by AE Lister
“Not your fault.”
“She’s not shy.”
“Or polite. But then, neither am I.” I chewed another fry and took a sip of my Coke. “Is she a friend of yours or just an acquaintance?”
He shook his head. “We knew each other in class. She wouldn’t leave me alone. I think she wanted to date me.”
“Probably,” I said. “Who wouldn’t?”
He blinked. “Pardon?”
I stared at him. “Who wouldn’t want to date you, Vincent? You’re sweet and pretty fucking attractive.”
He blushed but looked at his fries. “I’m really not…” he said, then shook his head.
“What? Tell me. You’re really not…?”
He shook his head again. “I’m not… I’m not confident enough to be in a relationship that’s not”—he glanced at me—“like this one.”
“You mean with you in a submissive role?”
“Yeah. I mean I’ve tried to be normal. You know.” He put his fingers into air quotes. “I’ve tried to act like a man.”
I chewed my fry and raised my brows. “And how is that?”
“You know, confident, dominant, assertive.” He blushed. “But I’m not like that. I mean, it doesn’t come naturally. Why am I supposed to be that way just because I’m a guy?”
This genuine question disarmed me completely. I gazed at him like he was my long-lost best friend.
“Why indeed? I don’t understand it,” I admitted. “And if you think I haven’t been fighting those same expectations since I was a bossy little tomboy, you’d be mistaken.” I grinned at him and he smiled—that full, beautiful smile he hadn’t given Lilly even a hint of.
I continued. “Look… I learned to dismiss other people’s expectations of me ages ago. They only limit you and stop you from being purely who you are.”
He looked relieved. “Yeah. Exactly.”
I sat back and sipped my Coke, enjoying the cold, sugar-filled hit after the warmth and richness of the fries. “Are you having fun?”
“Pardon?”
“Are you having fun being here with me?”
I was good at reading people, and I was pretty sure he was. On the surface, it wasn’t the most fascinating ‘field trip’, but I sensed that he got excitement out of not knowing what to expect and knowing that our relationship would be unconventional and mostly hidden from the public eye. I knew that excited me.
“God, yes. I love this. I love that you bought me these and I can’t wait to try them on.”
I smiled because that was the reaction I’d hoped for.
“Well, then, eat up and we’ll head back to my place where you can do just that.”
He nodded, blushing, and finished his fries with a blissful expression on his face.
As we were leaving, we had to pass a wall of mirrors and I got a glimpse of the two of us walking together. Vincent looked as hot as I knew he was and I looked…not so bad either, really. I was shorter, and my clothes were a bit more edgy since I’d worn my leather jacket and my bad-ass biker boots. We definitely looked like a gay couple—or at least I thought we did. My blond hair was spiked up and the shaved sides made my face look thinner and more masculine. My gray eyes looked alive for once and my mouth was relaxed. I looked content.
And how could I not be with this lovely boy by my side and an afternoon fashion show to look forward to? Even if it didn’t work out in the long run, I would always have this day to remember. I mentally chastised myself for even thinking about the long-term.
Chapter Five
When Vincent pulled smoothly into my drive and put my car in Park I told him, “You are an excellent driver, Vincent. I plan to exploit this skill.”
He blushed. “Thank you, Sir.”
“Which means I will be getting you to drive me around pretty often.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll try to make it worth your while,” I said, holding up the La Senza bag.
He laughed. “Thank you, Sir.”
So fucking polite.
I wasn’t sure I could wait as long as I should to start digging beneath that very well-behaved exterior.
We exited the vehicle and walked to the front door. He passed me my keys and I unlocked it so we could go inside. We hung our jackets and took off our boots.
“I love those boots,” he said softly. “They suit you.”
“Thank you. They’re my favorites.” I catalogued his appreciation for my boots in the back of my mind along with Likes wearing lacy lingerie in pastels and Gets hard from almost any direct order.
“Come with me.”
He followed obediently to the master bedroom, where I placed our bag of purchases on the end of my bed.
The furnishings were fairly standard—queen platform bed, navy comforter, a few pillows, dresser and side table and a full-length mirror leaning against the wall by the window.
He looked around quickly, flitting his gaze to the ceiling and the walls. He was probably checking for eye rings and suspension equipment. Daphne had lots. He didn’t ask about it, just licked his lips and glanced at me, waiting.
I assessed him, anticipating how good he was going to look in the lingerie. “We can do this either of two ways,” I said.
He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, but his eyes were wide, the pupils dark. He nodded.
“You can get undressed in here with the door closed and put them on then come out when you’re ready, or…”
He was waiting for me to give him another option, so I did.
“Or we can do it together. I can watch you get undressed and I can help you put them on. It’s completely up to you.”
His mouth twitched and I was surprised to see amusement there.
“What?” I narrowed my eyes.
He looked at the floor. “In a completely non-sexual way?”
The statement hung there and I realized how ridiculous it seemed. But I played along.
“Of course. Nothing sexual about it. I’d like to see how the lingerie I purchased looks on the person I purchased it for. Nothing sexual about that. Plus, we need to make sure it fits.”
We both knew I was fucking lying. So much for that whole honesty thing. And he called me on it, the devil.
“I thought we were supposed to be honest with each other.” He whispered it, as if he were afraid he was being too bold or that he was wrong and I didn’t feel anything sexual about seeing him in pink lingerie.
Right.
“Snap,” I said. You got me. I sat on the bed, looking at the wall. “Okay, here’s the situation right now, Vincent. The truth is I’m incredibly turned on but I don’t want to be, and even so, I’m not going to do anything directly sexual with you or to you until we know each other a little better and this”—I gestured between us—“thing, whatever it is, becomes a little more defined.”
“Okay,” he said, sounding relieved. “Really? You’re really turned on?”
“Against my better judgment, yes.”
“Why don’t you want to be?”
I cleared my throat. Goddammit. I mean, I could have refused to answer, but I wouldn’t. “Because I don’t want to jump into something with you that will make me feel vulnerable. I need to be in control and with my wits about me, at least to start with.”
“Okay. But I’m feeling pretty vulnerable here,” he said.
I turned to look at him. “But that’s what you want.” It was a statement.
“Yeah, okay. That’s true. I like it,” he admitted. As if I didn’t know that.
“Yeah, well, I don’t. I like to be the top, so let me be the top, okay?” It was a plea from the heart, and he recognized it as such.
He nodded quickly. “I will. I’ll let you do whatever you want, the way you want. But, for the record?”
I raised my eyebrows.
He continued. “I have no problem getting sexual with you, whenever the time is right.”
Now I was the one who blushed and that was exactly my point. With one statement he�
�d made me feel so good that I wanted to walk over there and fold him into my arms.
WTF? I shook my head, as if to rid it of these feelings.
“Okay, sweet talker. Which is it? You want some help or not?” I opened the bag and took out a package wrapped in crinkly white paper, unfolding it to expose the pretty pink camisole. I hooked my thumbs through the spaghetti straps and held it up.
He sighed and a shudder passed through him.
“Help,” he said, and it was like he was asking me to rescue him from the idea that he had to do this alone.
I nodded curtly. “Strip…slowly.” I sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the camisole to the side and unwrapping the boy shorts, watching unabashedly as he removed his clothes. He’d done this before and he would do it again, many times, so I settled in to watch and enjoy.
When he’d gotten down to his boxer briefs, he glanced at me then pushed them off and straightened, keeping his head bowed. His cock, as before, was rock-hard. I wondered what it was like to possess something so revealing, so vulnerable—what it was like to show one’s arousal so obviously. I was beginning to realize that I was just as turned on as he was, but I could pretend that wasn’t the case. I had the privilege of hiding my feelings…and I did.
I kept my expression neutral and stood up, holding the delicate camisole. “Turn around.”
He did. I’d placed him deliberately in front of the mirror so he would be confronted with his naked image when he glanced up. He reddened and quickly cast his eyes down.
“Look at yourself, Vincent. Tell me what you see.” Yes, I was going to make this excruciatingly intimate. He would love and hate every minute of it.
He forced himself to look. He quickly scanned himself, creases appearing on his forehead as he considered his nakedness.
He cleared his throat. “A naked man.”
“How naked?”
“Completely, utterly,” he whispered.
“Young or old?”
“Young.”
“Handsome?”
He tilted his head. “I mean…yeah?”
“Oh yeah,” I affirmed.
A slight smile appeared, then vanished.
“Is this naked man embarrassed? Ashamed?” I asked.
He considered the question. “Not ashamed. Just”—he shrugged—“shy?”
I let myself smile. He could see me in the mirror. “I love your bashfulness, Vincent. It’s endearing, sweet and so lovely, even as it deviates from typical masculinity. Especially because of that.”
He met my eyes in the reflection. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I slid my hand between his legs and stroked the inside of his left thigh, before gliding it all the way down to his ankle. I crouched down and held the boy shorts for him to step into. Then I stood, slowly pulling the gossamer material up his legs. As the pink lace glided over his skin, his lips parted and he sighed. I slid it over his ass and erection and fiddled until it sat perfectly on his slim frame. The fabric was stretched tight over his full cock and his firm ass and he looked fucking sexy. His breathing ramped up as he looked at himself in the mirror.
“Holy fuck,” he said with a tremor in his voice.
“Holy fuck, indeed. You look stunning, Vincent.”
“I feel…pretty,” he whispered, turning to see how they looked from the side.
I ran my hands over his hips and cupped his bottom, tilting my head to see him from every angle. “You are pretty. Here… Turn around.”
He turned to face me, and all I wanted to do was pull the lace away from his cock and take him in my mouth or in my hand, make him come standing here in my bedroom, eyes and mouth wide with surprise, moans echoing off the walls.
The urge was strong but I resisted it. It was too soon for something so intimate. But the fact that I wanted to do it was telling.
I swallowed and turned away, grabbing the camisole from the bed and holding it in front of him. “Put your arms through the straps.”
I had him lift his arms so I could pull the camisole down past his head until it hugged his torso in a most beguiling way. I smoothed the hem where it rested an inch or two above the boy shorts, then straightened the straps and stepped back.
Oh yes. He was a vision in powder pink with his lean muscles and light body hair, his thick cock trapped and so, so hard.
His hand moved and before I could say anything, he pressed his palm against his erection and closed his eyes, giving himself some relief.
“No, you don’t. Hands off, please,” I said and he jerked his hand away as if he’d been very naughty—as, indeed, he had been, but not on purpose. I realized I’d forgotten to tell him this rule.
“Sorry, but that’s another one of my rules.” I snaked my finger up his neck and tilted his chin so he looked at me. “You aren’t allowed to touch yourself intimately while you are here.”
He considered this. “Okay.”
“Or when you’re at home.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I don’t want you pleasuring yourself at all while we are doing this.”
He struggled with this idea. “But…that’s not really fair.”
I sat down on the edge of the bed again, running my eyes over him from head to foot, drinking him in, memorizing how he looked for later when I was alone. Because the same rule did not apply to me.
“How so?”
I could see him trying to figure out how to disagree with me without offending me. “Well, because you say this isn’t sexual, but you tell me I can’t get myself off, even when I’m at home?”
“Vincent, it’s about control.”
“Okay, but—”
“I want to control you.” I pinned his adorable blue eyes as I said this with all the Dom I had in me, holding his gaze and being as direct as possible. “There’s no other reason than that.”
“Whoa.” He swallowed, and I swear I saw his dick pulse behind the pink lace. A small dark spot appeared at the waistband, which sat at the tip of his cock. “Okay.”
“I want to control you in every way that you’ll let me,” I said, still holding his gaze. I licked my lips. “Simply because it pleases me to do it.”
His mouth dropped open. I saw him start to reach for his cock then drop his hand to his side.
Good boy.
“But let me reiterate you are free to say no, that it’s not what you want. I can adjust my rules to a certain extent. But the ‘hands off your junk’ policy here in my home will stand.” I got up and walked to him, dropping my voice. “Do you want me to control you while you aren’t here?”
He inhaled a shaky breath as his hands became fists at his sides. “Yes.”
“Perfect,” I said, turning him so he could get the full effect of the outfit in the mirror. “Then we are going to have so much fun.”
* * * *
An hour later, I was sprawled on my living room sofa with House Hunters on, watching as Vincent wiped the baseboards with a wet cloth—on hands and knees of course. His ass in the pink lace was a vision. His muscles rippled in a delightful way as he completed this most menial of tasks. It was quite literally something I’d never do. But I was pleased to have him do it. I’d already had him dust the flat surfaces and sweep the floor.
He walked over to me, kneeling before me holding the cloth. “All done, Sir.”
I reached out and ruffled his hair, glancing to see that his erection was still there and still solid. I had to love a man who got off on cleaning baseboards, because I certainly didn’t, although I was sure it wasn’t the baseboards. It was me telling him to do it, watching him do it.
“Very good.” I sat up quickly, surprising him with the sudden movement. I’d been eagerly awaiting this moment. “Time for a piano lesson.”
He blinked. “Okay.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I mean, yes, Sir.”
“Better. Go sit on the piano bench and place your hands on your thighs.”
“Yes, Sir.” He g
rinned. He was into it. I was glad because I really wanted him to learn to play.
I slid in beside him on the piano bench and my nose got an extra strong whiff of the moisture leaking from Vincent’s dick. I closed my eyes for a moment, savoring it. It was something I’d not enjoyed for some time. It was the scent of potency, testosterone and male excitement, and I’d forgotten how much I loved it. Again, I felt the very strong urge to taste him, but I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t. I was not doing this for my own enjoyment. Not yet, anyway. I was doing this for him.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
“Have you ever played before?”
“No. But I’ve always been curious. I don’t know if I have the talent.”
“Despite what most people believe, talent isn’t the most important thing a beginner piano student needs.”
He regarded me quizzically. “What is the most important thing? A good teacher?”
What a sweetheart. Was he deliberately flattering me?
“Well, yes. But what I was going to say is that a beginning student needs to understand that practice and repetition are more important than talent, at least at first.”
He blinked. “I don’t have a piano at home.”
“I didn’t think you did. But if you are going to spend Saturdays with me, you’ll have time to practice.”
He looked down at the keys, the blush getting stronger and a small smile appearing. “Am I going to spend Saturdays here?”
“If you want to. It doesn’t have to be every weekend.”
“Can it be every weekend?” he asked shyly, looking at his fingers splayed on his thighs. “I mean, I’d learn the piano faster.”
I couldn’t help smiling too. “That’s certainly true.” I placed my fingers on the keys and started playing the chorus from Let It Be, which was the first thing I was going to teach him. “Don’t you have family and friends that will want to spend time with you?”
His smile disappeared and he rubbed his thighs. “Not in town. Not really.”
“Oh,” I said, curious. “You’re on your own here?”
“Except for my co-workers, and one or two acquaintances…yeah.” He pursed his lips, then pushed out a puff of air. “I sort of followed my girlfriend here. Then we split.”