JUSTIN’S POV

There’s a weird kind of peace in being used like this…and by him. Something inside you begins to unravel when you can barely move, when you can’t see, when you know he’s just fucking you for his own pleasure. Brian’s not even completely undressed; you can feel his clothes brushing your skin as he struggles to get them off. You squeeze his hips with your legs; it’s the only thing you can do bound like you are. If you stretch your fingers, you can almost reach his ass on every thrust. It’s more fun to concentrate on that game than on how close you’re getting to orgasm only to feel it slide away every time. But you’re not the only one who feels it, so can he. It's fueling this fuck as are the words he’s imparting beside your ear, “You were made to be fucked like this, to lie here all bound and helpless; you were born to be a piece of ass. My piece of ass.”

You feel yourself shiver and then flush, feel a warm pleasure bullet running like mad beneath your skin, caught in a maze and trying to find an outlet. The only opening it can find is your mouth, and it groans out of you when it gets there, an intense release of sound.

“Getting a little frustrated?” Brian asks you, his mouth skimming your shoulder.

“Yes.”

“Get used to it. Play with it,” he encourages you.

“I want to kill it,” you admit.

“Of course you do; you can’t tolerate anything you can’t control.”

You sort of want to start arguing with him but he’s coming inside you, his now nude body collapsing on your chest, panting. But you can tell he’s not done with you. There’s no finality in his exhaustion.

BRIAN’S POV

You just came inside him, but instead of feeling like a release, it feels like the starting pistol of another leg of this race. The first lap is to un-cuff him, to encourage him to straighten his legs, to massage his hands—carefully working the right one first so he doesn’t experience spikes of pain that will push forward a memory. The friction of the fuck has shuffled his blindfold off, and he blinks at you and sort of smiles in the semi-darkness. “You okay?” you ask him.

“Mmm hmm,” he answers, more blissed out than you expected at this stage, and then he adds, almost in a whisper, “I love you.”

It makes you crack a smile you were hoping to hide for awhile, “Now, now; it’s way too early to be decided about that.”

He pulls his hands out of your grasp and reaches upward, clasping them around your neck as he pulls you back down, “Kiss me.”

You don’t particularly like it when he forces you to demonstrate how much you can’t resist him. “This is an odd moment for you to be bossy,” you warn him. You wonder if he’s forgotten the peril his cock and balls are in.

“I’m not trying to be bossy; I’m trying to be affectionate,” he argues.

“Sometimes I get those two confused when it comes to you,” you tease.

……

“Brian, you’re going to do something horrible to me; I can feel it.”

Your eyebrow breaks free, “Oh yeah?”

“I can read you today.”

“Right, like how well you read me in the store earlier?” you remind him.

“Unfair. That was a brand new book.”

“Hardly.”

“Whatever,” he concedes, noticeably less effervescent.

“So, are you done chatting me up?” you ask.

“Yes,” he says accompanied by a pout.

You laugh at his rapid attitude shift and let him watch you walk over to the closet, unlock the doors and remove a tin pail. His body is propped up on his elbows when you get back to the bed. You sit down and tilt the bucket so he can see the wooden clothespins inside it. “I’d like you to count out nine of these,” you say. He clearly doesn’t like the idea, so you try a different approach, “You can count out nine of these, or I’ll count out twenty. Is that better?” He gives you a look and counts them out quietly into his hand.

“Here,” he says.

“Hold them for moment if you don’t mind.” You discard the pail and walk to the other side of the bed and sit down sideways by his head, “Will you get back on all fours for me please?” He lets the pins spill out of his hand as he rolls himself over. You lock his wrist cuffs together with a D ring so he can’t reach back and interfere with what’s about to happen. You gather the clothespins and a spreader bar and walk back to the other side. Quietly, you attach the spreader bar right behind his knees and turn it until his legs are spread the way you want them. “Do you know why there are nine of these?” you ask him as you pick up the first pin.

“No.”

You rub the inside of his leg with your palm, paying special attention to where his ass starts with that perfect alabaster fold of skin. When the jaws of the clothespin close around it, he cries out, “Oh fuck, that hurts.”

“You made me request or re-explain the behavior I wanted from you today nine times.”

“Fuck, this hurts.”

“Understand now?”

The second pinch is right on the inside of his thigh, and his body shudders, “Christ.”

“Answer my question,” you say as you attach the third one to his ass, “Because this is exactly what I’m talking about. When I ask you a question or ask you do something, I do not want to say it twice.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“And?”

The fourth pinch, “And fuck, I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit I have. I know.”

“I will not tolerate any hesitation for free any longer. Anytime you hesitate or question me, I will punish you until the behavior is corrected. Do we understand each other?”

Five, six and seven and he sounds like his voice begins to waver a bit, “Yes, sir.” He swallows hard and then exhales a slew of curse words. After eight, there are clothespins all over his ass. The ninth goes directly across from number one.

“That was the last one,” you tell him.

“Okay.”

“Not ‘okay.’ Thank me. Thank me for taking time out of my busy day to correct your behavior.”

“Thank you for taking the time to help me,” he says and his vocal cords sound like they’ve been stretched to the limit.

You step right and open the night table drawer and remove his rather ambitious acrylic dildo and some lube which you pour on the head just to watch it slide down. “I don’t want you to experience this much pain without a little pleasure. Plus, I’m a little bored,” you tell him. He looks back and sees the shimmering toy and then puts his face in his hands and starts to beg, “Please, please no.”

Your fingers are wet when you spread him and let him feel the hard head, “You don’t want a little pleasure? That’s not like you.”

“This isn’t fair,” he complains, “I can’t come.”

“I know,” you say as you watch his bottom swallow it…slowly, “That’s unfortunate, but it’s not my problem, and I’d like you to fuck it for me; entertain me a little.” His hips begin to work the toy; his head buried in the sheets. “Bring yourself to the brink, Justin.”

“Oh god.”

“I know you aren’t going to make me ask you twice.”

“No, sir,” he says as his hips move a little faster. You tease him, reaching underneath him and stroking his cock a little, and now he understands why his legs were forced apart.

“If you impress me, Justin, you might just get rewarded,” you offer as you squirt more lube in your hand. “Maybe that cock ring needs a break.” He watches your hand as you touch him again, one hand on his dildo and the other circling his balls and soaking the ring. Your work is slow and steady, and when you begin to inch it forward, Justin lifts his bound wrists a few inches and bangs them on the mattress in frustration.

It's the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Slowly, you work his balls out of the ring and now his cock isn’t much of an obstacle. He’s moaning in pain as the blood rushes back between his legs. He groans and then his hips stop moving; his body steeled against all the sensations. “Count to ten and let’s get this show on the road,” you warn him, and you hear him counting under his breath. When he gets to ‘ten,’ you poise your middle finger on the tip of your thumb and flick a clothespin off.

“Okay, that...that is fucking bullshit,” he hisses.

“Eight more to go. If I were you, I’d get back to fucking this thing; it might disguise some of the pain.”

His head is up and looking straight ahead as he fucks the dildo, every time you hear a moan of pleasure from him, you flick off another clothespin, saving the last two for the moment he starts to come. There’s a slick sheen of sweat glistening down his back when you see his orgasm start; he pulls his hair and makes noises better left to the animal kingdom. “No, no, no,” he says when the last two clothespins are set free and the first white stripe escapes.

JUSTIN’S POV

In the first moments of the end of this trial, you feel hollow and lost, a slight worry that you weren’t able to process the pain that now haunts you as you float all alone. You fear that you weren’t able to turn it into pleasure fast enough, that it left before you could finish; you fear the sinuous emotional tether binding you to Brian, fear that it may fling you into outer space on a whim.

He must sense something’s off.

He’s conflicted about what to do, and you can’t advise him because you aren’t really here.

Dilemma.

“I’m going to get up for a just a minute,” he says, his voice thin and moving away from you, cast out on a line, “Just don’t move.” Your image of him gets blurry as he walks away; you feel your eyes watering with force. He’s back and the bathroom light is on, the door pulled almost shut, the light a broken letter L. The scent of a candle going out; you smell it before you feel the darkness.

“I’m going to clean you up, okay?” he asks but he doesn’t wait for an answer; the warm washcloth waits on your stomach as your restraints are removed and thrown aside. And then slowly he begins to pass the wet terrycloth over your stomach, and then everywhere like he’s trying to touch you back to life. He wipes your face, eventually, and sees the path the water ran down your temples. “I don’t think these are tears,” he says like he’s reassuring you, “I think it’s just a release, okay?”

He probably isn’t expecting you to answer him, but feeling the cloth on your face has awakened your nerve endings, and they’re organizing to speak—finally, “Okay.”

He smiles at you, your face laying in his hand; his thumb brushes over your lips, “You’re okay…wherever you are.” Another reassurance. You close your eyes and press your face into his hand. “Listen,” he says, “Your mind is trying to organize this experience for you, but there’s no rush. Just tell it to stop.”

“Stop,” you whisper into his palm.

“Let me put you under the covers,” he offers, “You’ll get cold soon.”

He sits up and pulls the sheets back and lets you in first before he joins you. The weight of the sheets and blankets feels like a bookend to the loss you were wrestling with. Brian lies next to you and combs through your hair with his finger; under the comforter, your hand is curled into a lazy fist inside his.

BRIAN’S POV

You’re looking at him, but your mind is reeling through the quicksand of wondering if you hurt him, if you took him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.

Top drop.

You’ve read about it and been warned about it, but you’re too concerned about him so you push it away. It could steal you away from him, and you fear that more than anything. He soars so high when he’s at your mercy that sometimes you feel like he’s a helium balloon dying to break free and float away. You have to stay in the moment.

And that’s not easy when you’ve mastered flat out stealing the moment and then blowing through it and leaving it in the dust. But somehow in this game with Justin, your moments matter less and less to you. He’s some kind of genius in the shape of a huge magnet that just sucks you back into his reality.

But, then again, you kind of like it here.

He’s lying on his back, eyes closed and just breathing when you kiss his shoulder. His hand inside yours-buried in the blankets-it moves, pulling your hand to his stomach and then lower. He’s hard again. You move slowly on top of him, taking your time, letting every inch of your skin meet every inch of his like he’s unbelievably fragile. He exhales, and you feel yourself sink with him, your hips heavy between his legs.

You hope he forgives you for fucking him again.

JUSTIN’S POV

Brian inside you is the first thing that feels real. The rest of your body is still numb, refusing to come back for this gesture, but you can tell you need this, that’s it the only way back. This movement, it’s soothing and stubborn at the same time, and Brian’s upper body is beached on yours, his head lays heavy next to your ear, his hands cupped around your ass. He’s moaning like a song; it reverberates against your neck. ”Touch me,” he breathes because maybe you need instructions for this fuck. You gather your arms and wrap them around him and squeeze, and his song gets louder only for a few moments, but not faster.

He speaks again, the movement never stopping, “I know that was a new kind of pain for you, and not necessarily a kind you like. I did it to teach you a lesson.”

“I know,” you say quietly, holding him more tightly than before.

“I need to see improvement or I’ll punish you again.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t think I enjoy it; I don’t--,” and then he stops moving and props himself up to look at you, “I feel that. You’re about to come.”

“Yep.”

He growls a little and resumes the steady rock, “Never fucked anything as tight as you are.” And then he kisses you and you feel the heat from his mouth spread throughout your body, bringing back the pleasure and the pain to face off against each other. The thrusts get harder; Brian presses your knees down to your shoulders, holds his breath for a few seconds and then let’s the pleasure take over, lets it drive right into a head-on collision with you.

You see it coming and purposely stand in the way.