“Dane?” Master crouches in front of me, holding my collar between us. “Are you ready for my collar?” His intense stare pierces the veil obscuring my vision.
Grateful for the return to my senses, I bend forward and kiss each of his boots. “Yes, Master.”
I draw comfort from the steady gaze he fixes on me while buckling his collar around my neck. Either responding to my genuflecting or catching something worrisome in my eyes, Master sees fit to embellish our typical collaring ritual.
“Who do you belong to, Dane?”
My chest tightens. “I am yours, Master.”
“As I am yours.” He presses his lips to my forehead and holds me for several seconds before rising to his full height.
Master’s boots appear in front of Tyler’s knees. I twist my head to watch. A strange, not entirely pleasant buzz hits me in the chest when Master cups Tyler’s chin. “Tyler, welcome to my dungeon.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“When you’re ready to take care of that business we need to settle, you may stand and walk to the center of the room.”
Master steps out of Tyler’s path. Feet planted hip-width apart, Master folds his arms over his chest and settles in to wait. Master’s patience is legendary; he will stand there an hour if need be. I only hope for all our sakes that Tyler will not continue to bait my Master for a harsh punishment.
Tyler rocks back onto his feet and stands. His mouth is a stoic flat line, and his downcast eyes are unreadable. Without hesitation or protest, Tyler shuffles toward the whipping bench with his hands clasped behind him.
Master taps my shoulder. “Come, Dane. You’re helping me with this.”
My emotions are all over the place: disappointed at Tyler for hijacking Master’s plans with his rebellious act; anxious for Tyler’s correction and my part in it; nervous for Master to pass Tyler’s test. Master leads me to Tyler’s side where I wait silently.
“Okay, Tyler. I’m ready,” Master says.
“Sir, I apologize for being late.”
“And . . . it won’t happen again.”
My gaze slides back and forth between the two men. Master’s tone remains patient but firm. “Good. And?”
“May I have my punishment, please, sir?”
Master smiles. “You may.” Double gulp. Master is going through with this?
He reaches behind Tyler for a pair of cuffs sitting on the whipping bench. “Wrists,” Master says, and Tyler presents his hands.
“Dane, would you lower that clip from the ceiling, please?”
“Of course, Master.” My feet are two bricks moving toward the wall. I push and hold the button to work the pulley over Tyler’s head until Master is satisfied with the height. Master clips both of Tyler’s wrists to the carabiner.
“Take it up, Dane, about three inches . . . that’s it. How’s that feel, Tyler? Should be a nice, long stretch.”
“Good.” Master signals me to his side, then turns me to face Tyler. “Closer, Dane.” Master guides me with a hand on my clasped wrists at the small of my back until I’m mere inches from Tyler’s bound body.
I now have a perfect view into the here-we-go-again resignation in Tyler’s eyes. Wonderful.
“We use safe words while meting out punishments here, Tyler.”
Tyler’s eyes widen with his first true realization that Master is not about to treat him as Wayne did.
“I want to hear you say ‘yellow’ if you’re getting close to your limit.”
Tyler puffs out his chest to the extent his slight frame and the bonds allow. “I can take it, sir.”
My heart breaks for the boy, who clearly believes the only way to win respect is by offering his body as a whipping post. Master quickly sets him straight.
“Bravado has no place in this dungeon, Tyler. I won’t proceed until I’m sure you will use your safe words properly.”
Tyler stares at Master for a few long seconds before answering. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Master pivots suddenly. “And you, Dane?”
“You’re one-third of this scene. The reminder applies to you, too.”
Of course Master would sense my discomfort. I search my heart, but my trust in Master far outweighs any doubt or fear lurking in the dark corners. “Thank you, Master. I’m green.”
He smiles at me, and I can almost see the tension leaving my body. “Good. We’re ready, then.”
Master steps behind Tyler and places both hands on Tyler’s shoulder blades. “Breathe in, Tyler. Good. Now release it. And again.”
Master moves forward until his hips meet Tyler’s. The boy’s shoulders snap forward, ahead of his bound hands. Master thrusts his arm around Tyler’s belly and steadies him. “Hold still if you can.”
Tyler’s body goes rigid. The boy’s eyes lose focus; his vision seems to draw inward. His chest fills and empties with choppy breaths.
Of course! It isn’t bondage or even the threat of the whip that flips Tyler out; it’s Master’s compassionate touch. Oh, I have so been there, Ty, and the boy is handling this so much better than I would have during my first encounter with Master. What an effort it was just to reach for Master’s hand across the great divide of his kitchen table.
I try to catch the boy’s eye, but without permission to move, Master has limited my options to help. I’m not forbidden from speaking, but Master hasn’t invited it either. Master’s methods remain a mystery to me, but I follow his lead without question.
A second arm wraps around Tyler, pulling him firmly into Master’s chest. Master’s head drops forward into the crook of Tyler’s neck, his mouth no more than a whisper’s length from Tyler’s ear. Master’s voice floats to Tyler like a silk scarf brushed across the surface of his skin. “Shh, shh . . . relax.”
Tyler closes his eyes, sucks in a series of shallow breaths, and releases them in one long stream.
“What color are you, Tyler?”
Tyler draws in another deep breath before answering. “I’m green, sir.”
“Good boy.” Master tightens his grip on Tyler, holding him in a firm bear hug for at least a minute. Master opens his arms on either side of Tyler, and I step into his embrace. “Your turn, Dane. That’s it. Give us both a big hug.”
I shuffle forward, eager to please Master but wary of Tyler’s nerves. The peaks of my sharpened nipples hit Tyler’s hairless chest first, drawing a tense gasp from the boy. His jaw clenches, the joint so close to Master’s lips pulsing out a tense rhythm.
I close in gingerly. Touching a man other than Master is a novel sensation for me. Our bellies slap together as Tyler’s uneven breaths fill and empty his chest. While my head and heart reserve judgment, my body seems unconflicted in its powerful response. I can’t hide my erection in these tights, but Tyler’s sweatpants provide an effective barrier. If he’s hard under the thick fabric, I can’t feel it.
My goosebumps meet hot skin, stretched thin over Tyler’s hollowed-out rib cage. Was Tyler always so skinny, or did Wayne starve him of food in addition to affection?
The firm arms of my Master tighten around my back, drawing the three of us together like an Oreo with the thinnest line of cream filling. “Here, Dane. Rest your head on our shoulders.”
Master’s face graces the other side of Tyler’s neck; we have the boy intimately surrounded from every angle. Ironically, only Tyler’s bound arms are free.
“Okay, Tyler, count us down slowly from five. When you reach zero, your punishment is over, and your infraction is forgiven.”
Tyler starts the countdown. Master’s grip relaxes with each number until finally, at zero, his hands fall away from both of us. “Dane, stay here and hold Tyler while I unclip his hands.”
Our two-person hug feels even stranger. My hands are the ones holding Tyler against my body even while Master quite literally pulls the strings. Master lowers the carabiner and unclips Tyler’s cuffs. Tyler’s arms slump to his sides, and Master nods for me to let go. Aftercare is Master’s domain.
The green-eyed monster shows its ugly face as Master’s healing hands knead the knots out of Tyler’s arms and shoulders. Standing here, watching my Master care for another man is a challenge I need to acknowledge—not just to myself but to Master. Later.
Meanwhile, Tyler eyes Master with curiosity bordering on suspicion. Of course he would. Wayne’s idea of aftercare was, “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” As I continue to observe my Master’s compassionate touch, albeit for someone else, my envy gives way to pride.
Master wouldn’t be Master if he showed Tyler any less attention than he needs. After all, he’s the same man who released Wayne when he safe-worded . . . er, safe-squeaked.
Master caps off Tyler’s aftercare with a shoulder squeeze and a well-deserved compliment. “Well done, Tyler. I know that was difficult for you.”
“Yes, sir, but it did get easier.”
Master and I share a knowing grin. Tyler’s right—this will get easier. What he can’t possibly appreciate is how Master ups the game at every turn. Every trip to the dungeon offers a fresh challenge. At this point, I have no way of knowing if this will be Tyler’s last visit or if Master and I will decide to invite him back. All I know is that Master and I will make that decision together.
“That’s excellent to hear. Now, I think Dane has waited more than patiently for his turn, don’t you, Tyler?”
My turn. Gulp again.
Two pairs of eyes shift their focus to me. Both men seem lighter now that Tyler’s discipline is out of the way. Master does what is necessary, but he doesn’t get off on punishing his subs. He’s much happier inflicting pleasure than pain, an arrangement that bodes well for me.Tyler gives Master a hearty, “Yes, sir.” His grin stretches from cheek to cheek. And why shouldn’t it? It’s my ass on the chopping block now.
I couldn't leave you suffering and wondering... Happy Valentine's Day, all! XXX ~BOH