I suppose watching another human being eat is like identifying any other quirk: if you just can’t get enough of that person, it is oddly, wildly entertaining. Salad-eating Dane is a feast for my senses, and if we weren’t in the back seat of this car right now, I’d probably be tempted to interrupt his late-night dinner with a quick jump—better that I can’t act on it; the boy needs his energy.
Dane gives me that coy smile and asks, “Would you like a bite?” just before shoveling in a large helping of leaves and grains.
“Yes, but I’ll wait ‘til we get home.”
Playing along, Dane shakes his head. “It’ll be all gone by then.”
My gaze drops to his crotch. “I’m pretty sure I can find something lying around.”
Dane chuckles and pauses for a long drag on his water bottle.
“Have you made any arrangements with Sean for tomorrow night?” I ask.
“Just that they’re picking up the tickets at the box office. Why?”
“If you’re game, I thought it might be nice to go out for a bite with them after the show.”
“Like a double date?” Damn grin.
“Sure.” And now, I’m grinning too.
“That sounds nice. Mind if I text him when I finish eating?”
“Not at all.”
He returns cheerfully to his salad, digging into the grilled chicken with gusto. “Thank you for dinner. This is great.”
“I know. I had one, too—minus the added protein. Do you know there are five superfoods in there?”
He smiles and chews. Smiles and drinks. Smiles and shakes his head. I don’t even realize I’m smiling until I go to form a word. “What?”
He gives his head one last shake. “I can’t decide if I’m happier about the way you’re taking care of me or the way you’re taking care of yourself!”
My face will break if I continue smiling this hard. Fucking ridiculous.
Okay, I will give myself the rest of this car ride to sink into the oblivion of Dane’s mesmerizing eyes, but once we get to the house, Master is taking over.
I sit back against the leather seat, close my eyes, and sigh much louder than I mean to. “Finish your dinner, Dane. I need to kiss you.”
His lips are on mine before I can draw breath. His tongue carries the rich combination of all he’s been eating, but what I taste is last night’s confession. My right hand is already in his hair before conscious thought enters the arena, but I play lightly, gently sliding his soft locks between my fingers, not directing the kiss.
He releases me slowly, looking deeply into my eyes—which are now wide open—before going in for another. The whimper is mine, and so is the flutter deep in my belly.
Dane takes his time with this one, sliding his tongue along mine and pulling back, each new union a fresh declaration of his feelings. This is no “move”— his awkwardly twisted body and his hands occupied with aluminum and plastic are entirely useless—but he needs no more than the touch of his lips, the press of his tongue, and that soulful look in his eyes to communicate everything.
Passive isn’t in my vocabulary, but receiving Dane’s affection is worth every exception. He’s talking; I’m listening. Seems the boy has quite a bit to say on the topic. After gorging on me for a good, long while, he rests his forehead against mine, nuzzles our noses together, and I think maybe he’s finished.
That’s when the snowball turns downhill. Dane groans, as if giving in to some force he’s been using all his energy to resist, reaching in for one “last” mouthful of me after another. Not that I mind being devoured—in fact, it’s quite enjoyable—but Dane’s kisses are starting to take on an I-better-hold-on-tight desperation that sends my antennae through the roof of our luxury sedan.
I answer without words, gripping him firmly with the hand in his hair and cupping his cheek with the other. I close my lips over his and quell his urgency with slow, patient strokes of my tongue—the kissing equivalent to shhhhhhh. When he’s calm, I finish the job by running my thumb across his lips. There, there.
“Dane?” We’re still close enough that my breath falls on his lips.
“Eat your dinner.”
His lips curl into a smile, and mine follow quickly.
We might be ridiculous . . . but we’re also home. Thank the lord of domination, I get my balls back!
I’m not used to entering my own house through the front door, and I feel like a visitor myself. If it’s weird for me to be back here, it has to be exponentially so for Dane. The Fillmore has been our home and playground for two weeks, our whole world condensed into a relatively small space equally familiar to both of us.
Sure, I rule the hotel room and every other space we occupy together, but this is my world. Dane’s last visit here was intense—double safewords and an aftercare session ending in heavy petting. Sigh.
Everything shifts as soon as we walk through the door. Without being asked or told, Dane drops his duffel and immediately takes his submissive pose. I can hardly process that this is the same boy who was mawing on my face the whole ride here.
Certain instincts grip a man who’s arrived home after some time away—go through the stack of mail, unpack the bags and settle in, check email and voicemail, water the plants . . . Know what? To hell with all of it.
Dane has to succeed tonight. I won’t water down the experience, but I already know this won’t be a lengthy session. Just enough to take the edge off the boy so he can relax, sleep well, and enter the dungeon with confidence tomorrow.
I spin and face Dane. “Are you one hundred percent ready for my dungeon, Dane? If you’re tired or unsure, please tell me now.”
“I’m here, Master. I’m ready to serve you.”
His certainty sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t need to ask him again. With each step I take toward the dungeon, the Master in me gains strength and resolve. It helps to have the physical boundary of the dungeon door, the heavy machinery and uncompromising trappings of my dominance. By the time I have Dane naked and standing before my leather bondage table, the mushy make-out session from the car ride is tucked away in a safe place to be accessed when this scene is over.
“It feels so good to have you back in my dungeon, Dane.”
He takes a deep breath as he eyes the restraints awaiting his wrists and ankles. I cup his chin and intercept his gaze with my own. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I respect your limits.”
Dane finds what he needs. With a nod, he answers, “I know, Master.”
“When you’re ready, I want you to climb up and stretch out on your stomach.”
He draws and releases one more breath before lifting his knees gracefully onto the table. Dane’s half aroused when he sinks onto his belly, and his hips roll side to side to accommodate the heaviness between his legs as his ankles inch toward opposite edges of the table. I fine-tune his position so that his ass is aligned with the edge of the leather, served up like a maraschino cherry on top of a hot fudge sundae.
He flexes his hands and feet, testing his range of motion. I’ve narrowed the play in his bonds significantly from our previous session, but he still has enough wiggle room to feel empowered. Better to give more than he needs and allow him the victory of self-restraint rather than cause him to fight for freedom he doesn’t have.
I run a hand down his back, taking stock of his breathing—excited but not frantic. “Are you comfortable, Dane?”
“Good. Now, if you’ll look beyond me, you’ll see both of us in the mirror. Can you see that sexy boy chained down to my table?” I turn to look with him, pushing the hair away from his forehead so he has a clear view.
“If I were you, I’d keep my eyes on the hot, naked guy, but you are welcome to watch me if you like.” Letting him know I’m not leaving his sight, even though I will wander farther than I have before.
Dane’s eyes drift closed as I work my hands across his shoulders and up the base of his neck. He’s transitioned beautifully to the sturdier restraints. “That’s it, Dane. Just relax. All you have to do tonight is lie here and let me have my wicked way with you.”
His eyes open with drowsy interest, but soon he sinks again. “Very good, Dane—very, very good.”
He barely bats an eyelash when my slicked-up fingers meet his hole. He doesn’t try to predict my next move, doesn’t tense at my touch. I’m watching Dane’s eyes; he’s monitoring me in the mirror—and then he’s not. He’s bound face-down, spread-eagled, my fingers knuckle deep in his ass, and the boy has just closed his eyes.
That’s trust, folks.
I am so fucking tempted to do all kinds of tender things that would take us both out of the scene. It would be especially unfair to Dane after his perfect submission.
Stick to Plan A, Master Marcus. Short, sweet, successful.
He lets out a moan when I retract my fingers, and dark, heavily-lidded eyes follow my figure in the mirror as I wipe them on the towel, undress, and sheath myself. His plump cheeks are right where I left them, ready to be coaxed open and entered.
I roll his hips backward into my groin and spear him on my cock. This position is one of my favorites, placing my bound sub at the perfect height for a solid jackhammering. I catch Dane’s open-mouthed expression of undisguised animal pleasure in the mirror.
“You like watching your Master fuck you, boy?”
He can’t make his mouth form the words to answer, reduced to grunting each time our bodies slap together. Common decency had put a cap on our decibel levels at the hotel, but we don’t need the restrictions in this concrete room.
“Louder, Dane! Nobody can hear us down here.”
I tighten my grip on his hips, tug him harder, faster, deeper. “Ungh! Ungh! Ungh!” With each of my strokes, he gets louder and less inhibited, and pretty soon my game of let’s-make-Dane-scream turns into holy-shit-I-am-about-to-come!
Grasping his perfect, fuckable ass cheeks with all my might, I yank and hold him against my balls while they release their load inside his hot body. Breathless and satiated, I bend over his back and drop a kiss between his shoulder blades.
His soft voice rouses me from my bliss, and I turn my head to face his reflection, my cheek resting lightly on his back. “What is it, Dane? Are you uncomfortable?”
My hand is already reaching for his ankle restraint.
“No, Master.” His tone holds no urgency. “Just . . . thank you for using my body for your pleasure.”
“You’re welcome.” Sweet, perfect boy. “Now, it’s your turn.”
Dane’s mouth forms a weary smile. “I get to use your body for my pleasure?”
I chuckle into his back, shaking us both. “No, cheeky boy. You get to use yours. Trust me, you’re getting the better end of this bargain!”
I watch as Dane’s gaze drifts down my body. “You said ‘end,’” he says with a giggle.
“I think someone spiked your quinoa,” I tease, reaching for his cuff in earnest this time. “Seriously, I am going to have words with that salad boy at Smiler’s.” Releasing all four of his limbs, I rub out the muscles before ordering him onto his back.
He slaps the leather with a lazy flop, blinking up at me from the table and awaiting further instruction. “Let’s do this . . .” I fold his left arm behind his head, mostly for the way it raises his shoulders and hollows out his belly, but also because I simply love having his impressive body completely at my disposal.
Stepping between his legs hanging off the front of the table, I press Dane’s knees out to the sides. His erection twitches as I run my palms up the inside of his thighs. “Okay, Dane. From here up,” I say, ringing my fingers around the base of his cock, “is all yours. The rest is mine. Just for fun, let’s sprinkle in a bit of stardust, shall we?” With that, I squeeze out a generous drizzle of lube along his length and into the crack below. “Have at it, boy.”
A soft “nnnn” escapes him as palm covers shaft. I circle my thumbs toward the crease where thighs meet trunk, teasing Dane a bit before stroking his balls.
“I wish you could see this in the mirror, boy.”
A loud groan tells me I’ve hit pay dirt. My boy does love an audience.
“Hmm, I think we’ll make some home movies next time.”
There’s a definite speeding up of his hand in response. Tonight is not about the drawing out; no, Dane’s due for a rough, quick pop like his Master just enjoyed.
“Spread those legs more for me, boy. Mmm, Master knows how you love to show off.” My fingers slide inside him as the other hand massages his balls. His fist is tight and well lubed, and he’s thrusting and rocking his hips along the table. Not-entirely-corralled curse words fly out of his mouth on puffs of frustration.
“Sweet Jesus, I am looking at the perfect picture for the playbill. Can you imagine it, boy? Three hands playing at once, pounding, caressing, pumping . . . your audience is going to be so jealous of all this attention on one cock!”
Moans, whimpers, f-bombs . . . music to my ears.
“What a dirty little exhibitionist you are, Dane!”
He lowers his chin and levels me with a horny glare.
“Come on, boy! Turn up the orchestra!”
I massage the gland deep inside him, and he responds with a low, loud, long, immensely gratifying groan.
“Good boy! Now give us the cum shot!”
He’s an out-of-control eighteen-wheeler rolling downhill without brakes. His ass bounces all over the table with the flex and pop of his thighs. With an almost angry, “Nnnnggggghhh!” he spasms and shoots his creamy load all over his heaving chest.
Dragging my thumbs along his sides, I step around the table so I can connect with him and bring him down safely. Dane grins up at me, flushed and panting and gorgeously wrecked. I reach in for a quick, playful kiss. “Annnd that’s a wrap!”
Which suited your fancy more- the car ride or dungeon scene? Does anyone happen to remember Edward's friend Abdul from Smiler's? The kid who thought creamed spinach counted as a vegetable? Looks like he's in TROUBLE! *wink* XXX