“Where’s the tongue?” Bonez teases as he gets on his knees in front of Jake and proceeds to give him a blowjob.
That’s our cue to leave.
It’s one thing to know Bonez gives head to whoever will allow it whenever he’s sloshed. It’s quite another when it’s with Jake. He’s one of my best friends. I don’t wanna see his pecker.
Folding his fingers through mine, Master tugs me back in to the tent, zips it closed, and tackles me. We stumble on to the blow-up mattress in a tangle of arms and legs as we roll with laughter.
“What a day,” I comment as Master binds me in his arms, and quickly kisses me on my forehead down to my lips.
“Thank you for putting up with this stupid plan.” He drops a smooch on my upper lip.
“I’ll do anything for you.” My heart lubs harder, supporting the statement.
Master combs his fingers through the side of my hair, lips hovering above mine, his breath tasting of hops. “You’re my soul mate.”
He squeezes me tighter and drops his mouth to mine in a searing, mind blanking, all-consuming kiss that leaves me breathless and hard as stone. Another lash of his tongue with mine and I’m putty in his hands as he pushes me on to my back, chest to chest. Nudging my thighs apart, he settles gloriously heavy between them as he continues to assault my mouth.
Ripping my swollen lips from his, he ruts against me, the only thing between us being scraps of fabric. “You’re my soul mate, too,” I mutter.
“Then show me.” He winks, smirking impishly.
And I do.
I show him how a soul mate makes passionate love. How a soul mate kisses with all he has. And how a soul mate possesses their mate to the fullest extent, evoking animalistic moans from his soul that not even I knew he could make.
I can’t believe this is my life.
Michael
Kneeling on the black spanking bench in our playroom, my arms, knees, and chest rest in the correct position. Cheek pressed to the pad, I angle my head so the viewers can see my face from the camera. Master and I are filming the first video for our website launch—The Naked Submissive, featuring his master. During my last YouTube recording, where I discussed the camping trip and what I learned from it, I added a small teaser about our up and coming spanking tutorial. My viewers are most excited to see Master in the flesh for the first time. Not that they’ll get to view all of him. The mask he’s wearing is Phantom of the Opera meets 50 shades—alluring as fuck. It’s black and silver, and pairs perfectly with his low-slung black jeans, matching thick leather belt, and incredibly sexy bare feet. I’m sure his deep V will give plenty of my subscribers Grade A spank bank material. Add his personality, defined pecs and abs, and we’re talking long term fantasy fodder. He’s my living, breathing fantasy come to life so why wouldn’t others feel the same? Sure, there’s a downside to sharing him with the world—the fact that I have to share him at all. But, it’s a choice we made collectively, and I’m happy to let others ogle what I get to keep. Who says I need to be stingy?
Behind me, Master swipes a finger down my well-lubed, plug-less crack. Currently, I’m wearing a white jockstrap, my cage, and nothing else. Master refuses to let me go naked. Shocker, right? Can you see my eyes rolling from there? So … white jock it is. I think it clashes nicely with my tanned skin and the blackness of the bench. Not that my ass is as tan as the rest of me, but it’s not far off. That’s what happens when I secretly sunbathe in the buff whenever I can. Don’t get me wrong, I get disciplined for it later. However, the lack of tan lines more than makes up for it.
Wiggling my bottom, I smile broadly at the camera, slipping effortlessly into my online persona. “Welcome to our very first site video. If you’re one of my YouTube subscribers, thank you for following me here. If you’re new, welcome to the party.” I wink as Master ignores the camera and continues to swipe his finger over my rim, down my taint, and back again, making it difficult to concentrate.
Shoving my mounting arousal to the back of my mind, I swallow hard and carry on. “Today, to commemorate, I have brought you none other than my soul mate and best friend, Master—”
My mind blanks. Dammit. We haven’t decided on what we’d call him, aside from Master. But he has to have another name. It’s needed for the hashtags. Grey’s Anatomy didn’t have Doctor McDreamy and McSteamy for nothing. I glance back at Master with pleading eyes. If he doesn’t help, we’re going to have to reshoot this part. There’s only so much I can edit without it becoming a hot mess.
“Hello, pets. I’m Master Drogo.” The side of his lip quirks as his deep bass resounds, sending chills up my spine. Damn. He’s delicious in Dom mode. And, Master Drogo? That’s freakin’ sexy. Excellent choice. “Welcome to my first tutorial, where you’ll get to watch me spank the hell,” Master’s hand comes down hard on my ass, ripping a moan from my throat as I grip the edge of the forearm pads, “out of my sub with various instruments that are perfect for novice and expert Dominants alike. I’ll guide you step-by-step through each process to teach you how to evoke the most pleasure. And, most importantly, not harm your submissive. If these tools are misused they can inflict real damage, and that’s unacceptable. No Dominant should ever injure their submissive. Is that understood?”
My cheek rubs across the supple leather as I nod, even though I know he’s not addressing me directly. Jesus. The viewers are going to eat this up.
“First, I must communicate with my partner so he understands what’s expected.” Walking around the side of the bench, Master kneels eye level with me where he runs a fingertip down my cheek and presses a sweet kiss to my lips. It’s an awkward angle, but he makes it look effortless. “Are you ready to begin, Michael?” he asks loud enough that the viewers can hear.
“Yes, Master … Drogo.” I crack a cheeky smile.
Humored, he returns an equally breathtaking grin. “I’m going to spank you today with my hand first, followed by a paddle, a flogger, a crop, and then a cane. You are to count each aloud. If it becomes too much and you wish to stop immediately, what do you call out?”
“Red.”
Six months ago, I published a video explaining safe words in length. I’ll be sure to link it to this once it’s complete—just in case.
This rewards me another faint kiss to the lips and a more private subdued smile that’s reserved only for me. He’s loving this as much as I am. I know the rules, so I’m aware I have to count swats aloud. This is our typical style of play. Though it’s rare he uses anything other than his hand to spank me, but for tutorial purposes, we agreed on the instruments beforehand.
My stomach buzzes with giddy anticipation. I cannot wait to begin.
“If you need me to slow but not completely stop, what do you say?”
“Yellow.”
Another kiss, this time a lingering sweet one without tongue is my prize. I savor the warmth with a longing groan before he pulls away and pats the side of my face adoringly. Master resumes his position behind me, and speaks to the camera about correct stance for spanking, as well as to start soft and slow in order to build tolerance. That abrupt spanking oftentimes doesn’t yield the desired outcome—arousal.
Reaching between my legs, he cups my confined stiffy. “Just talking about this has my sub hard. This doesn’t always happen. Some subs don’t get erect at all. This doesn’t mean they’re not turned on. The mind is a powerful tool. Erection doesn’t always mean arousal. Bear that in mind when you experiment. Also, understand that not everyone enjoys heavy-handed pain. Michael does. Just as he prefers to wear a cage that constricts him, as well as certain types of mild torture. Communication with your partner is paramount. Without trust, there’s no true submission,” he speaks profoundly, shoulders back, head held high in badass judge mode. His way with words turns me on more than the reality of being spanked publicly.
Master’s hand rests on my ass cheek, fingers tickling the skin, forcing me to shiver and my nerve endings sing. He does this often. It rallies all my feeli
ngs to one area, priming me for the inevitable onslaught.
“You ready to get started, baby?” he asks.
“Yes, Master … Drogo,” I return like a good sub.
“We’re going to start slow. How many strikes by my hand do you think you can handle today?”
Why’s he asking me this? He never does. I’m tempted to remind him of this, then think better of it. Perhaps he’s testing me to see if I’ll talk back, so I can be made an example of when I do. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“As many as you wish to give, Master,” I reply, knowing that has to be the correct answer.
“Good.”
I grin, proud of myself for not screwing this up. He tests me regularly, and part of the time, I fail. Failure equals discipline. And he relishes our punishment sessions because they’re mutually beneficial. From experience, I know many Doms hate when their subs overstep or step out of line. Master doesn’t seem to mind. He enjoys the rollercoaster that is our relationship. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t love me as much as I know he does.
***
Master
Lining up behind Michael, his ripe ass ready for spanking, I prep my muscles for the strenuous scene I’m about to partake in. Rolling my shoulders, I loosen up and encourage the viewers to do the same. I crack my knuckles, shake out my arms and legs, then close my eyes. Inhaling deeply until my lungs expand to full capacity, I hold it for three seconds before expelling it in a rush. Out goes the air and every molecule of tension with it. You cannot be a Dom without full control. When I strike Michael I’m always in my right mind. Sure, emotions have a habit of getting the best of me, but I wouldn’t dare lay a single unwelcome finger on my soul mate without knowing damn well I’m doing it with love. Even the cruelest punishments I dole out are done with the utmost care and concern. He deserves nothing but the best.
Blowing a gust of air over Michael’s cheeks, they spasm as goosebumps awaken. I grin roguishly. That’s exactly what I hoped would happen. It’s time. His body’s ready to sing.
Flattening my palm, I display it to the camera but do not speak. Drawing in another breath, I upswing for show, and on the down swing I exhale, landing the perfect imprint on Michael’s right cheek. His frame jolts forward on the bench as he absorbs the dull pain.
“One,” he calls out, unfazed.
Hell. His thighs haven’t even begun quaking yet. If this wasn’t a tutorial, I would build him up quickly until he was blind with need. Unfortunately, that can’t happen. Today’s not only a testament to his control, but mine as well. I can’t fuck this up for him. It’s too damn important. We need to get this right the first time.
Again, I follow the same steps with the next cheek, building a steady rhythm, delivering a swifter and more potent spank with each swing. The sting builds in my palm, the heat radiating in to my wrist once I reach fifteen. Still, Michael jockeys the budding pain like a champion bull rider.
I can’t go on much longer like this before he really starts to feel the bite. Once that happens, he’ll begin to respond beautifully and, by doing so, our time will be short lived. If I plan to get through four instruments nonstop, I have to do this correctly. Timing is key.
“Last one,” I announce.
My dick bucks against my zipper, angry as hell as I grit my teeth delivering the final palm to bottom blow. Not even a whimper leaves Michael. I dunno why but that displeases me. It seems the longer we’re together, the tougher he becomes. Inwardly, I sigh as I retrieve the first instrument, a leather studded paddle, off the chair hidden behind the bench. I’m going to miss the feel of his skin yielding as flesh meets flesh. The way redness blooms from my touch alone. Tools can’t provide that type of intimate satisfaction. That’s why I don’t use them. I want to taste his pain through my palm. It’s heady as fuck.
Brushing my fingertips along Michael’s inflamed skin, I explain in detail how to properly wield a paddle before demonstrating. Then, one-by-one I expertly instruct the use of each tool on Michael’s bare bottom, careful not to take him too far too fast. We sweep through four moderately exercised toys before his thighs begin their telltale trembling. A thin sheen of sweat coats his entire back and buttocks. Bright crimson stares back at me as I retrieve the final tool—the dreaded cane that should only be handled by advanced Doms. And by cane, I’m not talking about your grandma’s curve handled, rubber bottom cane that she uses to hobble around. By cane, I mean the thin rattan stick that, due to its lack of surface area, can cause excruciating pain and even split skin. This is a tool you respect. It may appear harmless, and it is if used properly.
Leaving Michael time to regroup, I step in front of the bench and give viewers a close-up of the cane. Holding the end in one hand, I stroke down its length with the other. Then I slap it in my palm to show just how powerful it can be.
“A cane’s used in many ways. From sensory play.” I demonstrate by gently trailing the tip down Michael’s shoulders to the base of his spine. He mumble groans, shivering. “To spanking. Which is what this tool is most commonly used for. To whack across the full buttocks in one effortless motion.” This time, I draw it through the air to showcase the whoosh sound, hoping it registers loud enough through the speakers. “You should not play with this instrument unless you have experience. Watch videos like this one. Read articles. Attend classes. Anything to educate yourself on the safe, sane, and consensual practices of this lifestyle…
“Let me tell you a little story about myself that not many know.” I pace in front of the camera, still stroking the cane as Michael murmurs incoherently in the background. “When I was in my thirties, I was tired of plain vanilla sex. It never appealed to me before, even after doing it for so many years. Eventually, after some online research, I found Fetlife. If you don’t know what that is, Google it. It helped me see that my desires beyond my hidden homosexuality weren’t wrong or depraved. That they were shared by thousands of people like me. So I frequented the site, learning more and more about my own kinks in the process. Things that intrigued me I read articles on. Once, before I joined a BDSM club of sorts, I took a class on the basics. Mainly, intro in to doming, collaring, toys, spanking—nothing too heavy. Because I personally enjoy the bondage and domination aspects of BDSM, but not so much the sadomasochism. Although, if you’ve watched Michael’s previous videos, you’re aware he has a taste for testicular torture. Don’t ya, baby?” I turn to the side, giving the camera the clear view of my near floating lover. I’ve never swam in the depths of subspace before, but I know from watching Michael that it’s an incredible out of body experience.
“Y-ye-yes,” he stammers.
Kneeling beside the bench, I card my fingers through his sweat soaked hair, pushing the flattened strands off his forehead. He mewls like a kitten, nudging his forehead in to my palm. Knowing he’s starved for affection, I cup his prickly cheek, stroking it with my thumb.
“How you feelin’, my heart?”
“G-g-g-good.”
His eyelids are heavy, fluttering between half-mast and closed—totally blissed.
I stroke the side of his mouth with my thumb, and he turns, sucking it between his lips, drawing it all the way into his mouth like he would my dick.
Christ!
I groan achingly as he swirls his tongue around my digit, emitting depraved sounds from his throat.
Withdrawing it, I sweep my spit soaked thumb across the bow of his lips before slipping back inside. His tongue pokes out between his teeth, so I brush the pad of my digit across it before tugging down his fat bottom lip.
“Is Michael wanting something to suck on?” I husk.
“Your … cock.”
Smirking like I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet, I quit teasing that hungry little mouth and those cock sucking lips and kiss his forehead instead. “We’re still recording, baby.” And I’ve got two more things in store for this video before I own your ass.
“Pl-please,” Michael begs, looking at me straight on, pupils blown, unfocused. He
rakes his teeth over his bottom lip trying to tempt me. My sexy minx sure knows how to dig under my skin.
I bap the tip of his nose with my index finger. “Stop. That’s not gonna work.”
“Why not?” he pouts, bottom lip jutting.
“’Cause I know all your parlor tricks.”
More adorable pouting ensues, which makes me chuckle and take pity on my poor sub. To appease him, I cup the back of his head, spear my tongue into his mouth, and take him for a wild, lip bruising, air stealing, heart pumping, moan inducing mouth fuck until he’s left a squirming, wanton puddle of goo.
I rip my lips from Michael’s before I drown in them. He dives for more. Thankfully, I back pedal fast enough that he can’t snare me in his trap another second.
Turning back to the camera, chest heaving for air, I apologize for the delay and re-station myself behind my man, who wriggles his ass at me. I flick it sharply with my finger, and he yelps, cursing. Yep. It’s tender, so he should stop trying to seduce me or I’ll do it again.
Tsking Michael, I shuffle to one side and practice flicking my wrist, getting ready to bring the cane down straight across the meat of his bum. Any higher and I can damage his back. Lower, and his thighs will hurt. And if it isn’t done horizontally, the tip can leave ugly bruises. Or worse, wrap around his hip and turn this pleasurable experience in to splitting pain.
Lining up, I flick my wrist.
The whoosh flies through the air a second before the resounding thud lands on its intended target.
Head thrashing to the side, Michael screams, “Oh! God!”
Before he has a chance to catch his breath, another crack slices across his bottom. He jolts forward, ousting a shameless cry. “Master, I’m…!”
“Don’t you dare,” I growl, knowing he’s near detonation.
“I … I…”
Ignoring his plea, I rain heavenly agony down upon his backside again and again.
By the sixth stroke, he’s openly weeping, tears pooling on the leather, and shoving his ass higher, eager for more. A waterfall of pre-cum pours from the opening in his cage, making a mess on the hardwood floor as his legs tremor uncontrollably.
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