Archive of Our Own

August 12, 1998

Randy:            Saturday. I lived for them, any more. At one time, I'd have said weekends were just another couple of days, filled with things to make me forget I was actually lonely. Now, though, I found myself looking forward to weekends, especially the ones that didn't have any outside commitments--for either of us--scheduled.

I still did my hospice work, and still met the guys every couple of weeks to play basketball. Michael spent the last two afternoons when I'd played out to Sheila's communing with Murphy. And last weekend, we'd snuck in an entire day out on the waves, part of it sailing, the rest of it anchored offshore, doing a little nude sunbathing.

I wasn't sure what we were going to do today; it was unexpectedly dreary outside. A 'soft day', as Sarah would say sometimes. Irish weather--which also happens to be San Francisco weather an awful lot. Michael was still in the shower, puttering around under the hot water. He'd come home yesterday muttering something about racquetballs and stupid courts, and rolled his shoulders and head the whole time. It hadn't slowed him down when he decided to fuck me senseless, but afterward he'd winced whenever he moved abruptly. I made him tea--he had to talk me through it--then settled him in bed with cup, Advil, and me. We'd spent part of the evening just cuddling and talking, a very quiet one for us, and all the more welcome for it. He was leaving again in a week, to go to England for several days. I tried not to think about it, concentrating instead on the car trip coming up at the end of the month. I'd been to Arizona exactly once, years before, for a conference, and I'd gone by train. Even given the reason we were going, I was looking forward to it. Most of the time.

The bites he'd left on my chest itched and I reached down to scratch lightly, remembering the heat in his eyes last night when he'd said "Per sempre" just before biting me--hard enough to make me yell. I still couldn't believe I'd told him...that I'd said it. It didn't make it any less true, but I couldn't imagine where my brain was that night. Well, obviously, completely shorted out. But aside from that...

I grinned and shook my head. I did love him. It still made me uncomfortable, all squirmy inside, when I analyzed it too much--it made me feel as though I were too dependent on him, needing him too much--so I tried not to do that, tried to just accept the feelings and roll with them. We had time. Forever was workable.

The shower still hadn't switched off, which made me wonder how big of a hot water heater he had for this place, then I shrugged. I could lie here in the buff and hope to tempt him when he got out, or--if we were going to get anything accomplished today--I could at least put shorts on.

The phone rang as soon as I walked into the closet, and I stepped out and stared at it. Most of the people who needed to call me called on my cell. Which didn't mean the caller *couldn't* be for me; Josh and his folks had this number, as did a couple others. But it was unlikely in the extreme it was either of them at eight forty-five on a Saturday morning. It rang twice more and I shrugged and walked around to his side of the bed. "Hello?"

"Mike! How are you, love?" A female voice calling for Michael--I supposed. Though I couldn't in this lifetime imagine calling him 'Mike'.

"Excuse me? Who're you calling for?"

There was a slight pause.  "Oh, bloody hell.  I'm *so* sorry.  What time is it there, anyway?  I'm calling for Mike."  She laughed wickedly.  "Damage is done, I suppose.  Wake up the lazy bugger and tell him his beautiful, intelligent, *successful* sister Liz wants to talk with him."

Liz? Lizzie, the baby sister? Michael had pictures scattered about the condo, and I knew who she was, of course. A very attractive woman, though in a rather severe way; she looked almost exactly like Michael, right down the dark hair and cool grey eyes. Her accent was incredibly crisp, very British, and it made me aware of how soft Michael's was. I laughed. "He's awake, Liz. He's just in the shower right now. It's nearly nine here; I'm not sure he'd know how to be in bed at this hour." I nearly bit my tongue at that; there'd been numerous Saturdays we'd lounged in bed until well *past* nine. "Ah, this is Randy, by the way. Nice to--meet you."

She laughed again, a little warmer than wicked.  "Hullo, Randy.  What a lovely accent you have.  You sound just as he said.  I suspected it was you, but then one does hate to assume such things."  Her tone seemed to imply she'd made the mistake of calling the wrong name before, though she didn't seem overly concerned about it.

"Easier to call me by his name and not risk it, eh?" I felt a grin spreading across my face. I wondered how many of Michael's lovers Liz had spoken to over the years, then dismissed that thought. I was going to have to get past that; he was mine. I was his. Whatever--you didn't say "I love you" to someone unless the feelings were at least fairly strong. At least I didn't. And Michael didn't strike me as the type to go around saying things he didn't mean. "Are you calling from England, Liz? The shower's just switched off; I can go get him, or have him call you back."

"I suppose it depends," she said, her voice turning sly.  "If you go to get him, will I be left hanging on line, forgotten?"

My mouth dropped open; I could feel it. I suppose it wasn't completely unexpected, but then, I wasn't used to my lovers having family who knew what they were--or who they were with. And certainly Bran's mother hadn't ever teased me like this. Something very undignified, and close to a snort escaped me, then became full-fledged laughter. When I could speak again I shook my head at the phone. "No, because you'd probably enjoy the chance to listen in."

Her laughter rolled out, low and full and delighted.  "I probably would," she agreed without shame.  "Best become accustomed to me--I'm not like our sister Sarah.  She'd *never* say such things, being the proper miss she is.  I, on the other hand, have absolutely no shame at all."

"So I've noticed," I managed dryly. "Neither does your brother."

I didn't hear her reply to that since Michael appeared then, a towel wrapped snugly around his waist, one eyebrow raised questioningly. I doubled over laughing again; maybe it was just the timing, but like Quent, Michael could do the Mister Spock thing just all too well. When I could manage coherent speech again, I held the phone out to him. "It's your sister--Liz," I added, remembering he had more than one. "She's been entertaining me."

Michael:          "Of that, I have no doubt," I replied wryly.  I rotated my shoulder again, and then took the phone from him.  "Liz," I said warmly.  "How are you?"

"Ooh, he sounds delicious," Liz replied, and I could practically see her raising her brows in a lascivious look.  I glanced over at Randy, and replied, "Oh, he is," just to hear him laugh.  "Quite delicious."

Randy:            "No wonder she's incorrigible; she gets it from you." I patted his ass and headed back toward the closet to retrieve my shorts. He snickered and made a rude gesture in my direction. I flipped him off--invitation, definitely--then turned the light on. The closet was close to cavernous; I'd asked Michael once if he'd ever gotten lost in here.

Michael:          I grinned at Randy, then turned my attention back to the phone.  "So, what makes my little sister call at this hour of the morning?"

"Well, you know I'm hopelessly confused about the time changes over there...."

I snorted; Liz was as sharp as a saber; few things escaped her, especially something as simple as figuring the differences between time in England and America.  "Don't give me that.  What's the reason you called?"

She laughed again, and I wondered if she'd been drinking a bit; she was naturally more exuberant than myself, but I thought she had a slight hesitancy in her phrasing that only one who knew her as well as I did could catch. 

"Oh, Mikey...it's *lovely* news---you're speaking with the newest doctor on staff at the Benedict-Pelham Children's Clinic!" 

Her voice was full of happiness, and it was infectious.  I couldn't help but smile in return.  Benedict-Pelham was a new doctor's dream--a newly opened clinic filled with state of the art equipment and an integrated research facility.  Randy would find it intriguing, I knew.  "Oh, Liz...I'm so happy for you.  I know you've been wanting to get a position there."

She let out an undignified, girlish squeal.  "Yes, yes, yes!  All that hard work!  I'm so excited.  Evan and I have already started celebrating."

"I thought as much," I said with a laugh.  "I'll wager Mother and Nonna are proud of you."

"Evan and I are going home for the weekend, and we'll celebrate even more then."  I could hear the murmur of a male voice in the background; Evan Westbrook, her latest beau.  I remembered him from my last visit home, a genial, gentle fellow with red-blond hair and kind brown eyes. 

"We're going out to dinner and dancing now, so I'd best ring off and make myself gorgeous.  But I had to call you and tell you the good news."  I could almost see her bounce in place, and smiled.

"I'm very proud of you, Liz.  We always knew you'd do well.  I'll be over next week, and I can congratulate you in person."

"Oh, will you?  That's wonderful!  You can take me to dinner and buy me something outrageously expensive, then."

I laughed.  "It's a date, then.  Have a lovely time celebrating.  Tell Evan hullo for me."

"I shall--bye, big brother!"

"Bye, Dr. Pierson," I replied.  Her pleased laughter wrapped warmly about me, and then she rang off.

Randy:            I waited 'til he'd hung the phone up to wrap my arms around him and pull him back against me, my mouth going automatically for that spot on the side of his neck that I was knew was hypersensitive. "Doctor, huh?" I whispered the words against his skin and laughed when he shivered against me. "What's she a doctor of, darlin'?"

Michael:          I tilted my head to the side to give him better access, and he didn't disappoint me.  His lips were warm and soft against my skin, and I made a pleased sound as he licked just beneath my ear.  "Pediatrics," I managed.  "She's newly graduated, and has been accepted by a prestigious children's clinic."  I smiled.  "She's the first Pierson in a couple of generations to become a doctor.  We're terribly proud of her."

Randy:            "With good reason, it sounds like. She's finished her residency, then?" I kissed him again, scraping my teeth lightly against the soft skin. He made some sort of strangled noise, then nodded. I laughed and bit lightly again. "I'll send her a card of congratulations, if that's okay with you." He made another strangled sound, and I let my hands slide down the warm expanse of his chest, the soft hair there tickling my fingertips. I paused at his waist, rubbing lightly, restlessly. "What'm I going to find if I go lower?"

Michael:          I couldn't help but laugh.  "You should be intimately acquainted by now with what lies beneath the towel," I said with an edge of snarkiness to my tone.

He laughed in return against the side of my neck, his fingers dancing against the top edge of the towel.  Pressing even closer to me, I could feel him, hard, beneath the soft, clingy material of his shorts.  Lovely.  I turned and gave him a little shove, and he landed on the bed.  Almost before he had a chance to bounce, I pounced and sat on him, astride his thighs, grinning down at him.  The front of his shorts swelled outward, inviting touch, but I bypassed that pleasure for the moment, running my hands up his strong arms, pushing them up, pinning them slightly above his head.  I smiled down at him, and his eyes gleamed up at me in return.  "You look good like this," I murmured.  "I rather like seeing you in this position."

Randy:            "You could see me in it as often as you'd like, darlin'. You know I want it. I know you're interested." I shifted experimentally beneath him and his fingers tightened on my wrists. My breath caught in my chest and my belly tightened. I looked up at him, still smiling, but deadly serious behind it. "I know you said we have to trust each other, Michael. Get to know each other. Build a base before anything else." I wiggled again and his fingers tightened like a vise, relaxing slightly when I settled down again. I stared him straight in the eye. "I trust you."

Michael:          "I'm interested," I said, my thumbs rubbing across the tender skin of his inner wrists.  "It's been a very long time since I've played at anything more than the odd game of slap and tickle.  I've not played seriously for years."  I leaned in and nosed the center of his chest, inhaling his warm clean scent.  Up over the perfect arch of collarbones, to the little notch where I could feel his pulse beating, slow and steady, beneath his soft skin.  I tasted him there; slightly salty.  "Nicole definitely did not like games like that, and I don't care to purchase my playmates for that particular pleasure.  You can't trust them to be honest with you---even the best trained will harbor some thought they owe you more than they're truly willing to give because you've paid them.  I'd much prefer to have a partner I can wholly trust."  I nipped at his chin a little, and his lush mouth parted in a sigh.  "Like you," I said, and covered his mouth with my own.

Randy:            Somehow, hearing him tell me he trusted me was one of the most erotic things he'd ever said, and my heart beat a little faster for it. I returned his kiss, chasing his tongue with mine, nipping at his lips. He pulled back then with a grin, thumbs teasing lightly over my wrists. I pushed gently; I could break free of him if I truly wished, but why? I was where I wanted to be. I met his gaze, held it for a long, silent moment. "I have a lot of questions, Michael. About your history playing, about what we would...might...do. But I offer you this." I tipped my head back and exposed my throat to him, my belly tightening with anticipation, with a primal fear that comes to even the most modern man when he makes himself vulnerable. 

Michael:          My blood sang through my veins at the sight of him offering himself, of the long, clean line of his throat bared in submission.  Excitement curled down my spine and into my belly, and my flesh rose and throbbed beneath the confines of the towel.  With a pleased, hungry sound, I leaned in and licked over the bump of his Adam's apple.  My body wanted more, but my mind acknowledged that sitting astride him, both of us half-naked, was not the time to have this conversation with him.  I kissed his throat, then slowly and reluctantly, released his wrists and sat up straight.  He lay still beneath me, unmoving save for the rise and fall of his broad chest with his breathing, his wrists still crossed above him.  He was the very picture of strength and vulnerability, wholly arousing, and my body responded with a sharp, fierce rush of passion.

But not now.  With a sigh, I slid from him, stopping only to press a kiss to his navel before standing up at the side of the bed.  He was as hard as I was, the soft grey material of his shorts stretched with the fullness of his cock.  I had an urge to pull those indecently thin shorts from him and devour him, but knew if I allowed myself to be sidetracked, we'd never get to this much-needed conversation.  I held out my hand to him to help him up.  "I can't talk with you beneath me.  Let's have a bit of something to eat, and you can ask your questions."

Randy:            I took his hand, let him tug before I sat up. "Turn-about is fair play, Pierson. It's not exactly easy to talk while *under* you, either. My body thinks other things are a lot more appealing than talking." I rubbed myself and grinned ruefully. "Y'know, I used to think I was in control of my body, that I'd outgrown the hormonal stage. Apparently I was sadly mistaken."

He snorted at me, then disappeared into the depths of the closet, returning in short order dressed in a pair of sweats and faded UCLA t-shirt I recognized as one of mine. I finished pulling on the mate to that, laughing when I saw it. "What're you doing, stealing all my clothes?" He grinned and flipped me off, then picked up his towel and headed for the bathroom. I smoothed the coverlet on the bed down--Miles didn't come near the place on the weekends, unless he knew we were gone--and headed for the kitchen. Scrambled eggs with onion, ham and cheese, and toasted bagels. Sounded damn near perfect. And I could have it pretty much ready by the time Michael got his grapefruit dissected.

Michael:          By the time I'd made my way to the dining room, Randy had gotten breakfast almost finished.  I'd been somewhat surprised to find that he was actually a very good cook, and fairly inventive.  I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose, as he'd always had to fend for himself, unlike me, who had always had, save my time at university, someone to take care of such things.  We'd settled into a routine of sorts; he cooked at night, and I cleaned up, not a hard task, as he generally cleaned up as he cooked.  It seemed to please him, so I said nothing.  The few times we'd gone out--generally, out of town--he'd insisted on paying for dinner, and I didn't argue about it.  I thought perhaps he needed to show he wasn't wholly dependent upon me, so I never contradicted him when he paid for this or for that, though I had far more than he did.  He was a proud man, and I knew my wealth made him uncomfortable upon occasion.

I sat down and began to carve my grapefruit as he brought in two platters heaping with eggs and meat and cheese.  One more trip to the kitchen, and he emerged with a plate of bagels.  I took a sip of my juice, and spread a bit of preserves on a bagel.

"Much more civilized," I said, and flashed him a grin.  "It's difficult to have a serious conversation whilst in the nude with you."

Randy:            "Hah." I poured myself another cup of coffee, then slid into the chair beside him. "We've had plenty of serious conversations nude. But maybe talking in our sleep doesn't count?" I spread cheddar and chive cream cheese on my bagel, then salted and peppered my eggs. Michael was picking apart his grapefruit, and a shudder tripped up and down my spine. I ate them, on occasion, but grapefruit was far too sour for my tastes. Give me oranges or tangerines or pineapple any day. I watched him for a minute, then took a few bites of my eggs. Maybe I'd do Huevos Rancheros for us tomorrow; I was in the mood for spicy. "Ready for the Q and A session?" Michael nodded and I nodded in return, then studied my cup for a long moment, considering what I wanted to ask. "You've told me before you have a fairly extensive history with playing--how extensive? How long? What have you done?"

Michael:          I ate a couple of sections of grapefruit before answering.  "Recently?  Scarcely any at all.  A bit of slap and tickle with a willing partner once in a great while, if he or she was inclined.  Nothing serious, nothing intent.  Two years ago, whilst I was in England at Christmas, I went to visit a friend in London for a couple of days, and he gave me the opportunity to play with one of his...protégés."  Alain had been beautiful, as all Julian's pets were, slim and fair, with curly black hair, perfect pale skin, and wide, deceptively innocent blue eyes.  He'd also had an appetite that matched my own, and a most willing, submissive nature.  It had been a strenuous, though lovely two days, and I'd returned home calm and serene afterward.

I tried the eggs; delicious.  "I began playing whilst at university.  I think I was perhaps twenty-one or so."  I flashed him a smile.  "Quite arrogant and full of myself, I might add."

Randy:            I snorted; he hadn't really changed a lot from that, that I could see. Another couple of bites, the rest of my coffee. "Do you switch?" I couldn't see Michael as sub at all, but I'd learned over the years not to make assumptions. He struck me as...ultra Dom, but again, that could just be me seeing what I wanted to see.

Michael:          It was a perfectly innocent, legitimate question, but still, my throat closed up for a second.  I took a sip of juice, and forced it down.  "Not anymore," I answered, and realized how harsh and unyielding I sounded.  "I once did," I said, deliberately smoothing my voice.  "But not now."

Randy:            It seemed that was a sore spot, and right now didn't appear to be the time to pursue it. I nodded in acknowledgment, then picked up my juice glass and rolled it between my palms carefully before taking a sip. "What do you expect in a sub?" 

Michael:          "What do I expect in a sub?"  I pushed my eggs around with my fork as I thought.  "Strength.  Self-knowledge.  Intelligence.  The capacity to know his own limits, to understand that I, too, have limits.  The ability to communicate what he wants, what he needs, what works what doesn't work for him.  The desire to meet my needs, whether sexual or not."  I glanced up at him.  "I'm from the time where sex and scenes were bound together, so to speak---it's only been in the past few years that I've learned some of the most intense scenes aren't necessarily the ones involving sex."  I took a sip of juice.  "I require utter honesty.  Part of my obligation to a sub is to be observant, to judge what he needs or wants, but until I see how you react, to learn your own patterns, I need for you to tell me if something works or doesn't.  And I will not ever play without a safeword.  That's non-negotiable."

Randy:            It was interesting, refreshing, to listen to Michael. I knew who had the experience between the two of us--and while I wasn't completely a novice, a lot of my experience was nullified by the situation I'd lived with Bran. Not exactly safe, sane and consensual. I got up and refilled my coffee cup and brought it and the pitcher of juice back to the table. "Two words. One to slow down, one to stop." I took a sip of coffee, then looked at him over the rim of my cup. "I don't really know what my limits are. I know what I'd like to explore--things I'd like to try. There are some things I know I won't do, so I'll guess those would be at least the basis of my limits. What about limits for you--do you have them?"

Michael:          "Yes, I have limits.  No scat---it's utterly revolting.  No blood play.  No piercing or cutting.  No mummification.  No electrical or breath play.  No animals.  I won't switch.  Almost everything else is subject to discussion, but not those."  I smiled at him.  "I prefer to start small, and then build, as we see what we like, what we prefer, what works for us."

Randy:            I nodded, considering his limits and how they meshed with mine--surprisingly well, actually. A few things I wanted to get clarification on, but all in all, a pretty good match. "Small is good. As my cousin Sarah is fond of saying, 'Rome wasn't built in a day'." I smiled at Michael. "She used to say that a lot when I was still on crutches and fussed and whined about wanting to move around." Michael had spent the better part of one evening last week, tracing over the scars on my left leg, listening to me talk about my time in the hospital. It still amazed me how much I'd told him.

Or maybe it didn't, actually. I was starting to accept I'd actually found my soul mate, if I were inclined to believe in that. I cleared my throat. "One question about the blood play--what if blood is drawn during something else, like a whipping. Is that just incidental and taken in stride? And...if down the road, I wanted a piercing--would you allow me to have it done, professionally?"

Michael:          I wondered what kind of relationship he'd had before that he would even need to ask me about a piercing.  "I don't live the lifestyle.  What you do outside of a scene is entirely your own business.  If you wish a piercing, then have one done---for yourself.  I won't say I won't enjoy it or reap benefits from it, but it is your body, and you do with it as you wish.  Although you have such beautiful skin I'd hate to see you put a tattoo on it."  And he did have the loveliest skin; I loved to touch him, to stroke his surprising softness, to revel in the difference between our skin tones.  "As for blood drawn by accident, it is only that.  I won't draw it intentionally, if that's what you're asking."

Randy:            "That was what I was asking--thank you." I pushed aside my plate, mostly clean now but for a few scraps. Michael was still playing with his fork, pushing it around, and I hated to deprive him of his toy, so figured I would wait to clear the table off. No rush; we had all day to sit here and talk, if we wanted to. "I don't plan on getting any tattoos, so don't worry about it. I'm not big on having a bunch of needles shoved into my skin. But I've always thought a nipple ring might be kind of cool." I grinned at the expression that flashed across his face--relief? Surprise?--then sobered. "There's something you need to know, about the time I spent with Bran. After a while…he was incapable of separating reality from fantasy. He wanted absolute control over me, over everything I did, or said. It was…it *wasn't* a Dom/sub relationship, at all. More like--emotional abuse. Strangulation. So if I seem a little obtuse on some of the finer points… in a lot of ways, a lot of this is new to me. Though I have done extensive research now, on the web."

Michael:          I pushed away my plate, half full; he always made too much for me.  Well.  Little wonder I thought him a bit skittish; he was, and justifiably so, if this Bran had treated him so.  He sounded like a right nutter, as Clara would have said.  "It isn't like that," I said gently.  "It's something far different.  It's respect, and trust in one another."  He looked uncomfortable, and so I refrained from asking him about Bran.  I knew all about abuse, first hand, and ruthlessly pushed that memory aside.  "So, how much experience do you actually have?  I know you have the desire, but what have you done?"

Randy:            "Well." I settled Michael's plate on mine, wondering how long it would take me to adjust to feeding someone with a smaller appetite than mine. I turned my juice glass around in a circle, considering. "Bondage. A lot of bondage, actually. Ropes, cuffs, scarves, handcuffs--I liked it. Um...spanking, barehanded, toy play--some dildoes and plugs. A lot of attitude on...on his part; like I said, after a while he would forget the scene ended...and it just kind of...toward the end it was almost constantly 'Yes, Sir'... I seldom told him no on anything." I found the ring of moisture from my juice glass fascinating, and drew my finger through it, playing with the cool drops briefly before looking back up at Michael. "I don't want it as a lifestyle, particularly. But what I would like...is to get comfortable enough, eventually, that it's a fluid thing we can slip in and out of when we want to."

Michael:          I heaved a sigh and ran my fingers through my hair.  "That's so wrong, in so many fundamental ways.  I will never, ever do that to you.  Never.  I know when a scene ends.  I know when real life begins again.  I don't mix the two."

Randy:            I frowned and flicked the droplets of moisture off my fingertips. "Do you want concrete boundaries between sceneing, or would more...fluid work for you?" I met Michael's eyes and sighed. "I'm not talking about eschewing reality here, Michael. And I don't want a 24/7--I couldn't handle it. But I...there are times I want to...touch you...to..." I rolled my eyes and sighed again. "Some things are just easier for me to do...to *give*...from that part of me, if that makes any sort of sense."

Michael:          I reached out and stroked the tops of his knuckles.  "If you wish for fluid, I'm perfectly capable of that, as long as you understand and accept my list of absolutes.  As I said before, I'll work with anything else.  We start with what your comfort levels dictate.  What would you like to start out doing?"

Randy:            I laughed out loud. This was going to take some work, some adjustment. I'd never had anyone ask me what I was comfortable doing, what I wanted to do. Not in terms of bdsm games, at any rate. I shrugged. "Like I said, I like bondage. Spankings. I like things rough--" I grinned when his eyebrow went up again. "You keep doing that, I'm going to start calling you 'Mister Spock', darlin'. As I was saying, I like rough...I like the bits of pain I've had so far. Pinches, bites, stuff like that." I paused, then shrugged. In for a penny... "I want to serve you. Take care of you."

Michael:          "Don't look so uncomfortable.  It isn't a defect.  It's a desire, and one I'm honored to accept. I've not been served or taken care of for quite awhile, and I'll be pleased to have you do it."  I leaned forward and propped my chin in my hand.  "Tell me.  Do you like role-playing?"

Randy:            Well. Nice to know I wasn't defective. I had to force my brain away from delicious images of what *taking care of* could mean. His last words penetrated, and I frowned at him. Role-playing? "I'm not really sure what you mean. Role-playing--what?"

Michael:          I felt a slow grin curve my mouth.  "Playing at being other people.  Headmaster and recalcitrant pupil.  Roman lord and slave.  Policeman and suspect.  That sort of thing.  It's quite...freeing, actually."

Randy:            I blinked a couple of times at him--at the grin spreading across his face, actually. "Um--I've never done that before--any of it. Obviously." The look on his face was enough to make me snicker, which made him laugh. After a moment of trying to hold back, I let go, feeling a little of the tension gathering in my neck and belly dissipate. When I could control myself again I took a long drink of juice, then tried words. "Isn't that...I mean, you enjoy it?"

Michael:          He looked more relaxed, which made me relax in turn.  "Oh, yes.  With an inventive, clever partner, it's quite enjoyable.  I've played both sides of the equation, so I can say that if you're looking to serve, playing the part of a slave is a good introduction to it."

Randy:            "Huh." I shook my head. "I bow to the Master--literally. You'll have to guide me on that one, darlin'. I've never done anything like *play* someone else. I've only ever been...me." A thought occurred to me then, and I shifted around, settling so I could lean on the table. "Have you ever trained a sub before? Because that's basically what we're talking here, Michael."

Michael:          "No.  I've been in training myself, and have played with many subs.  I have that knowledge.  But to actually train someone?  No, I've not."  I shrugged.  "If you wish to trust me with it, then we'll work on it, or I can give you the name of someone who would give you excellent training.  It is utterly your choice, Caro."  I regarded him steadily, though a small spark of jealousy sprang into being at my own words.  I knew there would be no sexual relationship with the trainer I had in mind, but a part of me wanted to experience his learning first hand, to share it with him, to relish the closeness it would bring.  But after hearing of his relationship with Bran, I was determined that all possible choices would be his.  If he wanted someone else, someone more experienced, to train him, then I would support his choice.

Randy:            "I trust you, Michael." I reached out and gripped his hand, feeling the slickness of sweat there that matched mine. "I don't want anyone else doing it. This is..." I frowned, feeling my ears and neck heating up. Dammit. "It's...too personal. If I were just looking to get my rocks off once in a while...but...it's *us*, y'know?"

Michael:          I smiled, even when his fingers gripped mine a little too hard.  I rubbed them with my thumb, and slowly, they loosened a bit.  "I understand very well."  And I was relieved, on many levels.  The little spark of jealousy faded, and went out.  I wanted him to myself for a little bit longer.  We were good together in so many ways that I wondered if we would be good together in this.  I suspected we would be.  "What is your safeword, and your slow down word?"

Randy:            I squeezed his fingers once more, then released him, though I didn't move away. "Safeword is sailing. Slow down is ocean."

Michael:          I couldn't help but laugh.  "Now, how did I know that would be the case?  Mine was 'steeplechase'.  My slow down was 'hunter'.  Things I could easily remember."

Randy:            "Hunter?" I eyed him then shrugged. "Well, yes. Easy words to remember, but not something I'm likely to call out in the height of passion." I grinned, then took a deep breath. "You want honesty...I'm nervous, Michael. I want this so bad...it's been crawling around inside me, wanting out, for so long. I know what I had with Bran wasn't a D/s relationship...it was...well, like you said--wrong. And I--love you...I think this can only enrich what we already have." Wow. I said it in the daylight, and the sky didn't fall down.

Michael:          "It's all right to want things, to seek them out.  It's all right to be nervous.  The first time I ever played, I was afraid and nervous and excited.  When I presented to Julian for training, I was terrified."  I smiled, remembering almost twenty years ago; Julian's long, curly blond hair, angelic face, possessed of the devil's own iron will.  Even afterward, we'd remained friends, if not lovers.  "Believe me, I understand.  But this comes from a basis of love and trust, and I think that yes, it will eventually bring us closer together."

Randy:            "Julian was your--trainer? Master?" Michael nodded. God, I still just couldn't wrap my mind around that. I knew most people had some of both--Dom and sub--in them; even me, once in a while, had the urge, though it never really went very far. It wasn't my preference, by a long shot. But... I shook my head. "What would you like to be called?"

Michael:          "Oh, I think simply 'Sir' will do," I replied.  "I don't believe in a lot of fanciful things distracting from the experience.  I don't tog myself out in leather and buckles unless I have a notion for it myself.  I've been to clubs where it's all flash and show, and I've simply never gone for it."  I shrugged.

Randy:            "Sometimes it's flash and show--sometimes not." I settled back in my chair, remembering some of the guys I'd seen down in the district; some of them were showing off, but a lot of them weren't. I smiled. "Even as out of the loop as I am, I could tell when a guy wore a brand new, shiny jacket and creased levis and so on, he probably was trying for a look more than anything. I don't...get that feel from you. You--know what it's about." I nodded my head and quirked a smile at him. "Nice to meet you, Sir."

Michael:          I leaned back in my chair, and crossed my long legs.  I looked at him seriously for a long moment, long enough to make him uncomfortable, to make the smile fade.  I reached within me for Sir, and found him, pulling his aura on like a familiar shirt.

"Address me properly," I said.  "Show me the proper respect."

Randy:            "I apologize," I said softly, a little surprised. I hadn't been expecting to really *meet* "him", which was probably why he was here. I pushed the chair back and stood up, then knelt before Michael, crossing my arms behind my back, a rush of uncertainty and desire gathering in my belly. Not sexual desire, rather a desire to please. I bowed my head and lowered my eyes. "I'm pleased and honored to meet you, Sir. Thank you."

Michael:          I stood up.  "Come, attend me," I said, and strode off toward the main room, where we would have more space to play.  I didn't look back; I knew he would follow.

And he did, a silent shadow.  When I reached the center of the room and turned, he dropped instantly to his knees and bent his head, his hands behind his back.  I circled slowly around him, observant.  "Straighten your back.  Widen your knees."  He obeyed instantly, and it pleased me.  I could see a fine tremor across his shoulders, the light flush that crept up his neck and into his cheeks.  I bent and raised his face.  He lowered his eyes, long eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, but I'd seen how dark his eyes had been; he wasn't in any distress, but rather, in the beginnings of arousal.  I released his chin, and nudged his thighs apart a little wider, so he was fully exposed.  Much better.  "In this time, in this place, I am Sir.  You exist to please me.  Your purpose is to please me.  I am your focus, your entire world.  My will is all.  Do you understand this, Pet?"  I kept my voice soft, deceptively gentle; I had never been one to raise my voice; quiet, I'd found, was much more effective.

Randy:            It was absolutely like Michael had disappeared, letting this other person take control of his body. He looked the same, superficially, but his eyes were darker, sharper, catching minute details that might've escaped even Michael's eagle eye. I wondered idly if 'Sir' ever lurked in the boardrooms before snapping my attention fully on him. I nodded once, slightly, difficult with his hand still holding my chin, then cleared my throat. "You are my focus, my entire world. My purpose, the reason I exist, is to please you. I understand, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

He smiled and released my chin, then leaned closer, his lips ghosting over my ear briefly. If he said anything, I couldn't have said what it was, I was trying hard not to tremble. Arousal warred with uncertainty; this was what I wanted, but it was still new, still unknown. But...it was still Michael. He wouldn't hurt me. I knew that. I relaxed a little, took a deep breath, and straightened my back. I wanted this. I wanted to give this to him.

Michael:          "You please me," I whispered into his ear, then straightened and stepped around behind him again, trailing my fingertips over his shoulder, then up his neck into short thick hair.  "Listen, and remember, Pet.  Everything you have belongs to me.  Sweat, tears, blood, seed...everything is mine.  Your pleasure is mine, to give or withhold, as I see fit.  You will not come until I give permission."  I slid my finger down his neck, slowly, over each bump of vertebrae, and watched as he shivered, as gooseflesh rose.  "You will obey without hesitation.  You will use your safeword.  You will not attempt to exceed your limitations.  Is this perfectly clear?"

Randy:            I could smell him as he passed around me to stand before me once more, and my body throbbed once, my nipples hard beneath my t-shirt, my cock just full enough to make me feel achy. I looked upward at him, peering beneath my lashes. "I understand you, Sir. Do you want me to repeat the rules back to you, Sir?" He made a quiet assenting noise, and I drew in a full breath. "Everything I have belongs to you. My pleasure is yours to give me or withhold from me. I'm not to come without permission from you. I will obey with hesitation; I will use my safeword, and I am not to attempt to exceed my limitations. Sir, if I may ask a question?"

Michael:          I stopped in front of him, then reached down and plucked the gold-framed glasses from his nose, folded the earpieces, and slipped them into the pocket of my sweats.  Without them, he looked very young, very vulnerable.  "You may ask."

Randy:            I stuttered once as he tucked my glasses away; maybe I needed to think about contacts, after all. When I realized he'd actually answered me, I swallowed. "Thank you, Sir. I...about limitations... will you allow me to stretch them, under your supervision?" I tilted my head back to look at him, hating the way he blurred without the lenses. "I want to learn and grow, Sir. I know not all at once...I know we'll go slow...but...eventually?"

Michael:          I ran my thumb across one sharp cheekbone.  His mouth looked soft and very tempting.  "I've told you what I expect from you...now, here is what you may expect from me.  When you hand over your trust, your body, to me, I shall care for it like the precious gift it is.  I'll take good care of you.  I'll teach you what I know.  I'll give you the respect you deserve for offering me your trust.  I will give you many, many opportunities to expand your horizons, to lead you into new sensations and new experiences. All you have to do is trust me, and a whole new world opens for you, Pet.  I'll give you pleasure you've never before had."

Randy:            I stared up at him, squinting slightly to bring him slightly more into focus, then realized he wasn't out of focus because I didn't have my glasses; he was out of focus because I had tears in my eyes. Heat climbed through my face again. I don't cry. I hadn't cried since I was thirteen. Not once that I could recall. But kneeling there in our living room, soft grey light filtering in through the blinds, with Michael's--no, *Sir's*--finger stroking over my face, telling me he would take care of me, would take me places I'd never been before, give me experiences I'd never had before...I shuddered once and blinked furiously, then nodded. My voice came out soft and a little hoarse. "I trust you, Sir. With all of me."

Michael:          I smiled down at him, then unable to resist any longer, pressed my mouth over his.  So soft, so tender, so accepting, so giving.  I pulled back slightly; his breath was warm and moist on my mouth.  "We will do wonderful things together, Pet.  I won't betray that trust."

Randy:            I whimpered softly when he pulled away, staying close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips, but denying me his mouth. "Thank you, Sir. I won't betray your trust in me, either." I practically purred when he stroked his fingers through my hair again, wanting nothing more than to rub myself all over him, just to touch...to connect. It was odd to realize I felt exhausted and energized, all at once, and wondered if it had anything to do with the adrenaline rush I'd had in the last half-hour.

Michael:          "Very good, Pet," I praised, and watched the shiver of pleasure work over him at my words.  The tips of his ears pinkened slightly.  "Let's have a simple lesson, and then end this session."  I stepped back, considering.  "Take off your clothes, then resume this position."

Randy:            "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." If nothing else, that stuck. Always be respectful, proper. I climbed to my feet and pulled my t-shirt over my head, folding it neatly before dropping it onto the nearest chair. It was odd to be undressing like this, so calculated, in the midst of the living room. Not that we hadn't ever had sex there--far from it. But not quite like this. I dropped my shorts down, feeling the tinge of embarrassment heating my face when I bent over to pick them up. When they were folded neatly atop my shirt, I slipped to knees, making sure to keep them wide open as Sir had told me earlier.

1. Understand, Pet?"

Randy:            I wondered how long it would be before hearing 'Pet' ceased to have such an effect on me. It felt like fire raced from my ears all the way to my toes each time he said it. I nodded. "Yes, Sir. This position is my basic position."

Michael:          I tapped his shoulder.  "Position two...arms up, lock your fingers together behind your neck, elbows up and back."  I waited until he had obeyed.  It was a nice position; it showed off the breadth of shoulder and the depth of his chest to best advantage, and when I stepped behind him, the definition of his back.  "Positions three and four are the standing variations of these---three is parade rest, four is standing with your hands like this.  Assume number three, then four."

Randy:            "Yes, Sir." It came out hoarsely, but I doubted Sir noticed, or minded if he did. It wasn't like he couldn't tell, looking at me, that I was beyond aroused. I got to my feet and stood, spreading my legs to shoulder's-width, then crossing my arms behind my back at my wrists. Michael moved around behind me and pushed on my shoulders, straightening my position a little. I shifted then when he nodded, and locked my fingers together behind my head. A blush burned through me at the same time arousal zinged; this position felt...lewd, almost. It left me exposed and vulnerable--and feeling more so since Sir was still completely clothed.

Michael:          "I like to look at you, Pet---it gives me pleasure.  I also like to touch."  I put one hand in the center of his chest, fingers spread, palm against his breastbone.  I could feel the patter of his heart.  I let my hand slide over his chest, so smooth and warm, to one rosy-brown nipple.  It was hard and puckered beneath my fingertip, and I scratched at it a little with my nail.  He shuddered beneath me, and his cock twitched.  "I also like to touch.  I shall touch you as I wish, but you will touch me only with my permission."

Randy:            He scratched at my nipple once again, his eyes dark with--something. Heat, but something more, as well. I nodded. "Thank you, Sir. May I...may I ask permission to touch you? Or will you tell me?" I felt stupid, felt like I should know these things...but how could I? Michael said he'd help me. Guide me. Train me. 

Michael:          "I will tell you when," I replied, and slowly trailed my fingers down his flat belly.  The muscles shivered beneath his skin, and his whole body tightened.  I stopped when the backs of my knuckles brushed against his cock, and pulled my hand away; he made a quiet sound of displeasure.  "Position five," I said crisply,  "is hands and knees.  Assume it."

Randy:            "Yes, Sir. Thank you." I had several email friends who practiced 24/7, and while I felt a little like a parrot saying the same thing over and over, I knew it would get beyond this; we would learn from one another and talk while playing--though I would always be respectful of Sir. Not the casual respect I gave Michael, but far deeper, more proper. And, I reminded myself sharply, *I wanted this*.

I knelt down then, and leaned forward to get on hands and knees, my cock throbbing uncomfortably when Michael moved behind me and pushed my thighs further apart. He ran his finger down my spine, then down my cleft, brushing very lightly over my hole. I shivered and curled my fingers against the carpet, wanting to move back against him but knowing that would *not* be a good thing to do.

Michael:          I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling; he was so responsive, and he wanted to arch into my touch so badly.  But my will reigned; he would respond at my direction, not his desire.  I pressed my thumb against his opening, and he hissed as it went in.  He was so hot inside, so silky-smooth.  He tightened around me reflexively, and I pulled out.

Oh, he didn't like that; the sound he made was quite unhappy.  He was so hard it must be painful; his cock swayed heavily beneath him, red and very wet. I slipped my hand beneath him, fingers dancing over his perineum before settling into a figure eight movement, pressing inward, massaging his prostate from without.  His hips jerked, beyond his control, and his balls pulled up tightly.  His face was scarlet, and his eyes closed in concentration as he fought the needs of his body.  I reached forward, encircled his balls, and squeezed and tugged downward sharply.  The sound that wrenched from him was quite unhappy, indeed.  "Not without my permission," I reminded sternly.  "No matter what, not without my permission."

Randy:            "Yes, Sir." I panted softly, the urge to thrust forward, to stroke myself within his hand almost overwhelming. He held me thus, my balls pulled tight away from my body, while he went back to his teasing, rubbing and massaging me. I groaned and bit my lip as hunger ratcheted higher. "Please, Sir...may I come?"

Michael:          "No.  You may not."  He nodded tightly, and when his face began to shift into uncomfortable lines, I released him.  Pressing a kiss to the low curve of his spine, I sat back on my heels.  "Position six.  On your back, knees up and wide."

Randy:            "Yes, Sir. Thank you." At least I wasn't likely to embarrass myself again--for a few minutes. As much as I ached, it wasn't any worse than usual during sex, and he wasn't touching me now. I shifted over onto my back then drew my legs up until my knees were bent, and my legs were spread widely. I laced my hands behind my head for good measure, because I wanted nothing better than to grab my cock and jerk myself 'til I came. Also not a good idea. Jesus, one training session and I was on fire. Discipline--of the internal, personal sort--would probably be a good idea.

Michael moved between my legs again, kneeling before me, and I shuddered at the...power gleaming in his eyes. He could do anything he wanted to, to me--make me do anything he wanted. I didn't distrust him; he would use his power conservatively, moderately. But it was incredible to see fully what I'd had hints of for nearly three months. I felt honored, truly, that he was showing me this. I shivered again, feeling suddenly incredibly exposed, and not just because of my position.

Michael:          I ran my fingertips over the taut muscles of his inner thighs.  "Learning these positions accomplishes two things.  The first relates to my pleasure--as I've said before, I like to look at you.  In any of them, I'm afforded complete access.  Secondly, they reinforce your place before me."  I leaned in and licked behind his left knee, and nipped at the tender flesh.  His eyes were almost black from the hugeness of his pupils, and he was one small step from begging me to come.  I smiled down at him.  "You are very beautiful like this," I said softly.  I ran a finger over his sac, which drew up tightly again.  "There is yet one more position, but I think we shall save that for later."  I rocked to my feet.  "You have done very well.  Kneel up, and I will reward you."

Randy:            "Thank you, Sir." He smiled again at me, at the hoarseness of my voice. I wanted to touch him, to hold him, to come with him, but a little voice cautioned not to. This was still very much Sir's game; he was getting his pleasure, if a very different sort than I was used to. I shifted into a kneeling position and waited, my mouth dry, to see what my reward would be. I was torn between wanting to come, and wanting to touch him.

Michael:          I ran my hand over myself.  I'd grown hard and full whilst touching him, and my erection surged against the soft material of my sweats.  I ran my thumb over the wet spot where I'd leaked a little.  His eyes followed every movement I made, and my cock throbbed demandingly.  "You may touch me with mouth and hands.  Suck me. Do it well, and I may allow you to come."

Randy:            *Yes.* God, that was what I wanted. Forget my own coming...well, not completely, but it was His I wanted. I nodded my head, wondered if what I was feeling showed in my eyes, then muttered softly, "Yes, Sir. Thank you!"

He made a soft strangled sound when I mouthed him through the cloth, and I felt his fingers grip my hair, holding tightly. I flashed back to the night under the dock and my whole body throbbed hotly, my balls drawing up tight against my body. I reached down and grasped myself, short-circuiting the need for a moment. When I saw sure I wasn't going to spurt randomly, I looked upward, caught the faint amusement in Michael's eyes. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm just--" I shook my head, not sure I could put what I felt into words. He nodded once, and pushed my head toward his groin, a not very subtle reminder of what I was supposed to be doing. I reached out and tugged his sweats down until his cock was free, then leaned forward and licked him slowly before taking him fully in my mouth.

Michael:          Perfect.  He set to his task with a passion, fiery and uninhibited.  His strong hands moved up my thighs and spread over my hips, thumbs massaging my hipbones as his fingers tightened on my arse.  I liked the bite of his fingers, it made the pleasure of his mouth even more intense. 

My own fingers tightened in his hair, slowing him down; he was so enthusiastic that it felt as if it would end too soon.  And greedy bastard that I was, I wasn't ready for it to be over.  Obediently, he slowed, and I wasn't certain that was much better; it gave him ample opportunity to use his wicked, clever tongue to best advantage.  I found myself responding, thrusting to meet him, going deeply into his mouth and throat.

My fingers eased in his hair, turned into pets and caresses as he opened himself to me, gave himself over to my desires.  There was something quite empowering about having a strong man's willing submission; it was heady, like fine strong wine.  His eyes drifted open slowly and looked up at me, black and unfocused; he drifted in that place just before tipping over into the space some subs attained in intense scenes.  If he could come so close to it in such a mild scene as this, then I could only imagine where I could lead him in a more intense one.

Randy:            A small, detached part of me laughed as it watched, seeing me getting all drifty and warm just from this small act. But I loved sucking cock, and it was a chance to what I'd been longing for--to worship him, even a little bit. I could say the words, I could touch him and love him, but it was hard for me to demonstrate or express how deeply I felt; I wasn't sure I had words. Not in any language I knew. And actions were hard, sometimes. Guys just didn't *do* some things. Like emote. But here, in this place, in this space, I could. No one judged us but ourselves, and Michael wanted it as much as I did, if for different reasons.

I let him slide partway out of my mouth, and then worked my tongue around and over the tip of his cock, tasting the bitter-salt flavor of semen leaking out. He spread his legs a little wider, increasing his base, and I dropped one hand to cradle and cup his sac, rolling his balls gently, then more firmly when he groaned. His fingers tightened again in my hair as he thrust forward going 

deeper. I opened my mouth and swallowed, taking him as far down as I could, firmly squelching any gag reflex, letting him have the smooth, slick tunnel of my throat to fuck. It was an odd place to be, in my mind; I'd done this before, of course. Given him head like this. But...it was turning myself over to his desires, to do whatever he wanted--it left me warm and tingling, trembling with emotions I'd never quite tapped into before. It was heady, to say the least.

Michael:          When he opened to me, surrendering utterly, giving himself over, a wild exaltation swept through me.  I took and he gave, and it was wonderful, glorious, as if a circuit had been joined.  Give and take, dominance and submission.  I hadn't felt so freed in a long, long time.  My orgasm swept over me like an electrical storm, and my fingers tightened in his hair as I held him in place and I gave him everything, poured all my essence into him, a cry of completion and triumph escaping me as I came.

Randy:            He held himself in place, deep inside me while his cock pulsed, releasing his seed down my throat. I swallowed convulsively, missing the taste of it on my tongue, bitter and welcome. When he began to soften he started to pull back but I followed, licking and sucking, taking him back inside me, my nose pressing against the crisp wiry hair of his groin. He pulled back a second time and I shuddered, knowing I had to let him go. I could taste him on my tongue now and it completed the moment, the harsh flavor spreading over my taste buds. I sat back on my heels and crossed my arms behind me. My erection throbbed and pulsated in time with the blood pounding through my veins, but it seemed secondary, almost, in comparison to what I'd felt, hovering just within that place where I would do anything for Michael. I licked my lips and murmured, "Thank you, Sir."

Michael:          His breath sounded as harsh as mine, his chest rising and falling as quickly as did mine.  My blood sang in my veins, a song of completion and satisfaction.  I tugged up my sweats, clamping down on the minute trembling of my hands.  He should have tucked me back in, but I wouldn't reprimand him for it now.

I reached down and tipped up his face.  His mouth was red and swollen, and a fine trickle of my seed had escaped one corner; I smoothed it off. 

"Very good, Pet," I said softly.  "You've done very well today.  I'm pleased.  I think we will have a very good time together."

Randy:            "Thank you, Sir. I think so--too." I relaxed a little, taking care to keep my shoulders and back straight and firm, but not rigidly tense. My cock stood up straight between my thighs; I was very aware of it now, aching and hard, wanting relief. I wasn't sure if I should ask, or just wait; he'd said it was his choice to give me pleasure or not, but he'd also said if I did a good job he'd reward me. I didn't want to appear impatient or questioning. Maybe this was a test? To see if I trusted him to follow through? I sighed raggedly, unsure of myself and the situation. When in doubt, ask. I swallowed and tilted my head up minutely. "Permission to ask a question, Sir?"

Michael:          I ran my fingers through my hair, and then stretched expansively.  Satiation hummed through me, making me feel pleased and mellow.  "You may ask, though I may not answer."

Randy:            I was going to make a list of questions to ask him at some point when we were talking. I swallowed again. "Meaning no disrespect, Sir, but I don't know...what I should do. If I should do anything." He looked at me, eyes a little puzzled, and I wanted to frown. I was usually a *lot* better at communicating than this. "I know there isn't a handbook of rules for...this. But...do I...wait, now? On your pleasure? You said I'd be rewarded...and...sucking you was...wonderful. Do I ask? Or remind you? Or...just...wait?"

Michael:          I reminded myself that even though he'd played, albeit in a skewed sort of way, he'd never had any sort of formal training.  He was still too focused on his own needs, impatient, wanting to come.  He'd need to learn that in this, those needs were secondary to mine, and that in pushing for his own release, he'd forgotten that my needs/wants/desires were paramount.  In a trained sub, I'd come down hard for such impatience and forgetfulness of the rules; he was new, so I would be lenient.  Once.

I squatted down in front of him so our faces were level.  "First of all, save such questions for a time outside of this one."  My voice was mild, though it brooked no argument.  "I explained the rules at the outset, but evidently, you've forgotten them.  Perhaps you need to be study them a bit more."

I rose and went to the study, picking up a pen and one of his yellow legal pads.  I dropped them to the floor beneath his widespread knees.  "Recall the rules I gave you at the beginning.  Write each one fifty times. Perhaps that will help you to remember them."  The corner of my mouth quirked.  "It will, at least, temper your impatience a bit.  When you are finished, you may tell me." 

Ignoring his look of disbelief, I turned calmly, went to my chair, and picked up the novel I'd been reading the night before, and settled in comfortably.

Randy:            I stared after him, my brain buzzing furiously. I could feel the heat in my face; it was a combination of embarrassment and fury--how dare he treat me like a child?! I was willing to bet my memory was a thousand times better than his ever would be. I drew myself up, ready to say something, anything, that would end this--and then sat back again, staring at the paper in front of me.

*I* asked for this. I wanted to serve, to submit, to give myself to him. He was interested, yes. More than interested. But I'd initiated it, I'd been the one to push the discussion, I'd been the one who wanted to learn. To grow. And I was impatient. I always had been; it was, Sarah liked to tell me, somewhat the curse of an overly inquisitive brain. In my quest to learn as much as I could, I sometimes skipped steps--or tried to. Walking before crawling, that sort of thing. But skipping steps here wouldn't do me any good, because--by my choice--I had to answer to someone else. In this place, in this time, *I had to answer to Michael.*

I thought back to what he'd said, the points he'd outlined both in our discussion, then once he had me on my knees. D/s, it seemed, wasn't just about leather and pleasure, it was about discipline--inward, personal discipline, as well as being disciplined by someone else. And it seemed it wasn't just about someone taking a strap to my ass--discipline apparently came in many, many different forms. 'Pride goeth before a fall,' was how the quote went, and Michael saw mine and decided to take it down a couple of notches. My mouth quirked slightly; it was sure as hell working. I picked up the pen and pad, and shifted slightly to hold them better, then began to write.

Michael:          Although I pretended to read, and even turned pages, my attention was wholly upon Randy---Pet.  I didn't need to be a mind reader to know what went on inside his head; his thoughts were quite clear by the tense set of his shoulders and the tic of the muscle in his jaw.  He was a prideful man, and I'd sharply pricked that pride by treating him as a schoolboy.  But in this, no matter how intelligent he was, he *was* a student.  And sometimes the old ways were the most effective.

And as prideful as he was, he was also impatient, never a virtue, but even less so in this game.  We would need to work on that, but we had time. 

When he finally reached forward and picked up the paper, I smiled inwardly.

Randy:            Halfway through the writing I had to stop and switch hands. Writing with my left never looked quite as neat--if that word could even remotely be attached to my handwriting--as with my right, but it would do. I'd forced myself to learn to be ambidextrous years ago when I realized I was going to be forever taking notes on anything and everything. It helped cut down on muscle cramps and spasms.

It seemed to take hours to get the points--rules--written out. Fifty times each. Made me wonder how often Michael got in trouble in school, actually. I'd have to ask him sometime. I knew it wasn't as long as it seemed; maybe an hour, if that. At last I was able to set the pad back on the floor, my hands cramping and my knees complaining about the length of time spent kneeling, but my temper cooled and settled as well. No big surprise my erection was gone completely, too. I sighed, but shrugged mentally; my own fault. I should have waited. If nothing else, maybe I'd learn to be patient--even if it killed me.

I rolled my shoulders once, then sighed again and called out softly, "I'm finished, Sir."

Michael:          "Are you now?"  I closed my book and set it back on the table beside the chair.  "Bring it to me, and let me see." 

He scooted forward and handed me the tablet.  Pages of writing, in his bold, scrawled hand.  The first pages were legible; the second half less so.  I'd seen him switch hands about halfway through, so I wasn't surprised by the decline in neatness.  I was impressed that he was ambidextrous; I'd never noticed before.  He had numbered each rule, from one to fifty so that I could easily see he'd done his work.  I appreciated that.

I set the tablet atop my book.  "I will keep this for you.  I suspect that in the future, we may need to refer to it, and perhaps repeat the exercise."

His mouth firmed somewhat at that, but he lowered his eyes respectfully.  I leaned forward and cupped his chin, my face close to his.

"Remember, Pet.  Your pleasure is mine, to give or withhold.  In this game, it no longer belongs to you.  It is not your focus.  I am your focus.  Are we clear upon this point?"

Randy:            I nodded shortly, wanting to pull away but reminding myself again I *wanted* to be there. It was like anything else, there was always a good side and a bad side. In this case, I'd likely be hyperaware of both. "Very clear, Sir. And--" I swallowed hard, then muttered, "thank you...for correcting me, Sir."

Michael:          "It is one of my duties to correct you when it is appropriate." 

I didn't think him very pleased, though I gave him points for maintaining his submissive role.  It was, as in everything else, something to be learned.  And he would learn; he wanted this so very much, and would be a good pupil. 

"Now then.  Kiss me, and then you may dress, and the session will be ended."

Randy:            "Yes, Sir. Thank you." I said the words softly, my mouth already close to his. I wasn't sure what sort of a kiss was appropriate--and at this point I sure as hell wasn't about to ask--so just leaned forward. Michael's mouth was soft, but firm, and wonderful to kiss.  It was one of the things I loved to do most, to spend a lot of time kissing him. He didn't control the kiss at all, but rather seemed to relax back and see what I would do. That was my first clue not to push this too far--*I* loved to kiss him, but this wasn't about me. It was his pleasure, still. I tasted him very briefly then pulled back.

Michael:          "Nicely done, my Pet," I murmured, pleased.  I meant it; though he had tripped up, I'd corrected him, and it was finished, as far as I was concerned.  No more penalties, no recriminations.  I slid my hands over his shoulders and up his neck, cradling his face in my hands, and leaned in and kissed his forehead, damp with sweat.  Julian had always kissed me thusly when we ended a session, and the sweetness and kindness of it had always made me feel warm and treasured.  I hoped to pass that feeling to Randy, as I did treasure him, far more than ever he would expect.

Randy:            "Thanks." The kiss on the forehead was--different. Not sexual at *all*; rather, it made me feel...cared for. Cherished? I actually felt so many things inside just then it was hard to sort them all out into anything resembling coherency. I settled for leaning against him, savoring his warmth for a moment, before drawing back to look at him. "I think I have more questions now than I had before. And I think I *really* need to be dressed to ask them." I hesitated, then smiled grudgingly. "I didn't realize it would be so...difficult."

Michael:          "Movies and books and such make it seem so simple.  A strap to the arse, some bits of leather and silver...it's far more than that.  We'll explore it together, I promise.  Nothing too difficult, but then again, nothing too easy, either."  I smiled at him, and leaned back in my chair as he rose to dress. 

Randy:            I nodded as I pulled on my shorts and t-shirt and was surprised to find my hands shaking slightly. I went into the kitchen to get a bottle of water and grabbed a second for Michael, flipping it to him as I passed by him to settle on the couch. "I don't want easy...I guess I didn't realize...it's really a lot more about personal discipline, than anything else, isn't it? Like--I ought to have just waited another minute or so and you'd have done whatever my 'reward' was going to be...?"

Michael:          I caught the bottle neatly, and sprawled comfortably, slinging a leg over the arm of the chair.  The water felt good going down.  "It's about discipline, which you do have, and about patience, of which you are in short supply sometimes."  I shrugged.  "I probably would have rewarded you at the time, but I might easily have waited a little longer.  Good performance is rewarded, infractions of the rules is punished.  I'm hard, but not cruel; if you do well, you receive a reward, at my discretion."  I relaxed and leaned back, slipping one arm back behind my head.  "Because you're new, I give you a little more leniency.  But I expect you to remember what I wish and demand from you."

Randy:            "I think I got that down," I said with a wry grin, nudging my chin toward the table where he'd left the notepad.  "I am an impatient sort, though. Much as I hate to admit it, I'll probably be writing them again at some point."  I flexed my fingers and Michael grinned at me, but his eyes reflected the truth of my statement. It was easy enough to joke about it now, but... 'It made me...angry, Michael. At myself for screwing up, and at you for making me feel...like I was ten." I frowned. "And it's hard to reconcile in my head what I want--which is basically to make you feel good in any way possible--with what my body seems to want, which is for *it* to feel good." I took a long drink of water, hating pale skin which felt and showed blushes far too easily. "Does that come with time? With practice?"

Michael:          "It does, but then, some of us were never meant to be truly submissive.  I learned very early that role was not for me.  I didn't fare well playing it, because it simply didn't fit."  I paused and took a sip of water.  "Though it was certainly not for lack of trying.  Julian was quite creative in his punishments when I broke a rule."

Randy:            I downed several long, cool gulps of water, then set my bottle against the side of my neck. My face still felt hot, though it could easily have been my imagination. "I still can't picture you as a sub." I looked him over, head to toe, then shook my head. "Granted I don't have a lot of experience to go on...but still. So--what sorts of punishments did he do? I have to admit, the writing thing was--unique."

1. "And then, there was sneaking the horse into the headmaster's office at university...."

Randy:            "Excuse me?" I looked at Michael in shock. "You didn't--" He grinned at me, practically daring me to ask. Another puzzle piece that didn't seem to fit--Michael as prankster. Of course, I had to admit on the whole, I didn't know that much about him. I knew him *now*; knew the person I slept with, ate with, hung out with. But how much did I know about how'd he become who he was? Nada, actually. I leaned my head back against the couch. "I'm not sure if I should ask or not."

Michael:          "Getting the horse into his office was relatively easy compared to putting the maid's uniform on it," I replied, utterly deadpan.

Randy:            I shook my head, trying not to laugh and only succeeding in making myself cough. "I don't know whether to believe you or not, so I think I'll go with letting it slide." I took a drink of water and coughed again, trying not to choke on it. When I had it under control I set the water bottle on the floor then slid off the couch and onto my knees in front of Michael. He looked down at me, his eyes warm, making the grey seem softer somehow. "Thanks--for earlier. I will get better. I'll learn."

Michael:          "Of course you shall," I said softly.  "You wish so much for this."  Randy slid forward, pressing his cheek to my belly, his brawny arms slipping around my hips.  I let my fingers stroke over the nape of his neck.  Surprising, how sexy I found that one part of him when he was so handsome and so well built everywhere else.  Such a proud man, so willing to give himself over into my care, to let me take control and take care of him.  His life, both personal and professional, was so controlled that he needed to have a place where he could just exist, where he could simply *be*.  I would give him that place, take control of him for that time, allow him to simply experience what I could offer him.  I would be so good to him, would give him what he wanted, what he craved, what he'd kept locked up within him for so long.  "I'll be your safe place, Caro."

Randy:            There are words that mean even more than 'I love you', and Michael just said them.  I hadn't ever felt completely safe--not since the day I learned what nasty tricks fate could play on you at her whim. I was content with my life, but it wasn't complete--until a few months ago. And what a change since then! I shifted forward enough to breathe in the scent of Michael--rich and spicy with aftershave, soap, a trace of perspiration all mingling with the scent of laundry detergent and worn cotton. He kept rubbing the back of my neck, stroking gently, and shivers rippled up and down my spine. It felt good just to rest here like this. I had emotions still moving through me--remnants of anger, arousal, embarrassment, but contentment was overwhelming them. I wanted to be taken care of, and I wanted to take care of him. I dragged in another deep breath and murmured, "I'll be your safe place as well, Michael."

Michael:          I smiled, happy and content, and minutes slipped away like that before Randy stirred, his muscles evidently protesting his stillness.  I urged him up, and obligingly, he sat on one arm of the overstuffed chair, his green eyes warm and pleased.  It was an intimate moment, and I savored it; I'd not had such moments for a very long time.  I let my fingertips trail over his thigh, hard with muscle.  "We've the whole day ahead of us...what shall we do with it?"

Randy:            I looked down at his hand, at his fingers tracking lightly over my skin. It was a big hand. Big man. Not for the first time I wondered about how he could want men *and* women--there were so many differences between the genders. Major differences. Ah, well. Not my worry--he was mine. I smiled at that thought and wondered what he'd say if I said it out loud. Remembering Bran saying it to me made it waver around the edges briefly, until Michael pinched my thigh lightly, reminding me he was waiting for an answer. "Well," I said slowly, thinking it through, "it's still cloudy and rainy out--raining, actually." I glanced out the window, where the blinds were partially opened. "I vote we stay indoors, play chess, fuck ourselves raw, and eat a lot of junk food. A nice, quiet, relaxing day."

Michael:          It sounded perfectly good to me.  We played four games of chess; I won one and he won three.  I took him on the rug before the fire, or rather he took me; I lay back and let him ride me, watching the firelight gild his smooth flesh, watching him as he stroked his heavy cock in time to my thrusts up into him, watching him as he came, and beautifully.  I loved to watch him come; I could happily watch it for the rest of my life. 

Afterwards, he decided he was starving again, and we padded naked into the kitchen to raid the pantry, and eat all the things we seldom allowed ourselves.  Full and almost ill, we sprawled before the telly and mindlessly watched some old western with John Wayne.  Randy dozed off, his legs tangled with mine, his head on my shoulder and his breath warm and moist on my throat.  All in all, a most satisfying day.

*******

Randy:            I woke up when the fire crackled loudly and a piece of wood--mostly burned through--dropped in the fireplace. John Wayne was still being very awesome on the little screen and I wondered idly as I shifted around to sit up if it was some sort of marathon weekend.

Thirsty. I was thirsty. Michael was sprawled beside me, his feet propped up on one of the two huge hassocks that matched the couch, looking half-asleep himself. I'd been surprised to find he had a TV room tucked back behind the living room--I'd thought this was a two-bedroom place. Surprise, surprise. Actually, I'd been surprised Michael owned a television.

I leaned over and kissed him quickly, grinning when his eyes unglazed, then stood slowly, stretching so joints could pop and loosen. I was surprised it was only a little after four; it seemed a lot later than that. I had to piss, too; what to do first--relieve myself or drink more?  Bathroom, definitely. After that I wandered in to the kitchen. I was hungry again, too. I fixed a plate of fruit and sandwiches; I wasn't sure if Michael was hungry, but at least if he was this was more substantial than the junk we'd had earlier. And a pitcher of orange-pineapple juice, still slightly frothy on top. I snagged two large tumblers and filled them with ice, then balanced the whole mess back down the hallway to the TV room. John Wayne had segued into commercials; that was the problem with watching non-pay channels--you had to put up with the commercials. I handed Michael the tumblers then set the plate on the hassock beside him and settled back on the couch. This one was leather too, like the furniture in the main room, but more of a suede-type. In any case, it was softer to lie on. "Didn't know for sure if you were hungry, darlin', so I fixed enough for two."

Michael:          "Hmm."  I glanced at the plate, chose some cheese and apple slices.  Randy settled beside me with a grunt, and I hissed when he set the cold plate on my bare thigh.  He grinned unrepentantly at me, and then went back to watching the movie on the telly, his expression rapt.  I'd never been one to watch much telly, but even I knew who John Wayne was.  I jabbed him with a sharp elbow, and received a jab in return.  "Had this crush on the cowboy for long?" I teased.

Randy:            "Only about all my life." I grinned and picked up a sandwich. Michael snorted around his snack. "What, didn't you have a crush on someone--movie star or whatever?--when you were younger? I never watched a lot of TV, but my dad never missed John Wayne or Clint Eastwood. I don't care much for Clint...but...." I leered at the TV and Michael laughed and elbowed me again.

Michael:          I laughed, and felt heat creep slowly up my neck.  "A crush?"  I picked up an orange, peeled it, and sectioned it, handing half of it to Randy.  "When we were at home, we never watched much telly---Father said it was pap for the masses.  In school, we had a telly room, but I seldom went there---one had to earn points to get telly privileges, and honestly, I always found myself rather short on points."  I popped a section into my mouth and chewed.  "I do remember having something of a crush in my early years on John Lennon, and as a teen..."  I knew my face was red; I could feel it.  "I really can't say...it's entirely too dreadful."

Randy:            I offered him a section of orange, enjoying the slow, dull red creeping up his neck. If he could have, I think he'd have squirmed, too. "It can't be *that* bad, darlin'. Come on, 'fess up. Who was it?"

Michael:          "Oh, but it is.  You'll laugh, and I shan't blame you."  I glanced sidewise at him, and as I thought, his green eyes glinted with mischief and scarcely-suppressed humor.  I knew I would regret this to my dying day, just as I knew he'd not leave me be until I confessed.  I could make up someone else, but he'd know, I was certain.  I took a deep breath.  "Barry Gibb of the BeeGees."

Randy:            I bit down on my lip mercilessly; I wouldn't laugh. I *wouldn't*. Michael watched me, his lips twitching, but I couldn't tell if he were trying not to laugh, or not to cry. His face was still red, and I wondered how often I'd seen him blush with embarrassment--I was fairly certain I could number the times on one hand. I took a deep breath, making sure I could open my mouth without laughing before I tried to speak. "Oh, Michael. Barry Gibb? Oh, man." I bit my lip again then leaned in and head-butted him gently. "Gave a whole new meaning to 'Saturday Night Fever', eh?"

Michael:          The laugh exploded from me; I couldn't help it.  "God forgive me.  Yes, Barry Gibb---that was in my white-suited disco phase.  It makes me embarrassed to even think of it now, but oh, I had the most terrible crush on him.  He had the whitest smile, and all this...hair."  I made fluffing motions with my hands, and at that, Randy lost it.  I rescued the plate, and then kicked him in the thigh, joining him in laughter.  "Awful, isn't it?"

Randy:            Oh, god, my sides ached from laughing. I was vaguely aware of Michael setting the plate on the floor, but the visual of "all that hair" was just too much. I snickered again and again; each time I thought I was over it I remembered my Bay City Rollers/Shaun Cassidy phase, and the laughter started over. When I could manage it, I gasped out, "I had the hots for Shaun Cassidy," and Michael's renewed snickering sent me off again.

Michael:          I leaned back against the couch and rubbed at my eyes.  "God.  Things were so innocent then, were they not?"  I grinned at him.  "So simple."

Randy:            "God, were they ever." I shook my head and we snickered some more, taking turns poking and kicking the other while we laughed. Michael managed to recover enough to finish off the cheese, and I sat beside him and downed my sandwich, occasionally twitching with the urge to laugh again. By the time we'd calmed completely, the plate was bare and our tumblers nearly empty. I stood and gathered up the detritus of our snack to carry to the kitchen. When I came back Michael had shifted back into his TV-viewing position, legs propped up on the hassock, spread slightly.

I stood in the doorway and watched him for a moment, admiring the view. He was a *tall* man, and while slimmer than me, there was nothing small about him at all. Couldn't even really call him slender--he was lean. Long and lean, everywhere. A generous sprinkling of dark hair across his chest and belly--I brought one hand up to rub at my chest where it itched slightly--and over his thighs. A dark bush where his genitals rested. Incredible dark skin. Very kissable skin. Very kissable, period. I grinned and headed for the fireplace; a quick poke with a piece of wood stirred up the coals, and I dropped the log onto them. It would catch and provide a very nice backdrop. The lights were dimmed with a quick flick of a switch, and I turned the TV off as I walked past it. Michael looked up at me, a lazy smile on his face, when I stood in front of him.

"I thought we'd try making our own entertainment again," I said, before straddling his legs. I settled slowly, rubbing myself against him, then leaned in to kiss his neck. "John Wayne's nice, but I have a much bigger crush on you."

Michael:          "Do you now?"  I grinned up at him as he settled astride me with the appearance of someone who intended to stay awhile.  I didn't mind.  I trailed my fingers up his strong thighs, rubbed at his hipbones with my thumbs.  He smelled musky and like semen and sweat, utterly male.  And he was getting hard again, his thick cock growing, lengthening, rising between us.  His rose-tan nipples were erect.  I let my head fall back against the couch cushions, and regarded him lazily through half-closed eyes.  His cheeks were slightly flushed, and his tongue flashed pink as he licked his lips; the motion caught my attention.  "I'm most gratified you put me in the same category as the Duke."

Randy:            "Actually, darlin'," I drawled the word more than usual and Michael twitched beneath me, "I put you in a much higher category than the Duke." I splayed my fingers over his chest and rubbed lightly, grinning when his nipples hardened beneath my touch. I knew not all men were as sensitive as either of us were, but I was glad he was, especially. I liked to play with them, to listen to the changes in his breathing. I leaned in close and bit him gently, then a little harder, pressing down when I felt his cock stir against me. I licked up to his ear and teased my tongue around the outer edge. "How 'bout if we saddle up and...ride for a while?"

Michael:          "English style, naturally," I replied with a grin.  I wrapped one hand around his cock, and with the other, pulled his head down for a kiss. 

Hot and sweet, fierce and tender.  I opened for him and let him take control of it; let him press me back into the cushions with his weight.  My hand moved on his cock, just the way he liked, and he responded with a low moan that made me hungry for him again.  His hips surged against me, his cock growing harder and slicker as he thrust into my hand.  It would be damned good to have him here, now, to have him slide down my cock, to sheathe myself in his heat, to have him ride me again as he'd done early in the afternoon.  I trailed my hand down his back, fingers sliding into his cleft, pressing against his opening.  Although he'd taken me earlier, his body had tightened enough that I wouldn't try it without something to ease the way, and we had nothing here.  I pulled back from his mouth and gasped for air.  He grinned down at me smugly, his mouth pink and swollen, pleased with himself, pleased at my reaction.  "Let's take this someplace more comfortable, eh?"

Randy:            "Your wish is my command, darlin'." I winked and rubbed down against him again, his cock hard against me.  I'd given up wondering why or how Michael had such an effect on me; it really didn't matter.  I wiggled backward until I could get my feet under me, then leaned down and capped his cock with my mouth, my tongue probing into the small slit there.  I tasted warm, salty skin with just a trace of pre-come beginning to leak out. Michael moaned and thrust his hips upward, growling at me when scraped him gently with my teeth.  I pulled back then and grinned at him, teasing the damp head with one finger. "Where, exactly did you want to go?"

Michael:          I wrapped his fingers around me and arched into his strokes, my hand over his guiding him to the rhythm I liked, the rhythm he knew so well by now. 

"I want to take you...to bed where I can...stretch you out...really enjoy you...."  I shuddered as he rubbed across the head with his thumb.

Randy:            "Stretch me out, then stretch me with your cock?" I whispered the words in his ear, my hand teasing him with the rhythm that made his hips rise and fall. I bit his ear, then sucked on the lobe, making my voice a low, lewd whisper. "I want you to fuck me, Michael. Long and hard...'til I beg for mercy."

Michael:          "Definitely."  I nudged him back with my knee enough to stand.  He moved to suck me again, but I slipped from his reaching hands.  "Start that here, and it's all over before you can beg." 

He laughed and took my offered hand, standing up and immediately launching himself at me.  It was like contending with an octopus...how could he have so many hands.  We staggered toward the bedroom, mouths and hands busy, with the occasional curse as we stumbled into doorjambs or furniture, or when a caress turned into a pinch that merely added spice to the pleasure.

Once at the side of our bed, he gave me a shove that sent me sprawling atop it, and then with a whoop, launched himself onto me.  Surprised, I grappled with him and managed to end up sitting astride his hips; I knew I was there simply because he allowed it.  He reached for my cock, erect and straining towards him, but I caught that wrist, and then the other.  I leaned in over him, drawing his arms up above his head.  Oh, he liked that; his green eyes went dark and hungry.  He shifted against me, but it was a token resistance, and we both knew it. "Don't move," I said softly.  "Stay just as you are."

Randy:            I nodded, hunger surging unchecked through me. "Okay," I managed, not really trusting my voice. His words implied he wasn't going to hold me like this--and I laughed inwardly, since this was how we'd started today, with him pinning my hands over my head--but he expected me to behave as if he were. He removed his hands slowly and I twitched, wanting to move, but held pinned by the weight of his gaze. His eyes weren't soft grey any longer; they were dark and hungry, silvery in the dim light. I licked my lips and wriggled when he leaned over and bit my neck, sucking to leave a mark. "Michael--"

Michael:          I made a shushing sound on his throat, then nuzzled down and licked over his collarbones.  I glanced up at him, then grinned and tweaked both nipples, hard.  He hissed and thrashed beneath me, his hands coming up before he realized it.  I laughed, and then licked across both pinkened bits of flesh before sliding off him.  His cock was ferociously hard, curving onto his belly, red and wet.  I moved off the bed, and his head came up to look at me, curious. 

"Don't move," I reminded him, and turned to the closet.

I peered around the corner of the door; he lay as I'd left him, though he watched me intently.  "Close your eyes," I prompted, and with a sigh, he let his head fall back onto the coverlet.

Within the closet, I pulled out a small black case, one I'd not had out for a while.  A long while, I amended.  Years.  I opened it, and glanced at the contents.  A vaguely antiseptic smell wafted up, along with the scent of rubber, latex, and leather.  Everything seemed to be in order, and I closed it with a snap.  At the tie rack, I pulled out three ties, ones I'd not worn in a good long time; the silk was cool between my fingers.

Back into the bedroom, I set the case on the chest at the foot of the bed and opened it, angling so Randy couldn't see the contents even if he did open his eyes.  That done, I stepped around to the side of the bed, between his wide-flung legs.  With a smile, I let the smooth silk of the ties trail upward, and released them, letting them pool into multicolored pile between his legs.

Randy:            "Ooh." It was something cool and slippery--silk? But what exactly, I couldn't say. Cords of some sort? I'd figured by now he was going to bind me and the thought made me burn all the way through. It hadn't taken me long to figure out I liked to struggle against bindings while I was being driven slowly out my mind.

Michael took up one of the whatever's and stroked it down my right thigh, then over my cock, sending shivers all through me. I tried to push up against it but he pulled it away. "Please--" I bit my tongue, not sure if we were going *there* or not. "Can I open my eyes?"

Michael:          "Yes, you may," I said, and watched as his eyes fluttered open.  I knew he couldn't see very well without his glasses, so I moved a bit closer.  He looked down at himself, at the ties puddled on his groin, and his eyes widened.  I smiled at him.  "Just a bit of fun," I said.  "A bit of slap and tickle, not a scene."

Randy:            "Okay." I swallowed when he stroked the tie over my cock again, my muscles tensing to keep still. "Wh--what is 'slap and tickle'? You've used that phrase several times now...?" I was really pleased that my voice hardly wavered at all, only catching oddly on the last word. Michael grinned fiercely at me as he stroked the tie up and down the length of one leg, back over my balls--pulling up against my body--and down the other. I shivered.

Michael:          "A bit of playing, that's all...a little light bondage, a little slap or two..."  I ran my thumbnail up the sole of his foot, and he yelped and withdrew reflexively,"...a little tickle here and there.  Nothing serious.  All for fun."  I leaned in and licked his inner thighs, and nudged his sac with my nose.

Randy:            "Gotcha." I gave myself more points for not moving away as he teased me again, licking and kissing random bits of me, making me want to squirm. My cock throbbed when he stroked it lightly, two fingers running down the underside, teasing the soft, sensitive skin there. I yelped again when he bit my thigh, not a hard bite, just enough to make it sting for a moment before subsiding into a lovely warm spot. I wriggled under him. "Please--tie me up?"

Michael:          I moved to sit atop him, astride his waist, and settled my weight upon him with enough force to make him grunt.  "You're a most pushy sub," I replied.  "But at least you say 'please'. "  I grinned down at him, and he looked entirely unrepentant.  He still had his hands in place above his head, though he flexed his fingers.  "Give me your hands."

Instantly he brought them down, offering them to me, wrists together, muscles flexing beneath his smooth skin.  Utterly wonderful.  I took one of the ties, and wrapped it about his wrists, not too tightly, but snug enough he'd have problems with getting free, and knotted it off.  He gave it an experimental tug, and nodded when it didn't give.  The other two ties I knotted together, passed around the one about his wrists, and then fastened it securely to one of the bedposts so his arms extended above his head.  He glanced up at the arrangement, gave it a hard tug, and nodded again.  It wasn't something I'd use for serious play; even though the ties were silk, and soft, they'd still cut into his wrists.  But it would suffice for this.  I slid off him and went to my case, retrieving the dressing shears, a pair of scissors designed to cut bandages, the ends blunted so as not to scratch skin.  I gave them a toss onto the bed in the event I needed to free him quickly; his eyes followed the bright silvery arc as they landed upon the coverlet.

"I'll have a lovely pair of padded leather cuffs made for you, but for now, this will do."  I tipped my head slightly to the side, and considered him, stretched out diagonally over our bed, the lamplight running caressing fingers over his skin.  "Comfy?"

Randy:            I pulled once more against the silk holding me, then grinned. "Yes. I am." The idea of being bound, helpless, was beyond exciting for me. My entire body felt alive, tingling, ready for anything. I shifted around until I found a completely comfortable spot, then relaxed back. The scissors were reassuring; it meant Michael could get me out quickly if the need arose. "I'll let you know if my hands go numb or anything." He nodded at me as if he'd expected me to say that, and I got the feeling he'd have been disappointed if I hadn't. "So now that you have me right where you want me, what're you going to do with me?" I licked my lips, my imagination fertile and overactive enough to provide several suggestions that made me feel even warmer than a moment ago.

Michael:          "The possibilities are endlessly intriguing," I said, an edge of snarkiness in my tone that made him grin.  I crossed over to my open case.  He followed me, squinting a little. I picked up a leather cockring; we'd definitely need that.  "Tell me, Caro...do you like toys?"

Randy:            I wished I could see better, or that he'd put my glasses on me. I squinted harder, wondering what all he had in that small case. It looked similar to an antique doctor's bag. "Um--not a lot of experience with them, assuming you're talking dildos and such. I have a couple packed up somewhere--haven't needed 'em in a while, now." Michael grinned at me. "That's about all I've ever played with, though."

Michael:          "We must remedy that," I replied.  "I've a fondness for toys, on occasion."  I moved to the nightstand, pulled out the lube, and settled between his legs.  He opened them wider, and bent them at the knees, exposing himself completely for me.  I ran my fingers over his perineum, and he shivered, his cock jumping a little.

"Clamps and pins and beads, oh my," I said, singsong, paraphrasing the old song in the Wizard of Oz.  I grinned wickedly down at him.

Randy:            "Beads? And--" I eyed him suspiciously. "Clamps and pins where, exactly?" He pinched me just behind my balls and I jumped, startled, eyes flashing up to meet his. He was grinning, but it was a different sort of grin. Not the 'hungry for you, ready to jump you' sort I was used to, nor was it Sir's grin of promise. This one promised, but it was...playful. Wickedly playful. I shivered in spite of myself and my cock throbbed, plainly indicating it's interest. I wasn't sure, myself. It was one thing to like things a little rough...but we were talking about specifically applied pressure to very delicate parts. Of course, that was part of the fun...seeing what worked and didn't, right? I relaxed my legs, letting them fall back open where I'd tensed up, and grinned back at him. "Okay--let's see where this goes."

Michael:          "My brave little soldier," I teased, and laughed.  I reached up, and tweaked his right nipple, hard.  He sucked in a deep breath, surprised, and I did it again.  It rose, a stiff little knot of flesh, pinkened.  "Clamps here..."  I tweaked the other, just as hard, "...and here.  Leave them on a little while, and you get the most lovely rush of sensation when they come off."

Randy:            I gasped when he trailed cool metal over my chest then, teasing me while he pulled and pinched my nipples, making them throb and sting. I liked nipple play; I liked hard nipple play. This would be different, but what the hell. It was all sensation to take in and make a part of me, right? I nodded and groaned when he leaned over and licked my right nipple before sucking hard on it. When he released me he settled the clamp--it felt sort of like a pair of tweezers--over me, then tightened it. I stiffened under him, arching a little, surprised at how...*tight* it felt. When he added the second one, I sucked in a deep breath. "Oh...oh, wow."

Michael:          I tugged very lightly on the chain connecting the clamps, and he wriggled, his face set in concentration as he tried to decide whether it hurt, or felt good, or perhaps both.  I trailed kisses down his belly until his wet cock bumped the underside of my chin, and he pushed up against me.  I wrapped my fingers around his thick cock and licked up the bottom side of it, pausing to suck lightly on the fat, plum-like head, and he shuddered, a gasping sound escaping him.  I teased at the slit with the tip of my tongue, and he bucked beneath me.  I pulled back, and slid my hand very slowly up and down his length.  "What do you think?"

Randy:            "I think...they're interesting toys, Michael." All I could do was buck and arch into the sensations; I couldn't move my hands or arms to remove the clamps. They stung--a lot. I wasn't sure if they hurt and I was just totally in denial, or if I really was enjoying it. "Definitely intense." I sounded breathless, and my words degenerated into nothing more than a groan when he tugged lightly on the chain again. "God!"

Michael:          "Different, yes?"  His eyes were closed as he processed the sensation, and he gave me a tight nod.  I wouldn't leave them on long, as he wasn't accustomed to them.  His hips rose and fell as I stroked him slowly, enough to feel good but not enough to allow him to come.  He was so wet, and the scent of him was pungent and arousing.  My own cock was hard, aching for attention, but I could hold off a little while yet, absorbed in his reactions and responses.  I pulled slowly and steadily on the chain to the right clamp, and it slipped off his nipple with a little snick sound as the rubberized ends came together.  He gave a gasping moan and shuddered beneath me; his nipple was bright red and distended.  I knew it was throbbing, and hot.  I stroked him harder, and then pulled off the other clamp with a jerk of my wrist.

Randy:            I arched upward, coming, but not coming. I didn't know how else to phrase it in my mind; it felt like an orgasm, sensation rushing all through my body, sending my mind spinning along wildly, but I didn't spend. My nipples throbbed hotly in time with my heart, sharp white points that felt as if they were now the center of my being.

But it felt good, too. Michael said something low and soft, too soft for me to catch it completely, but it sounded vaguely like "good boy", then he pinched me again, working my nipples with his fingers as I stretched out and accepted the sensation, made it me. When he stilled his fingers and replaced them with his mouth I moaned again, the warmth of his tongue almost cool in comparison. "Ohgod...Michael...Jesus...."

Michael:          I suckled a moment more, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he gasped for breath, working through a dry orgasm.  He licked his lips, and I kissed him deeply, giving it my full attention and all of my skill.  He pulled fiercely at his bindings, seeking to touch me; I could feel his muscles bunch beneath me.  His cock, hot and wet, thrust against my belly, sliding along my own, and oh, that felt so *good*.  He bucked beneath me, trying to get his legs free to wrap about me, to thrust up harder against me, but I kept them pinned below mine.  Deep, desperate noises came from within his chest, his throat, and I released his mouth with a gasp to hear them as I rocked hard against him.

Randy:            "Michael...please...." I wasn't even sure what I was begging for, asking for, just didn't want it to end. I could feel him, so hard and hot against me, and I ached to have him rub me harder, to fuck me, to make me come--anything as long as what I felt never stopped. Of course, if I came, that'd be it for a while; after playing all day today, I doubted I'd get it back up right away, even for him.

His cock slid along mine and I shuddered, moaning again when the friction was *almost* there, but not quite enough. I felt highly sensitized, hyper aware of every part of my body as he touched and rubbed and stroked us together. One or both of us were leaking; I could feel the moisture combining with sweat, droplets of it slicking the way for us, squelching wetly between our bodies. I wriggled under him again, trying to get my legs out from under his, and he smacked me sharply on the side of my ass, his grin hot, lustful. Mine probably matched. "Fuck me...or let me suck you..."

Michael:          I made myself pull away; the urge to rub just a little harder, just a little longer, was strong.  My body protested, informed me in no uncertain terms that it was very unhappy, that it wanted to come, and as soon as possible.  My belly and cock were wet and sticky with our juices. 

The moment I pulled back, Randy's legs spread and he pulled his knees up, inviting, begging, needing, wanting.  His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes so very dark and desirous. 

Wonderful, but not what I wanted.  With a heave and a grunt, I flipped him to his belly and pulled his hips up and back, spreading his thighs with my knees.  He tried to rock upward onto forearms and knees, but I pulled him back so his weight rested on chest and knees, leaving him utterly helpless, unable to move, only to accept what I gave him.  His hands clenched, but then he gave in to it and melted into the position.

Unable to wait any longer, I seized the lube, spread some on my fingers, and slid them into his tight heat.

Randy:            I groaned when he opened me, my body quivering with need, wanting him--and not just his fingers. They felt good, but they weren't what I wanted. I closed my eyes and pushed back against him, shuddering and gasping when he spread them within me, rubbing against the sides of my passage. A little deeper and he'd hit my prostate, and we'd see how much pleasure I could take at once before coming. He moved within me again and I groaned then pushed my ass back toward him, heart pounding each time he curled his fingers a little. Michael started a slow, deep fucking motion and I slipped into it as best I could, given my complete lack of leverage. I was absolutely open to him, spread wide, unable to resist anything he wanted to do, and I almost couldn't bear the excitement that sent streaming through me. My cock ached to be touched, stroked, rubbed--anything to relieve the tremendous pressure building--but it felt so good to have his fingers playing with me, as well.

1. I wanted to stay there like that, joined, flesh to flesh, immersed in his heat forever.

Randy:            It was hard to stay still when he pushed into me, but I did, clenching my bound hands into hard fists, letting my nails bite into my palms. He felt *so good* in me, hard and thick, pressing me open from the inside out. I shuddered through several deep breaths, then clenched my muscles hard and tight, groaning when he throbbed wildly inside me. It almost felt too good and I wished briefly he'd put the cockring on me I'd seen him set out earlier. Ah, well. There was always tomorrow to play with that. He pulled out slowly and thrust back in quickly, sharply, making me suck air in with a muted gasp. Another slow withdrawal and a quick, hard thrust back inside, his palm smacking lightly against my ass. I wiggled back against him, heat building inside me at a phenomenal rate.

Michael:          In this position, he had no leverage---he could only accept what I gave him, and I held him tightly and fucked him hard and thoroughly.  I wondered that it was so difficult for him to simply accept pleasure; he seemed always to think he had to do the pleasuring.  Hopefully, I was changing that, little by little.

I shifted, and took a better grip on his hips and let myself go, giving him what we both wanted and needed, driving us both toward orgasm.

Randy:            There was a place inside myself that, once I realized I truly couldn't do anything--couldn't touch, hold, control, anything--I accepted happily. That was the thing I loved about bondage--it took the option away from me. All I could do was take whatever was given to me; in this case, a hard, fast fucking that threatened to suck all the air from me and leave me nothing but a gasping, moaning mass of sensation. I clenched him as tightly as I could, riding out the feeling of him opening me, sliding in and out of me fast and hard. It felt absolutely wonderful, right down to the sweat building on both of us, making us slide lightly against one another.

I strained forward trying to rub my cock against the bed but Michael wouldn't have any of that; he simply slapped my ass again and hauled me closer to him again. I shuddered and groaned, needing to come; my cock felt like it was on the verge of explosion.

Michael:          Faster and harder, until my rhythm broke and I came hard with a loud cry, pouring myself into him in long pulses.  Gasping, I reached beneath him, fisted his length, and pumped hard even as I shuddered through the aftershocks.

Randy:            It was too much sensation all at once: his hand on my cock, his cock pulsing in my ass. I groaned and pushed down against the friction, any semblance of control gone when he squeezed me roughly then pumped again. I shuddered and bucked against bonds holding me, against his body resting against mine, and groaned as I came, four or five long spurts that seemed to go on forever but ended too soon. I could feel every part of me throbbing as I tried to draw in enough oxygen to breathe, but it was too soon; I was still shaking with aftershocks, gasping raggedly.

Michael:          As strong as he was, his thighs trembled beneath our combined weight as I lay draped over him like a sweaty blanket, and slowly, we sank to the sheets.  I was still within him, his legs spread out to either side of my hips.  I could hear the frantic beating of his heart, the rasp of his breath as I lay with my cheek to his back.  I knew he couldn't be comfortable with my fist tucked into his belly, still holding his spent cock, and slowly, I pulled my hand away, wet and sticky.  He made a little sound, and a louder one when I gently pulled out and rolled to the side.  With a sigh, I pressed a kiss to his biceps.  One heavy-lidded green eye studied me over the smooth line of his muscled arm, still pulled taut by the silk binding.  I trailed lazy fingers up the length of his arm and tickled his wrists just below the constricting tie.  It was a little red from his tugging, but nothing alarming.  "Well?"

Randy:            I felt my mouth curve into a smile, and singsonged quietly in an echo of him earlier, "Scarves and ropes and ties, oh my." Michael snorted then grinned at me, his fingers still teasing the length of my arm. I shifted a little, as much as I was able, so I could see him better. "I liked it, darlin'. A lot. All of it. The clamps were--very different." I shivered once with the memory of the jolt that went through me when the first one was pulled loose. "I've never done that before--had a dry orgasm. I didn't know men *could*, without cockrings on." I snorted. "Guess that'll teach me to assume."

Michael:          "Guess it will," I agreed lazily.  He'd shifted partially over to his side, and kissing him seemed the right thing to do, so I did.  It was warm and gentle and full of satisfaction, and I spent a lot of time upon it.  Kissing Randy was a wonderful way to spend time.  When he moved beneath me, his arms flexing, I broke away reluctantly and patted the bed, looking for the shears.  One snip, then another, and he brought his arms down, rubbing at his wrists as I tossed the shears to the carpet.  I touched his wrists, tracing over the redness.  No skin broken; good.  He flung a long leg over mine, and burrowed closer, pressing his face into my neck as I tugged the corner of the coverlet over us.

Randy:            It felt so nice to cuddle with him like that, pressed together under the blankets. And what a long, lazy day we'd had together. I kissed his collarbone, then his neck, then his mouth, smiling when he made a soft noise and opened for me. When I had to breathe or pass out I pulled back slowly, looking into Michael's eyes. They were dark, but soft. None of the hunger of earlier was present, just the echo of pleasure left in our relaxing. I kissed him once more for good measure then curled into him again, smiling when his hands stroked slowly up and down my back. "Thanks, darlin'. For everything today."

Michael:          I made a soft assenting sound against his short black hair.  His warmth was addictive.  I'd gone so long without someone in my bed---oh, I'd had sex, but my partners had left right afterwards---that I'd forgotten how good it was to have someone to curl against all the time.  How quickly I'd grown accustomed to Randy in my bed, and how right it had seemed, even from the very beginning.  With a small smile quirking the corners of my mouth, I gave myself over trustingly to his embrace and drifted off to sleep.

Randy:            I loved this part even more than the sex--though that was spectacular, without a doubt. Curled into Michael, or spooned, or whichever way we ended up, gave me hope for the future, when I dared to look that far into it. When there came a day we couldn't...do everything we did now. At least we would still have this. But I didn't like to look that far ahead; not yet, anyway. We were still getting settled; no need to rush things. I brushed a kiss over his forehead, then shifted so I could breathe a little easier, and let myself be drawn down into sleep as well.

~finis~