Long time, no update, right? I know. I suck hardcore but I've been like wicked sick the last 2 weeks and it sort of made writing impossible. Also, I think some of you may be disappointed in this chapter. I said smut and it turned into...well, something much different. It's kind of emo/angst/freak out. Idk. I swear, next chapter will be all smut, with Seth and Carlilse and lots of toys, which I have every intention of having up by next Friday.
Big thanks to my beta.
I do not own.
My heart is fucking pounding. It feels like it's going to jump out of my chest at any moment, and I can't seem to stop it. I'm shaking from head to toe, my thighs tremble as I dig my fingernails into the skin in attempt to calm myself. It's like I'm having a panic attack...but I'm not. I'm just so fucking eager.Sitting here, on my knees, naked in his playroom, I feel absolutely desperate.
But soon, my Master, my owner, will be here, taking care of me. He will ground me, remind me of my place, show me that I am loved and cherished. And get rid of the God awful ache I feel between my legs.
Like fucking air, I need relief from the ache, almost as much as I need him to take care of me
"It seems I was right about you needing an intense session."
His voice is so rich; dark and low, and it makes the curl of pleasure in my stomach bloom forcefully, and I whimper with need. He's somewhere behind me, not close, but still here and that's what matters. My body shakes harder.
"You're not breathing, boy."
Oh God, he's closer now. I can almost feel him touching me, skimming his hands over my bare shoulders, his warm breath bathing my neck. I feel the goose bumps pebble my skin and I shiver, though it's barely recognizable because I'm still shaking so fucking hard. My stomach drops at his words and their slightly disapproving tone. I focus on taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, just like he taught me.
Okay, maybe I am having a panic attack. My Master is the only one who can calm me down when I'm like this.
"Just need you, sir," I gasp, tightly closing my eyes.
I hate how out of control I feel, I haven't been this scattered in ages, and it's all because of this goddamn cage around my cock. I can't even put into words how much I hate it right now, and if I don't do something soon, I'll use my safe word; something I've never done. But, fuck, something has got to fucking give.
"And I'm here, boy. I'm right here, and you still aren't breathing." His voice is calm, but I barely notice. All I can focus on are his hands, resting on my shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles on my skin. Moaning, I lean back into him, wishing that I was feeling his bare skin brushing my back instead of his jeans. I'll take whatever I can get though; he's touching me, he's here. He's here.
"What do you need, love?" he whispers in my ear, and it takes every bit of training I have in me not to move. I feel like I want to jump out of my fucking skin.
"Please, Master," I practically sob, dropping my chin to my chest. "Please, take me. Fuck me. Fuck me until it hurts. Beat me until there's...there's nothing left. Make me..." I take a shuddering breath, and just barely choke out, "make me come."
He groans, loud and rough in my ear as his hands turn to vices on my shoulders, fingers pressing into the flesh above my collarbones. "God, you're such a slut. Makes it so hard to deny you."
"Then don't, sir," I beg hysterically, breaking my position to clutch at his hands with mine. "Just do it, for fucks sake. Just take-"
"That's enough!" he snaps and his touch disappears. I want to cry. "Who exactly do you think you are talking to? Have you forgotten your place already?" He sighs heavily. "I thought you were stronger than this. Are you really this fucking weak?"
I can't contain my gasp. My worst fear, the most horrifying nightmare for me is having my Master think I'm worthless. I'm not good enough, strong enough...I'm not enough, period. "No, sir, please! Don't think that. I'm so sorry-"
"Not another word from you," he growls from behind me.
Now I can't stop the tears and I open my eyes to see them splattering uselessly onto my thighs, each one another reminder of my failure. Angrily, I swipe them away, sniffing miserably like a berated child. If I pout, I'll only prove him right and I can't do that, I have to show him that I'm worth keeping.
"I want you over the horse, usual position. At least let's see if you can do that correctly," he orders, his voice filled with disdain so strong, it makes my insides twist with fear. He can't feel so disgusted with me, he just can't. I won't fucking allow it.
Without another thought, I crawl across the floor, ass up and back arched perfectly. But my shoulders slump just a bit when he makes no noise, not even a fucking hitched breath. This position usually has him groaning, cursing at how much I tease him. Right now though, I get nothing...which means he thinks I deserve nothing. I amnothing. A sob tries to work its way up my throat, but I stop it, focusing on crawling up the bench and draping my body over it, my arms resting on the side bars.
"Sixteen days," he mutters as he tightens the straps around my wrists. "Sixteen fucking days and you are already losing yourself. How pathetic. Was I wrong in thinking that you could handle something like this?"
It's like a punch to my stomach, a wretched, awful ache in my chest and my sobs are uncontrollable now. Since I've lost my right to speak, I just shake my head miserably, using the only thing I can to tell him that he's wrong, even though I'm not sure he is.
Of course I'm not strong enough for this. I'm not good enough, or worthy enough. I'm undeserving of him and he knows it. And it fucking hurts.
"Now you are ruining my leather with your ridiculous tears. Disgusting."
Sniffling again, I try my best to stop the strong burst of tears that tries to escape, squeezing my lids closed so tightly, it hurts. Everything fucking hurts. How did I become this bratty, whiny, ungrateful little shit? I used to be good...or I thought I was. Not that it matters, he finds me disgusting now. Which is exactly how I feel, but I can't think about that because I'll cry harder, louder, and I'll only disgust him more.
I hear the snap of the lube, but instead of excitement pooling in my belly, I feel ashamed. This is an obligation for him, not a pleasure; why would it be when he finds me so revolting?
"I want absolute silence. Even a whimper and you'll be punished, boy. Though, apparently, it wouldn't do any good. You're obviously incapable of learning anything," he says in a disinterested tone, his fingers probing my hole clinically. He's even wearing a latex glove. I'm so worthless, he doesn't even want to touch me with his bare hand. I'm nothing.
My heart should be pounding, but there's nothing left to beat. It's shattered deep inside my chest. When his fingertip finds my prostate, I'm unable to feel the jolt of pleasure I know should accompany the touch. All I can feel is my shame and hatred for myself. Slowly, he pushes one finger inside me, swirling his finger along the raised bump in calculated, experienced movements. Between my legs, I can feel the dribbles of come leaking from the hole in my cage, and I feel terrible, once again, for getting it on his spanking horse. I'll clean it up with my tongue if he'll let me.
Within minutes, the ache in my balls has lessened considerably and I wish so bad that I could speak, I want to thank him, apologize, show him that I'm going to be the best I can be from this point forward. That soon he won't find me disgusting and dirty and bad. Soon, I'll be his boy again, and he'll love me, just like he used too.
The silence in the room is so heavy; my Master is usually very vocal, telling me how beautiful I am or what he wants to do to me. I get nothing of the sort right now, though because I haven't earned it and my stomach churns painfully once more when I realize that I may not get the chance to earn it. What if he discards me as soon as he's finished? What if...what if he leaves me?
When his finger slides out of me, I hear the snap of his glove as he removes it from his hand. "Since there is now a puddle of your come on my leather, you'll be cleaning that up. With your mouth."
I nod quickly, jerkily, happy that he is even bothering to give me instruction. He sighs, but it's different this time; it's not filled with disappointment anymore. Now, he sounds tired and I wish so badly that I could open my eyes and see him but I know that if I do, my tears will escape, something I just cannot allow.
Suddenly, I feel the quick snap of a riding crop against my shoulder blade and I yelp, only to bite into my lip hard, because, goddamn it, I fucking made a noise. He's right. I am worthless.
"Proving my point for me, boy. The crop was supposed to be for my pleasure only, but it seems now I have to use it for punishment. I'm not surprised," he mutters.
Once, twice, three times he slaps my ass with the toy, and it takes everything I have not to grunt as I breathe through the pain. He's not taking it easy tonight, not that I deserve any leniency, but it's been awhile since I've felt the full power behind his arm. The crop only allows for so much pressure, but it's enough to sting like fucking fire if he uses it right.
And, fuck me, he's using it right. All over my back and ass and thighs, each slap biting more than the last, making me pant harshly through gritted teeth. My eyes try to fill with tears again as the pain gets stronger and my entire body is tight with tension, my muscles clenching every time he pulls his arm back. He's panting as well, but his strokes never slow. Coming harder, quicker, stronger. More. More. More. And then...
I'm flying.
Silence. Warmth. Security.
That's all I can register. I'm in my Master's playroom, I'm safe and I'm loved.
Time is insignificant. I know that I can float forever and he will always be here to catch me when I come down. This is my space, my freedom and he always knows how to get me here.
I'm his. I'm worthy. I'm good.
Minutes, maybe hours, go by unnoticed. It feels like ages before I finally hear his voice, barely flittering through my calm fog of deep subspace.
"Come on, baby, come back to me. I'm here, waiting for you. You're safe, love. Come back to me."
So beautiful, his velvet tenor washes over my relaxed form, slowly awakening my senses. I feel him release my wrists from the straps, rub my back with soothing cream, pull me from the bench and wrap me in his strong arms. He is kissing my hair, my face, my throat, while murmuring encouraging words. When I finally open my eyes, it takes a moment for my sight to return. They've been closed for so long and struggle to adjust to the relatively dim light in the room. I'm shocked to realize that we are sitting on the floor, my limp body curled up in his lap. His sweet breath caresses my overheated skin when I lazily tilt my head back, wanting to look into the face of my savior. God, he's so stunning. Blonde waves slightly damp with sweat, blue eyes filled with more emotions than I can name, pouty, pink lips parted with soft pants.
"Welcome back," he whispers raggedly, tracing my lips with shaking fingers. "How do you feel?"
"I'm-" I have to stop to clear my throat which is still thick with freshly subsided tears. "I'm...warm. Happy." I smile. "Better. Thank you, sir."
It such an understatement of my gratitude but it's all I can provide right now, still too blissed and dazed to properly show my feelings. But I can tell from the spark of happiness that flares brightly across his face that it's enough. I'm enough. I always have been and I always will be.
That spark quickly disappears though, and he sighs tiredly again, resting his forehead against my mine. My brows draw down in confusion and I cup his cheek, silently waiting for him to speak his mind. When he doesn't, I rub my thumb across his skin and whisper, "Master?"
"Hmm," he hums, eyes closed as he drags his thumb along my jaw bone.
"Did I do something wrong?" I ask in a small voice, afraid that his mood is because of me.
"God, no." His voice is fierce as he pulls back to look into my eyes. "You were perfect."
"Then...what's the matter?" I question tentatively, unable to hide the tremor in my voice. I feel selfish as the tingling pleasure of relaxation zings through my veins once more; it's obvious that he didn't get the same thing that I did out of the session.
"Stop that," he commands. "I'm just as happy as you are, boy. Do not think otherwise. It's just...treating you that way, being so...it's very draining. But it's the only way I can get through to you when you're like that. It's the only path that takes you where you need to be."
"But what about you, sir? How do you get to where you need to be?"
His arms tighten around me, and he places a gentle kiss on my lips. "I'm already here, love."
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