Mine

Chapter Nineteen

CHAPTER NINETEEN

JT

A s silly as it sounds, my legs feel jittery as I follow my Sir upstairs. Today hasn’t gone anything like I expected it would. I had worried because I knew he was meeting up with Dad. I’d stressed out all day, fear clinging to me that when I got to Sir’s house, he would tell me this is over…

But he didn’t.

He wants me.

More than just for sex and dominating me.

I’d never thought I was the person to need that validation. I’ve worked hard on being confident in who I am and pushing through despite what others think, but as much as it breaks my heart that Marshall is risking his relationship with my family for me, it also made everything slide into place—things I’d never known were out of place. This is who I am and who I’m supposed to be. Marshall and I…for whatever reason, we fit together, like two pieces of a puzzle. I know it deep down to the marrow of my bones. Maybe it was always supposed to be that way, maybe there was some great plan all along, one we didn’t know about or could control, and it’s finally come to fruition.

Or maybe we’re just really fucking lucky.

All I know is I want him, want more of him. Want all of him.

“How are you feeling? Is there anything you need before we play?” Sir asks when we get to his room.

I shake my head, excited for whatever he has in store for me. These moments between us fulfill something inside me, and the fact that we’re here in this moment shows that Marshall knows that about me. It’s exactly what I need. “No, Sir. I just want you.”

“Okay. If you change your mind, let me know.”

“I know. You’ll always stop if I need it.”

“I will. Now for something a little different. What are your thoughts on enemas?”

“Is that something I’m supposed to have thought about a lot?” I tease.

He grins, and I love how freely I can make him do that. It’s not something else anyone gives him the way I do. I see that about us. “Don’t be a brat. I’d like to give you an enema if that’s not a limit for you.”

I frown. I know this is a thing people do for each other, but it’s not something I’ve ever really understood. “Can I ask why, Sir?”

“Yes.” He steps closer. “I like to torture you.” He pumps his brows. “And I enjoy the thought of preparing you for me, of taking control of your body in that way to get it ready for whatever I want to do with it. And honestly, the vulnerability of you handing me that power, of putting yourself in an embarrassing position for my pleasure, is indescribable.”

He rubs his erection against me, and I swear, I almost melt into a puddle right there. Suddenly the thought of him giving me an enema is the hottest thing in the world. “Yes, please, Sir. I want to give myself to you that way.”

“Good boy. You please me very much. Finish stripping, then meet me in the bathroom.”

I have a feeling he’s giving me a minute and also taking a minute for himself, so I wait until he goes into the en suite before I take my time removing my pants and underwear. After folding them both, I lay them on the chair. My dick is hard, dripping with precum already. Just the thought of him fucking me shoots me to the moon, coupled with knowing he’s about to give me an enema, something no one has ever done to me…and that this means something to him, we mean something to him, is enough to make me dizzy.

Marshall wants to tell my parents about us, and he wouldn’t if he didn’t care…if he didn’t love me? It’s more than I ever thought I would want and everything I know I need all rolled into one.

I go into the bathroom, where Sir is finishing filling the bag. My heart slams against my chest, nerves prickling at the base of my spine.

“So…remind me how I can be both nervous and turned on at the same time?” I ask, trying to keep the mood light.

“I’ve done this many times before, and there are safe amounts of fluid that can be given to a person. I would never go over those. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

If hearts could swoon, mine totally would right now. “I know.”

“But I’ll make you miserable first.” Sir winks, and I can’t help but chuckle. I love seeing this side of him—that he can make something that should be uncomfortable, fun. It’s so different from anything I knew of him before.

“I hope so.”

Heat flares in his eyes, giving me a welcome burn.

“Bend over. I’m going to insert this nozzle and fill you with water. You have to hold it in for me until I say you can let it out. It will hurt, and you’ll cramp, but you’ll do it because it’s what your Sir wants. As I’ve said before, you always have your safe word, though. If it’s too much, you know what to say to make it stop.”

Pleasure receptors start going off in my head, my body and mind wanting to do whatever Sir says. That’s where my satisfaction is, what makes me feel like I’m flying.

When I don’t respond right away, Marshall smacks my ass.

“Yes, Sir,” I blurt out.

“Good boy. Face the mirror, please.” I do as he says, resting my arms on the cool granite as I watch myself and Sir in the mirror. He lubes the enema nozzle, then says, “Spread your cheeks.”

“Oh God,” I groan, part embarrassment, part need. But there’s no hesitation to do as he says. I reach back and grab my ass, opening it up for him.

“Such a pretty little hole,” he says, voice deep and raspy. Sir presses the end against my rim, then pushes in slowly. I’d wondered if he would start with a finger, but I guess this is basically the same thing.

I try to relax, which is much easier to do when someone is fingering me rather than sticking an enema nozzle up my ass, but I focus on watching him. This is Marshall, my Sir, and I want to give this to him. I want to have it for myself just as much. That’s what makes our relationship so special, what makes these moments so special—they fulfill a part of both of us, soothe a part of both of us, and there is never any judgment here.

“That’s it. You’re doing so well.”

I grimace through the discomfort I know is coming more from inside me, from the truth of what we’re doing rather than the penetration.

“There we go. You did it. It’s all the way in. Now comes the hard part.” We lock eyes in the mirror, and he smiles at me.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Very much so. I’m going to start releasing the water. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir,” I reply, the words coming out more confident than I feel.

There’s an initial flood of water. It’s not as if I’ve never done this before, but it’s still different having someone do it for me, seeing me this way.

“Look at you…such a greedy little slut for my cock that you’ll bend over and hold your ass open for me to clean you out this way.”

My pulse kicks up in the most addicting way, the soft voice in my head saying Yes, Sir. I’m your slut. Tell me again.

As if reading my thoughts, Sir adds, “Tell me. I want to hear you say you’re a greedy little slut for my cock.”

“I’m a greedy little slut for your cock.” In this moment, that feels like being the most powerful person in the world. My desire to submit to him is my superpower, giving me the ability to accomplish anything, to have anything. I’m untouchable and flying because wanting him and obeying him give me so much strength. “It’s all I want…all I need.”

“Christ, you’re so fucking perfect.”

And I feel perfect. Along with everything else he makes me feel, it’s the complete acceptance that means so much, and he’s the only person in the world I get that from.

More water floods in, my insides beginning to feel full.

“Can you take more?” he asks when I wince.

“Yes, Sir. A little bit.” Since this isn’t my first enema, I know my body—know what I can take and what I can’t. He might push me close to my boundaries, but that’s something we both want. I like the challenge in that, and he likes giving it to me.

“It’s okay to say yellow. Tell me if you can’t.”

“I can,” I assure him.

My legs feel weak, and a cramp hits my gut when he fills me more. I want to keep going, want him to empty the bag, but I also want to make him proud, and I know that telling him the truth will make him prouder than anything else. Sir wants me to suffer, but only in a way we both like, and neither of us would ever risk going so far that we did actual damage to my body.

“I think that’s enough, Sir… I can’t…take more. Yellow…”

He immediately stops, his hand rubbing up and down my back. “Thank you for telling me and for using your color so I know you’re serious.”

For a reason I can’t understand, I’m hit with a wave of emotions, like a tsunami chasing me down. Tears rush down my face, blurring us in the mirror. “You’re not mad?” I don’t know why I’m asking. There’s not a part of me that believes Marshall would be mad in a situation like this, but I need to hear it.

“No.” He uses his free hand to wipe my tears, the other one still holding the enema bag. “I’m proud. You’re such a good boy. You did so well for me. I’m not angry or disappointed in you.”

As soon as I hear the word disappointed , I realize that was really my fear—that’s what I needed him to say. I want Sir to always be proud of me, and I feared not being able to go on would make him dissatisfied with me, but really, it was the opposite.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Are you okay? I’m going to pull it out, and you have to tighten to hold the water inside. Can you do that for your Sir?”

“Yes,” I reply, determined to accomplish what he asked.

“Good boy.”

It’s weird and uncomfortable when he pulls it out. I flinch, but I also make sure I hold the water in. I can’t imagine having an accident like that in front of him. I would be horrified, but somehow, thinking about that, how embarrassing it would be, manages to turn me on more.

“There we go… Now turn around and look at me.”

The fullness inside me is even more noticeable when I stand straight and turn. Sir sets the supplies on the counter, then washes his hands slowly, as if he has all the time in the world.

“How do you feel?”

“Like you shoved an enema nozzle up my ass, filled me with water, and now I have to hold it in.”

Marshall gives me a devilish grin. “Perfect. Now undress me.”

“Yes, Sir.” I wince, trying to ignore the discomfort in my gut. It’s not as jarring as the first time I did this to myself, and if it starts hurting, I know what I need to say to make it stop.

Sir lifts his arms for me to pull his shirt off. When I stretch up to do it, another cramp spasms in my stomach.

Next, I work open his jeans, then push them and his underwear down his thighs. Sir isn’t fully hard, his cock at half-mast. I want to lean in and suck him, to inhale his scent and let it soothe me, but I haven’t been given permission, so I don’t.

When I get to his feet, he lifts one leg, then the other so I can pull his clothes the rest of the way off. I look up at him, and his eyes meet mine.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sir says, reaching out and caressing my cheek, causing warmth to flood me.

“Will you smack me, please?”

“Are you sure you can handle it right now?”

I figure he means so I don’t let out the water, but I feel okay. I know I can do this.

I nod, and a stinging smack lands on my cheek. Blood rushes to my groin, making me harder.

“Again,” I beg, wanting more of this glorious torture, but then another cramp hits.

“No. Not yet. Sit on the toilet.”

Oh… oh .

Sir chuckles. “Didn’t think about that part, did you?” He crosses his arms and leans against the wall.

“No, I didn’t. I’m not sure why. You’re going to stay in here?”

Despite knowing the answer, I watch him expectantly. When he nods, I sigh and sit on the toilet.

“Remember, you can always use your safe word if you want me to leave.”

But as weird and uncomfortable as this is, I don’t want to use my safe word. There’s something about letting him see these parts of me that makes me feel even more connected to him. When you’re dating someone, you try to only let them in on the good parts, the sexy or desirable ones, but with Sir and me, it’s never really been that. He’s seen me in ways no one ever has, and while he’s more experienced, I’d like to think there is something different in how I’m seeing him too.

When I don’t give him the word, he nods and says, “Go ahead, whenever you’re ready.” He then starts messing with the faucets, turning the shower on.

Face flaming, I do my business with the shower running and Sir leaning against the opposite wall, watching. The expression on his face doesn’t change. He doesn’t look grossed out or anything like that.

I’m not sure my face has ever been hotter, and it takes a while to finish, but when I’m done, Sir tells me, “Good boy.”

“If you say so,” I reply, and he frowns.

“I do. You’re so good for me. Now wash your hands and get into the shower.”

I swallow the knot in my throat, both excited and nervous for what’s to come.