When he asks things of me, I give them. Without hesitation, usually. I only wish I had a way to make him ask me more often.
Maybe that makes me a sucky Master, I don’t know. Hopefully, it makes me a halfway decent boyfriend.
I stroke his hair and stare down into his eyes. “My sweet, perfect pet,” I whisper.
Something akin to desperation fills his gaze… and then I realize what hereallyneeds.
Despite our exhaustion, and despite my need to justbewith him, I’ll give it to him.
Digging my fingers in, I pull his face tightly against my abs, making him choke down every inch of my cock, where I hold.
And hold.
It takes a good thirty-five seconds for me to feel him struggling not to fight me.
Ah, there it is. The desperation.
I let the sadist take over even though that’s the last part of me I want to deal with tonight. “What’s the matter, pet?”
Tears build in his eyes and his fingers clench and dig into my ass.
I fist his hair and tighten my grip so I can ease him off my cock only long enough he can suck in a desperate breath.
Not much of one, before I’m shoving my cock deep again.
Over the years, he’s gotten really good at not gagging. I hold back and pound into his hot mouth, making tears stream from his eyes and drool run down his chin. This isn’t him giving me a blowjob—it’s me using his mouth for my pleasure.
The irony is that he wants it more than I do right now. Which is why, despite how good it feels, I’m having a difficult time staying hard, much less getting over.
I’ve had this happen before with him. The first time, I made the mistake of being honest and admitting I wasn’t really in the mood to be sadistic to him. Later, he beat himself up over it so badly that I swore to myself I’d never again admit it. Since then, there’ve been times I wasn’t in the mood to be the sadist, and when I couldn’t force my body to comply, so I told him I had a headache, or was having a bad pain day, and that way he wouldn’t feel bad.
Contrast that with Jordan, who seemed to sense my moods even before I could, and who I could always be brutally honest with.
Yeah, it’s fucked up. Don’t you thinkIof all people realize that?
Iamthe Master, after all. Elliot’s my pet. I can’t be here for him in all the ways I wish I could, and he needs what only I can give him.
Digging deep, I turn to anger.
Anger that Elliot couldn’t accept Jordan as a permanent part of our lives despite all the times Elliot told me to date others.
Anger that Elliot can’t get past his fear about us.
Anger that I’ve set myself up in this position and have basically ceded my personal power to Elliot, even though he doesn’t realize it and refuses to act upon it.
Anger at myself, that I’m not strong enough to wound him by walking away.
That finally does the trick and my balls begin to tighten. “Get it if you can, boy.”
He reaches down and starts pounding on his cock, coming a second before I do. That also means I can ease up on my grip on him and hold him after I’ve finished spilling deep inside his mouth.
The tender aftermath.
My poor, broken pet. He’s not broken for needing the things he does—he’s broken for not being able toownand ask for those needs in a healthy way.
Guess I’m not much help, am I? I’m enabling him. Except he doesn’t have the ability right now to work on himself. That’s too much focus and energy diverted to personal stuff that he needs to do his job.
If we were together full-time, sure, I’d challenge him head-on to get his shit together.
