The hand-feeding goes extremely well with Dane enthusiastically downing every morsel I hold to his lips. He has permission to signal for two things—water and breaks—and I handle the rest of the details. His voracious appetite still amazes me, and I’m grateful I placed enough food within reach earlier so I don’t have to break my physical contact with him to retrieve more from the fridge.
“We’re going to have dessert later. I have plans for you right now.”
“Master, thank you very much for dinner, but may I express a concern?”
I give his mouth one final swipe with the napkin and twist in my chair to see what he needs. “Of course. What is it?”
“I’m sure you’ve already figured this out, but I haven’t showered after my performances, so my body isn’t prepared to your standards for . . . whatever might be coming next.”
“Dane, I love the way you smell. Fresh from the shower or hot and sweaty from the stage, I will happily take you either way. That said, I have a treat for you tonight. Here, let’s get you up.”
Standing up while blindfolded is surprisingly disorienting, and he’s appreciative of the arm linked through his. Leaving all the dishes for later, I lead Dane into the bathroom. “Need the toilet?”
He turns his head to look at me, then realizes the act is useless. I have always been aware of how much he draws on my expressions for clues, but now that I’ve deprived him of sight, he’s stripped down to instinct—not the safest place for Dane to live. “Come on,” I urge gently, “you can sit down. Don’t worry; I’m not going to make you try to hit the target blind. That won’t be fun for anyone.”
He slides down his underwear, revealing an I-could-take-it-or-leave-it, semi-interested dick. I settle him on the seat and break contact for the first time. “I’m just letting go to run the bath water, not leaving the room.”
A bit of stage fright seizes him, but once I start running the bath, Dane’s okay. Hot water activates the bath salts, and the soothing scents of eucalyptus and spearmint quickly transform the bathroom into an aromatherapy spa. There’s a thin sheen of oil on top of the water, just enough to carry the scent.
Dane flushes the toilet and waits for me to retrieve him.
“Won't be needing these.” I bend to pull off his briefs before helping him to his feet.
I take his elbow again and walk him over to the side of the tub. “All right, Dane. Step in carefully; it’s slippery.” I hold onto him with both hands until he’s seated in the tub.
“I want you to relax. You’ve had a long, stressful week of working hard at your job and for me. Just lie back now, and let me take care of you.” With my help, he settles back against the terry cloth neck pillow.
Always much more comfortable doing something for me, Dane’s not really on board with the relaxing thing quite yet. The tub’s deep, and I’m going to get wet; it’s a given. I pull off my shirt and toss it toward the doorway. Part of me wants to climb in there behind him, but I’ll save that for when he can see, too. I can’t even think about getting distracted with a blindfolded sub in my care.
I squirt a little bath gel onto the washcloth and bring it to his neck, up behind his ear, across his forehead. “Close your mouth,” I say, rounding his chin. His flawless compliance layered on top of his physical beauty makes him utterly irresistible. I suspect if his eyes were open right now, I wouldn’t be able to hide my feelings for him.
Threading my fingers between his, I lift his right arm out of the water and hold his hand while the washcloth sweeps up his arm, across his shoulder, and along his throat to the other side. I don’t speak while I soap up his legs and torso, letting the soft, swishing water and soothing music lull Dane into a deeply relaxed state. The liquid is clear by the time I slide the cloth between his thighs. He moans slightly and parts his legs, and I smile at the way his mouth goes slack. Without the blindfold, he’d be less uninhibited. I’d be different, too. This way, we can both enjoy the moment to its fullest, and I can take my time, getting him good and clean. Blindfolds can truly be a master’s best friend.
Without words, I tip his shoulder away from the porcelain wall, soaping up his back and making sure the hollows under his arms smell as clean and fresh as the rest of him. I don’t want him feeling self-conscious later.
There’s one more task to take care of before I bring him to bed. Cupping his cheek, I give him a gentle command. “Open.”
He swallows first and swipes his tongue across his lower lip, then opens his mouth to form a loose O. He even braces his shoulders to accept my bulk. He’s not just ready to take me into his mouth again; he’s eager.
But I’ve already had my fun, and I don’t want him in that kind of space right now, though I know he’d take me like a champ. I reach for the pre-smeared toothbrush sitting within my reach on the bathmat.
Is Dane ever shocked when the cool mint of the toothpaste meets his tongue! He sputters for a second, confusion and surprise marring his serene features. I chuckle softly, supporting him gently with my hand while he figures out what’s what.
“I guess I should’ve said, ‘Open wide and say, Ah.’”
I could’ve handed him the toothbrush and let him do it himself, but that wouldn’t have fit tonight’s theme—Dane being taken care of by his Master. I’m guessing Dane knows better than to second guess or judge my methods. He’s nothing if not a boy who knows the submissive’s place.
I’m probably not doing a hygienist-worthy brushing job, but Dane can compensate in the morning. I hand him the cold water, direct his post-swish spit back into the empty glass, and set it out of the way on the floor. Time to get the boy out of the tub.
“You’re all clean now.”
His mouth curls up into a sleepy grin. “Thank you, Master.”
Gah! Without his eyes to distract me, Dane’s sweet, bow-shaped lips seize my undivided attention. I lean forward to cover his fresh, minty mouth with mine, and he grips me back with a passionate response that surprises us both. I find I’m not in all that big of a hurry to move him after all, not before this kiss plays itself out.
The side of the tub is digging into my gut, but this kiss is so worth it. Every time I pause for breath, he whimpers and searches for my lips like a newborn rooting for the breast. When we cross that imaginary border into “longer than normal,” I dig my fingers into his hair and demand more, possessing him with my tongue and teeth. His arm rises from the base of the tub, sloshing tepid water across my belly and around my back, where he grips me with warm, shriveled fingers.
And that’s my wake-up call. “Shriveled” and “submissive” are two words that don’t belong together under any circumstances.
I pull the plug, and as the water drains, I grab a towel off the heated rack on the wall. Dane’s a bit woozy as I help him up and dry him off, which gives me all the more reason to hold his wrapped figure against my chest. The warm towel feels good against my damp skin, too.
While I’ve got him close, I take the opportunity to check in. I don’t need to speak much higher than a whisper, and his head perks up at my voice. “How’s the blindfold, Dane? You doing okay in there?”
A worry tugs at his lower lip. Please, tell me, Dane.
“I’m okay . . .” Shit, he’s not gonna—“but I don’t think I could sleep in it.”
Well done, boy. “That’s not my plan, Dane. And thank you very much for telling me.”
He lets out a heavy breath.
“Dane, I will never fail to appreciate how hard this is for you.” I reach for his face with both hands, cupping his cheeks and brushing away the damp hair with my thumbs. The towel slips to our feet as I kiss him again. “I’m so proud of you . . .” it actually hurts.
“Thank you, Master,” he whispers back.
Giving his shoulders a light squeeze, I ask, “Need anything else before bed?” I’m pretty comfortable I’ve gotten his routine down after several nights of observing him.
“Nope, I could float away right now,” he answers.
Guiding him carefully out of the tub, I reply, “You just read my mind, Dane.”
He lets out a surprised squeak as I sweep him into my arms. Dane may have underestimated my strength—despite his protestations about my maturity—or maybe he’s never been carried this way, tenderly tucked into a man's chest. His reflexes kick in again, causing him to lift his face to mine.
“Relax, Dane; I’ve got you.”
He sighs and rests his cheek against my chest, leaving his limbs to dangle. As I cross the threshold to the carpeted bedroom, he mumbles something into my chest and sighs again.
A mighty, primal mating instinct barrels to the surface, stripping away in a matter of nanoseconds the half million years that separate me from Neanderthal Man. I am raw, protective, possessive, omnipotent and utterly defenseless. The force of nature binding my spirit to Dane’s won’t be constrained by modern concerns as irrelevant as age or background.
This boy is mine as sure as I am his. I strongly suspect he knows it, too. Something tells me it’s not up to me to enlighten him on the matter, but rather, to simply be what I am to him and wait for his revelation.
His voice draws my attention to the precious bundle in my shaking arms. I’ve stopped just shy of the bed, and my heart is pounding as if I’m being chased by a band of zombies.
“Sorry, Dane. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m okay.” Bending forward, I release Dane gently onto the mattress. Leaving a soft kiss on his forehead, I ask, “Will you be all right here alone if I do a couple things in the bathroom? I’ll be quick.”
He lifts his hand to the arm I planted next to his head. I swear he can see all the way inside me, blindfolded or not. This isn’t Dane needing me; this is Dane offering me something I need from him.
His hand slips around to my triceps, and he gives me a squeeze, reminding me of my strength, perhaps. “Sure.”
There are things I might say to him, walls I might scale, if we weren’t in the middle of this scene—if I didn’t have plans. For a few terrifying seconds, I consider bagging it all, lifting the blindfold, and confessing everything I’ve just realized. Because really, is any scene more important than this?
But that’s not the point. It wouldn’t be fair. I’ve worked him into a deep state of relaxation and dependence. His ability to respond would be unfairly influenced.
I cover his hand with my palm, lean in close to his ear and whisper, “Thank you, Dane. I’ll be right back.”
I pull away with no small measure of reluctance. Leaving him gets harder each time, it seems. I brush my teeth about as well as I brushed his, and wasting no time, I unfasten my pants and push them down while half-running back to the bed.
The book is waiting on my nightstand. I’ve never done this before—with anyone. I can’t say what inspired the idea today at the bookstore, but as soon as I saw the title, I only wanted to share it this way with Dane. I click off all the lights in the room with one convenient switch, leaving only the single beam of light directly above my head.
“C’mere and get comfortable, Dane.” I guide his head into my lap. He’s perpendicular to me, but I manage to twist the sheet over him so he won’t get cold. “I have a special treat for you, boy.”
He smiles. “Thank you, Master.”
Sight unseen, he’s appreciative, if for no other reason than he knows I chose this for him. Beautiful. My hands alternate under the soft thatch of bangs, over his scalp, trailing off down the silky strands at the back of his head. One hand, then the other, hypnotic for both of us.
“I was at the bookstore today.”
“Which one?” he asks.
My hands stop for a second. “Don’t tell me bookstores are forbidden too, Dane! How do you expect me to spend my time away from you if everything interesting is off limits?”
It’s ludicrous. Upside down and backwards. Edward would have a field day, I can’t help thinking.
Dane smiles. “No, Master. It’s not that. I just wondered which one so I could go there with you in my head.”
I riffle his hair, and we both smile. So, maybe he’s not in charge after all. Yeah, right.
“Top Shelf, forty-first and ninth, second floor. Know it?”
“Not really, but I have a pretty good imagination.”
I chuckle softly, and his head jiggles in my lap. “I bet you do. As I was saying before I was so . . .”—adorably—“interestingly interrupted, I purchased a book I thought you might enjoy reading with me.”
The twinkle I’d normally find in his eyes has migrated or maybe multiplied, and it clearly lives in the corner of his smile.
“Yes, Dane?” I can’t wait to hear this.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I can’t see anything. Did you happen to get the Braille edition?”
I scrub at his scalp, and he giggles. “Just for that, I should make you learn Braille!”
Relaxed, easy, joking Dane. Fucking hell, he is so sexy right now.
Stick with the plan, Marcus.
“Tonight, I’m reading. Tomorrow night, you’re reading, wise guy. You do know how to read, right?”
Dane is easily one of the most intelligent subs I’ve had—on so many levels. He could probably have the whole book memorized in a matter of a few hours, for Christ’s sake.
“Yes, Master,” he deadpans. “If you help me with the big words.”
“Hush. I’m going to read to you.”
He burrows his head and shoulders deeper into my lap, not unlike this morning, when he was bottom-up, waiting for his spanking. Folding his arms over his chest, he tips his head as if he’s looking straight into my eyes. “Ready, Master.”
My fingertips find their way to his cheek, where the day’s whiskers are just beginning to disturb the smooth surface of his skin. Hmm, maybe we’ll give that razor a day off tomorrow, too.
“Don’t fall asleep,” I admonish him.
The twinkle returns. “How would you even know?”
I scuff my knuckles along the contours of his high cheek bone. “You snore, Dane. Remember?”
I tarry, tracing the delicate outline of his lips. Ever the patient submissive, Dane serenely endures what he must understand as an emotional moment for me. I clear my throat as I reach for the light brown hardcover.
“The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,” I read, “Tom Sawyer’s Comrade, by Mark Twain.”
I peek around the volume to see that Dane’s grin has widened, and I’m nothing short of giddy as I open the cover. We both chuckle as I read Twain’s subversive “notice,” his well-remembered warning to “persons attempting to find a motive . . . moral . . . [or] plot,” along with his note explaining to his readers that each dialect is painstakingly unique, and not the characters “trying to talk alike and not succeeding.”
Turning to the first page brings the thrill of a brand new, shared adventure that will be uniquely ours. The texture of the story leaps right off the pages as if the words actually were embossed in Braille.
“Chapter One. Scene: the Mississippi Valley; time: forty to fifty years ago. You don’t know about me without you have read a book by the name of ‘The Adventures of Tom Sawyer’; but that ain’t no matter.”
Jarvis, you blew me away guessing Huck Finn with almost no clues. Little Women was a highly entertaining guess as well! And thank you all for chiming in with your ideas for getting back at Wayne (not Batman, Shell, but thanks for the plot bunny of Batman and Sub-in!) You guys!! Today is a travel day and a holiday evening, but you can be sure I'm checking in when I can. Happy Passover to all who might be celebrating with me. I know Chaya's matzah balls are going to be super yummy this year! :) XOXOX