Note: Takes place about a week after Pride and Panic, when Seb and Zain have gone to Hawaii for leave. More-than-usually NSFW.
Trembles ran through my legs and arms. Carefully, I turned off the water pouring over my head and stepped out of the shower, into the chilly bathroom. A quietness filled it, broken only by drips falling off me to the floor, like icicles melting. I shivered. Merde, what have I done?
My drying-off was perfunctory at best. Rivulets of water still ran from my hair down my neck and bare torso as I wrapped the towel around my waist. Then I padded out to find Zain.
He was sitting on the loveseat in our room, against a backdrop of ocean out the windows. One of the boxes we’d brought home from the storage unit was open on the little coffee table in front of him, and he was busy unpacking DVDs. I walked over to stand on the other side of the table, making him glance up. “What d’you think, babe? Mystic Pizza or Notting Hill? And notice how I’m not going straight for the Disney, please. It’s a great sacrifice for me.”
“I have to tell you something, sir.”
His head rose as he sat up straighter and really looked at me. I felt exposed, and colder than ever. When he spoke, he’d lost all trace of casualness and replaced it with authority. But the words weren’t what I expected. “My boy, where are my dog tags?”
“On– on the bathroom counter,” I said. Since he bought me the silver chain for my birthday, I never wore them in the shower anymore.
He frowned and nodded me away. “Go get them.”
I didn’t move. I’d left them there on purpose. What I’d just done… I didn’t deserve to have his claim around my neck. “Sir,” I said again, “I have to tell you something.”
“Go. Get. Them.”
Another shiver ran through me, nothing to do with being wet. Spinning on my heel, I quickly retreated, with my heart skidding around in my chest like a wild horse. I could feel his gaze hot on my back and tried to ignore how it was making a part of me farther below my heart sit up and take notice. I didn’t deserve that, either.
The tags dangled from my fist as I reemerged several seconds later. I thought I’d done a good job calming myself until I saw him again. He was standing now, and much closer, positioned to be right in my path. Silently, he held out a hand, palm up. I laid the chain across it. He closed his fingers and folded his arms over his chest so his muscles bulged against his t-shirt. “What did you need to tell me, my boy?”
I swallowed. Unable to meet his eyes, I spoke to the floor between us. “I was, uh… I was washing, and I decided to– to do one of my daily edges.” He hadn’t said I should stop with them now that we had time together. I’d thought I was being good. “But I got distracted. Before I realized it was going to happen, I, I…”
His feet stepped into view. “Look up.”
I did, through my eyelashes until he grabbed some of my wet hair and tugged to make me raise my chin. Still holding, with a pressure that wasn’t at all painful, he asked, “Did you come?”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
His voice dropped an octave. “Did you have permission to come?”
“What distracted you enough that you would disobey me?”
It was so stupid, I bit my lip a moment. “I was thinking about how much other stuff we might need to get from the storage unit before Quint and Theo arrive.” They wouldn’t even be here on their vacation for almost two weeks, yet I’d been worrying over that, and contemplating how this house felt strange and half not-ours after so long away, how flowers that never used to grow were blooming in the backyard near where I did my yoga and I hadn’t been here to see them push up their first stems or show the first buds. And all the time I was stroking and stroking and then it just happened before I could stop.
He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head the slightest bit in surprise. “You mean you weren’t even distracted by dirty thoughts?”
“No, sir,” I said.
After a moment more of studying me, he asked, “Did you enjoy it?”
The answer to that was easiest to give. I’d disobeyed, yes, but at least I wasn’t a complete disgrace. “No, sir, not really. It was like… distant heat lightning on a calm day. It startled me more than anything else.”
He frowned with what looked like real displeasure. I was confused. Then, with the hand holding the dog tags, he whipped the towel off me and dried my skin and hair, better than I’d done the first time, but also rougher. I nearly got knocked off-balance. When he was done, he laid the towel out across the bed and pointed at it. “Knees and elbows.”
I did as I was told without speaking, unsure where this was going. In the beginning, there had been a few times I’d come without permission, but always while he was edging me, and he said he couldn’t blame me for it because we were both still learning how far we could push. I’d felt guilty anyway. It made me all the more determined to be good for him. This time, I had no excuse. However he wanted to punish me, I’d consent.
It still hurt like a burn to my collarbone when he put the dog tags in his pocket.
“Sir,” I said, voice trembling on just the one word, “I know I don’t deserve to wear them–”
He’d started to turn away. At that, he stopped. “I’m leaving them off you because you’re going to be allowed to come whenever, not as a punishment. Keep your eyes on the headboard.”
I stared at him a second before following the order. I come without permission so he gives me blanket permission? Does that mean no more orgasm control? It can’t! He likes it way too much, too. Does it mean… My cock started to harden again. Oh, merde, what if my punishment is being made to come until I’m begging to stop? The idea filled me with dread and arousal in equal measure. But I had nothing to do except stay there on the soft towel with my back arched, feeling cool air between my cheeks, and imagine what he had planned while I listened to him.
The sounds didn’t offer many clues. I heard footsteps over to the loveseat, then cardboard scraping against itself, which made me think he was putting the DVDs away. Then he returned and the bed dipped with his weight.
“So you were thinking about what we should get out of storage, huh?” he asked, sounding amused. “Well, it’s a good thing I got that box, at least. Spread your knees wider. Shoulders touching the towel.”
Flushing hot from my hair to my chest, I obeyed. This position is one of the hardest for me. Not physically, but the feeling of being on display, almost begging with my body, and how there’s nothing at all to hide the fact I like it, with my erection hanging heavy beneath me.
“Now.” I felt him move between my calves and heard a click. His fingers were coated in lube when they rubbed over my most hidden spot. The coldness of it made me jump and try to close my legs. “Stop,” he said, using his other hand to push on the inside of my thigh. “It’ll warm up. Open yourself, my boy.”
I let out a breath and relaxed.
“Now,” he repeated, working his index finger slowly in between my cheeks. “You owe me the sight of you coming, and you owe me your pleasure. Even more, you owe yourself the pleasure you stole away by being too distracted to notice it.” One the last two words, he found my prostate. I whimpered. A smirk came into his voice. “You need a lesson in focusing, and one in obedience. We’re going to kill two birds with one stone. Understand, my boy?”
His second finger pressed in beside the first. I had to gulp. “N–no, sir. Not really.”
“That’s alright, I’m sure it’ll be clear soon,” he said. Then he softened to almost a croon. “Remember this?”
Something else touched my leg and moved upward. Silky, cool, hardness that could’ve been any number of different toys he’d packed away a year ago. Oh. That box.
I resisted the temptation to look between my legs. Only when he coated the toy in lube and pushed it inside me—slight pain flaring up at the widest part—and a bulb at the base touched my perineum did I know which one it was.
“Yes,” he said, with smug satisfaction. “I thought you’d remember.”
It was a prostate massager. One of several we own—they’re a favorite of ours—with two motors that vibrated on eight different settings. And it was controlled by a remote. He rocked it a few times. Even with the vibration off, my hips jerked. I bit down on my arm as I moaned.
“Stop. Hands behind you. And look to the side. I want to see your gorgeous face.”
I folded my arms together, wrist to wrist, across my back, the same as I would if he were going to tie me up. Instead, he held them in one hand like he does when he’s spanking me. His other hand was working the massager. Then that stopped. Still holding my wrists, he moved over to kneel at my side, where I could see him, and see the remote between his fingers and thumb.
“Hmm,” he said, looking from it to me. “Not sure level one will be enough. Let’s start with level two, shall we?” His thumb flicked over it. The toy purred to life, and my lips parted with a gasp. Zain nodded. “Yeah, we’ll try that for a bit. You can beg when you want it turned up.”
Then he simply gripped my wrists tight and watched me. As if I were a beautiful artwork created especially for him.
I didn’t understand what he wanted. His dark gaze on me and the buzzing pleasure against my prostate and perineum made it difficult to think. Soon, I was begging, but out of mindless habit, what I said was, “Please, sir. Please may I come?”
Laughing a little, Zain said, “Of course you can, my boy. That’s the whole point of this, remember? You’re not wearing the tags. You can come whenever.”
I shook my head against the towel under my cheek. “Need you to touch. Stroke. Please, just–”
“No,” he interrupted, sternly. “Your cock has been spoiled enough today. All that stroking you were doing, I certainly don’t need to do any. You’re going to come just from this. Shouldn’t be too difficult, if you’re actually focusing on your body instead of your worries.”
Fear hit. Not fear of him, but fear of disappointing him again. It pushed some of the arousal out. Quivering, I said, “I don’t think I can, sir.”
A secretive sort of smile played around his mouth, yet his voice stayed stern. “Think again. I don’t care how long it takes. The next time you get to come, it’s going to be exactly. Like. This.” Putting the remote in front of my face, he turned it up another level. I whined and pumped my hips uselessly.
“If we have to give up today and try again tomorrow,” Zain continued, “and the day after and the day after that before you’re finally ready, we will. I’ll buy a cock cage and lock you up between so you won’t be able to even touch yourself without my permission.”
My groan was long and drawn out until it merged with the humming of the motors inside me.
“Oh, we like that idea, huh?” He looked under my abdomen. “You’re leaking, my boy. Maybe if I don’t do that now, it’ll make a nice little housewarming gift after the move. Keep you locked up constantly so when I come home every weekend I’ll walk in and find you just like this: Knees spread, ass up, begging me to take you and relieve only a little bit of the itch. And maybe I’ll remove the cage first and give you a chance to come from me fucking you, or maybe I’ll leave it on and fuck you anyway. Either way, you’re not coming unless it’s when and how I say, because I’m in charge here, right?”
The words, the image he painted with them, shot straight from his tongue to the tip of my erection. My eyes closed. “Yes, sir, oh mieux deux, yes, sirrr.”
“You’re going to do what I say, aren’t you, my boy?”
Thrusting into air, I whimpered, “Yes, sir, promise, please turn it up more, oh gods, so close.”
He obliged. My toes curled as the vibration kicked up a notch. And then he leaned down to my ear. “Obey me,” he said softly.
At the command, a storm started gathering deep in my solar plexus, energy rushing from the soles of my feet up and from the top of my head down, and when he held the remote button, turning it all the way to the eighth level, the orgasm hit like the first cracking bolt from the blue.
There were a few moments… or perhaps minutes… of darkness after, while the thunder echoed in my ears.
When I could hear again, everything had calmed. The massager was off, though still inside me. My arms moved where he put them as he let go of my wrists and rubbed over the muscles in my shoulders. “There you go,” he was saying. I felt as if I floated on his voice. “Here, lay on your side, let me get the towel. That’s it. That was amazing, babe. So gorgeous. You’re such a good boy.”
No, not right. “Mm’your good boy,” I muttered.
“Oh, I stand corrected,” he said, laced with suppressed laughter. “Yes, you’re my good boy.”
“Want the dog tags back.”
“Whatever you say, habibi.” His hands gently lifted my head so he could hook the chain behind my neck. It felt warm from his pocket. My fingers found the tags hanging off it and curled around their familiar shape. I smiled, utterly content. I’d done it. I’d made it up to him. I was his.