by Anna Martin
“What’s up?” he asked.
In response, I pouted.
“Ah. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I want it off.”
“If you want it off, just ask. I won’t say no.”
At my expression, he laughed and smoothed my hair back from my face. “You stubborn ass,” he said affectionately.
“They’re nearly gone now.” I pulled down the hem of my shorts to show him the marks on my hips, perfect thumbprint ovals, which had faded to a yellowish-green color. Within a day, maybe two, they’d be gone completely.
“It was a challenge more than an order, Jesse. If you want out, just say.”
“I want to do it for you. I’m just fucking uncomfortable.”
“I’m not sure if you’re trying to get me to feel sorry for you. If you are, it won’t work. That being said,” he continued, “you don’t have to suffer in silence. Not for this, anyway.”
I nuzzled into the side of his neck and grinned. “Thanks, Sir.”
“No problem, sweetheart. What would you like to cook me for dinner tonight, hm?”
In normal circumstances I would have punched him on the arm for that, but I’d gone to him as his sub, and was addressing him as my Master. I paused.
While I considered, his silent amusement seeped through to me. Sometimes, the crossover between our romantic and kinky lives made things awkward, and there were times when I could never really be sure what his intentions were. That just kept me on my toes.
“Whatever you like, Sir,” I said in a demure voice, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.
“I’d really like a taste of you, but I can’t exactly do that while you’re locked up. That fucking cage is torture for me as well, sometimes.”
“You don’t have to do without,” I said immediately. “I’m happy to blow you, always.”
“That’s a very nice offer. Even I’m not sadistic enough to make a locked sub blow me when they can’t get anything from it.”
“I get the pleasure of serving you,” I insisted.
“Serve me by fixing some dinner,” he said. “Grilled chicken with something would be good.”
I’d been thinking along similar lines. “Salad and potatoes?”
“Perfect.”
I let him draw me into a sweet kiss. It wasn’t exactly hardship, after all, then hopped off his lap to start cooking.
We’d had a long and serious conversation about domestic service, being a houseboy by any other name. It didn’t do anything for me, so we’d shelved the idea for the most part. It was different when we dragged a session out over a few days, which was what we were doing by keeping the cage on.
The rules changed; I needed to stay in my subspace all the time, even if it was only a little bit. It wasn’t the same as a deep session; when I was just Jesse, normal guy, there was no way I’d do the things Master asked of me. When I was his sub, I needed those things.
While fixing dinner, I sang along to the radio, content, safe, loved. Perfect.
Chapter 15
I PINNED a note to the door a few minutes before he was due home, a simple square of paper folded a few times with “Will Anderson” written on the outside. He’d only gone to the store, but in that time, I’d taken a shower and the marks really were gone. On the paper I’d written:
Master,
I am waiting for you inside, wearing your cage and your collar and little else.
I remain, as always, your humble submissive.
Jesse
With that done, I stripped down, neatly stored my shorts in the hallway closet, and knelt in the living room in a spot that couldn’t be seen from the front door, no matter what angle you looked in from.
I took a deep breath, folded my arms behind my back, and relaxed.
It was a few minutes before I heard his car pull up, then his feet on the porch. He hesitated at the door, reading my note, I guessed, then walked into the room.
“You’re extraordinary,” he murmured, crossing to me and pulling me to my feet.
“Sir.”
He crushed his lips to mine in a kiss that would leave me raw and sore, and dug his fingers into my ass and hips to keep me balanced. I was forced to bend backward under him, and my cock throbbed painfully within its cage.
“Bedroom, now,” he growled, already tugging at the knot of his tie.
I scrambled to obey.
He was only inches behind me, throwing clothes wherever in his rush to get them off. I waited, breathing heavily, until he ordered me onto the bed, and I quickly complied.
“Scissors?”
“In the nightstand.”
“Good.”
He cut the lock off with steady fingers, tossing it aside so he could check the serial number against his record. I groaned loudly as the unforgiving plastic was removed from my body and my cock immediately sprang up as the blood pumped through it.
“Respectfully, Sir,” I panted as he started to roll my balls between his fingers, “if you were planning on allowing me to come, I’d like it if you were inside me first.”
Master chuckled. “You can come, Jesse. Whenever you like.” His mouth closed around the head of my cock and sucked gently, then he pulled away and blew lightly over the spit-slicked skin. “This is for you. I have every intention of making love with my boyfriend later. Right now I want to reward my sub for being such a good boy. Is that okay with you?”
“That’s just fine by me, Sir.”
“I thought it might be.”
It had been tough—that was an understatement—trying to control my horniness while he’d been gone. This was worth it, though. Not just the reward—that was awesome—but knowing he was giving it to me because he was pleased. Because he was proud.
With many, many days’ worth of come stored up, it didn’t take long at all for me to explode into his mouth, bucking and groaning and twisting sheets beneath my hands. Master quickly gathered me up in his arms when he was done, holding my naked body close to his clothed one.
I sighed, closed my eyes, and let myself relax.
“Do you want to go back to the club again?” he asked, tracing light patterns over my stomach. It tickled, but I liked it.
“The next gays-only night isn’t for a few weeks.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’d be happy going to a regular night.”
“As long as the organizers don’t mind….”
“Well, they’re fairly open about accepting anyone in. I don’t think the people who go to the gays-only night, as you put it, go to the main club for fear of girly bits.”
I snorted with laughter. “Yeah, okay.”
“But I don’t mind girly bits. I mean, I prefer you, but they don’t scare me.”
“I feel sorry for anyone who’s scared of a vagina,” I said solemnly, making him laugh.
“I have plans for you, then,” he said once he’d recovered.
“Yeah? Are you gonna share?”
“I suppose I should.”
“You don’t have to go into details. Just give me an idea, in case it freaks me out. I’d prefer to freak out here rather than at the club.”
“Same. Okay. You know the doctor’s office room?”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed. “You were looking far too interested when we went past there.”
He poked me hard in the ribs. “You’re always complaining we don’t do enough character-based scenes anymore. This is a chance to play in a totally different environment. I might have ordered something special for the occasion too.”
No matter how hard I begged, he refused to tell me exactly what that was, preferring to say it was in my yellow zone, he’d push me hard, and it was kinky as fuck. He definitely knew how to treat me.
I was still reeling from the incident at the grocery store and feeling more than a little vulnerable about being out and proud in public. It had been a long time since I’d felt like I needed to watch myself when we were out t
ogether, and I didn’t like it.
Without telling Will, I sent an e-mail to the club’s owners to say we’d been to the gays-only night, and asking if it was okay if we came along to a regular Saturday night. They seemed enthusiastic in their response, saying they were always trying to get more of a crossover between the LGBT groups that hired out the club and the more frequent users.
Placated by the response, I decided not to tell Will, and instead started to mentally prepare for what promised to be an interesting evening.
SINCE BOTH my dad and Jennifer needed their trucks for the weekend, I rented a car to drive up to Atlanta. It was a big, chunky, family SUV I didn’t like at all. I was used to driving my sporty Audi.
As I approached the city limits, I got a text from Will.
Caught in meeting. Can you come to office? Midtown: corner of Peachtree & 11th.
I texted him back to say yes and took the next exit to get to Midtown. At his office in Seattle, I was a fairly regular visitor; sometimes I took him to lunch, and we sat together and gossiped for an hour. I’d never been to this office, though.
Luckily, it was a big, obnoxious, hard-to-miss building with plenty of street parking around it. Expensive street parking, but I’d started to expect that.
“I’m here to see Will Anderson,” I said to the person behind the desk. “Jesse Ross.”
“Go on up, Mr. Ross.”
“Thanks.”
He was on the eighteenth floor, but I had no idea where, so I called him when I got out of the elevator, then let him give me directions to his office.
I whistled through my teeth as I walked in, ending the call.
“Pretty fancy,” I said.
“Yeah,” he said with a laugh. “I lucked out. The only office they had free when I started was this one, so I got it by default.”
It was a large corner office with views of the city. He had a big desk and a couch on one side, a few potted plants, and a nice painting on the wall. Sitting behind the desk, he looked important, intimidating. Still mine.
I crossed to him and leaned over the desk, attaching my lips to his without preamble. His responding kiss was hard and hot.
“Mm. I missed you. Sorry to drag you over here.”
“It’s fine. I’ve got a book with me.”
“I should have known. Okay. I won’t be more than an hour, if you want to hang out?”
“We’re going to be rushed to get to the club on time,” I warned him, bouncing on his couch a few times to test how comfortable it was. Good enough.
“So we’ll be fashionably late.”
“That works for me,” I said with a grin.
“WILL AND Jesse have kindly said that anyone can watch their session,” Crystal said. “I shouldn’t have to state the obvious, but it is a scene with two men, and if that’s not your bag, there are plenty of other places to be.”
We had arrived about an hour after the club opened and were immediately accosted by Crystal, the warm, inviting, very enthusiastic organizer for the evening. She had a T-shirt on that said “Spank Me” on the back, and I got the impression that it was an open invitation.
“I, however,” she continued, “will be finding a front row seat.”
A few people laughed, and I tried to hide my blush.
“Give me a few minutes?” Will murmured, leaning close into me so I could hear him.
“Sure.”
He shut the door to the room, and I shuffled from one foot to the other, not nervous, just excited.
“Do you know what he’s got planned?” Crystal asked.
“No,” I admitted. “I don’t ask that often anymore. All I know is he’s going to do something in the med-fetish area.”
She gave me a reassuring smile. “You’ll be fine.”
The door opened, and Will gave me a stern look. He was wearing his glasses, a light blue shirt, and a white lab coat over smart pants. A very realistic stethoscope hung around his neck.
“Mr. Clarke?” he said, and I realized he meant me.
I nodded, and he offered his hand for me to shake. “Yes.”
“You can come in now.”
The room looked the same as it had before, but he’d turned the air-conditioning up so it was chilly.
“I’ve invited a few students to join us today,” he said, gesturing me up onto the bed. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s fine,” I said, easily falling into character. He was so good at this.
“Okay. We’re just going to go through a few things, then we’ll get started.”
He had a clipboard with a questionnaire printed out on it and wheeled a desk chair over so he could sit in front of me. For the first few minutes, he went through some standard questions—height and weight, age, pertinent medical history.
“Any history of sexually transmitted diseases?” he asked.
“No.”
“And I understand you’re gay, is that right?”
“Yes. I’ve been in a relationship with my partner for about seven years.”
He nodded and made a final check on his paper. “Excellent. Thank you for that. There’s a gown over the back the bed. Could you just slip out of your clothes and into that for me, please?”
I didn’t bother trying to hide anything. Our spectators would see everything I had soon enough. The cold air was enough to stop me from getting an instant erection, although I was slightly worried that Will’s increasingly convincing performance would make even routine trips to the doctor very uncomfortable in the future.
Once I was naked, apart from my jockstrap and the gown, I sat down on the edge of the bed and he proceeded to take my blood pressure, check my reflexes, and listen to my breathing. Just when I thought some of the people watching would start to get bored, he had me lie back on the bed and hook my feet into the stirrups. It was like a gynecological chair, with plenty of custom adjustments, including straps for the wrists and ankles.
I settled back, getting comfortable, surprised when he didn’t immediately strap me in.
“Okay,” he said, snapping on a pair of latex gloves as he scooted round on his wheelie chair to sit between my legs. “Let’s get started.”
He lifted the gown up quite modestly, folding it back over my chest to gently feel my abdomen, along my ribs and sides. Then he moved it back again and ran a fingertip over each nipple in turn.
“I notice you have your nipples pierced, Jesse.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“How long ago were these done?”
“About six years.”
“Any problems?”
“No, Sir,” I said, trying not to grit my teeth or squirm when he rocked the metal back and forth through my flesh.
“Excellent. I’m assuming these were done professionally. They’re very clean piercings.”
“Yes, sir.”
He gave each ring a sharp tug, which did elicit a reaction, and made another note on his clipboard.
“Good. Let’s move on.”
The gown was folded back down over my abdomen, and he leaned back in his chair.
“We’re just going to take this off,” he said, pulling at the jockstrap. “Although it must be said, I applaud your choice in underwear. Plenty of support for the testicles.”
I let him maneuver my underwear off. He set them on top of the pile of my clothes. My cock was definitely half-hard and paying attention. I could only wonder what the fuck would happen next.
“I notice you have removed all your pubic hair.”
“Yes,” I said pointlessly. Apparently a constant stream of stating-the-obvious was part of this game.
“Not so unusual these days. Plenty of men do,” he said, running his gloved hand over my groin. “It has no personal hygiene benefits but I do quite like the aesthetics.”
There was an odd sort of tugging on my skin where the latex caught, and I made my first mistake of the session so far and lifted my hips up into the sensation.
“Oops,” he said in a chee
ry voice. “Can’t have that. Let’s just strap you down for safety.”
“If you think that’s best, Doctor,” I said earnestly.
He stood and came round, carefully securing my wrists into the soft leather straps at the sides of the bed. They were very comfortable, and I quickly settled into being bound. It was one of my favorite things, after all.
“I’m going to do your ankles too,” he continued. “The last thing I want is a whack on the head.”
He tied the ankle straps a little tighter so I could feel the leather biting into my skin.
“Right, let’s take a closer look at your genitals.”
That made me want to blush.
“I’m just going to check your testicles first of all.”
By now, the straps had sent me off floating into an easy subspace, and it didn’t even occur to me to protest. He rolled each of my balls between his fingertips, “checking for lumps,” then tugged on each one until I squirmed.
“How long is it since you last ejaculated, Jesse?”
It was hard to think with his hands still squeezing and pulling.
“Jesse?” he prompted when I was still trying to think.
“Shit. Shit! Um, three days.”
“Hmm. I thought so. Your testicles are quite heavy. We’ll collect a sperm sample later.”
If I needed anything to push me into a full-blown, raging erection, this was it.
He ran his fingers up and down the length of my shaft, telling me he was looking for any lumps or damage to the skin.
“You have a fairly prominent ridge on the underside of your penis,” he said musingly, making a note of that too. “And a nice, neat circumcision scar. The medical community seems to be moving away from circumcising young boys these days but of course, it would make sense for someone of your age to have had it done. Do you know if there were any problems with the operation?”
“No, sir,” I said, finding it hard to talk while he gently but persistently massaged the tiny scar. I tried to stay still and failed, especially when he began to rub his fingertip all over the head of my cock.