BRIAN'S POV

The truth about this--Justin's attraction to this aspect for your intimate life--whether it was about pain or pleasure or control or something else.... Well, you knew this Maintenance routine would ultimately flesh it out. By Tuesday night, he had plenty of tangible and intangible proof that you loved him and that you'd do anything to make sure he knew it, but it was Friday night now, time to turn up the volume a bit.

Upon walking in the door, he was there just like he was supposed to be, dressed just like he was supposed to be, and very happy when you kissed him, pushing him against the wall right next to the cellar door. "Did you miss me?" you asked him. "Horribly," he replied. "Did you already eat?" you asked.

"Yes."

“Good. Put my dinner in the fridge and go sit in the corner.” You’d had a late lunch on purpose.

JUSTIN'S POV

You had no idea what to expect that Friday night, but the last thing you anticipated was that Brian would leave you in the corner in the kitchen and disappear downstairs. He’d never exactly said you could be down there by yourself, and you were fairly sure he didn’t know that you’d found an extra key—“

“Justin! Get down here!”

Until now.

You got up and ran down the stairs, forgetting to shut the door to the basement behind you so you ran back up, slammed it shut, and scurried back down again as fast as you could. When you walked into the dungeon, he was just standing there, his arms folded over his shirt, a grim look on his face. He was glaring at the fourteen specimen bottles you’d stacked like a pyramid on the night stand. He had you so scared you got back down on your knees, put your hands behind your back, and stared at the floor. “What the fuck is this?” he asked you.

There were many ways you could answer that, but you decided to go for the cold, hard truth, “I’ve been masturbating down here…all week.”

He almost smiled, “I see.”

“I figured that’s what the containers were for…I’m sorry.”

He started picking them up and reading them. You’d marked them all with the time and date. He seemed particularly interested in the ones on the top—the ones from today. “You’ve been keeping yourself pretty busy, I see,” he said.

“Yes.”

“I think that’s kind of sweet.”

“You do? I mean…I hoped you would.”

“What else were you hoping?” he asked you, looking at you. You didn’t answer him right away, and he saw why, “You’re blushing.”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to answer me.”

“I don’t want to answer you.”

“Clearly.”

“Please don’t make me.”

He kneeled down on the floor right in front of you and pushed your knees open. You fell against him, and he didn’t push you away. Instead, he held you, his fingers drifting through your hair. He smelled so fucking good; you wanted to jump him, but you kept your hands folded behind your back. “Part of me thinks I should punish you for being down here without my permission,” he said, “And part of me thinks I shouldn’t because that was a very sweet pyramid you built for me.”

“I want you to hurt me," you whispered before the words had even registered in your mind.

He laughed a little and held you a little tighter, “I believe you,” and then he reached down and touched your cock tenting your pants, “You’re soaking wet. Can you feel that?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to get up and go sit on the bed. You’re going to get up and take your pants off and walk over to me.” And then he was up and gone and waiting for you. You walked over to him with your cock leading the way.