by Romilly King
“You look beautiful,” Ivo said truthfully, “Do you like them?”
“Very much,” said Birch and bit his lower lip shyly, “I haven’t got to do this much before, but I like it, it makes me feel more delicate,”
“Come here,” said Ivo, and Birch glided closer.
Ivo sat forward and studied Birch, “I am a doctor,” he said, “A surgeon, I have spent my life learning about bodies and how they work, but the thing that initially inspired me was dance. The fluidity of the body and how hard it was to make it do those things. I wanted to maintain the body so it could do those things, so I am as fascinated by the movement of the living breathing body as I am by the inside of it when I am working.” He ran a hand over Birch’s muscled flank, and the boy shivered.
“I think, if I had not been a doctor, I would have been a choreographer,” he rose to stand in front of Birch, “Maybe I will always be a frustrated creative.”
He pulled Birch’s simple white leather collar from his pocket and clasped it around the boy’s throat. Birch swallowed, and his lashes fluttered. “Let’s see what your body can do for me,” said Ivo.
He pressed play on his phone, and after a few breaths, the first measured strains of Ravel’s Bolero seeped from the speaker. Birch smiled, and Ivo smiled with him. “I know it’s a cliché,” he said, “But I do love the Bolero, even if it is everyone’s idea of sexy,”
“Only those who have never danced to it would think it was only that,” said Birch quietly,
“Yes, it’s so much more than sexy, isn’t it,” said Ivo. He slipped behind Birch, grasped the boy’s wrist and copying the first movement of the original ballet, he extended the boy’s arm out to the side, stretching it fluidly. And Birch, classically trained, went up on his toes, unfurled his fingers into a graceful elongation, and drew up through his spine. Ivo felt a thrill roll through him, this was his, to move as he wanted, to bend as he wanted, to take as he wanted. So beautifully compliant.
The music wove around them, the hypnotic drumbeat, gradually growing more intense, the threading through of the simple repeated melody, passed from instrument to instrument around the orchestra.
And Ivo moved Birch where he desired him to go, slowly and firmly, his hands on the boy’s body.
Ivo started easily enough, he moved Birch’s arms and legs into extensions that showed his range of movement, but then the positions became more testing, more exposing. He bent Birch over so that his arms were wrapped around his knees, and then stroked the back of his legs, knelt behind him he ran his hands up the solid muscles that trembled under his palms and pressed his hands into the solid rounds of the boy’s firm buttocks. The panties were mesh at the back, and Ivo admired the sight of Birch’s ass cheeks through the pastel pink, his crease an inviting valley between them.
He stood Birch in a pirouette and taking an arm rotated him to feel his balance and gauge his trust. He had him sink into horizontal splits on the floor and then lean back on his elbows. Ivo spent long moments examining the inside of his thighs while Birch breathed deeply and held himself still under Ivo’s probing touch.
“Good, so good, beautifully flexible,” Ivo murmured. He brought Birch to his feet and then sat him on the rattan chair, and accompanied by the throbbing music, he had the boy spread himself wide open, his legs hooked over the arms of the chair and his pelvis levered upwards.
Ivo stood between his legs and looked down at the flexing boy, his abdominals stood out, his pecs pumped up, and his strong shoulders pressed back against the chair back to give himself something to work against. A sheen of sweat now slicked Birch’s skin as he worked to maintain the positions Ivo called on him to endure. When Ivo held his hand to the boy’s crotch, Birch shuddered and, for the first time, moaned. He was getting hard, and Ivo was overjoyed at that.
The music that swirled around them grew more intense, the fascinating exploration of orchestral timbres gradually and insistently rose through crescendos toward sonic ecstasy.
“Good boy, good boy,” Ivo praised Birch, “You are working so beautifully for me.” He took Birch’s place on the chair, and with Birch stood in front of him, he had the boy raise his leg in a vertical split. Birch groaned as he stretched into the position, his ankle grasped with his hand, and his weight and balance held by the pressure of his other foot against the ground. He breathed into the immense stretch, settled into his hips, and Ivo began to knead his cock through the satin of the panties.
Birch groaned again, and his hard cock wet the crotch of the pants with pre-com. Ivo bent forward and mouthed at the satin that encased Birch’s cock, sucking it and working his mouth around the erection wrapped in the pretty fabric.
Ivo leaned forward and wrapped an arm around Birch’s thigh in case the boy stumbled and slid a finger along his taint as he sucked at the material holding his cock. He slid a finger under the lace edge of the panties and gently pressed against the boy’s hole. Birch panted, and his legs trembled.
“Good boy, good boy,” with steady hands Ivo had Birch release his hold, and then he walked the boy around the back of the rattan chair. Birch’s eyes were hooded now, the music and the control of his Dom sending him sliding into subspace.
“Such a good boy for me,” Ivo whispered, “I’m going to put you in a position so I can fuck your mouth now,”
Birch hummed an affirmative.
Ivo pressed Birch backward over the rear of the chair, and Birch arched easily, sliding over the chair back so that his shoulders were on the seat and his head hung over the front edge. Ivo returned to the front of the chair and stood by Birch’s head. He leaned forward and positioned Birch’s legs, so they were spread wide over the arms again, and he adjusted the panties so that Birch’s hard cock was free and the waistband tucked under his tight balls.
He admired the view for a moment before he unzipped himself and pulled out his engorged cock. He spread his legs and lowered himself. His cock rubbed against Birch’s lips, and the boy just opened up and let him in.
Ivo groaned in delight as he slid home into Birch’s throat and felt the boy flutter around him.
He relaxed forward, bracing himself on the arms of the chair and took Birch’s cock in his mouth as he lazily rutted into the boy’s mouth. God, it was exquisite; the music, the sunlight, the pliable boy beneath him, the heat of his mouth, the grip of his throat, the taste of his cock on Ivo’s tongue.
Ivo had never felt so beautifully balanced, so entirely at one with a sub. The music was building towards its crescendo, and Ivo went with it, sucking vigorously at Birch’s cock while he rutted into his mouth.
Birch jerked his hips as he tried to pump forward into Ivo’s mouth. He was clearly right on edge, but so was Ivo. He reached for Birch’s balls and gave them a sharp tug, and with that, Birch was pumping come into his mouth as he growled and gagged around Ivo’s cock.
Ivo kept sucking and let his own climax roll over him, grinding himself into Birch’s mouth and moaning with pleasure as the music orgasmed around them.
Ivo pulled back and looked down at Birch, sprawled across the rattan chair. Come leaked from the corners of his mouth and his cock, now soft and wet, hung obscenely from his ruined panties. His eyes were shut, and his breathing was slow. His face was flushed, and his body limp. So far under, thought Ivo, gone playing with the fairies in subspace.
He zipped his spent cock back into his pants and gently began to maneuver Birch down onto the floor. The boy was co-operative but unco-ordinated and far from lucid, but Ivo managed, with much coaxing, to get him onto his lap as he leaned back against the chair.
With Birch in his lap, wrapped in his arms, Ivo relaxed. The boy, although not much smaller than him, was curled into his chest, his head tucked under Ivo’s chin. He smelled of sweat and come and a unique spicy scent of pepper and oranges that must be from his shampoo. Ivo sat quietly and enjoyed the weight of him, his fingers rested lightly on Birch’s pulse point, and the steady slow metronome of it beating against his fingers was lik
e an echo of the Bolero.
Such incredible flexibility, he thought to himself, such core strength, and so willing, so damn willing. He knew those positions had hurt, particularly the vertical split, and yet Birch had endured and not only endured he had been aroused, and that made Ivo feel…he didn’t have words for it…it’s wasn't manly, but it was dominant, it wasn’t proud, but it was complete. Such complex emotions, such a profound connection, he would reflect upon them.
Eventually, Birch began to stir, he licked his lips, and his eyelids fluttered, and he looked up at Ivo. “Hello,” Ivo said and smiled down at him.
“I’m sorry,” Birch said.
“What for?”
“I came without asking,” Birch said, and looked guilty.
Ivo laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead, it tasted of salt and tangy skin, “Oh don’t worry about that,” he said, “I don’t care about orgasm control, I want to control your whole body!”
Chapter Eighteen - Birch
Birch smiled as he let himself into his small cottage. It was good to be home, but wow, what a day. His whole body ached in that lovely, well-used way like it used to when he was dancing full time.
He dropped his duffle beside the front door and unlaced his trainers before padding into the kitchen. He had salad leaves, and feta cheese in the fridge and the little vegetable garden he kept on his back porch had fresh tomatoes and cucumbers ready to be picked, so he’d make himself a gigantic salad for supper.
He couldn’t believe how well he had resonated with Ivo during their scene. To be honest, he had been getting worried. They hadn’t scened at all really, just some kneeling and no sexual touching, and that had made him feel on edge. But then, to go into a scene like that, it had been perfect and just what he needed.
The panties had been such a hot item to incorporate and the way Ivo had moved Birch’s body with such confidence. Fuck, he must have such a deep understanding of physiology; he had even managed to incorporate the right preparatory stretches before he had Birch do the vertical split.
Birch was in awe.
He couldn’t wipe the smile off his face as he washed the tomatoes and constructed his favorite salad with plenty of extra seeds and nuts and his own special ranch dressing that he kept in a jar in the fridge.
He settled down on the sofa with his salad. He could still feel the buzz in his muscles from the stretch, and that orgasm, it had zinged up his spine, and along with the head rush from sucking cock upside down, it had sent him rocketing into subspace.
His phoned bleeped with a notification, and he glanced at it, Cashel checking in. He ignored it for a moment and thought again about Ivo. He seemed to see Birch’s body the way Birch did, the way a dancer or a surgeon inevitably came to view the body, as a collection of parts that should do what was required. It was fascinating the way their thought processes meshed.
Birch finished his salad and took the time to check in with Cash via messenger. He reported that all was well and that he had enjoyed a successful scene with Ivo – Cash responded with a vintage thumbs up emoji, the dork.
Before bed, Birch took the time to spend a few minutes in his dance studio. When he had started making decent money as a Venditor and could afford the house, he had had a studio installed in the garden, and now he went there to stretch, so he wasn’t in agony in the morning.
The evening was cool as was usual for the mountains, but Birch left the screen doors to the studio open and put the music on low. He stripped to his shorts and began to move across the floor. He ran through his routine stretches and then a few quick positions. In the twilight, he didn’t pay much attention to his form, and so it was a surprise when he eased out of a pirouette to see himself, a shadow dancer, in the mirrors. He stopped and looked at his body, taking in the compact, strong shape of it, the angles, and the posture. It didn’t feel like his body. It felt like their body now. As if together, Griffin and Ivo have taken him and made him more than he was before.
Detached, he watched himself in the mirror as he began to dance, and he tried to forge the emotional connection with the shadow dancer. But it wouldn’t come. The body he looked at was theirs, for their use.
He danced how he would dance for them, sliding and striding and turning in space. He felt as though lately he constantly trembled on the verge of subspace, when he danced and when he scened, when he moved from one state to another. As if it subspace was less about the endorphins and more about his connection with the two men he served.
Chapter Nineteen - Griffin
Griffin looked down at Birch’s puffy hole, slick and shiny with lube, he inched forward on the bed and rubbed the tip of his cock against it. Birch whimpered, and Griffin looked up to meet his eyes.
Birch was on his back, and his legs were pulled back, and a rope ran from his ankle cuffs to the headboard. His cuffed hands were trapped underneath his body. When Griffin had used a vibrator on his hole, Birch had been able to trace his fingers around his stretched rim from where his hands were.
Birch’s eyes were black with arousal, and his lips were red and swollen from biting them as Griffin teased him. “Please,” Birch whispered.
“What do you want?” asked Griffin.
“Your cock in me, please,” Birch lifted his pelvis up as much as he could, offering himself to Griffin and his hands, trapped under his buttocks, fluttered helplessly.
Griffin leaned forward again and watched in fascination as the head of his cock dipped into Birch’s ass, just a teasing inch, but he could feel it sucking at him, pulling him in. He pulled back, and Birch cried in frustration.
Griffin could count on one hand the number of times he had fucked someone. This was a massive deal for him, and he had drawn it out as long as he could.
Birch’s cock was hard and jerking against his stomach. Griffin traced a finger along the beautifully smooth, tight spheres of his balls and watched delightedly as more pre-come leaked out of the swollen head of Birch’s cock.
“Please, please fuck me,” Birch begged.
“Okay,” Griffin felt distant himself, fuzzy and ready, he rose up on his knees and leaned forward. He braced himself on Birch’s thighs, and his cock rested on the sensitive rim of Birch’s hole. He closed his eyes and breathed, and then, never taking his eyes off his cock, he thrust forward.
Heat and tight and wet, and oh God, Griffin had never felt anything like it. He threw his head back and growled and flexed his hips again.
Underneath him, Birch cried out, and his cock jolted.
Griffin leaned further forward, his hands on Birch’s muscular thighs, holding him up as he put his weight behind his thrusts.
The rhythm claimed him, and he fucked harshly into Birch, punching into his ass.
“Yes, oh god yes,” Birch’s face was flushed red, “Please, can I come, please, going to come,”
“When you want,” Griffin ground out, his hips driving forward.
Birch’s cries grew high and breathless, and his hole began to spasm around Griffin. Birch’s cock jerked again as he came, and his load spurted onto his belly, his cock dragged through the pearly liquid as Griffin kept fucking him.
“Yes,” Griffin felt his orgasm barrelling up his spine and his hips thrust relentlessly into Birch’s suddenly pliant body, his cock driving deeper into the yielding soft heat, “Oh god yes,” He felt himself shooting into Birch, and he ground deeper, riding out what felt like the most prolonged orgasm of his life.
Slowly Griffin eased his softening cock from the clinging grasp of Birch’s ass. He reached up and hit the release on the ankle cuffs that held Birch’s legs in position and then had to grab them to lower them to the bed as Birch was totally limp.
He crawled up the bed to Birch’s head, the sub’s eyes were shut, his face was flushed bright red, and his hair was black with sweat. “Hey, baby boy, you with me?” Griffin stroked Birch’s face, but there was no response, his eyelids didn’t even flicker.
Shit, Griffin thought. He maneuvered Birch onto
his side and stripped off the wrist cuffs, massaging blood flow back into his hands. “Time to wake up Birch,” he said, “Time to come back, baby,”
But Birch remained silent.
Griffin clambered off the bed and pulled his shorts on – later, he would wonder why he did that – and hurried from the playroom.
He knocked on the door of Ivo’s office – again, why did he do that? He would think later – and Ivo looked up from where he lay stretched out on his office sofa, reading a medical journal.
“He’s not coming round,” Griffin said, and he didn’t recognize his own voice.
“I’ll be there now,” Griffin didn’t wait, he just turned and rushed back to his own playroom. He hovered by the bed until Ivo came in, his medical bag in his hand.
Ivo, still in his work suit and white shirt, sat on the crumpled bed and placed two fingers to the pulse on the side of Brio’s neck. After a few seconds, he gently brushed a fingertip along Birch’s eyelashes, and the lids fluttered. “Come away, oh human child, to the water and the wild,” Ivo muttered.
Ivo turned to Griffin, “He’s fine,” he said, “He’s just in subspace, he’s gone deep. I’ll just check him over some more to be sure, but he has gone this deep with me too,”
Gently Ivo rolled Birch onto his back, and Birch made sucking motions with his lips as he settled back against the bed, “Good boy,” said Ivo gently, “Just going to give you a little examination, okay,”
Birch hummed under his breath, and Griffin saw his eyes move under the thin skin of his lids.
“I see his nipples are swollen, what did you do to them?” Ivo’s fingers trailed across Birch’s chest.
“He had clamps on them for a while,” Griffin said.