Collars 'N' Cuffs

by Wayward Ink

  A blush rose to Michael’s face at the praise. Jackson leaned in and captured his mouth in a kiss. Lips mellowed beneath his, and a tongue snaked up to meet his own. There was no submissiveness in the kiss this time—only the balance of two equals. Jackson’s erection, which hadn’t waned, gave a furious throb, asking for release. However, he pushed his needs away and focused on Michael.

  The kiss took a long time—a slow building of desire. Tongues caressed, tasted, and rubbed. Bodies touched and brushed against each other. The wax on Michael’s back cracked under Jackson’s palms, reminding Jackson that he hadn’t properly cleaned his sub. Before he could pull back, though, Michael’s hand drifted down Jackson’s chest, over his abdomen, and wrapped around his cock. Jackson moaned into Michael’s mouth. He wanted to push the hand away, to hold off the orgasm, but before he could put his thoughts into action, he was too far gone to do anything about it. Nimble fingers teased his shaft, squeezing beneath the base before rubbing the head.

  A few strokes. That was all it took. Pressure gathered in his body. His balls drew up. Jackson groaned and pulled Michael closer, holding onto him. Now, he was the weak one. And it was okay. More than okay. The world shrank around him, reduced to Michael’s hand on his cock. With a final, hard pull, Jackson came. And when he did, Michael was there to hold him and guide him through. As the haze of the orgasm dissipated, Jackson wished that he didn’t have to let go, that this wasn’t his only night with Michael. Perhaps there was a way to see him again. Although, there was Paul to consider. Where did he factor in?

  “Jackson? You okay?”

  Jackson shook his concerns away and opened his eyes.. “Yes, I am.”

  Michael smiled back at him and made a move to get up.

  Jackson locked his arms around him to hold him in place. “Not so fast. I’m not done with you yet.”

  Born in Romania, land of the Iele and Vlad the Impaler, AIMEE BRISSAY has spent all her life surrounded by books. She has ridden side by side with d’Artagnan and The Three Musketeers to retrieve the Queen’s diamonds, set sail on the Erasmus in search of the Japans, fell in love with Rhett Butler and roamed the Wild West along Old Shatterhand. She has walked on the footsteps of the Olympian Gods and searched for Zalmoxis’ sanctuary in the Carpathians. In her mind, she’s never been the damsel in distress but rather the knight in shiny armor fighting for a cause.

  With a background like this, turning to writing was no surprise.

  Aimee discovered erotica early on in life and has never looked back. Now she can write anywhere, even in a crowded room or a busy subway station, but she loves solitude.

  When she’s not at her evil day job, she can be found writing or playing with her cat. She welcomes messages from readers and promises to answer all of them as soon as possible.

  Aimee Brissay can be found at:

  Website: http://aimeebrissay.blogspot.ro/

  Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100006586754683

  “ON YOUR KNEES.”

  I chuckled to hide my momentary exasperation and annoyance. This was getting out of hand and, after the last few days, was somewhat of a surprise.

  “At least let me get inside and put down my briefcase.” My gaze traveled down Rhys’ bare chest to his crotch, noting his semirigid cock protruding from his unzipped fly. He was going commando. Typical. “Or is putting on a performance for our unsuspecting neighbors part of the scene you have planned?” I felt funny using the word “scene”, but since we’d been dipping our toes in the waters of some light BDSM, it seemed appropriate to use the jargon that went with it.

  Without saying a word, Rhys took two steps back, allowing me to gain entry to our house. Holding his gaze in an effort to convey a silent message of equality, not submission, I used my foot to close the front door behind me and placed my briefcase on the floor. Before I’d even released my grip on the handle, he repeated his commands.

  “On your knees and suck my dick.”

  I straightened, squaring my shoulders. “No.”

  Truth be told, had he given me an hour to loosen my tie, sink a beer, and leave my work day behind, it would probably have been me suggesting a bit of time in the playroom. After the week I’d had, I could have done with some stress relief and having someone else take charge for a change.

  But he hadn’t.

  And so now there would be no playtime. Not in the playroom, and most definitely not in our front foyer.

  The foyer.

  Therein lay our problem. My problem.

  If I was going to suck his cock in the entryway, I wanted it to be as part of lovemaking. I wanted it to be because our passion for each other had overwhelmed our sensibilities and we were ripping clothes off in our haste to get to each other. I didn’t want to do it as a submissive to his Dominant. No, if it were up to me we’d confine our D/s play to the playroom, as just one of the many aspects of our relationship, sexual or otherwise. With each passing day, however, it was becoming increasingly clear that, for Rhys, it had become our entire lifestyle.

  The irony was, the whole Dom/sub thing had been my idea and was in direct contrast to the previous dynamics of our relationship. We’d met as seniors at college. I was the classic overachieving, hungry for success, take charge, business major. Always in control. Always with an answer. Rhys, on the other hand, went through life with half his head in another world. His major had been graphic design, and he was all about philosophy and artistic integrity.

  Despite our differences—or maybe because of them—our chemistry had been off the charts from our very first meeting. The pattern of our relationship was also settled early on: I topped, he bottomed. I led and Rhys followed.

  That’s not to say Rhys was weak or spineless. It was more he had a curiosity as to where I’d lead him. And he had this knack of making me look at things I’d seen or done umpteen times before with new eyes. His out of the box thinking had helped me take my father’s consultancy business, of which I assumed control three years out of college, from earning us a comfortable living to earning us a very, very comfortable living in less than a decade.

  Along with that growth had come more employees and extra responsibilities. Lots of people looked to me to take charge, make the hard decisions, and provide them with answers and direction. The consulting game wasn’t just about numbers and services. It was about people. That meant not only catering to the needs of our clients, but also my employees. In fact, by taking care of my staff I was, in turn, looking after our clientele.

  Nurturing the employees involved listening to them, mentoring them, guiding them, being their sounding board. It meant encouraging them and building them up. But it also meant having to be tough. Like a parent needs to be with a child.

  There were times to be understanding and times to call “bullshit”, and recognising which end of the stick to grab wasn’t always easy. It was rarely black and white.

  In short, it meant leading—and from the front. It was up to me to set the tone and the pace. Attitude and the workplace environment came from me and filtered down the ranks. I couldn’t expect a junior receptionist to have a positive attitude and strong work ethic if I didn’t. The old adage of do as I say not as I do wouldn’t cut it in the consulting world. Well, not if you wanted to be successful.

  And home was the same. Not that Rhys was lazy. He wasn’t. Not by a long shot. But he did leave the decisionmaking to me—both big and small. Anything from what to have for dinner, what movie to go see, to what suburb to live in.

  I fully accepted I was as much to blame for the situation as he was. The pattern had been set early in our relationship, and with each year the path became more worn and comfortable.

  Up until a few months earlier, I’d thrived on the responsibility, but of late, I was tired. Questions niggled. Where could I go for my nurturing? Who would mentor me? Encourage me? Who would help me sort the shit from shinola and lead me to making the right decision?

  I began having moments of wanting to hand over
the reins to someone else. Not permanently. Just sometimes—for an hour here, or a day there.

  That’s when I hit upon the idea of a bit of role-playing with Rhys. Needless to say, with his fertile, imaginative mind he was instantly an eager participant. He researched and instigated our discussions on limits and safewords and the myriad of details I hadn’t given a thought to when I’d put forward the idea. I’d just wanted to pretend I was someone else for an hour or two.

  And it had started out so well. Each scene he’d planned had built on the previous one. They were at times fun, at other times sexy, and always erotic. The night he took my ass cherry being a case in point….

  “PET.” I QUIRKED an eyebrow at Rhys’ latest nickname for me. He ignored my ill-concealed grin and, using a voice that brooked no argument, repeated himself. “Pet, follow me.”

  With a final commanding glance to which I dutifully lowered my gaze, he turned and strode down the hall toward our playroom, confident of my obedience.

  I watched his ass as it flexed beneath the surface of the track pants he was wearing, licking my lips in anticipation of sampling it soon. And then it hit me. I wasn’t going to get his ass. He was going to get mine. Or at least “Coach” was going to get it.

  A fear of the unknown zinged through my body via the highways and byways of my nervous system. By the time I’d followed him into our playroom even my toes tingled. Suddenly, my gym shorts and tee seemed inadequate—I felt naked.

  He turned and I gazed at him intently, silently beseeching him to be gentle with me for my first time. Anxiously, I searched his face for clues my message had been received and understood. His face betrayed no emotion. I lowered my gaze to his crotch, seeing a sizable bulge, knowing only too well what he was sporting in his pants. I gulped.

  “Take a seat, Jack.” His voice was neutral, giving no hint of the arousal outlined in his pants, made even more obvious by the way he half-sat on the desk facing me.

  While obeying instruction, I quickly inventoried the playroom, noting he’d set it up to mimic a coach’s office, as per the scene we’d discussed.

  “Do you know why I’ve asked you here?” he asked. His whole posture—the folded arms, butt against desk, ankles crossed, and tilt of chin—showed he was fully immersed in his role.

  I shook my head. “No, Coach.”

  “You’re here because you have an attitude problem. Tell me, Jack, how badly do you want to be on the squad?”

  Getting in character, I opened my mouth to protest, but he held up his hand, silencing me.

  “Judging by your performance in the last couple of games, I have to say, I don’t think it’s that important to you. I can only describe your games as lackluster. In fact, I’d go so far as to say I think you’d rather be at a bar downing a beer, or wetting your dick in some cheerleader’s pussy.”

  I choked on my spit. Me and a cheerleader? No way. But the quarterback, well….

  I knew we’d agreed to have me pretend to be straight for the scene, but I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stay in my role if he continued talking about cheerleaders.

  Somehow, Rhys managed to keep a straight face. “So what are you going to do about this attitude problem of yours, Jack?”

  “Um, work on it and, um, train more, Coach?” Even to my own ears my statement came out sounding like a question.

  “Hmm, I don’t know, Jack. I could make a few calls right now and have a dozen college jocks ready, willing, and able to fill your slot on the team.”

  “Please don’t do that, Coach. Please don’t bench me. There has to be some way I can convince you to keep me on the squad.”

  “You’re going to have to do better than that, Jack. It’s going to take more than a bit of begging.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Tell me, what are you willing to do….” He trailed off, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Or sacrifice to stay on the team?”

  Oh God. He’s really going to do it. He’s really going to take my ass.

  “Um, anything, Coach,” I squeaked, now as immersed in my role as a naïve college jock as he was in that of coach.

  “Hmm. Anything, huh?”

  I nodded and, unable to meet his intent stare, looked down at my clasped hands. My knuckles were white. “Yes, Coach. Anything.”

  Rhys took his time replying, taking so long I couldn’t help fidgeting. I braved a glance up at him from under my lashes, catching him running an appreciative eye over me.

  “We’re going to strike a bargain, Jack.” His voice was so low I had to lean forward in order to hear him. “It will remain between us. And only us. You will not breathe a word of it to anyone. Understood?”

  “Yes, Coach.” My reply came out a croak.

  “From now on, you will come to this room every Wednesday evening. For two hours, you will be mine to do with as I please.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “You will do what I say, when I say, how I say. Understood?”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Excellent.”

  Rhys sounded so triumphant, I couldn’t resist glancing at him, half expecting to catch him rubbing his hands together in satisfaction. He looked as smug as he sounded. If he had a moustache, I was certain he’d be twirling the ends of it, like an arch villain in a cartoon.

  “Get naked—that includes your jock strap—then stand with your feet shoulder width apart, hands behind your back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Once I’d pushed my shorts, along with my jock, down my legs and stepped out of them, Rhys shoved himself forward, away from the desk.

  He stood before me, studying my cock with such intensity it began to harden under his scrutiny. With each beat of my heart, it pulsed.

  The movement of his shoulder indicated he was extending his hand, and I tensed in anticipation of his touch. He cupped my sac, cradling them in his palm, as if weighing them. With his free hand, he tipped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze, watching my reaction as he began to roll my balls. His touch was warm, gentle. He smiled to feel my scrotum lift and tighten. I sucked in a deep breath.

  Rhys took a single step back, making a show of raking his gaze down my torso, coming to a halt at my groin. His half-smile encouraged me to glance down too. A teardrop of precum slowly swelled in the eye of the flushed crown of my dick. We both watched as the bead grew in size before losing the battle with gravity and trailing down the glans, where it once again hovered, trembling and threatening to fall with each twitch of my cock.

  The silence stretched on, the tension building until my body succumbed and I shuddered, sending the droplet of precum sliding down my shaft. Rhys let go of my balls, trailing his forefinger up my length, collecting my juice as he went. When he reached my frenulum, using it to gather my precum on the tip of his finger, I shuddered again. Rhys chuckled, taking his time bringing his finger to his mouth. He stuck out his tongue and delicately licked the tip before inserting his whole finger and sucking gently. I gasped. Even as he teased me, I felt another drop of clear precum ooze from the reddened tip of my dick and slide down. God, he was getting good at the whole take control and dominate thing.

  “Would you like your reward for being so good, Jack?”

  I nodded energetically, hoping his reward involved him sucking my aching cock. “Yes, please, Coach.”

  Stepping around me, he grabbed the chair I’d been sitting on and positioned it with its back resting against the desk, offering stability.

  “Bend forward, Jack. Keep your feet shoulder width apart and place your hands on the arms of the chair.”

  I hesitated, my normal, everyday self momentarily rearing his head. I wanted to ask why. I wanted to know the outcome.

  “Now, Jack.”

  My body jerked forward at his tone and I almost stumbled in my haste to comply. Part of me was relieved to relinquish the need to question and think ahead, permutating all possible scenarios, but part of me rebelled. The habits of a lifetime were hard to break. I may have been the one to suggest the r
ole playing, but that didn’t mean relinquishing control came easily to me. It didn’t. I succumbed kicking and screaming, at least internally. Thus far, for each scene we’d done together, my submission had truly been an act of self-discipline.

  I bit my lip to hold inside the questions burning in my throat. Mentally, I gave myself a shake, a stern talking to. Outside of the playroom I may be the leader, but in the playroom Rhys called the shots. I was his to command. Oddly, the thought made my gut knot but my cock twitch.

  I watched him walk around the desk. He sank into a crouch, and for a moment all I could see was the top of his curly dark head. The sound of a drawer opening and closing met my ears, and when he rose, I saw his hands were full of blue scarves and… lube.

  I swallowed noisily, part in fear and part in anticipation.

  He used the scarves to secure my hands, his movements so confident I wondered if he’d practiced. It amazed me to see he didn’t actually tie any knots, merely wrapped my wrists to the arms of the chair using layer upon layer of a figure eight pattern. Once he’d finished and turned his back on me, I indulged my curiosity and tested the bonds. They held firm; I really was at his mercy.

  Rhys turned and briefly admired his handiwork before placing a tube of lube on the center of the seat. I knew the action was deliberate—he wanted to remind me, to keep front and center in my mind the knowledge of where our coach–jock scene was headed.

  His ploy worked—my mouth went dry and my butt clenched.

  A set of fingers crept into my vision, partially blocking my view of the lube. “Suck.”

  I snaked my tongue over and between his digits, wanting to please him by making it a sensual experience.

  “Enough.”

  Like all of his actions thus far, he was slow and deliberate in the way he moved behind me, out of my field of vision. I gasped when his moistened fingers made contact with my crack, caressing a line from my perineum to the base of my spine. Up and down, slow and steady. Each repetition saw the length of his caress get slightly shorter until finally all he was doing was circling my hole.