Master's Vlogger

by Bink Cummings

  Releasing my hand, Master invades my space and cups my jaw. Leaning in, he brushes a tender kiss over my lips and sighs contently, sending a ball of fuzzy warmth in to my stomach. “I need you to strip while I get our stuff from the Rover.”

  What?!

  “W-what?” I stammer.

  One of the hands on my jaw skims down the side of my neck where it stops to cuff around my throat. Master tilts my head back, eyes meeting mine full on. I know that look. He’s testing to see if I’ll obey or need to be spanked. The glimmer in his violet-blue eyes speaks volumes. He secretly hopes I’ll do the latter so his hand can turn my ass red for the men to witness. As much as he pretends to dislike the rare occasion when I disobey, I know he secretly loves the challenge, so I find myself pushing back more often for his benefit. Master languidly licks his lips, nostrils flaring as he draws a deep breath. I’m sure he’s getting a head full of the cologne he bought me for Christmas. It’s the same cologne he’d gifted me at the commune. It’s decadent. And I wear it regularly because I know it turns Master on just as much as his cologne transforms me into a horny teenager. Okay. Maybe it’s not his scent that does it. It’s him. After a year together, you’d think the honeymoon phase would’ve worn out its welcome. It hasn’t. If anything, I’m ready to fuck pretty much twenty-four-seven. We can’t seem to get enough of each other.

  Gripping the front of Master’s t-shirt, I press our bodies together. There’s an iron shaft needing to be freed as it settles over my own arousal that’s confined in a cage, making my balls ache. The grip on my throat tightens, and my eyelids flutter with wanton anticipation.

  Yes. That’s it.

  My head begins to swim, asshole clenching around the plug.

  Tightly, I ball his shirt in my fist, and Master’s lips ghost over mine, the steam of his minty breath billowing across my mouth. I bite back a groan, willing him to kiss me through my Jedi thoughts. One kiss is all it usually takes for him to lose his mind. One kiss for us to end up on that blow-up mattress, humping like bunnies.

  “Are you gonna listen, baby, and take off those clothes? I have a jockstrap I need you to wear for today’s exercises.”

  “What will those be?” I test, Adam’s apple rolling beneath his grip.

  Two of his fingers press firmly against the pulse point on the side of my neck, restricting the flow. My vision dims. Fuck. If he’s not careful, I’m gonna pass out. Giving a slight kick, my dick seems to love the idea.

  “No more questions. Do as you are told.”

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  One side of Master’s lip hooks into a vicious smirk. Flames lick the edges of his blue-violets as they sear into mine. “You know this is for your own good. That I would never hurt you like they did. I might be fucked up. But not like that. I’ve tried everything else to help you through this. To see that men, even the teenager at the grocery store, isn’t a threat. You can’t even hand him cash, baby, without going rigid. It’s like you’ve gotten worse. Not better.”

  This is true. In my defense, the boy at the supermarket does look like a sub I taught in the past. One that could’ve very well been one of the many to have raped me. I’ll never know, though. Now will I? At least Master Croy, the scummy Dom who ran The House of Red, is serving jail time for tax evasion. Master told me about Master Croy’s ‘unfortunate’ run in with the IRS, who doesn’t take too kindly to this sort of thing. Two years in prison, a felony on his record, and a hefty fine is what that asshole got. Serves him right. On a lighter note, I’m happy to announce Master Jones, the only person from the commune that I don’t hate, is now running the place. I haven’t spoken to him since the day I left. Thankfully, Master keeps me informed.

  Heaving a sigh, Master withdraws, taking a broad step backward. His eyes flick to my groin, to my face, then back again where he stares intensely at my bulge. “Take ‘em off,” he grits, inclining his head toward my dick region.

  Knowing that if I don’t comply I’ll face the consequences, I unlatch my leather belt, flick open the button my jeans with nimble fingers, and rip my zipper down, revealing the sparse patch of dark hair above my member sans boxers. Master samples his bottom lip watching my fluid movements with laser focus. He rumbles his approval as I shimmy my pants to my ankles, and relieve myself of them along with my gray Chucks and Star Wars printed socks. With the outside of my foot, I nudge them to the wayside and clasp my hands in front of me—concealing my cage.

  “Good. Now remove the shirt,” Master orders, rubbing the heel of his palm along his straining shaft.

  I smile inwardly, the butterflies in my chest flapping like lunatics.

  A waterfall of pre-cum pours from my prick on to the floor.

  As worried as I am about what’s to come later, stripping for my man is arousing as hell. His reaction to it is even better. His breathing has turned ragged, jaw tight with longing. I can feel the waves of lust wafting off him in typhoon-like surges. The electricity flickers between us like it always does minutes before we ignite in each other’s arms—too greedy to slow down.

  With one smooth motion right out of Magic Mike, I tug my shirt over my head and drop it to the ground.

  “Good,” Master approves. Shoving his hand into his front pocket he pulls out a single golden key, and my stomach sours at the sight. I know what that is.

  Without pause, he tosses the metal at me. It bounces off my pec before I catch it.

  “Remove the cage.”

  No.

  I don’t want to.

  My brain protests.

  My body protests.

  Hell. Every cell of my being protests.

  I want to obey. I do. But not with this.

  I should’ve known this wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounds. A jockstrap I can do. They’re not my favorite, but they’re better than clothes. This … this I can’t do. Not here. At home, where I’m safe, where we’re together, just us—that, I can do. My trust and sanity lies within the walls of our home—within Master. Not in the woods with people I hardly know.

  Clutching the key in my palm, its ridges bite into my clammy flesh. I welcome the pinch of pain that shoots straight to my sac.

  Defiantly, I shake my head.

  This is one thing I cannot do.

  Master takes a purposeful step forward. “Now.”

  I shake my head again, hands trembling at my sides.

  I swallow hard. The lump in my throat refuses to dislodge.

  As fast as lightning, Master seizes my caged cock. Exerting his dominance, he uses it to draw me closer—owning me completely. With his opposite hand he reaches behind me, delves into my crack, and grips the base of my plug. I stiffen as my confused brain screams at me to shove him away, or kiss him until my lips bruise. My chest heaves for air. Anxious sweat beads on my brow. He smirks cruelly and yanks the plug from my rectum. Discarding it on my clothes with the flick of his wrist, he then digs his fingers into my fleshy ass cheek—the sharp nip of pain floods my system with shameless need.

  “Master,” I rasp.

  Dipping his head, Master swipes his tongue across the bow of my lips and my breath stutters.

  Fuck!

  “Take off the cage. Free yourself for me. Step out of your comfort zone for your master, baby. I promise you’ll want to vlog about this life changing experience later. Think of your viewers. Think of overcoming this not only for them but me. Look at who else you could help, aside from yourself.” He steps back a fraction, separating our bodies by mere inches.

  As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right.

  Steeling my emotions, my eyelids briefly slip close as I exhale a rush of air between my teeth. The gnarled tension in my limbs unwinds. I can do this. All I need to do is think of it as an experiment. I want to get better, right? Sure I do. I wanna be able to talk to Sniper and Whisky without gravitating toward Whisky and away from her husband. I don’t want to freak anymore whenever a man bumps into me on accident when we’re at a party. This could be good.
Granted, it could also be cruel and unusual punishment depending on what Master has in store.

  Sinking my teeth into my bottom lip, I acquiesce and force my fist to open. Plucking the key from my palm, I note the indents left in the metals wake. I’m sure I’ll feel those tomorrow. Now’s not the time to dwell on that. It’s time to quit rebelling. Master always has my best interests at heart. I have to remember that. If he thinks this is best, then who am I to argue? I’m his submissive. He is my master. There hasn’t been a single moment in our relationship where he’s violated my invisible limits. He merely navigates around them like a seasoned pirate lost in the Bermuda triangle—carefully yet skillful.

  “Go on,” Master encourages lowly. “You’ve got this.”

  I do.

  Master releases my cage so I can take over, but he watches my every move with acute fascination. With unsteady fingers, I force the key into the small golden lock fastened to the top of my cock cage. I’ve never unlocked myself before. This is new.

  “Turn it,” Master adds when I hesitate.

  Here goes nothing.

  Master

  Laying thick blankets atop the debris coated ground next to the fire pit, I wait for Michael to gather enough courage to exit our tent. He’s got his jockstrap now. I’d retrieved it, the blankets, a cooler, and duffels from the Range Rover once he relieved himself of the cage. I had to leave, or I’d have fucked him right then and there. The jock’s baby blue, his favorite color. I bought it specifically for this weekend, which I’ve been studiously planning for nearly a month with Jake and Price’s assistance. If I'm being honest, I’m not looking forward to it. Don’t get me wrong. I want Michael to overcome his aversion to men. It’s grown substantially worse over the last year. Price, my sociology professor of a brother, believes Michael needs an intervention. If I hadn’t noticed the significant change in Michael, I wouldn’t have agreed to said intervention. However, when Toa, my brother’s club president, clasped Michael on the shoulder at a party, and by doing so gave Michael a panic attack, I knew something had to be done. It’s as if his YouTube persona allows him to flourish within the confines of social media, whereas in real life, where shit isn’t fabricated to feed the masses a load of skillfully constructed BS, he can’t function without debilitating anxiety. If it weren’t for Jake and me, he’d likely live as a hermit, encouraging his lady friends to visit whenever they please and swearing off men altogether. Lord knows he’d never seek help, let alone admit something’s wrong with him. He’s too proud for that. Too damn stubborn.

  That’s why I’m stepping out of my possessive, want-to-rip-someone’s-arms-off comfort zone in order to steer Michael in the right direction. I’ve exhausted every other resource. From asking Sniper to engage with him at Whisky’s bakery, to Maddox bringing some of his young male friends to test Michael’s reluctance with teenagers. Nothing worked. He’s not completely standoffish with my sons, but I can tell a huge difference in the way he treats them verses my daughter. She adores him more so than her mother or me. They’ve bonded. My sons, while they love Michael, the strong connection hasn’t formed due to his hesitancy. If I want to take our relationship to the next step in any capacity, I cannot let this continue to deteriorate. Hence, today having to happen. Truthfully, I’m nervous as hell about how he’ll react. But I’ve planned this to a T. Nothing will happen that I haven’t thought out beforehand. I’m his master, and it’s time that I show him how far I’m willing to go to prove my loyalty and love. I just pray this doesn’t backfire in the end.

  Blankets lain, large cooler full of beer, pop, and water set to the side, I light the citronella candles I’ve strategically placed around the campsite. The last thing we need is to be eaten alive by pesky mosquitos. And I’m not in the mood to kiss any place on Michael that has been spritzed with bug spray. That’s disgusting. So, citronella it is. At least it doesn’t stink.

  Pulling my shirt over my head, I haphazardly toss it on to a sawn log, exposing my hairy chest and abs while leaving on my low-slung jeans and boots. Then I strut over to the other tents and invite our guests to the party before popping a squat on the log stool closest to our tent. Asher, Justin, Bonez, and Jake filter out of their temporary homes. By the look of Jake’s mussed hair, he and Bonez have already gotten it on today. Justin escorts a jock wearing Asher to the logs in front of their tent, where he pushes on his boy’s shoulder, forcing him to sit. Asher complies just as Michael would, with a giddy grin. From what I’ve heard from Jake, Justin is Asher’s daddy, just as I’m Michael’s master. Their D/s relationship isn’t like ours, though. They have a young daughter who lives with them. I imagine that makes things more difficult to fulfill their sexual needs. I know when my older children come around, it definitely hinders mine and Michael’s interactions. Not that I regret them by any means. Just as I’m sure Justin and Asher happily sacrifice their sexual desires for the sake of their daughter. I’d do the same. That’s what parents do.

  Setting a possessive hand on Asher’s inked thigh, Justin’s the first to speak. “Where’s your man?” He arches a concerned brow, flicking his narrowed gaze toward our tent.

  “He’s gathering the courage to come out here. I think he’s nervous about today,” I reply, knowing that I could force Michael to move his ass, but by doing so, I would be stepping over the line I’ve drawn in the sand. He has to come willingly. There are some things even a Dom shouldn’t force.

  “If it makes him feel any better, I had my boy wear a jock, too. Bonez said that’s what Mike would be wearing,” Justin explains, dancing his fingertips across his man’s exposed thigh.

  Asher’s cock noticeably twitches behind the cotton of his jockstrap, growing thicker by the second. I have to admit, Justin’s a lucky man. Asher’s attractive in a nerd boy kind of way. He wears black-rimmed glasses that complement the nerdy tattoos that cover a large portion of his body. He’s toned, whereas his daddy is a muscled firefighter close to my age with short graying hair and blue eyes. Objectively, they’re an attractive couple. Unlike Jake and Bonez, who are an odd pair. Not that they’ve ever been in a relationship together. I try to stay out of their fuck buddy drama. I have enough on my plate to handle.

  Reflexively, I tuck my arms across my broad chest in a relaxed manner. “Nudity has never been an issue for Michael. If anything, wearing clothes bugs the shit outta him. But thanks for the consideration, and for coming. I know this is a bit unorthodox. The jock is for my benefit. Not his. I need to not lose my shit if someone were to ogle his dick too much.” I’d be downright homicidal, no questions asked.

  Justin nods his understanding, pausing to grip his lover’s thigh firmly, as if by doing so he stakes further claim. I get it. I’d do the same in his position. It’s refreshing that I can relate to another guy in this capacity. It’s not often you run in to a gay man who’s as possessive and dominant as me. To the majority of people I come across as a smug, selfish asshole, thanks to my authoritative nature.

  Time drifts. I hand out drinks from the cooler as we carry on amicably, waiting for Michael to get his shit together. I don’t address him. He needs to do this himself. There’s only so much hand holding I can provide before he has to learn to walk on his own. This is one of those times. I can’t fix him if he doesn’t wanna be fixed. It’s time for my heart to sink or swim.

  “You seriously think your Harley rides better than mine?” Justin sneers at his best friend Bonez, who sips his water sans shirt.

  A droplet of condensation drips off the bottom of his bottle and lands in the valley between his massive, hairy pecs, one of which is intricately inked. It’s impossible not to sit back and watch these two banter like an old married couple. It’s amusing as hell. So is watching Justin pause their conversation every so often to lay a dirty kiss on his partner. Who melts like butter beneath his man’s greedy ministrations. I wonder if that’s what people notice when Michael and I are in public?

  On the log closest to me, Jake leans closer and whispers, “They’r
e gonna cluck like hens about this all night.”

  I smirk. “Take it they’ve got a bit of whose dick is bigger scenario goin’ on with their bikes?”

  Jake rolls his eyes. “More like Bonez always has the biggest dick ever. But Justin has the better ride. Bonez hates losing. Always gotta have the best. Ya know?”

  I nod.

  Yep. I get it. He’s always gotta win. Some men are like that.

  “I know it rides better than yours,” Bonez quips in return.

  “You’re so full of shit,” Justin blurts.

  Smacking his lips, irritated, Bonez sighs. “You’re an idiot. I douched this morning so Jake could fuck me nice and hard. My ass is squeaky clean, I’ll have you know.”

  Justin drags a hand down his face, exasperated. “That’s not what I fucking meant, and you know it.”

  “You said it. I didn’t.”

  Pressing my lips together, I smother a chuckle. This is grade A entertainment.

  Justin’s eyes narrow into tiny slits. If looks could kill, Bonez would be bleeding out on the forest floor in front of us. “I wasn’t talkin’ about your hungry bottom, jackass. I was talkin’ about you bein’ full of it ‘cause my bike is way better than yours. You always gotta pick a fight about it. Al-fuckin’-ways.”

  Bonez inclines his head toward Asher, who’s sitting quietly beside his daddy, hands in his lap, eyes glassy, and lips parted from being toyed with. Don’t think I haven’t noticed Justin’s hand disappearing behind his boy’s ass from time to time. I’m merely trying to ignore it. Their sex life, their business. “Bet Asher’s ass is squeaky clean, too,” Bonez notes then turns and lifts a chin my way. “Bet Mike’s is, too.”