JUSTIN’S POV

You spend most of Monday in bed on your stomach watching documentaries on Netflix. Brian was right about the pain; every inch of you ached. You avoid the painkillers he left you because you know they’ll make you sleep all day, and you want to be awake for what you’re experiencing. Brian texts you off and on, bemoaning the crazy day he’s having and telling you not to fix dinner for him because he’s having lunch at three with a client, and yet he’s home earlier than usual, pulling into the garage at five seventeen. He’s never home at five seventeen. You’re standing in the kitchen by the time he walks in the door and for reasons that aren’t exactly clear to you at that moment, you’re wearing your dungeon uniform complete with your new collar. Brian smiles when he sees you and sits a weird looking brown paper bag on the counter.

“You’re kind of early,” you say.

“How do you feel?”

“Pretty sore. You were right. I laid in bed and watched movies all day.”

“Anything good?” he asks as he walks into the foyer to hang up his coat.

“A documentary on happiness. It was kind of interesting.”

“Did you have dinner?” Brian asks.

“Uh, yes. I ate early like I’m supposed to.”

He steps toward you and extends his arm; you hold out your hand, and he takes it, using it to pull you against him. You inhale his scent as he holds you there at the bottom of the stairs. After a minute or so, he says, very quietly and as if he’s responding more to your attire than to you, “I’m not going to spank you. I haven’t changed my mind about that.”

“Good because I’d abort that mission at this point.”

Brian laughs, “But I’m glad you stuck to your routine because I brought you dessert. Proactive obedience is a good look for you. I think you should hone that character trait.” You smile, and it really doesn’t matter what’s in that bag anymore; it’s much more intriguing to feel his approval. “Go wait for me in your studio…with the door shut,” he instructs. “I’ll come get you in about five or ten minutes.” And then he kisses you, gently pushing you toward the stairs.

~+~+~+~
BRIAN’S POV

Ten minutes later you come and find Justin, a blindfold in your hand. You unveil the evening’s purpose for him, telling him that tonight is all about pleasure for him, that he’s earned this little treat. “I want you to relax,” you say as you slide the blindfold on, “You don’t need to worry about pleasing me or anything. Just follow along and when the evening ends, you’ll have a brand new notch in your proverbial belt.”

“I like belts,” he says, laughing a little.

You take his hand and lead him down the hall to your bedroom, explaining where you are and then walking him to the edge of your side of the bed. “Lean down,” you tell him, “Put your chest on the bed.” Your request, once followed, puts him in the perfect position to begin. “Now, I want you to reach back and pull your pants down for me.” He does as requested and you kneel down on the floor to see the goose bumps up close after navigating his feet out his of pants, tossing them aside. “Spread your legs, please,” you say, and he moans just a bit when you rest your face against his inner thigh and start to press kiss after kiss into his skin. Though his bruises are still dark, his welts are fading fast and nothing detracts from the beautiful view you have on your knees. When you work your way up the other leg and then to the edge of his ass, he stops breathing. And when your thumbs slide down either side of his crack, nudging his cheeks apart, he scrapes the comforter with his fingernails. You taste him and his hand flies up and grips the foot board, and you smile as he preens up on his toes, his back arching to deliver his bottom to you. “That’s nice, Justin,” you praise, “Very nice.”

“Oh god.”

“We’re just pre-gaming here; relax and open up for me.”

“I’m nervous because I’m blindfolded.”

You stand up for a minute and lay down over him, “You don’t need to be nervous. I want you to have a pure experience, not one influenced by anticipation of what you see.” You toy with his hair, “You trust me, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you trust that I know how to please you?”

“God, yes.”

“Then, take a deep breath and let yourself go. I’ve got you. The next hour or so is going to blow your mind. Don’t let anything take away from that pleasure.”

He reaches up and touches your shoulder, “I’m not as hedonistic as you are. We’re different….”

“Yes, we are, and tonight is about you. I won’t let you distract me from my mission.” And then you add because you realize what he’s trying to tell you, “And that’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” he whispers and you’re back on track.

~+~+~+~
It’s time to move this little party of two along, so you let him know that a plug is coming next, a new one. You coat it with warm lube—a contrast with the cold aluminum that it’s made out of. And then you tell him that it’s time to move, and guide him, lining him up with the edge of your side of the bed with his ass facing out. “I need you to pull this knee up to your chest,” you tell him, giving him a little push.

“There’s something behind me,” he says feeling the bunker of towels you’d laid out.

“Yep. And this plug is different; it’s hollow. It’s a conduit—“

“This is an enema,” he says, sounding almost alarmed.

“Yep, but it’s not like anything you’ve had before.” The enema kit is new, bought that day, as is the solution about to make its way inside him.

“You’re letting me do this in our bed?” he asks tensing up.

“You’ll see why in a few minutes.”

“Where are you going?” he asks when he heard your footsteps walking away.

“I’m getting undressed to join you on the bed.” You shed your pants last and leave your clothes in a heap in a chair to lie down beside him. Slowly, you take his blindfold off, and he presses his face against your chest because of the light. You stroke his hair; he puts his arm around your torso.

“Brian, what is this?” he asks, “I feel…good.”

“It’s a white wine enema, prepared just for you by the guys at Release. They say ‘hi,’ by the way.”

“I thought you had a crazy day.”

“I did.” You pause because Justin’s facial expression’s changing; he looks woozy. “You okay?”

“This is…so…I mean…this feeling, it’s enveloping me.”

“It’s a buzz. Enjoy it. Anyway, I know about Release because they’re a client. Well, the leather store above them is a client and a few months ago, they called me and said they wanted to monetize the dungeon, so my late lunch was with them today.”

“I stripped down and got hung from a ceiling in front of a client?” he asks. “Please tell me that’s a joke.”

“Nope, no joke, and believe me, they expect complete confidentiality, so you’re fine. And they think that despite your recalcitrance, you’re rather adorable.”

He smiles and sort of laughs, snuggling up to you, “That is so ridiculous, and I’m really tipsy.”

“Well, then you’ve got about five more minutes. They mixed this using your height and weight and everything. They gave me explicit instructions about—“ and that’s when Justin realizes something and interrupts you, “I have to expel this. I don’t want to. This feels unbelievable—like my body is trying to hug me from the inside out.”

“I’ll help you when it’s time. Just relax and enjoy it for now.”

…..

“I feel like the stairway to heaven goes right through my ass,” he says.

“Oh, trust me. It always has.”

~+~+~+~
The next fifteen minutes or so are spent just being close to him, feeling his skin get warm as the intoxication takes over and being the benefactor of his affections. When it’s time to dispense with the solution, you detach the tube from the plug and carry him into the bathroom. You run a lukewarm shower and wait for him to finish his expulsion—an event accompanied by copious laughter and comments like, “This isn’t ‘Chardonay;’ it’s ‘Chardonass.”

“That was funny,” you remark.

You have to almost hold him up once you get him in the shower and as a result, wash him as quickly as you can to get him back to bed. Once you have him back there, you ask, “You okay? You still feel like you’re in heaven?”

“Oh my god, I’ve found a whole new religion.”