Cantrips: Volume #2: Minor Magics Crafted to Amuse and Entertain

by Joey W. Hill

“Doesn’t matter to me, pet. This is more your thing.”

  He could have meant decorating, being artistic, but Marcus made all the design decisions on his gallery, from the color of the walls to the type of flowers at the entrance desk. Linda, his manager, wouldn’t dare change anything like that without consulting him.

  “So, I’m working at the store until noon closing tomorrow,” Daralyn said. “Between that and tidying up, I can be here by two to help you get everything ready for Christmas Eve dinner.”

  He waved a dismissive hand. “We’re good tomorrow. You know we don’t do meat on Christmas Eve, and mom prefers to keep it pretty light since she’ll go to Midnight Mass. You’re going to be helping her with the ginormous feast on Christmas Day, anyhow, so I don’t want to see you until four tomorrow. Take a nap after work and think about that dress you’re going to wear. Les told me it’s pretty amazing.”

  “She talked me into it. I’m not sure I’m brave enough to wear it.” There went that fetching flush in her cheeks again. Thomas could just imagine Les gently bullying Daralyn into the purchase. They were all in on the conspiracy, if they could just get his dumbass brother to make a move. Rory was determined to treat Daralyn like fragile porcelain, even as she’d evolved into his right hand at the store. Les was away at college pretty much except breaks, Mom was getting older, and Thomas was pursuing his art career. As such, Daralyn had stepped into that essential role in her usual quiet way.

  “You better wear it,” he warned. “You know how Les can be if she doesn’t get her way. Now get out of here. I have a surly Yankee arriving soon. The Grinch is like Mickey Mouse compared to him.”

  “He’s not so scary.” She dimpled.

  “Yeah, yeah. You’re just like all women are around him. God’s gift, yet completely wasted on the fair sex.” Thank God. But he knew it was more than that. Even in his worst mood, Marcus always spoke gently to Daralyn. Thomas wondered if she ever got tired of being treated as if she were so breakable, but when it came to her own feelings, Daralyn tended to keep her own counsel about pretty much everything. Which was why her next words surprised him.

  “He loves you so much.” Her hazel eyes grew serious. A brief hesitation, then she touched his forearm, simple kindness. “I’m sure he doesn’t know how it’s making you feel.”

  “Yeah, well. He’s had some really rough Christmases. So I figure this first one may not be so much about my feelings as helping him figure the best way through it. A relationship is a give and take like that.”

  “Maybe the best way is letting him see it through your eyes. Christmas is special. Not even one of them should be wasted.”

  * * *

  Christmas issues aside, as the time for Marcus’s arrival drew closer, Thomas felt a sweet anticipation building. Three days shouldn’t seem like so much, especially now that they were together permanently, but the wonder of it hadn’t eased off a bit. If anything, an absence of any length could resurrect the hunger for one another and increase exponentially with every hour that passed. Marcus’s texts, marking how much closer he was getting to home, only intensified it.

  When the Maserati pulled into the drive, the tightness in Thomas’s chest was enough to steal breath and word. He came out onto the porch, leaning in what he imagined was a casual pose against the porch post, one hand hooked in his jeans’ pocket. But as Marcus got out of the car, the way his Master’s vibrant green gaze covered Thomas made him feel hot, slick and naked.

  Marcus didn’t take out his laptop, overnight bag, anything. He never did. He always came to Thomas first, one of the many little things that Thomas noticed and treasured. He might be being an ass about Christmas, but everything else told Thomas he was loved. That was all that mattered.

  As Marcus came up the four steps to the porch, Thomas was already stepping away from the post to meet him, but his Master was having none of that, pushing him back against the post and rail, holding him there as he clamped his lips over Thomas’s. His body, always surprisingly strong, pinned Thomas in place, his thigh thrust between Thomas’s so firm muscle pressed insistently against Thomas’s cock, already stiff as a board for the past thirty minutes, so ready for Marcus to arrive.

  Thomas made a noise between a growl and a plea, and Marcus answered it with that feral note that was pure dominant animal. His tongue tangled with Thomas’s, heated and wet, and his other hand was cupped fully around his ass cheek, digging in hard enough he almost lifted Thomas up on the rail. Actually, fuck, he did, putting Thomas’s butt up there and himself between his legs, holding him by the side of the neck with one strong hand and the other shoving into the waist band of the jeans in the back, to caress the dimple between his buttocks. Marcus’s thumb caught the silver and gold waist chain Thomas always wore beneath his clothes, the one that had a loop that cinched around his cock, held there by a metal disk lock only Marcus could remove. Thomas strained forward, wanting to rub his arousal against Marcus, but he made an imperious noise, stilling him.

  It was a good thing the farm sat way back from the road, because these kinds of greetings would have gotten the community talking for sure. Since their closest neighbor, Mrs. Dearman, salivated at just the sight of Marcus, Thomas wouldn’t put it past her to close the half mile gap between their properties with her husband’s hunting rifle scope. But if she was being a peeping Tom about his Master, she deserved what she got.

  His Master. He loved the way that sounded. Almost as much as “husband”.

  “Why aren’t you naked?” Marcus demanded, lifting his head. “I swear to God, one of these days I’m going to fuck you right here on this porch in broad daylight. In the house. Now.”

  He had to add the qualification of daylight, since he had already done it at night. Several times. One night in particular, he’d strapped Thomas to the back porch swing, tying his wrists to the wooden arms, running the ropes down to Thomas’s ankles so his legs were spread and dangling. All after he’d seated a vibrating plug up his ass. Then Marcus forced orgasm after orgasm from him. Giving him a hand job, applying a wand to his glans, going down on him. Thomas had been sure there’d be reports of some guttural wild animal barking in the night, the way he’d come over and over again that night. Marcus got in those moods sometime, where he wasn’t satisfied until Thomas was so weak, so deep in subspace, that it took quite awhile to return to earth, shuddering in Marcus’s arms, taking sips of water from his hand, relying on him practically to breathe.

  Easing him off the rail, Marcus directed him inside, the screen door closing with a thump behind them. Marcus kicked the wooden door closed, latching it. He’d already found out neighbors and family had a way of stopping by and popping their heads in the door with the call of “anybody there?”, a far cry from the layers of security at his New York penthouse.

  Following Marcus’s orders, Thomas removed the shirt and then pushed down the jeans, barely getting them to his knees before he found himself spun and pushed down over the kitchen table. He wasn’t wearing any underwear and he was already lubed up, the way Marcus required him to be when he arrived home. Which was good, because Marcus was in a seriously insistent mood. Maybe the kind of mood he’d been in that night when he had him tied to the swing. Thomas felt everything in his lower body clench in anticipation…and trepidation, because Marcus in this mood wasn’t a gentle Master. Not in the least.

  Whereas before he’d been moving at a rapid pace, now Marcus slowed down, filling the dense air with a dangerous charge as he slid his fingers down Thomas’s bare back to the upper rise of his ass, giving him an idle but very sharp pinch with his strong fingers. Thomas suppressed the flinch, channeling it into the electric energy running through his body instead. He quivered, eager to serve Marcus on every level of his being. It was that way when there was nothing held back. Marcus had been to the deepest levels of Thomas’s soul, and he’d been there with Marcus, though Marcus, typical Dominant, didn’t open that door as often, while demanding it always be wide open inside Thomas. He’d just kick it d
own otherwise. But that was okay, because Thomas had finally figured out the opening of his own door was key to opening Marcus’s.

  Marcus ran a hand down Thomas’s bare back again, this time following the lines of muscle framing his shoulder blades, over the lower back, down to the rise of his ass again. “Higher, pet,” he ordered in a silky tone. “You know you’re required to lift your tasty ass high enough I can see your balls hanging between your legs. Don’t make your Master search for that slick hole of yours.”

  “No, sir,” Thomas responded. That was new for them, too. If it was possible, Marcus had become even stricter since they’d gotten married, making Thomas feel every inch the owned submissive by requiring that he address him formally when they were fully in session. And Thomas loved it, which was of course at least half of why Marcus did it. The other half would be because it got Marcus’s dick hard, too, and Marcus made no bones about being a selfish man. He could be, but he was a lot of other things too, and there were parts of Marcus’s selfishness that Thomas loved as much as his generosity.

  He lifted his ass, feeling the cut of the thin chain around his balls and cock, as it was designed to get tighter when he was fully erect, like now.

  “Your text gave me an excellent idea.” Marcus braced himself on one ass cheek, leaning over to pluck a wooden spoon out of the pottery vase. “So this is how your mother used to discipline you?”

  “Dad would follow it up with a belt strapping that night, to make sure we didn’t forget the most important lesson—to obey and respect our mother.” Thomas gripped a slat of the table as Marcus twirled the spoon in his strong and graceful hands, then straightened, disappearing from his field of vision. Thomas inhaled the scent of old wood and cleaners Daralyn had used to wipe down the table.

  “I’ll clean up my language for tomorrow night, but in exchange, I want to hear that word come out of your mouth now. Often. Every time I use this”—the spoon tapped his ass—“You put it in a sentence I’ll like. Statements, requests and outright begging are fine. But use it as a demand even once…”

  Thomas suppressed a hungry sound as Marcus pushed his face to the table with a firm hand on his nape and rammed the stiff cock under slacks right up against Thomas’s ass, rubbing that promise against his bare balls. “You make any demands of me, and you’ll have to explain to your mother why you have to eat standing up.”

  Marcus smelled of New York. Rich cologne, expensive clothes, airlines, travel. But what was beneath teased Thomas’s senses even more. He wanted to be pressed up against his Master’s naked body, inhale the heat of his skin, hear his heart beat, feel the shift of every beautiful inch beneath Thomas’s touch. He wanted to close his fingers around the steel of Marcus’s thick cock. Wrap his mouth around it. But those privileges had to be earned.

  Marcus didn’t start the punishment right away. Caressing Thomas’s neck, his shoulders, he moved down his back again and molded a palm over one bare buttock. He stroked Thomas several times, that same terrain, up and back. Up and back. Fingers stilling, then starting again. The tenor of the touch changed, became more meditative, intent. The deepening silence cued Thomas to his Master’s mood shift. He knew the look that would be in Marcus’s eyes and wanted to see it. But when he started to turn his head, to look, Marcus made a quelling noise, clamping down on Thomas’s neck again, reminding him to stay in the position he’d put him. He murmured something Thomas had to strain to hear, much as he’d had to strain to hear what Daralyn had said earlier.

  “Just enjoying what’s mine. All mine.”

  The roughness of Marcus’s tone pulled at Thomas’s very soul, but as if his Master knew exactly when they reached the line past which Thomas had to follow his heart and turn to his Master’s care, rather than obey him blindly, Marcus switched the mood. Fast and hard.

  The spoon hit, and it was obviously not the first time Marcus had wielded one as a Dom. The strike drove the breath from Thomas, and he had to scramble for thought.

  “Please fuck me, Master.”

  Marcus clucked. “Hardly original, but it works for me. I want you so mindless a preschool book would be a challenge.

  Thwack.

  “See Dick fuck…”

  That won an appreciative chuckle. “Smartass. Higher.” A sharper command this time, telling Thomas that Marcus wasn’t messing around. Jesus, Thomas was almost already on his toes. He had to grip the table harder for balance, but the strain in the back of his thighs, the arch of his body as he lifted his ass, just made him hurt for it harder. His cock was already pulsing, leaking come on the floor between the chairs. He was going to have to clean that up. No way was he letting Daralyn see it.

  Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

  “Fucking hell… Fuck, this hurts… Fuck, it feels good.”

  Now the spoon was sliding over one cheek, then the edge was pushing between his buttocks, teasing his rim. Marcus worked it against him, rocking that curve against the tight puckered entrance as Thomas groaned.

  “Nice and slick, just the way I like you.”

  “Yes, Master. You said you’d fuck me when you walked through the door.”

  “Is that a complaint? Is my slave being impatient?”

  “Only because I missed you like fuck. Fucking missed you.”

  “Three more ‘fucks’ on the front end,” Marcus mused. “Sounds like my property wants more punishment. Your dick is making a mess. Thank God she hasn’t put the chair pads on yet.”

  He leaned over Thomas again, pushing the spoon harder against his rim as he plucked a rubber spatula from the vase. It was the kind of utensil used to turn cake batter. “Bet your mother never knew this hurts more.”

  Thomas sucked in a new breath as Marcus proved it, letting the flexible rubber sting its way across both buttocks, his upper thighs. He even gave Thomas’s balls a quick pop with it, a strike that had him cursing under his breath. “Fuck…” His testicles were throbbing, his cock at maximum blood capacity. He needed to come, needed his Master inside of him. But he wondered if Marcus needed…more. Thomas swallowed, decided he was a couple candy canes short of a dozen, and did exactly what Marcus had warned him not to do. He made it a demand.

  “Fuck me, Master. Now.”

  Marcus paused. The clock ticked on the wall, Thomas’s breath rasping in counter point with it. Marcus shifted then, and his Italian loafer slid underneath the raised heel of Thomas’s right foot, the toe pressing against where the ball of his foot pushed hard against the wood floor. Closing his hand on Thomas’s hip, Marcus eased him down so his weight rested on the top of Marcus’s foot. Thomas felt Marcus’s hand between them, heard the belt being unbuckled, the slacks being unzipped, and then groaned as the tip of Marcus’s cock traced that sensitive spot at the top of his buttocks. Painting his precum along those two rises, Marcus then pressed into the lube-slick seam. Not to penetrate, only to tease Thomas past bearing before Marcus took hold of himself, and began to stroke.

  “No, Master, please…”

  For a response, Marcus put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, pushed him down so his upper body was flush against the table, ass in the air. He kept jacking himself off as he held Thomas in that position. He was going to come against Thomas’s ass, his lower back. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, his cock throbbing, balls aching, hands curling into the wood of the table.

  “I think you need a reminder of who’s in charge, don’t you, pet?”

  “Please let me use my mouth on you, Master.”

  “Not this first time. This is what I want. And what matters most?’

  “What my Master wants.”

  “Fucking right.”

  Thomas’s heart was pounding high in his chest, and he groaned again as Marcus crowded up against him, so close Thomas felt his goddamn knuckles rubbing against Thomas’s ass with every stroke. His hips were twitching, unable to help it. His balls hung heavy and tight between his spread legs and, when Marcus’s breath started to come quick and shallow, he lifted his ass higher, giving his Master t
he canvas he wanted to paint with his desire.

  The first hot jet of come hit his balls, his crack, then splattered outward over his ass cheeks, his lower back. Though he wanted nothing more than to have his Master fuck him, Thomas felt a near orgasmic euphoria, serving his Master this way, being entirely at his mercy as he spent himself on the body of his sub, his slave. Marcus owned every inch of him. Nothing in Thomas denied it.

  When Marcus slowed down, he cupped a palm over Thomas’s wet buttock, rubbed that thick fluid over it, dipping in between to tease his rim. Then he did it to the other cheek. “Master,” Thomas breathed. “Please.”

  “I’m going to amuse myself until I’m hard again. You’ll just have to have a longer punishment, I think. Do you accept that, Thomas?”

  “Yes, Master. Anything…as long as you’re touching me.”

  “Jesus, you’re perfect.” The spatula hit again, and the way Marcus had coated his buttock, made it wet, increased the sting. Thomas imagined what it looked like, his ass dripping with Marcus’s come, the way it would dry on his flesh.

  “You’ll be scrubbing this floor, pet. I might enjoy watching you do that naked, with a vibrator up your ass and strapped to your cock, so you’d have to keep scrubbing, every time you come.”

  “Fuck,” Thomas breathed, and the spatula hit again. Marcus stopped talking and devoted himself with single-minded pleasure to the punishment, until Thomas was grunting with every blow, his fingers digging harder into the wood and mind spinning with the thought that Marcus truly was going to make sure he couldn’t sit comfortably for Christmas Eve dinner.

  The spatula was thrown on the table next to him, Marcus drawing him off the table to push him down to his knees on the wood floor. Thomas’s gaze rose to his face. Those green eyes were hot enough to burn, the sinfully beautiful mouth taut. Thomas had his lips parted and waiting as Marcus pushed his cock past them. The insatiable bastard was already half erect again, and Thomas was only too eager to prepare him to fuck his sub.