Fifty One Shades of Aaron and Jackson

by GinnyNoTonic

Totally AU. There may be a slight clue in the title what this story is about.

FIFTY ONE SHADES OF AARON AND JACKSON

He walked into the club––no, he didn't walk, he strode, he strutted; this was his place, the place where he felt most at home, where he felt at ease. Usually. But not tonight; tonight, he was restless, tonight, he was bored, tonight, he needed something new. No, not something new, someone new... new meat.

He had had a couple of drinks at the bar downstairs to start the evening, swift double vodka tonics; now he was on soft drinks, he didn't want to dull his senses, any of them. He had a good feeling about tonight.

The music was loud, pounding through his body, exciting him. Still early, not yet midnight and already the bar was busy, the dance floor full of men, hot men, some already without shirts, their bodies glistening with oil and sweat. He stood and watched, he raked his hand through his short spiky hair as his blue eyes skimmed over the crowded dance floor. He knew he looked good, the skin-tight leather trousers he was wearing clung seductively, hiding nothing... nothing... and the sleeveless tee shirt only highlighted his toned arms and the ripped muscles of his abs. He could feel eyes watching him as he prowled through the closely packed bodies; he knew he needn't go home alone tonight if he didn't want to. But so many of the faces were familiar and, for a number of them, it was more than just their faces that were familiar; he had had their bodies––or they had had his. But those days were gone now; he knew what he liked.

He felt a hand on his arse, caressing; he turned. The man was older than him, much older, his hair was short and greying; he knew his name, but he had never used it in all their encounters, he only thought of him as 'the teacher'. He was looking at him now with hot, dark, wanting eyes, eyes that looked down, indicating the rigid cock that bulged to attention beneath his trousers.

Why not, the younger man thought. At the moment there was nothing else on offer, nothing else exciting him. He wouldn't do it for anyone else, it would be a backward step after all, but the teacher was different and he was always good. He nodded once, his assent; he saw a brief smile flick across the teacher's face before he dropped his eyes, bowed his head; he knew his place.

Lacking anything else, the teacher crooked a finger into the neck of the tee shirt the younger man was wearing, pulling him, making him follow him. He led him away from the bar, the dance floor; he could have gone to the darker recesses of the club but he wanted a bit of privacy. He pushed open the door to the toilets and stood, waiting as they quickly emptied. Everyone knew the teacher; everyone envied the men he chose.

In a silent minute the toilets were empty as the occupants scurried to obey the unspoken dismissal of the teacher, the younger man stood, his head bent, his eyes downcast, waiting. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his pulse rising, racing; anticipation was everything.

With the last man gone, the teacher jammed the single chair provided under the door handle; sometimes, an audience added to the entertainment, but not tonight, this was for him, for them. He stood for a moment, looking at the other man, still standing quietly, still with his head bowed, waiting.

"Get naked," he breathed, his voice less than a whisper. He prowled, slowly, around the young man as he peeled off his tee shirt, as he lowered the zip on the leather trousers, knowing he was watched as his cock sprang free. The teacher smirked a little to himself as he noted the care with which the young man laid the expensive clothes over one of the sinks.

Saying nothing, needing no instruction, the young man dropped to his knees. And still he kept his eyes averted, his head bowed; still he waited.

"Stand up," said the teacher at last; he could imagine the ache in his knees now, the tension in his cock, the anticipation running through his body, wondering.

"Hands," said the teacher, allowing himself another smile as the young man immediately held his hands out, his wrists crossed, in front of him. Slowly he undid the leather thong he wore around his neck; it was always good to be prepared.

"Behind you, I think," he said. It was gratifying to see how quickly the young man moved, how quickly he twisted around and held his arms out from his body behind him. Such obedience turned the teacher on.

Quickly, the teacher laced the thong around the crossed wrists, tying an elaborate knot. It wasn't excessively tight, it didn't need to be, suggestion was everything. He prowled slowly round the young man again.

"I'm glad to see you've kept your piercing." His voice was low and rich, like seductive velvet. His hand flashed, twisting the nipple ring sharply, sending a delicious thrill of pain through the young man's body to his cock.

Arousing him. Reminding him of the night he had been pierced. The teacher had told him it would be coming, sometime, somewhere. But that night he had played with him for hours, had kept him blindfolded, used the tightest nipple clamps he had ever used on his tits. He'd used ice too that night, but nowhere near his nipple, he'd let it stray teasingly over his cock, he'd melted it inside him. It was only as he removed the nipple clamps, as the blood screamed painfully, achingly back, that he had pushed the needle through. And left it there. He'd taken the blindfold off then, made him look at it, touch it, ease the thick needle backwards and forwards, then he fucked him with it still in place. Only then did he replace the needle with the small ring he still wore, all the time telling him how good it made him look, how erect it kept his nipple.

The teacher caught hold of the nipple ring again, more gently this time, pulling it towards him, knowing the young man had little choice but to follow. He moved until his face, his mouth, was level with the younger man's ear.

"There are no toys here," he whispered, his breath warm against the young man's ear, "well, not many," he amended with a shrug, "so you don't need a word. Speak! Do you understand me?" The sharp sound of flesh slapping flesh, a sudden hiss of breath taken in punctuated his words.

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes, master." At last the younger man spoke, but only because he had been instructed to do so.

"So you can cry and sob for mercy all you want––and you know I can make you do that," there was a smile in his voice, a thrill of anticipation, "but there are no safe words tonight."

The younger man felt his excitement rise up a notch; he knew he was being played with already; he was familiar with the teacher's games. It was a game that thrilled him, however he played it.

He stood immobile, he knew better than to move until he was told, he kept his eyes lowered but he was aware, so aware of every movement the teacher made, every step he took, bringing him closer, always closer.

At last the teacher stopped his pacing and stood close to the younger man, almost touching his side, but not quite. He could feel the excitement, the anticipation, the dread spilling from him, an almost physical thing. He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled something out, palming it, although he knew the young man wouldn't dare raise his eyes.

He made a sudden movement––he felt the young man struggle not to jump––as he clasped his rigid cock. He pulled a little, stretching, then with a rapid, practiced movement fastened a leather cock ring around the base of his shaft, enjoying the sudden gasp of breath, hastily stifled, as it ripped some of the delicate, curling hairs from his tender skin. No, his only concern was seating it properly at the end of his shaft, prolonging his pleasure, prolonging his agony.

The younger man caught his breath, held it as the teacher seated the cock ring to his satisfaction; one hand, one finger adjusting it, the second holding his balls, squeezing, pulling. With his lowered eyes, he could see the teacher working, see his fingers encircling his cock; he knew this cock ring now, it was one of the teacher's favourites... the encircling fingers pressed and yes! he felt the sharp, stabbing pain, the gift of the tiny spikes that lined it, that would bite deeper into him as his cock became engorged with blood that couldn't escape. He tried to steady his breathing, he wasn't ready to welcome the pain yet.

The teacher began moving round him again, admiring his handiwork; he was in no hurry although he knew it couldn't be a long game–– not this time.

"Look at me," he whispered.

The younger man did as he was told, striving the keep the expression in his liquid blue eyes demure, acquiescent.

The teacher raised his fingers to the younger man's forehead, barely touching him, sweeping them down, closing his eyelids.

"You're blindfolded," he whispered, "until I tell you otherwise. Open your mouth," he waited for the second it took the younger man to open his mouth then slid two fingers in, over his tongue, his thumb and pinkie finger stretched wide across his face. He held them there for a second, two, ten, as the younger man's breathing settled around them.

"You've got a cock gag in your mouth, you know which one's my favourite," he purred, "it was cold on your tongue as I slid it in, you can taste it." He stood back and watched as the younger man steadied his breathing, letting the scene wash over him, settle into his mind. God he was beautiful, standing naked, his arms held behind his back, his cock erect and decorated––he could imagine how much it was throbbing, needing release already. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open but the teacher knew he wouldn't make a sound. He looked around him, some improvisation was needed. He pulled one of the coarse paper towels from the holder, quickly folding it as though he was making a paper aeroplane. When he was satisfied, he laid it to one side on one of the sinks.

He looked at the younger man again; as hot as he looked just standing there, waiting, he needed some support for what was coming.

"I'm going to move you," he growled, "get you into position. Understand?"

A single nod of the head was all; the teacher gripped his shoulders, guided him a few steps, turned him then leant him forward against the thin false wall between the stalls; leant him so that only his shoulders and one side of his face, gently turned, lay against the wall. His abdomen, his hips were away from the wall. Carefully, he spread his legs; he would move him again later, when he needed to enter him.

He ran his eyes over the patient, naked body in front of him, admiring the swell of his buttocks, his skin pale; a thrill ran through him as he thought of the red marks that would soon blemish that perfect skin, marks that he would put there.

He began undoing his belt, sliding the tongue out of the large buckle, unthreading it through the loops of his trousers. Once it was free, he ran it through his fingers once, twice, judging the weight of it, knowing the younger man would be listening, trying to guess what he was doing, what was coming.

The crack of the leather coming into sharp contact sounded loud in the echoing room. The younger man jumped, he couldn't help himself, the draft of the passing belt had stirred his skin as it crashed against the wall beside him.

The teacher caught the jolt of his movement; his reaction was immediate, no time for conscious thought, he brought his hand down, a stinging blow across that tempting arse.

Quickly, not wanting to lose the momentum, he picked up the folded paper aeroplane and lightly, so lightly, touched the point to the soft skin at the nape of the younger man's neck. He lifted it off again, almost as quickly, before touching him again, an inch or two lower.

The stinging slap to his arse had sent a flash of excitement to the young man's throbbing cock. It hadn't hurt although there had been nothing gentle about it. What now, he thought as he felt the sharp point on his skin? A knife? A needle? Whatever it was, it was getting lower, sharper. It was getting harder to keep still, he was out of practice, he thought to himself; the sensations flooding his body were becoming too intense, his cock was aching, needing release.

The teacher sensed the growing struggle within the younger man and smiled to himself. His own cock was hard, appreciative, he stroked it once, twice as he trailed the sharp point of paper to the top of the younger man's arse crack.

Another sudden jerk!

Another sharp, stinging slap, harder this time.

"You're not keeping still," he growled, his voice low, hot. He moved, sliding his body around until he was standing sideways to the younger man, his hips, his rigid cock hard against him. "I told you to keep still."

His hand moved quickly, finding the pierced nipple, sliding two fingers either side of it, a second's caress, then a rapid movement that sent a lightning strike of pain, of arousal to his groin, his balls, his aching cock.

With a ferocity that was unexpected, the tongue of the belt bit into the soft skin of his buttocks, just once, but with all the force and the short length of belt the teacher allowed himself; the immediate redness of the stinging blow satisfied him. He bent, retrieving his paper aeroplane, he drew the point of it slowly down the younger man's crack towards his arse, watching as the muscles in his buttocks clenched, as his hole contracted and relaxed, wanting.

"I wish we had more time," he purred, "I miss seeing your arse criss-crossed with thin red lines, watching you cum when you don't know if you're feeling pain or pleasure. Pain is the ultimate pleasure, the ultimate turn on––but you know that, don't you? That's why your cock is aching, throbbing, desperate for release. And that's why I'm not letting you cum; I'm enjoying your agony too much."

Another stinging bite of the belt left its mark. The teacher reached around and lightly ran his fingers along the length of the younger man's cock; he could feel his body shuddering, trembling with excitement, arousal, the effort of keeping still. He griped his cock, jerking it once, twice then stopping. Still holding it, he drew his point of sharp paper again down his crack to his arse, teasing it.

"Shall I pierce you again?" he breathed.

The young man held his breath for a second, his mind racing even as he tried to remain rigidly still. It was a needle then? Fuck, it would hurt, there hadn't been enough time, he wasn't as far into the scene as he needed to be; last time, they had played for hours, he'd been high on the endorphins of pain and pleasure before he had pierced him. He tried to steady his breathing.

The teacher drew the paper in circles around his hole, watching it pucker, wanting it filled, dreading such intimacy. He could hear the younger man's breathing quicken. As silently as he could, using one hand, he pulled a condom from his pocket, ripped the small packet open and rolled it over himself.

He put his fingers to the younger man's lips, touching them briefly.

"The gag's away; you can scream if it hurts," he breathed close to his ear, "but no one will hear you; even if they are right outside the door, they are deaf because they know we're in here. I'm going to undo your hands; hold onto the partition and keep them there." He pulled the leather thong that bound the younger man's wrists; the knot slipped undone with surprising ease.

The teacher ran the edge of his nails downwards along the younger man's flanks, so close; he heard his sharp intake of breath. He could see a light sheen of sweat gilding his body, anticipating the agony of a piercing. He pulled his hips back slightly, displaying his arse, his hole. Moving rapidly now, not wanting to waste the tension he had created, the teacher spat quietly on his own fingers then stroked it over his covered cockhead; it would have to do.

Without warning, he plunged hard into that delicious arse, his own need driving him on, driving him deeper, burying his whole shaft, ramming time after time as his excitement grew, as his balls crashed against the younger man's buttocks as they clenched, contracting wildly as his orgasm overcame him, as every feeling centred on the crescendo that took his body, shuddered through him and left him breathless.

He stood still for a minute or two, leaving his cock still in the younger man's arse, relishing the tightness still holding it, still feeling the shudders of need running through the younger man's body, enjoying making him wait.

At last he pulled out, slipping the condom off as he did so.

"Kneel," he snapped. He knew that would be hard, he knew the tension that would be flooding the young man, he knew he would hardly be able to keep upright.

"If I touched you, you'd cum, wouldn't you?" he purred, standing in front of him. "Answer me."

"Yes," gasped the younger man.

As he spoke, the teacher slipped two fingers into the corner of his mouth, keeping it open as, one-handed, he squeezed the contents of the condom into his mouth.

"We can't waste such good spunk, can we?" he purred. "Swallow!" He barked the last command, watching as the young man obeyed and swallowed his cum as he poured it into his mouth.

He turned from him then, he looked in the mirror, turned a tap on, letting the water splash noisily into the sink, all the while making him wait.

At last, he came back to stand close to him; he pushed his foot roughly against his knees, spreading his legs a little, giving himself a better view.

"Jerk off," he ordered.

Hardly were the words past his lips before the young man had his hand to his cock, pumping it frantically. It was only moments, seconds, before he came, copiously, crying as the teacher ripped at the cock ring, letting him properly cum, crying at the relief of shooting his load, his orgasm gripping, clenching his body, shuddering from his head to his toes, leaving him shaking, sated.

The teacher watched him, enjoying the show. He always enjoyed watching them pleasure themselves afterwards.

"Stand up!" he snapped knowing that would be hard too after the building tension, the release.

The younger man stood quickly, he kept his head bowed, even as he tried to get his breathing under control; he was shaking, excitement still coursing through his body. He felt wonderful.

The teacher touched his fingers to the younger man's eyes. "Game over," he breathed into his ear.

At once, the younger man opened his eyes, raised his head, stood straighter. He pulled the teacher to him, sliding his hand behind his head and brought their lips together, kissing him hard, pushing his tongue into his mouth, letting him taste his own cum that still flavoured his mouth.

"I miss your collar," smiled the teacher as they stood apart. He ran his finger around the crease of skin at the younger man's neck.

"Maybe sometime I'll give you a weekend and you can collar me again." said the young man, returning his smile as he began to pull on his clothes.

They left the toilets together, conscious of many eyes in the club watching them. Pausing, they kissed deeply again, both knowing that there were any number of men in the club who would have gladly swapped places with either of them. With a last smile, a last touch of their hands, they moved apart.

The young man made his way to the bar, he wanted a drink, but still not alcohol; he was buzzing, invigorated, every sense alive. He ordered his juice and stood at the bar enjoying the just-fucked euphoria that washed over his body. He was still as randy as fuck; he still wanted to play.

The press of bodies seemed thicker than ever; many of them dancing, moving, showing themselves off, displaying the goods clearly on offer. The dance floor was a sea of hot near-nakedness, glistening skin and wanton abandonment. He let his blue eyes roam over the crowd, that jaded sense of nothing, no one being quite what he was looking for, returning; he felt a prickle of irritation run through him. He eased his way through the crowds, looking for a better vantage point. More than one man stopped briefly in front of him, pausing with their eyes downcast, but none of them were right. He touched them briefly, blandly, shrugged a half apologetic smile and moved on. He turned back to the bar, ready to order a drink, a real drink this time. And then he saw him. Standing out like a sore thumb, the checked shirt he was wearing marking him out as new, a virgin; the word popped into the younger man's head, he felt the first touch of excitement thrill through his body. He waved a note at the barman and was quickly served, choosing a bottle of chilled water; he took a deep slug from it, never taking his eyes from the man in the checked shirt. He watched him, watched his nervous glances to his left then right; even from the distance of the length of the bar, he could see him anxiously biting his lip, lips half hidden in a short beard. Eventually, he forced himself away from the bar.

The younger man moved then; his interest was piqued, he didn't want to lose him in the crowd. He weaved his way through the crowd of bodies until he was right behind the man in the out-of-place checked shirt.

"Loose the shirt," he leant forward, speaking as close to the other man's ear as he could. "Unless you haven't got it to flaunt," he added, teasingly.

Checked shirt man started to speak but too many of his words were getting lost in the noise; the younger man hooked his fingers over the collar of the offending shirt and pulled, backwards and down, catching, capturing his muscular upper arms, arms that were hidden by a tee shirt.

"Fuck! You are way too overdressed for this place," he said, as much to himself as to the other man, not sure if he could hear him.

He pulled, with surprising force, jerking the other man backwards, unbalanced. Still with his fingers hooked through his clothes, he led him away from the noise to a dark corner where at least they had a chance of hearing each other speak.

The man in the check shirt let himself be pulled, directed by the fingers entwined in his half-off shirt; the younger man smiled to himself; that was a start, a good sign.

"My name's Jackson," said the man in the check shirt as they stopped in a slightly darker, slightly quieter corner of the club.

"Jackson," purred the other man, trying the name on his tongue; it was a good name, he gave it as his first name, but it could be a surname too. It could be whispered, breathed; it could be snapped out, used to command. The man smiled, pictures already playing in his head.

"Nice to meet you, Jackson," the other man said, "your first time here?" It wasn't really a question, he knew the answer, he could tell just watching him. He wondered if this was really the place he thought it was, the place he wanted it to be; time would tell!

"Yes, I..." He paused, glancing around him, "...is it that obvious?" he asked.

The other man shrugged. "Very," he said uncompromisingly. "But everyone has a first time." He looked directly into Jackson's eyes; they looked dark, like dark, rich chocolate, but that might just be a trick of the low club lighting. He quirked an eyebrow at him, it was a question but he didn't know if he realised it.

"You can call me Aaron," he continued, holding Jackson's eyes; he moved closer until his mouth was almost skimming against the soft skin of his ear, "but if you want to play, you can call me Sir," he purred, "or Master."

In the cold light of day, it would sound ridiculous, he knew, but he also knew how wired Jackson would be, even if he had been drinking, how every sense would be tingling with fear, with anticipation, with the need to explore, experience.

"Play?" Jackson mouthed the word rather than said it aloud.

Aaron sighed; be careful what you wish for was right enough, so he had been bored, wanting new meat, but after hot sex with the teacher, did he want this new? This virgin?

"You know what this place is, don't you? What these guys are into?" He waited, giving Jackson a chance to answer. "It's not just an ordinary gay club," he added as Jackson didn't say anything.

"Yes, I know," replied Jackson.

Aaron leaned against the wall; looked him up and down, his gaze, his manner, everything about him arrogant, exuding confidence, superiority.

"Keep your eyes down," he snapped harshly as he saw Jackson's eyes begin to roam over his own body, returning the exploration.

Jackson's eyes flashed up to meet Aaron's.

"Well, that's what you want, isn't it?" he said, his tone relaxed, reasonable, now. "To sub? To be told what to do? To obey? To be punished when you don't and to accept that punishment gladly, knowing you're giving your dom such huge sexual pleasure when he punishes you, that a fraction of it might spill over onto you... if he lets you cum, that is?" Aaron raised an eyebrow again, waiting for an answer. It was the last time this virgin sub would keep him waiting, he thought.

"Yes," whispered Jackson, "yes." The words were lost in the music, but he lowered his eyes from Aaron's.

Aaron smiled to himself; well that was easy, he thought to himself, perhaps a bit too easy; too much compliance and a scene lost some of its excitement.

"Follow me," he said pushing himself away from the wall and beginning to make his way back to the dance floor, back through the tight press of bodies towards the entrance of the club. Not once did he look around to see if Jackson was following him; if he was, all well and good and they could go somewhere it was easier to talk, set boundaries. If not, well, one virgin sub was no loss.

Automatically he put out his hand to be stamped for re-entry as he left the club, although he knew he wouldn't be back that night; if the sub––if Jackson––wasn't following, there were other clubs, other bars... if he wanted.

But leaving the club, he knew; he heard the second swing of the door behind him. Exiting onto a narrow lane, he caught sight of his shadow in the plate glass of a boutique designer shop; he allowed himself a small smile. Now, where to go first?

After a few moments' thought, a few apparently decisive steps, he knew where he would go. Not home, not to play straight away. He needed to know if the virgin sub––if Jackson––knew what he was getting into, if it was really what he wanted.

The bar was small, tucked away in one of the city centre back streets. It was discrete, exclusive, this late, there were still a comfortable number of people occupying the tables, although it was far from being over-crowded. The lighting was subtle but allowed Aaron a better view of his companion than the very subdued lights at the club. He nodded to his companion to find a seat as he went to the bar and ordered two vodka tonics; he had decided they weren't going to do anything tonight; he didn't want to rush his virgin! Anticipation, after all, was part of the fun!

"Here," he said, pushing the drink across the table at him.

"Thanks. What is it?" asked Jackson.

"Vodka tonic," replied Aaron, taking a sip of his drink, watching him over the rim of his glass.

"Oh, I don't drink vodka," blurted out Jackson.

Across the table, Aaron quirked an eyebrow at him although he said nothing, only waited, seeing if he understood.

It took seconds, half a minute maybe, of his steady gaze, of not moving, not responding, not asking what he would prefer. Just that steady, questioning gaze.

"Oh!" Jackson mouthed the word as the reason for Aaron's stillness, quietness dawned on him. He looked down and took a sip of the drink then another under the penetrating gaze of the man across the table from him.

"Are you sure you want to try this?" asked Aaron. At least in this bar they could hear themselves think, speak.

Jackson nodded. "Yes," he answered, "I'm sorry... about the drink, I didn't realise we were..."

"We weren't," replied Aaron crisply, "I just wondered what you'd do." He held Jackson's eyes. "Why?" he asked.

"Why what?" asked Jackson

"Why d'you want to get into this? D'you get off on pain?"

"D'you get off on inflicting pain?" countered Jackson quickly.

Aaron laughed. "It's not about pain," he answered. "It's about sensation, intense experiences; a dom shouldn't take his sub anywhere he can't go. It's about trust. The pain is almost a by-product, if you like." He leaned closer to Jackson across the table. "And the sex is hotter than anything you can imagine," he added, momentarily loosing himself in the dark, chocolate eyes, burning with frank lust that drank in every word.

"I don't know you, how can I trust you?" asked Jackson.

Aaron smiled, his eyes catching the light, glinting wickedly. "Ah, that's all part of the game," he said.

He swallowed the rest of his drink in a single mouthful then quickly stood, surprising Jackson.

"Tomorrow, here, eight o'clock, or spend the rest of your life wondering."

Surprising Jackson again with the graceful speed of his movement, he leant forwards, cupping Jackson's face in his hands, and kissed him. Not a simple kiss of greeting, not a friendly kiss, but a hungry kiss, a kiss of passion and promise; a lip-crushing kiss, a kiss where his tongue flicked into his mouth, tasting, exploring deeply before pulling out and leaving him breathless. Before Jackson had a chance to respond, to catch his breath, he was gone; no backward look, no pleading, leaving only anticipation and certainty in his wake.

Aaron walked quickly through the streets, his step purposeful, as his thoughts strayed to the man he had just left; he smiled to himself, he would be there tomorrow night, his kiss had told him as much.

It was later still when he finally got home––well, not home, but to the tiny apartment he rented in the city; his extravagance, his play pad! He didn't like to mix his pleasure––his extreme pleasure––with his home life, he didn't want his subs, not that he'd had many, wandering round Emmerdale, maybe talking to his friends, his family, maybe saying something they shouldn't. So he indulged himself; he denied himself, he scrimped and saved to pay for and furnish and keep his indulgence.

It was nothing more than a large bed-sit in an old house with solid walls; it had a small but functional kitchen and bathroom and it was private.

He slid his key into the lock and let himself into the small square hall, flicking a switch, letting muted light illuminate the small space. Going through the door in front of him, he entered the main room; he repeated the procedure with the light switch but, this time, a number of small lights glowed in the dark ceiling, hardly giving any light, just giving the room a warm, cave-like glow.

Most of the room was occupied by a king-size bed, the quilt still crumpled, the pillows tumbled against the gilt-coloured bars of the bedstead. Matching, though shorter, bars formed the footstead. At the foot of the bed was a sofa piled high with cushions. Aaron walked to a dresser and flipped 'play' on a music machine standing there; soft music with a deep pulsing heartbeat filled the small room. He made a quick detour to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, lifting a bottle of water from the fridge. At the bed he stripped off his clothes, tumbling them all, save the leather trousers, into a laundry basket, then dimmed the lights until they were no more than stars in his personal sky. He closed his eyes, prepared to dream, to imagine.

...

Jackson passed a restless night, tossing and turning in his bed; even keeping his right hand busy didn't seem to help this time; his mind was too busy, too many pictures forming, pictures that were hazy, unclear even as his own knowledge was hazy and unclear. When he paused to think, he could hardly believe that he had gone there, walked through the door of that particular club, actually spoken to someone, not just someone, to Aaron, a dom. Until he had seen him in the slightly better light of the bar, he hadn't realised he was so young, too young? But how old did you have to be to be a dom? There was something about him; a dark air of brooding confidence, his eyes, blue he thought, had driven into him, hinting, promising so much. He moved with panther-like grace, yet always coiled, ready to pounce, take his prey. Ready to take him? He didn't need to go to the bar the next night, he had made no promises, he told himself, repeating it like a mantra yet knowing he would be there, that he couldn't not be there. That he was counting the hours.

...

Aaron pushed through the doors into the bar at seven forty-five and wasn't surprised to see Jackson already sitting at the table they had occupied the night before. He smiled inside to himself but didn't let anything of his amusement show on his face.

"You need to get a watch," he said, sliding gracefully into the seat opposite, his words dispelling the wide smile of welcome on Jackson's face. "I think I said eight o'clock." He kept his face impassive, only quirking an eyebrow, asking a question.

"I'm sorry... I just... I didn't want to be late," Jackson said lamely, stumbling uncertainly over his words. He was usually outgoing, confident, but something about the young man in front of him reduced him to an awkward gibbering wreck, a confused mix of feelings. Excitement, dancing nerves and quivering anticipation were a heady cocktail and one he wasn't coping with very well at the moment.

Aaron said nothing for a long moment, he had made his point. He pushed a £20 note across the table.

"Vodka tonic, double. And whatever you want," Aaron said, steadily watching the other man.

Jackson slid out of the padded leather bench seat and crossed to the bar, fingering the money as he waited his turn to be served.

Aaron had his back to the bar but had no desire to turn round, to watch. He knew part of the game was to appear calm, aloof even, especially now, at the beginning when they were both trying to get the measure of each other. It was different with a virgin though; he didn't know the questions to ask. Aaron knew though; he had been taught well, he knew it was his responsibility to make sure this virgin sub understood the game before it started. In spite of his cool exterior, Aaron felt a hot thrill of anticipation run through his body as he thought of what might be.

Jackson returned to the table and slid Aaron's drink across the polished wood towards him. He fumbled in his pocket, finding the change and dropped it onto the table, next to Aaron's glass. His own glass, matching, stood in front of him, untouched until Aaron had taken a first sip of his own.

Aaron hid his smirk of amusement in his glass. "You didn't need to get the same as me," he said, schooling his features into a mask of cool detachment.

"I wasn't sure," admitted Jackson.

"That's okay," said Aaron, "that's what we're here for, to lay down some boundaries, some ground rules, so we both know where we are. Agreed?"

Jackson nodded; rules, that sounded a bit serious, boundaries... a tingle of anticipation snaked down the length of his spine, settling somewhere in his groin.

"Okay, then," said Aaron, accepting his nod. "So, to start with the basics, you are gay, right?"

"Of course I'm gay," huffed Jackson, a spark of irritation entering his voice, the first time he had been anything less than placid in Aaron's presence.

"Just checking," said Aaron, his neutral tone masking his quick humour as he grasped Jackson's annoyance. "So, are you a top or a bottom?" He quirked one dark eyebrow questioningly.

"I have bottomed," admitted Jackson reluctantly.

"Meaning you think you're a top," smirked Aaron, his eyes sparkling with delight; a top tended to find it harder to sub, it added spice to the scene. "If we do this," he continued more soberly," you're not a top or a bottom, you're a sub, my sub, you do what I say, what I want. Disobedience is punished." His voice dropped to a low growl, his blue eyes glittered, visible even in the dim light of the bar.

Jackson felt that lurch of excitement rip traitorously through his body again; punishment sounded bad, so dangerous, so hot.

"D'you fancy me?" asked Aaron suddenly. He lent back in his seat, his eyes looking directly at Jackson, challenging him.

Jackson felt a dark flush spread across his face; he fervently hoped that the subtle lighting hid his embarrassment.

"It doesn't matter anyway," said Aaron. "This isn't about who fancies who... just so long as you know you're not my boyfriend, okay?" He looked intently at Jackson; while he would never chose a sub who he didn't find attractive––and he hoped his sub would feel the same about him––he didn't want to be caught up in any ridiculous romance; that just didn't do it for him.

"Okay," said Jackson slowly, letting that information work its way through his mind. "So what are we then, strangers who fuck? Friends with benefits?"

Aaron smirked, "Let's say we're on an adventure of the senses and see where it takes us," he suggested. "And I'm not looking for some twenty-four seven sub either," he continued, "this is just as and when I feel like playing."

Jackson nodded; he would go with that for the moment. He was glad Aaron hadn't pursued the question of whether he fancied him––because he did, so much. From the moment he had first seen him in the club, his brooding, speculative gaze sweeping over all the men, he had watched from the corner of his eye, seen other men preening a little as they felt his gaze on them, flitting over them, they deflated, just a little. He had never expected his eye to rest on him... and stop.

"So," said Aaron briskly, "there are a few things you need to know and a few things we need to decide. Firstly, any scene we do will be in private in my apartment; if we ever happen to be out together we're just friends. To begin a scene, I'll say the words 'it's time now'. When I do, you assume a respectful position and from then, do nothing unless I give you permission."

Jackson flicked his tongue quickly over his dry lips; he could feel his pulse beginning to quicken.

Aaron noticed the small movement and allowed himself an inner smile of satisfaction. "We need a safe word," he continued, "one that we can both remember easily. Not 'stop'," he added sarcastically.

"I know that much," snapped Jackson, his dark eyes opening wide in shock at himself even as the words were out of his mouth.

"You're allowed to voice an opinion," said Aaron, his words cool in contrast to the heat building within him, "at the moment." He paused. "So, what word would you like?"

Jackson thought for a moment, "Poltergeist,' he said decisively.

"Poltergeist?" repeated Aaron, surprised.

"The film scared me," explained Jackson, "this scares me. And excites me," he added after the briefest of pauses.

Aaron allowed his amusement to show then, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"Do you want to set boundaries, limits, now?" Aaron asked.

"Erm... I don't know," Jackson spoke hesitantly; "I'm not sure."

"Okay," said Aaron slowly, "think if there is anything you absolutely don't want to do or try and then tell me. Before we do anything. Understand?" He waited until Jackson nodded before he continued speaking, his voice low and urgent, needing Jackson to understand. "I promise you I will not do anything that might cause you harm," his normally blue eyes were dark with the intensity of his words as he held Jackson's chocolate brown gaze. "And I promise you that I know exactly how everything I will do to you will feel." He stopped speaking.

Jackson's eyes widened as the significance of Aaron's words sunk in.

"You've sub'd," he breathed, his surprise clear in his tone.

Aaron shrugged, "Most doms have," he replied, "it's the best way to learn"

Jackson let the information filter through his mind; he hadn't really considered becoming a dom as a learning process; if he had thought at all, he would have thought you were just one or the other, dom or sub, no movement, no fluidity between the two.

"Any questions? Do you still want to do this? Aaron asked, holding his breath, surprised at suddenly how much he wanted this.

"No questions, not just now," answered Jackson quietly "and yes, I still want to do this."

"Okay," breathed Aaron, allowing a hint of a smile to cross his lips. "Can you be free on Friday night? The weekend? Say nine o'clock Friday until midnight Sunday; fifty-one hours."

"Friday," echoed Jackson, that was almost a week away.

"We're not rushing this," said Aaron, allowing himself to smile properly for the first time. "It's not about me tying you up, whipping you, getting my rocks off and expecting you to enjoy it. It's about taking time, building trust and exploring sensations until you experience something better than you ever dreamed possible. So Friday; that gives you time to think of anything else you want to ask," he reached into his pocket, pulled out a slip of paper, looking at it, but he didn't hand it over immediately. "It gives you time to change your mind," he added quietly. "Text me, don't phone, if there's anything. If you still want to, Friday, nine o'clock, here's my address and number..." he slid the piece of paper across the table, "... be there. And no drinking beforehand." He raised an eyebrow quizzically, looking at Jackson.

Slowly Jackson nodded, "I'll be there," he said.

"I'll look forward to it then," said Aaron, his voice suddenly dark, almost husky.

For a moment, neither of them moved, they only held each other's eyes, an undercurrent of electricity, a tension, running between them now that the decision seemed to have been made.

"Right!" said Aaron, moving quickly to stand, breaking the spell. "I'm away!"

"Already!" yelped Jackson, surprised. "Don't you want another drink or something?"

"Not tonight, sweetheart," he smirked, knowing his sudden departure would throw Jackson off balance, just a little bit. "It's Sunday and I never play past midnight on a school night."

"You're a teacher?" exclaimed Jackson in surprise.

"No," replied Aaron comfortably, "but I do have to work tomorrow" and he didn't want to miss the last bus back to Emmerdale, he thought to himself. Knowing he would have at least one drink with Jackson, the bus had been the only option, he certainly wasn't going to pay the money for a taxi so if he missed the bus, it would be a long walk.

"Until Friday then," he said softly, suddenly surprising Jackson, throwing him again, with a fleeting kiss to his lips before briskly turning on his heel and leaving the bar.

Leaving Jackson breathless with surprise and anticipation.

...

Aaron prowled around the small apartment; telling Jackson to come at nine o'clock gave him plenty of time for his preparations, now he looked around, checking everything. The sheets were clean on the bed, the thick rugs over the polished wood floor were freshly hoovered, the cushions were in plentiful supply on the sofa at the end of the bed. As for anything else––well, that was carefully out of sight for the moment, Jackson didn't need to see those straight away.

He wandered into the small kitchen; everything was ready there too. He glanced at himself in a full length mirror as he went back into the main room. Yes, he would do, still damp from his shower, he wore only a pair of tight black jeans and a black vest top. His feet were bare of socks or shoes ; yes, he looked good enough.

He could feel the churning of anticipation in his stomach, butterflies, a thousand butterflies winging their way through his body. But not to be nervous wouldn't do at all; the nerves were part of it, especially with someone new, his virgin sub. He knew some people coped with booze, with pills; that wasn't for him, it never had been and he had always chosen his partners carefully. He glanced at his phone; there had been no questioning or cancelling texts during the week. It was now eight fifty-five––at least he wasn't early this time, he had learnt that much.

At exactly nine o'clock, the doorbell rang.

Pausing only long enough to take a deep, steadying breath, he opened the door.

There was that checked shirt again, or another very similar; they would have to have words about that––later.

"Hi," he breathed, opening the door wider, inviting him in.

Jackson followed his direction into the main room, his eyes widening slightly as he saw the large bed.

"This is... nice," commented Jackson, his eyes flicking around the room, looking.

Aaron laughed, "What were you expecting? A mediaeval torture chamber? A total dom's dungeon with racks and beams to hang you suspended from the ceiling and an array of whips lining the walls? There you go, sit down," he pointed to the sofa. "Some guys are into that really heavy bondage stuff," he shrugged, "some women too, but it's not my scene. Sorry if you're disappointed," he added, arching one eyebrow wryly at him.

"No... I'm not... it's just..." He let the words die on his tongue, in truth he hadn't known what to expect, but in the five days since he'd seen Aaron, in the five days of waiting, his imagination had been in overdrive. But he certainly hadn't imagined this small apartment, warm, comfortable and... homely.

"Here," said Aaron, turning, handing him a glass.

"Wine?" questioned Jackson, looking at the pearlescent contents of the glass, watching bubbles rising to the surface. "I thought you didn't do alcohol when you... at times like these?" Jackson finished awkwardly.

"It's a very little wine mixed with a fair amount of lemonade," Aaron half smiled. "I thought you might have first-night nerves," he shrugged, not admitting to the mix of excitement and apprehension dancing along every nerve in his own body. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Yes... no... I didn't have any tea," admitted Jackson.

Saying nothing, Aaron disappeared into the small kitchen. It was only a matter of seconds before he returned, carefully carrying a well-loaded tray. Filling all the available space were small bowls and dishes: olives, plain and stuffed, cubes of cheeses, small rolls of cold meat, a variety of salads, small squares of bread and delicately cut fruit, all of it arranged in an attractive display. He placed the tray on a low table in front of the sofa and pulled a couple of cushions down to the floor, dropping gracefully to sit on them.

"Eat," he said handing Jackson a plate from under one of the bowls, keeping a second for himself.

"Is this..." began Jackson hesitantly.

"This is just sharing a bit of food together, an icebreaker," smiled Aaron, helping himself to some salad. "So tell me Jackson, what do you do?"

For a while they just ate, talking easily, sharing information about each other, even laughing together. Aaron could see some of the tension beginning to slip away from Jackson as he relaxed, eased into the evening. That was good, thought Aaron, watching him; it would be all the more of a jolt to his system when they started to play.

When they had finished eating, Aaron gathered the empty dishes back onto the tray and removed it to the kitchen. Coming back into the room, he palmed the dimmer switch at the door, dropping the level of the lights until they seemed more like a subtle glow than a light to see by.

"Are you still sure about this?" he murmured, looking directly at Jackson, giving him one last chance to go. "You can still change your mind and leave," he continued. His words were calm, measured, in contrast to the excitement already flooding through his body, excitement that would be crushed, leaving him so needing, if he changed his mind now.

"Yes," whispered Jackson. Suddenly he realised that it was going to happen. Shock waves of apprehension ripped through him, he felt himself beginning to shake. "Yes, I'm sure."

"In that case, 'it's time now'" said Aaron, his voice low. "I want you to take your clothes off and kneel on the floor by the foot of the bed."

Jackson didn't move; he hadn't been sure what to expect but somehow he hadn't thought that he would be undressing in such a detached manner.

"When I tell you to do something, it might be wise for you to obey immediately," Aaron purred, his voice low. He prowled behind Jackson. "Disobedience is always punished," he murmured.

Suddenly the energy in the room seemed charged, tension, excitement sparking between them.

Jackson began undoing the buttons on his shirt, his fingers awkward in his haste. He pulled it off, dropping it to the floor, only to pick it up a second later as he thought better than discarding it so carelessly, instead he folded it neatly and placed it on the sofa. His tee shirt followed; he stole a glance at Aaron, quietly prowling the room, his fingers lightly tracing over the surfaces, seemingly taking no notice of what Jackson was doing.

Jackson pulled his trainers off, his socks, then unzipped his jeans, shrugging them off his hips, stepping out of them and adding them to his pile of clothes. Only his arse-hugging briefs, flimsily protecting his modesty, were left. He pulled them off, adding them to his pile of clothes.

"I believe I told you to kneel," purred Aaron, his voice dangerously low but out of his range of vision.

Jackson hadn't moved quickly enough, he could feel the closeness of Aaron behind him, only feet, inches away from him.

"Kneel and bow your head," instructed Aaron, "don't look at me," he added quickly.

The thwack of a whip cracking sharply closely behind him made Jackson jerk in surprise. He hadn't been aware of anything, of anything that could make that noise near at hand in the small apartment. It had been close; he had felt the breeze of its passing, not understanding, the second before the vicious crack split the quiet of the apartment. He braced himself, expecting the next cutting blow to land on his exposed back.

He could feel his heart in his chest... thumping, the beat resonating through his body, pulsing a rhythmic anticipation. His breathing quickened, he closed his eyes, waiting, wondering if he was going to get any warning.

"This is a respectful position," murmured Aaron at last. He had been watching him, watching the tension in his shoulders as he braced himself for the blow he had been expecting.

"This is the position you will assume each time we start," he continued. "Remember it. I'm going to blindfold you now."

Jackson kept his eyes closed as seconds later he felt soft material cover his eyes. Experimentally, he tried to open his eyes, his eyelashes caught against the blindfold as they opened, but he could see nothing, only darkness.

"Sometimes, it's more fun to let you watch," Aaron's soft voice said, "for you to know what will happen to your body, to watch that anticipation taunt you, excite you, maybe even make you fearful of the pain and the pleasure that must follow. But not tonight. Put your arms behind your back."

Jackson did as he was told; in seconds, his wrists were bound. That wasn't such a surprise but he had expected rope cutting into his wrists. The ligature that restrained him was quite soft, the knots though were tight enough that his shoulders were forced back, his chest arched forward. He waited.

Aaron stared at him, at the dark blindfold that obscured much of his face. He didn't really like blindfolds, he much preferred the suggestion of a blindfold so that he could still watch the play of expression across his subs' face. But Jackson was too new, too virgin, so, for the moment, he had to use the real thing. His arms though, tied behind him: he enjoyed that picture of vulnerability, helplessness. He was doing well, still kneeling when his knees must be beginning to ache, still waiting. Aaron allowed himself a small smile; he wouldn't be getting off his knees at all soon and he had a while longer to wait yet. His eyes swept over his nakedness, lingering on his cock stirring slightly against Jackson's groin.

"You're getting hard," he whispered and was gratified to see an immediate response. He blew gently on Jackson's nipple; he knew that his heightened awareness would make it feel so much more than the breath it was.

"Some jewellery, I think," murmured Aaron, as much to himself as Jackson. He reached onto the table, retrieving an object he had placed there earlier. He let it fall across his fingers, the links in the chain cascading quietly until he separated the three ends. It looked like two of the ends had small flowers attached to them, only a close look would reveal that there was also a tiny spring with a screw that could tighten them and that they were lined with half a dozen small teeth.

Aaron moved to crouch in front of Jackson, careful not to brush against him.

"A nipple shield," he continued, lightly touching one finger to Jackson's flat nipple, watching it swell immediately. He glided two fingers across, pausing to rub and palm the shield over the first erect nipple as he did so. He didn't stop to tighten the tiny screw then, only repeated the manoeuvre on the other side.

Jackson felt the cool metal enclose his nipple, after the quick heat of Aaron's touch they were arousing, gently caressing him. It was only after both shields were in place and Aaron fingers returned to them both that he felt the sudden bite of the teeth into his tender flesh.

Aaron smiled to himself as he heard the sharp intake of breath and tightened the screws another twist, knowing the teeth gripped firmly, knowing it was hot and arousing if the chain linking them to the third, as yet unattached end, didn't move too much. But where was the fun in that when the sharp agony of a swift movement could be enough to push pleasure to pain to ecstasy. He tweaked the chains a little and smiled again as Jackson's cock burst into full life.

The pain was sudden and sharp against his swollen nipples, but the pain connected directly to his cock, he knew he was hard; hard and naked and exposed. It was a heady, arousing thought. He was hardly aware of Aaron's fingers on him until he felt a tightness round his cock, gripping him and a crushing sensation at his balls. Fuck!

"There, that looks nice," purred Aaron. "Your tits held by those sharp little teeth and attached by chains to your cock. The cock ring looks nice too," he added conversationally, "but it won't let you cum any time soon,"

Jackson tried to steady his breathing, he had to keep still, he didn't want the biting pain, yet... yet it was thrilling too.

Aaron picked up the short riding whip he had used earlier and brought the end of it to his lips, gently sucking the small loop of leather. He was aroused himself now, his hard cock straining against his tight trousers. Well, it wasn't him going to be denied his orgasm for someone else's pleasure.

He moved behind Jackson; the leather tip of the whip was quite wet now, he slid it from his lips and lowered it. It was hardly a touch, more a whisper of leather against skin as he drew it up Jackson's crack, smiling as he saw the shudder that went through him as the soft, damp leather slowly caressed the sensitive skin, knowing that he would be feeling the corresponding nip of the teeth that encircled his tits.

Aaron was tempted to lower the whip again, to tease his hole, he could imagine it puckering, tensing already, but if he did that he wouldn't be able to use it for anything else. Silently, he moved around in front of Jackson, watching him breathe in and out steadily, again, using his breath to try and control the nerves, the tension that was keeping him on edge.

Suddenly Aaron moved, his lightening reflexes slamming the whip hard against the bed inches from Jackson's body. His eyes caught the jerking movement, the sharp pain as the teeth bit into his tits, as his cock jolted in fear, in surprise, in excitement.

In one smooth movement, Aaron drew the crop softly lengthwise across Jackson's lips, seeing him start in surprise again at the unexpected subtlety of the movement after the viciousness of it hitting the bed.

He pushed the leather tip of the whip, still soft from his own attention, lightly at Jackson's lips, parting them, pushing it in a little.

"Suck it," breathed Aaron, moving it, making Jackson move his head to follow it, to keep it in his mouth.

Even as he teased Jackson's mouth with the whip, Aaron used the other hand to slip the button at the top of jeans open and unzip his trousers, allowing his own rigid cock its freedom. He allowed his hand to stroke himself, once, twice; he could feel need, excitement clenching deep in his groin. He couldn't believe how turned on he was getting, how erotic he found the play of the whip over Jackson's lips and tongue. Watching him tease it and take it, moving his head to take more of it into his mouth.

Jackson tipped his head back and licked a length of the crop, not stretching too much as the teeth surrounding his nipple sharply reminded him of their power. It was a strange sensation; he knew that Aaron was watching him, knew that he was at the end of the whip, controlling its movements, yet he was quiet, Jackson couldn't hear him. With the blindfold, he certainly couldn't see him; he was in his own world as he mouthed and played with the whip in and between his lips and tongue. But it was the thought of this other, almost unknown man, watching him, controlling him, that sent a thrill through his body.

Standing in front of his still-kneeling sub, Aaron slowly pulled the damp leather through Jackson's teeth, drawing it quickly away, smiling as Jackson jerked forward, chasing it, forgetting the effect the sudden movement would have on his tits as the teeth bit. He groaned.

"Did I say you could make a noise?" Aaron growled. Skilfully, he flicked the flat of the damp leather loop at the end of the whip once against each erect nipple.

Jackson gasped! It wasn't painful exactly, more a sharply unexpected sting, but god! In his aroused state, it felt good. His cock was throbbing, his balls clenching, both of them straining against the cock ring controlling his erection.

Even as Jackson was recovering from the stinging blows, Aaron turned the whip around, gently pressing the thicker end, the handle, to his lips, then pressing a little harder until he opened his mouth, accepting the larger object. This time, Aaron didn't let him play with it, tease it, this time he kept control, moving it in and out, a little deeper, a little faster each time.

The leather of the handle tasted different, Jackson thought; it was harder, bigger and he wasn't being allowed to play with it. It was being used like a cock, fucking his mouth even as his body was screaming to him with the sensations beginning to overwhelm him, the sharp pain as the teeth of the nipple shields bit at every jerking, jolting movement, movements that increased as Aaron teased his mouth, making him stretch against the short length of chain that ran from his tits to his cock, aching desperately for release.

"That looks so hot," purred Aaron, "I wish you could see yourself... maybe I should film you, tied up and being fucked, swallowing the handle of the whip... think of that."

Jackson jerked and groaned around the whip handle, pictures flashing through his mind.

"Think of this whip," continued Aaron, his voice husky, "imagine the exquisite agony as it lands across your arse. How many times would I need to caress your arse with it before you came? Before the feeling, the pleasure or the pain sent you over the edge? Because you want to cum, Jackson, don't you? You want to explode... but you can't, can you? Because that pretty little cock ring is stopping you from shooting your load all over yourself... all over me..."

Behind the leather whip handle, Jackson groaned again. God! He wanted to move, to fuck or be fucked! His whole body was shaking now, the pounding ache from his cock and balls were beyond intense, beyond bearable. Suddenly, the leather handle was pulled from his mouth, sending yet another jolt through his body, the sensation of the teeth capturing his tits, deliciously agonising far beyond the ferocity of the tiny metal spikes themselves.

Aaron stepped closer, his legs leaning against Jackson's chest. God he was needing this! He threw the whip backwards onto the bed beside him with one hand, catching hold of himself with the other and pushing his cock, already leaking in anticipation, against Jackson's lips.

"Suck it," he growled, repeating his earlier words

Eagerly, Jackson opened his mouth, his tongue welcoming Aaron's smooth cockhead; he could already taste the salty liquid oozing impatiently from his slit.

Jackson slowed his exploration of the unfamiliar cock; without his hands or eyes, he had only his lips and tongue to feel his way over it, along it. He let his tongue lick once, a long stroke from tip to base, his face tickled by the soft curls that surrounded that hard cock. For a moment, he paused, inhaled, relishing the scent of skin not long washed and the musky smell of sex and desire and... Aaron. He licked again, slowly teasing, feeling a deep shudder of need quiver through Aaron's body as it pressed against him. Knowing, feeling that need sent a thrill of power surging through his body; he moved, bending his head, preparing to take Aaron deep into his mouth. He let his lips slide over the length of it, slowly taking him in, measuring his length, he sucked gently then let his teeth graze the sensitive skin.

Above him, Aaron hissed as his body tensed at the sensations flooding from his cock through his whole body. He slid his fingers across Jackson's head, twisting them through the tight curls, gripping, wanting some control when he couldn't resist the urge to thrust any longer.

It was harder, not having his hands to join in, to grip Aaron's cock as he was taking it into his mouth, to play with his balls as they clenched against the tension he knew was building. Aaron's hands gripped into his hair as he tried to steady himself; Jackson knew Aaron was holding back, knew it would only be a matter of moments before he couldn't hold it any longer and he would need to thrust. Hard. He was ready; he pulled back, swiping his tongue over the cockhead, pushing his tongue into the slit before changing his movement, swallowing deeper, faster.

Conscious thought fled from Aaron's mind, every thought, every feeling centred on his cock, on the urge to thrust regardless into the mouth that was teasing him, delighting him. For a fleeting moment, the thought came into his head that they hadn't talked about swallowing his load; he disregarded it in seconds, fuck! The man had agreed to be his sub; if he wanted him to swallow his cum, he would swallow it.

Gripping harder, he pushed his hips forward, felt himself taken deep into Jackson's mouth, felt his cockhead sliding against the back of Jackson's throat. Unable to stop now, he thrust harder, feeling the deep, gut-wrenching contractions of his orgasm building, building, flooding over him in a crescendo of sensation that erupted as he came, copiously, into Jackson's mouth.

The hot, salty cum filled Jackson's mouth, he swallowed, struggling as Aaron's cock still filled him too; some escaped, oozing down his chin, stickily coating the soft hairs of his short beard. At last Aaron eased out of him and stepped away, leaving his mouth his own again. He was trembling though, shaking with his own aching need for release.

Aaron sat down abruptly on the bed behind him; his breathing was rapid, his body felt on fire yet deliciously sated. He looked at Jackson, still kneeling, still tied and blindfolded, still hard and needing and looking hot as fuck! He stood again, this time positioning himself a little behind Jackson.

"Stand up," he growled, catching the arm nearest him and the bindings that secured his wrists.

"You didn't swallow it all, did you," he whispered, his mouth closest to Jackson's ear. "That was naughty, wasn't it?" He stepped back until his legs felt the bed behind him. "And naughty boys get punished, don't they?" His voice was low and dangerous. "Over my lap," he snapped, sitting, pulling Jackson with him and catching up the whip, lying close by, in one swift movement.

Jackson tumbled onto Aaron's lap, his arse bent over his thighs. Suddenly, fear was added to excitement and need, fear of the suggested punishment. Every feeling was centred on his groin, his cock was throbbing, his gut clenching from somewhere deep inside him right down to his balls. He needed...

"This is gonna hurt," breathed Aaron, his voice catching. He slid his hand between his own legs, easily finding Jackson's hard cock, gripping, caressing then rapidly releasing the cock ring. In the same movement, his other hand drew the whip lengthways roughly between Jackson's lips, reminding him.

"This is gonna hurt..." The words echoed in Jackson's mind as the rough weave of the whip scraped against his lips, already bruised from sucking the whip handle, from the urgent thrusts as Aaron fucked his mouth. The leather tip flipped cold and clammy across his mouth; it was still wet from the ministrations of his mouth earlier in the evening. It was gonna hurt like hell when Aaron brought the thin, cruel whip down across his exposed, tender arse.

Aaron gripped his cock, his own cock was stirring again already but Jackson's, he knew, would be so ready to come, pulsating with the sudden release of the tight, restricting ring. His arse rose so round and tempting in his lap, he could even see his hole puckering in hope. He showed him the whip; teased his lush mouth with it and whispered the words "this is gonna hurt" as he raised the crop above his head, as he felt Jackson brace himself for the agonising blow stinging across his arse.

Aaron flashed the crop down... and with delicate tenderness, whispered the very tip of it against his butt cheeks, barely touching his wanton flower.

Jackson came, his orgasm crashing through his body, the single last caress of the whip sending him cascading over the edge while Aaron's hands pumped his cock as it pulsed, throbbed and exploded, his juice shooting out, covering them both.

Jackson didn't move as his breathing returned to something approaching normal. He was still laying across Aaron's lap, held there by Aaron's hands still gripping his cock, languidly squeezing it, his other arm idly resting across his buttocks, holding him in place.

"I don't hear you saying 'thank you' for letting you come," Aaron's voice growled low by his ear.

Suddenly a stinging blow landed on his arse as Aaron slapped the soft skin with enough force to make it nip for a few seconds.

"Thank you," gasped Jackson.

"Thank you what?" replied Aaron, his hand again slapping sharply down on Jackson's butt cheeks, so attractively displayed on his lap. He could feel his cock beginning to twitch again.

"Thank you, sir," gasped Jackson as the second blow landed, the sharp pain making him catch his breath.

"You need to be more respectful,' he said, finally letting go of Jackson's cock, lifting his legs a little so that Jackson began to slide towards the floor.

Without his hands to save him, Jackson landed awkwardly, scrabbling to find his balance on his knees. He bowed his head, waiting.

Aaron watched him for a moment or two, watched his chest, glistening with a sheen of sweat, still decorated with the clamps holding his nipples tightly erect and the chain that dropped across his abs to the empty cock ring, watching it rise and fall as he regained his composure, came down from his high. Almost reluctantly, Aaron leant forward and pulled the tie that bound Jackson's wrists then slipped the blindfold from his eyes.

"It's over," he said, flopping back onto the bed even as he shrugged his jeans back over his hips and pulled up the zip.

Gingerly easing his arms forward, wincing as they protested after being held captive for so long, he flopped backwards beside Aaron. He glanced down at his chest, seeing for the first time the deliciously cruel teeth that held his tits.

"Can I take these off now?" he asked

"For the moment," agreed Aaron, looking at Jackson's dark eyes.

Jackson didn't move, a thrill of excitement suddenly flaring through his body at Aaron's teasing words.

"Here, let me," said Aaron, propping himself up on one elbow and beginning to undo the first tiny catch. He smiled to himself at Jackson's hiss of painful surprise as the teeth released their hold on his swollen, sensitive nipple.

"So," continued Aaron, "how was it for you, dear?" his tone faintly sarcastic.

"It was..." Jackson paused, looking at the ceiling for inspiration as he let Aaron loosen the second clamp, "... amazing... I've never cum like that before. That whip... I thought you were going to hit me with it."

"I know you did," smirked Aaron. "I might next time," he added, sensing the thrill that his words sent through the man next to him.

"You're still dressed," observed Jackson, noticing for the first time that Aaron wasn't naked as he was. A flush of embarrassment rippled through him, somehow he had imagined Aaron would be naked too.

"No, I'm not, am I?" agreed Aaron, his voice low. "How does that make you feel?" He let his eyes rake over Jackson's nakedness.

"Awkward," admitted Jackson, "but turned on... like I'm wondering what you're thinking." He shifted his hips a little, an invitation.

Aaron quirked an eyebrow at him. "Did you just make a provocative movement?" he asked, a touch of danger in his tone. "I expect my sub to always, always show respect."

It was only a few words, but the menace, the promise, in those words were enough to set Jackson's heart pounding in excitement. Almost without conscious thought, he slid from the bed, kneeling once again beside it, his head bowed, his hands caught together in front of himself, hiding his already hardening cock.

"It's time now then," murmured Aaron, moving easily from the bed until he stood behind Jackson. "Tell me what you did wrong?"

"I made a provocative movement," muttered Jackson.

"I don't think I heard you properly," growled Aaron "and what I did hear didn't sound very polite."

"I'm sorry, sir," replied Jackson quietly, "I made a provocative movement, sir." He was sure Aaron would be able to hear the loud pounding of his heart, would be able to see his quickening breathing. He pushed his bunched hands harder into his crotch, pushing into his now hard cock, already aching with need.

"Tell me," purred Aaron, dangerously, "exactly what you did."

"I moved my hips, sir," Jackson whispered, the words sticking in his dry mouth.

"And?" snapped Aaron.

"And I tried to entice you, sir, to look at me... at my cock."

"You're hard now, aren't you, Jackson?" Aaron questioned, his voice soft and teasing. "Show me." He took two silent steps to stand in front of Jackson as he moved his hands away from himself.

Jackson moved his hands, exposing his rigid cock, hard and already throbbing with need, sending quivers of anticipation through his body. It felt so decadent, so delicious, so hot and exciting to be naked and waiting, knowing Aaron was looking, wanting, somehow.

Fuck! He was good, thought Aaron, hard again so soon. He was hard himself, but he was still dressed, still hidden, still adding to the mystery.

"That's nice," purred Aaron, "hoping for a bit of attention, is it?"

"Yes, sir," gasped Jackson, wishing he could even just put his own hands to work and just jerk off; after cuming so recently, the spreading ache was almost overwhelming.

"But you've been a naughty boy, haven't you?" Aaron said, low and sensuous. "And naughty boys don't get to cum just when they want to, do they?"

"No, sir," ground out Jackson through gritted teeth.

"And don't even think of touching yourself," snapped Aaron, keeping the smirk that he felt from his voice. "Get up on the bed and lie face down." He stood back a little, trying to keep his face a little in the shadows, trying not to let Jackson see him drinking in his nakedness, nor see the lust in his eyes.

Jackson climbed onto the bed, lying on his stomach as instructed, tucking his hands under his head. The dark sheets were surprisingly soft and smelt of... of some fragrance he knew but couldn't waste time thinking of while there were too many other good things to think of.

"Hold on to the bed head and spread your legs," said Aaron, quietly, as he silently slid open a drawer. "Subs who move provocatively when not instructed to must be punished."

Jackson groaned, pushing his face into the pillow to stifle the noise even as he moved his hands to catch hold of the bars of the bedhead and spread his legs. He wanted to push his hips, his cock against the sheet and rub, just once even, just to get a moment's relief, but he knew Aaron would see, would know; the thought sent a thrill the length of his spine, coiling into a knot in his groin. He pressed down, his back arching, releasing his breath slowly in relief.

Aaron watched him, feeling his own cock straining against the tight material of his jeans as Jackson rubbed and gasped in badly hidden pleasure. He smiled a little to himself; that had just sealed his fate.

"I'm going to tie you to the bed," Aaron said conversationally, rapidly slipping a soft restraint around one of Jackson's wrists and fastening it to the bedhead. "And then I'm going to punish you," he continued, imprisoning the other wrist, "for your sluttish behaviour earlier. I think six strokes," he said as he repeated the process on Jackson's first ankle, "the first three plain slaps from my hand," he moved to his second ankle, "for the second three strokes, I shall use a leather paddle." Aaron stood back to admire his handiwork. "And finally, because I saw you trying to rub yourself against the sheet just now, trying to bring yourself off, I shall give you one stroke of the whip." Aaron tried to keep his breathing steady as he spoke, to hide his excitement, his need. "But first," he continued, "you must apologise for your misconduct and ask to be punished."

"I'm sorry, sir... so sorry," said Jackson, his words tumbling over each other in their urgency to be spoken. "I did wrong, sir, you must punish me, for my own good." God it was hard to keep still as he spoke when all he wanted to do was writhe, to drown in the ecstasy of the moment. He tried to move; his wrists were hard against the bars of the headrest, he could hold onto them, but not move away from them. His ankles didn't seem to be fastened to the bed, rather they were tied to something solid, something that kept his legs open wide, exposing his most sensitive, most needing place to Aaron's scrutiny.

"You were oh, so naughty," drawled Aaron, kneeling on the bed beside him. "Tell me again what you did wrong, what you wanted," He reached out, touching his smooth, rounded arse, smiling as he felt an immediate shudder of desire running through Jackson's body under his fingers.

"I wanted you, sir", groaned Jackson, "I wanted you to touch me..."

"Touch you where?" breathed Aaron, his hand still caressing Jackson's arse.

"I wanted you to touch my cock, sir; to take it in your hand, stroke it, rub it... jerk me off... fill me... fuck me!" He couldn't help it; his hips thrust once, twice, into the bed beneath him as he sought relief.

The sharp, stinging blow from Aaron's hand took his breath away.

"One," counted Aaron, "I expect my sub to show respect at all times. Two."

The second blow landed; Jackson caught his breath, every feeling was focused on his arse, his groin, the clenching tension coiling ever tighter.

"I don't expect my sub to be provocative, breathed Aaron, "three." It was a lie; it was exactly what he expected his sub to be, just so they could play this game. Because, god! it was hot seeing him like this, naked and tied, his legs spread and unable to close them even if he wanted to and taking, relishing his punishment. He reached for the leather paddle; he knew from experience that the blows it would deliver were different from the sting of his hand, they were deeper, taking need to another level. He lifted the paddle then brought it quickly down.

"Four," he counted. "How's your cock feeling now?" he breathed, "ready to cum yet? Ready to spill your load?" He ran his hand over Jackson's red butt cheeks.

Beneath his hand, Jackson groaned, "yes," he breathed. His body no longer felt like his own, his mind was almost beyond conscious thought, nothing mattered but his building orgasm.

"Ah, but you're my sub," chuckled Aaron quietly "and I don't want you to cum until I tell you, d'you understand me?"

"Yes," Jackson gasped. He didn't know if he could hold on, he was close, so close to letting go he was beginning to shake.

Aaron moved his free hand to his own cock; fuck the sub, he didn't know if he could hold it long enough! He rubbed himself through his jeans; he would have to lose those soon, but not yet.

"You look like a slut, lying there, exposing yourself. Five!"

The blow landed hard.

"Oh god!" gasped Jackson, "I can't..."

"Bite something!" growled Aaron. He knew what it was like; being told not to cum just brought it closer, made it harder to hold on.

Jackson bit down into the pillow beneath his face, whimpering in his need for release. His whole body was on fire, clenching as he tried to halt the oncoming explosion.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" teased Aaron softly, "being taken right to the edge and not being allowed to jump off. I can see your need, your want..." Aaron caught his breath, hearing the strangled hiss from the man beneath him. His own hand was on his cock now, pressing hard, needing too. "...And I can see your hole," he continued, "I can see it puckering, opening for me... so brazen... six!"

The paddle whistled down, landing on Jackson's now tender arse. He yelped, unable to help himself as the blow throbbed deep into him, finding his cock, his balls, bringing them ever closer.

"One more," said Aaron, his voice gasping and harsh as he felt his own need for release getting more urgent. He reached out for the whip; his breathing short, wrenching gasps. It was hard, as hard to deal the blow as to take it, accept it; the agony that could only lead to release. "Relax into it," he gasped, "love it, don't fight it." He brought his arm down, flicking his wrist, increasing the spin, the sting.

Jackson heard the words, 'relax'. How could he relax, his body was crying out for release, he was coiled, agonising tension. He thrust––the blow landed––pain ripped through him, pain and something else.

"Cum now, cum for me!" gasped Aaron harshly, clamping his own body, holding his own orgasm back as long as he could. He leant over Jackson's body, hands caressing his butt cheeks, his thumbs straying enticingly to his crack.

He screamed, just once, he couldn't help it, the pain was blinding. His body bucked and thrust of its own accord. "Cum for me..." He heard the words, giving him permission but he couldn't have held back any longer, sensation overwhelmed him, hot spasms flashed through his body, as he came again and again, clenching, cascading ecstasy taking him beyond conscious thought into pure feeling, the ultimate release.

For a second, Aaron watched as Jackson lost himself in his orgasm, just for a moment until his own aching cock reminded him of his own needs. In one swift, urgent movement, he pulled off his jeans, taking a condom and sachet of his favourite lube from the pocket. Jackson was still lost, rocking his hips against the bed, groaning, whimpering quietly as he dragged the last spasm from his orgasm.

He ripped, first the condom packet with his teeth, quickly rolling the latex sheath over his cock, each touch sending shivers of anticipation through him. He bent over Jackson, placing his hands on his hips

"Lift," he grated, tugging Jackson to his knees. "I'm gonna fuck you." He ripped at the sachet of lube, quickly smearing some over his impatient cock as it quivered under his touch, smoothing the rest over three fingers of his right hand. He liked this lube; it had a kick to it, leaving the soft mucous membranes it touched tingling with sensation. Jackson was on his knees now, but barely, his whole body still trembling from his orgasm. His arse was high off the bed, his legs still kept apart, his wanton flower contracting as it waited to be entered.

Jackson heard the words, felt the urgent lift of his hips. He gasped as Aaron first swept his finger the length of his crack, groaning as his finger entered him, pushed deep and moved. Suddenly he hissed in surprise as the pins and needles-like sensation from the lube caught him.

Aaron pushed a second finger in, pushing deep and holding it for a moment, letting Jackson stretch. He was desperate to enter him, pound into him, but it was their first time, he needed to know what Jackson could take. He opened his fingers, stretching the tight ring of muscle.

Jackson gasped, unable to tell if he wanted to pull away from the intruding fingers or push onto them; his mind, his body, was nothing but sensation. He yelped as a third finger slid inside him then bucked once, twice against those fingers, needing yet pulling away from the fire and needles that spread out from his arse, feelings that with his hands tied, his knuckles gripping white against the bars of the bed and his legs spread wide, he couldn't escape from, that he didn't want to escape from.

Aaron pulled his fingers out, hearing Jackson's gasp of pain or disappointment at being suddenly empty. He knelt behind him, touching his cockhead to his hole, seeing it pulsate, wanting him. Thrusting hard, he entered him in one quick movement. He held his breath at first as he pumped his full length into Jackson; he knew he was close, knew the tight muscles holding him would bring him quickly to orgasm. He linked his legs around Jackson's, steadying them both, his hands gripped his shoulders as he couldn't hold back any longer, as conscious thought left him and the need to explode inside this arse was everything.

Jackson gasped! He felt ripped apart as Aaron entered him. His cock felt huge, bigger than anything he'd ever had up there, but he felt so good. He moved, riding every thrust, relishing the pain and the pleasure, taking Aaron ever deeper inside him.

Aaron cried out as he came, breathlessly, urgently exploding, seeing stars as his orgasm swept over him.

Jackson felt the muscles contract throughout Aaron's body as he came; under his exhausted weight, he sagged slowly back onto the bed, his breath coming in short, rasping gasps. Aaron lay on top of him, unmoving for a few seconds until he moved enough to begin undoing Jackson's restraints.

"Maybe that will remind you to show me some respect next time," growled Aaron. His breath was still unsteady as he flopped back onto the bed.

Jackson moved, sliding off the edge of the bed, once again kneeling, bowing his head. "Yes sir," he lied.

Aaron glanced over at him; he still looked hot, kneeling there. He toyed with the idea of making him stay there a little longer, but he knew he was in danger of falling asleep himself and that wouldn't be fair on his sub.

"It's over," he breathed. "Get some sleep."

Jackson relaxed but didn't move from his kneeling position as he glanced at Aaron, his eyes closed and the covers already shrugged over him.

"Thank you, sir," murmured Jackson, "where shall I sleep, sir?"

Aaron's eyes flashed open and he looked at Jackson, looked at the chocolate eyes, playfully dark with sated lust.

"I should make you sleep on the floor like a good sub," replied Aaron sleepily, "but seeing as we're not doing a twenty-four seven scene, you can get in the bed. Though you get the bit that you made sticky with your cum."

"Okay," agreed Jackson easily. He stood smoothly, ignoring the aching in his knees, the way his body still shuddered and trembled and sat on the edge of the bed, pausing for a second before he slid under the covers, carefully avoiding the stickiness lower down the bed and Aaron, curled to one side of him.

He hadn't noticed the light switch until Aaron reached out and flicking it, plunging the room into darkness. Lying still, he became aware of the stinging heat of his buttocks as they pressed into the bed. He smiled.

"It'll hurt less if you stop fidgeting," murmured Aaron.

"It's not hurting, it's reminding," replied Jackson, equally quietly.

"I'll help you make plenty of memories," Aaron said, more than half asleep.

Jackson laughed suddenly, "God! that is so cheesy," he chuckled.

Aaron turned, more awake now and squinting at Jackson through the darkness. "It was rather, wasn't it," he agreed, the grin on his face clear in his voice. "Shit! I knew I should have left you on your knees!"

"Do you want me on my knees?" asked Jackson, his voice suddenly husky.

Aaron looked at him, trying to see his face in the darkness. "No, he said quietly, "not tonight. We've still got forty-five hours left; we can afford to sleep for some of them."

Forty-five hours, thought Jackson as he lay in the darkness. In the last six hours, he had been given sensations he hadn't believed possible, taken beyond anything he had experienced before... He shuddered as the remembered shock waves of his orgasm thrilled gently through him as he drifted into exhausted sleep.

Beside him, Aaron smiled; his virgin sub had done good––if anything, he was too soft, allowing him to share his bed, but god! he was hot! Forty-five hours to go... he closed his eyes, comfortable and content, and made his plans... his fifty-one hours were far from over.