Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Cassius
The next few weeks fly by in much of the same fashion.
Deal with the witch at home, since she’s been lingering.
Bring Chrissy to school.
Take a nap.
Go to work.
Go home and sleep.
I check in with Cammy as often as I can, but I hardly see her anymore.
We’ve decided that an apartment is the way to go, and so I’ve been saving as much money as I can, so we can pay months in advance. This way, if we find a place we like, they’ll likely give it to us since we have so much to put down. Shitty, but that’s how things are.
We won’t be picky about where we go, but if we can find a three bedroom in a decent side of town? That would be perfect.
It’s Saturday morning, and I’m lying in bed after not sleeping great—again.
I have to get up soon to get ready to head over to Harmon’s.
It’s still dark outside, and it’s always difficult to get out of bed when the sun isn’t up.
I also had a nightmare that I can’t remember but left me feeling off.
The one good thing going lately is that spring is coming, so the mornings and nights aren’t as brisk as they were.
With nothing left to do, I get up and leave early so I can grab breakfast on the way.
I go through my normal routine of changing when I get there.
Today is a no-uniform day, which happens on Saturday mornings more than any other day.
I smile to myself as I go over the schedule.
Memorize it. Then leave the room to serve my Master.
I stop short when I enter the dining room. A new piece of furniture has been added—one that doesn’t quite fit in a dining room.
“A massage table?” I mutter to myself, but don’t dwell on it too long.
Maybe he wants a massage before breakfast?
Or maybe during? Seems weird, but whatever he wants.
Or maybe it wasn’t put away, after… well, whatever he does on Friday nights, which suddenly has my stomach sour.
I never gave much thought to what he does on days I’m not here.
But now that images are flying through my head, I’m wondering too much.
And I don’t like what I’m coming up with.
What if he’s with someone else on Fridays? What if he’s praising someone else? Petting someone else? Letting someone else rest their head on his lap? What if—ah, fuck!
I let out a pained growl after hitting my hip on the island. I need to pay attention and stop worrying about what my boss is doing on my days off.
He’s your boss, Cass. Just your boss.
I get his breakfast ready, my head foggy, and when I bring it out, he’s sitting at the table, smiling at me.
“Good morning, Cassius.”
“Morning, Master.”
I move to put the food down, but he holds out his hand. “Do me a favor and put that back in the warmer.”
“You don’t want to eat it?” I question.
“I have a surprise for you.” I turn to move, but he puts his hand on my arm. “And next time, do as I say without talking back.” His tone is firm but not cruel. I like it way too much.
I do as he says, putting all the food back where it was. Warm stuff in the warmer; cold stuff in the fridge.
When I return to the dining room, he’s standing by that massage table.
And I’m confused.
“You’ve been doing such a good job for me, I thought I would reward you.”
“You pay me a lot of money for this,” I say. “That’s reward enough.”
“That’s not a reward, that’s payment.”
“It’s basically the same thing.”
Smirking, he watches me, humor dancing in his eyes. “Consider it a bonus then.” He walks up to me, closing the distance between us. “And if I have to warn you again about not speaking back, there will be punishment.”
My mouth drops open. This is new.
I agreed to that on the form because I didn’t think it would happen.
I knew I would follow the rules and do anything he asked because I was desperate for the money.
I guess I’ve gotten too comfortable with him.
He was easy on me in training, but he did warn things would get stricter.
It’s not bad, just… more difficult to follow.
“Now,” he says, putting his hand on my lower back. “Come over to the table and lie down like the good boy I know you can be.”
I move to the table wordlessly. There is a hole in it, about halfway down… and it’s not the one for your face because that one is up at the top.
I glance at him, and he’s smiling.
“This morning, I want to give you a break.”
“From what?”
“Providing for me.”
I swallow hard. “You mean I’m not going to—”
Jerking off onto his breakfast on Saturday mornings is by far my favorite thing, closely followed by falling asleep on his lap while he runs his fingers through my hair.
“Oh, you are,” he says, a knowing look in his eye. “We’re just going to do things differently this morning.” He pats the table, and my gaze goes back to it.
“How do I, uh… Which way…”
“Use your head,” he whispers, and my cheeks go hot.
It hits me then. What this is… I saw a video once…
My dick instantly gets hard, and I quickly get on the table before he notices.
Though, I guess that’s pointless, because it is the point of this.
“Relax. I’ll be right back.” He brushes his fingers along the back of my neck. “I’m going to gather everything I need. I ran late this morning, so I wasn’t able to do it before you arrived.”
I hear the blood rushing through my ears—obviously passing by to go directly to my dick.
He said we wouldn’t do anything sexual, and I guess this could be considered sexual, but if it isn’t for the purpose of getting off, then it’s not, right?
And I did agree to this. I can’t think clearly right now, but there’s a fuzzy image of something that fits this on that paper I filled out.
Not that I care anyway. Because I don’t.
This is so hot and I am so ready for it.
Fuck the contract and anything I agreed to.
This man can do whatever the hell he wants to me, when he wants, how he wants.
If he can make me feel so good and relaxed by running his fingers through my hair, I can only imagine what he can do with my dick.
My dick that hasn’t been touched by someone who isn’t me in a very, very long time.
I feel his presence when he comes back into the room, and he speaks softly to let me know he’s returned and didn’t want to scare me.
He’s so thoughtful.
“Before I get what I need from you, I’d like to give you a massage to help you relax. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” I say, though it comes out mumbled from my face being squished in the face-hole.
“If you want me to stop at any point, say so.”
I don’t answer, and a moment later, his hands are on me, warm and smooth from whatever oil he’s using.
A few brushes along my spine, and the minty scent reaches my nose.
His fingers glide up and down my spine, around my shoulder blade, along the top of my ass, over my shoulders. My neck. The base of my skull.
I’m trying my hardest not to drool. I’m in a sort of trance—a foggy, relaxed state that I’ve never felt before. And it hits me all at once why that is.
I’m safe.
Here. With him. I can be vulnerable, and he won’t hurt me or judge me.
I’m safe.
Because of that, I can let go..
I allow myself to enjoy this, to feel his hands digging into muscles I didn’t know were sore until he massages them.
He moves down my legs, over my ass and thighs, to my calves.
He massages the heels of my feet. Pinches my toes.
Goes back up the other side. Then he works on my arms. My hands.
I’m half asleep. Maybe fully asleep, but conscious enough to know what’s going on because I don’t want to miss it.
This feels too good. Not just his hands, but the safety. This euphoric state I’m in.
Then, out of nowhere, I’m hit with a wave of guilt.
That I get to feel this and my sisters don’t.
It’s unfair that they still have to suffer all the time while I’m hiding away here.
But... it’s for the right things. I’m not doing this for me, that’s what I have to tell myself to make the guilt go away.
This isn’t for me. It’s for us. It’s always been for us.
They’ll have good things soon. I’ll spoil the hell out of them.
Give them everything they could ever dream of.
“How are you feeling?”
I suck in a breath at his words waking me, his voice soft in my ear.
“So good,” I answer, my voice muffled by the cushion.
“Good. Because I’m starving. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like your cum now.”
My dick gets hard so fast—I hadn’t even realized that it wasn’t any longer.
“Yes, please,” I say.
“Don’t move,” he says firmly.
The blood starts to rush in my ears again as I strain to listen, trying to envision what he’s doing.
I hear the swish of his pants as he walks, his soft footsteps on the floor.
I feel the soft breeze of air as he moves beside me, and then I feel him there…
near my waist—the heat of his body warming my bare skin.
“Your cock is so beautiful, Cassius,” he praises.
I’ve never had someone compliment that part of me before. I like it. No, I love it.
I hear the sound of him rubbing oil, or lube, into his palms, and then his warm hand is on my dick. I can’t help the groan that comes out of me, my dick throbbing in his hand. I am not going to last long, but thankfully, I don’t think he will care since he’s hungry.
His hand moves up and down me slowly, fingers dragging along the sides and over my balls. I can’t tell if he’s teasing me or enjoying me… maybe both. Either way, I’m close, and like the massage, I don’t want this to end.
“Fuck,” I hiss, as his grip tightens around me, tugging on my cock in a way that you would milk something. I never thought of touching myself this way, and it feels good in a way I hadn’t imagined it would. A few more tugs and I’m done for.
I try to stay still, but the pleasure is too much, and I can’t hold it in. I grasp onto the side of the bed as I get closer and closer. This tugging has to be some form of teasing or edging.
It’s not a constant stroking, but a pull, wait a second. Pull, wait a second. Only downward pulls in a tight squeeze.
It’s maddening and so good at the same time.
I’m breathing heavily, my body shaking.
“You can give it to me, slave. It’s what I want,” Harmon says.
“Go… faster.”
“Oh no. Where’s the fun in that?” There’s a lilt of humor in his voice.
My frustration grows, as does my trembling. But he keeps going in the same motion, until I can’t take it anymore, and I explode.
He works me through my orgasm, squeezing out the cum from my cock into something that I felt brush against the head of my cock. A glass maybe. It was cold and hard.
“Take a moment to catch your breath, then come and kneel, so I can eat.”
I lay there, listening to his soft footsteps on the floor, trying to wake myself up more. The kitchen door squeaks. Squeaks again. Plates softly clattering. A bottle being opened. Silverware being placed down.
The chair scrapes against the floor, and I turn my head just in time to see him pour my cum all over his pancakes.