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.