JUSTIN'S POV

The wicked anticipation you usually feel minutes before Brian is going to do a number on you, well...it feels different this time. Behind your blindfold, in your mind's eye, you admit to yourself that you're kind of...scared. Not scared enough to send your dick into hiding, just scared enough to wonder if you should've pushed him for more conversation because right now...at this minute...you'd give anything to talk to him again. Instead, you just get to listen as keys jingle and doors open and boxes are opened and eventually, there's movement on the mattress--the thump of things meeting the sheets. You toy with your collar--a nervous habit. It comes undone accidentally, and Brian notices. "I'll fix it," he offers. You hear him walking around the bed again, getting closer to you and then you feel his fingers trying to reattach it. Seconds pass before he admits, "Okay. You broke it. The snap, I mean."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Gives me a good excuse to buy you a really nice one."

"Can I have it?" you ask, and it takes him a moment to understand that you mean right now, that you want to hold onto it. He picks up your hand and places it underneath your palm, and that's when you realize that you can't let him walk away from you again. You want him here. Now. So in the darkness behind your blindfold and on all fours, you reach out hoping that you can catch his hand or his shirt or his leg or something and while you don't actually grasp anything, the gesture doesn't go unnoticed. His voice is closer again, "What? What's the matter?"

You blurt out the truth; it feels so urgent, "I don't want this. I'm sorry.”

He’s confused, “Your collar?”

“No, I mean, I don't want to be...punished."

Brian sighs and sits down on the bed right next to your face; he strokes your hair as he speaks, "Give me a minute to put everything away, okay? Just sit tight."

"Okay," you whisper, shame starting to well up inside of you for doing this, or rather, not doing it. You know it's stupid, but the feeling just gets worse and worse. It envelopes you so fiercely that you aren't even listening as Brian reverses the steps he took minutes ago. He's back and sitting down next to you and you never even heard the closet door being locked or the keys jingling or his footsteps back to you--

"Let's take this off," he says, meaning the blindfold. He lays it in his lap while your eyes adjust to the lights in the room. "It's too bright," he says and he fiddles with the remote control on the bed to dim the room a bit. "It’s okay; lie down. Relax." He's wearing really tight jeans and a long sleeve black knit shirt, the sleeves bunched. You let your body succumb back into the sheets, your face even with his thigh. He reaches over you and tugs on a blanket to cover you up. His hand is on your covered shoulder, "So, we broke more than the collar, didn't we?" And when you don't answer him right away, he adds, "Trust, I mean. The trust was broken...somewhere?"

You have to man-up and tell him; you know you do. It's unfair not to. You have to push through all the guilty feelings you have and get to something you both can work with. "Something felt off," you say quietly.

"Okay. That's understandable. Do you know what or when?"

The guilty sensation starts to ooze its way to the surface again despite your best intentions, "No. I just…I got scared."

He smiles like he's grateful for those three piddly words. "Scared is okay. Sometimes you really like that feeling. There's a hell of a daredevil inside you, so something must've really hit a nerve."

......

......

"I was scared of the pain. I was scared of you actually punishing me,” you confide thinking that it’s the truth.

"But I didn't inflict any pain."

"I know. I'm dorky like that."

"You mean the threat of being punished was too much?"

That's when you can feel a giant race horse named Change the Subject galloping into your brain and wrestling you for control. He wins when you ask, "What was in the other envelope?"

Brian's eyebrows rise and he reaches over to the night table, grabs it and hands it to you, "Go ahead. Open it."

You take it from him and lie on your back to unseal the envelope titled Enough, Brian's palm resting on your stomach. There's one sheet of paper inside and you unfold it:

Justin--
You should know by now that there's no such thing as enough. Now, I have to punish you for opening the wrong envelope on top of everything else. Jeesh, my work is never done, and neither is yours. Open the other envelope. :)

--Brian

He takes it away from you and sets it aside, "So, we're back where we were. You don't want to be punished?"

"No."

"You think you don't deserve it?"

You relax a little. Finally a question you can answer without feeling a pit in your stomach, "No...no...I know I deserve it.... That's...why I'm...scared, I think."

His hand moves under the blanket, up and down your chest, up and down your stomach, and you hope he doesn't notice when you push it a little further down.... He leans down from his authoritative position and kisses you, stroking you slowly. "Your dick isn't scared," he whispers.

"I don't have 4G down there. It's always the last to know."

He laughs, his breath tickling your nose. "See, that's what I mean about that daredevil inside you; you're not afraid of me."

You think about it for a minute and tell him, "You're right. It's not you. I'm afraid of my own capacity...to misbehave...."Jesus, I'm afraid of myself.

"Hmmm. Okay, let me see if I can untie this knot we're in," he offers, "You're afraid of being punished because regardless of how much I punish you, you know you'll do something to deserve an even worse punishment? And so you think that if we open that door, it'll never close again?"

"Yeah...kinda."

"But I'm in charge of that door. Don't you think I can handle that?"

God, he’s fucking Barbara Walters with these questions.

….
….

BRIAN'S POV

You decide not to wait for that answer. Justin can tie himself up in knots that would put a sailor to shame. You kick your boots off one by one, slide your shirt over your head and then stuff your jeans down until you can kick them off. This is what he wants, you think; you can tell by the way he welcomes your body on top of his, his smile spreading as wide as his legs. At first you think it's that simple, that this was a ploy to get you here, but the look on his face morphs a bit while you're kissing him, while he's rubbing your lower back, while your erection is noticed. He's not begging to be fucked; there's something else going on. You decide to take over and fuss with the sheets until you can find the remote for the lights. One click and the entire room is dark. He moans a little; it makes your dick leak.

"Okay, so this is what you wanted?" you ask, "To be on your back for me?"

His voice is almost hard to hear when he answers you, "You always tell me that I'm a good boy...and I'm not."

"Who decides if you're a good boy?"

"You do."

"And have I ever told you otherwise?"

"No."

"So, this is internal. You feel guilty for disobeying me?"

"Well, yes, but that's stupid because I never know what the rules are until I break them."

You grin because that's exactly the way you want it. "Then perhaps you should give yourself a break."

"This isn't 'maintenance,'" he complains, "It's 'high maintenance.'"

"It makes me want to spank you when you put yourself down like that," you inform him.

"Whoops," he says and then he kisses you, hard. "Fuck me," he moans.

"Not until we work this out. I want you to listen to me."

"I'm listening."

Your hands are playing with his hair, your lips are inches from his face, "Sometimes you have to relinquish control to me. That's the way it is, the way it's always been, and the way it's always going to be. And if I feel like you need to be punished, then that's tough shit."

"Brian," he protests with that illegal little whine he bought on some slutty black market.

"You have a safe word for a reason. I expect you to use it when something's going too far. What I don't expect nor will I tolerate, is you being too chicken shit to use it and opting to manipulate me instead."

"I knew I'd get in trouble for this," he pouts like a recalcitrant teenager.

"You're not in trouble, Justin. Sometimes, though, you wander off the reservation without a chaperone, and when that happens, I'm coming to get you--no matter what."

"Now I'm being punished with metaphors."

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

"We’re going to compromise this time," you tell him in the dark. "I'm still going to punish you, but you don't have to be blindfolded."

"Brian, please.”

You take a deep breath and then another one and introduce him to reality with one hand snug around his throat, "Listen, carefully, Justin. Very carefully. I thought long and hard--pardon the pun--about this today while you were sleeping. I thought about how you came down here all week long and jerked off--"

"I didn't know there were cameras!"

"That's not the point, and don't interrupt me. You did it to shock me. You thought when we came back down here and I saw that pyramid of cum jars that you'd pulled one over on me, but I had all week to watch you and think about what you were doing, so I decided that I'm going to return the favor. I don’t make these decisions lightly, and you know that. Now, I'm going to blindfold you just while I get what I need because you aren't allowed to see inside the closet." You slide the blindfold back over his eyes, raise the lights a bit and make quick work of it. Once the closet is shut and locked, you tell him, "You can take it off."

"What the hell is that?" he asks, pointing at the black box in your hands.

"It’s karma. You tried to shock me; I'm going to shock you." You kneel on the bed and flip the box open. His eyes are huge. "Roll over and get on your knees again."

"Brian, what is it?" He sounds perfectly destroyed.

"Over, Justin."

He repositions himself reluctantly, his ass in the air, and starts a litany of apologies--apparently directed to the mattress. (After the week he's had down here, you don't think apologizing to the mattress is such a bad idea.) The lube for this electric plug is sterile. You don't know why and don't care, but it makes it deliciously creepy. "Open up for me," you say as you work it inside him. His protestations continue but his dick is hanging heavy. He stares through his legs, sneaking a peek at the red cord trailing from it and up into a TENS unit in your hand. You decide to be magnanimous, and ask him, "Do you need me to spank you first?" His face is torturing a pillow so you can barely hear his reply. "Was that a 'yes?'"

"Yes. "

You set the box down and rub your hands over his bottom and down his back a few times. His back arches for you, and you spank him several times before running your hands over all the pinking skin to spread the heat. You keep this up, alternating one and then the other until you reach between his legs and steady his swinging cock. Your hand is hot, and you hear him, "Oh god. God."

"Now, you're going to jerk off for me again, just like you did all week. Only this time, your bottom is beet red and plugged, which makes it so much more enjoyable for me." You locate the black box again and turn the dial just enough so that he can feel a vibration coming from the plug. "Let's go, Justin. Hand-to-cock and get to work. And don't hide your face. That's half the fun."

His jaw stiffens as he reaches back for his dick and starts to stroke for you. He mumbles in a whisper, "Tell me. Tell me. Please."

"Show me. Show me and tell yourself."

His hips start to roll into his hand and he repeats over and over again, "I'm a good boy... I'm a good boy..."

You increase the vibration every time you hear 'good boy,' so that it's no longer a vibration, but a buzz, and then no longer a buzz, but a sting—a current that reverberates throughout his whole body. Every once in awhile his whole body will tremble, his knees practically lifting off the sheets. "This hurts," he hisses.

"Well, now you know how I feel when you come down here and play make believe without me." You can tell by the tension in his thighs that he's close to orgasm, "You're almost done, Sunshine. One nice money shot and this puppy goes back in the closet."

"Don't say 'puppy,'" he snarks.

You laugh and as if on cue, his body tightens, and he moans loudly when he starts to come. You turn the dial to ten as the white stripes splash on the bed. He lets out a barrage of profanities from the pain and release, panting with his hands flat by his head when it's over. "Don't move," you tell him as you turn the device off, help him expel it and carry it to the bathroom sink.

"Can I please lay down?" he asks as you walk back to the bed.

"No. I'm going to fuck you. Then you can."

It's one of those fucks you fantasize about, one where he's so tight (and so mad) that his upper body converts to a rag doll as his ass tries to absorb the power of your cock; he bobs almost frantically trying to stay on his knees. You purposely pull out when you're almost done just to jerk off all over his worn-out ass, leaving him sticky...exhausted...and a little humiliated. "I'm done with you," you inform him and he collapses into the sheets.

……

After you clean up and return to bed, you try to hold him, but he doesn’t reciprocate, deciding instead to lie on the edge of the bed with his back to you. “What’s the matter?” you ask.

“You’re done with me? Maybe I’m done with you.”

……

……

Hand to god, you don’t know how he does this, how he can floor his emotional gas pedal and then slam on the brakes the second you take your eyes off the road. “You know, I’m starting to think that I don’t know how to please you because you’re only happy when you’re torturing me.”

“I am not fucking happy right now,” he snaps.

“Then what are you?” And when he doesn’t answer you, you add, “Besides a very, very good boy?”

……

……

……

“Insecure,” he finally says very, very quietly.

You reach over and touch his shoulder, his hair, “Would you come here please?”

“I don’t want to, Brian. Okay?”

You ponder his question and decide that it’s not okay, that if he won’t come to you, you’ll go to him, both of you taking up a fourth of your huge bed now. You snake your hand around his waist and try to hold his hand; he slaps it and says, “Don’t. I need my hands to talk.”

He’s such a little queen.

“Well, then, let’s hear some talking. I did something that upset you. What was it?”

“I don’t know how to explain this,” he admits.

“That’s okay. Just try.”

“It’s going to take me a minute. I can’t figure it out.”

“Okay.” You kiss the back of his neck, his shoulder blades, and rub his stomach, pulling him away from the edge of the bed bit by bit. His body moves…slowly…until he’s on his stomach. Finally, he speaks, still facing away from you, his head resting on his arms, “It hurt my feelings that you really wanted to punish me.”

“Keep going.”

“I broke a rule; I know I did,” and at first you think he’s talking about coming down here and jacking off, but his explanation continues proving you wrong, “At one point, I left the head space. I tried to tell you…but then, I got back in it, so I let it go.”

“You needed me to stop the scene? You didn’t want to stop it yourself?”

“Yes,” he says and then he turns and faces you, “I’m sorry. That’s really, really wrong. You’re right, I’m a chicken shit.”

“No, no, that’s my fault,” you argue, “I shouldn’t have called you that or put it to you that way. I pushed you into a corner.”

“It’s not your fault. Earlier, when I told you I got that déjà vu feeling, well, I had another one, only this time it wasn’t a good one.”

“Tell me.”

“I got that feeling I used to get when we first met, like you were always slipping through my fingers, like I couldn’t hold onto you no matter what I tried.”

He buries his forehead in his arms to minimize the emotion coming to the surface. You touch his hair, your hand smoothing down his back beneath the sheet. “Listen to me. You’re not the only one who gets emotionally overpowered when we indulge in this stuff. It happens to me, too. I think it’s just that I’m usually the one with the control so I can push it back down more easily.”

“Sometimes my desire and my fear get all tangled up,” he says, letting you see his face again, “Like they get in this huge fucking rat’s nest that I can’t unravel.”

“Okay, good; I need to know that. Sometimes I forget to watch for it. I get wound up too and forget that extreme highs leave you nowhere to go but down. Part of this is just emotional gravity…what goes up…and all that.”

“Really?” he asks, a little bit of hope on his face.

“Yeah—“

“I guess I don’t understand how I can want and not want something at the same time. I get confused and then I get angry at myself for putting you in a no-win situation,” he explains.

“Justin, everything doesn’t have to be perfect every time. You’re safe with me, even if you don’t like what we’re doing at a particular moment. I will always catch you. I might be a little late now and then, but I’ll catch you.” He smiles and scoots toward you, his head resting on your chest. “I think we need to have more than just a safe word, though,” you continue. “We need something before that, something you’re comfortable with because you’re not comfortable ending a scene that hard. It’s too extreme.”

“I think you’re right.”

You berate yourself a little in your own head for not catching onto this sooner. “Yeah, it’s not fair to send you into flying into subspace and then expect you to hit an eject button.”

He looks up at you, his chin resting on his fist, “Thank you for understanding…and for figuring it out.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you admit because it really is. This intersection between you is your favorite destination.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Justin asks. “Like to one of those breeder-central steak houses where the décor and music is utterly hideous but the food is killer?”

“You sure can,” you grinned. “I’m all yours.”