by Avery Aster
“You had to cut my hair?” Blake shouted. Drool and spit came down the corners of his lips.
“You ready for your spanking, bebé?”
“Fuck you, Mig! You’re going too far.” He kicked his legs, but they were restrained and only smacked against the table.
Enough! Miguel grabbed his sub’s jaw, sliding his thumb inside that perfect mouth. White glue traced the corners of his swollen lips.
“You wanted this.”
Tense, Blake’s choppers bit down on his thumb.
Ouch. Withdrawing his hand, he slapped his sub’s face. “Don’t bite me.”
Turning his face back, crimson droplets streamed down Blake’s left nostril. Blood. “Being tortured wasn’t on my fucking list.”
“Sí, it was, bebé. Call it submission. You’re getting some bonus items with your list today.”
“I don’t want any bonus items.” He exhaled. “Untie me. Lesson finished.” Dropping his head back in the cradle as if the session was over, his impatience was evident.
Open-palmed, he seized Blake's scalp, lifting his head up basketball-to-dribble style and stretching out his neck. He put his face right up to his sub’s and stared with possession into his eyes. “We’re just getting started, mi amigo. I owe you some more lashings.”
Licking his lips, Blake met his gaze. His lips puckered with a clicking sound from his throat. He spat in Miguel’s face.
What the hell has gotten into you? He wiped off the spit with one swipe. The sticky goo wadded in his hand. Smacking his face open-fisted, he let him have it right back. He couldn’t help himself. Every muscle in his sub’s body spoke disobedience and arousal at the same time. How was this possible?
“Let’s see if you have it in you. Give me those three lashings.”
He reached for the paddle and cracked the punishment on his ass again. “Take it.”
“Yes, Sir.” Blake mimicked the serious response.
He noted his sub’s nuts swelled tighter under his shaft. You’re getting off again. If Blake wanted to play, he had a list of things from their past he should be spanked for.
“You thought I’d let you get away with such horrible cooking?”
“No, Sir,” his sub answered in a coy tone, mostly annoying and yet very cute.
“I won’t let you get away with shit, ever.” He put the paddle down and stood staring at his sub. “Understand?” He held on to his dick then shoved it down his sub’s throat.
Blake nodded. His eyes rolled in ecstasy then closed shut as he sucked on Miguel’s dick.
He thrust again and again, admiring Blake’s ability to take it.
When he withdrew his cock, he clubbed Blake’s face with it. His shaft silhouetted itself over the cradle rest. “You love abuse—dirty little pig boy.” Striking his cock across his sub’s face again, he whipped him over and over again until his dick throbbed in pain. It felt so good.
His sub didn’t answer, rather opened his mouth wider, resembling a ravenous bird waiting for his mother to drop a worm. His cock clobbered against Blake’s scarlet features.
Enough. If a beating was what his sub wanted... He returned to the wall for the longest leather whip they had. A layer of dust roofed the strap. He assumed it was there for decoration and that no one had ever dared try.
Blake’s gaze filled with horror. He wrenched his head back. “No, Mig, not the…”
“Sí.” With a wrist flick, he tested the whip against the cement floor, watching in awe of its magnificent strike. Dirt rose in a razor-thin line. “Forget the bad cooking. Let’s get real. Let’s be honest.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You think it’s okay for us to be best friends for ten years. Ten fucking years and not once did we ever try to be lovers?” he shouted as he swung his right arm over his head. The whip climbed higher, lassoing over his sub’s body.
“No.”
His sub’s screams were the last thing he heard as the whip cracked in midair, above Blake’s backside. It didn’t touch him. Please, a bullwhip would’ve killed him. He was dominant, but not destructive.
Blake coughed into a guffaw and muttered, “You fucking asshole.”
“You’re laughing?” Nothing will break this little bitch. The desire to shove his cock inside his sub’s ass grew stronger, but his sub hadn’t earned it. Not yet. Blake must say he loved him. That was the only way.
“Sorry. I didn’t understand ’til today you felt this—”
“Now you do.” Miguel reached down and picked up an oversized cement brick from against the wall. “Take a deep breath.”
Blake wiggled his body as if trying to get comfortable.
He placed the brick over the shoulders and back, right in the center.
“You’re killing me!” Blake screamed. “You’re fucking—”
He laughed and corrected, “Nah, I’m showing you how I felt when you married MLD and not me.”
“What?”
“You’ve weighed on me like this brick will weigh on you. My heart was set on you—”
“Mig.” He wiggled his backside to get the brick off. No luck.
“You should have been mine.” He tapped his fingers on the brick’s surface.
“I’m sorry.” His sub’s intonation lowered as if he was being squashed.
“Are you?” He pressed down on the block. “You have stomach support. This isn’t hurting you. Don’t be a pussy.”
Blake turned his head, revealing a pleasurable grin. “This rock is nowhere near the weight of Hell I carried during my fucking marriage.” His condescending snicker returned. “You’re clueless to commitment.”
“Is that so?”
“Your relationships don’t last longer than a weekend.”
“Shut up.” How infuriating. He had no idea Blake thought this about him.
“Your boyfriend’s name is Brutus.”
“My pet.” Pissed, Miguel stalked over to the control panel and punched the lever.
The supporting bench pulled out. Blake’s arms and legs stretched apart. The brick on his back hit the floor, breaking into two stones.
A bloodcurdling yell erupted. A noise in the vein to a Friday the 13th slasher film.
“Such a scream queen. You may want to audition for a horror flick. Pity no one will hear you. This room is soundproof.”
Suspended in midair, hands and feet still tied to the four poles on the corners, his sub’s body was extended and stressed, glossed in adrenaline. He was gorgeous, resembling a virgin up for a sacrificial offering at the altar.
“Help me out, sub. Was suspension on your Seven Desires? I can’t remember.” Miguel walked around the captured prey.
“Shit.” Trying his hardest to keep his head up, Blake jerked on his arms, perhaps hoping to untie himself.
“I’ve never seen the sense in having a relationship with somebody simply to fill my time if I didn’t love them. I’ve only wanted one guy my whole life.”
“You are—so full—of it.” His voice strained as his limbs turned white.
“Do you remember the night we met? At Vive’s party.”
“No. Not really.” His face dropped.
“We saw each other for the first time.”
“So.”
“You rejected me.” Miguel and Diego met him at the exact same time and Diego secured the attention, and Blake’s heart.
“Such a victim,” his sub snarled. “You didn’t try hard enough.”
“I’m sick of your mouth.” He reached for another brick from the corner and placed it over his back.
Inching toward the floor, Blake moaned. Sweat dripped off his chest, forehead, and crotch into a shallow puddle beneath him. “My wrists are gonna break.” He turned with a begging look on his face. “Please.”
But his cock grew harder.
You fuck, you’re enjoying this.
Ignoring the pleas, he asked, “Who taught you how to fold clothes?”
Blake mustered a response. “I’m
not your effin’ maid.”
He turned on his heel, coming around his sub’s backside. Circling him once more, he admired the view. “Indeed, Mrs. Morgan would be appalled.” He reached for a smaller whip, one he knew was safe and pleasurable. Snapping the leather against the cement floor, the crack jerked Blake’s body in response. Bouncing off his back, the bricks crumbled to the floor.
“Ready?”
“Always.” Blake faced him with a bold grin.
Miguel snapped the whip down as fast as possible, lashing his sub. “That’s for not remembering and for picking MLD.” An odd feeling of sadness and relief came over him for telling his friend the truth, that his past actions had hurt him. He’d never told Blake how he’d felt about him picking MLD over him. The release from getting his frustrations off his chest was too much.
“Let me hold you.” Blake’s vocal chords were stifled. “Untie me.”
He threw the whip down. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
Miguel flipped the lever up. The leather bench came up from below. Blake’s body shook with relief. His sub’s back muscles relaxed as he closed his eyes.
He went over to a towel caddy plugged in by the door. Taking two cold wash cloths, he rinsed Blake’s back, wiping him clean. The burning red glow subsided to a soft cherry. He kissed his shoulder blades, forearms, lower back, and hind legs.
“Amazing. Thank you.” The heaving chest slowed as the words caught in his breath.
“You okay?” Afraid he’d been too rough, he could see that Blake’s gratitude proved otherwise.
“Hells yeah! I played the tortured prisoner well.”
Miguel untied his arms and legs. “You enjoyed being my hostage?”
Rolling over onto his backside, Blake faced up. “Of course.” He expressed amusement. “I want more.”
His response put Miguel’s concern that he’d gone too far at ease.
“My sub is testing me to go further?”
“Uh-huh. I’m feeling sinister.”
Unfathomable. “You sure?” He’d misjudged Blake’s resilience.
“Child’s play was fun. Now show me what you really got.” He nested his arms behind his neck and issued a fake yawn.
Who knew Blake was a power bottom? Miguel enjoyed watching his friend come out from his frigid shell. He’d been pent-up for far too long. “Don’t get too comfortable, bebé.” He reached down and kissed him on the lips. “This was only round one.”
The Donkey Punch
Blake never imagined he’d be enjoying BDSM play as much as he was right that second. Especially, considering he hadn’t wanted to come to The Dupree Club in the first place. Man, he was happy he’d changed his mind and stayed. He pushed his buddy to extremes. Unaware these desires existed, he didn’t think they’d feel so good. Once tied up, anal beaded, electricity padded, flogged, whipped, then suspended, though it was strange at first, the discipline might become addictive, nonetheless. Something about being made into a sex object was so fitting. His ex-husband considered him a roommate, bill payer, a means to an end. In no way a submissive bottom—and especially not after Diego crossed over to the dark side, he couldn’t.
His reflection against the mirrored walls motivated him to carry on with Miguel. The muscles he’d worked so hard to build in recent months were being put to the test. Up to the point where his Dom put a fucking cement brick on his back, he’d relished in Miguel’s domination.
Getting sentimental? WTF? He’d forgotten about the lunch with Thor and Vive. They’d warned him that Miguel might’ve put more at stake than he’d realized.
He respected Miguel for letting his true feelings for him out, at long last. But why did he have to be tied up and weighed down to listen? He should’ve confessed his feelings years before.
Or maybe not.
Time gaps flashed in his mind as Miguel walked over to the wall and pulled down more toys. He realized his friend didn’t know how to communicate how he felt. Hell, the man wouldn’t tell him when his birthday was, let alone profess his emotions.
Hmmm. He pondered two questions. One, would he have married Diego if he’d known Miguel wanted him? Two, once married, would he have asked for a divorce sooner if he’d come for him? He didn’t have an answer for either.
He was snapped back to reality by the strident sound of a smacking noise, as if his Dom had put on a rubber glove. Spreading his legs, he glanced between them and asked, “What are you doing?”
Miguel squatted and reached under the table. He pulled out a tub. Crisco. “What does it look like?” Unscrewing the lid, he dipped his rubber-gloved hand in.
“Not gonna happen, Mr. Santana.”
“Back at this again, are we?” His Dom rubbed the lard, glossing up his fist.
“I’m not playin’ the tortured prisoner routine this time. I’m being serious.” Closing his legs tight, he said, “You’re not fisting me.” I can’t do this. “Vibrating anal balls—electric butt pads—enough.” Fuckin’ just fuck me already.
“Yes, I am.” Miguel held on to Blake’s knees and pried them open, pulling his ass closer to the table’s edge. “Don’t overthink this. Just go with it. You’ll thank me later.”
Screw you.
He kicked his leg up to escape his Dom’s capture. His leg rose higher than expected, and with his size twelve feet, he struck Miguel’s face. Whack! Blood splattered the wall mirrors next to them.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Asshole.”
He squeezed Blake’s foot with his right hand while wiping his bloody nose with his forearm. The blood must’ve flipped him out because with a slow force, he twisted the ankle in a direction Mother Nature hadn’t intended.
“Break my bone, go ahead.” He lifted his left leg to kick Miguel’s face again, that time with more force.
“Ha!” Miguel blocked the subsequent hit, gripping both feet. Pushing Blake’s legs into his chest, he pulled up on his ass, bringing his body closer to his own. The Crisco fell to the floor, spattering beneath them. “Forget breaking your ankle, bebé. I’ll shatter your legs.”
“Stop!”
Miguel drew him tighter into his frame, unaware he wasn’t kidding.
I can’t. Blake reached for the bench’s edge to get away.
“I’m going to top you senseless. You’ll be unable to get up to do anything about it.”
Wrists too sore from the recent bondage to hold on, he lost his grip. He put his palms over his face in defeat.
He kept his body heavy in Miguel’s arms. “We’re going too far.” He understood his Dom didn’t intend to hurt him, but his ankle throbbed. “We’re destroying one another.”
Miguel returned his legs back to the table. He straightened them out as if he was putting him down for a nap. Rubbing the feet, he kissed his two big toes. “We’re cool.”
Frozen, he didn’t take his hands off his face. He was finished. His own nervous breath bounced back onto his cheeks. “I can’t.”
“Blake?”
He shook his head, unable to respond. This was a mistake. “Take me home to Chelsea.”
Miguel chanted his name in an extended baritone influence, accentuating his Latin accent. His body weighed the bench down when he sat on the edge. His left thigh touched Blake’s shoulder as he removed the hands from his face. “You’re shaking,” he whispered.
Too scared to face him, he inhaled and swallowed, unsure how to respond.
“Look at me,” Miguel commanded.
Squinting, he witnessed the Mario Lopez grin, beaming as if everything was hunky-dory. “Don’t you dare give me that smile.” He touched his friend’s lips, testing the authenticity.
Miguel leaned down with a nudge and kissed him. “I promise I won’t hurt you. Put your trust in me.”
He resisted his friend’s kiss and kept his lips pressed together. Uninvited. He shook his head.
Repositioning himself with more intent over Blake’s face, he asked, “Rejecting me again?” He licked
his sub’s lip in one long stroke.
“Mmm.” Mouth shut, he fought the temptation to smile.
A second lick to the top lip radiated a tickle, causing him to drop his jaw. Opening his mouth into a grin, he signaled he was okay.
Permission given, his Dom slid his thick, wet, powerful tongue in. He kissed him with a force as if he was trying to apologize, to ask for a second chance and to say they were indeed all right.
“I’m sorry.” He brought his legs up around Miguel’s backside, holding onto his friend’s shoulder while kissing him.
“Do you trust me?” His Dom nuzzled his neck and lowered his lick-kiss-suck technique to his right nipple.
Oh, my sensitive nips. He squirmed. “I do. I trust you. I always have.”
Miguel locked his lips over the areola and tugged on the nipple with his teeth.
Blake pressed his backside into the bench, relaxing as his friend feasted on his pecs.
“Bebé, I love the way you taste.” He switched his focus to the other pectoral muscle and hunkered down on his sensitive flesh.
He arched his chest up, wanting more. “I had no idea I’d enjoy this so much.”
“I did.”
His Dom removed a string from his left pocket. Nipple clamps. He traced his left nipple and flicked with his tongue. He then clamped one down.
Shit. Tight. Love. A twisting sensation enhanced every fiber in his body.
He reached down Blake’s torso and jacked his dick. He lapped up the clear liquid. “I love your pre-cum, bebé.”
Returning his focus on the nipples with his right hand, he stretched his other nipple flat and pinched the tip, hooking it up to the other clamp. Blake’s nipple clamps were connected by a steel cord. He pulled back on the string, watching in fascination. Blake’s nipples lifted. His cock hardened.
“Your body loves torture.” Miguel leaned down, taking Blake’s cock in his mouth.
“Fuck, Mig, yeah. Honey, suck. That’s right.” Ramming his groin into his Dom’s mouth, he pumped and pumped his cock down his friend’s throat. Miguel tugged onto the string, bit by bit, tighter, distending his sensitive nipples. Oh, my!
Miguel stood hovering over him. Caressing his face with his left hand, he kept the string taut with his right. “Do you still want to stop and go home to Chelsea?”
