JUSTIN'S POV
Oftentimes, atmosphere can be everything to Brian. You've been with him long enough to know that an aesthetic can do more to lighten his mood or win his approval than anything else. You even pay attention to the way he likes his food positioned on a plate. You've served him a meal he hated and then a month later served it to him again with a different presentation, and he loves it.

He likes these candles.

He smiles at you as he 'discreetly' peeks to make sure the wax won't drip on the new furniture, as if you'd let that happen. You think that your next destination will be your new bed, but you're wrong. He stands in front of you just outside the bathroom and gives you this overtly kind smile as he loosens your towel and tosses it aside, and then he takes your hand and leads you back to the chair where you fought. With his towel still tight around his waist, he sits down and then tugs on your hand to signal that you're to kneel on the floor in front of him. "I'm not finished with you," he says as you comply. When you give him a concerned look, he touches your wet hair and slides his hand down the back of your head, "Since we're not canceling our activities this week, I need to talk to you, and you need to listen." You nod and Brian continues, "I don't need you to be a slave for me or fulfill any stereotypical role that you imagine in your head. As long as we both get what we want out of this little exercise, I'm perfectly fine. I do expect deference, though, when we're on schedule, and I won't continue this if I don't get it from you. Do you understand me?"

"Yes." Before he seemed angry; now he seems determined.

Brian continues, "What happened in this chair earlier tonight will not happen again. If there's something on your mind when you're supposed to be across my lap, then you will use your safeword and stop the scene before bringing it up or I will punish you. And trust me, it won't be a punishment that you secretly like; it will be something you hate, like cleaning the dungeon naked on your hands and knees with your toothbrush. I understand that we're apart all day, and that that's a challenge in this situation. If something's bothering you, and we need to talk about it in person when I come home, you can call me or email me or text me or just let me know when I walk in the door that you need some time with me before we begin our routine."

"Okay." That long shower he took...something happened in there prior to your appearance.

"And to take the emotional grenade aspect out of it, that goes for whatever it is--like you need me to fix a ceiling fan, or you're having a hard time with some aspect of what we're doing. You don't need to explain when you contact me, just let me know that we need to take care of something when I get home."

"Yes, sir," you say, and you realize that it's the first time you don't feel sort of goofy saying that to him. It feels like the first time that you mean it. You reach up and put your hands on his knees; his hand rests on your arm.

"Now I want to explain to you what I want out of this, and when I say 'want,' I might as well substitute the word 'need' because that's what I really mean." You smile at him and feel a strange mix of happiness and trepidation bubbling up inside you, "Okay."

His fingers curl and tighten around your arm; he clears his throat, "I've given this a lot of thought, and the bottom line is that I need to take care of you, Justin. That used to mean buying a house for us and making money and being your partner, but now it means something much more tactile and illicit. I want to preface this by saying that I'm under no illusions here about who's really in charge--you are. This started because of you, and it will continue only as long as you want it to, but as long as it does, these are my terms: I no longer just want to spank you and fuck you and boss you around when we're on schedule; I want to own you--physically and emotionally, and depending on how poorly you play your cards, possibly even mentally. I had the very tight and distinct pleasure of taking your virginity, and now I'm going to take the rest of you. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes, sir." He makes you crazy when he gets like this. He lifts your arm, feels your pulse racing and smiles like a king.

"I'm going to teach you to crave everything that ultimately leaves you exposed and vulnerable. You're going to trust me and beg me to do it, no matter how uncomfortable the trip is, and you're going to let me bring you home safe and sound. This is about you and me--only--and I won't ever expect you to obey anyone else nor will I tolerate it."

"Thank you," you say and then swallow hard. You feel so bare for this experience; your erection at odds with your insecurities. You know it's why he wants you nude for this conversation; your physical responses excite him.

"This journey we take together, our little routines, that look you get in your eyes when you're flying, it emboldens me like I never quite expected. It's become really important to me--as important as 'forgetting' your name the first ten times I fucked you." You laugh a little because he actually used air quotes and because he's never admitted that out loud to you before.

You slide your hands further up his thighs and try to steady yourself because you feel sort of light-headed as he talks, "And look, I understand that you and I are rarely on the same page with expressing this stuff. And as much as I want to plug your little brain into my computer and download every bit of info I can get about what this experience means for you, I understand that you're not trying to keep things from me; you just come to these things in your own time." You look down because a tear is threatening to escape your eye. You stop it. He pauses and strokes your hair again, "It's okay, Justin. I get demanding about this, but then I remember how fucking brave you are, how I could never unveil myself to you like you do to me with so much uncertainty; you always have."

"Because I trust you," you say to the rug.

"I know, and it's a double-edged sword because I think you trust me because I'm demanding, but being demanding can also make you start to unravel."

You always knew from that very first night on Liberty Avenue that this man you were meeting was no fool, but it's oddly satisfying to hear him tell you that he understands the power of his demeanor, that he's willing to confront it, play with it, and if necessary, push it further along. "Brian, I need to say something."

"By all means, please go ahead."

You take a breath that feels like it's fighting your lungs, "It's hard for me to categorize what I want out of this. I don't think I fall into a 'slave' category very neatly or any other category; i don't know what to call what I am. I feel like I'm just learning as I go. We try something and then I sort of go 'yay' or 'nay' in my head."

"That's okay. Nothing wrong with that."

"Except that it frustrates you, my lack of definition, and I never want to frustrate you. I want to know that I'm capable of bringing you as much pleasure as you bring me; it's important to me that you know that."

"Aw, sunshine," Brian says, and he pulls you in so you can rest your head on the inside of his thigh as he rubs your upper back. You smell the scent of his soap and your laundry detergent. He continues, "I don’t think about what I want for me very often anymore. Part of that’s because pleasing you or figuring out how to is much more exciting, and part of it is because I don’t need to anymore. I get in bed with you every night and never worry for one second about having to fall asleep unsatisfied. I can’t remember the last time that word has even crossed my mind.” And then he breathes out like he’s relieved and leans forward a little, encapsulating you, “I need to help you see that a little better, and anytime you're ready to tell me more, I'm always ready to hear it, but for now--" and then he stops talking and leans back to un-tuck his towel and expose himself to you. You breathe him in and then plant a few kisses along the side of his cock. "Yes," he says stroking your face and tilting your head back a little so he can see your eyes, "I need you to turn around and lie down on your back so your head is right in front of my feet." You attempt to follow his directions but he's turning you around and making it happen anyway, and when he gets you in the right position, he comes down on top of you on all fours, his knees by your shoulders. He reaches back between his legs and opens your mouth with his thumb and index finger. He slides his finger across your tongue and then paints your lips with the wetness. "You're going to be a very good boy and eat me until I'm ready to stuff my cock down your throat."

You feel the floor underneath you melting away when you reach up and guide his ass to your mouth and then you taste him--licking him and getting his scent, his flavor; the texture of his skin gives you a rush, and the more gusto you demonstrate, the more he moans his appreciation, his face laying on your stomach right next to your dick. Every time he kisses your belly, you get a chill through the lower half of your body. Sometimes you suck on his puckered skin just to hear Brian make a guttural sound you love. He strokes himself while you're rimming him, stringing together a lot of moaning and filthy language. You know he's getting ready to choke you with his cock. He's panting when he pivots so his dick is hanging over your mouth; he drips a little on your tongue before you take him. "I want...your mouth...your face...to be sore when I'm done with you; I want you to look like a used up little whore." The pleasure that starts to pulse through you makes your muscles twitch like you're being shocked with electricity; you start to salivate as his dick hits the back of your throat; he does nothing to contain his desire; you have to put your hands up on your head to stop your skull from hitting the base of the chair; it's impossible to do anything to moderate his thrusts. Spit runs out the sides of your mouth and trails down your cheeks from the sheer pressure.

Brian speaks in half-huffed words when he's climbing to orgasm; his body angles down, his hands curl around your ass cheeks and squeeze as you feel the squirting start. You open your eyes to watch his ass contract, to see the muscles in his legs turn to hardened steel. Come splashes out on your face.

You love this man and everything he makes you do.

.......

Brian turns one hundred and eighty degrees when he's finished and lies on top of you surveying the wet mess on your face, "You understand that it's your job to make sure I have a warm, wet hole to fuck when I come home?"

"Yes, and I'm happy to do that for you."

"Oh wow, he can be taught," he snarks. "I like when your lips are all red and swollen," he says as he traces them with his thumb, and then he kisses you, and it's rough and deep and a physical reiteration of what he demands. "And because you were a such a perfect fuck toy for me, we're going to get in our new bed, and I'm going to take very good care of you tonight."

You smile widely.

*+*+*+*+*
BRIAN'S POV

You're the first one to turn down the new bed, and he's the first one to lie on the sheets. You straddle him as he lies on his stomach, a tube of moisturizer tucked under your arm as you lather up your hands. "Is that my new stuff?" Justin asks, "It smells like it."

"Yes, it is. And at the rate you go through it, I'm going to have to put a case of it in your stocking this year."

"I'm so okay with that."

"Close your eyes," you say as you press on his shoulders and then slide your hands down his arms. You want him to feel how much you appreciate his body and what it goes through for you. The difference in your sizes is never lost on you in these moments; it can make you feel like you've been a bully to him, making you want to mend the supposed offense with your hands. You work your way over his shoulders and then down his back, being careful not to sit on his ass or put too much pressure on it as you smooth the lotion over his bruised skin. You work on each leg separately, and when you're done, you ask him to roll over so you can work on the front of his body. His eyes open as he lies there; he smiles at you and arches his back when you get to his cock. "I want you to masturbate for me," you say.

"Okay," he breathes. Your suggestion seems to make him rather blissful. You don't have to wonder what he looks like when he does this anymore because you've watched him from the survellaince cameras all over your house, but being here when it's happening is very different. For the first time, you notice the bit of his own seduction he submits himself to, how he closes his eyes, touches his chest and his stomach with one hand and then reaches up and grabs the headboard with the other. You get to actually listen to his breathing as it changes, hear the short, impatient moaning start. He isn't just rubbing one out so he can sleep; this is something altogether different and unexpectedly more intimate. "Touch me," he says with swollen lips as his fingers roll over the beading head of his cock. You position yourself between his spread legs, his knees bent and pointing in opposite directions. You put a hand on each thigh and hold them still. You have him pinned so he can't pump his hips, though you can definitely feel him trying. "Please," he moans, "Let me."

You ignore his request, "Tell me what you're picturing in your mind."

His eyes are closed; his free hand keeps slipping off the headboard and twining through his hair in frustration. "You're here. You're home from work," he whispers.

"Where is 'here?'"

"In the...kitchen," his voice labors, "You're kissing me; your hand is in my pants."

"On your ass?" you ask, grinning.

"Yes...god...," he resorts to letting the top half of his body convulse, pleasure rolls through his torso like a wave. "You do that thing where you lift me up a little so your finger can slide down...my crack."

"I'm good at that."

"Very."

"Keep talking," you tell him.

His eyes are closed, "I'm in trouble," he says, "You're going to punish me."

You smile even though he's not looking at you, "Why? What did you do?"

"Who knows?" he says, "Who cares?"

"There must be a reason," you try again.

"Reasons don't matter to me," he divulges in an unguarded moment.

"Hmm...," you say, "I'll accept that. What's going to happen to you?"

Justin's eyes fixate on the ceiling; you feel like you can see the thoughts racing through his mind like it's a microfiche machine. "Whatever I've done," he says, "Whatever it was, it embarrassed you or made you look bad or something. You're furious."

"How do you know that?"

"Because of what you're going to do to me." The trepidation is his voice makes you touch yourself. "You make me undo your belt," he continues while his head starts to thrash on his pillow, "No."

"Pull it out and hand it to me," you tell him, stepping into his fantasy.

"I don't want to be in front of the windows, Brian; please, don't."

Hearing him say your name in this context sends a chill down your spine and straight to your cock. You like where this is going, "You mean the neighbors can see you? We're in the front room?"

"Yes...you're practically dragging me there...please...don't...open the curtains." His body rustles in the sheets like he's been possessed with a spirit that refuses to be still.

"They're wide open now," you say. "Am I sitting in the chair right by the window?"

"Yes, sir." His back arches over and over, his nipples are a deep red.

"What happens?"

"You make me apologize for what I did... and bend over your lap."

"And then what?"

"You make me pull my pants down."

"How far down?"

"All the way...god, punish me."

"What does that mean?" you prod.

"No warm up...just the belt." You almost say something, but he keeps going, "I fight you; I try to move, but you grab me and hold me down."

"And now we'll just start over," you tell him.

"No, please. I'll be still."

…..

"Tell me what my belt feels like."

…...

"It stings," he hisses, "It burns like a bitch and every time I feel it--". He feels the mattress shift when you move; his eyes open and fixate on your lubed hand sliding down your dick. He objects, "No, Brian, don't."

"Shhh, go back to the living room."

"But my bruises," he whines when you rock forward and push his knees back by his ears.

"You need to be fucked," you tell him, your lips inches from his, "You know you do. I'll go slow; you'll go back to the living room. Tell me how my belt feels." He holds his breath as you negotiate your way inside him, careful to not let the full weight of your body accompany the thrust. He presses his hands on your biceps trying to keep the experience shallow. He should know better, but you're sweet about it, kissing his cheekbones, his forehead. "I like you tight, Justin, but this is a bit much. Relax so this isn't hell for you, and tell me how my belt feels."

He speaks with an escaped breath after each sentence, "It stings. It burns. It makes me...god I'm wet."

"Good boy. Are you hard now? Across my lap?"

"Yes."

"All it took was a little humiliation to get you there, right?"

"Yes."

"I'm going to come when you come, Justin," you tell him, a voice from the present.

"You're going to pound me; I can feel it."

You don't deny it, "You'll be coming; you won't care." You circle his head with your arms, breathe steam into his ear and reach between you to touch his hand on his dick, "Do you need me to make this happen and punish you for disobeying me, or can you handle it?"

"I can handle it," he says.

"Then handle it."

He moans as you kiss his neck. You can feel the pleasure ripple back and forth inside him like a pinball desperate to get out of the machine as his hand moves. He makes a beautiful sound and then stops breathing for a moment when the first stripe shoots up his chest. You feel the hot liquid on your chest, see a drop land right at the base of his neck and immediately lick it off.

......

"You didn't come when I did," he complains.

"Yeah, I kind of lied about that. I'm going to do that now."

Your hips drop low to be nice and deep inside him and then begin to snap back and forth. He digs his nails into your upper arms, and when he feels you lose control and start sliding into orgasm, he whispers in your ear in the bitchy scolding voice you love, "This is your third time tonight. You took more than half of a pill, Brian."

He may be a slut, but he's a smart one. "Like you said...first night in our new bed should be special."