“Please,” I finally whisper, reduced to begging and no longer too proud to admit it. “Please make me come.”
One eyebrow arches.
“Please make me come, Sir.”
Another smile. “Good boy.” And he does, this time needing to drape an arm around me and lower me to the floor because my knees give out from the force of my orgasm.
We sit there with me cradled against him, my eyes closed, my head resting against his chest. We’re both covered in spooge now and he doesn’t apparently care.
I guess I shouldn’t, either.
I don’t know when my tears started, but at some point I realize Carter’s rocking my body, his arms around me, his chin rubbing against the top of my head.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “Let it all out. You’re not alone anymore, boy—I’ve got you. You’re mine, and I’m not letting you fall. I’ll always catch you, I promise.”
* * * *
I don’t know how long we sit there, but by the time I finally come back to myself, everything’s sort of dried out and crusty, and I’m feeling more than a little self-conscious.
I’m also wondering if Carter expects me to reciprocate.
I’m…well, I’m straight, and I’m not sure how I feel about that possibility.
I guess maybe I should have asked a few more questions before we actually started this, but I trusted him.
Pausing, I think for a moment. No, that’s trust, present-tense. I still trust him, as weird as that might sound.
Believe me, I know it sounds weird.
I feel…wrung out. More than just physically, but emotionally.
He’s still holding me, and I’m sure sitting on a tile floor isn’t good for his pain, but he’s not making any moves like he’s uncomfortable.
“Better?” he asks, back to his usual voice.
“Are we still…” I don’t even know how to ask. “Sir, or Carter?”
“We’re always Sir and boy by default, unless one of us specifically flips it back.”
“Okay.” I think about it for a moment. “I mean, yes, Sir.”
“Do you want to talk about this now or later?”
Now is as good as any time. “Now?”
A chuckle. “Is that a question or a response, boy?”
“A response, Sir?”
Another laugh. “So, here’s the thing,” he says. “To answer what I’m sure is your first question, no, I’m not going to demand or even ask you to reciprocate. If you ever want to volunteer, I’d likely say yes, depending on the circumstances. But if I’m going to control your orgasms, I’d be a pretty shitty Sir if I didn’t give you relief from time to time. While orgasm control turns me on, long-term chastity does not. I’ll also be using orgasms as rewards.”
“Are you gay?”
“No.”
Okay, so this doesn’t really make sense to me, but maybe that’s his…point? I don’t know.
I lie there, not wanting to move yet. I finally force myself to ask the next question. “Why did I start crying?”
“That’s not uncommon, especially after someone’s first scene. Cathartic emotional release.” He rubs his chin in my hair. “You’re starved for affection, for positive reinforcement.”
He’s not wrong, even if I don’t understand any of this.
“Do you need me to move yet, Sir?”
“No, I’m okay, boy. If I need you to move, I’ll say so.”
I draw in a deep, shuddering breath. Even the few times I’d been with girls, there was always something…missing. I didn’t know at the time if it was something lacking within me or more to do with them. My very first time, during my senior year of high school, she hadn’t been a virgin and she’d said she enjoyed it with me, yet that experience left me feeling empty later, emotionally speaking.
So had my other two times.
Also, I guess it’s pretty telling I only had one time with each of them. The girl I briefly dated last year broke things off with me shortly after the first time we slept together. Said it was her, not me.
Maybe I wasn’t dominant enough for them.
This, however, feels like what I wish those times had felt like despite the way I feel…scrambled. Now, it’s like there’s a firm anchor keeping me in the moment, gently weighing me down, attached to the present.
“Have you…taken charge of guys before like this, Sir?”
“Have I topped men? Yes. Men and women.”
A comfortable quiet descends upon us. I’ve never felt a need to fill the silence with Carter the way I do with my mother.
Ever.
Everything has always felt easy between us, and with Susa, too. Even this is quickly becoming easy. I don’t feel a need to cover myself like I did before.
My brain is…the only way to describe it is quiet.
For the first time in my adult life, there aren’t a million thoughts running through my mind, including a list of my own shortcomings that I’m beating myself up over.
“We’ll keep doing this, Sir?” I quietly ask when I realize that.
“Yes. Unless you decide you want me to stop doing this, and specifically tell me we’re not doing this any longer, we are going to keep doing this.”
After a long, slow breath, I nod. “I want to keep doing this, Sir.”
His chin rubs against the top of my head. “Good boy. So do I.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Instead of cleaning us up, Carter has an alternate suggestion. About fifteen minutes later, he has me help him up from the floor and we head out to the pool. He shoves his shorts down and jumps in the deep end.
I follow. When I break the surface, he’s already swimming toward the shallow end, smooth strokes cutting through the water. I’m not a pretty swimmer. I always feel like a manic Labrador retriever splashing around compared to Carter’s neat, strong, disciplined strokes.
I follow him to the shallow end, where he lounges against the stairs. They’re wide, divided by a metal handrail, and he takes up one side.
“We’ll patrol the living room in a little bit,” he says with a smirk. “Clean up the splash zone.”
“Am I still allowed to ask questions, Sir?”
“Always. Unless I’ve specifically ordered you to remain silent.”
“How often will we do…this?”
“Do what? Orgasm play?”
“I mean everything. This.”
“We’re doing it now.” He tips his head back and looks at the sky through the screened pool cage. It’s a sunny day and the water’s perfectly warm, but there’s literally a cloud situated over us right now. Carter’s face is bathed in a study of soft shadows contrasted with rippled light reflected off the pool’s surface.
Much like the man himself.
“I’m going to introduce rituals and protocols to our relationship,” he says. “A few at a time. Rules. I won’t set you up for failure by dumping a bunch of stuff on you all at once and then have you beating yourself up over it.”
“Protocols?”
“Calling me ‘Sir’, for starters.” He lifts his head and meets my gaze. “In fact, even in front of Susa, I want you to call me ‘Sir’.”
Terror fills me. “But—”
“I’ve decided we are going to bring her in.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“That’s your biggest fantasy, isn’t it? Of her dominating you?”
I swallow hard. He’s right, but still… “She hasn’t asked to be part of this. You don’t even know she’ll want to be part of this.”
Worse, what if she doesn’t want to be friends with us anymore?
“She will.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
“I know she will,” he repeats.
“How?”
“You haven’t noticed that she’s naturally an in-charge kind of person?”
“I mean, yeah, I have, but—”
“Then what’s the problem, boy?”
My mouth snaps shut as the d
elicious quiet in my brain is once again shattered by all the noise and fears usually bouncing around in there.
“She’s our friend,” Carter continues. “I will never do anything to put that friendship at risk. But there is something you need to know.”
Terror roils my gut. I think, here it is, the ugly truth. Some secret pact between them, maybe? Simultaneously I need to know, and yet I don’t want to hear whatever it is he’s going to say.
Maybe he senses my inner turmoil, because he continues. “I suspect Susa has a strong submissive streak she might want to explore, under the right circumstances. It makes sense, because she sees me as safe, as a friend and an authority figure. She trusts me. Like you trust me. She needs downtime, too. All that intensity wears a person out.”
Never mind I’m convinced she’s in love with Carter, which would be why she would react well to him, but I don’t say that. “What are you going to do?” I’m actually terrified to know.
“Nothing like this. I’ll approach her about you when I feel the time is right and introduce her to dominating you. Let’s be honest—you’re well past more than halfway there already. She lets you do the dishes all the time. You help her with her laundry and other chores. Easing her into a formal dynamic with you will be easy. I’ll put it out there to her if she wants to try the submissive end of things that I’d be open to exploring that with her.”
A mixture of longing and dread fills me. Absolutely, I would love my deepest fantasies to come true.
Except how would I feel seeing Susa kneeling for Carter?
Not that she’s kneeling—that she’s kneeling for someone else.
Someone who’s not me.
Then again, I try to picture her kneeling in front of me, for me, and that doesn’t feel right no matter how I try to frame it.
“You will hand this over to me, boy,” he quietly says, the firm tone returning. “This is out of your control, regardless. You only deal with the things I tell you to deal with. Your schoolwork, for starters. That’s above everything else. You’ll continue PT with me every morning as we have been, unless you’re sick or injured.” He smiles. “Like this morning. Laundry is your chore, which will now include putting mine away for me. I expect you to learn how and where I like my things kept in our room. Understand?”
“Yes, Sir,” I numbly say. I’m still trying to process that he’s going to tell Susa my secret. “I guess this gets me out of running for office, huh?”
Carter looks genuinely confused. I didn’t think that was possible. “Why?” he asks.
“I mean…this.”
He laughs. “If you think you’re the first or last person to run for public office with a skeleton in your closet, think again. You’re definitely not the first subbie.”
“What if this gets out?”
He stares me dead in the eye. “It won’t, I promise. I would never do something like that to you.”
I settle in on the other side of the steps, where I take a few minutes to chew over everything he’s said. “So I don’t get to date?”
That slight shadow passes over his eyes again, like it did that first day we met Susa. “No. Why? Is that a problem?”
“I…” I take a deep breath. Not like I’ve had anyone I wanted to date.
Except Susa.
“No, Sir,” I quietly say.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to be dating either. Between school and this, it’ll take up all my time. You won’t be lonely.”
When I think about what he did to me a little bit ago in the living room, my cock twitches, even in the water.
The way it felt waking up next to him this morning, before I processed it was him.
No, I won’t be lonely, or lacking for attention, I suppose.
“We’re going to start with training you to basically be my valet,” he says. “You’re going to start showering with me—”
“Wait, what?”
“What?”
I stare at him. “Showering together?”
“Is this a problem, boy? I’ve seen you naked. I jerked you off a little while ago. I warned you you’ll be spending a lot of time naked. You’re naked in here, with me, right now.”
True, true, true, and, of course, true.
He’s still staring at me. “Is this a problem, boy?” he repeats.
“No, Sir.” My voice sounds tiny to me, but even as I answer, I realize this doesn’t feel like any of the countless times Mom’s upbraided me for something.
This doesn’t feel…wrong.
Weird and strange and new, yes.
The rightness it’s imbued with can’t be denied.
He studies me for a moment before he speaks again. “You’ll open doors for me, the way you already have. I’m going to teach you positions I want you to kneel in. We’re also going to start with some domestic discipline this weekend. How and where we do that will vary depending on the circumstances. I can’t spank you in our dorm room if anyone else is around, because they’ll hear it, so I’ll develop alternatives.”
Thoughts of that simultaneously terrify and thrill me.
“There will be times I make you cry,” he continues. “Sometimes on purpose, sometimes incidentally. While you are in kneeling in position, I don’t care if snot’s rolling down your face, you don’t break position unless I’ve given you permission to do so. Not to blow your nose, not to wipe your tears. Understand?”
It makes me uncomfortable, but maybe that’s the whole point, so I nod. “Yes, Sir. What about during breaks?”
“Breaks?”
“What if we’re not together?”
He looks genuinely confused. “Why wouldn’t we be together?”
Maybe I’m not making myself clear. “I mean, during semester breaks. When we won’t be in the dorms.”
He turns a little, facing me. “You’re going to be with me,” he says, sounding matter-of-fact. “You let me worry about where we’ll stay during our breaks. One of the trade-offs of this dynamic is that while you obey me and do what I tell you, I promise to take care of you in all ways. Including where we live. I told you, you will always have a place to live with me.”
The good kind of fear, for once, trills through me. “What if I can’t afford it?”
He reaches out and catches my chin, hints of a smile curling his lips. “Are you questioning my ability to take care of you, boy?”
“No, Sir.” I’ve answered before I even think about it. “I trust you.”
“Good.” He releases my chin and tips his head back again, but the sun’s out now, so he closes his eyes. “I own you, I control you, and I will take care of you.”
* * * *
After a while, we head inside, grabbing towels from the pool bath on our way in. Carter has me check the living room and make sure I clean up my cum where it dripped.
It was…a lot. And, fortunately, it was over the tile and not the area rug.
Once that’s cleaned up, he has me start a load of laundry and then orders me to join him in Susa’s master bathroom.
He smiles and indicates the shower with his hand, and I climb in.
Nerves fill me, but I’m determined I’m going to see this through. Maybe it won’t make sense to someone else, I don’t know.
Here’s the thing—yes, this is weird, and sudden, and nothing I expected to happen. But if I have a choice to step off the crazy-making hamster wheel that is life with my mother?
Absofuckinglutely I’ll give Carter a shot. I’m no worse off than I was before if I end up stopping this.
Maybe I have a lot to gain.
Actually, there’s no maybe about it. I have everything to gain, including finally getting a chance to do something that I want to do to be happy in my life, with people who make me feel more like I’m family and loved than my own family ever did. I never imagined my deepest, darkest fantasies would coalesce like this, but I’ll take it.
One of the things I know I need to do to be a functional adult is follow my own path and do the th
ings that make me happy, that sing to my soul.
This is one of those things.
I’ve never intimately showered with someone before. In these close quarters, I can’t help but get a good look at the scars on Carter’s body.
He drizzles body wash on a washcloth and hands it to me before he turns to face the wall. “Start up on my shoulders, work your way down.”
I’ve literally never done this with another person before. I tentatively reach out to do it, and he chuckles.
“You can use more pressure than that, boy.”
I do. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Trust me, this doesn’t hurt. I will tell you if something hurts in a bad way.”
It’s impossible for me to identify what feelings are rolling through me right now. I’m completely without a frame of reference.
“Why this, Sir?” I ask as I work my way lower.
“First tell me about when your parents divorced.”
My hand slows, stills. “Why?”
“Because I asked. Don’t stop what you’re doing.”
I take a deep breath and resume scrubbing his back. “I don’t remember everything. It was ugly. I remember them screaming at each other a lot before Dad moved out. I didn’t get to see much of him before he moved to Nevada for work.”
“What about before?”
“What do you mean?”
“What was life like before? All the way down, boy. Ass, and back of my legs.”
I swallow hard but I scrub lower. “Life with Mom was always tense. She was in charge at home. They bickered and fought all the time. I suspect Dad started cheating a couple of years before she caught him. But at least when Dad was home, he’d take me out and do stuff with me some evenings and on the weekends. We’d leave Mom at home, or she was working or something, and go fishing, or see movies. Stuff she didn’t want any part of.”
The scars are even worse down the backs of his thighs and calves. I know now from talks we’ve had that the scarring along his back is mostly from burns, where flaming fuel got under his tactical vest. Shrapnel from the blast mostly hit him lower, along his ass and legs, below the vest. Although a couple of larger pieces did pierce through his vest, one of which punctured a lung. The back of his upper right arm took some shrapnel, past where the vest covered him, and the back of his upper left arm received some burns, because he’d landed on his left side on top of the three downed men he was trying to protect, shielding them with his body.
Governor (Governor Trilogy 1) Page 17