Beautiful boy (29 page)

“Turn around, boy, bend over, and brace yourself on the bench.” He reached for a tube on the shelf that I realized was lube. I did as he asked, pushing my ass out for him. “If I don’t want you to speak, I will give you specific orders for a time period,” he said as he laid a hand on one asscheek. “I want you to ask questions that come to mind.”

He pushed one finger into my slippery, stretched hole. I’d spent some real time on it before I’d left to come here. I’d worked my way up to four fingers before getting dressed. I’d felt pleasantly open, making my anticipation even more keen as I drove over here.

“Very good, boy,” he praised me, and I sighed as the praise filled me. I felt the cold steel against my ass then, and despite being stretched, my sphincter clenched a little as he pushed it against the muscle. I forced myself to relax and it slid easily inside. “Keep relaxed, boy,” he murmured, and a second later, warm water flooded my guts.

My blush intensified. It shouldn’t have bothered me. Master had had his fingers, his dick, his tongue inside me. He’d come inside me, pushed several different plugs into me. But he’d never done this before.

And that was part of the problem. All that had been sexual. This wasn’t. This was something that had always been private and to have even that controlled was so different from anything we’d done so far. Controlling me sexually made sense. Though I knew BDSM could be nonsexual—Master Nash had shown me that—it often was, especially between two people who were sexual with each other.

This was much more about the control happening everywhere. I did my best to breathe and not let the embarrassment get to me. I groaned quietly as my guts started to cramp with the water. Master rubbed my belly, murmuring soothing sounds to me as I struggled to take it in.

My face got redder as I strained harder. I felt bloated from all the water, though I knew it hadn’t been that much. My bowels gurgled and I almost whimpered, wanting to sink through the floor.

“Shhh. You’re doing wonderfully, beautiful boy,” Master soothed me.

I didn’t feel very beautiful. I didn’t know exactly what I felt, but it wasn’t that. I wanted to hide, wanted Master to go away, wanted anything to not have him see this. When he said he wanted to do this, I had no idea I’d feel like this.

The water flow stopped, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I started to stand, but Master placed his hand on my back. “Hold on, boy,” he murmured, and I realized the nozzle was still in.

To my further mortification, I started trembling, my flesh breaking out in goose bumps. Master continued to run his hands over me in comforting gestures, but I wasn’t calmed. The constant reminder that he was there only made my humiliation worse.

To make it even more obvious, Master spoke. “Who do you belong to, boy?”

It took me a moment to answer. “You, Master.”

“Who’s doing this to you?”

I frowned. “You are, Master.”

“Who wants this done?”

“You do, Master,” I murmured, puzzled.

He rubbed my belly as I thought about that. My guts gurgled again, and a cramp hit on the tail of it. “Master,” I whimpered.

“Shh, you’re doing great, boy. Just a little longer,” he said, making more soothing circles on my skin.

I felt like I was going to explode. The trembling got worse and my bowels were trying to revolt.

“I’m going to take it out. Hold the water in if you can until we get to the toilet,” he instructed me.

I nodded, knowing there was
no
way I’d let go before then.

He seemed satisfied with my nonverbal answer because the nozzle eased out of me. I clenched hard, contracting my muscles as much as I could. He helped me stand and guided me out of the shower. I walked gingerly, guts sloshing as we crossed to the toilet.

I sat with relief—at least I hadn’t left a mess on the floor. I took a deep breath, trying to gather myself, and looked up at Master. He brushed my hair back. “Let go, boy.”

Oh God.
I realized he was going to stay there, watch me as I went. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I whimpered again.

“Who do you belong to, boy?” Master asked me again.

I swallowed before I answered. “You, Master.” My voice shook as I trembled.

“How much of you?”

I paused, and as the answer came to me, I relaxed, the water whooshing out of me. “All of me,” I answered quietly. I still blushed when I heard plops to go with the water, but it finally clicked.

In that moment, and maybe it was intended to be for this weekend, but I suspected it would last long after, I belonged—all of me—to him. Every part, from my sex to my bodily functions to my thoughts, were his. Nothing was mine alone.

His thumb touched my cheek, and I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He was smiling at me.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Thank you, beautiful boy. Are you finished?”

I nodded and reached for the toilet paper, but he shook his head. “No, Master?”

“No. I want to fill you once more.”

I swallowed, but nodded and followed him back to the shower.

The second time, though I still cramped, trembled, and broke out in goose bumps, wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. I focused on Master: his words, his touch, his simple presence, and instead of embarrassing me, it calmed me. Yet again, he led me to the toilet, and yet again, I released the water, though this time without the struggle.

Once we finished, he washed me thoroughly, inside and out, and I washed him. He dried me with a thick, fluffy towel, then, when I’d dried him, returned my collar to me, locking it in place. I felt about a billion times better when I had it in place.

“Bedroom,” Master said, “over the end of the bed. Punishment.”

I nodded, and as soon as we were in the bedroom, I bent over, pushing my ass out once more. Master left briefly and returned with the paddle. “You’ve bitten your lip once since you’ve been here. Any other times?”

I swallowed. “Once before I got here, Master,” I murmured. I knew I didn’t have to tell him, but it was a nervous habit I
wanted
to break. Knowing I’d get punishment swats—swats I did
not
enjoy, despite my like of pain—helped deter me. I still slipped, but I was already getting a lot better.

“Good boy,” he said, running his hand over my hair. “Have you broken any other rules?”

I thought hard. I’d hesitated earlier over the 24/7 thing, but I didn’t think that had been breaking the rules. I frowned when I realized what he was referring to. It had been a simple thing, but it was something else I needed to stop doing, much more important, even, than breaking the lip-biting rule. I swallowed, feeling Master’s disappointment and almost ending up in tears before the first strike.

“I called myself stupid, Master. Even though I didn’t mean it, it can still have an effect on me.”

“Very good, boy,” he said. “That’s fifteen.”

Then, without warning, the paddle came down
hard
on my ass, and I cried out, jumping from the impact. I struggled with the sudden pain, then finally forced out, “One. Thank you, Master.”

“Every morning, starting tomorrow,” Master said as he rubbed my ass, making me whimper, “you’ll get your punishment for any infractions the day before. If you manage to not break any rules, I think a—lighter—maintenance spanking would be good. Ten swats.”

I swallowed, but said, “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” I rather looked forward to the maintenance swats, hoping they would remind me to follow the rules. I’d much rather have spankings for enjoyment than punishment.

“Good,” he said, then brought the paddle down again.

By ten, I was having a lot of trouble thinking. They hadn’t been superhard, but they’d certainly been enough to make me struggle. My ass was already throbbing, and I knew sitting was going to be a challenge. I forced out the count, grateful he made me do it as it helped me keep track and know when it was ending.

I deserved them, though. I broke rules and disappointed Master. That thought alone was enough for the first tears to spill at the next hit, this one much harder than the others. “Eleven. Thank you, Master,” I managed.

Twelve tore a sob from me. On thirteen, I started apologizing with my count and thanks. When Master had delivered the fifteenth swat, I was crying hard. “I’m sorry, Master!” I blubbered into his neck.

He held my hands between us, letting my ass throb for a few more moments. The heat spread along my thighs and lower back, and my ass felt twice its normal size.

“I know you are, beautiful boy,” he murmured. He held me tight, hands soothing my back—but not my ass yet—and kissing my temple and forehead. “Forgiven now. It’s over.”

I nodded as I sniffled, trying to get a hold of myself. I wanted to just crawl into him, lose myself completely in him. I could forget everything—my fears about my parents, losing him, doubts about myself—when I was wrapped up in him like this. I realized that was the point. I felt better, settled, clear,
serene
when I could focus on him. I didn’t second-guess myself. I didn’t worry about what might happen. I didn’t think he’d leave. I knew I was doing the right things. I knew he was happy with me.

I cried out when his hand settled on my sore ass. I bucked unconsciously toward him as he rubbed the abused flesh, easing the pain just a little.

As he did, my cock revived, and I noticed for the first time, Master was hard too. I looked up, knowing my face was tear-stained, but there wasn’t much I could do. I wasn’t about to wipe it on Master’s shirt.

I licked my lips and cleared my throat. “May… may I take care of you, Master?”

His smile spread slowly. “Oh yes.”

I swallowed, not sure what that meant. I waited, though, knowing he’d tell me.

“I’m going to take your ass, now that it’s nice and clean, and fill it with me.”

I gulped. After six days of teasing, edging, and being denied orgasm, the slightest stimulation made my balls ache. This was going to be torture. Not to mention the fact that Master was going to hit my newly sore ass.

“Over the end of the bed again, boy,” Master ordered.

I suppressed a new whimper and got in place.

I WALKED
funny when we went downstairs. The plug I held in seemed enormous—and slippery. I was grateful the inner part was wide enough I’d have to struggle to get it out later. Master had come a
lot
. I’d felt some of it leaking when he pulled out. He’d pushed it back in with his thumb, then followed it immediately with the same thick plug I’d worn last weekend.

I knew it wasn’t really any bigger than before, it just
felt
bigger. It kept my hole stretched and filled me. It was just the right size, on top of that, to rest directly on my prostate.

My already full balls filled even further. They ached and felt
huge
and swollen with cum, hanging heavy between my legs. And I knew by the time we got to Monday, they’d feel even worse. The edging and teasing I’d gone through this week had been pretty intense, but I knew it would be nothing compared to what Master would put me through over the course of the weekend.

I couldn’t wait.

He stopped to pick up the cushion and dropped it next to the dining room table. “Present, boy,” he said simply, pointing at the cushion.

I settled on my knees, my ass resting on my heels, and the pain made me struggle against a whimper. I knew I could make noise, I even knew Master liked to hear it, but I didn’t want to whine about punishment I knew I deserved.

The plug shifted as I got situated, and I had to work to keep it in place, despite how big it was. All of Master’s cum was making it more difficult to hold on to than I thought it would.

I managed to calm, though my still-hard cock jumped now and again in anticipation. I kept my eyes trained to the carpet, listening to Master moving around in the kitchen. I saw his feet as he brought things to the table, then retreated again.

Finally, he came back and stepped behind me. He took my left arm, and I puzzled over it for a moment until I felt the padding against my skin. He fixed the cuff in place, put the other on me, then hooked them together behind my back.

He brushed my hair back, then lowered a blindfold over my face. I closed my eyes instinctually as he put it in place, and my breath hitched as he tied it. He disappeared for the briefest of seconds, then sat in the chair next to me, his leg resting against me.

He didn’t speak for long moments. I heard silverware against a plate: cutting, I was guessing. The tension ratcheted my anticipation, and my breathing shortened a little as I waited. I could feel him moving, but I didn’t know anything else. I had no idea when he’d give me a bite to eat or what it was. I had no clue what to expect.

That, too, clicked for me.

I didn’t think about anything else. There was nothing in my mind except him: every movement, every sound. I smelled meat of some kind and what I thought was butter, but the prevailing scent in my nose was him. Behind the blindfold, it was his image I saw.

A warmth filled me, spreading from my chest out through my limbs. I felt as if I was in a completely blank white room, the only thing in it besides me was him. No furniture filled the space, nothing except the two of us. Nothing to distract me from the only thing that mattered: Master.

“Open, boy,” he murmured, touching my chin. I opened my mouth, and he pushed his fingers between my lips, setting something on my tongue. Meat. Hamburger? Meatloaf. He dragged his fingers over my lips as he pulled them out, and I closed my lips around them, sucking lightly.

The flavors were sharper, more defined than I’d ever had. I knew part of that was my blindness. The other part was my mindset. Nothing distracted me from this moment, this action. I tasted the hamburger, the slight saltiness, tomato sauce, and some more subtle spices Master had used. I chewed slowly, taking my time, then swallowing.

Then I waited.

I knew Master was eating, I heard the continuous click of his silverware against his plate. I also knew it was up to Master when I would be given my next bite. This, too, sank into me.