BRIAN'S POV

When you arrive home that Friday evening, it's earlier than usual. You don't warn Justin of this so he's not in the kitchen to greet you, but he hears you enter the house and calls, "I'm upstairs, Brian." You take the steps with purpose, excited just to be done with the week and to have time to focus on him again, and it's not until you actually step into your bedroom that you remember the new furniture. He's sitting in your easy chair by the window, dressed in his appropriate attire, curled up with his bare feet poking out of his gray pants.

"You like it?" he asks with a smile as you survey the room.

"Wow. It feels completely different in here."

"It's majestic; isn't it?" he asks. He sounds excited. You walk over to a dresser and slide open a drawer as he adds, "I switched everything over. I tried to put everything exactly the way you like it."

"It's so nice to have furniture that's not made for college-bound midgets," you observe.

Justin laughs, "I know, okay? I know. The only reason I bought that set before was because it reminded me of the loft--"

"I did not have that shit in my loft."

"No, I mean the style. I liked having a bed low to the ground. I could lie on my stomach and hang off the end and draw or read on the floor while you slept."

"Well, that's the last low bed we'll have here--"

"I know...because you're not a spring chicken anymore--"

"That's one, Justin."

He laughs as you continue to survey the room, sliding your palm over the smooth wood and then turn and wrap your fingers around a bed post. The dark cherry wood is arousing to you, and he can tell; he's watching you like a newly hatched hawk who refuses to leave the nest he's made in that chair.  There's something odd going on, but you can't figure out what.

Justin's face is half-turned toward the window when he says, "High end furniture makes you almost as horny as new clothes." He turns to face you again, "And watching you look at it makes me hard." He laughs a little to himself.

"Everything arouses you these days," you comment.

"True," he admits, his chin resting in his hand. "You missed the delivery guys. One was your type and one was mine, but both were hopelessly straight. I had to unfasten and re-attach that restraint system on the bed frame--"

"Oh, I forgot about that."

"Just saying you might need to check it before we use it again."

"Okay," you say with a slight smile on your face; there's something about his demeanor that's intriguing to you. "Are you surgically attached to that chair by any chance?" you ask him.

He keeps right on flirting with you, turning forward, crossing his legs like a pretzel, and beckoning you to come closer to him, so you walk up to him and put your hands in his outstretched ones. "Did you close those other two accounts?" he asks.

"One for sure, and the other one is dicking around with me; they'll sign; they just seem to like the chase a bit too much. Get up and let me sit down."

He complies and this weird game the two of you are playing goes up another mysterious notch. With your positions switched, he stands in front of you looking down at your face as you tell him, "You shaved yourself. Let me see."

He pulls his pants down with more eagerness and pride than you're expecting, and his cock falls forward, hardening right in front of your mouth. He did a decent enough job and when you touch his smooth skin, he puts his hands on your shoulders, his thumbs stroking right behind your ears. You slide your hand down his thigh to get his pants to drop to the floor, and the pressure on your shoulder increases as he steps out of them and kicks them out of the way. You grasp his hip bones as you taste his cock, letting it lay on your tongue, teasing him by kissing the skin he shaved for just for you. He exhales loudly and squeezes your neck a little, his fingertips toying with the ends of your hair.

"If it's not perfect," he whispers, "I'll do it again." There's a sincerity in his voice that throws you off just a little. You pause to address it, but then decide instead to turn him around, only you can't because as you put pressure on his hips, he resists you. "Turn around--" you say, but he shakes his head and refuses, "It's bad, Brian, all black and purple-ly."

"All the more reason," you encourage.

"I don't want you to see it."

Your brow lowers, "Why not?"

"Because you love my ass, and I don't want you to see it look so...ugly."

"Turn around and lean on the table," you say as you turn his body toward the window. He's right; it's not pretty. You outline each bruise with your index finger, your lips brushing the center of each one.

"It's a shame you had to be punished like this," you observe.

"I know," he says, a quiet resolution in his voice.

"But that doesn't release you from your obligations to me."

"I know," he repeats.

"Open," you tell him, loosening your grip on his thighs just enough to allow him to open his legs a few inches. You press his cheeks apart with your fingers and lick his asshole, smiling when he pushes up on his toes just enough.... A moan escapes from him but he tries to stop it in his throat. He doesn't see you smile at his effort. "Lets break in this new bed," you offer as you help him stand back up. You guide him over to the new mattress just a few feet away and indicate that he needs to bend over for you, "Just like you did at the store."

His face on the bed, he watches you unbutton your shirt sleeves, roll them up, and then reach in the direction of your new nightstand, opening drawers until you find the wooden hair brush you're looking for. He looks mortified when you turn back toward him and place your open palm on his lower back to keep him still for this.

"Brian, please...don't," he begs.

The pain you bring him radiates from the back of his legs, nowhere near his bruises, and he's almost deliriously vocal through the entire session, the pinking of his skin starts right below the back of his knees darkening to a painful red the closer it gets to his ass. You lean over him when you're done, pulling at his hair, "I've thought about this all day; spanking you like this and then eating your sore bottom until you scream." You make quick work of your necktie and the buttons on your shirt as you kneel on the floor and press your chest against the hot skin on the back of his legs. "Be a good boy and relax," you tell him as you move your mouth inch by inch up the back of his thighs. You lick the bruises flanking the bottom of his cheeks and hear sounds of real pain bargaining with desire as your tongue slips between them. It's the gentlest rim job you've ever given him, but one you don't think he'll forget anytime soon. But you didn't rush home to be on your knees...

JUSTIN'S POV

Earlier that afternoon, after you'd found the receipt from Release and before Brian came home, you did a little non-Brian approved research on Release's website. You poked around only to discover that you'd have to create an account to really see the information you were interested in. It felt like too big a step too take without Brian's knowledge, so you stopped. You thought about calling them and just asking, but with your luck, Dave or Geoff would answer the phone. How silly you thought--to still remember their names--when they only know you as a number.

But now Brian's leading you off the bed and back over to the chair, only he makes it clear that the seat isn't for you, just for him, so you kneel there naked and watch him undress in front of you, a soft smile on his face. He's the only man you know who looks as intimidating in an Armani or birthday suit. He sits down and motions for you to come closer, to kneel between his thighs, and then he takes your face in his hands and says, "Look at me." You raise your eyes as he speaks, "Fucking you is probably not going to be an option tonight because of where those bruises are."

"I like the pain," you suggest.

"Not that kind of pain, you don't."

"It's my fault, though. I misbehaved and was punished for good reason, and like you said, I have an obligation to you."

"Yes, but you can fill your obligation in other ways."

It's right at that moment, that you let your eyes drop for a second just to verify what you thought was true: he's not even hard. That really bothers you, enough to sound way too vulnerable when you whine, "But I want you inside me...Brian."

"How many times have I told you that this isn't about what you want?"

You think about the receipt you found and decide to stop arguing with him, "Yes, you're right."

"Thank you, and just to be clear, I could fuck this pouting mouth of yours all night long." He runs his thumb over your lips. "Couldn't I?" You nod even though he's still holding your face, and then so, so slowly, he guides your face forward, one of his hands releasing your chin to stroke himself. He pulls you close, so close you can smell the musky scent that's so distinctly him. "Show me that you understand what you're good for, Justin," he says in a low voice as he brings your hand up to his cock. "I've had a long day; take care of me."

"I will," you say before your mouth is filled.

At some point during the act, Brian smears lube on his thighs and then pulls your face in hard as his legs tighten around your skull. Your face slides back and forth as he fucks it, his hands clamped on the back of your head, his fingers greasing your hair. When he gets close to orgasm, he takes one of your hands and puts it on his balls as he begins a deep, guttural moan during the push to the back of your throat.

He invites you up into the chair when it's over to sit gingerly on his lap while he kisses you. "I know you want to come," he whispers as he strokes you, but you stop him with a hand to his chest and offer up a different idea, "Actually, I want to talk."

BRIAN'S POV

You knew something was up with him. The sincerity that you heard before is back, and it's a bit more determined than you're used to when he's at your mercy. You think you know what this is about...

You reach behind you and pull the afghan that hangs on the back of the chair so you can wrap it around him; it's freezing outside and you're awfully close to the window. He accepts it and is looking down at his hands when you say, "I'm not comfortable fucking you when your ass looks like it's been on the wrong end of a bad relationship."

"That's not what I want to talk about," he says matter-of-factly.

You begin to get nervous, probably more than is warranted at the moment, but once this feeling starts percolating inside you, you tend to lose control of it. "What we did...it was too much?" you ask, your hands clasps around his waist beneath the blanket. "I really hurt you, didn't I?" you ask.

Justin looks frustrated and sympathetic, "Brian, no, no. I need to ask you something, and you have to promise to tell me the truth."

"Of course," you say, confused.

"You're going to Release without me, aren't you?" You don't do a good job of hiding the perplexed look on your face and before you can say anything, Justin continues, now sounding pissed off, "I knew it. I fuckng knew it."

"You know what?"

He bends down and you feel his hand slide down beside your leg and before you can even ask what he's doing, he yanks a folded piece of paper out from between the chair cushion, "I found this today...completely by accident." He sort of waves it your face.

"May I see it, please? I don't know what you're talking about." You chase his hand until you can grab the paper, unfolding it as he folds his arms across his chest. You raise your knees so he doesn't fall backwards. "Be careful," you warn him. He stares you down as you unfold the paper, most of it crumpled.

"I found it when I was filing the paperwork for our new furniture. It was stuck in the back of the drawer in your desk."

Your eyes skim the contents of the receipt and now you understand his increasing fury. "Okay...yes, I went there--" He starts trying to get off your lap and you grab him and hold him there. "Stop that. This was weeks ago. I started working with them as a client, remember? Well, as I was helping them figure out how to monetize a little better, I found out that they offer classes, so I took a couple." Justin looks at you like you're wearing a porcupine hat on your head or something. "You know, a class, like where there's a teacher and you learn shit."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because it's none of your business. I took them for you, to learn the right way to tie you up and how to do it safely and what kind of rope to use, and I took an advanced impact class. I placed out of the two lower levels." You smile because you're still sort of proud of that.

"How did you 'place out?'"

"They asked me questions about what we do and what you like and said that the first two would be a waste of my time, thank you very much." He looks a bit embarrassed but still unsatisfied so you say, "Just ask me what you really want to ask me."

"Was Sixty in those classes?"

"We used him as the model in the rope one. You have to have someone to tie up."

"You could've taken me."

"No," you shake your head, "I wanted to learn in a completely neutral situation. You would've freaked out in that environment as was true when I took you that day."

"Well, he likes you."

You grin, "You are so jealous."

"Don't mock me like that."

"Well, you are, and I kind of like it."

"Well, you shouldn't like it because I'm really mad at you."

"Justin, you need to understand a couple things that you would've learned yourself had you behaved like you were supposed to when I brought you there."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that 'slaves' behave according to the rules at Release. They are supposed to be attentive and appreciative to any Dom they come in contact with. They can only participate in things like classes and intro-environments if they are known for being compliant. He 'liked' me because he's supposed to."

"That's bullshit."

"That's two, Justin."

"We're just talking."

"Not when you act like this, we're not."

"I don't want you doing things like this without my prior knowledge, Brian."

"Tough. Shit. But thanks for proving what I already knew about you."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asks and again, tries to get off your lap. You won't let him.

"It means that there's different kinds of submissiveness, and you're no slave, Justin. Not by a long shot. I thought you might like trying it out; that's why I took you there, but you aren't the least bit interested in serving me."

And now he's really mad, "You don't get to decide what I am."

"Then prove me wrong." And with that, he's off your lap and walking to the bathroom where he promptly slams the door and locks it.