Negotiations 26
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JUSTIN’S POV
Without notification or explanation, Brian diverts our car to the cemetery on the way home from the airport. It’s fine with me; I take it as another step in his healing process. He doesn’t stop me when I get out of the car with him, both of us still wrapped in our branded array of coats, gloves and scarves. At least it’s no longer sleeting, Pittsburgh is just gray skies with a bitter chill in the air. We walk in silence to his parents’ headstones. He sits on his mother’s, his long legs extended as he lights a cigarette. I brush off the pine needles around Jack’s stone, and then walk a few steps away to a bench under a leafless tree. I watch Brian as he begins a soliloquy. He’s speaking quietly, and while I can’t completely hear the words, I can tell what he’s saying by the expression on his face and the way that he pauses now and then to collect himself. He apologizes to her and then starts to talk about me. I look down at my phone and pretend I’m reading something; when Brian speaks from his heart, there’s something sacred about it. When he’s done, he gets up and kicks away the dead flowers obscuring her headstone and then takes a deliberate step to Jack’s grave. He says something very, very short, gives him a sarcastic salute, turns and walks toward me. I put my phone in my pocket. We walk hand in hand back to our car. I’m proud of him, but I don’t need to tell him. He knows; in fact, I’m certain he can feel it.
Anytime we’re home from a trip, our routines are familiar, like worn paths. I begin resetting our lives for the week by unpacking, hanging, washing, folding and on and on. Brian retreats to his office to see what’s going to be waiting for him on Monday morning. I always come find him when I’m done with what he affectionately calls my ‘domestic flurries;’ and today I get the same follow up question I always get about whether or not I changed our sheets and towels. A casual observer would think it’s because Brian’s bossy and demanding, but that’s not why he asks. He asks because he has a weird aversion to seeing a bed with no sheets on it or a bathroom with no towels hanging, so I make sure that he doesn’t see it. If I’m rotating linens in a guest room, and I’m not finished, I keep the door closed. He repays this courtesy by handling all insects, rodents, and occasionally, an aggressive raccoon. I can wake him up at four in the morning because there’s a quarter inch bug in the bathroom, and he will neither bitch or complain. I suppose anything’s better than hearing me scream like a terrified queen.
I point to his computer screen, “Will tomorrow be crazy?”
He shakes his head, “No, I just have a lot of decisions to make in one day.”
“Do you need me there?”
“Probably not. You should stay home and relax; you just refilled your bank account.”
“Yeah, I deserve it,” I say.
He pats me on the butt, “You do. Are you hungry?”
“Want me to make us a half dinner?” I ask. ‘Half dinner’ is what we call it when I make dinner for one and we split it.
“Yeah, but easy.”
“Okay.”
Brian joins me downstairs when I call him, and we eat grilled chicken and peas from small plates; Brian believes eating from small plates is the key to keeping his figure. Once in awhile, I dust off the larger plates so they don’t feel forgotten. I ask him if he plans on working out tonight after his food digests, and he looks up at me very deliberately and says, “Not in the gym.”
I grin, “Understood. Is there somewhere else you’d prefer?”
Brian raises his eyebrows and shrugs, “That’s completely up to you.”
“Okay, well, I need about an hour in the studio to straighten up and stuff.”
“I’ll watch something,” he says.
……
After a big, successful show, I like to reorganize and reset my studio. I stack new canvases, clean my paint tray, restock my snack cupboard and fridge. The next time inspiration hits, I want to walk in here and feel like it’s brand new again. It takes me longer than an hour to complete this process to my satisfaction. I find Brian in our home theatre watching some movie I’ve never seen. He clearly wants to see the end. I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, my socked feet resting against his bare ones. It’s twenty degrees outside, and he still walks around with bare feet. Brian believes that all marriages are legally required to consist of one person who’s always cold and one who’s always hot. It’s how the universe keeps things in balance. I ask him what’s next on his agenda for tonight, and he turns off the television and smiles at me as he answers, “Exercise.”
Indeed.
*************
Brian has the smoothest, silkiest skin I’ve ever touched. He’s not just beautiful to look at; he’s beautiful to touch. He’s lying next to me in our bed at just after ten o’clock on this Sunday night, and neither of us are interested in going to sleep. All the bruising from Friday is completely gone; he gives off a very peaceful vibe as he lies on his stomach, his arms crossed on top of his pillow, his head resting there. I kiss his bicep, his shoulder, and his back as I run my hand over it. Neither of us are in any rush.
It would be insufficient to say that I just want to fuck Brian; I want so much more than that. I want to be inside him when he completely lets go; I want to experience the ripening of his desire; I want to be there when it starts to rot. I want to smell the sweet decay of his resistance, of the last traces of his dominance. I want to feel it turn to mush so I can mold it into whatever form his submission wants to take.
He probably just wants to get laid.
One of the most challenging things about being with Brian is that it often takes a lot of effort, gumption, trickery, begging, etc., to get certain types of information out of him.
Until tonight.
Tonight, he’s decided to dole it out...his way. He gets my attention, gets my face in front of his, and tells me, “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What sort of deal?”
He leans closer and kisses me, a kiss that feels more like a starter pistol firing than a good night gesture. Then he says, “When you fuck me, for every minute you can stay inside me, I’ll let you ask me anything you want.”
“I’ll stay inside you all night then,” I counter.
“I mean actively fucking me and until you come.”
Bummer.
I consider his offer, “Can I choose the position?”
“Of course.” I flop on my back, my hands intertwined on my chest. Brian comes closer, examines me, “What?”
I turn my head to the side, “That’s a huge decision, the position.”
Brian raises his eyebrow at me, “You have ten seconds to decide.”
Aren’t I supposed to be in charge here? Or is this what it really feels like....?
“I can’t decide, Brian. You decide.”
He slaps me on my arm, “Make a decision, Justin.”
“Face down,” I blurt out.
“Okay, why?” Brian asks.
“Because I can probably last longer that way because I’m not looking into your gorgeous fucking eyeballs.”
Brian laughs, “The back of my neck is stunning, though.”
“Just out of curiosity, how many minutes do I normally last?” I ask him.
“I’m not giving you the over under while you’re giving me the over under, Sunshine.”
“That sports metaphor just made my dick go soft, Einstein.”
“It was also a euphemism,” Brian defends.
“So, you miss my cock a little?” I ask.
He smiles, “More than a little, okay?”
I position myself halfway on top of him, run my hand down his face, “Tell me.”
He nuzzles closer to me, his face laying on my arm, “I can appreciate the need to have you fuck the shit out of me.”
“Well, that’s a euphemism, and a bit of a dodge. You sounded like a politician. Try again.”
Brian rolls his eyes and tries again, “I’ve laid next to you for twenty years and ached to be inside you, even after I’d just fucked you five minutes before, but now, that’s not the only sensation I feel, and sometimes, it’s not the strongest.” My eyes open wide at his admission, and he takes it as a challenge and says, “Okay?”
“Wow,” is all I have to offer.
Brian defends himself, “That was one of your minutes.”
I sigh and let him have that; it was a real admission; it has value to me. It was worth it. “I just have one caveat,” I warn him.
“What?”
“If we fuck, and you fall asleep, I get to use my minutes tomorrow or whenever I want.”
“You think that cock of yours is pure magic, don’t you?”
“Oh, I know it is.”
Brian smiles at me and turns on his side to pull me in. I want this; I want to feel if he’s hard or if this really is just a dumb game to him. He likes when I touch him; he reaches down and grips my wrist to hold my hand on his cock. I kiss him hard, squeezing his cock until he squirms uncomfortably. “Ow,” he says and releases my wrist. He gives me this sly grin, “You’re not fucking around.”
“I don’t think you want me to,” I tell him flatly.
“No, I guess not,” he says, and like an onion, he’s shed another layer of his determined exterior right in front of me.
And yet…I’m still not certain of what Brian wants physically in this moment. I mean, I know what I would want; I can produce the tried and true foreplay instructions that will get me exactly where I want to be, complete in a parchment scroll presented by a really hot squire at the call of a bugle. Brian’s desires surface more like a faded tattoo that you can only see in certain lighting. So, I make a decision to focus on myself, on what I want out of this. I push him onto his back so I can reach his nightstand which is perfectly stocked (by me) with a fresh cum towel and his favorite lube. Brian watches me - dare I say, eagerly - as I don’t even touch him. I touch myself and make him watch.
“Roll over,” I tell him.
He watches me from over his shoulder as I let him feel how hard and slick my cock is between his legs. I let him feel me line up at least three times before I really do because toying with Brian’s expectations is something I need to get better at. He slams his pillow against the headboard when I push inside him; the muscles in his back and shoulders become immediately defined.
“Breathe,” I remind him. I glance at the clock; it’s ten forty two. I have to pause myself; he’s never been this tight. I remember Friday night in our suite, how he rode me on that sofa, how afterwards, he was clearly in pain. I lie down on his back and put my hands over his. “I’ll go slow,” I tell him, “And not just for the extra minutes.”
He laughs and the sensation is wild. “I’m okay,” he tells me.
I rest just my forehead on his shoulder blades so I can look down his back and watch myself fuck him. I can somehow feel his heartbeat even though mine is deafening between my ears. His body begins to relax into the pleasure; he’s not just tight, I realize, he’s stiff because all he did was sit on a plane, sit in front of a computer and then sit in front of a television. I, on the other hand, have been bustling around for hours. I can feel him tightening and relaxing his leg muscles like his body is awakening. His ankles crack. “You sound like an old man,” I tease him.
“I know.”
I push the hair up off the back of his neck and let my lips brush over his skin. I run my hands along the sides of his torso, he moans for me. He’s relaxed now; he’s all mine.
For now, I’ve forgotten about the deal we made. I’m focused on every breath he takes, on his growling response when I slide my hand underneath him and pinch his nipple. I twist it between my fingers, and when he hisses at me, I reverse course and rub the pain away. Then something dawns on me. “Brian?”
“Hmmm?”
“Remember that threesome we had with that escort?”
“The sandwich?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“What about it?”
“I just realized that I wish I had two of you so I could always be in the middle.”
Brian raises his head and looks back over his shoulder at me. He’s amused but that’s not all. He gives me a serious look and says, “That’s the best fucking idea you’ve ever had, darling.”
I smile and respond like it’s actually possible, like he can just go out and get a clone of himself tomorrow morning, “Really? You think so?”
“I have literally never heard a better idea, and I get paid to hear ideas all fucking day.”
But then I realize, “There’s only one problem though.”
“Just one? Enlighten me.”
“You won’t share your clothes with him.”
He snorts and laughs at the same time. “If this other ‘me’ is for sex sandwiches, he won’t need any clothes.”
“Oh my god, we are so doing this.”
“We are,” Brian says, “Like, for real.”
*************
I lasted eight minutes inside him. For the record and my pride, he barely lasted five. That makes me deliriously happy. He was careful, though; he snatched the cum towel just in time and shot into it while eliciting a groan I could feel between my legs. It’s a fascinating sensation to come inside Brian, to feel my cock surrounded by more pressured warmth than I can even describe. He dozes off for a few minutes, and I just stay there, running my fingers across his upper back, drawing a picture only I can see.
I get seven shots at this ‘apple’ Brian has gifted to me.
I have some thinking to do.
*************
Right before lunchtime on Monday, Brian texts to say that he’ll be late tonight because of a conference call. I ponder my response, and since I’m not in the mood to cook dinner, I make a new plan. I call him, and he answers immediately, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“This client is in a different time zone.”
“It’s okay; I’m making a new plan. Can I come see you at three thirty for about half an hour, uninterrupted?”
I can hear Brian’s smile in his voice, “Sure, of course.”
“You’re not too busy?”
“No, I’d do the call earlier but the client can’t, so it’s fine.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
……
I arrive at Kinnetik at three twenty and notice there’s a new hire in Cynthia’s old office. Allison is with her teaching her the phone system. She invites me in, and introduces me to Brian’s new assistant, Hillary.
“Hi, I’m Justin Taylor, Brian’s partner.”
She stands and shakes my hand; she’s petite, maybe five four, very well dressed and has perfectly manicured nails. She has a bright smile and honey brown hair that’s tucked back. “Nice to meet you.”
I sit and chat with them since I’m early and find out that she’s married to guy named Patrick who writes gruesome horror novels. She used to be his editor, but the subject matter was getting to her. She needed a change of pace. “I’m not the type who can work from home and not lose it after awhile,” she adds.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Brian’s needed to fill this position for awhile. The fact that you’re familiar with horror will probably be an asset here.”
Allson steps forward and slaps my arm, “What is wrong with you? Don’t say that.” She’s laughing as she reprimands me.
I defend myself, “I just mean that Brian can be a lot when he’s in a mood. Feel free to call me or text me if you need some advice.”
I hear Brian’s voice behind me, “Some advice about what exactly?”
I turn and Brian’s leaning on the door jamb, his arms crossed, his eyes boring into my skull, but I’m not afraid of him, “How to navigate your ebb and flow.”
“You’re about to get caught up in a bitch of an undertow,” he warns me. Hillary’s eyes widen behind her dark rimmed glasses; Allison is shaking her head at both us and then she says, “Don’t you two have a meeting?”
“We do,” Brian says.
I stand and smile at Hillary, “It’s great to meet you. Allison, please give her my number.”
“I will, now, shoo, both of you. We can’t afford for her to quit!”
*************
In the privacy of Brian’s office, I sit on his small conference table and invite him between my legs. He growls a little and leans forward, kissing me and making it clear that my presence is appreciated. “You look hot,” he breathes, “Are those pants from our shopping trip?”
“They are.”
“So why did you schedule this appointment with me?” he asks.
“Because I need an orgasm from you before we meet after work,” I explain.
“Mmmm. This is on your to do list then?” he asks.
“It is.”
I begin to undo his belt, unbutton his pants and slip my hand inside his underwear. I press the ball of my hand against his cock and rub while he moans. I ask, “Have you touched yourself today without my permission?”
“No,” he says, “This is the first real break I’ve had anyway.”
“I put a snack on your desk because dinner will be late tonight.”
“You’re very sweet to me.”
He grabs a box of kleenex sitting behind me when he’s about to come, and we work as a team to keep him tidy. He kisses me and asks, “What are we doing tonight?”
“We’re going to Babylon.”
“It’s closed on Mondays.”
“I know, but not to us.”
“Hmmm...okay.”
*************
When Babylon’s not open for business, it can be kind of a scary place with weird shadows and creepy echoes. I go behind the bar and take a brand new bottle of Johnny Walker out of the inventory and leave a note for Ruben that I took it so he doesn’t freak out. I grab two glasses, pour myself a double and down it quickly. I find a box in the storeroom that I’ll need and place it in the middle of the dance floor. Next, I head upstairs to Brian’s office and to the lighting area where I can control everything in the club. Although my understanding of what all of these different lights are called is limited, I can run the system like a pro. I turn on the colored spotlights that move independently and constantly, lighting the entire dance floor and then find the spotlight I want and point it at the bar on the whiskey.
Time to wait.
Well, to wait and ponder why there’s a leather sling installed in a corner of the office. I’ll definitely be asking, what the hell is up with that?
Tonight, I want to play around with status and humiliation. I want to see how Brian responds to losing one and feeling the other. I hear the back door opening, and see Brian come in. He calls for me, and I answer him from the catwalk outside his office, “I’m up here.”
He looks up at me, his hand shielding his eyes from the spotlight, “Hey. What’re you up to?” he asks.
“You’ll see soon enough. I put that whiskey out for you. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“How was the rest of your day?” I ask.
He nods as he drinks, “Good. Put out a fire with an important account. Got a killer hand job from this hot blond guy.”
“How hot was he?”
“He’s pretty fucking hot, so hot, I kind of married him.”
“Well, you’re very smart so that tracks.”
Brian shrugs from his bar stool, “Yeah, I guess I am.” He starts to get up and come to the stairs, and I stop him, “Nope, don’t come up here yet. Go back to the bar.” He gives me a severe eyebrow and goes back to his stool. “Can you tell me why there’s a sling installed in this office up here?”
Brian starts to laugh, “Ha, I forgot about that.”
“Well?”
“It was a prank that Rube ended up liking so he kept it.”
Now, I have a ton of questions. “Um, what? Last I heard, Rube is so asexual that he only masturbates by accident.”
“Let me come up there,” Brian says, “This is weird.”
“No, answer me. What’s the deal with it?”
“The bouncers installed it on his birthday thinking that they would just take it back out, but Rube, being the weirdo he is, decided he likes sitting in it because--”
And then I get it, “Because he rocks sometimes. I’ve seen him do it in the office now and then. He spaces out and rocks back and forth.”
“Exactly, so he loves it. He swings on his breaks. Now, can I come see you?” Brian asks.
“Not quite yet. Have you had enough whiskey?”
“Yep, I guess so. I don’t know how drunk I need to be for what’s about to happen.”
“Do you see that cardboard box on the dance floor?”
Brian looks and I move the spotlight to the box. “I see it.”
“Okay, I need you to leave your glass on the bar and go stand next to the box.”
“This is fucking weird,” he bemoans as he follows my instructions. “Now what?”
“I want you to take everything off, every single thing. The box is for your clothes.”
I back the spotlight intensity off a little as Brian steps out of his shoes. He holds them in his hands and look up at me, “This makes me uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
“Is someone else here?”
“Nope. Just me and you.”
He sighs and puts his shoes in the box, then his suit coat, then his tie. He folds everything and places it in the box like it’s a hope chest or something. He drags the task out to counterbalance how uncomfortable he is. “Why is this bothering you?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. It’s just weird.”
“Just think about all the men who’ve taken off their clothes for you this building,” I remind him.
“Like anyone can count that high,” Brian retorts.
He peels his socks off and complains, “The floor is fucking freezing.”
“Sorry about that.”
He seems mildly annoyed by the time his underwear comes off, and then he looks up at me almost and responds defensively, “I’m done.” I study his body; his cock is limp; there’s no arousal.
“Leave the box and come up here,” I say.
He starts for the side stairs, and I shake my head and point the spotlight to the other side of the dance floor where the stairs to the catwalk are, “No,” I say, “Go the long way so I can watch you.”
He turns and I keep the spotlight on him for every step. He complains about walking on the metal stairs with bare feet, says it feels weird and they’re probably really dirty. As he approaches me, I dial down the spotlight considerably. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this off kilter in Babylon. I extend my arm and he walks into the office. I follow behind him and shut the door. I know he’s uncomfortable, but I’ve decided that this is how I need him. This has to be the starting point for the journey I have in mind for tonight.
Brian points to the sling, “Do I have to get in that?”
“Only if you want to,” I offer.
“I think I’m too tall,” he says.
“I agree.”
Being less than affectionate with Brian as he stands here nude and confused in front of me is not easy to do. In fact, it’s fucking agonizing. I refuse to engage emotionally with him until I’ve completed the next task. I sit on the generous-sized sofa and request, “Come here. Come stand in front of me.” He takes the few steps while never taking his eyes off my face, and soon I’m eye level with his navel. Without explaining first, I put my hand in my pocket and pull out a black leather and steel gadget of sorts, a chastity cage fondly referred to as ‘The Gates of Hell.’ I don’t really let him see it, and I don’t talk to him about it. I just work as quickly as I can, getting his balls through one ring and then guiding his cock through the six other rings all joined by the leather strip, each one decreasing in diameter as it reaches the head of his dick. Then I look up at him, and he’s staring down at me like he doesn’t know me, like he doesn’t know quite what to do now that he’s stuck in this device. I lean in and rub my hands over his abdomen and then his ass as I close my eyes and kiss his stomach. I feel his hand in my hair; he exhales loudly. I stand up and take his hand; we exit his office and walk three steps to the next doorway, the entrance to Mecca, Babylon’s VIP orgy room. Every Sunday night, this room is completely cleaned and turned over. The covers on all the furniture and futon mattresses are changed out, over a hundred towels are restocked. I point to the gray colored mattress in the middle of the room, the biggest one, and Brian walks over and sits down. He’s silent as I close the door, lock it and get undressed. A box of clothes and shoes worth about seven thousand dollars sits far away from us in a cardboard box on a rainbow lighted deserted dance floor while my ensemble that costs far less is crumpled on the floor. I sit next to him on the mattress, and he lies back. I kiss him, and he kisses back like a stranger, like he doesn’t trust me; his eyes scan my face like they’re reforming my portrait in his mind. I decide that this moment is perilous; I rest my hand on his face, “Brian, it’s okay if you’re nervous.”
“I think it turns you on,” he says, and I shrug because maybe it does.
I kiss him again, and I’m able to fine tune the message he’s sending me; it’s not so much about a lack of trust; it’s apprehension. To prove my theory, I let my hand wander to his imprisoned organ, and the look on Brian’s face is identical to one he’d have if I asked him to try on an off brand suit. I pause and ask, “What color are you right now?”
“Yellowish green, I think.”
I want to challenge that assertion, but trust has to run both ways, so I don’t. I touch the device to make sure I have him in it correctly, and everything looks right, so and then I look back at his face, and I can’t even describe the look on his face as anything other than dread. “You’ve never been shackled like this have you?”
“Nope,” he says.
I urge Brian to roll on his side toward me so I can press myself against him; my hand is on his face, my thumb on his chin. “Listen to me,” I tell him.
“I am.”
“There’s so much pleasure in bottoming and in orgasm denial that in all the sex you’ve had, you haven’t even scratched the surface of.”
“I’m aware.”
I reiterate. “I don’t think you’re aroused by pain, like I am--” He starts to respond, and I give him a cross look and put my finger on his lips to shut him up, “But you did tell me that you are intrigued by having your sense of identity stripped away from you.” He nods. “This is the first time you’ve walked into this club and not been in charge in one way or another. Tonight, you’re not. This isn’t your club; there’s nobody here to obey you or fall to their knees in front of you. The only worth you have is what you’re worth to me right now.” I reach between us and stroke his cock in between the rings, and he groans in frustration. “I just need to trust me okay?”
*************
BRIAN’S POV
I trust Justin completely.
I can feel the truth of that statement and in doing so, I relax a little. I decide that I can either focus on how uncomfortable this device is or I can focus on him. I choose the latter. Justin asks me to lie back again and hands me a blindfold. “Will you wear it, please?” he asks sweetly.
“Yep.”
He kisses me, a pop on the lips, “Thanks.” I slide the black silk over my eyes. I can feel him moving, feel him walking around on the mattress and then coming back to me again. I feel his hand on my shoulder; he speaks, “So, like I was saying, I don’t think you’re aroused by pain the way I am, but I do think there’s a tactile component in all pleasure you seek.”
“That seems rather obvious,” I offer.
“Do not be a smart mouth, Brian.”
“Sorry.”
Something cool and lightweight touches my chest, and I reach for it; the leather strands of a flogger feel smooth to my fingers. “Don’t interfere,” Justin says.
“Again, sorry.” I lace my fingers behind my head.
“If you become solid yellow, let me know, okay?”
“Okay.”
Justin rubs my cheek, my forehead, strokes my hair. I smile; it feels good. I hear the flogger slice the air a split second before it hits my chest. I flinch because I expect pain, but it’s absent. Justin touches my shoulder again, “Just relax. I want every molecule of you present with me right now. This isn’t about pain.” His benevolence gets my full attention. His hand glides across my chest and then I feel the cool leather rain again. “See if you can just focus on the rhythm, on the sound,” he instructs me. He administers many more blows with little force behind them, just enough to keep me awake. The flogger moves down my body to my stomach and then to my cock. I internalize the rhythm, the pacing, the whoosh as it hits me and then the tingling as it’s taken away, the strands moving off my body the way a wave pulls back from the sand. It feels nice on my thighs. The impact moves down my entire body to the bottoms of my feet and then begins the trip back up. As I lie here blindfolded, I picture my body on a stretcher in a car wash being pelted as I inch forward. I feel peacefully confined to this fate, and when the leather reaches my shoulders again, Justin says, “Now, turn over,” and keeps right on going.
Whoosh.
Slap.
Tingle.
Drag.
Recede.
Every inch of my body is awake, every pore is participating.
Whoosh.
Slap.
Tingle.
Drag.
Recede.
No part of my body given more attention than any other.
Whoosh.
Slap.
Tingle.
Drag.
Recede.
High tide….
Low tide….
I’m disappointed when it’s over.
Except now, Justin is snuggled up against me, running his hand down my back, over my ass. “I really liked that,” I tell him. He slides my blindfold off; he’s smiling at me, “I could tell. You were moaning.”
“You had a technique,” I observe.
“Yes, YouTube. It’s all in the wrist.”
“Ah.”
“You forgot about your cock, didn’t you?” he asks me.
I nod, “Yes, I actually did.” Wow. “I kind of want you to do it again,” I tell him. Justin laughs a little and urges me up on my side so I can see how hard he is and that we’re moving on. “It’s my job to take care of that, huh?” I ask.
“It is one hundred percent your job,” Justin says. I can feel my cock again...surrounded by uncomfortable pressure. “I want to be inside you,” he tells me, “But this will be different than any other time I’ve fucked you. Lie back down.” He presses me back down on my stomach. I watch him and the serious look on his face as he grabs a bottle of lube and coats his hand. He scoots closer to me and lays his head on my upper back. “Spread your legs,” he says, and when I do, I’m not prepared for what Justin obviously is. He slides his fingers inside me, and I’m unsettled about how tight I am. He reads my face, “It’s the cage, Brian.”
“It’s not like this with you,” I say.
“Because you’ve fucked me a million times.”
“Jesus,” and then I realize, “This is why you came to my office today and made me come.”
He kisses my shoulder blade, “Yep, I needed you a little spent.”
“And rattled, that’s what that whole dance floor strip tease was for.”
“Yes, you’re right again. All of that was to get to this moment. Try to relax a little; let me open you up.”
I fess up to him, “I can’t like this; I can’t lay on this thing.”
“Okay, get up on your knees, but keep your head down. I want you to remember your place.”
My place.
I obey him because I want to, and the sensation I feel both physically and emotionally has morphed. From position three, with my face in my hands, I think only about him, about giving myself away for his pleasure. It’s an intense feeling; it arouses me which makes me even more uncomfortable even as I try to ignore that physical impossibility. I know when he’s getting ready to fuck me because I’m empty and I can feel the mattress shifting underneath me as he finds his position.
The next few minutes will never be forgotten; they are seared into my mind. Justin takes his time getting deep inside me, and he rubs my lower back as he fucks me. My hands are clenched in my hair, pulling it to try to shift attention away from the ecstatic torture of this fuck. My shackled dick is hanging and swaying back and forth, part of me and not part of me at the same time. I start to feel queasy. I’m groaning and then it happens…
Fuck.
I dry heave.
Justin lurches forward and then stops moving, but he’s laying on my back; his body twitching as he tries to comfort me with his hands. I’m frozen in position, unable to move. Justin’s searching for my hands, extracting them from my hair. He squeezes them and laughs, “God, I’m sorry. That made me come. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, that was weird, but I’m also kind of numb,” I explain.
“It felt like you were pulling my cock from my ass to your throat. I’ll pull out, just relax and let me.”
“I’m numb,” I reiterate, “I can’t feel anything.”
As Justin and I disconnect, I feel my body list sideways and connect with the mattress. I can’t unravel myself from a fetal position, and Justin realizes this and holds me tightly, and that’s when I look down and see a dark spot in front of me. I touch myself and feel something wet. “Um…,” I say.
Justin sits up a little and peers over my shoulder to see what I see. He laughs a little, “Oh, god, I milked you by accident. You had a ruined orgasm.”
“You never said it felt this gross,” I point out.
He strokes my thigh, “I’m sure it’s different for everybody. I really am sorry.”
I make a point to breathe deeply to center myself, to make myself focus on what feels good in this moment--being against Justin--and dismissing my uneasy sensations. I want them to fade away.
“Let me get you out of that thing, okay?”
“How?” I ask.
Justin reaches between my legs and starts exploring me with his fingertips; I feel a weird squeeze and then freedom. I exhale as Justin removes the toy, “It has a secret release button,” he explains. I stroke my cock to console it, but it doesn’t respond to me. We’re not on speaking terms I guess. Justin takes my hand and moves it away so he can stroke me. My dick is definitely more satisfied with that option.
*************
JUSTIN’S POV
fifty minutes later…
I don’t want to argue with Brian but I also don’t want him to drive himself home. I lose the argument, but I’m following him on the highway; he promises not to speed. The downside to running that scene in Babylon was precisely this; the upside is that I think I got Brian closer to subspace than he’s ever been, maybe even on the doorstep. Something definitely happened to him.
As I pull into the garage next to him, he turns to me and smiles. I’m not sure which Brian will get out of the car, but once we’re in the kitchen, he seems relieved that I’ll figure out dinner, and he asks me if can go upstairs and get out of his clothes. “Of course you can.” About ten minutes later, I find him lying on the golden yellow sofa in our front living room in one of the black robes I bought him. “Dinner’s ready.”
Dinner with Brian is usually both of us eating and scrolling through our phones, sending articles to each other or reading our mail, but not tonight. Brian’s phone is not even with him. I ignore mine as well. I offer to clean up and send him back upstairs. He doesn’t object; he complies. With a smile.
My husband. Compliant.
When I arrive in our bedroom a while later, Brian’s watching the earlier five o’clock episode of his business show that he missed during our adventure. As I get ready for bed in our bathroom, I almost ask him if he did his facial routine, but then I can tell he did because there are drops of water near the jars. He calls to me as if reading my mind, “You need to get your own face serum and stop using mine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say as I exfoliate. “I’m way too young to use serums.”
“Just hurry up,” Brian says.
“I would use one on my ass if they made one for it,” I tell him.
“You probably already do, and that’s why I’m always running out so fast.”
When I join him in our bed, Brian’s nude and hard. He moves quickly--like one of those wall-climbing creepy monsters in scary movies--to tuck me underneath him and then instigates a make out session that knows will leave me breathless. He kisses me rabidly; his hands are everywhere at once. I slow him down at my own peril and ask him with as much sincerity as I can muster, “What is the meaning of this?”
Brian laughs, “It’s only ten thirty, and my cock is raging.”
“And this matters because…?”
“Because you want me to be happy?” Brian offers in response.
“I do want that,” I concede, “But what about keeping you in your place? I want that, too, and this isn’t your place.”
Brian squeezes my entire body, stills it underneath him, brushes my hair from my face and speaks, “What you did to me tonight...even that weird reaction I had...I really liked it.”
“You did?” I ask with a grin on my face.
“I liked it the same way you like it when I paddle you too hard and it brings tears to your eyes.”
“What did you like about it?” I ask him. “I want to cash in all my minutes right now.” I didn’t expect Brian to spill like this, but if he’s going to, I’m going to take advantage of it. “Don’t leave anything out.”
Brian rolls off of me onto his side and props his head on his hand. “Okay, I like that you arranged the whole thing very carefully, that you knew how to get me through the uncomfortable parts quickly--”
“Like that I knew better than to ask you if I could put a cage on you?”
“Exactly. You knew when to surprise me and when to inform me. That you were perfectly willing to take that risk, and that we both would’ve been okay regardless of whether it paid off.”
“Because we trust each other, Brian. We’ve built something between these sheets.”
“We have. And I kind of liked feeling helpless in Babylon; I’ve never experienced that. You gave me a new kind of freedom. And I liked that even after a ruined orgasm, I was completely satisfied. That kind of freaked me out a little actually.”
“I think you were more than satisfied,” I tell him, “I’m about ninety percent sure you were in subspace when it was over. I held you for a long time, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt that much vulnerability coming from you.”
“I think I was,” he agrees.
“That’s why I didn’t want you to drive yourself home. You were in an altered state.”
“Justin, I’ve lived most of my adulthood in one altered state or another.”
I laugh because he’s right. “I want to flog you again, that was what opened the door.”
“I loved it. It was more relaxing than a massage to me.”
Brian’s confession makes me so fucking happy. I won’t ever be able to run that exact scene again because the uncertainty of it was the entire point, but I learned a lot just by doing it. I’m right that Brian’s not motivated by pain the way I am; he doesn’t get off on overcoming it like I do, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy impact play. He absolutely does. I also reaffirmed that his lack of experience bottoming (compared to mine) makes his experiences very, very different. But different is okay.
It’s also okay that he’s back on top of me, kissing me, running his hands down my back and between my cheeks. “You’re making me fucking crazy, Brian. Tell me what you want.”
“Hmmm,” he says as his eyes flit up and then back to my face, “I really want to be inside you, but I think you should keep me in my place. I kind of like it here.”
This gives me an idea, a rather cruel one, but I think that’s acceptable tonight. “Okay, let me up. I need to get a few things.” He immediately releases me with an expectant look on his face. I head for our closet, for a black bag I keep hidden in there. I gather what I need and return to him, sort of tucking it in the pillows where he can’t see it. I ask him to move to the center of our bed, to stay on his back, and to fold his hands on his stomach. I want him inside me, that urge is always so close to the surface. I want to enjoy that full feeling, but I want it to be agony for him.
I lie down beside him to share a few things with him that he needs to know. My tone is sweet but determined. “One of the things I really like about you, Brian, is that you’re built from the ground up to please me, and I want you to understand that that’s the only thing I care about when I’m in charge. I care about how big your cock is, the many uses for your mouth, and how deep I can bury myself inside you.”
“Mmmm. Noted.”
“I’m going to train you to please me, and you might as well clear your calendar, because if I’m on your schedule, nothing else is. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I reach under my pillow and pull out the set of restrictive steel cock rings I hid there, and begin strangling his ball sac with one of them and choking off his cock with the other. “Are you uncomfortable?” I ask him.
“Very.”
“Good.” Next, I sit up on my knees and admonish Brian to hold still while I sit on his face. I face the headboard and use it for leverage against his scruffy face, encouraging him to, “Eat me. Make me soaking wet.”
“Can I touch you?” he asks when I let him breathe for a few moments.
“Yes.”
Brian’s hands wrap around my thighs, and he moans as he tongues me, his thumbs keeping me spread apart. I rub myself all over his face; he kisses the inside of my thighs, licks my balls, urges my cock down his throat. I feel lightheaded and grab the headboard more tightly. As I fuck his face, he fingers my ass. I put one hand in his hair and yank, using his head as a steering wheel. When I’m ready, I move down his body and sit on his cock. He digs his fingers into my legs as I ride him mercilessly, making sure to sit all the way down over and over until I see true pangs of torture on his face. With no warning, I reach down and unsnap the ring on his balls and then on his cock. I push him deep inside me, and he cries out in agony at the rush of blood as I bring him to orgasm. “Goddamnit,” he breathes as he comes, his chest arching up, his hands trying to hold my hips still for the event. I wait until he’s done writhing beneath me, pull out and scoot forward again, my thumb on his chin as I feed him my cock once more. He chokes on it as I come.
Guess he’ll have to start his facial routine all over tonight.
God, a little power is fucking delicious.
Negotiations 27
All feedback is appreciated. :)
JUSTIN’S POV
Without notification or explanation, Brian diverts our car to the cemetery on the way home from the airport. It’s fine with me; I take it as another step in his healing process. He doesn’t stop me when I get out of the car with him, both of us still wrapped in our branded array of coats, gloves and scarves. At least it’s no longer sleeting, Pittsburgh is just gray skies with a bitter chill in the air. We walk in silence to his parents’ headstones. He sits on his mother’s, his long legs extended as he lights a cigarette. I brush off the pine needles around Jack’s stone, and then walk a few steps away to a bench under a leafless tree. I watch Brian as he begins a soliloquy. He’s speaking quietly, and while I can’t completely hear the words, I can tell what he’s saying by the expression on his face and the way that he pauses now and then to collect himself. He apologizes to her and then starts to talk about me. I look down at my phone and pretend I’m reading something; when Brian speaks from his heart, there’s something sacred about it. When he’s done, he gets up and kicks away the dead flowers obscuring her headstone and then takes a deliberate step to Jack’s grave. He says something very, very short, gives him a sarcastic salute, turns and walks toward me. I put my phone in my pocket. We walk hand in hand back to our car. I’m proud of him, but I don’t need to tell him. He knows; in fact, I’m certain he can feel it.
Anytime we’re home from a trip, our routines are familiar, like worn paths. I begin resetting our lives for the week by unpacking, hanging, washing, folding and on and on. Brian retreats to his office to see what’s going to be waiting for him on Monday morning. I always come find him when I’m done with what he affectionately calls my ‘domestic flurries;’ and today I get the same follow up question I always get about whether or not I changed our sheets and towels. A casual observer would think it’s because Brian’s bossy and demanding, but that’s not why he asks. He asks because he has a weird aversion to seeing a bed with no sheets on it or a bathroom with no towels hanging, so I make sure that he doesn’t see it. If I’m rotating linens in a guest room, and I’m not finished, I keep the door closed. He repays this courtesy by handling all insects, rodents, and occasionally, an aggressive raccoon. I can wake him up at four in the morning because there’s a quarter inch bug in the bathroom, and he will neither bitch or complain. I suppose anything’s better than hearing me scream like a terrified queen.
I point to his computer screen, “Will tomorrow be crazy?”
He shakes his head, “No, I just have a lot of decisions to make in one day.”
“Do you need me there?”
“Probably not. You should stay home and relax; you just refilled your bank account.”
“Yeah, I deserve it,” I say.
He pats me on the butt, “You do. Are you hungry?”
“Want me to make us a half dinner?” I ask. ‘Half dinner’ is what we call it when I make dinner for one and we split it.
“Yeah, but easy.”
“Okay.”
Brian joins me downstairs when I call him, and we eat grilled chicken and peas from small plates; Brian believes eating from small plates is the key to keeping his figure. Once in awhile, I dust off the larger plates so they don’t feel forgotten. I ask him if he plans on working out tonight after his food digests, and he looks up at me very deliberately and says, “Not in the gym.”
I grin, “Understood. Is there somewhere else you’d prefer?”
Brian raises his eyebrows and shrugs, “That’s completely up to you.”
“Okay, well, I need about an hour in the studio to straighten up and stuff.”
“I’ll watch something,” he says.
……
After a big, successful show, I like to reorganize and reset my studio. I stack new canvases, clean my paint tray, restock my snack cupboard and fridge. The next time inspiration hits, I want to walk in here and feel like it’s brand new again. It takes me longer than an hour to complete this process to my satisfaction. I find Brian in our home theatre watching some movie I’ve never seen. He clearly wants to see the end. I sit on the opposite end of the sofa, my socked feet resting against his bare ones. It’s twenty degrees outside, and he still walks around with bare feet. Brian believes that all marriages are legally required to consist of one person who’s always cold and one who’s always hot. It’s how the universe keeps things in balance. I ask him what’s next on his agenda for tonight, and he turns off the television and smiles at me as he answers, “Exercise.”
Indeed.
*************
Brian has the smoothest, silkiest skin I’ve ever touched. He’s not just beautiful to look at; he’s beautiful to touch. He’s lying next to me in our bed at just after ten o’clock on this Sunday night, and neither of us are interested in going to sleep. All the bruising from Friday is completely gone; he gives off a very peaceful vibe as he lies on his stomach, his arms crossed on top of his pillow, his head resting there. I kiss his bicep, his shoulder, and his back as I run my hand over it. Neither of us are in any rush.
It would be insufficient to say that I just want to fuck Brian; I want so much more than that. I want to be inside him when he completely lets go; I want to experience the ripening of his desire; I want to be there when it starts to rot. I want to smell the sweet decay of his resistance, of the last traces of his dominance. I want to feel it turn to mush so I can mold it into whatever form his submission wants to take.
He probably just wants to get laid.
One of the most challenging things about being with Brian is that it often takes a lot of effort, gumption, trickery, begging, etc., to get certain types of information out of him.
Until tonight.
Tonight, he’s decided to dole it out...his way. He gets my attention, gets my face in front of his, and tells me, “I’ll make you a deal.”
“What sort of deal?”
He leans closer and kisses me, a kiss that feels more like a starter pistol firing than a good night gesture. Then he says, “When you fuck me, for every minute you can stay inside me, I’ll let you ask me anything you want.”
“I’ll stay inside you all night then,” I counter.
“I mean actively fucking me and until you come.”
Bummer.
I consider his offer, “Can I choose the position?”
“Of course.” I flop on my back, my hands intertwined on my chest. Brian comes closer, examines me, “What?”
I turn my head to the side, “That’s a huge decision, the position.”
Brian raises his eyebrow at me, “You have ten seconds to decide.”
Aren’t I supposed to be in charge here? Or is this what it really feels like....?
“I can’t decide, Brian. You decide.”
He slaps me on my arm, “Make a decision, Justin.”
“Face down,” I blurt out.
“Okay, why?” Brian asks.
“Because I can probably last longer that way because I’m not looking into your gorgeous fucking eyeballs.”
Brian laughs, “The back of my neck is stunning, though.”
“Just out of curiosity, how many minutes do I normally last?” I ask him.
“I’m not giving you the over under while you’re giving me the over under, Sunshine.”
“That sports metaphor just made my dick go soft, Einstein.”
“It was also a euphemism,” Brian defends.
“So, you miss my cock a little?” I ask.
He smiles, “More than a little, okay?”
I position myself halfway on top of him, run my hand down his face, “Tell me.”
He nuzzles closer to me, his face laying on my arm, “I can appreciate the need to have you fuck the shit out of me.”
“Well, that’s a euphemism, and a bit of a dodge. You sounded like a politician. Try again.”
Brian rolls his eyes and tries again, “I’ve laid next to you for twenty years and ached to be inside you, even after I’d just fucked you five minutes before, but now, that’s not the only sensation I feel, and sometimes, it’s not the strongest.” My eyes open wide at his admission, and he takes it as a challenge and says, “Okay?”
“Wow,” is all I have to offer.
Brian defends himself, “That was one of your minutes.”
I sigh and let him have that; it was a real admission; it has value to me. It was worth it. “I just have one caveat,” I warn him.
“What?”
“If we fuck, and you fall asleep, I get to use my minutes tomorrow or whenever I want.”
“You think that cock of yours is pure magic, don’t you?”
“Oh, I know it is.”
Brian smiles at me and turns on his side to pull me in. I want this; I want to feel if he’s hard or if this really is just a dumb game to him. He likes when I touch him; he reaches down and grips my wrist to hold my hand on his cock. I kiss him hard, squeezing his cock until he squirms uncomfortably. “Ow,” he says and releases my wrist. He gives me this sly grin, “You’re not fucking around.”
“I don’t think you want me to,” I tell him flatly.
“No, I guess not,” he says, and like an onion, he’s shed another layer of his determined exterior right in front of me.
And yet…I’m still not certain of what Brian wants physically in this moment. I mean, I know what I would want; I can produce the tried and true foreplay instructions that will get me exactly where I want to be, complete in a parchment scroll presented by a really hot squire at the call of a bugle. Brian’s desires surface more like a faded tattoo that you can only see in certain lighting. So, I make a decision to focus on myself, on what I want out of this. I push him onto his back so I can reach his nightstand which is perfectly stocked (by me) with a fresh cum towel and his favorite lube. Brian watches me - dare I say, eagerly - as I don’t even touch him. I touch myself and make him watch.
“Roll over,” I tell him.
He watches me from over his shoulder as I let him feel how hard and slick my cock is between his legs. I let him feel me line up at least three times before I really do because toying with Brian’s expectations is something I need to get better at. He slams his pillow against the headboard when I push inside him; the muscles in his back and shoulders become immediately defined.
“Breathe,” I remind him. I glance at the clock; it’s ten forty two. I have to pause myself; he’s never been this tight. I remember Friday night in our suite, how he rode me on that sofa, how afterwards, he was clearly in pain. I lie down on his back and put my hands over his. “I’ll go slow,” I tell him, “And not just for the extra minutes.”
He laughs and the sensation is wild. “I’m okay,” he tells me.
I rest just my forehead on his shoulder blades so I can look down his back and watch myself fuck him. I can somehow feel his heartbeat even though mine is deafening between my ears. His body begins to relax into the pleasure; he’s not just tight, I realize, he’s stiff because all he did was sit on a plane, sit in front of a computer and then sit in front of a television. I, on the other hand, have been bustling around for hours. I can feel him tightening and relaxing his leg muscles like his body is awakening. His ankles crack. “You sound like an old man,” I tease him.
“I know.”
I push the hair up off the back of his neck and let my lips brush over his skin. I run my hands along the sides of his torso, he moans for me. He’s relaxed now; he’s all mine.
For now, I’ve forgotten about the deal we made. I’m focused on every breath he takes, on his growling response when I slide my hand underneath him and pinch his nipple. I twist it between my fingers, and when he hisses at me, I reverse course and rub the pain away. Then something dawns on me. “Brian?”
“Hmmm?”
“Remember that threesome we had with that escort?”
“The sandwich?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“What about it?”
“I just realized that I wish I had two of you so I could always be in the middle.”
Brian raises his head and looks back over his shoulder at me. He’s amused but that’s not all. He gives me a serious look and says, “That’s the best fucking idea you’ve ever had, darling.”
I smile and respond like it’s actually possible, like he can just go out and get a clone of himself tomorrow morning, “Really? You think so?”
“I have literally never heard a better idea, and I get paid to hear ideas all fucking day.”
But then I realize, “There’s only one problem though.”
“Just one? Enlighten me.”
“You won’t share your clothes with him.”
He snorts and laughs at the same time. “If this other ‘me’ is for sex sandwiches, he won’t need any clothes.”
“Oh my god, we are so doing this.”
“We are,” Brian says, “Like, for real.”
*************
I lasted eight minutes inside him. For the record and my pride, he barely lasted five. That makes me deliriously happy. He was careful, though; he snatched the cum towel just in time and shot into it while eliciting a groan I could feel between my legs. It’s a fascinating sensation to come inside Brian, to feel my cock surrounded by more pressured warmth than I can even describe. He dozes off for a few minutes, and I just stay there, running my fingers across his upper back, drawing a picture only I can see.
I get seven shots at this ‘apple’ Brian has gifted to me.
I have some thinking to do.
*************
Right before lunchtime on Monday, Brian texts to say that he’ll be late tonight because of a conference call. I ponder my response, and since I’m not in the mood to cook dinner, I make a new plan. I call him, and he answers immediately, “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“This client is in a different time zone.”
“It’s okay; I’m making a new plan. Can I come see you at three thirty for about half an hour, uninterrupted?”
I can hear Brian’s smile in his voice, “Sure, of course.”
“You’re not too busy?”
“No, I’d do the call earlier but the client can’t, so it’s fine.”
“Okay, I’ll see you then.”
……
I arrive at Kinnetik at three twenty and notice there’s a new hire in Cynthia’s old office. Allison is with her teaching her the phone system. She invites me in, and introduces me to Brian’s new assistant, Hillary.
“Hi, I’m Justin Taylor, Brian’s partner.”
She stands and shakes my hand; she’s petite, maybe five four, very well dressed and has perfectly manicured nails. She has a bright smile and honey brown hair that’s tucked back. “Nice to meet you.”
I sit and chat with them since I’m early and find out that she’s married to guy named Patrick who writes gruesome horror novels. She used to be his editor, but the subject matter was getting to her. She needed a change of pace. “I’m not the type who can work from home and not lose it after awhile,” she adds.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here. Brian’s needed to fill this position for awhile. The fact that you’re familiar with horror will probably be an asset here.”
Allson steps forward and slaps my arm, “What is wrong with you? Don’t say that.” She’s laughing as she reprimands me.
I defend myself, “I just mean that Brian can be a lot when he’s in a mood. Feel free to call me or text me if you need some advice.”
I hear Brian’s voice behind me, “Some advice about what exactly?”
I turn and Brian’s leaning on the door jamb, his arms crossed, his eyes boring into my skull, but I’m not afraid of him, “How to navigate your ebb and flow.”
“You’re about to get caught up in a bitch of an undertow,” he warns me. Hillary’s eyes widen behind her dark rimmed glasses; Allison is shaking her head at both us and then she says, “Don’t you two have a meeting?”
“We do,” Brian says.
I stand and smile at Hillary, “It’s great to meet you. Allison, please give her my number.”
“I will, now, shoo, both of you. We can’t afford for her to quit!”
*************
In the privacy of Brian’s office, I sit on his small conference table and invite him between my legs. He growls a little and leans forward, kissing me and making it clear that my presence is appreciated. “You look hot,” he breathes, “Are those pants from our shopping trip?”
“They are.”
“So why did you schedule this appointment with me?” he asks.
“Because I need an orgasm from you before we meet after work,” I explain.
“Mmmm. This is on your to do list then?” he asks.
“It is.”
I begin to undo his belt, unbutton his pants and slip my hand inside his underwear. I press the ball of my hand against his cock and rub while he moans. I ask, “Have you touched yourself today without my permission?”
“No,” he says, “This is the first real break I’ve had anyway.”
“I put a snack on your desk because dinner will be late tonight.”
“You’re very sweet to me.”
He grabs a box of kleenex sitting behind me when he’s about to come, and we work as a team to keep him tidy. He kisses me and asks, “What are we doing tonight?”
“We’re going to Babylon.”
“It’s closed on Mondays.”
“I know, but not to us.”
“Hmmm...okay.”
*************
When Babylon’s not open for business, it can be kind of a scary place with weird shadows and creepy echoes. I go behind the bar and take a brand new bottle of Johnny Walker out of the inventory and leave a note for Ruben that I took it so he doesn’t freak out. I grab two glasses, pour myself a double and down it quickly. I find a box in the storeroom that I’ll need and place it in the middle of the dance floor. Next, I head upstairs to Brian’s office and to the lighting area where I can control everything in the club. Although my understanding of what all of these different lights are called is limited, I can run the system like a pro. I turn on the colored spotlights that move independently and constantly, lighting the entire dance floor and then find the spotlight I want and point it at the bar on the whiskey.
Time to wait.
Well, to wait and ponder why there’s a leather sling installed in a corner of the office. I’ll definitely be asking, what the hell is up with that?
Tonight, I want to play around with status and humiliation. I want to see how Brian responds to losing one and feeling the other. I hear the back door opening, and see Brian come in. He calls for me, and I answer him from the catwalk outside his office, “I’m up here.”
He looks up at me, his hand shielding his eyes from the spotlight, “Hey. What’re you up to?” he asks.
“You’ll see soon enough. I put that whiskey out for you. Help yourself.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
“How was the rest of your day?” I ask.
He nods as he drinks, “Good. Put out a fire with an important account. Got a killer hand job from this hot blond guy.”
“How hot was he?”
“He’s pretty fucking hot, so hot, I kind of married him.”
“Well, you’re very smart so that tracks.”
Brian shrugs from his bar stool, “Yeah, I guess I am.” He starts to get up and come to the stairs, and I stop him, “Nope, don’t come up here yet. Go back to the bar.” He gives me a severe eyebrow and goes back to his stool. “Can you tell me why there’s a sling installed in this office up here?”
Brian starts to laugh, “Ha, I forgot about that.”
“Well?”
“It was a prank that Rube ended up liking so he kept it.”
Now, I have a ton of questions. “Um, what? Last I heard, Rube is so asexual that he only masturbates by accident.”
“Let me come up there,” Brian says, “This is weird.”
“No, answer me. What’s the deal with it?”
“The bouncers installed it on his birthday thinking that they would just take it back out, but Rube, being the weirdo he is, decided he likes sitting in it because--”
And then I get it, “Because he rocks sometimes. I’ve seen him do it in the office now and then. He spaces out and rocks back and forth.”
“Exactly, so he loves it. He swings on his breaks. Now, can I come see you?” Brian asks.
“Not quite yet. Have you had enough whiskey?”
“Yep, I guess so. I don’t know how drunk I need to be for what’s about to happen.”
“Do you see that cardboard box on the dance floor?”
Brian looks and I move the spotlight to the box. “I see it.”
“Okay, I need you to leave your glass on the bar and go stand next to the box.”
“This is fucking weird,” he bemoans as he follows my instructions. “Now what?”
“I want you to take everything off, every single thing. The box is for your clothes.”
I back the spotlight intensity off a little as Brian steps out of his shoes. He holds them in his hands and look up at me, “This makes me uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
“Is someone else here?”
“Nope. Just me and you.”
He sighs and puts his shoes in the box, then his suit coat, then his tie. He folds everything and places it in the box like it’s a hope chest or something. He drags the task out to counterbalance how uncomfortable he is. “Why is this bothering you?” I ask him.
“I don’t know. It’s just weird.”
“Just think about all the men who’ve taken off their clothes for you this building,” I remind him.
“Like anyone can count that high,” Brian retorts.
He peels his socks off and complains, “The floor is fucking freezing.”
“Sorry about that.”
He seems mildly annoyed by the time his underwear comes off, and then he looks up at me almost and responds defensively, “I’m done.” I study his body; his cock is limp; there’s no arousal.
“Leave the box and come up here,” I say.
He starts for the side stairs, and I shake my head and point the spotlight to the other side of the dance floor where the stairs to the catwalk are, “No,” I say, “Go the long way so I can watch you.”
He turns and I keep the spotlight on him for every step. He complains about walking on the metal stairs with bare feet, says it feels weird and they’re probably really dirty. As he approaches me, I dial down the spotlight considerably. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this off kilter in Babylon. I extend my arm and he walks into the office. I follow behind him and shut the door. I know he’s uncomfortable, but I’ve decided that this is how I need him. This has to be the starting point for the journey I have in mind for tonight.
Brian points to the sling, “Do I have to get in that?”
“Only if you want to,” I offer.
“I think I’m too tall,” he says.
“I agree.”
Being less than affectionate with Brian as he stands here nude and confused in front of me is not easy to do. In fact, it’s fucking agonizing. I refuse to engage emotionally with him until I’ve completed the next task. I sit on the generous-sized sofa and request, “Come here. Come stand in front of me.” He takes the few steps while never taking his eyes off my face, and soon I’m eye level with his navel. Without explaining first, I put my hand in my pocket and pull out a black leather and steel gadget of sorts, a chastity cage fondly referred to as ‘The Gates of Hell.’ I don’t really let him see it, and I don’t talk to him about it. I just work as quickly as I can, getting his balls through one ring and then guiding his cock through the six other rings all joined by the leather strip, each one decreasing in diameter as it reaches the head of his dick. Then I look up at him, and he’s staring down at me like he doesn’t know me, like he doesn’t know quite what to do now that he’s stuck in this device. I lean in and rub my hands over his abdomen and then his ass as I close my eyes and kiss his stomach. I feel his hand in my hair; he exhales loudly. I stand up and take his hand; we exit his office and walk three steps to the next doorway, the entrance to Mecca, Babylon’s VIP orgy room. Every Sunday night, this room is completely cleaned and turned over. The covers on all the furniture and futon mattresses are changed out, over a hundred towels are restocked. I point to the gray colored mattress in the middle of the room, the biggest one, and Brian walks over and sits down. He’s silent as I close the door, lock it and get undressed. A box of clothes and shoes worth about seven thousand dollars sits far away from us in a cardboard box on a rainbow lighted deserted dance floor while my ensemble that costs far less is crumpled on the floor. I sit next to him on the mattress, and he lies back. I kiss him, and he kisses back like a stranger, like he doesn’t trust me; his eyes scan my face like they’re reforming my portrait in his mind. I decide that this moment is perilous; I rest my hand on his face, “Brian, it’s okay if you’re nervous.”
“I think it turns you on,” he says, and I shrug because maybe it does.
I kiss him again, and I’m able to fine tune the message he’s sending me; it’s not so much about a lack of trust; it’s apprehension. To prove my theory, I let my hand wander to his imprisoned organ, and the look on Brian’s face is identical to one he’d have if I asked him to try on an off brand suit. I pause and ask, “What color are you right now?”
“Yellowish green, I think.”
I want to challenge that assertion, but trust has to run both ways, so I don’t. I touch the device to make sure I have him in it correctly, and everything looks right, so and then I look back at his face, and I can’t even describe the look on his face as anything other than dread. “You’ve never been shackled like this have you?”
“Nope,” he says.
I urge Brian to roll on his side toward me so I can press myself against him; my hand is on his face, my thumb on his chin. “Listen to me,” I tell him.
“I am.”
“There’s so much pleasure in bottoming and in orgasm denial that in all the sex you’ve had, you haven’t even scratched the surface of.”
“I’m aware.”
I reiterate. “I don’t think you’re aroused by pain, like I am--” He starts to respond, and I give him a cross look and put my finger on his lips to shut him up, “But you did tell me that you are intrigued by having your sense of identity stripped away from you.” He nods. “This is the first time you’ve walked into this club and not been in charge in one way or another. Tonight, you’re not. This isn’t your club; there’s nobody here to obey you or fall to their knees in front of you. The only worth you have is what you’re worth to me right now.” I reach between us and stroke his cock in between the rings, and he groans in frustration. “I just need to trust me okay?”
*************
BRIAN’S POV
I trust Justin completely.
I can feel the truth of that statement and in doing so, I relax a little. I decide that I can either focus on how uncomfortable this device is or I can focus on him. I choose the latter. Justin asks me to lie back again and hands me a blindfold. “Will you wear it, please?” he asks sweetly.
“Yep.”
He kisses me, a pop on the lips, “Thanks.” I slide the black silk over my eyes. I can feel him moving, feel him walking around on the mattress and then coming back to me again. I feel his hand on my shoulder; he speaks, “So, like I was saying, I don’t think you’re aroused by pain the way I am, but I do think there’s a tactile component in all pleasure you seek.”
“That seems rather obvious,” I offer.
“Do not be a smart mouth, Brian.”
“Sorry.”
Something cool and lightweight touches my chest, and I reach for it; the leather strands of a flogger feel smooth to my fingers. “Don’t interfere,” Justin says.
“Again, sorry.” I lace my fingers behind my head.
“If you become solid yellow, let me know, okay?”
“Okay.”
Justin rubs my cheek, my forehead, strokes my hair. I smile; it feels good. I hear the flogger slice the air a split second before it hits my chest. I flinch because I expect pain, but it’s absent. Justin touches my shoulder again, “Just relax. I want every molecule of you present with me right now. This isn’t about pain.” His benevolence gets my full attention. His hand glides across my chest and then I feel the cool leather rain again. “See if you can just focus on the rhythm, on the sound,” he instructs me. He administers many more blows with little force behind them, just enough to keep me awake. The flogger moves down my body to my stomach and then to my cock. I internalize the rhythm, the pacing, the whoosh as it hits me and then the tingling as it’s taken away, the strands moving off my body the way a wave pulls back from the sand. It feels nice on my thighs. The impact moves down my entire body to the bottoms of my feet and then begins the trip back up. As I lie here blindfolded, I picture my body on a stretcher in a car wash being pelted as I inch forward. I feel peacefully confined to this fate, and when the leather reaches my shoulders again, Justin says, “Now, turn over,” and keeps right on going.
Whoosh.
Slap.
Tingle.
Drag.
Recede.
Every inch of my body is awake, every pore is participating.
Whoosh.
Slap.
Tingle.
Drag.
Recede.
No part of my body given more attention than any other.
Whoosh.
Slap.
Tingle.
Drag.
Recede.
High tide….
Low tide….
I’m disappointed when it’s over.
Except now, Justin is snuggled up against me, running his hand down my back, over my ass. “I really liked that,” I tell him. He slides my blindfold off; he’s smiling at me, “I could tell. You were moaning.”
“You had a technique,” I observe.
“Yes, YouTube. It’s all in the wrist.”
“Ah.”
“You forgot about your cock, didn’t you?” he asks me.
I nod, “Yes, I actually did.” Wow. “I kind of want you to do it again,” I tell him. Justin laughs a little and urges me up on my side so I can see how hard he is and that we’re moving on. “It’s my job to take care of that, huh?” I ask.
“It is one hundred percent your job,” Justin says. I can feel my cock again...surrounded by uncomfortable pressure. “I want to be inside you,” he tells me, “But this will be different than any other time I’ve fucked you. Lie back down.” He presses me back down on my stomach. I watch him and the serious look on his face as he grabs a bottle of lube and coats his hand. He scoots closer to me and lays his head on my upper back. “Spread your legs,” he says, and when I do, I’m not prepared for what Justin obviously is. He slides his fingers inside me, and I’m unsettled about how tight I am. He reads my face, “It’s the cage, Brian.”
“It’s not like this with you,” I say.
“Because you’ve fucked me a million times.”
“Jesus,” and then I realize, “This is why you came to my office today and made me come.”
He kisses my shoulder blade, “Yep, I needed you a little spent.”
“And rattled, that’s what that whole dance floor strip tease was for.”
“Yes, you’re right again. All of that was to get to this moment. Try to relax a little; let me open you up.”
I fess up to him, “I can’t like this; I can’t lay on this thing.”
“Okay, get up on your knees, but keep your head down. I want you to remember your place.”
My place.
I obey him because I want to, and the sensation I feel both physically and emotionally has morphed. From position three, with my face in my hands, I think only about him, about giving myself away for his pleasure. It’s an intense feeling; it arouses me which makes me even more uncomfortable even as I try to ignore that physical impossibility. I know when he’s getting ready to fuck me because I’m empty and I can feel the mattress shifting underneath me as he finds his position.
The next few minutes will never be forgotten; they are seared into my mind. Justin takes his time getting deep inside me, and he rubs my lower back as he fucks me. My hands are clenched in my hair, pulling it to try to shift attention away from the ecstatic torture of this fuck. My shackled dick is hanging and swaying back and forth, part of me and not part of me at the same time. I start to feel queasy. I’m groaning and then it happens…
Fuck.
I dry heave.
Justin lurches forward and then stops moving, but he’s laying on my back; his body twitching as he tries to comfort me with his hands. I’m frozen in position, unable to move. Justin’s searching for my hands, extracting them from my hair. He squeezes them and laughs, “God, I’m sorry. That made me come. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, that was weird, but I’m also kind of numb,” I explain.
“It felt like you were pulling my cock from my ass to your throat. I’ll pull out, just relax and let me.”
“I’m numb,” I reiterate, “I can’t feel anything.”
As Justin and I disconnect, I feel my body list sideways and connect with the mattress. I can’t unravel myself from a fetal position, and Justin realizes this and holds me tightly, and that’s when I look down and see a dark spot in front of me. I touch myself and feel something wet. “Um…,” I say.
Justin sits up a little and peers over my shoulder to see what I see. He laughs a little, “Oh, god, I milked you by accident. You had a ruined orgasm.”
“You never said it felt this gross,” I point out.
He strokes my thigh, “I’m sure it’s different for everybody. I really am sorry.”
I make a point to breathe deeply to center myself, to make myself focus on what feels good in this moment--being against Justin--and dismissing my uneasy sensations. I want them to fade away.
“Let me get you out of that thing, okay?”
“How?” I ask.
Justin reaches between my legs and starts exploring me with his fingertips; I feel a weird squeeze and then freedom. I exhale as Justin removes the toy, “It has a secret release button,” he explains. I stroke my cock to console it, but it doesn’t respond to me. We’re not on speaking terms I guess. Justin takes my hand and moves it away so he can stroke me. My dick is definitely more satisfied with that option.
*************
JUSTIN’S POV
fifty minutes later…
I don’t want to argue with Brian but I also don’t want him to drive himself home. I lose the argument, but I’m following him on the highway; he promises not to speed. The downside to running that scene in Babylon was precisely this; the upside is that I think I got Brian closer to subspace than he’s ever been, maybe even on the doorstep. Something definitely happened to him.
As I pull into the garage next to him, he turns to me and smiles. I’m not sure which Brian will get out of the car, but once we’re in the kitchen, he seems relieved that I’ll figure out dinner, and he asks me if can go upstairs and get out of his clothes. “Of course you can.” About ten minutes later, I find him lying on the golden yellow sofa in our front living room in one of the black robes I bought him. “Dinner’s ready.”
Dinner with Brian is usually both of us eating and scrolling through our phones, sending articles to each other or reading our mail, but not tonight. Brian’s phone is not even with him. I ignore mine as well. I offer to clean up and send him back upstairs. He doesn’t object; he complies. With a smile.
My husband. Compliant.
When I arrive in our bedroom a while later, Brian’s watching the earlier five o’clock episode of his business show that he missed during our adventure. As I get ready for bed in our bathroom, I almost ask him if he did his facial routine, but then I can tell he did because there are drops of water near the jars. He calls to me as if reading my mind, “You need to get your own face serum and stop using mine.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say as I exfoliate. “I’m way too young to use serums.”
“Just hurry up,” Brian says.
“I would use one on my ass if they made one for it,” I tell him.
“You probably already do, and that’s why I’m always running out so fast.”
When I join him in our bed, Brian’s nude and hard. He moves quickly--like one of those wall-climbing creepy monsters in scary movies--to tuck me underneath him and then instigates a make out session that knows will leave me breathless. He kisses me rabidly; his hands are everywhere at once. I slow him down at my own peril and ask him with as much sincerity as I can muster, “What is the meaning of this?”
Brian laughs, “It’s only ten thirty, and my cock is raging.”
“And this matters because…?”
“Because you want me to be happy?” Brian offers in response.
“I do want that,” I concede, “But what about keeping you in your place? I want that, too, and this isn’t your place.”
Brian squeezes my entire body, stills it underneath him, brushes my hair from my face and speaks, “What you did to me tonight...even that weird reaction I had...I really liked it.”
“You did?” I ask with a grin on my face.
“I liked it the same way you like it when I paddle you too hard and it brings tears to your eyes.”
“What did you like about it?” I ask him. “I want to cash in all my minutes right now.” I didn’t expect Brian to spill like this, but if he’s going to, I’m going to take advantage of it. “Don’t leave anything out.”
Brian rolls off of me onto his side and props his head on his hand. “Okay, I like that you arranged the whole thing very carefully, that you knew how to get me through the uncomfortable parts quickly--”
“Like that I knew better than to ask you if I could put a cage on you?”
“Exactly. You knew when to surprise me and when to inform me. That you were perfectly willing to take that risk, and that we both would’ve been okay regardless of whether it paid off.”
“Because we trust each other, Brian. We’ve built something between these sheets.”
“We have. And I kind of liked feeling helpless in Babylon; I’ve never experienced that. You gave me a new kind of freedom. And I liked that even after a ruined orgasm, I was completely satisfied. That kind of freaked me out a little actually.”
“I think you were more than satisfied,” I tell him, “I’m about ninety percent sure you were in subspace when it was over. I held you for a long time, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve felt that much vulnerability coming from you.”
“I think I was,” he agrees.
“That’s why I didn’t want you to drive yourself home. You were in an altered state.”
“Justin, I’ve lived most of my adulthood in one altered state or another.”
I laugh because he’s right. “I want to flog you again, that was what opened the door.”
“I loved it. It was more relaxing than a massage to me.”
Brian’s confession makes me so fucking happy. I won’t ever be able to run that exact scene again because the uncertainty of it was the entire point, but I learned a lot just by doing it. I’m right that Brian’s not motivated by pain the way I am; he doesn’t get off on overcoming it like I do, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy impact play. He absolutely does. I also reaffirmed that his lack of experience bottoming (compared to mine) makes his experiences very, very different. But different is okay.
It’s also okay that he’s back on top of me, kissing me, running his hands down my back and between my cheeks. “You’re making me fucking crazy, Brian. Tell me what you want.”
“Hmmm,” he says as his eyes flit up and then back to my face, “I really want to be inside you, but I think you should keep me in my place. I kind of like it here.”
This gives me an idea, a rather cruel one, but I think that’s acceptable tonight. “Okay, let me up. I need to get a few things.” He immediately releases me with an expectant look on his face. I head for our closet, for a black bag I keep hidden in there. I gather what I need and return to him, sort of tucking it in the pillows where he can’t see it. I ask him to move to the center of our bed, to stay on his back, and to fold his hands on his stomach. I want him inside me, that urge is always so close to the surface. I want to enjoy that full feeling, but I want it to be agony for him.
I lie down beside him to share a few things with him that he needs to know. My tone is sweet but determined. “One of the things I really like about you, Brian, is that you’re built from the ground up to please me, and I want you to understand that that’s the only thing I care about when I’m in charge. I care about how big your cock is, the many uses for your mouth, and how deep I can bury myself inside you.”
“Mmmm. Noted.”
“I’m going to train you to please me, and you might as well clear your calendar, because if I’m on your schedule, nothing else is. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” I reach under my pillow and pull out the set of restrictive steel cock rings I hid there, and begin strangling his ball sac with one of them and choking off his cock with the other. “Are you uncomfortable?” I ask him.
“Very.”
“Good.” Next, I sit up on my knees and admonish Brian to hold still while I sit on his face. I face the headboard and use it for leverage against his scruffy face, encouraging him to, “Eat me. Make me soaking wet.”
“Can I touch you?” he asks when I let him breathe for a few moments.
“Yes.”
Brian’s hands wrap around my thighs, and he moans as he tongues me, his thumbs keeping me spread apart. I rub myself all over his face; he kisses the inside of my thighs, licks my balls, urges my cock down his throat. I feel lightheaded and grab the headboard more tightly. As I fuck his face, he fingers my ass. I put one hand in his hair and yank, using his head as a steering wheel. When I’m ready, I move down his body and sit on his cock. He digs his fingers into my legs as I ride him mercilessly, making sure to sit all the way down over and over until I see true pangs of torture on his face. With no warning, I reach down and unsnap the ring on his balls and then on his cock. I push him deep inside me, and he cries out in agony at the rush of blood as I bring him to orgasm. “Goddamnit,” he breathes as he comes, his chest arching up, his hands trying to hold my hips still for the event. I wait until he’s done writhing beneath me, pull out and scoot forward again, my thumb on his chin as I feed him my cock once more. He chokes on it as I come.
Guess he’ll have to start his facial routine all over tonight.
God, a little power is fucking delicious.
Negotiations 27