Dane’s quiet on the walk home. Maybe he’s tired after a long day, I figure. God knows, I packed as much as I could into our hours apart. Still, it’s as frustrating as ever not knowing what’s going on with him. After this morning’s show of defiance, I guess I’d hoped Dane was ready to be a little freer with his thoughts.
I can’t wait to get him back to the room, back into my sphere, into the fantasies that have coated my brain cells during the commute back to the city and the hours I waited for him since.
Jesus, I am stiff as a board.
I try initiating a little chatter to see if I can gauge his mood. “Did you have a chance to stop at your apartment?”
“Yes, I grabbed a few things and went through my mail.”
“Everything okay at home?”
Okay, so . . . not talking. I know how every inch of him responds to my touch and my words, to pain and pleasure. The mystery of the man’s mind feels so out of sync with my intimate knowledge of his body.
He’ll tell me when he’s ready—I hope. For now, my head has already gone to rewriting our scene to accommodate his mood. I won’t torture him with making him verbalize tonight. If Dane needs to get outside of his thoughts, I’m here to provide just that kind of release for him. With the awesome power he’s granted me, I can alleviate all the pressure of talking. In fact, I’d be surprised if he weren’t craving exactly that. By the time we arrive back at the Fillmore, my revised plan is ready.
Dane follows me into the room. It feels different being back here with Dane after spending time at home today. I’m disoriented for a second but find my bearings again in the props I set out earlier for tonight’s scene. I turn on Dane as the door clicks shut behind him, taking his hand in mine.
“Anything you want to talk to me about before we start?”
Pushing aside my slightly bruised ego, I reach in for a kiss.
“Take off your clothes—all of them—and meet me at the table.”
Without emotion, Dane obeys, stripping off his coat, kicking off his shoes, swiftly pulling his shirt and tank over his head, sliding down his soft black pants and briefs. He strides over to the table and takes his pose.
“Have a seat in the chair, Dane.” He takes the place I set with water and salad while I reheat the vegetable lasagna he likes.
“You’re welcome. And until further notice, you are to restrict yourself to ‘Yes, Master,’ ‘No, Master,’ and ‘Please, Master, may I come?’ You’re always free to say yellow or your safe word as well. Understand?”
Those deeply expressive eyes of his don’t quite mask his surprise, but he nods and immediately answers with, “Yes, Master.”
“Good. Now, eat up and enjoy. When you’re finished, you may clear the dishes and do what you need to do in the bathroom. Knock on the bedroom door when you’re ready.” I press my hand into his shoulder and leave him in peace while I reorganize my supplies.
After about ten minutes, I hear the metallic clank of dishes in the sink followed by the soft rush of water in the bathroom. I’m just hanging up my shirt when he knocks.
As much as he didn’t want to talk, Dane doesn’t appear at ease in silence either. Whatever’s on his mind, I want to take the weight of it away for him the best way I know how. I crook my finger, beckoning him to the foot of the bed. When he gets close, I open my hand and reveal the rubber-tipped tweezer clamps hanging from both ends of a short chain. His gaze fixes on the device, and he stares for several seconds before leveling his eyes back on mine.
No long preamble, no more reminding. He knows what he can and can’t do. “Okay, let’s go.”
He flinches as I pinch one nipple between my thumb and forefinger until I’ve achieved the same pressure the clamp will apply. “This should pinch for about thirty seconds,” I warn, clipping the tweezers closed and sliding the ring up just enough to hold the mildest tension. Slowly, I pull away my hand, watching his breathing to ensure it’s not labored. I give him a good minute to adjust to the sensation and the new reality before clamping the other nipple.
“Good, Dane. Nicely done.” Running my hand down his arm, I step behind him and praise him for holding his pose so beautifully. “It would be easier for you if I cuffed your wrists, but I’m not going to. I want you to do all the heavy lifting tonight.”
“Yes, Master,” he responds in a tight voice.
I run my hands down his body, over the delicious curves of his bottom and back up, across his shoulders and around to his chest, carefully circling the tightened buds without agitating the hardware. He releases a grunt as my hands glide lower, tracing the soft line of hair leading to the prize.
There are no two ways about my touch—it’s a gauge of his arousal, pure and simple. I’m measuring his response to the pain, and Dane knows it, too. I’m guessing he’d apologize for his lackadaisical response right now if I hadn’t imposed the no-talking rule, another reason I’m glad I did.
I roll my palm over his flaccid penis and place my lips near his ear. “What’s wrong, Dane, aren’t you happy to see your Master?”
“Yes, Master,” he answers.
“You missed me today, didn’t you, boy? I know I missed you.”
There’s a stirring there; he’s trying, I’ll give him that. “Yes, Master.”
“Concentrate, Dane. Right . . . here. Put all your energy right here, under my hand. Ah, yes, that’s better. Good boy!”
Yes! We have liftoff! He stiffens in my palm, and I keep up the stroking while giving the chain a slight tug. Dane groans at the unexpected intrusion, and his erection meanders away.
“Down on your knees, boy.” He sinks to the floor and looks up at me, two warm, brown, shining eyes, a little bit confused and a little bit frustrated. I unzip my pants and feed him my cock right through the zipper, and he settles again—nipple clamps and softening cock temporarily forgotten. I grasp his head with both hands, coaxing him not all that gently, feeling those lips and that tongue and the back of his throat and holy shit that feels good! Then a hand on my balls and . . . Whoa, WHAT?
With great effort, I pull his head off my dick, which is really not on board with the program right now. Sorry, buddy, a casualty of what seems to be turning into a rough night. I send him a silent apology and tuck him away for later.
Dane gives me a quizzical squint before realizing his mistake. “I’m so sorry, Mas—oh no, I . . .” Thoroughly disappointed in himself, he shakes his miserable head and sinks back onto his heels, belatedly yanking his hands behind his back and scowling even deeper.
“Stand up, Dane.”
He manages to put his feet under him and rises to his full height, but he refuses to look me in the eye, focusing instead on the patch of carpet between our feet.
“I need you to talk to me now, all the words. What happened there? It’s not like you to break form.”
“I’m sorry, Master,” he starts, his voice catching on my title.
“Dane, I know you’re sorry.” I cup his chin and gently tip his face toward mine. “You made a mistake, and I’m going to take care of that in a minute, but right now, I need to know why it happened. Is the pain too much?”
“No, Master, I mean the clamps are uncomfortable, yes, but I’m okay. That’s not—”
And the tears well up. So there is something wrong with him. Something he doesn’t want to tell me. Shit.
“Dane, are you having regrets?” My blood runs cold when the thought strikes me. “Has your therapist expressed misgivings?”
“God, no! Nothing like that!” he snaps. “It’s just me . . . and work. I did something stupid tonight—on stage. I messed up one of the dances. I’ve done it a million times! I must not’ve been concentrating. I guess I was watching Rob and Jeannie . . .”
Shit. Rambling Dane is not a good thing.
He shrugs. “Not too awful, I guess. Nobody fell.” There’s the slightest hint of a smile, but it fades quickly.
“It’s a live show six days every week. I would imagine stuff like this happens all the time. Isn’t that part of the fun of seeing it on stage?”
“I guess, but it sucks when you’re the one who messes up.”
“Yeah, I’d imagine so.” I drop my hand away, but he holds my gaze. “What did Matt say?”
“He told me I was working too hard.”
“Really! That’s awfully understanding.”
Finally, Dane’s misery lifts. “He said he felt bad for keeping me on the line while I was working so hard to learn the new stuff, and . . .he told me I didn’t have to perform again until Friday. Just have to go in for rehearsals.”
I want to lift Dane up and twirl him over my damn head, but I settle for grasping his shoulders. “Well, that’s all good, then, isn’t it?”
“I guess.” Poor Dane isn’t quite ready to be cheered.
“Now tell me why you messed up with me.”
His attention snaps to my face. No, Dane, you’re not off the hook.
“I’m sorry. I guess I was distracted.”
“What was your first mistake, Dane?”
“I forgot to keep my hands clasped behind me.”
“No, that was number two.”
He looks truly mystified. “I’m sorry, Master. I’m not sure, then.”
I’d so much rather be kissing him or getting the rest of my blowjob or bringing him off with my hand despite the clamps, but this is where the Master has to step up and be better than an urge or two. “You weren’t mentally prepared for our scene. You walked in here with something on your mind—something you chose to keep from me—and it got in the way.”
His cheeks pink up. “I was embarrassed.”
My heart flips over at his bold honesty. How does one respond to such a confession? Before conscious thought has its turn, my arms loop together over his head so our faces are inches apart. “Dane, pride is not your friend here, not with me.”
His eyes are darting every which way, poor guy. “I didn’t want you to think . . .”
“Aw, sweetheart . . . what? That you’re fallible? Do you really think it makes me look at you differently? I’ll tell you what; anyone in the audience who did notice your little blunder probably went away admiring how quickly you regrouped. I’m so fucking proud of you, it’s not even funny, Dane. Did you honestly think a little misstep is going to change that?”
“But what about . . . what I did here?”
“Another misstep, not a tragedy.”
“Excuse me, Master, may I ask?”
“Yes, Dane. The talking ban is over. Ask what you like.”
“You don’t seem angry.”
He tilts his head, skeptical. “Disappointed?”
My thumbs have found their way into his hair, playing at the ends while I think about how I want to answer. “I’m going to be honest with you, Dane. It doesn’t feel great that you didn’t trust me earlier or that you chose to carry this around inside rather than unburden yourself by telling me. So yes, I’m disappointed, but not in you, just that we’re not quite where I thought we were.”
“I think that makes me feel worse.”
“Yeah, well, if it makes you feel better, your first discipline session should bring us much closer.”
“Oh, terrific,” he chuffs.
And now, I’m grinning. “It’s not the end of the world. You made a mistake; you’re going to make it up to me; we’ll kiss and make up. End of story.”
Finally, Dane cracks a real smile. “How can I make it up to you, Master?”
Does he need to be so goddamn adorable right now? It’s not really fair. “For starters, your clamps need a minor adjustment.”
His eyes widen as I step back and reach for the first clamp. “If these had been a little tighter, I don’t think you would’ve gotten distracted.”
Dane takes a breath as I slide the ring up the tweezers; he’s no stranger to the equipment.
“Don’t forget, Dane, your safe word will still halt everything that’s going on. We’ll come back to your punishment another time, but if it’s more than you can handle, you have a responsibility to tell me. Understand?”
I work the second ring into place, and he exhales. “Good boy. Now, go in the bathroom and get the oil and a bath towel. Your Master has a few kinks to iron out.”
Only the discomfort of the clamps keeps Dane’s smile from being positively radiant. “Thank you, Master.”
While he hustles to the bathroom, I remove my pants. Dane gives my limp cock an apologetic glance. We’ve reached that moment where the punishment hurts me way more than him though we both know how the boy loves to have my cock in his mouth. Seconds later, he returns with both items in hand. I spread the towel out along the carpet and sit down on it, dropping back onto my palms.
“I want you to kneel behind me and massage out all the knots in my shoulders.”
He says, “Yes, Master, my pleasure,” and squeezes a generous layer of oil across my shoulders. As Dane starts to knead my muscles, I close my eyes, sinking into the warmth and pressure of his fingers, not to mention the delightful thwapping of his belly against my back every few strokes.
Not quite the blowjob we interrupted, but entirely pleasurable. So pleasurable, in fact, I find myself with a nice hard-on before long. Hell, why not?
“Hand me the oil, boy,” I command, mostly so I know he’s watching. I squirt a generous glob into my palm, stretch my legs out ahead of me, and take my cock in hand. I’m obnoxiously loud, moaning and producing obscene noises with the oil. I drop my head back and lean against his chest; his hands never stop moving even after his eyes cloud with need.
His erection presses against my lower back, and as much as I hate to deny him, he’s earned it tonight. “No orgasm for you tonight, Dane.”
“Move that cock away if you need to.”
I might be sadder than he is when he pulls his hips back. It strikes me that this punishment is exactly the kind of scene Dane would’ve wished for not long ago—minus the nipple clamps, of course. But now, having tasted release—not as a delicacy, but as a staple in our diet—especially knowing how much pleasure his pleasure brings me, he’ll feel the sting of denial.
“That’s nice, Dane. Your hands feel wonderful on me,” I tell him.
“I’m glad, Master.”
“My hand feels pretty good too, I have to admit.” Oh, the theatrics! Tug, swirl, squelch, groan.
“I’m glad for that too, Master,” he says, not an ounce of sarcasm in it.
“I know you are, boy. You wouldn’t want to deny your Master his release just because you found yourself in hot water, now would you? . . . unnnngh . . . ahhhh . . .”
“No, Master.” Shaky voice. “Never.”
“You’re a good boy, Dane.”
His hands increase their intensity, move to my neck, glide behind my ears. We seem to have migrated into erotic massage territory.
“Are you still hard, Dane?”
“Good boy. Such a good boy. I want you to watch me come, Dane.”
“Yes, Master,” he squeaks, peering over my shoulder.
“Don’t . . . stop . . . moving . . . your hands,” I force out.
His breathing picks up as he fixes his eyes on the action. His hands adopt my rhythm as their own; it’s as if he’s stroking me by proxy. I can’t allow him the pleasure of bringing me off, but this will keep him connected.
“Ahh . . . ahhh . . . nnnghh . . . feels so good . . .”
My eyes are on my boy’s face as the first stream of hot spray flows out of me. His mouth forms the “o” I’ve seen time and time again when his pleasure overtakes him. He grunts along with me as I wring out the last drops, and finally, his forehead drops to my shoulder as he struggles for breath. For one terrifying moment, I believe he may have let go too, but a quick glance backward reassures me—the boy is rock hard.
My voice rouses him, and he walks on his knees around to my side.
“Straddle my hips. I need to take those clamps off you.”
Dane bites the insides of his cheeks as he raises a knee over my lap. As he settles himself over my thighs, he’s careful not to bump into the wreckage of my sloppy release with the erection folded tight against his belly.
“Clasp your hands behind you and take a deep breath.”
Holding the clamp in my right hand, I press my left thumb and forefinger near the nipple, then open the clamp and release the tissue. Dane groans as the blood rushes back to his nipple, and I caress the skin under my thumb and soothe him with praise.
“You’re lucky, boy,” I tell him. “This hurts far less while you’re still aroused. Your Master did you a giant favor not getting you off tonight.”
“Thank you, Massster,” he hisses as the second clamp is removed. His head drops back as he fights to keep his hands behind him.
“You’re beautiful, Dane, so perfect. Look how you hold your pose for me when you’re not distracted. That’s my good boy. Now, come closer and give Master a kiss.”
He scoots forward on my lap, the bumping of our cocks unavoidable at this point. I pull him into my arms and kiss him tenderly. “You’re forgiven everything, Dane. Are you ready to start fresh?”
Gratitude lightens his features like a heavy satin curtain opened to the morning sun. “Yes, Master, thank you.”
“Good, because Huck and his gang are waiting for us.”
Aww, Dane's first punishment. What did you think of how Master handled his infraction? xx