Michael

by Marilize Roos

  The front room was artfully furnished. On the far wall, a mirror in an antiqued wooden frame was mounted on the wall above an old farm-style chest of drawers, an old metal milk can containing a bouquet of decorative reeds standing beside it. Against another wall stood an old, yellowwood riempie bench with a pair of candlewick-embroidered calico throw cushions.

  They followed him into the interior of the house, and the formal sitting room, in keeping with the farmhouse feel of the entrance hall, was furnished with antique Cape wooden furniture. Carved wooden sofas with loose upholstered couch cushions were arranged around a low coffee table, a zebra-skin rug under the table. The oil paintings on the walls depicted historical countryside landscapes.

  Beyond the sitting area was the eight-seater dining room table that had already been laid for three.

  Judith put her handbag on one of the seats of the sofa, and held out the gift bag to Michael. “I didn’t know what you might like, but you mentioned chocolate, so…”

  A look of pleasure spread across his face as he accepted the gift bag. He looked inside and his smile grew. “Thank you – I love Belgian chocolate.”

  “I’m glad,” she blushed.

  “Dinner smells great,” Tristan said, and she felt his arm around her shoulders.

  “Thank you,” Michael said, turning and limping towards the kitchen.

  “Is there something I can help with?” Judith asked politely as they entered the kitchen. The kitchen was large and modern, with granite top counters and white kitchen cabinets. A matching island dominated the centre of the kitchen. The appliances, from the fridge to the coffee machine, all had a metallic, stainless finish, and it appeared, by the abundance of small appliances, that Michael enjoyed cooking.

  “If you would, could you please take this to the dining table,” Michael murmured, handing her a salad. They soon sat down to a meal of Kassler chops in sweet-and-sour pineapple sauce, mashed potato, and salad.

  After dinner, Michael led them down a corridor to another, smaller lounge that was obviously where he spent his leisure time. It looked like the stereotypical bachelor escape. Two dark leather couches were arranged in front of a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. The couch kitty-corner from the one facing the TV had an imprint in the cushions; Judith guessed that Michael spent most of his time stretched out on that couch to watch TV. A glass-fronted cabinet with DVD player, satellite decoder, gaming system and other electronics stood in one corner, and a small bar with a basic selection of alcoholic drinks and even a coffee machine, stood in another along with a small sink against the wall.

  Judith and Tristan sat on one couch, and offering them each a glass of wine – the first for the evening – Michael sat across from them.

  They looked at each other awkwardly. Michael sipped from his wine and took a deep breath. “Firstly, I must just state that I can no longer be your doctor, regardless of what happens here tonight.”

  Tristan chuckled awkwardly. “You’re breaking up with us?”

  ~*~

  Chapter 6

  Tristan’s heart kicked in his chest and he felt light-headed.

  Michael smiled sadly. “Not quite, but we’ve crossed a line, and if the medical ethics board ever heard of it, I could lose my licence. As it is, technically I’m not your regular doctor, having only treated you for the one injury on an out-patient basis, but it’s hazy enough to argue about.”

  “And what line is that,” Tristan asked quietly.

  Michael didn’t look him in the eye just yet, and seemed to weigh his words. “I’ve gleaned that the two of you are interested in embarking on a journey in BDSM.” Judith’s expression lit up, but Tristan tensed beside her, and she reached for his hand.

  “Something all BDSM play has in common, is a power exchange, and I cannot, ethically, have that kind of power over you when we’re still in a professional, medical, relationship.”

  “But we’re not in a BDSM relationship,” Tristan protested.

  Michael tilted his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, pinning Tristan with his dark eyes.

  “We’re not!” Tristan protested.

  “And what do you call this afternoon?” Michael asked quietly. Tristan felt his blood freeze in his veins.

  “What happened this afternoon?” Judith turned to look at Tristan.

  “Nothing happened this afternoon,” Tristan said.

  “I dominated you,” Michael said.

  “What happened?” Judith insisted.

  “Nothing,” Tristan snapped. “I’m not a submissive.”

  “If you try this without help, you’ll get frustrated at best, hurt at worst,” Michael said. “I’d be willing to help you, however you need.”

  “That – would be wonderful,” Judith breathed. “Would you be able to help us both?”

  Michael broke eye contact with Tristan. “Yes – we can try. Although, Tristan, I do believe that I promised you a beating this afternoon. Care to collect?”

  ~*~

  There had been a time, in his thirties, when Michael had spent almost every evening at Angelus, working his way through the available subs. When he’d bought this behemoth of a house four years before, he’d seen the basement and had immediately seen its potential as a private playroom.

  It was only after he’d built and furnished it, that he’d realized that he didn’t have anyone he’d care to show it to. ‘Catch and release’ held no appeal to him; he wanted a relationship, one he could build on over time. He got too attached, and couldn’t bear to part with a submissive after even one scene, but still hadn’t found the one.

  Then since the accident, he’d withdrawn from most of his friends at Angelus except for Derek, who was either too stubborn or too thick-skinned to notice the distance Michael had tried to put between them. And of course, Michael gave the subs a wide berth, unable to bear the thought of seeing revulsion on the faces of the subs he might play with once they saw the result of the accident. If it hadn’t been for Ariel and Derek constantly coaxing him back to Angelus, he might have been vanilla by now.

  So this playground had been below his house, unused and gathering dust, for years. Michael was excited to finally get a chance to use it.

  He’d had another entrance installed from his den, narrowing the adjacent bedroom by a meter to make room for the new wooden staircase. The original entrance in the kitchen, he’d left in place as a fire escape, but he’d camouflaged the door on the outside to blend in with the wall tiles in the kitchen and removed the door handle on that side.

  He’d even broken through the wall into the original servants’ apartments adjacent to the basement that extended out under the stoop of the house, and had had the plumbing extended into basement bathroom facilities with a toilet, walk-in shower and a large corner tub.

  It was an impressive piece of remodelling, and he took smug satisfaction in watching Tristan’s and Judith’s faces as they took it in.

  On one end of the basement, a king-sized four-poster bed presided over the playroom. He’d changed the sheets just this afternoon in preparation for this visit. The bed posts had hidden eyes meant as attachments for restraints, and of course, the headboard had numerous slats meant for the same. A couch faced the bed for either watching or aftercare.

  Of course, there was the obligatory play furniture too. A spanking bench, a set of stocks, a bondage table and St Andrew’s cross, each well-padded with faux leather for comfort and easy clean-up. Each piece was on casters with brakes like one would use on scaffolding, so that they could be moved easily, yet be secure when in place. Eye-bolts in the ceiling, securely fitted to support beams, provided anchor points for attachment of a sex sling, suspension or to chain submissives for whipping.

  Along one wall, he had a black-painted pegboard to display some of his implements, such as whips, crops, floggers and spreader bars, and a large chest of drawers housed his other toys.

  “Wow,” Judith breathed behind him. “I think an ovary just exploded.”

&nb
sp; He looked back at his guests with a grin, then sobered as he took in Tristan. Tristan was staring at the St Andrew’s cross, and just the thought of Tristan’s need shifted Michael’s demeanour from proud host to serious Dom. “First things first,” Michael said. “Strip.”

  “Excuse me?” Tristan blinked. “No.”

  Michael raised a brow. “Care to explain why not?”

  Tristan looked to Judith, who looked uncomfortable at Tristan’s discomfort, then back at Michael. “I can’t be naked.”

  “Why not? Judith is your wife; presumably she’s seen everything before. And you don’t have anything I haven’t seen in various shapes and sizes before. How did you want me to beat you – over your jeans?”

  “No!”

  “Feeling vulnerable?” Michael suggested.

  “Yes!”

  “Submissive?” When Tristan gaped at him, Michael pressed on. “That’s the whole point.”

  “I don’t want you touching my cock.”

  Judith looked shocked and embarrassed. Michael looked Tristan in the eye. “Let’s just understand one thing – I know you’re not interested in sexual contact with me. I heard you when you said you’re straight. Surely you can’t feel so threatened by me, that you think I might molest you while you’re helpless?”

  He felt a soft hand on his arm, and when he looked down, Judith was staring up at him with big, earnest eyes. “It’s okay, Michael,” she said softly. “I understand. Please don’t be upset.”

  Michael took a deep breath and he felt his anger dissipate under her gentle touch. “BDSM is a power exchange, but it is also a headspace you inhabit. And if you can’t trust me, then this will never work. So the question is – will you trust me and obey? Or will you call red?”

  Tristan’s shoulders were tight and drawn up, his hands fisted, and his eyes flashed.

  “The only way you’re getting a beating tonight, is if you strip and march your ass over to the chain station under own steam. It’s up to you.”

  Judith turned and wrapped her arms around her husband’s waist. “It’s okay, Baby,” she murmured into his chest. “I love you, no matter what you decide.”

  Tristan’s shoulders slowly relaxed, and he leaned down to plant a kiss on Judith’s forehead, an arm around her shoulders. Michael turned back to the drawer he kept his cuffs in, and rummaged for a pair of leather cuffs that would fit him.

  “Here, let me,” Judith said. Michael looked over his shoulder, and not taking her eyes off Tristan’s, she slowly slipped the buttons of his shirt from their holes. When she reached the last button on the placket, Tristan extended his wrists to her, and she undid the buttons of his cuffs next. Michael’s cock could have punched holes in steel at that point, and he noticed that Tristan’s cock was in the same state, no matter his protests.

  Careful not to break the spell, when Tristan stood naked before them, he approached with the pair of padded leather cuffs he’d taken from the drawer, and stood expectantly beside him. Tristan tore his eyes away from his wife’s and offered one of his wrists to Michael. Michael buckled the cuff around Tristan’s wrist, and when he looked up, Tristan’s eyes were on his, ready and waiting. This man slipped into submission so easily once he stopped fighting.

  It made his submission so much sweeter.

  Michael buckled the second cuff, then led Tristan to where a pair of short chains were hanging from a set of eyebolts in the beam, roughly a meter and a half apart. He clipped Tristan’s cuffs overhead to the chains by carabiners so that his arms were comfortable, but wide apart, then paused right in front of him, standing close enough to breathe Tristan’s breaths.

  He had an overwhelming urge to kiss him, but stepped back instead, and looked at Judith, who was watching them with half-lidded eyes, her lips soft with arousal. His cock wouldn’t thank him for this, but his wicked streak prompted him to do a little mischief.

  He turned to Tristan, and capturing his eyes, he grabbed a handful of his hair and twisted his fist so that he got his attention. The prickle in his scalp must have felt good, because Tristan panted with arousal. “Your safeword is ‘red’. Repeat it.”

  “Red,” Tristan said.

  “Louder, so that your wife can hear you.”

  “Red!”

  “Good boy,” Michael murmured, and released his grip on the hair to give the scalp a brief massage with his fingertips instead. Tristan’s eyes nearly crossed with pleasure. “If you say your safeword, all play will stop. No one will touch you, except to release you from restraints. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Tristan said.

  “Use ‘yellow’ to pause play, or to indicate you’re nearing your limits.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes sir,” Michael prompted.

  Tristan paused, then ground out, “Yes, sir.”

  Normally, he’d have grabbed Tristan’s balls and given them a hard squeeze to bring home his dominance, but it was Tristan’s hard limit, and he’d respect it, so he pulled a fistful of Tristan’s hair again instead. “I don’t want to hear it if you’re resentful,” Michael said. He held his grip on his hair for a moment longer, then dropped the contact, this time not massaging his scalp in reward. He leaned closer and murmured directly into his ear. “It is with respect and submission, or not at all.”

  He watched Tristan struggle with it for a moment, but soon Tristan relaxed again. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “Good boy,” Michael said again.

  Leaving Tristan at the chain station, he stepped aside and turned to Judith. “Your husband is helpless in this position, isn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Judith said.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Yes sir,” she said with a sweet breathiness, and Michael’s cock leapt in his jeans. He stalked to her, then circled behind her to watch Tristan over her shoulder.

  “He’s powerless to stop you too.” He said in her ear, but it was for Tristan’s benefit, and Tristan’s cock bobbed with arousal.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you could tease him, if you wanted, couldn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Torment him with your hands, your mouth and your body. Drive him wild with desire.”

  “Yes, sir,” she moaned. She moaned, and he hadn’t even touched her. Then again, he wasn’t touching either of them, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d come in his pants.

  “Why don’t you show him what he can’t touch?” Prepare to hear him say red, he thought to himself. “Take a few steps closer. Now… Take off your blouse.”

  Her hands crept up to the top button of her blouse, and never breaking eye contact with her husband, she slipped the first button free. Tristan groaned, but his eyes were half-lidded and his chest was heaving with arousal. Slowly, her buttons slipped free, revealing her white lace bra and creamy breasts with the light dusting of freckles, and when the last button was undone, Michael touched her for the first time, slipping the blouse off her shoulders to fall to the floor. He closed his eyes and bent to inhale her fragrance where neck met shoulder, right where she’d apply her perfume, and levelled a scorching look at Tristan again over Judith’s shoulder.

  Piece by piece, Michael prompted her to remove her clothes. When she was finally naked, he took her by the hand and led her to stand before Tristan, then he moved around to behind him so that he could speak into his ear like that little devil that sits on your shoulder.

  “Judith, what would you like to do?”

  She stood barely inches away from them, and looked up at her husband. She slipped her hand around the back of his neck and grabbed a fistful of his hair like she’d seen him do, but unlike him, she pulled his head down into a soft, yet passionate kiss. Michael suppressed a groan at the sight, and it took every shred of self-restraint not to touch either of them.

  Michael could feel, as well as hear, Tristan’s groan, and Tristan tried to grind his erection against his wife.

  “Ah-ah!” He barked, and wished he had a paddle in his hand; next tim
e he’d be better prepared. Instead, he landed an open-handed smack on Tristan’s ass, leaving a glowing handprint. “Did I give you permission to hump her?”

  “No sir.”

  “Then you wait.” He looked down at Judith, and her smile was radiant; she was finally understanding the rules of this game. Tease him, tease him, tease him.

  She reached down and ran a single, feather-light fingertip underneath Tristan’s proud cock, from his balls to the weeping tip. Her fingers coated in pre-cum, she looked him in the eye and licked her finger clean, eliciting another buck of Tristan’s hips.

  “Ah-ah!” Michael barked and smacked his ass again. “Judith,” he said, “do that again, but this time, let Tristan suck your finger.”

  She reached down and teased him again with one finger, base to tip, and this time, she brought her finger to Tristan’s mouth. Tristan groaned when he sucked on her finger. Judith gasped at the feeling, and rubbed her breasts against his chest.

  Leaving them to their play for a moment, Michael stepped over to the wall and selected a lightweight flogger. When he turned around, Judith was on her knees, sucking on Tristan’s cock, and the man was straining against his restraints.

  The first slap of the flogger across his ass had him bucking forward and choking Judith on his cock. Michael wasn’t aiming for any level of intensity; this was just the warm-up for the real show.

  He was careful with the placement of his strokes not to wrap the strands around a hip or to miss and slap Judith in the face. He was only planning on really punishing Tristan’s ass, but included his shoulders and upper back in the warmup too for an overall rosy glow.

  “Remember, he’s not allowed to come yet,” Michael said. “In fact, I think it’s time for the main event.”

  Michael stepped around to beside Judith again, and looked down at her. Her lips were swollen, and she looked so damn beautiful kneeling before him, he wished she would suck on his cock too. “Undo my belt, Sweetheart, and pull it from the loops,” he murmured. He looked up at Tristan. “You know what’s coming, don’t you?”