Various Persuasions

by AE Lister

  “Did you masturbate in them?”

  “Uh. Yeah. Of course”—he looked at me shyly—“Sir.”

  I spoke slowly and deliberately, like I was actually using my words on his body. “And how did you feel, when you stroked yourself off in those pretty panties?” I said, taking a bite of my grilled cheese.

  His forehead creased and his blush spread. “Good, Sir. Pretty. Hot. Sexy. Sweet.”

  “You, Vincent, are all of those things. This is delicious, by the way.”

  He blinked. “Thank you, Sir.”

  After lunch I helped him unpack the bookcase I’d ordered from IKEA. But once we got the pieces out of the box, I left him to it. I had no patience for that. I mean, I could spend three hours edging a submissive but I hated, hated, hated putting furniture together—especially IKEA furniture.

  Vincent, however, seemed to enjoy it. He organized all the pieces in sections on the floor and checked everything off in the instructions as he sat cross-legged in his cute little boxer briefs and T-shirt. He took his time, concentrating on following the instructions and getting things just right. I was impressed and, for some reason, proud.

  I sat on the sofa pretending to work on my laptop but subtly observing Vincent. I liked the way he thought, the way he moved, the way he focused intently on the task. He was so graceful, both when he submitted to me and when he put IKEA furniture together.

  At one point he needed my help to hold the pieces steady while he placed the finishing screws. We were both breathing heavy, trying to ignore our mutual attraction, and it felt kind of like a real second date, when the attraction was growing but nobody wanted to make the first move.

  But it was torture for me, since I knew that all I had to say was, “Take off your clothes, Vincent,” and he would strip for me. Then I’d be lost. We both would.

  When he was done and we placed the bookshelf against the wall where I wanted it, I told him it had been lovely having him here but he needed to leave.

  “Put your clothes on. Are you taking an Uber?” I should have offered to drive him, but I was too afraid of my own desires. Having Vincent beside me in the close confines of my car would have been too much.

  “Yeah. I’ll order it now.”

  While we waited for his Uber to arrive I thanked him for the work he’d done for me today. “I’m glad you came over.”

  He beamed. “Me too.” Then his face fell. “Saturday seems like a long time from now.”

  I winked. “You’ll be okay. I’ll be thinking of you. Does that make it better?”

  “Yes, Sir. Much.”

  “Don’t forget, no jerking off.”

  “Yes, Sir. I remember.”

  * * * *

  I got through the week fine but couldn’t stop thinking about Vincent. I masturbated every fucking night and only felt slightly guilty that I’d prohibited Vincent from doing the same.

  By the time Friday came around I was so eager to see him that it was ridiculous. I stayed up late chatting with Daphne on the phone about some of her latest clients and the interesting things they wanted her to do to them. There was this guy named Brian who lived for cock-and-ball torture apparently, although he also liked extreme humiliation and role play.

  “I’m glad your work is rewarding, Daf,” I told her, finishing my wine. “I’ve got to go to bed. It’s past one o’clock and Vincent’s coming tomorrow.”

  “Did he text you at all?”

  “A couple of times. He texted today to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow and to tell me he’s been a good boy.”

  “Oh, Nic, he will be such a good boy for you. I know it. I mean, he was a very good boy for me.”

  For some reason I didn’t want the details of Daphne’s interactions with Vincent. I told her good night and hung up. It took me some time to fall asleep. I felt more excited about the next day than I should have been.

  Dreams came, vivid and arousing and I woke to the sound of my doorbell ringing. It dragged me out of a deep, fitful sleep.

  Who the fuck is here so early?

  I glanced at the clock.

  “Shit. Oh fuck!” I mumbled, sitting up fast and blinking like a deer in the headlights.

  Nine o’clock on the dot. Vincent was on time and I’d slept through my alarm. I scrambled out of bed.

  Grabbing a pair of black cotton boy shorts and an oversized T-shirt, I pulled them on as I made haste to the front door. I opened it with one hand and tried to tame my bedhead with the other.

  “Hey, hi. Sorry… I slept in by mistake.”

  Vincent stood there in a pair of black jeans and a black knit sweater, blinking at me with a strange look on his face. He didn’t say anything.

  “What?” I said, my tone angry. I hated rushing and I hated being caught unprepared.

  “You… You look even hotter than you did last week. I just got, like, an immediate hard-on.”

  I closed my eyes, shaking my head out of desperation. Why did he have to be so sweet? “Vincent.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “It’s fine. Just…come in. You want some coffee?” I was so flustered and I also hated that.

  Vincent seemed amused and turned on by my confusion. He tried to hide a smile. “Why don’t I make the coffee?”

  “That’s a great idea. Make us coffee, Vincent,” I said, trying to get my Dom-self back.

  “Okay, Sir,” he said, toeing off his shoes and moving past me like he was on a mission.

  I stared after him as he moved into the kitchen and located the coffeemaker. I wondered if he’d followed the instructions I’d given him.

  “Are you wearing the lingerie like I told you to?”

  He blushed and nodded, filling the carafe and pouring the water into the device.

  For the first time that morning, a glimmer of hope for the day surfaced. I was sure once I had my coffee I’d be fine, but I didn’t like waking up like this.

  I sat at the kitchen table and watched him open the wrong cupboard. “How does it feel? Wearing lacy things under your regular clothes?”

  He glanced at me and smiled. “Good. Where’s the coffee?”

  “Cupboard on the right. By the window.”

  He found the container and brought it down to the counter.

  “I’m going to need it smooth and strong, Vincent. Just like you, my brave submissive.”

  He looked over. “Is that what I am?”

  “Is that what you want to be? Mine?”

  “Yours. Yes.” He scooped measure after measure of coffee into the basket.

  I stared at the table. “After last week, I already consider you mine. Do you want to know what I did Saturday night? Besides having an anxiety attack?”

  He looked over. “You had an anxiety attack? Why?”

  I shrugged. It was already old news that I wasn’t concerned about. “I get them sometimes when I’m overwhelmed.”

  “Why were you overwhelmed?” he asked, pausing in his task. “Because of me?”

  I didn’t answer his question. Instead I stood and walked over there. “Did you obey my instructions, Vincent?”

  “I’m wearing the lingerie. Yeah.”

  “No, I mean, about not getting yourself off.”

  He blushed harder. “Yeah. It was hard.” He realized what he’d said and laughed.

  “You know what I did last Saturday evening?”

  He shook his head, staring at me with those curious blue eyes.

  I leaned against the counter and reached out, pushing the lock of brown hair off his forehead. “I pictured the way you looked on my piano bench in your pretty pink panties and gave myself three fucking epic orgasms.”

  His eyes widened as he tried to picture it. “Three?”

  “Three,” I affirmed, holding up three fingers.

  His eyes zeroed in on them. “With your fingers?” he whispered, as his breathing quickened.

  I grinned slowly. “With my big glass dildo.”

  “Oh, fuck,”
he sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me on Sunday when I came over?”

  “Well, Vincent, because I knew that information would make you hard and I was really trying to be good on Sunday.”

  “You really are evil, you know?”

  “Oh, I know.” I looked him over, seeing the bulge in his jeans. “How does it make you feel, knowing that while you were holding yourself back, I was getting myself off to images of your fine ass, Vincent? Because I think I’ve masturbated every night this week.”

  My eyes flew to his hand as it moved toward his groin, but he stopped this instinctive movement and dropped it to his side.

  “Good boy,” I said, licking my lips. “Now answer my question.”

  “It feels good, like you used me.” He stared at the floor. “I like to be used.”

  “Yes, you told me.”

  He nodded, still looking at the floor. “So…” he said.

  “Mmm-m?”

  “Do you still think there’s nothing sexual between us?” It was a fair question and a bold one. But he already knew the answer and so did I.

  “No.”

  “So, there is?”

  “Yes. I think it’s pretty obvious.”

  “Yes.”

  “And against my better judgment.”

  He grinned and met my eyes as the coffeemaker grumbled and spat. “Judgment, smudgment.”

  I couldn’t help laughing at that ridiculous assertion. “Ah, Vincent, what am I going to do with you?”

  He stared at me, humming with anticipation. “I don’t know. But I can’t wait to find out.”

  The first thing I did was tell him to be quiet while I drank my coffee. I took down two mugs and gave him the one with ‘Slave’ on it. I took the one that said ’Master’. I mean, obviously.

  He smiled when he saw but remained quiet. We sat at the table and sipped in silence.

  “This is very good coffee, Vincent.”

  He opened his mouth then closed it. Bobbed his head.

  I grinned. “You will make this every time you come here in the morning without instruction, enough for us both.”

  He smiled.

  “Is your cock still hard?”

  He nodded.

  “Take it out, please.”

  He blinked at me over his coffee.

  “Now.”

  He put his mug down and reached one hand to his fly, popping the button and pulling the zipper down. I couldn’t really see under the table but I watched the expression on his face as he freed his erection from its lacy confines.

  “Just hold it in your hand.”

  He stared at me, doing as I asked, blinking silently. His chest moved out and in. His lips parted.

  “You can talk now. I want you to describe it to me.”

  “Pardon?” he said.

  “Tell me about your cock.”

  “Um, okay. It’s pretty hard right now.”

  “How big is it when it’s erect?”

  “Um. Big?”

  “You’ve never measured it?”

  “Uh, nope.” He seemed embarrassed, like that was a pretty big oversight on his part.

  I was just surprised. I thought all men measured themselves.

  “Stand up and get the tape measure from the drawer.” I pointed to the top drawer by the sink. “That one.”

  He pushed his chair back and walked to the drawer, still holding himself, which was good because I’d never told him to stop. He used his free hand to pull the drawer open, found the tape measure and brought it to me.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking another sip of my coffee. It tasted really good. He made excellent coffee on top of everything else.

  I took the tape measure from him and sat back in my chair, looking at his long fingers wrapped around his dick.

  “Stroke yourself. Get it nice and full for me.”

  He gasped as he started moving his hand back and forth. His eyelids drooped as the pleasure hit. I watched his cock grow and the head emerge from the foreskin.

  It was a really nice penis. Because…of course. And I’d already seen it, but not this close.

  “You have a really nice penis, Vincent.”

  “Thank you,” he gasped. “I mean, I like it.”

  I grinned. “I like it too. Okay, you can let go.”

  He let go and instead of immediately measuring him, I wrapped my fingers around him. I mean, I wanted to make sure he was at his thickest and longest, right? I was doing this for science.

  “Oh. Fuck!” he moaned as I started to stroke him, making his cock even harder and longer.

  I grinned up at the look on his face—surprise, arousal and bliss. I couldn’t resist any longer. As he tilted his head back, I leaned forward on the downstroke and plunged my mouth over his glans.

  The sound he made echoed off the walls. It was a wordless plea to continue and I did, until he couldn’t get any harder without exploding all over the kitchen table.

  I popped my mouth off him and pulled the tape out from its holder with a whoosh. Vincent gasped and struggled not to grab himself as I took the measure of his cock while it swayed against his sweater.

  “Fuck, fuck,” he panted as I did my work and glanced up at him. He looked down with adoration and expectation.

  “Six-and-a-half inches, Vincent. Quite respectable.” I turned the tape sideways to take his girth. “And four inches at the widest spot.”

  “Oh, God,” he whispered as his hips unconsciously pushed toward me. A bead of moisture oozed from his glans.

  “Okay,” I said, pressing the button on the tape measure. The tape zinged back into its holder with a snap. “Time for some piano practice.”

  Vincent stared at me wide-eyed. Had he expected me to suck him to orgasm?

  Silly boy.

  “Wh-what?” he said.

  “Pull your panties up, stuff yourself back into your jeans and go sit on the piano bench. I’ll be there in a minute.” I drank the last bit of my coffee and put the empty mug on the counter as he struggled to obey. I left him trying to put his large and erect cock back in his pants as I went to find some items I’d need for his lesson.

  When I came back to the living room, Vincent was sitting obediently at the piano, his hands on his thighs, his head bowed. He looked uncomfortable, which I’m sure he was if his dick was wedged inside his tight jeans. He might have to consider altering his style a bit if he continued to come see me. Y’know, wear looser pants. Then again, I would probably have him naked or almost naked much of the time. But right then, I wanted him in his clothes.

  “I like your outfit, so I’m going to keep you in it for now.”

  He dipped his head but didn’t say anything.

  “Practice your scales, please.”

  He hesitated.

  “Is there a problem?”

  He cleared his throat. “I need to tell you something.”

  My stomach lurched. He’s changed his mind. He’s not into this. He’s not into me. A thousand awful things came to mind.

  “Okay.”

  “I almost came in your mouth…in the kitchen.”

  That is so not what I expected to hear. Also, did he think I didn’t know? I wanted to snort a laugh but I kept it in. Ridicule, at least at that moment, was not what I was going for.

  “I know.”

  He glanced at me out of shy eyes. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  He licked his lips and stared at the floor. “What would have happened if I had?”

  I leaned my elbow on the piano and stared at him. “Well, I would have spat it out, for one thing. I would have left you hanging and spurting all over the place.”

  He shuddered.

  “But I’m pleased that you held back.”

  “Would you have punished me?”

  “Oh, hell yeah.”

  “How?” he asked before I’d even finished speaking. Eager little slut.

  I didn’t say anything. We gazed at each other, the tension building. “How would you like t
o be punished, Vincent?”

  The question hung in the air between us. Finally, he spoke.

  “I want…I want to…” He couldn’t get it out.

  “Tell me.”

  “I want to…stand in the corner while you fuck me with your glass dildo.” It rushed out of him like the orgasm he’d held in.

  Silence while I took this in. I felt a throb inside as I pictured it.

  “Oh, Vincent, we were made for each other.”

  He actually moaned from the idea that I would do this to him and enjoy every minute of it. His eyes closed and he rocked his hips.

  “But right now, I want you to practice your scales like a good boy.”

  His eyes opened and he blinked. “Okay.”

  “But I’m glad you told me that. I will certainly keep it in mind.” No promises, just the possibility of his fantasy punishment coming true—at a time of my choosing, at my sole discretion.

  His face fell and I bet he wished he’d actually come in my mouth. Because then I would have had to punish him. But since he’d just betrayed how he wanted to be punished, he had inadvertently told me how I should punish him when the time was right—which would, essentially, be to stand him in the corner and completely ignore him until the anticipation and arousal drove him mad with desire.

  But I’d put that in my pocket for now.

  Chapter Seven

  As Vincent obediently practiced his scales, I picked up the powder blue penis gag from the coffee table and brought it over.

  “Take a break for a second.”

  He stopped and glanced beside him, did a double-take at the gag. “What is that?”

  I grinned. “It’s a penis gag. You mean Daphne never used one on you?”

  “Uh, nope.”

  “Okay. So, this bit, the part that looks like a small, thick penis, goes in your mouth, and it buckles behind your head.”

  He stared at the rubber penis part of the gag. “Um…”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You have an issue with a fake penis in your mouth?”

  He gave a little head shake back and forth. “But, why?”

  Ah. He was a thinker. He wanted reasons. “Because it presses down on your tongue and makes you feel used.”

  His eyes widened. “Oh.”

  “Wanna try it? I can get a regular ball gag if you prefer.”