by Aspose
“Come, lie down,” the sweet Aimée says. When I follow her lead and settle onto the pillows, she kneels beside me, her green gaze searching my face. “How are you?” she asks.
I shrug. “Completely mind fucked, but we all know that’s the plan. I suppose I didn’t quite expect to feel like…this.”
Concern furrows her brows as she strokes my cheek, her touch moving through me like warm honey. “Like what?”
“As if I’ve just come through some horrible ordeal. And I don’t mean being beaten or made to strip and kneel on the floor. I mean…fuck it all, I’m not entirely certain.”
I pause, flex my hands, trying to get my befuddled brain to work. “It’s as if I’ve been trapped on a deserted island, cut off from all of humanity. Not that I don’t love my life, running the House, but it seems alien to me now. I have to wonder if I ever truly belonged there, in that role, if I am even able to comply with Christopher’s demands to the extent I have so far. Wielding that kind of power, that much responsibility. Have I been doing the wrong thing all these years? Should I even be here now? I can’t begin to figure it out.”
“Do you think that life and belonging to him are so mutually exclusive?” she asks. “Because I don’t believe it. I’ve known you as the Master—as my Master, our Master. And now I see you in this role, and despite your struggle, you wear both so beautifully, I can’t imagine you any longer in just one role or the other. I think I am able to see it more clearly than you can, and Master Christopher certainly does. Your slavehood doesn’t diminish what you’ve done, or who you’ve been.”
I sigh. “I’m having a hard time reconciling the two. It seems impossible.”
“It’s your first day. Give it some time.”
I can tell from her expression that she’s truly worried. “I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you’re thinking. Not yet, anyway. I will give this as fair a shake as I can.”
“I…” She pauses, biting down on her lush, pink lip. “Maybe I was thinking that.”
“I wasn’t. I need to try to see this through. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it, or what’s at the other end, but I know I have to do this, no matter how at odds I am with who it makes me now.”
“You’re still you. Your past is still your past. Your kindness and your wickedness are all still there. And we both know there is always power in giving ourselves this way. Our choice, yes?”
“Yes.” I raise a hand to stroke her silken hair, and for one crazy moment it’s almost as if we’re back in my quarters at the Training House, with me as her Master. “I love you, Aimée.”
Her smile lights up her whole face, easing the crease in her forehead, and I am filled with happiness. Not that my body doesn’t hum and pulse with the need to drag her down onto the floor and fuck her senseless, spank her and pinch her and make her cry.
Oh, yes, her tears…
But perhaps it’s all right, feeling that way even as I feel the need to have all of these things done to me by Christopher. My new Master.
“This is a fucking mad life,” I tell her.
“’We are all mad here’,” she says, quoting Lewis Carrol with a sparkle in her eye.
“So we are.”
“I have to go now.” Leaning down, she brushes a kiss across my cheek.
It’s too much—I have to grab her, hold her around her slender waist, tight in my arms. I need to fuck her just as badly, but this will have to do until Christopher gives me permission, if he ever does. Oh, a sharp pain in my belly, in my balls, thinking of the possibility that I might never be allowed inside her beautiful body again.
I’ll have to wait, to hope he can forgive me at some point, that he will deem me worthy, which is a strange thought. Until then, there is so much joy simply in being with her, with them both. Until then—the moment I’ll hope for, when she is given to me again—I will throb and ache, fight the need to touch myself, to come into my fisted hand thinking of Aimée, of Christopher. I will imagine every wonderful and despicable thing that might happen to me under his command. I will do my best to want it, to accept what this makes me, and everything it could mean in the future.
She turns off the light when she leaves, and I hear the slide and click of the lock in the silent room. There are rippling shadows everywhere from the pool lights, and it’s eerie, yet a strange sort of comfort. I haven’t had any time to myself, to simply be in my own head, since this all really started—since I gave myself to him, as much as I’m able to at this point. I’m not sure I could have stood it if it hadn’t been for those tender moments with Aimée. Maybe he knows that. She certainly does.
Perhaps I’m more like her than I am like him. It’s a new idea, one I would have rejected out of hand just a few weeks ago. A few days ago. But having sustained such a double blow to my heart and my psyche has caused me to reevaluate a lot of things, and this is simply one more. It’s not only Christopher that has brought me to my knees, but love. What better—and more horribly painful—way to go down?
Daniel.
Master Stephan.
Oh yes, love and pain always go hand in hand, don’t they?
These are the thoughts running through my head until what I imagine is late into the night before I finally, mercifully, fall asleep.
When the door crashes open, I have one moment to think wildly that the sun coming in through the windows should have woken me before Christopher—Master Christopher, and when will I get used to that?—stalks in. He’s all bluster and good mood this morning, and gloriously golden muscles under his white wife-beater and slouchy gray jeans. God, but he’s beautiful.
My morning hard-on is painful with lust and the need to pee, but of course he has no regard for my discomfort. He strides across the room and clamps the steel shackles onto my ankles, then grabs my wrists, pulling me up onto my knees, which he kicks wide apart with his booted feet. Very quickly, he slaps a pair of leather cuffs onto my wrists and, raising my arms over my head, he clips them to the chains behind me with a heavy carabiner. My body is tense, elongated by the pull of the chains, and I love it, the sensation of being elegant, somehow, within this moment of subjugation. But I also hate it, fear it. I fear the part of me that likes what’s happening.
I see Aimée standing naked in the doorway, and my poor cock jumps. Oh, I need. Need her, need him. Fuck.
Yes, need to fuck, please.
Christopher kneels on the floor, his hand shooting out and grabbing me by the throat.
“Aimée. Come jack him off for me.”
My heart leaps, or maybe my erection—or maybe both—as she approaches, as he squeezes tighter. I grow dizzy. My flesh swells even before she touches me. And then she does touch me, closing her hand around the head, and smoothing her palm around it in circles. In a moment pre-come seeps out, making her hand slippery. Fucking divine. I can barely breathe, and it feels so damn good, even with my bladder painfully full, and I know I won’t be able to come until I can pee. I am pretty damn certain I will be allowed to do neither.
“Look at me,” he orders.
His eyes are lion eyes. Captivating. Intense. He is the most intense human being I’ve ever known. Isn’t that what we look for, we sensation junkies, we high-stim people of kink? The world narrows until there is nothing but his steady gaze, his hand around my throat, and Aimée slowly stroking me.
I begin to choke and he loosens his hold enough for me to cough, then he tightens again.
I’m going to come, despite my bladder.
“Aimée, stop,” he orders just in time.
Damn it. And thank you, Master.
He eases his hold once more, allowing me to recover a little breath, to bite back my orgasm. Then he slaps my impossibly hard cock, making it harder still—and yet the pain of it helps me.
“Control yourself, Damon. Don’t make me put your dick in a cage.”
This makes me swallow hard. I’ve never been in chastity. I’m sure I would hate it.
When a slow grin spreads over
his exquisite face, it makes me panic.
“Ah…I can see your eyes going wide. I’ve finally found something you’re really afraid of,” he gloats. “Well, well. So damn tempting.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He lets me stew on that for a few moments.
“Don’t worry,” he finally tells me, “I have plans for your fine dick. I’ll save that for when you require real punishment. But you’ll be good for me, won’t you, Damon? You know how. You know what I want from you. And right now, I want to see you fuck our little Aimée. It’s partly as a reward for her, and partly because I know how hard this is for you. Yeah, I know—sympathy from me, of all people. Who would have thought it? But you know…” he leans closer, until his luscious mouth is a mere inch from mine, “I only show sympathy for those few I love. And if I didn’t love you, you wouldn’t be here.”
Behind him, Aimée falls to her knees, her head bowed. “Thank you, Master Christopher,” she whispers, urgency in her voice.
He turns to grab her face and kisses her hard on the mouth. “Anything for you, prettiness. But this is for me, selfish bastard that I am.” Turning back to me he says, “We all have to understand what we’re doing here. Yes, I will abuse you, fuck you, humiliate you, Master you, but it’s for your own good, and for our good. All of us.” Reaching out, he strokes my hair from my face. “Do you love me, Damon?”
I am so filled with love for him at this moment, I can barely contain it, can barely believe this is happening.
“You know I do. Yes. Yes.” I turn my face into his palm, kissing it.
“Again,” he orders, his voice a harsh whisper that vibrates with emotion.
I kiss his palm again, and again, whispering, “I love you, Christopher. I love you. I love Aimée. Madly.”
“Master Christopher,” he insists, squeezing my jaw hard.
“Master Christopher,” I repeat, and it’s a bit easier this time.
Finally he pulls back and gets to his feet. “Aimée, on your hands and knees in front of him.”
She gets down on the floor before me, as docile as ever. She really is spectacular, this girl, presenting the pale curve of her perfect ass, scattershot with teeth marks and a few beautiful bruises.
I look up at him, and he reads my expression. “Cunt now, and no, you don’t get to pee first. If you can’t come, that’s your problem. Ass later, possibly. If you’re very, very good. And if I’m in a good mood, which we all know rarely happens, bitter son-of-a-bitch that I am, but I kinda like myself that way. Now take her.”
I can’t reach her with my hands, bound as they are, but I lean into my chains as I guide my iron-hard cock to her lovely, pink hole. As the tip touches her, she shivers, and so do I. She is gorgeously wet—so wet that I slide in easily.
“Ah!”
I don’t even know if the sound was her, or me. I try to begin a slow, even motion, but in moments it’s a mad pounding as I grind into her sweet cunt. She rears back, taking all of me in. I need to come too soon, which of course our Master realizes—he bends down and pinches the skin of my ball sac so fucking hard I yelp. There’s nothing to either hold back your orgasm or force it from you like the punishing pain of your balls being tortured. It’s several seconds before I know which way it will go.
“Pull out,” he orders.
I comply, my cock, my balls, aching. My come is a hard pressure in my belly, needing to be released. My full bladder is creating more pressure.
He steps in, straddling Aimée’s body, and I have a tempting glance at her wet pussy before he reaches down to grab my cock in his fist. He squeezes until I have to grit my teeth against crying out, and at the same time, he takes one of my nipples between his fingertips, digging his short nails in until I think he’ll draw blood.
“Ah!”
“Quiet,” he commands, his nails digging deeper, his hand a vice grip around my poor cock.
I groan, trying to bite it back, but it’s impossible.
“Just for that, you get to watch me fuck her.”
I almost want to cry. But I also want to watch. My victimized dick will have to wait.
He unzips and pulls his thick cock free, the flesh swollen and ready. And God, I want to suck him off, to feel his come shoot down my throat. But his come will not be mine this morning.
“Elbows,” he tells her.
She goes down so that her ass is raised high in the air, and he’s standing right in front of me, where I can see her cunt as it opens wide. Every cell in my body is pulsing, seeing her like this, and just as much from his utter, easy command of us both.
From my position on the floor, I can see between his spread thighs as he crouches over her and pushes into her waiting hole. She gasps softly, then pants as he begins to fuck her hard. God, he’s beautiful to watch, those long, vicious strokes, and at the same time he’s spanking her already-marked ass, raking his nails down her sides.
“Bleed for me, pretty girl,” he says, his voice rough with desire.
And she does, the wounds from his nails seeping a little. I want to lick it up, to suck those lovely wounds until she is a part of me. My cock is going crazy, and I wonder if I might come simply watching them fuck. But my full bladder may as well be a chastity device, holding my cock hostage.
Fuck me. I am in hell.
No, this is heaven.
How can I tell the difference anymore?
CHAPTER FIVE
I am unsure how long we’ve been here. Five days? A week? More? I’ve been let out to swim at night, which is standard. My new Master—and I must accept that he is, even if temporarily—looks out for my health, as I did for him when the roles were reversed. It’s becoming more and more difficult to even comprehend now that I was once his Master. I know his incredible strength, his fight, how fucking bad-ass he is—that it’s all part of what makes him so utterly fascinating as a slave, and now as a Master. Still, I am afraid there’s not enough to sustain this situation, to sustain me, no matter that I find myself giving in to his command.
Just as mind fucking is being locked up and left alone for long stretches at a time. I never know when he will come to me, when Aimée will be sent to bring me something to eat, when she will be instructed to stay with me for a while. When I will be allowed to come, either by his hand, or hers. Or her mouth, or whatever toy he has buried deep in my ass—whatever the case may be. It almost doesn’t matter. Except the one thing he hasn’t done to me yet is to fuck me himself, and of course I crave it in a way that’s pure torture. No, he would rather fuck our gorgeous Aimée in front of me, or have her give him head, or come all over me. Not that I don’t love it all. But when will I have him? No, that’s not it. When will he fully have me?
I am being broken down at an alarming pace, and in those moments when I am allowed to come up for air, it seems like one of the most frightening experiences of my life. But I also thoroughly understand this process. It’s simply what has to happen—in order for me to truly submit, yes, but it is also the only way for me to find my way to the two people I love. I give myself because I must, because I can’t not do this. And—although it’s difficult to admit—because I’ve discovered this is what I need. Or at least, what some part of me needs. How long has this need gone unmet? Has it ever been met so deeply?
I know only now, in going through this, that the answer is no. Never. Because I have never walked this path with someone I loved—not in this wild, nearly desperate way. It will allow me to give in fully, or not—that is still an unknown factor—but I am feeling the possibility of it.
The pool’s reflection is a rippling glimmer on the ceiling of my room while I ponder all of this. It’s become a sort of meditation for me, those ripples of light in the morning. It is something a slave must do—find a way to that quiet space. I know I think too much. And as many times as I’ve uncovered ways for my own slaves to get out of their heads, I have yet to find a way that works well for me. Still, this is a small comfort. It calms me, distracts me from my ever
-hard cock. From the thoughts and memories that torture me in the endless hours alone.
I think too much—more than I have in my entire adult life—of my brother. I remember his face, so very much like my own, except that his eyes were gray. I think of how cheerful he always seemed.
No, not always, if I think hard about it. There were times when Daniel’s face would shut down, and he’d lock himself in his room for hours. Days. I’d assumed he was simply being a teenager, maybe playing video games. And perhaps he was, at times, when he wasn’t looking into whatever dark void faced him—the one that eventually swallowed him up and took him away from me.
I bite the inside of my cheek, willing the images of my brother away. It’s too much to think of him for more than a few minutes at a time. It’s the one pain I can’t endure.
And as if the universe—or Christopher—has heard my mental plea for distraction the lock on my door clicks and it swings wide. My entire body tightens in anticipation of what might happen, and which of them will enter the room. When I take in the small, feminine figure encased in red leather, my breath stutters in my chest.
Mistress Alexa.
Fucking God! That he would do this to me!
Scrambling to my knees, I have to steel myself, to prevent myself from scooting backward like some terrible coward. I am a coward. I can’t stand for her to see me like this. And I understand almost instantly that this is the game. Total humiliation in front of my peer, one of my closest comrades-in-kink.
