BRIAN’S POV
You sit in the driveway for a couple of minutes, quiet and a little stunned, before pulling into the garage and going inside. All of your plans for the afternoon were uprooted when Justin changed the situation; you’d planned on spending time with him in your reserved room afterwards; you wanted time to decompress with him mentally, emotionally, and physically, but circumstances conspired against you. You forage for a snack in the kitchen; it’s dinner time but you don’t think you’ll be eating anytime soon and then, at that second when you’re breaking your own rule about eating cheddar cheese, you see him in the almost-darkness. You drop the cheese in the sink…unbitten.

Justin’s sitting at the kitchen table looking straight at the door you just came through, his hands folded together, the diamonds on his collar daring to sparkle in the moment. You don’t know what to do…at least, you mind doesn’t, but your body is shedding your overcoat onto the kitchen counter and standing there in front of him.

You wonder if he’s breathing because you’re not.

Words start to flow into your brain, breaking down crime scene tape to get to your impulse center to be sent into action and upon arrival they just stand there like you do...sinking in the quicksand.
~+~+~+~
JUSTIN’S POV
Torn up inside. You feel torn up inside and very naked, but not from the experience at Release, but rather from the transparent cravings inside you that never stop, that never go away. How did you become more obsessed with the sexual part of your relationship than Brian is? How is it fair to want this, to constantly think of him in terms of the pleasure he’s about to give you or giving you or keeping from you? How could you think that his obsession with sex was so superficial when yours feels deeper than a black hole at the bottom of the deepest ocean? Why do you want him every second you’re not having him? You ignore your insecurities and press your hands flat on the wooden table, telling him in a firm voice, “You just can’t talk to me like that, okay? You just can’t.”

“Okay,” Brian concedes, “But why?”

“Why are you always asking me questions? Ever since we got back into this part of our relationship, all you do is ask questions.”

“I want answers, I guess.”

You feel like you have to defend your territory and you’re not even sure why, “Maybe you should learn to live without them like I did for the first years of our relationship. Maybe you don’t get to have answers about this shit.” You aren’t proud of that response, but it’s coming from a very primal place that could care less what you think.

Brian fears you when you get like this, evidenced by him asking permission to sit at the table with you, and this – exactly this – is your problem with this whole fucking scenario and so you inform him, “Why are you scared to sit at the table but not scared to take me to a professional dungeon on a Sunday afternoon? Don’t you think that’s a little fucking bananas?”

“If you’re angry about today, that’s okay. You have every right to be.”

You sigh, “I’m not angry about today. In a bizarre way, it was fun and really interesting, but you just sat there in our car less than an hour ago and told me that you were concerned about Sixty, about his head space and then you ask me, someone whose head space you practically dominate twenty-four/seven, a question like that. Where’s the respect for my fucking head space?”

Brian doesn’t hold back, “Your head space? I protect that like it’s a fucking national park or something. That’s all this is about; that’s all it’s ever been about. How am I supposed to know that being cuffed and gagged and practically suspended from a ceiling in a strange dungeon with a bunch of really hard core guys would be okay with you, but asking you about what the hell just happened there is off limits?”

……

You feel guilt stirring inside you, “Okay, that’s a valid point.”

“Thank you,” he says defiantly.

“You’re welcome.”

…..

A minute or so later, Brian comes back down to earth, “Why don’t we just go upstairs and relax in the Jacuzzi or something? Just bring it down a few notches. Are you okay with just that?”

You smile a little, “Yeah, I’m okay with that.”

And your diatribe about head space seems to have resonated with Brian because he holds your hand all the way up the stairs and once the water is starting up, his fingers fold inside the hem of your sweater. He pulls it off and then reaches in his pocket and offers you a blue little pill accompanied by a piece of lint, “Valium? I had some just in case.”
You take it and swallow it dry.
~+~+~+~
BRIAN’S POV
Justin dims the lights in the bathroom and digs under the sink looking for, “A real candle? We have one don’t we? Not one of those flameless things?” You open a drawer and produce an old, beaten up looking cream-colored candle that he declares ‘perfect’ and then tells you to, “Light it with your lighter, okay?” You do as you’re told, watching as he sheds his collar and leaves the leather equivalent of thousands of dollars resting on the back of the toilet before getting into the swirling warm water; you join him soon enough, sitting behind him, letting the weight of his body leaning back against yours comfort you. It’s nice just to be able to touch him, your hands massaging his biceps. “Are you arms sore?” you ask.

“Yeah, but that feels good.” He crosses one leg over his knee and starts massaging his foot, “My feet hurt, too. It’s not easy to try to balance on the balls of your feet like that.”

“And yet you looked so hot doing it,” you observe.

“Really?”

“Well, the panties weren’t really my thing; I would’ve preferred a black leather thong or something, but, yeah, it was hot.”

“Everything you like is so pornographic,” he tells you in that snooty way you love.

“I think that’s the pot calling the kettle black, Sunshine. I saw the look on your pants when we got to that gang bang.” Justin becomes fairly quiet after you say that so you backtrack, “Never mind, I shouldn’t have said that. You just told me in the kitchen not to do that anymore. I take it back.”

……

Justin searches for your hands in the water and when he finds them, he presses them on his chest. “Why would I like something like that? It’s sick, isn’t it?”

You hold him tighter and brush his damp hair off his neck so you can kiss that perfect curve. “I don’t think it’s sick.”

“You’d let me do something like that?”

“Honestly…I don’t think it would be easy for me, but if it felt good to you, I wouldn’t stop you.”

He tilts his head back to see your face, “Are you being serious?”

You kiss his earlobe, “We’ll go next weekend if you want. It’ll take me a week to be okay with it, and I want to be right there with you on the platform. I won’t do it any other way.”

“I’m not saying I want to do it. Don’t go scheduling shit or anything. We’re just talking, okay?”

“Okay, okay. Relax. I just like to know your fantasies—whatever they are,” you admit, but you don’t think Justin’s listening because he’s come loose from your arms and is turning around in the Jacuzzi so he can face you, his legs disappearing under the water. He’s emphatic when he speaks, hand gestures abounding, “No, wait. Listen to yourself. You’re agreeing to letting a bunch of hard core leather guys gang bang me. You don’t want that.”

You feel a little defensive, “Well, yeah, I mean it’s not on my Christmas list—‘get Justin in a gang bang’—but if it chokes your chicken, I’m not going to deny you.”

“Wait, are you saying that because there’s something insane you want me to agree to that chokes your chicken or are you saying that because you want to see me get gang banged or--?”

“No, neither. God no, I don’t want to see that.”

He seems relieved beyond the usual, “Okay, thank god. Whew. You’re just saying it because you want to please me?”

“Yes,” and now you’re relieved, “Yes, that’s what I want, to please you upside down and backwards. I want to fuck you so hard that you need glasses and a walker when I’m done with you. And then I wanna fuck you into a wheelchair and then into a coma,” but you immediately reconsider, “No, no coma. That was wrong. I don’t want you in a coma ever again. Um, I wanna fuck you so hard that you need anal reconstructive surgery.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but still smiles, “Then why don’t you just do it?”

You stare at him like he’s a rare animal at the zoo while underwater, you’re stopping his big toe from raping you. “Just because you got a pedicure for me doesn’t mean you can toe-fuck me, Jesus.”

“Answer my question,” he insists.

You prop his foot on your thigh, “Because we play this game now, this crazy game, and I really like this game, but at the same time, I feel like you’re never satisfied with it and then at that same time, I don’t want you to be satisfied with it because I like the challenge. …this makes my head hurt.”

“Brian, maybe we should stop this maintenance thing. Maybe it’s too much.”

“We shouldn’t make a decision like that when we’re all wrinkled and pruney,” you protest, adding, “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.” Justin rolls his eyes at you and gets out of the tub.
~+~+~+~
JUSTIN’S POV
Brian is up to something from the moment you’re out of the Jacuzzi; you can tell by the way he’s doting on you as he dries you off, even taking time to halfway dry your hair and then his. He leads you into your dark bedroom and stands by your bed taking you in his arms and informing you in a calm voice, “I don’t believe for a minute that you want this to stop. I think you need this.”

“I do,” you say, but then you confess, “The deeper we get into this stuff, the needier I feel. And the needier I feel, the more guilt I feel.”

“Guilt about what?” Brian asks leading you onto your bed. He sits and leans against the headboard and you straddle him and sit in his lap.

“About being so demanding. I mean, after today, it’s pretty obvious that you’ll stop at nothing to satisfy me.”

Brian smiles slyly and shrugs, “True.”

“I mean, the dungeon, the collar, the field trip...you do all this for me. What do I do for you?”

…...

His hands slide down your back and curve around your ass, “Well, you do a helluva lot for me, but to keep this topical, I’ll just say...you bend over for me.”

“Come on.”

“I’m very serious; your desire to be across my lap drives me crazy, and when you’re actually there, I have like a bliss blackout sometimes.” You believe him because he’s very hard. He continues, “But if you’re uncomfortable with where we are or where we’re going with this, then we need to talk about it.”

You laugh, “Neither of us has any clue where this is going. That’s obvious.”

Brian smiles, “It’s like an intense sexual scavenger hunt. Every time we figure out one clue, the next task is waiting.”

An unprompted but necessary confession spills out of you, “Today, I felt like my task was to get you interested in me again.”

“Ah, okay. You were a little jealous, huh? That’s why you did what you did.”

“I don’t see why that’s such a big deal. I thought if I made myself look like them, you’d pay attention to me.”

“But I was paying attention to you until you left to use the bathroom and then came back sporting that trophy boner.”

“I had no idea that was a rule—“

“Exactly. And you know why you didn’t know?” Brian holds you firmly in place on his lap. “You didn’t know because you decided to be in charge when you weren’t. Had you waited, I would’ve gone over the full slave requirements and expectations after today. I would’ve been able to help you with your personal limits inventory and every Dom in that room would’ve known exactly how and, more importantly, how not to handle you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and not only that, but we would’ve had plenty of time to talk about that afterwards in our room. I’d planned to spend some time with you--in there--naked.” Brian gives you a bright smile with his eyebrows raised after he says that, but then his face falls a little, “But you decided that you’d rather humiliate me--”

“No,” you insist, “I wasn’t trying to do that; I swear.”

“Then why in the world would you make it obvious that I have no control over you—when we’re in a public dungeon for Christ’s sake?”

Now you feel ashamed, “Brian, I swear; I didn’t even consider that.”

Brian slips a hand behind your head and brings your face to his to kiss you, and when it’s over and he’s pulling away, he whispers, “Your wooden paddle...it’s hanging in front of the fireplace. Get it for me.”
~+~+~+~
BRIAN’S POV
The wood is more than warm when Justin kneels next to you and rests the paddle on your legs; it’s hot. Burning hot. You’re holding three things in your hands--a black rubber cock ring, a thick black rubber plug, and a bottle of lube. When he sees these things and undoubtedly makes the calculation that he is way overdue for an orgasm, he tries to plead with you, “You have to believe me, Brian; I wasn’t trying to humiliate you. I would never do something like that.”

“Your intentions don’t really matter to me; the outcome is the outcome. Sit back like you were,” you order him and he straddles your lap again, his hands pressing down on your shoulders when you touch his impetuous cock and his balls and make it clear that both are going through the ring. “This will strangle me,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

He rests his face on your shoulder, “This isn’t fair; I haven’t orgasmed all day.”

“I know. That’s why I’m doing it. Otherwise, you’ll come all over me on the backside of the first swat.” Your first task done, your hands move behind him, pushing him against you, “Arch and relax your bottom.” He does what you say, clinging to you, his arms tangled around your neck as you work the plug inside him. When you’re done, you pull him off your shoulder (almost by the hair) and look at him; he looks desperately horny and helpless; you kiss him and thank him for obeying you. “Across my lap,” you indicate.

It’s a session that makes you wish you had four hands: one to paddle with, one to hold him still, one to stroke yourself with, and one to comfort him as he goes through this, but you don’t, so you have to dispense with the last two for the time being. It’s common for him to come on your legs when you paddle his plug, but he can’t tonight; every impact rolls through him, the pain-pleasure-desire welling up in his shoulders and bleeding out through his vocal cords. You watch him carefully; he’s frustrated and doesn’t know what to do with his hands; they keep running over the sheets frantically looking for something; his face blushing like his ass. When, in spite of the pain, his legs are spread wide, you remove his plug and tease his hole with the tips of your fingers as you paddle his legs. He starts to tear at his hair, mumbling over and over, “
Pleasefuckme, pleasefuckme, please.”

You reach down and pull him up to a sitting position, lifting and spreading him so you can ease inside him, and again he conforms to your body like a steamy wet washcloth, clinging and begging, “Please let me come. I was a good boy. Please, Brian, please.”

Removing the ring is no small task; you order him to be still so you don’t hurt him, but once removed, the rush of blood to his dick overwhelms him and his arms clamp down on you, “If I move, it’s over,” he says almost trembling in your arms.

“Okay, okay, take a deep breath. Just calm down and let me lay you down.” You move him ever-so-slowly, pulling out and laying him down in front of you, taking your time as you get on top of him. “We’re gonna go slow,” you tell him brushing his hair off his damp forehead. “Slow,” you say as you push inside him, “Slow, slow...slow.” You make love to him, your bodies lying on the mattress opposite of the way you sleep, tempering the force of your hips as the firelight dances in his hair. Everything is warm and urgently fragile and perfect, and you take your time with him, and when his eyes open, he looks at you like maybe he’s caught some of the control you have and he smiles at you and whispers, “Brian Kinney, I love you slow much.” You laugh and kiss him and say, “Me, too, Sunshine. Me...too.”