“This space is yours until I come for you, Dane. Everything you might need is in the bathroom. I’d like you to strip off your clothes and stow your belongings neatly in the closet. I’ll knock in fifteen minutes. Any questions?”
“Yes, Master. The bathroom . . .”
Dammit, Marcus! Get inside the boy’s head before the anxiety! “Thank you for asking, Dane. I’m sorry I wasn’t specific. A standard shower and your customary shave will be adequate for today’s session.”
He nods, seeming neither relieved nor upset, simply eager to please. I pull the submissive room door closed as I leave to make my own final preparations. I’ve been hard since Dane sank to his knees in my kitchen, and thinking about him washing his intimate spaces is only exacerbating the matter. Today is the perfect day to go commando for the first time, and getting into my track pants is certainly easier without the unnecessary layer.
As I enter the dungeon again, I view the room through my submissive’s eyes. The rug at the center of the room now rests under the whipping bench. Without the ankle and wrist bindings hanging off the corners, the brown leather bench should feel significantly less intimidating for Dane, but I still don’t know exactly what horrors his former dominant subjected him to. I click the remote, sending the preselected New Age music through the speakers. The short distance to the door at the far corner of the room gives me just enough time to gather my final thoughts before I knock.
All my careful preparation fails me as the door swings open, revealing Dane, facing me in all his freshly-scrubbed, towel-dried, nakedly submissive, fully-erect glory. And glorious he is. But what takes my breath away is the way his gaze travels down my bare chest and rests at the waist of my pants before he catches himself—or rather, I catch him.
“Apologies, Master,” he says, clearing his throat.
“None required, Dane. You’re just following my earlier instructions, expressing your desires.”
“Before I bring you into the dungeon, let me remind you of the only instrument I will be using on you today.” My hands open palm-up between us, and he watches like a magician’s apprentice, rapt to learn the wizard’s secrets. “That’s it—just these hands—and I assure you there will be no pain today. Sustenance and pleasure—that is today’s menu. Are you ready to follow me?”
I lead Dane to the table, run him through our safe words, and swallow my internal whimper as he lifts himself onto the table like a gymnast mounting the pommel horse. “Make yourself comfortable on your stomach.”
His erection disappears under his hips, but Dane’s ass is one hell of a consolation, firm and just round enough to be interesting without looking out of place on his narrow frame. If I do my job well, by the end of today’s session, that ass will crave my next touch. A sheet between his skin and the leather would no doubt have felt more spa-like, but this is still a scene, and I like the edgy sensation of direct contact with the cool leather bench.
Reaching for the warmed oil, I place one hand in the small of his back. “My hands are going to be everywhere.” He squirms at the drizzle across his shoulders and arches as a stream trails down his spine. “I want to hear what feels good, and I want you to tell me if you feel uncomfortable in any way.”
With both hands flush against his skin, I spread the warm oil all over his back, around the crest of his shoulders, into the hollows between bands of muscle, down his arms, along his sides, stopping at the base of his spine. His eyelids droop, and he fights to open them again. Allowing the boy to close his eyes is the best way to combat his inhibitions without imposing the restrictions of the blindfold. “Feel free to let your eyes close. Just go with the feelings.”
Dane releases a deep sigh, the first of many, I hope.
His skin is warm and pliable, and he’s showing no signs of discomfort. Encouraged, I increase the pressure, drawing slow, deep circles with my thumbs at the base of his neck.
“Mmm, feels good, Master.” The drowsy compliment thrills me straight down to the base of my hard-on and spurs me on, especially when he licks his lips.
I reward him with, “Good boy, Dane,” and a long, luxurious neck massage that draws more purring and words of gratitude. As I knead the muscles of his graceful arms, I study the artistry of his beautiful form. The injustice strikes a new blow, to imagine this perfect, trusting creature in the hands of a brute.
Leaving his ass for last, I move to the base of the bench with the oil, squirting a fresh stream down his thighs, through the valley behind his knee, along the toned lines of his calves. My first touch of Dane’s toes causes a kick and a panicked, “Sorry, Master. I’m very ticklish.”
“My fault, Dane.” I calm him again with a firm touch, moving away from his trouble spot so he knows I don’t plan to torture him. Like most things on his checklist, tickling was a “Do Not Like,” but I had no idea how sensitive he was until the slightest touch set him off.
Working my way up his muscular thighs, I’d have to admit I enjoy the massaging at least as much as Dane. Approaching the crease of his ass, I notice his eyes are wide open.
“Still comfortable, Dane?”
“I’m not . . . uncomfortable.”
“Let me know if that changes.”
We’re nearing his limit, and Dane is about to learn that I am a man who respects limits, but he has to learn to voice them. He and I are both about to be tested.
Sliding my palms up the mounds of his cheeks, I knead the muscles on both sides. He tenses in my hands. Slowly, gliding through the warm oil, I ease my thumbs lower, into the valley between the two sides, opening him ever so slightly.
“Master—” He clenches up. My hands freeze. I tip my head to meet his gaze.
“Talk to me, Dane.”
He looks scared, though whether he fears my hands or my reproach, I can’t discern. “I’m not ready.”
“No problem. You can turn over now.”
His expression says, “That’s it? No backlash?” Once on his back, Dane eyes me warily, so instead of starting at his feet, I move up toward his face and drizzle a line of oil across his chest. Lightening the mood just a bit, I squeeze a drop of oil on one nipple, which stands right up at the attention.
“That’s entertaining,” I say, treating the other side to the same.
Dane sinks into the bench as my hands move across his chest. After a few minutes, he seems back to his pre-ass-crack-incident relaxation level. “I’d like you to lift your arms over your head,” I tell him. “I know you’re ticklish; I won’t violate your trust.”
Eager to comply, Dane lifts his arms snow-angel style over his head, but his movement is tentative. Leveling a pleading look at me, he says only one word, but it chills me to the bone. “Master.”
Yes, Dane, I will be worthy.
My hands glide across the slippery surface of his skin into the irresistible hollow emphasized by his raised rib cage. I play there for a bit, occasionally sweeping up his sides, ever respectful of his boundaries. Dane’s defense system slips into hibernation, and I take the opportunity to move to the other end of his body. He does no more than glance at me as I drizzle his ankles, and by the time I’ve reached his knees with my kneading fingers, his eyes are closed.
Working the tight cords of his quads, I am treated to the subtle response of a dancer’s body: the raised arch of his back, the pointing of toes, the lifting and tightening of his core. He’s nothing short of a fucking miracle of grace and form, a living, breathing art appreciation lesson, and appreciate him I do.
My hands make a study of him, committing every sinew of muscle to memory, but my heart is greedier. I want more of his low groans, more of his trust, more of his pleasure. But first, and more importantly, I want his active choice.
His semi-flaccid cock awakens as my fingertips breach the crease at the top of his legs. I press forward into the groin area, brushing my thumbs along the sides of his balls. Fully alert now, Dane opens his eyes. His abs tighten, pulling his back into a taut arc spanning from his toes to his head. My hands make another circuit, catching the underside of his sac, grazing the base of his swelling cock. His stomach lifts and deflates with quickening breath. Tension builds. Dane licks his lips and watches.
I flatten my palms on either side of his erection, gently stroking the flat skin behind his sac with my thumbs. His tip leans into my hand. His body has voted—now, to convince the rest of him. Keeping the one hand connected to Dane, I reach for the bottle of oil and raise it above his shaft. Poised to release the warm oil, I look away from the stunning sight below me to measure Dane’s expression.
“What’s your pleasure Dane?”
His hands ball into fists above his head. His tongue swipes an anxious line between his lips. No response.
“Will you deny both your Master and your leaking cock?” Come on, Dane. Give in.
His tip bends into my hand again, poor fucker.
Teeth gritted, jaw clenched, he forces out, “No, Master.”
“No denial. Please . . .”
His effort is enormous; I meet him halfway. Letting loose the stream of warm oil, I coat his cock and coax out his request. “Try this, Dane: Please touch me, Master.”
My hand is close enough that he can feel the heat on his slicked-up erection. His words tumble out in a heated rush. “PleasetouchmeMaster.”
“Good boy, Dane.” I smile, but it’s merely the tip of the iceberg of my joy. I drop my palm onto his shaft, and he hisses and pulls his joined hands over his eyes. “Okay, now, easy does it.” I have more planned for him. I know Dane is capable of holding off at great length, but I want him to feel good, not tortured. My hands work in opposite directions on shaft and balls, gliding over his smooth skin in slow pumps. I’m focused half on his cock and half on his open mouth, keeping him far away from the edge, calming him back down—which is more than I can say for my own aching cock.
Time to give us both a break. I slow my stroke and let his cock slide out of my hand. Dane pulls in a deep breath and lets it out with a soft sigh.
“I think you’ll like this next part better,” I say, smiling at Dane and pulling off my pants. Dane’s eyebrows rise as he matches my smile and allows his gaze to travel to my cock.
“I already like it better, Master.” Interesting. Once the focus is off him, he’s instantly more relaxed and even a little bit cheeky. I like it.
I move to the head of the table. “Slide back for me,” I direct, tipping his head back and opening his jaw.
“Permission to use my hands, Master?”
“Whatever you like, Dane. Just open that beautiful mouth and take me in.” Before I bust a nut right here.
Dane’s arms open and reach around my hips while he swallows me down. I tuck one hand under his neck and rest the other on his shoulder. He swirls his tongue and moans around my shaft. I hadn’t planned to draw this out, not with Dane in this uncomfortable position, and it’s a damn good thing, too, because he has taken charge of the situation. His grip tightens around my ass, and he pulls me forward, deeper into his throat. I throw my head back and give it over to him—this sweet, generous, talented boy, who seems to know my triggers better than subs I’ve had in my dungeon for weeks. Or maybe he’s just more motivated to please than any of the others. His throat closes around me as the pumping speeds. Faster, deeper, harder, tighter . . . oblivion.
Stroking his cheek, I pull out, and Dane shoots me a happy grin. I shake my head as I grin back because I’m loopy as hell, and he is too fucking cute for his own good . . . or maybe mine.
“Up on your knees and over here at the side,” I say, pulling Dane’s back to my chest. “Spread your knees apart; I want you lower.” Pulling his head to my shoulder and his ass to my spent cock, I add, “That’s it; now hands up, around my neck . . . ahh, excellent.” My hands glide down his chest and don’t stop until they reach the prize. Still slick with oil, his cock is nice and hard from taking care of his Master. Fucking perfect. He slides a bit on the oiled-up leather, but my grip is firm. After a brief game of tug-of-war with his cock and balls, I’ve got Dane bouncing on his knees and moaning.
“Tell me, boy,” I start, my lips next to his ear, “that place you stopped me earlier, are you feeling more open to that now?”
Tug, stretch, twist, tug.
“Nnnng.” Bounce, squirm, flex, bounce. Dane twists so his face is fully buried in my neck. “Yes, Master.”
I could sing. And dance. I settle for shamelessly rubbing my awakening erection against Dane’s ass before cupping him and giving him a two-handed squeeze. “Hands and knees, boy, and spread those legs for me.”
Dane drops forward onto hands and knees and straightens up his pose so his back is a flat board—ever the conscientious submissive. He turns his head to catch my eye, and I worry he’s having second thoughts until I recognize the raw need shining in his glazed eyes. My palm draws a reassuring line down his spine while I grab the oil one final time. This is the bonus round—one I’m frankly surprised he’s allowed—and I voice my singular thought over his shoulder blades. “I am going to make this so good for you, Dane.”
The boy groans and drops his head between his arms.
“Just my hands, Dane,” I remind him as the oil rolls between his cheeks. “Just pleasure.”
“Yes, Master,” he says with a shaky voice.
“You’re just perfect right now, Dane,” I tell him, taking his cock in my left hand and setting my right palm on his tailbone. “Absolutely perfect.” He groans once more, long and low, as I slide my hand downward, dropping my middle finger into the crevice while gripping and twisting his cock with the other hand. Moving closer, my chest presses into his side, offering both physical and emotional support. I stroke him again and again, reaching between his legs to fondle his balls, tease at his hole, play at the flat patch of skin between.
Dane is ready, and Lord knows I am. Giving his cock a particularly distracting pump, I push my finger inside. The noise he makes is almost inhuman—a combination of a growl and a wail. I’m almost sure that was a good noise, but this is no time to risk a mistake.
“Mmm, yes, Master. Please. MORE!”
I pump that cock, imagining his pleasure as if it were my very own. My finger pushes in and out, his cheeks meeting the palm of my hand with each new thrust. My own need is finding friction against the leather, insanely turned on by his obvious arousal.
“Come when you’re ready, Dane.” The boy presses forward and back, rocking from one hand straight into the other, a see-saw of pleasure. His head lifts, and with a low roar, he fires thick streams of cum onto the leather. I shepherd him through the last quakes of his orgasm, caressing him lightly while he returns to me.
“Beautifully done, my boy. You did so well for me.” Dane turns at my praise, his hard-earned grin weary but no less brilliant for it.
“Thank you, Master.” His gaze follows my hand to my aching cock. “Master, if there’s room for two up here, perhaps I could provide you with a soft landing place for that?” He emphasizes “soft landing place” by wiggling his ass in my direction. We’re both clear what he’s offering and what he is not.
I feel twenty years younger as I hop on the table behind him and line up my dick along his ass crack. “No use wasting all this good oil.”
Dane chuckles and drops his head again, bracing himself. Gripping his hips, I glide along the valley, riding my boy until the last drop of my desire splatters his beautiful back.
Mercy! <- That was me! True confessions time: this scene was inspired by "my Marcus," a hot-as-all-get-out porn star who made some super erotic massage videos (among others). *bites knuckle* I sure hope you enjoyed it! I know my boys did!