well, that part of your memory is erased. He pushes your legs apart and starts kissing his way down your thigh; you close your eyes and tilt your cock toward his face. He tongues your balls, and you tell him you love him. And then he starts to get crafty…

 

 

This is no standard blowjob.

 

 

“Is this my present?” you ask him because your lips are going numb from lack of blood, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to speak at all in a few seconds. “No,” he says, and he laughs a little, the heat from his breath makes you crazy. “This is just the stocking stuffer,” he says, “If you catch my drift.”

 

 

“I’ll catch anything you’re throwing right now. Have at it,” you assure him.

 

 

“You have to pay attention,” he warns you.

 

 

“I’ll pay till I’m broke.”

 

 

He deep throats you and then pulls back and buries his face between your legs. His hand is wet as he strokes you, holding your cock against his face. He reaches up and pushes hard on your hand resting on the back of his head.

 

 

He wants you to smother him.

 

 

You feel like you might faint, but you do it; you force his face against the base of your dick and cut off his air supply. You can feel the desperation inside him as you push his hand off your cock and take over, jerking off as fast as you can. You let him up when you’re ready to come; his inhalation comes with extra dressing. He’s coughing as you come down his throat, gagging, and all those times spent perfecting his cock-sucking talent over the years, pay off big time.

 

 

You let him pull you to the bed after he recovers, and you immediately put him across your lap when you get there, jeans and all, and paddle the shit out of him. His eyes get glassy and dark, staring at you when you reach underneath him and undo his jeans; they roll back in his head when you put your hand in his pants. Christ, he’s hard. You hold him like that, feeling him get wet in your hand as you paddle him some more.

 

 

“Brian, please," he begs because he wants his pants off. You let him hold the paddle while you peel them off and when he hands it back you, he warns you, “Don’t hold back. You’ll wish you didn’t if you do.”

 

 

Paddling Justin makes you insane because of the way he moans and begs, and when you pay attention to his inner thighs, he arches his pretty little back even more and starts jerking off. You’ve rarely paddled him for this long or this hard, and you lay the paddle on top of your legs when you feel him start to orgasm. You slip your fingers in his red, hot bottom just so you can feel it that perfect squeeze. He comes all over the wood resting on your legs.

 

 

You stroke his hair as a tear runs down his face.

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

He reacts to the concern on your face when you speak to him, “Christ, you get me so worked up. Are you okay?”

 

 

“That’s exactly what I wanted.”

 

 

You rub his bottom as he rides the rest of the wave. You like it when he lets it the aching vulnerability hit him like a tsunami; you want to consume and shelter him all at the same time. He surprises you when he gets up and straddles you; you wrap your arms around him. “I needed that so I can give you your present,” he says, his head laying on your shoulder. You don’t want anything from him but this; this is perfection, but he has something up his sleeve. His hand runs up into the back of your hair, “Will you close your eyes for me?” You close them willingly as a peaceful warmth floods your body. He loosens your arms and gets up…out of bed. You want to ask questions, but you don’t. You just listen and wait. It is Christmas, after all.

 

 

He’s gone just a few seconds, and when he’s back, he tells you to please lie down, and then he’s sitting on you again; his ass toasting your stomach. “You can open your eyes,” he says. When you do, you see him smiling at you with a very hot leather gag dangling from his fingers. This isn’t one of the ball gags, rather it has a long black leather dildo protruding from it. “Merry Christmas,” he says before immediately strapping the gag on your face. There’s a short plug that fills your mouth, and you raise your head so he can fasten the device. He pulls it as tight as he can get it. You wonder if he can tell you’re smiling.

 

 

He turns around and positions himself over you on all fours, making wonderful sounds when you spank him again for good measure and then pull his bottom toward the dildo.You make him come to you, and it’s sweet and slow and the most fucking beautiful site you’ve ever seen coming toward you. The longer it’s inside him, the easier he can move, and holy baby Jesus, this is the hottest fucking thing you have ever done in your life, watching his aching, tight ass fuck your face; you make him pull all the way out because seeing his bottom take it over and over and over has you screaming inside. The scent on every stroke…

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

JUSTIN’S POV

 

You take over because you don’t want him to be able to breathe comfortably, and you can tell he’s starting to struggle just like you want him to. Each time you sit down on the hard protrusion, you stay down a little longer. His hands squeeze your thighs harder and harder. When you rise back up, you can hear him trying to catch his encumbered breath.His knees point to the ceiling, giving you something to hold onto. You bend down, eventually, and take him in your mouth, smothering him as you suck him off. His entire body spasms when he comes. He’s panting when you pull out, turn around, and release the gag. You’ve never seen him so blissfully out of it. You lie down beside him, and he rests his head on your chest. “Still feel like we’re never completely satisfied?” you ask him.

 

 

“Withdrawn,” he says.

 

 

“Merry Christmas, Brian.”

 

 

“I would like this gift for all holidays, please.”

 

 

“So noted.”

 

 

“You’re the best puppy I’ve ever had.”

 

 

“Yeah, I always find the bone, don’t I?”

 

~*~*~*~*~

 

BRIAN’S POV

 

 

 

It’s midnight by the time the two of you are back in your bed. You spent the rest of the afternoon watching movies in your home theater. They were mostly your kind of movies so he slept a lot, often sprawled across your lap. You ordered Chinese food for dinner; he ate most of it, as usual. You make love to him on his stomach, very slowly, so he’ll fall asleep and stay asleep. You have a harder time dozing off. Maintenance starts tomorrow night, and you can’t wait.