by Anna Martin
Chapter 14
My first thought was that the sheets still smelled like him. This was where playing and living in the same space was difficult—trying to disassociate my Master from my lover was so much harder when I could smell him.
Since he wasn’t in the room yet, I quickly pulled one of the blankets up over the bed, covering the sheets, and knelt on the bed so I was at a good height for him.
In the time we’d been together, our tastes had certainly changed, especially with our D/s relationship. There was no way back in the early days I’d have agreed to play in public, even if he’d asked it of me, and the whole idea of chastity freaked me out at first. It was the same with some of my positions; although my standard “display” pose was the same, we’d added a few more to the mix. This was one of my favorites, an adapted yoga pose which had me first kneeling, then stretching my arms out in front of me and spreading my knees a little. Naked, it was incredibly exposing, and the perfect thing to settle me into a headspace.
When he came into the room, he ran his hand over my flank and slapped my ass lightly. It was an affectionate gesture, telling me he was happy with my position. I took a deep breath and tried to relax.
The other thing about this pose in particular was it made all the muscles in my ass and thighs incredibly tense. That meant that if he decided to hit me across the ass, there was nothing to absorb the shock—it all went straight into the muscle. Which hurt. A lot.
“Up,” he said, and I rose onto my hands so I was in an all-fours position. Like this, it was easier for him to fix my collar around my neck. When he was done, he patted my head and I sank down again.
Master came around to the end of the bed and stroked my hole a few times with his bare fingertip. He could do this—push a finger inside me dry—and it didn’t hurt. It could be uncomfortable, but not painful. It was also strangely erotic, the dry friction giving a different sort of pleasure than what it felt like with lube.
For a few minutes, he played with my ass dry, tickling and teasing and gently coaxing me to relax. Then I felt a cool, smooth something press against my hole, and I thought it was a plug he must have put in the fridge for a while.
No. It wasn’t as big as any of the plugs we had, only a few inches long and not that wide. It was only when he wriggled the part that was sticking out of me that I realized what it was.
Ginger.
Fuck.
I’d heard about this before, read it on some of the BDSM message boards I went on from time to time. It was one of those old, sadistic Victorian things—sticking a piece of raw ginger up someone’s ass so they couldn’t clench when spanked.
It felt smooth, like he’d spent a long time carving it into the perfect shape, and that nice, cool feeling was starting to wear off.
“How’s that doing for you there, Jesse?” he asked, a tiny touch of humor in his voice.
“Fine, sir,” I said through gritted teeth.
It wasn’t unbearable pain, more like a discomfort I wanted to wriggle away from. Every time I clenched my ass (an experiment, the first time) it sent off another wave of burning heat. There was no denying it, this was an aching sort of spice burn.
When I arched my back, trying to ease some of the soreness, his hand came down sharply on the fleshy part of my ass. That made me yelp, and him chuckle, the sadist. From then on, every time I moved even a little bit, he hit me, either with his hand or the long bamboo cane we’d bought from the hardware store.
(The rest of them were currently stuck in my herb garden.)
If Master thought I looked too comfortable, he twisted the ginger root, sometimes pushing a little more inside me, which made me gasp and groan. It was definitely psychological torture as well as physical: the only thing that could even ease the burn a little bit was moving, which caused a thwack with something, which I quite liked.
After about fifteen minutes or so, I thought I was actually getting used to it and managed to still my movements. As I forced myself to take stock of my body, I decided the effects of the ginger were wearing off and it was nearly over. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
Master hit me with the cane a few more times for good measure, I was sure, and I opened my eyes to see my cock was rock-hard and leaking.
“Good boy,” Master murmured, rubbing his palm over my very red and sore ass.
He moved behind me again and carefully pulled the ginger out, not before rubbing it all over my hole and taint, though. I hissed, and he chuckled again.
“This is just natural yogurt,” he said as something deliciously cool and soft was layered on the skin he’d rubbed with the ginger.
It was all I could do to bury my face in the blankets and not come on the spot.
Master blew cool air over my ass. “Tasty,” he mumbled, and my heart thumped hard in my chest.
Then he licked it all off. I was on the edge of screaming with pleasure as he carefully removed all the gingery yogurt from my skin, then buried his tongue in my hole.
He didn’t need to give me permission to come. When he gripped my cock tightly and gave it a few hard tugs, I was spurting everywhere, come splattering on my chest.
I heard him grunt, “Fuck, Jesse,” and guessed he was coming as well. I was wiped out, too exhausted to care he hadn’t let me suck him off.
We sprawled on the bed, almost side by side, his head nearer my stomach than shoulder. I found his hair with my fingertips and ran the silky strands between my thumb and forefinger.
“Can’t move,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Me, either.”
“If you fucked me now, then I sucked your cock, do you think it would taste like ginger?”
He snorted, then descended into giggles. “My God, Jess. And I thought I was kinky.” He paused for a moment. “Yeah, I reckon it would.”
That made me laugh too, and I leaned down to kiss him, delighted to find a little of the spicy taste on his lips.
“Where the fuck did you get the idea for that?” I asked, rolling over to find a clean, dry part of the sheets.
“I can’t remember now,” he said. He cleaned off my stomach, then laid his head on it, putting him at right angles to me on the bed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, though.”
“Good session,” I said. “Especially because it was something that didn’t really need a playroom.”
“That’s what I thought.”
He gave me a truly filthy grin. I couldn’t help but laugh. I loved him more than I knew was possible.
After that session, I checked the fridge, relieved to discover there wasn’t any ginger left. The spice hadn’t hurt in the way some other things had in the past, but it was an uncomfortable experience I wasn’t excited to repeat anytime soon.
That level of kink certainly inspired us to go further in our sessions, though. I wasn’t afraid of exploring things with him these days, testing out new ideas to see what worked for us. Being creative and doing things differently was all part of the fun.
He was already fucking me hard, his hands pinning my wrists to the bed above my head. It was the sort of thing I loved—blurring the line between what was session sex and what was good-with-my-lover sex.
Will snarled at me, baring his teeth, then bit down on my shoulder.
“Ow! Motherfucker,” I gasped as he continued to rhythmically pound into me.
“Shut up.”
“Fuck you.”
He grunted and thrust hard, holding himself at his deepest point.
“Get the fuck off me,” I demanded.
Will raised an eyebrow. This was new territory. I tested the edges of it and tried to squirm away, pulling at my wrists in an attempt to get him to let go.
“Jesse.” His voice was a low command. “Use your safeword.”
“No,” I snapped.
“Jesse. Safeword.”
“No.” I struggled again. “You can’t make me.”
It was enough to bring him onto my level—I wanted this, rough and hot a
nd dirty. It broke so many rules, I couldn’t even count them. Not with his dick in my ass, anyway.
“Listen to me, you little slut,” he said in a rough voice. “You’re not in a position to negotiate right now.”
“Bastard.”
“Damn right.” He punctuated his words with sharp thrusts of his hips. The pressure against my prostate made me want to melt into submission, but I’d started this game, I was damn well going to finish it.
For the longest time, he’d been stronger than me. He went to the gym regularly and lifted weights, and I didn’t. Now I ran nearly every day, I was fitter, leaner, matching him. Finding a balance between overpowering him and maintaining the movement of him inside me was difficult. We kept up a string of back and forth, bitching and biting and protesting.
“I’m gonna make you come,” he growled into my ear. “Prove what a perfect little slut you really are.”
I arched my back, felt his teeth close around my neck, and did exactly what he said I would.
“Fucking… bastard….” I gasped as he bit me again and cried out as he came inside me.
I quickly gathered him up in my arms.
Will spread himself over me, kissing me quietly while the only thing I could hear was the blood pounding through my ears. My whole world had closed down to him and me, me and him.
“Holy fucking shit.”
I felt his lips stretch into a smile at my words.
“Dirty, dirty, dirty,” he murmured. “You’re covered in marks, you know that?”
“Really?” I didn’t have the energy to lift my head and look. “Where?”
“Everywhere. Not on your neck, though. I left that alone.”
“Mm.”
He pulled the rest of the way out of me and carefully cleaned me up while I threw an arm over my face and pretended the world didn’t exist. I was on the highest of highs and determined to make it last as long as possible.
“Jesse?”
“What.”
“Can I lock you up?”
“Yeah, okay.”
I had a checkered history with the chastity device, so I’d been equal parts thrilled and pissed off when it turned up in the box of things Laura sent. Part of me loved it. Adored it. Another part of me loathed the very sight of the plastic-and-metal contraption, and I was sure pretty much any guy who had ever been locked up felt the same way.
It was a part of my submission that we hadn’t explored until several years into our relationship. The cage didn’t stop me from getting aroused, but if I did, it stopped me getting an erection. It was uncomfortable, but not really painful.
I got the impression my Master liked the sight of me wearing it. It was a new level of submission and humiliation, and that was definitely flavor of the month.
Will found the box in one of the drawers in his nightstand and went about fitting it around my cock. There was no danger of me getting another erection now, so it was the best time for him to do it. I kept my arm over my face while he got to work, the gentle lifting and tugging and the cool feel of the metal making me feel oddly secure.
“There. All done.”
He threaded the breakaway lock through to secure the whole thing and gave me a little kiss on top of the plastic. After shifting back up the bed, he rested his head on my shoulder and rubbed my tummy gently.
“How long do I have to keep it on?” I asked.
“Oh… I don’t know. How about until your marks fade.”
I pulled away to raise my eyebrows and give him a pointed look. “Are you shitting me?”
“No,” he said with a laugh. “You know you can always safeword out if you’re not happy.”
“That’s mean, Will. Really mean.”
“Safewords aren’t a challenge, Jesse,” Will said seriously. “They’re in place to keep you safe.”
“Oh, fuck off,” I grouched, already fidgeting around the cage.
For the sake of Master’s favorite word, safety, he hadn’t secured the cage with a padlock. The plastic locks he’d found online were each marked with a unique serial number, meaning if I took one off and replaced it with another, he’d know about it.
I had permission to cut off the plastic lock in an emergency if he wasn’t around to do it for me. Other than that, if I wanted to safeword, I had to ask him before removing the cage or be punished for doing so. It was a psychological trap as much as a physical one, a permanent reminder of my service to him.
I guessed the marks would take three or four days to fade completely. So far, the longest I’d been kept in chastity was two whole days, and that had been as punishment. The hottest part of the whole exchange was when Will got his diary out. He used it for work, to store all his meetings in, and I bought him a new one for Christmas every year.
On the day he locked me up, he’d mark on the page for that day my name and the serial number on the lock. It was right there, for anyone to see: Jesse, tag number 5293041. It was so he’d know if I broke the lock and replaced it with another without telling him. Not that I’d ever do that. It was just his way of making sure he stayed in control of the whole process.
If I was going to be wearing the device for any length of time, I generally dressed and slept in jockstraps. I found they supported me better and held everything nicely in place. The fact that Will liked them too was an added bonus.
He was on the long stretch being home from Atlanta, so I didn’t have to worry about being left on my own to deal with the frustrations. Not that I masturbated a lot while he was gone—some, but not a lot. The fact that he couldn’t play with my dick either went some way to making up for it.
I lasted about three days before the cage really started to get to me. I was fidgety and achy, and not in the good way. Things around the house pissed me off more than they should, and even though I could reason with myself as to why I was putting myself through this absolute torture, it wasn’t making me feel any better.
I eventually gave in and poured myself into Will’s lap, displacing his book in the process, and draped my legs over the arm of his chair.
“What’s up?” he asked.
In response, I pouted.
“Ah. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” I said with a heavy sigh. “I want it off.”
“If you want it off, just ask. I won’t say no.”
At my expression, he laughed and smoothed my hair back from my face. “You stubborn ass,” he said affectionately.
“They’re nearly gone now.” I pulled down the hem of my shorts to show him the marks on my hips, perfect thumbprint ovals, which had faded to a yellowish-green color. Within a day, maybe two, they’d be gone completely.
“It was a challenge more than an order, Jesse. If you want out, just say.”
“I want to do it for you. I’m just fucking uncomfortable.”
“I’m not sure if you’re trying to get me to feel sorry for you. If you are, it won’t work. That being said,” he continued, “you don’t have to suffer in silence. Not for this, anyway.”
I nuzzled into the side of his neck and grinned. “Thanks, Sir.”
“No problem, sweetheart. What would you like to cook me for dinner tonight, hm?”
In normal circumstances I would have punched him on the arm for that, but I’d gone to him as his sub, and was addressing him as my Master. I paused.
While I considered, his silent amusement seeped through to me. Sometimes, the crossover between our romantic and kinky lives made things awkward, and there were times when I could never really be sure what his intentions were. That just kept me on my toes.
“Whatever you like, Sir,” I said in a demure voice, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek.
“I’d really like a taste of you, but I can’t exactly do that while you’re locked up. That fucking cage is torture for me as well, sometimes.”
“You don’t have to do without,” I said immediately. “I’m happy to blow you, always.”
“That’s a very nice off
er. Even I’m not sadistic enough to make a locked sub blow me when they can’t get anything from it.”
“I get the pleasure of serving you,” I insisted.
“Serve me by fixing some dinner,” he said. “Grilled chicken with something would be good.”
I’d been thinking along similar lines. “Salad and potatoes?”
“Perfect.”
I let him draw me into a sweet kiss. It wasn’t exactly hardship, after all, then hopped off his lap to start cooking.
We’d had a long and serious conversation about domestic service, being a houseboy or a servant. It didn’t do anything for me, so we’d shelved the idea for the most part. It was different when we dragged a session out over a few days, which was what we were doing by keeping the cage on.
The rules changed, and I needed to stay in my subspace all the time, even if it was only a little bit. It wasn’t the same as a deep session; when I was just Jesse, normal guy, there was no way I’d do the things Master asked of me. When I was his sub, I needed those things.
While fixing dinner, I sang along to the radio, content, safe, loved. Perfect.
Chapter 15
Will had gotten up early that morning, spent an hour in the office, then discovered that we were out of milk. Even though I offered to go to the store for him, he wanted a break from crunching numbers, so I took a shower while he ducked out.
And discovered that the marks were gone. Really, truly gone.
So I pinned a note to the door a few minutes before he was due home, a simple square of paper folded a few times with “Will Anderson” written on the outside. On the paper I’d written:
Master,
I am waiting for you inside, wearing your cage and your collar.
I remain, as always, your humble submissive.
Jesse
With that done, I stripped down, neatly stored my shorts in the hallway closet, and knelt in the living room in a spot that couldn’t be seen from the front door, no matter what angle you looked in from.
I took a deep breath, folded my arms behind my back, and relaxed.
It was a few minutes before I heard his car pull up, then his feet on the porch. He hesitated at the door, reading my note, I guessed, then walked past me to the kitchen. I heard him opening and closing cupboard doors, then pulling the blinds down over the kitchen window.
