I shifted nervously. “What are you thinking?” I finally asked.
“I’m thinking that I’m not smart enough for you,” he answered.
I shrugged, embarrassed. “Can I get you something? Water? Beer?”
“I don’t want anything. But here, let me get you a drink.” He anxiously made for the kitchen.
“No!”
He froze. I felt bad, but I couldn’t relax. My heart was pounding as if I’d just run a five-minute mile.
“Not here. Not in my house.” I pushed by him, appalled at myself. Slaves liked doing things for others; it was what they were all about. And I’d just told him that he wasn’t allowed.
Charles, however, didn’t look hurt. He was eying me with concern. As I opened the refrigerator door I could feel him taking in the empty shelves. The only things I had in there were protein drinks, bottled water and a couple of beers. I got out a water for myself.
“Which part of you are you hiding from the other?” Charles quietly asked as I twisted off the cap and took a drink.
Fucker. “Who says you’re not smart enough for me? You went to veterinary school.”
“It’s really hard for you, isn’t it? To let anyone see who you really are. Why,” he added, “are you giving me a look?”
I felt queasy, but I was determined about this. “Because I don’t want to be like Nash, or those sadistic bastards who jerk Robbie around, feeding on men and tossing aside the remains. They use mystery to protect themselves and to lure in victims. I know. It’s what I do to guys every Saturday night.”
“What you do is different, Mason.”
“Only because my fairytale ends at midnight.” I met his eyes. “But what’s between us isn’t for a night, and I promised you something more when we got together, didn’t I? So I’m... giving you a look backstage. A look at Prince Charming when he’s not at the ball, not wearing the fancy clothes.”
Will you still view me as your master after you’ve had that look? I wondered.
Charles didn’t know how to respond to that. The moment hung between us. Expressions flitted across his pale face, too briefly for me to tell what he was thinking. I only knew that mind of his was branching off of what I’d said, searching a thousand different roads for something. For a way, I suppose, to handle this strange gauntlet that I’d just thrown down.
And then, to my amazement, he sat in my chair and began to untie his shoes.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Taking off my shoes,” he said blandly. “It’s warm in here.”
“I didn’t give you permission to do that. Or to sit there.” That was my chair!
“Mason,” he said pulling off his right boot and sock, “it’s the only piece of furniture you’ve got.” He set to work on the laces of his other shoe.
He barely had it off his foot when I crossed the room and grabbed him by the hair. “Out!”
He nabbed my tee shirt. I caught his elbow and levered him up. In response he crashed into me and suddenly we were falling to the floor. We landed bruising on the bare wood and I remember thinking, inanely, that the attractiveness of those Pergo floors was less so when a body was rolling around on them.
Maybe I ought to buy a few carpets?
Charles had his forearm under my throat now, his breath hot on my face. The son-of-a-bitch is nearly as buff and heavy as I am and it was only my larger size that gave me an edge. I pressed the heel of my hand up against his chin and tumbled us. Perspiration was between us, the hard feel of male muscle, the contrast of white and black skin. He tried to get a headlock on me. I ducked that, grabbed the collar of his tee and ended up ripping it.
“My house!” I snarled, even as his legs wrapped about my waist. I felt his powerful thighs squeeze and threw myself to the side, breaking his hold. Before he could recover, I got on him. I managed to wrestle him onto his belly and pin him. Then I captured a wrist. He tried to buck me off his ass, tried to keep his arm from being twisted up behind him, but I forced it, inch-by-inch until he cried out in pain.
He struggled, his legs kicking, his other hand pounding and trying to use the floor for leverage. I jerked up his arm again.
“Motherfucker!” he shouted.
In a fury of energy, I ripped at his torn tee-shirt until it came off in tatters.
“Other hand!” I commanded, pushing the arm up slowly this time so he hissed. He tried to keep fighting, making me work to get what I wanted. Finally, he surrendered the other arm. I got the ripped shirt about both, wrapping and knotting them together elbows to wrist and with plenty of knots in between that would get tighter if he tried to pull free. Then I pushed him onto his side. He wasn’t struggling any more, just panting for breath. I admired the way the sweat gleamed on his bare chest and belly as I popped the buttons of his jeans. Back onto his face, I grabbed the waistband and jerked him up onto his knees, head to the floor. Down came his pants, exposing that white ass of his and trapping his legs.
Hadji came to mind. His trousers down, his butt mine to burn. My cock stirred with the memory as I unbuckled my belt, tore it free and doubled it up.
“No!” he shouted, and tried to straighten up. I shoved him back down with a boot to his neck.
“Naughty boys get whipped,” I rumbled, and brought down my belt.
Thwack! Charles bit back a yelp. Thwack! Thwack! The belt struck his upturned ass, leaving hot red bands behind.
“F-fuck you!” he hissed. But his body tensed with fear and pain, and his arms fought against the binding.
A phrase came to mind. Beat the sparks out of him. I grinned and raised my arm again. The belt whistled down. Thwack! This time he cried out, and his ass jumped and wiggled to escape. Thwack! More struggling. But he knew he was trapped. His legs caught in the pants, his arms bound.
It turned him on to be that helpless. But what really turned him on was the denigrating position. Like a kid from days of old dragged to the woodshed and forced to present his ass for punishment. He got off on that, which he found humiliating, which got him off even more.
It revved me up as well. I gave all I had to smacking down that belt across his cheeks, raising welts. Thwack! Thwack! He let lose a wail. Thwack! Thwack!
His ass was completely red now, and he was fighting to hide his tears from me. It was enough, I thought, looping the belt through its buckle and over his head. I tightened it gently about his throat, leashing my whipped dog. Then I pulled off my sweat soaked shirt, rolled it and gagged his mouth to muffle his sobs.
“I have neighbors and no soundproofing,” I informed him. It was arousing to think of him sucking on my perspiration. His response was incoherent, but I could guess what he was saying. My dick was thick and pushing against the buttons of my jeans. It wanted out so that it, too, could take advantage of that vulnerable ass. Patience, I told it, and left Charles long enough to fetch a bottle of lube from the bathroom.
Pushing him flat to the floor, I got off his trousers and sat on his thighs, pinning him. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose and jerked as I stroked his tender ass. More curses from behind the gag. He even gave me the finger with both bound hands. I laughed and continued to tease those red welts of pain, liking the way he squirmed this way and that. When I parted his cheeks, that’s when he really started to fight and scream foul words into the tee. He was not playing at it either.
It was one of those things that made him so marvelous to me. He might be a slave, a bottom through and through, but he didn’t let just anyone beat his ass. A man had to earn the right to do that to him. And I loved that he let me earn it.
For all his shouts and struggles, he couldn’t stop me from doing what Hadji had done: spreading his cheeks wide and laving the top of the crack with my tongue, then slowly, very slowly, gliding up and down the curve. His breath through his nose quickened and he moaned behind his gag as I delved deeper, tasting sweat. I caught sight of his captured hands fisting, the wrists twisting against my knots as my tongue tormented him. The belt around his neck whipped about as he thrashed his head. No! No! Because he knew his resistance would crumble, and he’d be embarrassing himself very soon.
My trapped cock began to drool. Deeper I went into that dark, musky valley, intoxicated by taste and fragrance, until I hit my prize. Charles cried out behind the gag and his hips jumped.
I kept his ass parted and tickled his pucker with my tongue. He emitted deep, muffled groans and struggled to push up, to shove his ass at me for more. And what torment that had to be, as his cheeks were welted from the belt. He must have felt sparks of pain, even as he went after the pleasure.
Time for another sensation. I parted his ass with one hand and dribbled the lube into his crack. He gasped as the cool liquid hit. Finally, I removed the gag.
“Son-of-a-bitch,” he said, but softly. He was breathing hard. I settled beside him, casually letting my finger explore that slick crack. I circled his tender hole, but I didn’t enter. He wanted to hold still, but he couldn’t. His ass thrust up asking even as he pushed his burning face into the floor.
I grabbed his hair and tugged, making him show me his blush. “Poor little slut,” I said softly. “You want my fingers deep in your hole, don’t you?” I continued to stroke and tease. “You want me to give that special spot some attention and you’ll do anything to get it, won’t you?”
He panted and swallowed. “Fuck you—” he managed.
I let go of his hair, grabbed the belt about his neck and gave it a jerk. “Respect!”
He swallowed again. “Sorry.”
“Sorry what?” I pulled on the belt even as I pressed my thumb to his pucker, not quite entering.
“S-sorry-sorry sir,” it was almost a cry.
“You know what you have to do if you want it.”
Sweat trickled down from under his arms, and he squirmed. Then he swallowed. His face got redder with shame. “Please, sir—”
“Please what?”
“Fuck me, sir, please sir—”
“That’s my slave,” I said, but I didn’t give him what he wanted. Instead I ran my finger down below to his taint, almost to his balls, then back up again to the folds of his sphincter. That always drove him nuts.
He wiggled. “Damn, you! I said it!”
I grabbed his hair again. “Yes, but you’re being punished—” I said this carefully. Unlike some, I don’t use the word “punish” as a code word for sex play. When I say it, I mean that I’m displeased, and the one responsible is going to be suffering something unpleasant. Which is why, even though I uttered the word lightly, I could almost feel Charles’ gut drop.
“—and that means I may just tease you all night long and never give it to you. Or maybe I’ll beat the sparks out of you again.” I gave the welted cheeks a smack of my hand and he groaned.
I put my finger back into that warm, velveteen place, making my point. “Maybe if you show me how much you want it, I’ll change my mind.”
His ass had been up, but now he lowered himself completely to the floor and parted his legs, his body quivering and trembling. His pink balls were pooled there, exposed, and he knew I might well torture them. I paused to roll them in my hand making him groan and rub against the floor. His cock, like mine, had to be aching for relief. I heard him catch a breath.
That was the turning point. If I went on without giving him more, he’d assume that I really was punishing him. While I can be a mean bastard, that wasn’t what I wanted. So I finally slipped my finger into his hole. He almost sobbed with relief, moaning and writhing as I explored that warm interior. I found his gland, so very sensitive, which I caressed until his hips were helplessly thrusting. Another finger in to stretch him, and now his legs were wide, almost split apart.
“Please, please—” he’d given up on trying to maintain his dignity. He’d surrendered to the humiliation, tears rolling down his red face. “I can’t bear any more, sir. Please fuck your slave.”
“How should I fuck him?”
“Hard and without mercy. Please, sir.”
Complete capitulation. He offered it all to me and I could do what I liked. I knelt between those thighs, finally releasing my hungry, impatient dick. It was slick and ready. But there was one, delicious sensation I wanted from Charles before I let myself go. Fingers still deep within him, I grabbed his hair again and jerked up his head. The belt was still collaring him. I loved the sight of it about his neck.
“I am the only one who can do this to you,” I told him, letting him feel my stiff dick on his welted ass, all the while massaging his prostate. He whimpered and bucked. “I may let others suck your dick, but they’ll never do this to you, the one thing you so desperately want. They’ll never fuck you. Only me. Which means that you will always have to grovel and spread your legs for me. You can fight and curse, but in the end, if you want it, you will always have to beg for it, and you will always—”
I removed my fingers and plunged my cock in, deep in to that hot, smooth, tight interior, so silken and yielding to my claim. “—have to shame yourself for me,” I finished, impaling him with my cock, pinning him with my weight.
He shuddered, just as I’d hoped. Shuddered one of those bone deep, full-body shudders that reach to every nerve ending. Even my cock there inside him felt it. It made me grin, and growl and almost crow with delight. Except that I wasn’t able to hold back any longer. I was thrusting and pounding at his ass, and as his trembling subsided he yelped and moaned between the pleasure and pain of it.
Getting my arms under his chest, I yanked him up, up onto his trembling knees. My muscles strained against the effort and weight, but I never stopped fucking him. I grabbed hold of his cock, slippery with precome, and pumped that too. He sank against me. I felt his sweat-damp body, felt the leather of the belt that trailed from his throat, his arms and elbows still bound there against his back. I even felt his balls swinging between those spread thighs.
“Come for me. Come now and come hard,” I commanded.
He obeyed, spurting come all over my Pergo floor. The clamping of his anus on my rod sent me over the edge. I sped up, racing it seemed, and then felt it all go, as if I were soaring.
I blasted my load deep into him.
It seemed a very long time that we hung there, shivering in ecstasy. And then I came back. I had one arm still wrapped around Charles, the other clamped on his sticky, wilting cock. I felt his ribs heaving, the sweat dripping down his back, his galloping heart.
My dick slipped out of him and I rested back on my heels. He stayed where he was, shaking, waiting. I stumbled up and found some scissors to cut free the ruined tee and release his arms. Then I got the belt off his neck and felt back into my chair.
It was nice, I thought, that I had a slave to clean up the mess. Lick it clean from the floor if I commanded.
“There’re washcloths in the closet by the bathroom,” I told him instead. “And then start up the shower. I think...I think we could both do with a hot shower.”
A short while later, naked and clean, we were settled together. I in my armchair, he on the floor by my feet, as gingerly as his bruised butt would allow. Flames danced in the hearth.
“You don’t ever sit in my chair,” I said. Redundant, as I knew he’d done it all on purpose. Not smart enough for me, my ass. He’d made me show him—and see for myself—that the master he worshiped was not a role I played only on stage. It existed here as well, under the costumes, behind the curtain, after the stroke of midnight. What’s more, he’d changed my view of him from something that didn’t belong here, in my private sanctum, to something that did. In challenging me to show him who was the master of the house, he’d gotten me to claim him as mine, like the furniture, the pictures and the books.
The change was pretty amazing. I hadn’t been able to let him hang up my coat or fetch me a drink when we arrived. But not thirty minutes ago I’d ordered him to mop my Pergo floors. I’d shared my shower with him, letting him sink down on his knees to wash me in intimate places with my personal scrubber and my soap. I’d let him get the bath towels for us. I’d even had him make up a fire in the fireplace.
I felt like a real idiot.
“Can I sit on the ottoman?” Charles asked. Fucker.
“Only with my permission.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, resting white arms and chin on my bare knee. I ran my fingers through his still damp curls. The fire popped and flared, sending soft orange light over us.
“I was afraid,” he said then, “when you brought me to this part of town...it’s going to sound irrational, I know, but I was sure you were going to leave me with someone else. And I know I should be willing to accept that if you do, not try to change your mind. But I can’t help it. I’ve barely been able to think of anything else since that scene with Nigel, when you told me you could give me to whomever you liked....”
So that’s what set this all off, what had gotten him investigating me: the fear that if he didn’t serve me better, I’d give him to another master. And along the way he’d discovered, to his dismay, that no one could offer him an edge, a way to make himself more valuable to me. They were all in the dark, as well.
I wondered if I ought to tell him how I’d let this all happen, how scared I’d been of taking off my mysterious armor for fear of disappointing him. Scared of scratching up the relationship. Scared because I knew it was the most undeserving relationship I’d ever been in. Charles was special. He was smart and kind, he was selfless and honest, he was funny and he had this inner strength that took my breath away.
There was no way a self-centered, egomaniac like me deserved him... but that didn’t mean I’d ever willingly release him.
I squeezed his shoulder. “You’re not going anywhere. In fact, you’re staying the night.”
“I haven’t got a toothbrush.”
“I’ve an extra toothbrush.”
“All right, then.” I felt him relax. “You like the Lion King, don’t you?”
“What?”
“You never answered that question. Favorite animated film. Lion King. Isn’t it?”
“Well...yeah. How the fuck did you know?”
He shrugged. “You’re my master. Why were you reluctant to say? It’s a pretty manly film so far as Disney classics go.”
I snorted. “And have everyone singing ‘Can You Feel the Love Tonight?’ every time I walked in? No thank you!”
He laughed. “You know, the hyenas in that film maintain certain racial stereotypes—”
“No PC rants!” Fucking Afrocentric white boy. How did I manage to hitch myself to such an ultra-liberal screwball? Son-of-a-bitch made me feel like a neo-con.
Charles slipped his hand into mine and sighed contentedly. “I love you, Fancy Man.”
“Don’t get all queer on me,” I growled, but I think he knew in that moment that I loved him, too.
If you enjoyed this story, you can sign up for a free membership at ForbiddenFiction and discuss it with other readers and the author at the Fancy Man and the Three Princes story page.