Dreamspinner Press Year Nine Greatest Hits

by Michael Murphy

  Oh God. I realized he was going to stay there, watch me as I went. Tears sprang to my eyes, and I whimpered again.

  “Who do you belong to, boy?” Master asked me again.

  I swallowed before I answered. “You, Master.” My voice shook as I trembled.

  “How much of you?”

  I paused, and as the answer came to me, I relaxed, the water whooshing out of me. “All of me,” I answered quietly. I still blushed when I heard plops to go with the water, but it finally clicked.

  In that moment, and maybe it was intended to be for this weekend, but I suspected it would last long after, I belonged—all of me—to him. Every part, from my sex to my bodily functions to my thoughts, were his. Nothing was mine alone.

  His thumb touched my cheek, and I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He was smiling at me.

  “Thank you, Master.”

  “Thank you, beautiful boy. Are you finished?”

  I nodded and reached for the toilet paper, but he shook his head. “No, Master?”

  “No. I want to fill you once more.”

  I swallowed, but nodded and followed him back to the shower.

  The second time, though I still cramped, trembled, and broke out in goose bumps, wasn’t nearly as bad as the first. I focused on Master: his words, his touch, his simple presence, and instead of embarrassing me, it calmed me. Yet again, he led me to the toilet, and yet again, I released the water, though this time without the struggle.

  Once we finished, he washed me thoroughly, inside and out, and I washed him. He dried me with a thick, fluffy towel, then, when I’d dried him, returned my collar to me, locking it in place. I felt about a billion times better when I had it in place.

  “Bedroom,” Master said, “over the end of the bed. Punishment.”

  I nodded, and as soon as we were in the bedroom, I bent over, pushing my ass out once more. Master left briefly and returned with the paddle. “You’ve bitten your lip once since you’ve been here. Any other times?”

  I swallowed. “Once before I got here, Master,” I murmured. I knew I didn’t have to tell him, but it was a nervous habit I wanted to break. Knowing I’d get punishment swats—swats I did not enjoy, despite my like of pain—helped deter me. I still slipped, but I was already getting a lot better.

  “Good boy,” he said, running his hand over my hair. “Have you broken any other rules?”

  I thought hard. I’d hesitated earlier over the 24/7 thing, but I didn’t think that had been breaking the rules. I frowned when I realized what he was referring to. It had been a simple thing, but it was something else I needed to stop doing, much more important, even, than breaking the lip-biting rule. I swallowed, feeling Master’s disappointment and almost ending up in tears before the first strike.

  “I called myself stupid, Master. Even though I didn’t mean it, it can still have an effect on me.”

  “Very good, boy,” he said. “That’s fifteen.”

  Then, without warning, the paddle came down hard on my ass, and I cried out, jumping from the impact. I struggled with the sudden pain, then finally forced out, “One. Thank you, Master.”

  “Every morning, starting tomorrow,” Master said as he rubbed my ass, making me whimper, “you’ll get your punishment for any infractions the day before. If you manage to not break any rules, I think a—lighter—maintenance spanking would be good. Ten swats.”

  I swallowed, but said, “Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” I rather looked forward to the maintenance swats, hoping they would remind me to follow the rules. I’d much rather have spankings for enjoyment than punishment.

  “Good,” he said, then brought the paddle down again.

  By ten, I was having a lot of trouble thinking. They hadn’t been superhard, but they’d certainly been enough to make me struggle. My ass was already throbbing, and I knew sitting was going to be a challenge. I forced out the count, grateful he made me do it as it helped me keep track and know when it was ending.

  I deserved them, though. I broke rules and disappointed Master. That thought alone was enough for the first tears to spill at the next hit, this one much harder than the others. “Eleven. Thank you, Master,” I managed.

  Twelve tore a sob from me. On thirteen, I started apologizing with my count and thanks. When Master had delivered the fifteenth swat, I was crying hard. “I’m sorry, Master!” I blubbered into his neck.

  He held my hands between us, letting my ass throb for a few more moments. The heat spread along my thighs and lower back, and my ass felt twice its normal size.

  “I know you are, beautiful boy,” he murmured. He held me tight, hands soothing my back—but not my ass yet—and kissing my temple and forehead. “Forgiven now. It’s over.”

  I nodded as I sniffled, trying to get a hold of myself. I wanted to just crawl into him, lose myself completely in him. I could forget everything—my fears about my parents, losing him, doubts about myself—when I was wrapped up in him like this. I realized that was the point. I felt better, settled, clear, serene when I could focus on him. I didn’t second-guess myself. I didn’t worry about what might happen. I didn’t think he’d leave. I knew I was doing the right things. I knew he was happy with me.

  I cried out when his hand settled on my sore ass. I bucked unconsciously toward him as he rubbed the abused flesh, easing the pain just a little.

  As he did, my cock revived, and I noticed for the first time, Master was hard too. I looked up, knowing my face was tear-stained, but there wasn’t much I could do. I wasn’t about to wipe it on Master’s shirt.

  I licked my lips and cleared my throat. “May… may I take care of you, Master?”

  His smile spread slowly. “Oh yes.”

  I swallowed, not sure what that meant. I waited, though, knowing he’d tell me.

  “I’m going to take your ass, now that it’s nice and clean, and fill it with me.”

  I gulped. After six days of teasing, edging, and being denied orgasm, the slightest stimulation made my balls ache. This was going to be torture. Not to mention the fact that Master was going to hit my newly sore ass.

  “Over the end of the bed again, boy,” Master ordered.

  I suppressed a new whimper and got in place.

  I WALKED funny when we went downstairs. The plug I held in seemed enormous—and slippery. I was grateful the inner part was wide enough I’d have to struggle to get it out later. Master had come a lot. I’d felt some of it leaking when he pulled out. He’d pushed it back in with his thumb, then followed it immediately with the same thick plug I’d worn last weekend.

  I knew it wasn’t really any bigger than before, it just felt bigger. It kept my hole stretched and filled me. It was just the right size, on top of that, to rest directly on my prostate.

  My already full balls filled even further. They ached and felt huge and swollen with cum, hanging heavy between my legs. And I knew by the time we got to Monday, they’d feel even worse. The edging and teasing I’d gone through this week had been pretty intense, but I knew it would be nothing compared to what Master would put me through over the course of the weekend.

  I couldn’t wait.

  He stopped to pick up the cushion and dropped it next to the dining room table. “Present, boy,” he said simply, pointing at the cushion.

  I settled on my knees, my ass resting on my heels, and the pain made me struggle against a whimper. I knew I could make noise, I even knew Master liked to hear it, but I didn’t want to whine about punishment I knew I deserved.

  The plug shifted as I got situated, and I had to work to keep it in place, despite how big it was. All of Master’s cum was making it more difficult to hold on to than I thought it would.

  I managed to calm, though my still-hard cock jumped now and again in anticipation. I kept my eyes trained to the carpet, listening to Master moving around in the kitchen. I saw his feet as he brought things to the table, then retreated again.

  Finally, he came back and stepped behind me. He took my left arm, a
nd I puzzled over it for a moment until I felt the padding against my skin. He fixed the cuff in place, put the other on me, then hooked them together behind my back.

  He brushed my hair back, then lowered a blindfold over my face. I closed my eyes instinctually as he put it in place, and my breath hitched as he tied it. He disappeared for the briefest of seconds, then sat in the chair next to me, his leg resting against me.

  He didn’t speak for long moments. I heard silverware against a plate: cutting, I was guessing. The tension ratcheted my anticipation, and my breathing shortened a little as I waited. I could feel him moving, but I didn’t know anything else. I had no idea when he’d give me a bite to eat or what it was. I had no clue what to expect.

  That, too, clicked for me.

  I didn’t think about anything else. There was nothing in my mind except him: every movement, every sound. I smelled meat of some kind and what I thought was butter, but the prevailing scent in my nose was him. Behind the blindfold, it was his image I saw.

  A warmth filled me, spreading from my chest out through my limbs. I felt as if I was in a completely blank white room, the only thing in it besides me was him. No furniture filled the space, nothing except the two of us. Nothing to distract me from the only thing that mattered: Master.

  “Open, boy,” he murmured, touching my chin. I opened my mouth, and he pushed his fingers between my lips, setting something on my tongue. Meat. Hamburger? Meatloaf. He dragged his fingers over my lips as he pulled them out, and I closed my lips around them, sucking lightly.

  The flavors were sharper, more defined than I’d ever had. I knew part of that was my blindness. The other part was my mindset. Nothing distracted me from this moment, this action. I tasted the hamburger, the slight saltiness, tomato sauce, and some more subtle spices Master had used. I chewed slowly, taking my time, then swallowing.

  Then I waited.

  I knew Master was eating, I heard the continuous click of his silverware against his plate. I also knew it was up to Master when I would be given my next bite. This, too, sank into me.

  He gave me a piece of broccoli next. Then, sometime later, a bit of fried potato. He changed it up, never repeating the same thing, but not giving it to me in any sort of order either. I never knew what to expect.

  Occasionally, he put a glass against my lips, and I sipped ice water. If some spilled down my chin, Master wiped it up with a napkin, making sure to catch all of it. Then he would go back to eating, eventually offering me another piece.

  I had no idea how long we ate. Almost all of it was done in silence, and the lack of sound heightened the smell, touch, and taste. I knew texture as well as flavor. I was sensitive to temperature in my food in a way I rarely was.

  Hamburger, tomato sauce, butter, onion, even the mild broccoli and the olive oil the potatoes had been fried in—I recognized all the smells. And still, under these, Master’s scent filled me, as well.

  When I was full and Master offered another bite, I shook my head. “Good boy,” he praised me, offering the glass of water. I sipped, letting it clean my palate, and then he took it away.

  I once more focused on Master’s whereabouts through sound as he cleared the table and put things away. I knew, every second, where he was, how far away he was. I also knew that at the slightest sound from me, he’d be next to me in an instant.

  So I sat quietly, listening to Master move, letting him be my everything for this moment in time. I shifted occasionally as I needed to, to ease my knees or feet. One of the few times Master had spoken to me during the meal had been to make sure I knew to move when I needed to.

  When he came back, he helped me to stand and waited until I stopped fidgeting over the pins and needles. He unhooked the cuffs but left them on. “Do you trust me?” he whispered into my ear. We were alone, but it seemed more appropriate somehow than if he’d spoken louder.

  I replied in the same whisper. “Implicitly, Master.”

  He rewarded me with a kiss, long and full and thorough. “Then I am leaving the blindfold on.” He took my hand and led me across the floor. Having been blind for so long, I couldn’t figure out which direction we were going until he said, “Step.”

  He stayed behind me as I climbed, still blind, to make sure I didn’t fall. When I reached the top of the steps and moved aside, I heard him pass me, then open a door. I couldn’t tell which one until he guided me onto hard wood.

  The playroom.

  My cock jumped in anticipation, wondering what Master had in store for me. It would be the first time we’d managed to play here. And, as far as I knew, the first time Master would be playing here since Blake died.

  Chapter 17

  Mal

  I LED him over to the bed and eased him down onto the old sheet I’d spread over top of the covers. When he was lying with his head on the pillow, I lifted his arms, making sure they wouldn’t strain, and hooked the cuffs to a chain I had around the iron bars on the headboard. I spread his legs next and anchored them to the posts at the foot of the bed. I kissed him softly, letting him taste, savoring the feel of his lips against mine for a long moment; then I stepped back.

  I glanced around the room briefly. I’d managed to keep myself from thinking too much about the import of this night. Two years since I’d played in this room. Two years since I’d touched the bed or equipment. Until today, when I’d stripped and remade the bed, made sure the room was aired out and clean, supplied, and ready. I stared briefly at the Cross, remembering a bit too vividly when Blake had hung there. But that was the past, Blake was gone, and Kyle deserved every bit of my focus, attention, and love. I took a deep breath and put Blake away, turning back to Kyle.

  He’d slipped so easily into the mindset I’d hoped for. I was actually kind of surprised by it. But by the time I’d finished cleaning him, I knew he’d already started along that path. When I had him on his knees at the table, his expression had shown me he was already there. It was an incredible sight, the expression, the calmness. He reacted to every movement I made, every sound.

  My dick was already hard just from feeding him. I’d never had a more erotic dinner in my life. Neither of us had come close to touching the other’s cock and yet I was insanely aroused.

  In fact, I needed to calm down a little. I was so worked up, I was afraid I’d forget something or do something wrong.

  I watched him for a long moment, matching my breathing to his slow, deep rhythm. His cock, hard and leaking onto his stomach, contrasted to the otherwise calm he showed. After a moment of taking in his beauty, I felt like I could get some things accomplished.

  I checked the pot I had warming on the bedside table, then lit the tall glass jar candles I had lined up behind it. I let them sit to burn down a bit and made sure I had the rest of the things I needed. The thermal bucket still had ice, rather than water. I had the ladle, brushes, and knife.

  Sure I was ready, I picked up the bottle of baby oil and settled on the bed next to Kyle. I ran my hand slowly down his chest, marveling at the soft, hairless skin. He really went out of his way to keep himself smooth for me, and I loved that he tried so hard.

  God, he tried so hard. I knew, in part, he was still scared I’d walk away. There were times I saw his doubt, his worry. While I didn’t understand, I could empathize and have patience. Which was another reason to do what I was doing this weekend. When he was so focused on me, it seemed those fears faded some. When he was thoroughly submissive, he didn’t seem to have those same doubts.

  Selfishly, I wanted them gone. As much as I loved having him so submissive to me, I wanted to banish those same doubts and fears when he wasn’t, as well. I wanted to know, without a doubt, that his submission was as pure as could be. That he knelt at my feet, tried to please me, just because he wanted to, not because he was afraid I’d leave.

  I shoved those thoughts away. We’d get there, eventually. I’d find a way to quiet his fears, dispel his doubts. It’d take time, I knew that, but I’d do it. I loved him too much not to.


  Once the cap on the oil was open, I drizzled it over Kyle’s chest, down over his thighs, and even a little over his cock and balls, then closed it and set it aside. I took my time spreading it over his skin, keeping my touch fairly light. The point wasn’t to rub the oil in too much, it should just be enough to cover him and sensitize his skin.

  He moaned softly when I brushed my thumbs over his nipples, teasing the rings. I tugged gently on them, earning another sound, then moved down over his stomach. Each new spot brought more sounds, all fairly quiet.

  Until I got to his balls. He tried to buck as I massaged them, and I thrilled in knowing he was already so lost in sensation that he wasn’t able to think very well. If he’d been more clear-headed, he’d never have moved so much. This sound was more groan than moan, and I suspected it was because his balls were already so sensitive. I’d really tested him this week with the denial. I hoped, someday, I could take that even further. Perhaps when we were living together. I hoped I could make that happen.

  I used my fingers to spread the oil on his cock, the touch light, the exact opposite of the one to his balls. He whimpered quietly over it, his length jumping. I smeared the precum over the tip, then left him alone, panting, to catch his breath.

  I ladled up a scoop of the melted wax—green, to match his eyes—from the pot. Holding it just high enough to let it cool slightly before it hit, I tilted the ladle and let the wax pour over him.

  He gasped, back arching. He looked like he wanted to speak, but I put a finger over his lips. He appeared somewhat confused, like he wasn’t sure what was happening.

  I knew he didn’t know what to expect. We’d played with pain so much, and this was a major departure. This was about sensation, and while there might be minor pain here and there, it was not the focus. Again, I’d done this deliberately. If he could anticipate, he wouldn’t be in the moment as much.

  I scooped more wax and poured it so it ran through the lines and valleys of his chest and abs, collecting a little in his navel. With one of the candles—this one in white—I tilted it to drip lightly over his left nipple. He gasped again as it hardened over the ring. This wax was a bit warmer than the other, so on the extra-sensitive skin, it would have been more of a shock. The harsh breath he let out as the wax solidified brought a grin to my face. Removing that bit of wax, which was all around his nipple piercing too, promised to be fun.