JUSTIN’S POV

When you get home and Brian’s precious car is safe and secure in your garage, he tells you, “Take everything off and leave it in the car.” And then he gets out of the vehicle, shuts the door and unlocks the door to the basement instead of the kitchen and disappears, leaving it halfway open; you watch him walk away toward the dungeon until you can’t see him anymore.

It’s freezing inside the garage and being nude in that cold air does not appeal to you, even if it’s just for a few seconds. Leaving your clothes in the car doesn’t appeal to you either, but you’re, quite simply, not inclined to disobey him. So, you do it. You kick off your shoes and socks and stuff your jeans and underwear all the way down to your ankles and then onto the floor. You pull off your shirts and throw them down there, too. You leave your diamond-studded collar on. You’re going to do this fast, this rush to the dungeon through the freezing cold basement.

When you get to the dungeon door, it too is halfway open, so you walk in and see Brian sitting there in a wing backed chair, smoking with his legs crossed. There’s something about Brian looking particularly gay that always turns you on. “What’s that in your hand?” he asks.

You look down like you don’t even know yourself, “Oh, it’s my phone.”

“I told you to leave everything in the car.”

“But it’s my phone. I wasn’t wearing it.”

“So you’re interested in splitting hairs this afternoon?” he asks.

“No. No, I’m not. I guess I made a mistake.”

“Give it to me. And that’s nine,” Brian says, so you take a couple steps forward and hand it to him and then step back like the chair is on fire or something. He turns it sideways and clicks the ringer off and then sets it down on the table next to him. When his glance gets back to you, he just stares at you, his head moving up from your feet to your face and back down again. After about three rounds of this, you feel your knees bending all by themselves as they settle on the cold concrete floor. “Open your knees,” he says so you do, and your hard cock bounces right out like it’s on exhibit or something. You stare at it and then the floor, thinking that maybe if you stop giving it so much of your attention, it will realize that this is no time for a parade.

It doesn’t.

Brian uncrosses and re-crosses his legs in the other direction before asking, “So, how does it feel to walk naked through our basement?”

“Cold and unsettling,” you reply.

He laughs a little, “’Unsettling.’ That’s an excellent description. Thank you.”

You feel like an idiot, albeit a polite one, “You’re welcome.”

He leans forward and touches the top of your head, strokes your hair, his fingers feel like a whisper behind your ear. You want to reach up and grab him and yank him down on the floor with you and discuss his clothing options, but you don’t dare move. You see your cock beading just because he barely touched you, and it makes you really mad.

Brian misses nothing, “You’re dripping.”

“I know.”

“Do you think that’s appropriate?”

“No…sir.”

He leans back in his comfortable chair, “Lick it off the floor, please.” You lean down and scoot back a little so you can clean it up with your tongue. The floor is spotless except for your pathetic offering. You realize then that he's having the maids clean down here every week. You try to ignore them when they come; they suck every ounce of inspiration out of you with all that scrubbing and dusting and ‘Mr. Kinney likes it this way’ crap they’re always talking to each other about. You allow them to mop your studio but they are not allowed to touch anything else in your workspace. You usually stand on your front steps and smoke while they do it so you don’t lose your vibe.

“I’m starting to get concerned about you,” Brian says, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Why?”

“You have zero self control.”

“I guess I need some guidance in that area,” you concede, “How much am I supposed to have?”

Brian finds this particularly amusing apparently; he chokes on his cigarette smoke and you have to tighten everything not to laugh with him. He gets up and gets a bottle of water out of the fridge, drinks half of it, finally stops coughing and then offers you the rest. You take it and guzzle it, not even realizing how dry your mouth was.

“I don’t even know how to answer that question,” he says, a little laughter still there, “But I’m going to give it some thought.”

“Thank you,” you say, feeling like a total dork.

“Come over here,” he says so you scoot closer to him on your knees, still looking at the floor, listening as he’s clearly undoing his pants. He pulls his cock out and lifts your chin, “Suck on this while I ponder the subject.” You taste him, and he’s a little wet, too, and that makes you smile as you plant tiny kisses down his dick and then up again. He’s moaning softly when he starts to guide your face, his thumb opening your mouth so he can fuck it. Though you desperately want to touch him, you keep your hands planted on your thighs. He works your face slowly, gliding in and out over your tongue, his hands wound in your hair. The pleasure he's emitting starts to infect you, makes you want to give him more, to suck a little bit harder—

“Easy,” he warns you.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, he pushes his cock deep in your throat and starts to bounce your head, and when he comes, he groans, leans forward, and slides a hand all the way down your back to the top of your ass and just squeezes. His touch, his attention feels amazing. Brian sits back up, refastens his pants, and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers intertwined as he looks at you, “I’m really not even sure where to start with you, Justin.” There’s something about him saying your name that feels unbearably intense.

You talk to his knees, “Are you asking for suggestions?”

He laughs, “Not from you, no.”

You stare back at the floor, “Okay.”

“All I know is that you are in a perpetual state of arousal and have been for weeks now.”

“Okay, but you were in one for years, and you turned out okay,” you try.

“Very funny.”

You weren’t trying to make a joke, but you let it pass and try something else, “Isn’t it a compliment that I’m like this? I mean, it’s because of you. It’s not like I’m addicted to heroin or something.”

“I’m not going to let you stay like this. We’re going to start having one week on and two weeks off in between.”

“Brian, no.” Now you’re agitated, “Don’t take this away from me.”

“Listen to me—"

“Please…please don’t.”