He's come out of the bathroom, towel wrapped round his hips, a few slight pink marks left by the suede flogger still visible on his chest and undoubtedly more on his ass.
Something has changed in the way I look at him now. Some of the urgency and some of the mystery have been done away with and I see him more clearly, even if still through the eyes clouded with overwhelming desire. Maybe for the first time I am starting to believe fully not only that he's actually here, but that's he is mine to play with as I see fit.
"We're going out for a little walk, J. Just down the coast. You'll wear these."
I toss him the two items I took out of my bag in the meantime. There is a small smile in the corners of his mouth when he catches the first one, changing into an almost 'whoa' when he realises what the second one is.
"I'm keeping this of course," I say, showing him a little key.
"And drop this fucking towel, boy. Really."
He does as told and I can see his cock now, not hard, which is pretty convenient considering, but not completely limp either. I like him naked, exposed like this, smooth and clean, though he's also somewhat different now after what happened earlier. The typical male post-orgasm recoil isn't particularly apparent but for that brittle, coiled energy that I sense can both explode into rage and collapse into morbid darkness being just a little closer to the surface, just about detectable in the way he moves, the way he looks, or doesn't look, at me.
"C'mere," I beckon him to the chair I've sat down on.
I take both items out of his hands again and put them back on the table.
"Put your hands on the back of your neck. Straighten up. Feet apart. Hips slightly forward. Between a military and a Tai'chi stance. Good boy. Stay like that."
He gets a little harder when I touch him, and his cock unfurls further when I squeeze some lube out and return to it with slippery, cold hands.
"You need to stop this. Think wholesome thoughts or we'll be here all day," I squeeze his dick at the base and this, combined with whatever he's thinking about works well enough to enable me to slip the steel rings onto his cock.
It's not really a long-term-wear chastity device but it looks much better than those full-on plastic things and will stop him from getting completely erect or ejaculating. The straps that go over and below balls and the little padlock add a bit of an edge and I love the final effect. He's getting hard now – trying to – a groan confirms what I can clearly see as his cock fills up against the bindings.
I spit on my already lubed-up fingers and briefly touch the visible parts of his shaft, slide them over his bulging balls, then pull the D-ring attached at the end and lick the parts of the cockhead accessible between the straps, my tongue fluttering between leather strips.
I'm surprised how much seeing him bound like that turns me on but now I know I'm going to have loads of fun with this today. It's just a right size to let him get almost-erect and I love the way his cock pushes against it, the way it responds to the mixed signals of my teasing and the limits placed by the cage. And of course there is more.
"Lovely. On your knees now and bend over. Head down."
I kneel to his side and run my hands along his hips, his recently-spanked and flogged ass, the skin flushed but the bruising not quite yet visible. His back, curving down to his shoulders, is untouched apart from the scratches left by the small serrated blade last night.
I have a sudden urge to make them deeper, to use something sharper, cleaner, to make him bleed there and then, and that image makes me gasp, my throat tightening, my fingers moving as if by themselves onto his ass, rubbing the inflamed skin, feeling the flush in the places where my open hand hit before. He's flinching a little, his breathing deepening, I can hear a whimper and a hissy exhalation coming through his clenched teeth, a slight shiver passing just under his skin. I swallow hard and take a deep, slow breath letting this desire flow through me, taking control of it, refocusing it on what I'm doing just now.
More lube and the small, bulbous plug goes in, smoothly. He won't be terribly comfortable but we are not going far and it's not exactly about his comfort anyway.
I suddenly become aware of the absurdity of the whole scene, the lengths we go to, and the depths we sink to in order to play with that snarling, gold eyed creature that eats and breathes lust but goes beyond lust itself, into that place where focus and oblivion merge.
And yes it's about pleasure but I still sometimes wonder what it is that makes us compelled to reach for pleasure to the place where any notions of dignity and reason become meaningless, and how we've ended up here, on the hardwood floor of an old cottage, between the sea where the fishermen drown every year and the jagged peaks, where people chasing another high – but perhaps not so different kind after all – fall to their deaths every year.
And here I am, my slippery fingers working a piece of moulded plastic into his ass, his cock straining against steel and leather, his moaning making my thighs sticky with desire and as I get up I burst out laughing, not at him and not even at myself but at the sheer delirious nonsense of all that.
"C'mon, J. Get dressed. There is a place I want to show you."
We walk, a short stroll along the road and then to the shore, through a muddy field to a pebble beach, then clamber over the rocks in a shortcut towards the small ruin rising just off the coast. The stone bridge has lost its planks but it can be crossed if you hold on to the parapet walls and take a few careful steps on the crumbling edge.
I let him go first and as he's about half way I press the button on the little remote I earlier slipped in my pocket.
He stops, clutching at the stones, with a loud "Fuuuck..." and for a moment I fear he might slip and fall. It's only a few meters down to the wet rocks below but I wouldn't want him to break anything. But he makes it safely to the other side and I follow him.
He looks at me, a mixture of anger and arousal fighting each other in his expression, melding together, "Fucking hell, I could have fallen," he says, somewhat petulantly.
"You didn't though," I shrug and walk up the path to the small courtyard at the top. It's overgrown with nettles, brambles and tufty grass, the earth bubbling up with dirt and roots and plantlife, filling the space between the crumbling walls.
I sit down against the raised bank of earth, leaning back, looking across the water to the black ridge on the other side. There is a breeze but not too cold, and the seamist has lifted now, the lines and colours clear against the blue of the sky. I close my eyes, breathe deeply in, let my body relax, stretch my legs out and slip my hand down the front of my jeans, touching the wet centre of my desire, my fingers stroking and sliding, finding my clit, hard and so sensitised that I can barely stop myself from moaning loudly, my back arching, pushing my pelvis towards my hand, wanting more.
I open my eyes and he's sitting next to me, staring with that look of intense desire, that longing that turns me on so much, the lines of his face both sharper and cleaner, his mouth in a near-grimace, his upper teeth biting on his lower lip, his chest rising and falling in a pattern of exaggerated breathing. I lick my lips, and show my teeth, partially because I feel like it, and partially for show, my eyes catching his, my right hand still between my legs, my left back on that remote, pressing the button again, holding it longer to speed it up.
I have tested the toy myself, in both orifices, though obviously I don't have the necessary anatomical equipment to check the effect of the increasing intensity of vibrations so close to a prostate. His eyes roll back and he moans, his hand moving to his groin, stopping, then moving again, clutching. I can almost feel the frustration and the pain of his cock prevented from getting hard by the straps, locked away, and although he relaxes a little as I release the switch, he's waiting for the next time, not knowing when it's coming or whether it's coming at all.
"Come closer. Undo my shirt and lick. I want to come."
He moves fast, his fingers shaking as he works the buttons open, brushing my breasts, finding my nipples poking through the sheer lace, stroking.
"Use your mouth. Through the lace."
His lips hot and instant, his tongue pliant; his teeth gentle, just occasionally grazing; delicious shivers through my body. I switch on the vibrator again and he shakes and whimpers into my breasts. My right knee, now bent, is rubbing against his crotch and I can feel the straps and rings of the cock-cage through the layers of fabric, his hips pressing against me.
I let my head fall back onto the grassy back, my eyes half-closed, my fingers moving faster as I get closer, his tongue, lips and fingers frantic on my breasts, the lace soaked with his saliva, my nipples so hard and swollen they seem close to exploding themselves, my clit throbbing in the same rhythm, my cunt clenching and I'm moaning on my edge before tumbling into orgasm, my back arching higher, my left hand clutching the back of his neck, pulling his face into my chest, my fingers grabbing a handful of his hair, my knee pushed between his legs, my fingers perfect just there, there, my pleasure spilling over into a snarl and a scream, and suddenly intensified by realisation of how frustrated his panting arousal is.
I become aware of him soon after, his face between my breasts, his mouth off my now too-sensitive nipple, his breath fast and damp on my skin, my fingers relaxing the grip. I straighten up, his head slides into my lap, my hand still on his neck, he's panting; when I turn his head sideways to look at his face, his eyes are glazed, half-closed, rolling back, his mouth ajar; his hips and legs shaking, almost convulsively.
I run the fingers of my right hand along his lips, drying now but still a little damp, he sucks with a deepening moan, voraciously, desperately and I let him do it for a while, then press the switch on the remote into the off position, tell him to get up; light a cigarette, climb up higher onto the grassy bank and sit down there again, looking at the dark ridge on the other side of the water.
He follows me, more composed now, sits next to me, wordlessly takes a cigarette I offer him, an expression of minor torment on his face.
"Tell me," I say.
"You are ruining me, M. This... this thing is," he hesitates.
I smile, "It can come off. As you know."
He nods. I take the key out of my pocket and show to him.
"Here. You can be free in a minute or two. Of this, and of the whole thing too. I'll take you back to the mainland. Hire a car or take a train from there."
This is a gamble, this last offer, one that implicitly equates ulocking him with ending this adventure, a test that opens a fissure of anxiety in my mind. I hope my hand isn't shaking too visibly.
"You don't really want it off though, do you? Surely. Can't be that bad. Not yet."
I'm trying not to smirk it but he can probably hear a hint of it in my voice.
"No, M. No. Not yet."
''And besides. You want me to ruin you, don't you?''
He inhales deeply, takes a drag on the cigarette, his other hand clutching his knee.
''Yes. Yes, M. I do."
"Good boy," I smile.
I am not sure if the relief is showing on my face, but he laughs a little too, and there is some shared, unspoken understanding that passes between us. I want to do it right, and I think he not only knows that but wants me to do it right too, even if neither of us knows the precise meaning of 'doing it right', even if it isn't possible to grasp it.
I reach over and feel him up through his jeans, along the constrained bulge of his not-quite-full-erection, lower down to his balls, leave my hand there, press harder, then grip as I feel him tensing up, his hips pushing forward, his upper back and neck away, a half-growl half-moan rising in his throat.
"Mine," I laugh, then let go, get up to go back.
This piece has been posted for Molly's Kink of the Week. For more locked-up hotness, click here: