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.