Chapter 22
Chapter 22
Davy
It’s possible we negotiated the new contract in less time than it took us to deal with the first, even though this one was nearly five times longer. We both knew the changes we wanted though, and there wasn’t much negotiation since we were both mostly on the same page.
I didn’t think he’d let me get rid of the safeword, but he immediately changed the wording when I told him I felt as if it gave me too much power. I’m still allowed to say it, and I’m encouraged to do so if I feel damage or injury is happening or could happen, but whether he stops or slows is entirely up to him — he’s no longer obligated to do so.
The thing is, I’ve never needed to say it with him. Not even once. He’s taken me right to the edge, where I considered it, but never far enough I had to say either yellow or red . And I wasn’t lying when I said it gave me too much power. I trust Master. He knows what I can and can’t take, and he’s always really careful about safety.
And now it was the morning after we initialed all fourteen pages, and I wanted to wait and deal with moving my stuff after Master left because I wanted to spend every second in his arms I could, but he insisted we do it now, before he left.
He said he wanted to oversee which things went into my two closets, and he wanted to decide where all my other things should go, and it made sense, of course, because Master almost always makes total sense, but I still wanted to do fun things during our final days together before he left.
And yes, I have two closets now, though one stays locked. Master had a clothes bar and some shelves put up in the garage, with walls around it and a door. All my work clothes go there, and my work boots. And socks. And nearly all my underwear.
The rest of my clothes are in a closet in Master’s bedroom, but it’s locked so I can’t get to it. When Master wants me clothed so we can go somewhere, or because we’re having guests I should be clothed for, he hands me what he wants me to put on. If we’re going somewhere, I have to take the clothes he hands me to the garage to get dressed. If we’re expecting company, I’m usually allowed to dress in the bedroom.
When Master isn’t home, I have to text him when I go into my closet if I need clothes, explaining what I’m doing and what I plan to wear. If he’s available, he’ll text back to either confirm I can wear that, or to tell me to wear something else. Or, possibly, to tell me I can’t do whatever I was planning. If he’s busy and can’t respond, I can proceed as planned, but I’m to be certain it’s something I’m allowed to do — like going to lunch with Matty. For something I’m not sure of, it’s best to ask permission a few days early. When he isn’t home, my closet will text him anytime I open it. When he’s home, it’s locked so I can’t get into it.
Master wanted to hire movers until I pointed out none of the furniture is mine. The only thing I’d be moving out would be my television, chrome book, clothes, toiletries, bedding, and towels. I figured I’d leave the cleaning supplies for the next person who rents it. The pots, pans, dishes, glasses, and silverware had been in the cabinets when I moved in.
And as much as I liked the rug I’d bought, I couldn’t imagine it in Master’s house, so I decided to leave it for the next renter, too.
So, five boxes of things plus a bunch of stuff on hangers, and the TV in a special box for it, all of which went into Master’s old pickup truck with plenty of room for more. One load, and we were done.
I stood in the middle of my living room and turned in a circle, saying goodbye in my head.
“Second thoughts, Davy?”
“No, Master. It’s the only place that’s been solely mine that was home. My place, where I could do whatever I wanted if I had the money for it, with no one to tell me what to do. It was important — more important than I realized, but this time in my life is over.”
His look told me he was waiting for more. And I looked to his feet a second before I met those brilliant blue eyes and told him the rest. “I thought I loved Carlos and Adam, but it turns out I was mistaking needing someone with loving them. I understand the difference, now. Until today, I could’ve left your home at any time. I can support myself just fine. I don’t need you; I want you. It’s a huge difference, Master.” I shrugged. “I can still leave. It won’t be as easy because I’ll have to find a place to live, but I can afford to.”
And Will had never asked for my bank information, never tried to take control of my finances. Carlos had used whatever influence he had through the cartels and closed my account with the bank, so it no longer existed.
He’d put a section about my personal funds into our new contract. I’m only allowed to buy gas for my car and bike, lunch at the RTMC’s restaurant, and the monthly fee for my Krav Maga classes. Anything else, I have to get his permission. He knows I’ll be paying insurance for my car and bike, but I’ll still need to check in with him when I pay them. He doesn’t have access to either my checking or savings account, but he gets to look at the statement every month to see what I’ve spent money on. I’m more than good with that. It’s like the perfect solution to make me a slave but let me keep my autonomy. I still have my own money. While I’m Master’s slave, I can’t spend it on anything without permission, but it’s there in case I need it.
For now, my mail is being forwarded to a PO Box Master gave me permission to rent for a year at the local post office. I can wait to redo my driver’s license, to decide which address to use. I think I’m going to want to go public, but I’m glad I have a little more time to decide.
Master still hadn’t said anything, which meant he thought there was more for me to tell him. I didn’t think there was, so I told him, “I’m going to miss you when you go back on tour, but I’ll miss you a little less being around your things, Master. I’m glad you want me in your house while you’re gone.”
Master pulled me into a hug and just held me. Our breathing synced, and I swear our heartbeats did, too.
“I love you, Davy. I’m glad you’ve had time in this place as well, so you could stand on your own two feet and prove to yourself you can do it. You came to me as a man, not a child, and that’s important.” He kissed the top of my head. “Do one last walk-through to make sure you have everything. Open drawers and closets, cabinets, whatever.”
My eyes went big. “My blankets!” I walked to the built-in sofa, pulled the seat up, and said, “I need another box, Master.”
* * * *
Will
I was secretly glad we didn’t have to find a place for Davy’s dishes and glasses, but I wasn’t going to tell him that. If he’d wanted to keep them, we’d have put them in the kitchen and used them, but it made it simpler that he wasn’t attached to them. He had two nice throw blankets, a lightweight one and a huge fluffy down blanket for when it’s seriously cold outside, and I was more than happy to fold them and put them with the rest of my throw blankets.
His towels were cheap, and I didn’t think I did anything to clue him in when I rubbed the top one, but he said, “I know, Master, they aren’t anywhere close to as soft as yours. I’ll take them to work and use them as rags.”
“If you’re attached to them, they come home with us.”
“They’re just towels, Master. If I’d known the difference in these and the good ones…” He shrugged. “I guess I can’t say for sure I’d have bought the good ones because I don’t know how much they cost, but if they aren’t staggeringly expensive, I’d have paid more for the super-thick and super-soft ones.”
I looked through my memory banks and had to admit, “I have no idea how much they cost. Other people bought them with my money.” I didn’t even know if the interior designer had purchased them, or if my house manager had.
But the last thing I did before we left was to roll the rug in his living area up and put it in the back of the truck. Davy had told me about finding it in a thrift store, and how it’d had made his place feel homier. I’d sent a picture of it to Dana a few days earlier, and she’d told me where to put it — in our mancave, under the coffee table. The colors worked, so that’s what we were doing. Davy didn’t have any doodads or trinkets, nothing he could put in my house to make it a little bit his, too. I hoped the rug could do that at least a little.
When we reached home I unlocked his closet and had him fold and hang his clothes while I watched, and ordered him to toss a few items I couldn’t see myself ever handing him to wear. I’ve been buying him clothes since the day after I met him. He didn’t need to bring any from home, but I wasn’t of a mind to make him toss all of them. About half had to go, though. Cheap blue jeans and substandard cotton shirts? Outside of his work clothes he wasn’t going to be dressed that often, but I wanted him in fashionable clothing when he was.
He put the shirts on a different stack and told me, “I can use the shirts as rags, and the jeans should go in my work closet downstairs instead of throwing them away, Master.”
I shook my head, wanting to argue I’d buy him work jeans, but changed my mind. Davy is his own person at work. I don’t get a say in that part of his life. “Okay. They go downstairs.”
And then it was time to explain boot camp to him. We were already in my bedroom, so I sat on the bench and pointed for him to kneel in front of me, which he did immediately because he’s a good boy.
“Normally, my boot camps are from seven to ten days long. We’ll do three days before I go, and then probably four to seven days when I return, depending on what I think you need. You’re a good boy, so it’s possible you’ll only need another three days, but I don’t want to create a mess by cutting it short.”
It seemed best to jump straight into what a day was going to look like, roughly speaking. “You’ll be spanked first thing in the morning, every day. Whether it’s hard and fast and behind us quickly, or whether I spank you to tears and keep going, you won’t know ahead of time. You’ll be given various writing assignments, and you can expect some long stints standing in the corner. I’ll also send you to the playroom or bedroom to get into a spanking position randomly throughout the day, and you won’t know how long you’ll have to wait for me to show up and deliver the spanking or caning or belting or whatever it ends up being. You’re good at addressing me appropriately, but for the duration of boot camp, consider yourself to be under formal speech rules.”
I looked at him a few moments. He didn’t seem upset by anything I’d said so far, but he wasn’t going to like this next one.
“You’ll spend some time in the jail cell. It’s likely where you’ll write the essays I assign, and you’ll go into it when I have some guests over tomorrow evening.”
I didn’t trust these guys enough to know about Davy’s existence, much less the fact we have a power exchange relationship, but in this case, Davy didn’t need to know why I wasn’t letting him socialize with me, only that I wasn’t. Boot camp is about being in-your-face about the power imbalance. It’s about getting the submissive in the habit of submitting and being subservient.
His face went blank, which means he didn’t like that he was going to be stowed away while I entertained, but he was trying to keep me from knowing it bothered him.
And that’s the line he and I will have to figure out as we move forward. He’s my slave and the man I love. The former doesn’t get to have much of an opinion, but I want to know everything the latter is thinking. How to keep the rules and station of the slave while giving our relationship the communication necessary to stay together? I wasn’t certain, but I also knew it was important I stand firm on this and not stop to explain my reasoning. Davy absolutely needs his slave identity, and no way was I going to undermine that so soon in our relationship.
“Your exercise schedule will increase, and there’ll be a lot more chores than normal — some deep cleaning the staff only does twice a year. No time like the present to start, so your first chore is to deep clean all seven bathrooms. All the shower curtains and floor mats go through the washing machine, but it’s going to take a couple of loads since you’ll want some towels in with them, to make sure the shower curtains get clean. The shower curtains don’t go in the dryer, but everything else does.
“While the washing machine does its thing, you’ll be cleaning the grout and all around the tubs and showers with a toothbrush and old-fashioned Comet cleanser. Make a paste with it and get to it.” I motioned for him to get up and leave. “Off you go. I expect you in bed by one in the morning, though I might call for you if I need to get off.”
* * * *
Davy
My arm and shoulder were sore when Master woke me the following morning.
“Up you go, slave. Go to the playroom, use the toilet if necessary, and get your ass on the fucking station.”
Master had fucked me around ten the night before and put a plug in me. I’d finally finished the last bathroom about ten minutes till one, and I was more than a little nervous about inspection today because I’d had to go so fast to get all the bathrooms finished in time.
I peed and leaned over the fucking machine as quickly as possible, and then waited. And waited.
How long? I have no idea. Probably fifteen minutes, but it felt like longer.
When Master finally arrived, he adjusted the fucking machine so my body was aimed down more than it usually is, and then put a bar in, over the small of my back so I couldn’t stand.
And then the belt struck a line of fire across my ass, and I yelped and nearly screamed. Master gave me ten strikes with about ten seconds between them, and then the belt rained fire on my ass, one strike after another, the crack of the leather louder than I could ever remember it being.
I was frantic with the nonstop pain, screaming and shouting. Eventually, tears fell, but Master didn’t stop until long after my sobbing started
When he finally threw the belt down, he stepped to my side and put his hand on my shoulder. “Why are we doing this, slave?”
“To get us started on the right foot, Master,” I spoke around my sobs as best I could, “and to help you decide which rules will work best for us long-term, Sir.”
“Exactly right.”
He stepped behind me and I assume donned a condom before he pulled the plug out and jammed his dick in my ass. It didn’t take him long to get off, and he released the bar over my back.
I stayed put until given permission to get up, and he waited a good five seconds to say, “Get on the cross. Facing out.”
I obediently walked to the cross and arranged myself the way he wanted me — feet on the little platforms and my arms up and out, so I was spreadeagle.
It didn’t take Master long to secure my wrists and ankles, but then my heart rose into my throat when he secured the tops of both thighs to the cross, and then used an ace bandage to secure my hips as well.
Without saying a word, Master walked to the wall and returned with a penis plug. I’d seen it in the drawer a hundred times and tried to ignore it, because the top part would spread my peehole three times farther open than it’s ever been before. I tried to shrink away from it when I saw what Master was holding, but I couldn’t move. Panic threatened to take hold, but I knew my Master wouldn’t do anything to cause true harm, so I merely said, “I belong to Master.”
It sounded subdued, way more than I was used to sounding, and Master kissed my cheek. “Good boy.” He set the plug on the little rolling cart beside him, opened a little container I recognized as a UV light box, squirted sterile lube into a small bowl he pulled from the UV light box, opened a packet with sterile gloves and put them on like a medical professional, and finally lifted another penis plug from the light box. It wasn’t exactly small, but I knew I could handle it. Discomfort would be an understatement with this one, but it wasn’t going to split me open.
“Trust is important. I’ll probably eventually work you up to the big one, but you aren’t ready for it yet.” He met my gaze. “I’m pleased, slave.”
He was pleased because I trusted he wouldn’t hurt me?
And then he coated the plug with the sterile lube, and I realized it was possible I’d known Master wasn’t going to use the first one because of the way he handled it, but then that thought was gone because the tip of the plug went in and spread my peehole, and that was the only important thing in that moment.
As expected, the plug was a lot, and there were lots of little yelps while Master mostly let gravity pull it in. Once it was all-the-fucking-way in, while I was still gasping and trying to deal with it, Master wrapped twine around my stomach and my dick, lining it up just below the head of my cock, just tight enough to hold my dick up. Not enough to cut off blood supply, but damn, it made me feel the motherfucking penis plug even more .
And then Master flogged the fuck out of my cock while I screamed and screamed.
He hit my balls here and there, but mostly he aimed at my cock, over and over and over and over. It felt like it went on for hours, and I know it didn’t, but when he finally finished it felt as if he’d turned it into hamburger meat. Cooked hamburger meat, because my dick was on fire. My stomach, too, because the plastic strands had hit it plenty while he battered my cock.
Tears streamed down my face. Snot ran from my nose.
Master oh-so-gently removed the plug, set it on the cart, cut the cord going around my cock, let it fall to the floor, and pulled a few tissues from a box. He’d taken the gloves off before he’d thrashed my cock, so it was his hands holding a tissue below my nose for me to blow into, and then a few minutes later, wiping my face with a damp cloth.
Finally, he disconnected my right wrist from the cross, but then stepped back, looked at me a few seconds, and walked towards the door.
“Get yourself the rest of the way off the cross and clean up in here. When you finish, draw us a bath in my bedroom suite with the peppermint stuff I like in the mornings. Kneel beside the tub if I’m not there yet.”
He walked out the door, and I struggled to get my left arm loose, but then unwrapping the ace bandage and disconnecting my ankle cuffs was easy.
First things first, I picked the condom and cording off the floor, threw them away, and then went to get the cleaner. In the bedroom, the condom usually lands on the mat instead of the hardwood floor. Down here, the floor is concrete, but wherever it lands, the spot has to be wiped up properly so it doesn’t leave a weird mark when the lube and jizz on and in the condom dries.
I hung Master’s belt on the doorknob so I wouldn’t forget to take it back upstairs, and wondered that he’d brought it with him, rather than using one of the straps already down here.
I put the fucking station back to its usual position, wiped it down, and then returned to the cross. It took a good bit longer to clean everything Master had used, but once everything was clean and in its place, I headed upstairs with Master’s belt to put it away and draw us a bath.
How much water goes into the tub depends upon whether he tells me to draw him a bath, or us a bath.
* * * *
Will
I released his right hand and headed to the kitchen to make myself some coffee, and then used the app on my phone to watch him clean. He worked quickly and efficiently. I love that about him. When he finished, I checked email and text, handled a few things, and then got Davy some milk and headed upstairs. He isn’t a big fan of breakfast, but I felt like he’d need some calories to survive until lunch.
Davy was kneeling on the rug beside the tub when I returned, his cock still a nice shade of red. Fully erect, though, so it must’ve worked for him.
I got into the tub, invited him in, and handed him the milk. He drank it without protesting or arguing, and I watched him while I drank my coffee.
I’d only allowed him four and a half hours of sleep, but he looked fine. I guess the belting and dick-flogging had fully awakened him. He gave me a foot massage in silence. I’d told him formal rules during boot camp, and so far he was doing well.
“Do you know why I used that belt?”
“I don’t, Master.”
“It’s the one I most often wear on stage. I’m going to miss you while I’m gone, but that belt will be a connection to you.”
He looked up and met my gaze with those gorgeous pale-blue eyes, shocked at first, and then pleased. “I’m going to miss you, too, Master. Thank you for explaining.”
I had him dry me when we got out of the tub, and then himself. I donned some shorts, and then it was time to inspect the bathrooms. I started to grab the harshest cane I own. The makers call it a stainless-steel whipping rod, but it’s basically slightly smaller around than an old car antenna, about three feet long, with a nice handle.
However, if my boy needed to redo a section, he’d be caned while he did so. I’d belted his ass and mostly left the backs of his legs alone, which meant I had a clean slate to work with, if necessary.
He’d been on a time limit, so it might not be perfect, and I didn’t want to risk having to strike him too many times with the stainless cane. I grabbed another that’s still pretty harsh, but kind compared to steel.
I had him mix some Comet into a paste and grab the toothbrush I’d supplied for this task, and we started at the top of the house and worked down. I’d let Silver and Animal know the deal, which meant we went through their bedrooms and into their bathrooms quietly.
Silver’s bathroom was perfect except for a few spots on the floor around the tub. I gave him a medium swat with the cane every thirty seconds, and he finished it fast enough he only had to endure three strikes.
The next two bathrooms were fine, but then we got to the one I didn’t have renovated when I moved in because I wanted a reminder of how hideous the place had been decorated when I bought it. The whole damned bathroom is tile. It’s just a stand-up shower, toilet, and sink, but the toilet is the only thing that isn’t tiled. Okay, the toilet and the ceiling.
Sadly, Davy ended up with fourteen cane strikes while he fixed all the spots he missed, and he was crying elephant tears when we made our way to the next.
He ended up with a total of twenty-six cane strikes, so I was glad I’d decided against the stainless cane.
I told him to wash his face and meet me in the workout room, and added a chop-chop as I walked away, so he’d hurry.
He mostly had himself back under control when he entered the workout room, and I pointed towards and weight bench and said, “Face up and grab your ankles.”
Again, he immediately obeyed, his legs straight and out, though he moved slowly to pull them up so he’d be certain to keep his balance on the bench.
I straddled the bench below him and put two tiny TENS patches on each of his balls, and used the long leads, so I could stand six feet away from him.
I leaned forward while he was in position and touched his lower lip. He opened his mouth, and I ran two fingers as far down is throat as I could. He never gags. Ever. I held them there about thirty seconds, my gaze locked on his, and then I slid them back out and wiped my hand on his stomach to dry them.
I scooted back so he’d have room to maneuver off the bench. “Hang from the bar and do your ab work. If you slow down too much or go too fast, your balls will feel it. You’re done when I say, not you. Stop too early and I’ll turn it on for a few minutes, not just a couple of seconds.”