Crack!
“One, thank you, Sir,” Gylam managed to spit out through gritted teeth. He hadn’t expected the swat to be that hard. Jackson—his Dom—had chosen the one implement Gylam hated above the rest which Gylam knew was deliberate. The paddle was almost an inch thick, made of a hard wood almost a foot and a half long. Even light swats hurt like hell, and his Sir was most definitely not going light. Gylam expected it, though. This was punishment. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to enjoy this kind of pain, anyway, even if he normally loved it.
“Why am I paddling you?” Sir asked.
Gylam struggled to think through the fire already covering his ass cheeks. “Because I was a brat,” he grumbled.
Crack!
He grunted at the searing pain in his ass, then forced out the, “two, thank you, Sir.”
“Want to try that again?” Sir’s mild tone of voice alone would have pissed Gylam off. But added on to the fact that Gylam was feeling rather disgruntled about the punishment in the first place, both together definitely made him want to punch something.
“Boy?” The mild tone held an underlying growl to it.
Crack!
This grunt came out suspiciously like “fuck” but Gylam did his best to stop it before it got out completely. He struggled to assimilate the strike which he was pretty sure was worse even than the last two—was each one harder than the last?—then finally managed, “Three, thank you, Sir. Because I didn’t talk to you.”
“Exactly,” Sir replied before bringing the paddle down on Gylam’s ass again.
“Four,” Gylam said with a groan. He had to pause to breathe through this pain. Definitely harder. “Thank you, Sir.” Tears pricked his eyes, but he’d be damned if he let them fall over this. His ass was on fire, his legs and arms shaking as he held himself up, but he’d take all five swats, no matter how hard his Sir felt he needed them.
But on the fifth swat, the tears broke through, and his moan was much louder. It took him a full minute to deal with the throbbing pain in his ass; then he could give the final count: “Five. Thank you, Sir.”
The paddle landed on the end of the bed next to him, and Gylam tried to push himself up. But his ass, feeling about five times its normal size, was making that difficult. Or maybe it was the way his legs were locked. Or that his arms were shaking, though he didn’t want to admit either of them.
He didn’t have to try long, though. Sir slid an arm under his chest and helped him stand, turning him and wrapping an arm around his back. He tilted Gylam’s chin up. “Look at me, boy.”
After swallowing, Gylam finally looked up to meet his Sir’s deep brown eyes. “Yes, Sir.”
“Why is that so important?”
Gylam dropped his gaze to Sir’s collarbone, which was closer to eye-level anyway, since he had nearly six inches in height over Gylam’s own six feet. He struggled to think through the pain and his anger. “You don’t know what’s going on in my head,” he finally mumbled.
“Precisely. I don’t. And I can’t know if a trip to Studio 16 is a good idea or not. Like last night wasn’t. Wouldn’t it have been better to tell me than spend an evening like that?”
Gylam blew out a breath. He didn’t want to admit Jackson was right about this. It irked him to no end. But the night before had been pure disaster from the moment they’d walked into the dungeon until Sir had practically dragged him back out the door and to the car. He’d done everything short of tossing his collar at the man. He’d mouthed off, refused to follow orders, ignored protocol, and glared at several other Doms....
“Yes, Sir. It would have.”
Sir brushed a thumb across one cheek then kissed the dried tear track. “Now. Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
Gylam sighed. “He got away.”
One eyebrow went up. “What?”
“The guy we’re trying. John Doe. He’s the serial killer I put away not long after Ethan died.” Gylam swallowed, forcing his mind away from his dead partner and his attention back to his current one—both on the force and in life. “He got off on appeal over a technicality.”
“Fuck me,” Jackson whispered. “No wonder you’re pissed about this one.”
Gylam didn’t reply, just stared at the light brown hair covering his Sir’s chest. He hadn’t wanted to talk about it. Gylam had spent two years fighting with the department psychologist over the bastard—well, Doe and Gylam’s dead partner, Ethan—before Jackson became his partner. He’d put it all away finally, and hadn’t wanted to give the man any more mental energy than he deserved which was, in Gylam’s opinion, none.
He still wished Jackson hadn’t pushed.
“That’s still no excuse for not telling me. We’re supposed to be partners. I put that rule in place for a reason, boy.”
Gylam sighed, but couldn’t bring himself to reply. Academically, he knew this. He knew communication was important. In that moment, though, he resented the collar, the rules, everything else he’d agreed to in the contract they’d signed.
“Boy?”
Gylam took a deep breath. “Yes, Sir?”
“What are your safewords?”
Gylam swallowed. He knew what that question really was. He wasn’t about to forget his safewords. Sir was reminding him of them, that he could use them. “Maroon and topaz, Sir.”
He also wasn’t about to give up—which was what using them now would feel like—over this.
Sir’s jaw tightened, and Gylam fought to ignore the stab at the disappointment that little action showed.
“I don’t want to use them, Sir,” he whispered, closing his eyes.
“Very well, then. Present.”
On still slightly unsteady legs, Gylam stepped away, then braced his feet shoulder-width and put his hands at the small of his back. The heat from his ass radiated enough he swore it was singeing the hairs on his fingers. The skin still throbbed, and he had to fight hard against the urge to rub it. He wouldn’t, he’d disappointed his Sir enough for one day already, but it was definitely a struggle.
“The spanking,” Sir began as he walked over to the cabinet they kept their toys in. “Was for not talking to me. For not behaving last night, you’ll wear your cage, a plug... and a harness under your suit today.”
Gylam sucked in a breath. He was always nervous about wearing anything into the station. He felt like there was no way the other guys didn’t know what was under his clothes. Most of the time, he wore jeans and a basic button-down shirt. And in reality, he didn’t know if they could tell or not, but it certainly felt like it.
The cage wasn’t too bad. He’d spent plenty of time inspecting it in the mirror under his jeans and known it wasn’t visible. Under denim. He wasn’t so sure the suit pants would behave the same.
He briefly considered calling his safeword, then bit his lip hard to keep it in. With another inhale, he nearly whispered, “Yes, Sir.”
Gylam couldn’t keep his eyes off Sir’s hands as he lubed the inside of the ring of the cage then settled it around Gylam’s cock and balls. The soft bio-resin molded to him so well that, for the most part, he barely felt it. Unless his dick tried to get hard, which, unfortunately for him, happened way too often. The first time he’d put it on, he’d found himself extremely grateful Sir had insisted he shave around his dick. He could all too readily imagine the hair getting caught up in that, and he was sure that would hurt in ways he didn’t like.
They’d talked about locking him up on a more long-term basis, but Gylam wasn’t quite ready for it. So, instead, he wore it mostly in the evenings or on weekends or, rarely, like this: to the station for punishment.
Once the ring was in place, Sir lubed the inside of the shaft piece, then slid it over Gylam’s cock. He fitted it carefully onto the ring, then slid the cylindrical brass lock into it. A moment later, he stood back, key in hand.
“I do love the look of your dick locked up, boy,” Sir murmured.
Gylam swallowed. He’d known that, and truth be told, he enjoyed it too, liked giving that control up. He wasn’t quite sure he could deal with wearing it every day under his clothes. That was his real sticking point.
To a point, he had a good reason for it. If he was ever injured in the line of duty, he just did not want to end up at the hospital with a cock cage locked around his dick. But there were plenty of days when he did nothing more than paper pushing, and he knew his excuse then really was quite thin.
“Turn around, kneel on the end of the bed.”
Without hesitation, Gylam did as he was told. He waited for the lube and fingers, and his Sir didn’t disappoint. But what he expected next—the silicone of the plug—wasn’t what he got. Sir’s dick nudged his ass then pushed through the ring of muscle. Gylam struggled to contain the groan, and succeeded, if only partly.
He immediately started thrusting hard and fast, not giving Gylam a chance to get used to him. It’d been a few days since he’d been in Gylam’s ass, and the hard fucking startled a moan out of him, it felt so good, especially when Sir hit his sore ass cheeks. Their flesh slapped, each new thrust sending another spike of pain through Gylam’s tormented skin. His dick tried to harden in the cage, adding to his frustration.
He was pretty sure Sir was doing his best to stimulate Gylam’s prostate too. He hit it more often than not on the way in and dragged his cock over it on the way out quite often. Gylam thought he was going to go insane from it.
“How does that feel, boy? Feel good with my cock filling your ass? How about yours all locked up? Frustrated?”
He knew damned well it was, but he also knew it was something Gylam—if grudgingly—admitted to liking. He didn’t answer, knowing his Sir wasn’t expecting one. Instead, Gylam bit his lip and gripped the comforter, trying not to think about his dick, caged and swinging, and not going to get the slightest bit of pleasure from this fucking.
Luckily, it didn’t take his Sir long. In what could only be a few minutes, Sir nearly slammed into him once more. Gripping his hips almost hard enough to bruise, his Sir emptied what felt like an incredible amount of cum into his ass.
“Fuck, this ass feels so fucking good, boy,” Sir groaned.
Gylam both loved and hated the kind of talk Jackson used in the bedroom and playroom with him. Jackson, the proper Southern gentleman from Atlanta, son of the proper, Honorable Senator James, had learned polite language with the best of them. So to hear the filthy talk from the man when they were alone always drove him crazy. That was the problem, though. He was already crazy-aroused and hearing those words only made that worse.
Sir pulled out, and a few seconds later, hard silicone nudged Gylam’s hole. He breathed out, relaxing to take it inside, moaning when he realized it was the medium one, rather than the small they usually used. Once Sir had settled it in place, despite having just been fucked, the neck of the plug was thick enough to stretch him a little. He was most definitely going to feel this all day.
“Stay still, boy,” Sir said, then tugged on the bottom of the ring to Gylam’s cage. Gylam didn’t need to look to know Sir was putting the harness on him that would lock the plug in place so he couldn’t take it out if he wanted to. Not that he would, but he’d be tempted and this way, he couldn’t.
Sir manhandled him into turning around, fixing the belt around his waist, then the side straps down to connect to either side of the lock on his cock cage in front. Once more, Sir turned him; then the locks clicked in place. They had rubber bands around them and wouldn’t make noise, but Gylam would know they were there and would imagine that the entire bullpen could hear them.
He took a deep breath.
“Now the chest harness, then you can finish getting dressed. You’ll wear the navy suit today with the white shirt. No underwear. I want to know that ass is against the fabric of your pants.”
With a swallow, Gylam muttered, “Yes, Sir.”
Fifteen minutes later, he stepped into the living room, holding his socks and shoes and tie. He winced when he sat to put his shoes on, his sore ass already giving him problems. He hoped to all hell he could manage not to do that when he got up on the witness stand.
His wince dropped into a scowl. Damn Jackson for pushing this. He forced the thoughts away. Jackson was right, but Gylam wasn’t quite ready to admit that. Yet.
He managed his socks and shoes without incident but ended up getting Jackson to help him with his tie. His partner always wore suits, but he reserved them for court appearances, funerals, and the one other event he’d cared about: his own wedding to Jackson.
Outside of that, he avoided them like the plague.
He checked his long, dirty-blond hair in the mirror and sure it didn’t look too scruffy, grabbed his first lollipop of the day and stuck it in his mouth before shrugging on his shoulder harness. He checked his SIG Sauer, then holstered it and clipped his badge to his belt, then inspected himself again. His tie covered the chain he had locked around his neck, just as his normal shirts did. Despite the lock, it had an emergency release in case he had to get it off, but he hoped it never became necessary. He didn’t like to think about that—and what might cause that, so instead he focused on checking for the harness.
If someone looked closely, they could see the dark leather X under his white shirt. But they’d have to really look, and Gylam would make damned sure he kept his suit jacket on the whole day. With another deep breath, he picked up said suit coat, then turned to Jackson, who was, it seemed, already ready.
“Are you okay, baby?” he asked softly.
Aw, fuck. When he asked like that, Gylam had the worst time staying mad. “I will be. Just want to get this over with. I hope to all hell this is it.”
“I hope so too.” Jackson stepped closer and kissed his forehead, then plucked the lollipop out of his mouth and gave him one to the lips. Gylam’s eyes slid closed and despite himself, he melted into the kiss. Their tongues slid, and he moaned at the taste and feel of his husband.
They kept their physical displays to their home, or, at least, away from the station. The only outward sign of their marriage they showed at the station was their matching wedding rings. So they made a point of kissing like that every day before they left.
When they broke apart, Jackson handed him the lollipop back. He’d once tried to break Gylam of the oral fixation until he’d learned it was Gylam’s way of dealing with quitting smoking. After that, he’d never said a word. “Let’s go. Hopefully, they’ll call you early, and we can go get coffee.”
“No shit,” Gylam muttered as he stepped out the door. “If the defense so much as glares at me wrong before I’ve had caffeine, it’ll take all my fortitude not to shoot him.”
“The defense attorney or the killer?”
Gylam looked up, rolled the lollipop to the other side of his mouth and smirked. “Both.”
* * *
The Nearly excruciating ride into downtown to the courthouse did not improve Gylam’s mood. The only things that even slightly mollified him were being waved past security after showing his badge and discovering they were early enough to stop at the coffee shop for caffeine.
But then he had to sit on the hard wooden seats outside the courtroom—since he didn’t want to sit on the hard wooden benches inside the courtroom. His already tender ass did not appreciate it, and it took every ounce of discipline Gylam had ever learned to sit still and not fidget because of it.
The only thing that seemed to help was when Jackson would touch him in some small way. Just a brush of his fingers, an arm against his, was enough to help him refocus. After sitting still for a little while, the pain abated somewhat, though experience told him it’d come right back once he stood and moved again.
Gylam wasn’t sure if the wait to be called or the pain in his ass was worse. He didn’t want to see this guy again, did not want to face the bastard he’d already put behind bars once. The overwhelming urge to pull out his SIG and save the state a whole hell of a lot of money was way too tempting.
Except then they’d spend it on him.
And he couldn’t be with Jackson.
He sipped his coffee and focused on the plug in his ass, the cage on his dick, the pain in his cheeks. Gylam closed his eyes and took slow breaths, thinking about Jackson, about pleasing his Sir, about why he was wearing all he was that day.
It wasn’t just because he’d been an ass the night before. And that acknowledgment sat sour on his tongue. He had been an ass. He could have told Jackson he wasn’t up to going, could have safeworded, for fuck’s sake. But he did neither.
Instead, he’d made Jackson look bad in front of a lot of their kinky friends.
That wasn’t the only reason he had all that on, though, and while he focused on it to try not to think too much about the bastard in the courtroom, he sighed. He could admit enough that Jackson, even without knowing exactly how he was feeling about this particular case, knew him well enough. Gylam hated court appearances in general, and he had no doubt Jackson had already planned something for him today, even before he’d screwed up so badly.
He looked over at his husband. After so long together, he still sometimes marveled that they’d made it. Jackson had to have the patience of a saint sometimes to deal with him, and Gylam would admit that much. He knew he wasn’t the easiest man to live with.
Jackson raised his eyebrows. “You okay?”
Gylam nodded. “Yeah. Just thinking,” he murmured. When Jackson tilted his head, Gylam shook his. “Nothing too much, just....” He shrugged a shoulder. “Us. You putting up with me.”
“Well, I know I’m far from perfect.” Jackson grinned.
“You?” Gylam asked, feigning surprise.
Jackson snorted. “Not as bad as you are, though.”
“No one’s as bad as me,” Gylam agreed.
One brown eyebrow went up, and Jackson stared at him. Then he leaned in to whisper into Gylam’s ear. “Maybe I fucked you too hard this morning.”
The strangled sound that came from Gylam’s throat drew a few odd glances. He coughed and shifted, making his ass twinge again, which caused his dick to twitch in the cage. He closed his eyes and did his damnedest to find some kind of calm.
“I’m so going to kill you later,” he muttered.
“That’s more like the husband I know and love,” Jackson said on a laugh.
“Detective Connelly?” A man said from next to them. Both of them looked at him. He cleared his throat. “Detective Gylam Connelly. They’ll be calling you next.”
With a sigh, Gylam stood, barely suppressing the wince over the pain in his ass. The plug felt huge inside him even though he knew it wasn’t, and he was pretty sure his cock was trying its best to get out of the cage and get hard, with all the other stimulation. Taking a deep breath, he worked to ignore it and crossed to the door.
* * *
He had no idea how he got through the testimony, except by shifting slightly a few times to remind himself of his pained ass when he started to get annoyed. Like every time the defense tried to object—which seemed to be over every question the DA asked Gylam.
The DA kept asking questions about the previous case, which the defense insisted had no bearing on the current case, though Gylam knew quite well it did. The judge, apparently, wasn’t too happy with the defense, either, over their insistence on objecting and the jury looked downright pissed. Gylam wondered if the defense lawyer knew just how much he was fucking this up by antagonizing them.
He refused to look at John Doe himself. That’s all they’d ever been able to get out of the guy. There’d never been registered DNA of the man, and he’d burned off his fingerprints. They’d still caught him, and Gylam couldn’t let himself look over there or he’d lose any detachment he needed to project for this.
The defense attorney didn’t cross-examine, which Gylam sent up a prayer of gratitude over. He was so not interested in trying to keep his cool with the guy. Though, just before he stood, the lawyer made a point of reserving him for future questioning. Suppressing the sour expression, Gylam stepped down and forced himself to walk casually out of the courtroom.
* * *
When they stepped out of the courthouse, Gylam stopped to take a breath. By far, the bigger portion of the job he enjoyed was being outside, when they could investigate something. Though, outside in Nashville in July was not necessarily a good idea. They’d hit a record high of some one-hundred and two degrees just the day before. More than a few more minutes and his shirt would stick to him, making him want to take off the jacket.
And the slightest move reminded him why that was a bad idea.
They crossed the street and went into the partially air conditioned building that housed the Investigative Services Division of the Metropolitan Nashville Police Department. Gylam didn’t even pay attention to the steps he took or the turns and hallways, he’d walked the route so many times.
Despite his reticence, he couldn’t resist loosening his tie and opening the top button of his shirt as soon as he stepped up to his desk. He knew his collar still couldn’t be seen, and even if it could, it looked just like a basic chain necklace. Still, he didn’t want to answer questions about it, which was why it stayed hidden most of the time.
Jackson sat opposite him, his partner’s work surface clear of clutter. Gylam ignored it, suppressed a wince when he sat—both the pain of his ass cheeks and the pressure of the plug doing a number on him—and dug under the piles of paper for his keyboard. He looked up at Jackson’s snicker. Gylam shook his head and focused on logging into the computer and checking his email.
“Well, look at you, all tied up,” a deep voice said.
Gylam’s head whipped around. “What?”
Jones, the biggest black man Gylam knew, stood next to him, smirking at him. Former Navy SEAL turned detective and now captain of their little corner of the Investigative Services Division, Jones refused to go by anything other than his last name. It wasn’t until they’d had to investigate John Doe together the first time—and, thus, interviewed the man—that he’d learned Jones’s first name, which was Herbert. He’d never given Jones shit for the name again after that.
“Court today, I take it?” Jones nodded at Gylam’s neck and Gylam belatedly realized Jones was literally talking about his tie.
When Jackson snickered, he shot a glare across the desks, though his partner was completely unfazed by it. Gylam turned back to Jones. “Yeah. Doe. Our favorite serial killer.” He scowled.
Jones frowned. “That fucker again, right. Pretty sure we’ve got this one tight, though.” One hand landed on Gylam’s shoulder, and it took all Gylam had to not wince. “I talked to Charlotte. She apparently rode every damned person involved with this one to make sure there weren’t any technicalities.” Their former captain scared the crap out of most people. The tiny, barely five foot in heels woman was a former marine who could kill most of those under her with a look—or that’s what it felt like when she looked at you. But she was good at her job and took shit from absolutely no one.
Gylam shrugged, dislodging Jones’s hand before his captain could feel the harness under his shirt, but nodded. “Yeah, well, I sure as hell hope so. If I have to see him again, I don’t know if I can keep from shooting him.”
“You will. But I get you.” With a chuckle, Jones slapped Gylam on the shoulder. “Make sure your paperwork’s turned in before you go get out of that monkey suit.”
Gylam flipped Jones off as he walked away, laughing. “Fuck you, Jones!”
“That’s Captain Jones to you!”
“Fuck you, Captain Jones!” Gylam called after him, getting laughter as a reply. He shook his head and looked up at Jackson, who was smirking at him. “What?” he asked, knowing it came out irritated, but couldn’t stop it. Jackson simply raised his eyebrows and Gylam counted to five, then spoke again. “Sorry,” he mumbled, yanking open his desk drawer and digging out a lollipop.
When he looked up again, Jackson was still watching him. “Need more coffee?”
Gylam glanced around, but most of the bullpen was empty except a few poor schmucks stuck doing paperwork. “I need to be out of this,” he nearly hissed, knowing Jackson would know what he was talking about.
He swallowed at the expression on Sir’s face in response to that. The disappointment hit him sharply, and when Jackson didn’t answer, Gylam dropped his face into his hands. He took a deep breath.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Well, he knew what was wrong, but he was being more stubborn than usual. Jackson expected a certain amount of stubbornness, that was simply who Gylam was. But this was disproportionate, even for him. He dropped his hands and looked around the room, but of course, no one was paying attention to them.
Still, he knew all too well everyone could hear everything. “Um... want some coffee?”
Jackson stood without replying, and they headed over to the coffee pot. Gylam poured two cups before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “This isn’t your fault, and I’m taking it out on you.” He looked up. “I deserve it. And I’m sorry.”
After glancing around again, Jackson reached up and pretended to straighten Gylam’s tie, but instead touched the chain collar underneath. “Forgiven, boy,” he murmured. “I know how hard this is on you. I’m sorry you’re going through it, but that’s part of why you’re wearing it.”
“I know, Sir, and...” He took another breath. “I appreciate that. Even though I’m not acting like it.”
Jackson smiled. “I’d kiss you right now to show you I know, if I could.” Gylam nodded and managed a small smile in return. “You need this, though, so you’ll continue to wear it until we go home later.”
“Yes, Sir, of course.” Gylam nodded.
“But we’ll head out earlier than normal.”
Gylam swallowed before shaking his head. “No. It’s okay. I... this is... I can handle it. And you’re right. I need it.”
Jackson blinked at him then raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I am. I just realized how fucked up I was behaving.” Gylam shrugged one shoulder, looking up through his lashes. “I was wrong.” He mumbled that, but he was sure Jackson could hear it.
“Thank you,” Jackson said, and Gylam nodded, appreciating that Jackson didn’t make a bigger deal out of those three words than he did. It was ridiculous, Gylam knew it, but they were harder than any other words he ever had to say. Jackson handed him a cup of coffee. “Well, then, I think we both have paperwork to do, don’t we?”
“Yeah, we do.” Gylam made a face. “My favorite!”
Jackson laughed. “Come on. Let’s get the first reports done, then we’ll get some lunch.”
* * *
Somehow, the day didn’t end up being nearly as difficult to get through as Gylam thought it would. He got used to the plug and the rest enough that the paperwork he needed to do was more painful than his ass cheeks were.
“You did well today, boy,” Jackson murmured from the passenger seat on their way home.
Gylam didn’t answer at first as he navigated rush hour traffic. His ass still hurt some, and the plug was really starting to get to him. But more... he didn’t like the idea of praise he didn’t feel he earned. “But I didn’t, did I?”
“How do you figure that?”
Gylam chuckled. “I was a brat. I argued. I was difficult, at best.”
“Boy, if you weren’t at least a little difficult, I’d be looking for the zipper, wondering who’s wearing a Gylam suit.”
That surprised a full laugh out of Gylam. He glanced over at his husband and Sir when they stopped at the next light. “Thank you, Sir.”
Jackson gave him a small smile, tilting his head. “You’re welcome, boy. I’m thinking you should spend the evening naked.”
Gylam focused on driving as he considered it. He could say no, could tell Jackson he wasn’t up for it. But the truth was, after the day he’d had, he wanted it, knew he needed it. “I think that’s a good idea, Sir.”
“All right then. When we get home, you’ll strip, hang the suit on the valet then present in the playroom.”
Gylam swallowed, but nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
The rest of the ride home felt interminable. He wanted to get the rest of the evening started. He had no idea if Sir would allow him an orgasm or not. He didn’t know if there’d be more pain involved—the kind he liked. He didn’t know much of anything.
Except that he could forget about everything for a while except his Sir. The only thing he’d have to do would be to please his Sir. He could let go of John Doe. He could forget about paperwork.
It took everything he had to park the car and walk into the house. Gylam couldn’t stop himself from taking the steps to their bedroom two at a time, though. He slowed down when he slipped out of his suit, making sure to take care of it the way he should. Jackson had spent way too much money to have it tailored for him, and he wasn’t going to mess it up. Once he’d tossed his socks and shirt in the laundry, he went back down the hall, past the guest bedroom and into the third bedroom on that floor: their playroom.
The hardwood floors and soft lighting had already been there when they bought the house. The double bed in the corner, the cabinet for their toys, the small spanking bench, and the fold-away St. Andrew’s Cross, however, were their additions, along with the padded oriental carpet in the center of the floor. Gylam positioned himself in the middle of the carpet, put his hands behind his back, and took a deep breath as he waited for Jackson to join him.
He didn’t know how long he stood there. There was no clock in the room, and the windows had blackout blinds over them. Gylam didn’t mind so much, simply closed his eyes and breathed slow, deep breaths. He occupied his mind with Sir, with all he was doing for Gylam and before long, slow, heavy steps filled his hearing.
“I went ahead and ordered Chinese for dinner. It’ll take about an hour. In the meantime, I have a few things I’d like to do.” Sir stepped in front of Gylam, who sucked in a breath at the vision. A tight, black T-shirt topped snug leather pants that left nothing to the imagination. Gylam’s cock twitched in the cage.
“Thank you, Sir,” Gylam managed, finally.
“You’re welcome. But don’t thank me too much yet. I’ve been giving this trial a lot of thought today.” He reached out with the key, unlocking the straps that hooked the harness to the cock cage. “The DA expects it to take about eight days or so, and I’m thinking it might be best to lock you up for the whole trial.”
Gylam gulped, his dick twitched, and he had to remember how to breathe. Could he handle that? Eight days straight, locked in chastity? There was no doubt he liked the idea. But what if something happened?
As if reading his mind, Sir said, “You’ll carry a key in case of real emergency, but I expect it would only be used in a real emergency.”
Gylam nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“Does that mean you’re interested in doing this?”
He gave it real thought. It wasn’t like he couldn’t safeword out if he absolutely had to. But the focus being locked up usually gave him could help a lot during the stress of the next eight days. “Would I be denied the entire time, Sir?”
“Oh yes. No orgasm until it’s over. I’m seriously considering giving you maintenance spankings in the morning too. I think you need help focusing.”
There was no doubt about that. Gylam couldn’t even give a half-hearted argument against that. “Would they be as hard as the one this morning?”
Sir snorted. “I may have a sadistic streak, boy, but I’m not that cruel.”
A soft cough stifled the chuckle.
“They won’t be light. But they won’t be the same level as your punishment, either.”
After a breath, Gylam nodded. “Then, yes, Sir. I’d... I’d like that.”
“The cage or the spankings?”
Gylam glanced toward his Sir then to the floor again. “Both, Sir.”
“Very well. That starts tomorrow. For tonight, I have something else in mind.” With no further speech, Sir unlocked the current cage and pulled it off, setting the pieces aside. A moment later, he held a different cage, one that Gylam had a real love-hate relationship with. The cage was a soft, pliable silicone... with spikes on the inside and a ball separator.
Sir carefully lubed the inside of the ring and cage, then fitted it in place, slipping the straps of the harness back, as well. In less than a minute, Gylam was locked up again, this time with silicone spikes digging lightly into his dick. They wouldn’t stay light, though. Because as soon as his dick started to swell, they’d dig a lot more... which would arouse him further, causing him to try to harden further, making him even more aroused.
The damned thing was evil. And he loved it.
“Turn around, boy. Brace yourself on the bed.”
Gylam did as Sir bid, and breathed a small sigh when he fiddled with the lock on the strap that held the plug in. Gylam should have known better than to think he’d actually get relief, though. Sir did work the plug out, but then he said, “Fuck, I love seeing your hole so open and hungry. Is it, boy? Hungry for my dick? Want to feel me filling your ass?”
It took all Gylam had not to moan and buck. He focused on breathing, his cock starting to harden already at the words. If that wasn’t enough, though, before Gylam could deal with that, another plug touched his ass. He took a breath and worked to relax himself, but couldn’t suppress the groan when he realized it was the big plug. It stretched him so much, he had to fight hard to breathe through it to get it in. By the time it settled into place, the pain in his cock was almost excruciating, he was so aroused and it was straining so hard to fill. Sir tugged on the straps and a moment later, locked the plug in place.
Gylam struggled to breathe for a moment, the plug taking up a lot of his attention, pushing his arousal even higher. His dick strained, pushing the cage out from his body, putting pressure everywhere. Finally, he felt like he could move.
“Stand and face me, boy,” Sir rumbled.
When Gylam turned around, he couldn’t mistake the lump in the leathers. Before he could offer to do anything about it, though, Sir unbuckled the chest harness Gylam wore and tossed it aside, then picked up one more thing: a pair of Japanese clover clamps.
“I’d like to see these nice and sensitive for a few days. Give you something else to think about.”
This pulled a moan from him. He knew it was no exaggeration. Every time his shirt would brush against his nipples, they’d twinge. The pain would make his cock try to harden, and the whole thing would only add to his frustrations. It took all Gylam had to hold still while Sir tweaked his nipples and fitted the clamps onto each one. He always had to breathe carefully through the initial pain, then he relaxed as it settled into a duller ache.
By this time, the lump in his Sir’s leathers looked downright painful. Without being told, he dropped to his knees, opened the pants and freed Sir’s cock. He glanced up, warming at the pleased expression, then took the length into his mouth.
“Oh yeah. Love that mouth, boy.” Of course, Sir took control, fucking Gylam’s face slowly, at first. Gylam poured every bit of skill he had in sucking dick into the act. When Sir touched his throat, he fought the gag and did his best to relax his muscles. On the next thrust in, Sir popped in and moaned. Gylam struggled to deal with the urge to gag, the need to breathe, as Sir held there briefly, then pulled back out little bit by little bit.
Within a few moments, Sir sped up, fucking his face in earnest and it was all Gylam could do to stay upright enough. Every few thrusts, Sir went all the way into Gylam’s throat, and before long, tears slid down Gylam’s cheeks, drool dribbled down his chin, and his own cock strained even harder in its cage, the spikes digging into his soft flesh and sending his arousal even higher.
“Fuck yeah, boy. Suck that dick,” Sir murmured, then a moment later, thrust once more all the way and held there, grunting as he poured thick streams of cum down Gylam’s throat.
Gylam fought his body’s natural urges and worked instead to swallow it all. As Sir pulled out, though, a tiny bit of it spilled over Gylam’s lips. He panted hard, trying to ignore his cock, the need in his own body and focus instead on the pleasure and heat in Sir’s face.
“Good boy, so very good.”
He picked up a towel and cleaned Gylam’s chin and cheeks, then leaned in and kissed each one before helping him stand again. He cupped Gylam’s straining, caged cock. “This hungry, boy?”
“Yes—” Gylam paused to clear his throat. “—yes, Sir.”
“Excellent. You’re not just going to be locked up for the week, boy. I want you horny. You’ll focus better.”
“Yes, Sir,” Gylam murmured, even though he didn’t like it. He knew it was true. When he needed, when he was frustrated, he could focus better, wasn’t nearly as stressed.
The doorbell sounded then, and Sir smiled. “Time for dinner,” he said, then kissed Gylam softly. “On the cushion at the table, boy.”
* * *
Gylam once more sat with a plugged butt and sore ass cheeks on the witness stand. This time, he was facing the smarmy son of a bitch who was trying to get John Doe acquitted.
Luckily, Gylam had plenty of opportunity to work on his poker face over the last eight days, thanks to his cage, sore ass, and sometimes sore nipples. He wasn’t sure he had any of those days where his ass wasn’t at least a little tender, though he found he didn’t mind. He liked the results. He hadn’t been nearly as difficult as he had been before. Though, he still was difficult enough; he didn’t need Jones wondering what was wrong with him.
He used that practice on his poker face now as he stared at the asshole in front of him. “No, I did not specifically target Mr. Doe in my investigation.”
“So, you had other suspects?”
Gylam shook his head. “No. I didn’t have sufficient evidence to suspect anyone else. Mr. Doe left his DNA at the scene.”
“Strike that last from the record, please,” the jackass said.
“It’s already on the record, counselor,” the judge said, sounding like he was ready to throw the gavel at the lawyer’s head. “It’s been there since the beginning of the trial. Do you have anything else to ask? Or can we let the detective get back to capturing criminals?”
The lawyer scowled. “No further questions, Your Honor.”
Gylam didn’t smirk, but it was a close call.
“Rebuttal, counselor?” the judge asked the DA, who shook his head.
“No, Your Honor.”
Gylam let out a slow breath of relief and stepped down from the stand. He nodded toward the judge then forced himself to walk out of the room. “I swear,” he said when he joined Jackson in the hallway, “I ought to shoot him simply for making me wear a suit twice in one month.”
Jackson laughed. “It’s not that bad, is it?”
Gylam sent a glare at his partner. “You’re used to them. You grew up in them. I’d be happy if I never wore one again. Like, ever.”
All he got in response to that was a snicker. Gylam kept it mature; he flipped Jackson off.
* * *
It didn’t seem to matter that his ass was sore, his hole was plugged, or his extremely frustrated cock was caged. He couldn’t stay still that day. They’d only had one minor case in the days since the trial started and it’d been ridiculously simple.
With nothing else to occupy his mind, Gylam was going more than a little nuts. The DA had said he expected them to finish up that day, but by one in the afternoon, they hadn’t quite managed that, and Gylam was afraid it would stretch into the next day and maybe even beyond that.
If he wasn’t happy, he was sure the jury wasn’t any happier. They’d been sequestered since the beginning of the trial. They had to be missing their families by now, anxious to get back to their lives.
Sighing, Gylam paced around the bullpen. He didn’t wish ill on anyone, but a case would be a welcome distraction, right about then. He considered pulling out some of the older stuff, see if he could find anything on one of the cold cases, but he knew it wouldn’t keep his attention any more than anything else would right then.
“Connelly!” Jones called from his office.
Gylam stopped pacing and peered in. “Yeah?”
Jones rolled his eyes. “You know, you could show me a little respect.”
Gylam didn’t even respond to that, he simply waited.
With a sigh, Jones shook his head. “They’re done. Jury’s deliberating now. Of course, that could still take hours or days.”
“Thanks,” Gylam said, nodding. It wasn’t much, but the end was in sight, hopefully by putting the bastard behind bars for life. Gylam went back to pacing.
Jackson stood and came around the desk. Most of the bullpen was out doing their own investigating, some were over at the courthouse, waiting to hear, and a few remained at their desks doing the mundane stuff on the computers. “Boy?” he muttered in Gylam’s ear.
Gylam cleared his throat and looked around quickly, but the two at their computers seemed rather engrossed in whatever they were doing. Still, Gylam was so not comfortable with that sort of talk there. He glanced up at his Sir. “Yes, Sir?” he mostly whispered.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?”
He didn’t need Jackson to clarify what he’d be doing in the bathroom. Off and on over the last week, he’d sent Gylam in to edge himself when, despite being locked up, despite the sore ass or nipples, despite everything, the stress got to him. Even Jones had noticed and his Sir gave him a choice: edging or go see the psychologist. That had been a no-brainer to Gylam. He’d gone to the bathroom to edge.
With a sigh, Gylam shook his head and took his seat. “There’s paperwork, as usual.”
Jackson snickered. “You’re always months behind on your reports.”
“Well, if you did them....”
With a smirk, his partner simply sat again and turned back to the computer.
Gylam sighed and forced himself to focus on reports.
* * *
Less than an hour later, Jones called out again. “They’re done!” he shouted.
Gylam didn’t even wait. He bolted from his chair and nearly ran out of the bullpen, down the hall, down the stairs, and only barely missed darting in front of a car to cross the street. Jackson caught up with him outside the courtroom a few minutes later. They both stepped inside, then stood along the back wall with a number of other cops, waiting for everyone to come back in.
They led Doe in first. Gylam pointedly ignored him and instead, did something he rarely did: pray. He prayed for justice. He prayed he could keep his cool if it wasn’t served. He prayed that if it was, it would stick, and the bastard wouldn’t get out on appeal.
The bailiff led the jury in next, and Gylam was pretty sure he could have heard a piece of lint fall on the ground, it was so quiet in the room. None of the jurors looked toward the audience, and Gylam couldn’t get a read on them from where he was.
“Will the defendant please rise?”
Despite himself, Gylam looked over to see a smug smile on the bastard’s face and Gylam’s trigger finger itched. Instead of reaching for his SIG, he touched his collar through his shirt and turned his attention back to the judge.
“Mister Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”
The man closest to the judge stood and handed the bailiff a piece of paper, which the bailiff took to the judge. Gylam held his breath as the judge read it and he had a moment to envy the man’s poker face. When the foreman took the paper back and opened it, Gylam had to close his eyes.
“We, the Jury, find the defendant, John Doe, guilty of first-degree murder, as charged in count one of the indictment.”
The noise was so deafening, the judge had to pound his gavel several times to quiet the courtroom. Gylam thought he might pass out with relief. But there were still three more counts. Three more murders.
“Please continue, Mister Foreman.”
The foreman cleared his throat. “We, the Jury, find the defendant, John Doe, guilty of first-degree murder, as charged in count two of the indictment.”
After the jury handed down a guilty verdict for the final two murders, Gylam slipped out of the courtroom. Jackson walked silently beside him through the front doors and out into the July afternoon sunshine. With a deep breath, Gylam shoved his hands into his pockets and looked up at Jackson.
“Thank you. You have been amazing during this whole thing.” He swallowed and looked down at Jackson’s shoes, though he wasn’t really seeing them. “I don’t deserve it, after all I’ve put you through, but....”
Jackson tilted his chin up until their eyes met. “You’ve been through hell the last eight days. Considering how well you’ve handled being chaste, denied, and everything else I’ve put you through, no... you have been the amazing one.”
Gylam didn’t quite know what to say to that. He thought about the night they’d gone to Studio 16—which they hadn’t done again since the trial started. He thought about how much he’d kept from Jackson and while he knew he’d taken the punishment for those, he still felt like he should make up for them somehow.
“Stop it, boy,” Jackson murmured. “I know what you’re thinking.”
Gylam looked up, raising an eyebrow. “You do, Sir?”
Jackson nodded. “Yes. You’re thinking about Studio 16 and everything that happened around it.”
If he didn’t know Jackson knew him so damned well, that would have been creepy. But his husband and partner did know him. Had known him for years now and knew him better than anyone else ever had, even his sister.
“Am I wrong?”
“No. No, you’re not.” Gylam shook his head.
“Then hear me now, boy. You took your punishment. You’ve served me well over these eight days. I’ve never—never—been more pleased by you.”
Gylam studied Sir’s fierce and, yes, pleased expression. “Thank you.”
Sir smiled. “You’re welcome, boy. Were you going to ask me something?”
Gylam took a deep breath. “I... I need out of my head.”
“Done. In fact, it’s not too soon to go home. I don’t think Jones will expect anything more out of you today.”
Without another word, they turned right toward the garage instead of left to the door of the police building.
* * *
They didn’t talk at all on the ride home, though his Sir touched him in some way the whole trip. As they were pulling into the driveway, Sir finally spoke. “When we get inside, you’ll strip and take care of your suit. I will unlock you, then I want you to clean yourself out and take a shower. Once you’ve finished that, you’ll go to the playroom and wait for me on your cushion.”
Gylam’s cock twitched and asshole flexed around the plug at the tone of voice. While Jackson always had a bit of the Dom in his voice, Gylam couldn't miss that he'd turned it up. “Yes, Sir.”
As he stood in the shower a short time later, he let himself wonder what was ahead for the evening. Both of them enjoyed pain: Jackson giving it and Gylam receiving it, so Gylam sincerely hoped some would be involved. He’d discovered he liked quite a wide range of it, and thoroughly enjoyed Jackson’s creativity in coming up with ways for him to feel it.
One of his favorites was one he’d never have considered before Jackson introduced him to the world of BDSM: cock and ball torture. He had realized he’d never been quite as bothered when he caught a kick to the nuts like a lot of guys, but he hadn’t considered he’d actually like to be given pain there. But over their time together, he’d found quite a few things he enjoyed, and the CBT was at the top of the list.
He shook his head and pushed the wondering off. Gylam liked not knowing what to expect, liked the anticipation, and he reminded himself he wasn’t going to get anything until he got done. He finished scrubbing off, then stepped out of the shower. After toweling himself down and drying his hair as much as he could, he hung his towel up, then headed down the hall.
Sir wasn’t in the playroom, but the suspension bar they sometimes used hung from the ceiling beam. He’d done a lot of research when he’d put the thing in to make sure it would hold the weight it needed to. Gylam had only ever been fully suspended from it a few times. His Sir’s favorite thing to do was to tie Gylam’s arms to either end, then anchor his feet into the rings they had in the floor. It gave Sir the ability to move around him completely while keeping him almost entirely immobile. The appearance of the bar gave Gylam hope at least there’d be some pain involved in the evening.
Gylam grabbed the cushion they kept at the end of the bed and settled in with it on the carpet, closing his eyes. He took long, deep breaths, thinking about Jackson, about serving his Sir, about pleasing him, and already some of the stress of the day started to fade.
Maybe it was that focus on Sir or something else, but within a few moments, his cock started to harden when he heard the sound of heavy boots on the hallway’s hardwood floor. The steps were slow, undoubtedly to help build the anticipation and Gylam’s cock seemed to be hardening further in direct relation to how close the steps came.
By the time Sir stepped through the door, Gylam was focused on—could think about nothing but—his Sir. He kept his eyes on the floor where they belonged, but took in Sir’s clothing out of the corner of his eye and what he saw made his dick twitch hard.
Sir wore the leather chaps Gylam loved so much. Under them, he had on his leather jock that zipped along the front. He often said he liked that he had easy access to fuck Gylam whenever he wanted. Over his chest, he had the open leather vest and on his feet were the heavy motorcycle boots.
When said boots stopped in front of Gylam, he didn't hesitate to lean forward and kiss each one. “Oh good boy,” Sir murmured, slipping a finger under Gylam’s collar at the back of his neck and tugging gently. Reminding him of his collar, something Gylam sometimes needed. He’d been wearing it so long, he occasionally forgot it was even there. Here, now, he liked that reminder.
“On your feet boy, brace yourself on the end of the bed, keep your eyes down.”
“Yes, Sir.” Gylam hurried to obey, not wishing to do anything to put this evening on the wrong track.
The cabinet opened and Sir moved some things around then there were fingers at his ass. He was still somewhat open from the plug earlier, so Sir didn’t spend too much time preparing him. Gylam had to take a deep breath and force himself to relax when his Sir pushed the plug into him, even with his earlier plug and preparation. He went slowly, though, working it in a little at a time and Gylam let out a breath as he passed the widest part.
Then he groaned. The plug Sir had chosen was one that opened once it was inside him, so he felt open while still being plugged. It was made of silicone and had three thick ‘petals’ that he held together to get the plug in, then sprung open once it was in far enough.
If that wasn't enough, the stem was thick enough to stretch his hole and keep it stretched. The upside was, when Sir was ready to fuck him, he wouldn’t need any further preparation. But that didn't feel like much, compared to the rest.
“Good boy,” Sir praised him, running a hand over his ass. “Can’t wait to feel your ass when that comes out.”
Gylam didn't whimper, but it was close.
“Stand. Come over here.”
When Gylam straightened, his cock stood straight out, his arousal already insane. After some ten days of denial, the orgasm would be amazing, but Gylam wasn’t there yet, and he thought he might end up more than a little crazy before he got there. He moved over under the suspension bar, then lifted his arm for Sir to wrap the padded leather cuff around his wrist.
Once they were both secured, Sir nudged his feet apart. His legs were spread far enough he would just barely be able to stand. The result of this was that he wouldn’t be able to move much. Once each ankle was secure, Gylam tested his movement and found what he'd expected: he could rock his hips back and forth, but not a lot, and that was all he could do.
“What are your safewords, boy?”
“Maroon and topaz, Sir,” Gylam said, taking a breath.
Sir leaned in to him, nipping his ear. “I’m so glad we’ve got soundproofing on these walls. I'm going to make you scream, boy.”
That was a whimper. Sir rewarded it with a dark chuckle before stepping away.
Gylam belatedly realized he faced the bed, which was opposite the cabinet they kept their toys in. He’d have no idea what Sir would use until he felt it.
“Oh, which torment do I subject you to first?” Sir mused.
Gylam, of course, didn't answer, simply waited.
He didn't have to wait long, though. Sir stood back in front of him in very short order, holding one of Gylam’s favorite—and most hated—devices. The cock ring earned its name of the “Iron Maiden.” When Sir opened it, putting the hinged side up, probably so the D-ring was accessible, the rows of spikes inside closed around the base of Gylam’s dick and under his balls. Since he was already hard, they dug in immediately, making his dick want to get even harder. Sir finished inserting the screw that would hold it closed and in place then let Gylam’s cock drop.
Apparently, he wasn’t done, though. He brought over one of the heavy, weighted ball stretchers next, fixing it around the top of Gylam’s sac and stretching the skin. They hung heavy and Gylam guessed it was the heftier one that weighed in at almost two pounds. The orgasm when they used that was always intense, and Gylam’s dick twitched at the thought.
“One more for that pretty cock of yours, boy. Then we get to the real fun.”
Gylam was glad he wasn't supposed to speak, as a rule. He might have asked what the ‘real fun’ was and the one time he’d done that, Sir had rewarded his impertinence by denying him orgasm entirely... for another week. While this may have been the first time Sir had locked him up for so long, it wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with long-term denial. And while he didn’t mind it so much when it was something he was doing to please his Sir, he didn’t like it as a punishment. He couldn’t have explained exactly why the reason made a difference; it simply did.
The last piece Sir brought out went onto Gylam’s dick and sat just under the glans. The thin metal had yet more spikes made up of tiny screws that dug in nicely, making the head of his dick incredibly sensitive. And Sir made sure he screwed them in firmly.
By the time his Sir finished with his cock, it was bright red and the tip even darker. And Sir hadn't even touched him yet, except to put those on him.
He remedied that by stepping up behind Gylam and wrapping one hand around his dick. Sir stroked him slowly, but Gylam was already so aroused, it took very little for the pleasure to bloom. Within a few movements of Sir’s hand, Gylam found himself approaching the edge of orgasm already.
While a cock ring wouldn’t keep him from coming completely, the Iron Maiden did a damned good job of trying. It took a lot for him to come with it on. So, while he skated along that edge, he didn’t go over, even with Sir teasing the tip with one thumb.
It took all he had to keep from thrusting, trying for more friction. Sir didn’t let up, though, and a moment later, Gylam’s body took over for him, and he cried out at the frustration of ten days of edging, ten days of chastity, topped with the teasing.
“That’s it, boy. Give me those sounds. Let me hear how frustrated you are, how much you need. Because I know you do, don't you?”
Gylam whimpered, then managed a “Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Good boy.” After another few strokes, he let go and Gylam swayed a little as he panted hard in an attempt to find some calm.
Sir was back before Gylam could with the same clover clamps they’d been using off and on over the last week. With little preamble, he tweaked Gylam’s left nipple and fitted it in place. Gylam's dick jumped as they bit into the soft flesh and he groaned. The second wasn’t any lighter, and in a very short time, he had the dull ache in his chest to go with his painful cock and balls, stretched hole, and still slightly sore cheeks.
Before Gylam deal with the new sensations, Sir connected a chain from the one between the clamps then down to the D-ring on the top of the cock ring. This brought another groan from Gylam because every time he moved, bucked, twisted—which he would do in reaction whether he wanted to or not—he’d pull on the clover clamps which would only tighten with each tug.
“You’re doing so well, boy. You’re beautiful all done up like this. That dick must be miserable. Is it, boy? You horny? Desperate for your orgasm.”
The “Yes, Sir” came out more whine than words, but that only seemed to please Sir because he chuckled darkly, gave Gylam on long firm stroke, then stepped away again.
When he came back, he didn’t step in front of Gylam, so there was no warning to what he did next. But when the hand rubbed something onto Gylam’s balls, he had no doubt what was coming. He wasn’t disappointed when, a few seconds later, his balls started burning.
And he, of course, arched at the pain... tugging on his nipples and tightening the clamps, pulling another cry from him.
“Wouldn’t want you to get too comfortable, would I?”
Gylam didn't answer, wasn’t sure he could form coherent words, at this point. He simply gasped hard, trying to find some way to get control of his body, of the myriad of sensations and pains going through it. He was so focused on it, in fact, that he lost track of Sir for a moment.
So when the thud to his back landed, it startled a cry from him. It didn't hurt; it wasn't intended to. The flogger Sir was using and the force with which he wielded it were meant to simply warm him up. But it caught him off guard.
He expected the next strikes though and relaxed into them, savoring the way it helped calm him just a little. His muscles eased, and the sharp frustration faded slightly, as well.
Before he could get too serene, Sir abandoned the flogger and stroked him again, sending him hurtling to the edge of orgasm so fast, Gylam's head spun. Then, just like that, he let go, leaving Gylam’s cock nearly purple and dripping precum in a steady stream as he stepped away.
It was only because of the quiet of the room that allowed the low buzz to give him warning. The shock to his sore ass cheek still made him jump, and he grunted. He pulled on his nipples again, tightening the clamps once more.
That seemed to be Sir’s intention. Despite his best efforts, each new shock made him jump, move, or twist, and his nipples ended up taking the brunt of the abuse. The individual shocks weren’t all that painful, but they each smarted enough to make him react. Sir had long since learned how high to set the violet wand to get the best reactions out of him without going too far.
Though he kept the wand away from any of the metal Gylam had on him, Sir still made sure to send the tiny painful shocks to as many different parts as he could. Just as Gylam thought he would get used to it, Sir stepped back once again. Gylam struggled to breathe, the pain alone having kept him insanely aroused, his need only growing with each shock. The Iron Maiden was doing its job; Gylam wasn’t going to go over the edge, but the need alone nearly did him in.
“God, you’re gorgeous, boy. Cock’s so hard, it’s purple.” He stepped around Gylam, running a hand down his back. “I love how you take pain for me. Ready for more, boy?”
Gylam fought for breath for a moment, then finally could speak. As much as he wanted more pain, what he said was, “Whatever pleases you, Sir," instead.
“Oh good, boy,” Sir murmured, drawing out the word “good.” He brushed a hand down Gylam's back then farther over his ass, pushing slightly on the plug Gylam had certainly not forgotten about. Then he wrapped his hand around Gylam’s cock and stroked it, slowly at first. “You've got me so hard already, boy. I can't wait to fuck this ass. Can't wait to see you explode... if I decide to let you come, that is.” He kept up with the talk, the words doing as much to send Gylam back to the edge of orgasm as the touch did, though he continued stroking Gylam's cock, as well. It wasn’t until Gylam cried out again when the frustration and need got to be too much that he stopped.
“Oh yeah, gonna fuck you hard, boy. But not quite yet. First....” Instead of finishing the sentence, Sir stepped back once more, and seconds later, the first strike of Gylam’s favorite stingy flogger landed on his back.
“Ohfuckyes,” he groaned.
Sir didn’t go right into the hard pain, though. He gave lighter strikes for a while, spreading them down Gylam’s back to his ass then on to his legs. A few more landed on Gylam's stomach, and thighs. One or two caught his super-sensitive dick and still burning balls, making him need almost desperately.
Then Sir pulled back and hit hard. Gylam moaned, rocking in his bindings. The pull on his nipples felt good this time, and Gylam did it again, wanting more of that.
“Yeah, boy, like that,” Sir murmured, then swung again.
These strikes seemed to get progressively harder. Gylam got lost in them, in his Sir’s voice. His sounds turned completely wordless, his moans and shouts uninhibited. The lines of pain across his back and thighs went straight to his dick, which strained hard against its bindings. He had no idea when his sounds turned begging, he just knew he needed. Needed his Sir, needed to come.
“I’ve got you, boy,” his Sir said softly.
Gylam hadn’t noticed the hits stopping, but before he could register too much, Sir was undoing the cuffs at his ankles then his wrists and lifting him. A moment later, he was laid on his sore back and ass, and he groaned, back arching as the pain hit. Sir lifted Gylam’s legs, and that’s when Gylam noted fuzzily that the jock was open and Sir’s cock was red, slick, and dripping. Gylam’s asshole flexed around the plug at the vision.
“You’ll get it soon,” Sir promised, then pulled on the plug next, and Gylam braced himself on the headboard, working to relax his muscles. But just as the widest part got to the ring of muscle, Sir stopped, leaving it there for a moment, stretching Gylam wide. The burn was awesome, and Gylam’s cock jumped again.
“Please,” he moaned, trying to rock his hips, but Sir held him down with one hand, the other still playing with the plug. Sir pushed it back in when Gylam rocked, much to his frustration. He got the point, though: stay still. As fuzzy and just gone as Gylam was, he held onto that thought and held still when Sir pulled again.
He still teased Gylam, still paused with him stretched wide, then pushed it back in a little, before finally pulling it all the way out. Gylam couldn’t suppress the moan, part relief and part even higher arousal, now that he was so open and truly empty. He needed to be filled—filled with his Sir—wanted desperately to feel his Sir's cum inside him.
“Oh so gorgeous like this, boy. So needy. Look at you so open and ready. Want my cock, boy? Ready for me to fuck you? Fill you with me?”
Gylam whimpered, not caring in the least that was what he was doing. He was rewarded as Sir shifted then slowly pushed his dick into Gylam’s stretched hole. “Mmm, stretched nicely for me, feels so good.”
It took everything Gylam had to sit still and let Sir set the pace. But before long, Sir’s balls touched Gylam’s ass and Gylam moaned at being so full. Having Sir’s cock always felt better than their toys, no matter how big they were and even after being stretched as he’d been, Sir was plenty big enough to still fill him up.
Sir pulled back slowly, all the way until just the head was inside Gylam, then thrust back in at the same pace. Keeping it to long, full thrusts, he took his time, filling Gylam completely, then pulling out almost all the way every time.
The frustration mounted, and Gylam gripped the headboard hard. He cried out, letting his sounds show his Sir how much he needed. Still, Sir kept the same pace, until Gylam thought he might actually shed tears over the frustration.
But Sir, apparently, wasn’t done yet. He shifted, rocking his hips faster, but the new position put him in the right spot to hit Gylam’s prostate. If that wasn’t enough, he reached out and gripped one of the nipple clamps. “Past time for these to come off, I think,” he said, then squeezed, pulling the left one off, then thumbing the nipple to get the blood flowing again.
Gylam shouted, his back arching as the pain bloomed brightly in his chest. His cock jumped and precum spurted as the torment pushed him even closer to orgasm. He shook his head, toes curling as he tried to assimilate the pain and need.
Before he could, Sir took the other one off, tweaking it to bring the blood back and a new wave of pain hit. Yet again, Gylam's back arched, and yet again, he shouted.
“Need, Sir... please... can’t,” Gylam babbled, lost to the need, the feel of his Sir filling him. “Please.”
“Almost, boy. You’re almost ready,” Sir muttered.
With no idea what he was talking about, Gylam couldn’t worry about it, because he couldn’t hold onto the thought. Especially when his cock was stroked, and he screamed up to the edge, the orgasm tormenting him with how close it was.
“I know. So close, aren’t you? Need to come so badly, don’t you? Not quite, boy. Just a little more, you can give me a little more, can’t you?”
Gylam whimpered again, not sure what he could give Sir more of. He skated along that bright edge, desperate to go over, but couldn’t, not quite. He moaned, rocked, couldn’t hold still no matter what he did, as Sir continued stroking him. Too slow to push him over the edge, but firm enough to keep him right there. He didn’t notice at first that tears actually fell. It wasn’t until Sir wiped one away that he knew.
“That’s it, so gone, boy. Ready, boy?”
Gylam looked up, not sure what, exactly, Sir was asking. He blinked, trying to get through the haziness in his head, but he simply couldn’t. That’s when Sir went faster and gave him full, firm strokes.
“Let go, boy, when you’re ready. Come for me.”
Barely half a dozen strokes after that, pleasure slammed into Gylam, shaking him to the core. His vision went white, noise filled his ears, and he screamed as the orgasm devastated him. The climax seemed to fly along every nerve ending he had, yanking the cum from his balls until they ached.
It kept going, past pleasure and into pain, but before he could process what was happening, the orgasm reared up again, pulling another wave of pleasure through him. His dick gave another great spurt; then he went completely boneless.
The noise in his ears faded just in time for him to hear his Sir shout then the cock in his ass twitched hard.
* * *
Gylam was barely aware of the rings being removed, of him being cleaned up, of anything around him. He floated just off the surface of nowhere, the only things keeping him anchored were his Sir’s touch on him somewhere, and his Sir’s voice murmuring things like “so good” and “so proud” and “so gorgeous.”
He had no idea how much time passed as he lay in Jackson’s arms, floating and lost in subspace. Some time later, he slowly became aware of Jackson, mostly naked against him, holding him, of kisses to his temple and forehead.
“Welcome back,” Jackson’s deep voice greeted him.
Gylam looked up, taking a deep inhale. “Hi. Was I out long?”
Jackson grinned. “For quite a while. Must have been some orgasm.”
“I think it was the whole scene, really. That was... incredible doesn't seem enough.” Gylam cleared his throat, and Jackson reached over him, producing a bottle of water. Gylam opened and sipped at it.
“I’m glad you think so. It did what you needed, then?”
Gylam nodded. “Oh yeah. And then some. That was... I don’t know if I’ve ever come that hard before in my life.”
That made the grin widen. “Well, I'll take that.” He chuckled, reaching down and cupping Gylam’s flaccid cock. “You know, I’m thinking you do well in chastity, boy. Maybe it’s time we talk about locking this up full time.”
Gylam sipped water, and thought through all that had happened the last eight days—well, as much as his still slightly fuzzy brain allowed. He thought of the focus he’d had, how he wasn’t nearly as difficult as he usually was. He thought about how much he liked knowing he was pleasing Jackson when he wore it. He thought about the calm it gave him and just how insane he would have been through the trial if he hadn’t been wearing it. “I have to admit, I like what it’s done for me. I’d have to keep a key, for emergencies.”
“Of course. Too much can happen in our line of work.” He paused, kissing Gylam again. “I really think it works well for you.”
“I think so too.” Gylam looked up at Jackson through his lashes, then dropped his gaze to the light hair on Jackson’s chest. “I think I’d like to try it.”
“You can always safeword, baby and we can step back from it.” Jackson brushed some of Gylam’s hair back. “Only if you're comfortable with this.”
“I know.” And Gylam did. Nothing they’d ever done—even the harness to the precinct under his clothes—came close to violating his hard limits. He looked up again. “Thank you. You’ve done so much for me.”
“I’ve never been so proud of you, boy. I was happy to do it, happy to give you what you needed.” He kissed Gylam’s forehead again, then caught his lips in a long, slow kiss. “I’m glad I can. I’ve never regretted moving here, never regretted being with you and you remind me of that every day.”
Gylam had to swallow several times before he could reply. “I love you, Jackson. I... as difficult as I was when we got together, I wouldn’t trade any of it.”
“I love you too, Gylam. I wouldn’t either.” He kissed Gylam once more, then grinned. “Now, which cage should we use? And how long should I make you wait before I let you come again?”
Gylam’s cock twitched and he whimpered. “Wait?”