“Good. Beproud.”
I crossed the room to my overhead suspension bar and casually raised my arms and took hold of the metal bar. There was enough space between myself and Ryannow.
“Take care of yourself, Ryan. Show me how you take care ofyourself.”
I’d watched plenty of people masturbate over the years. Doms, bottoms, Tops, masochists; a wide variety of people with different roles. It often told me a lot about a person and I had hoped that right now I would gain a little more insight on RyanHudson.
It’s one of my questions that I asked all apprentices or bottoms that I had extended and repeated sessions with. I asked all sorts of invasive questions associated with it, and as Ryan stood there and nervously reached for his shaft, I thought about all of his answers. He had answered that he used his right hand, never used the aid of a toy, usually had been reading or watching something that sparked the need. I was curious, maybe for selfish reasons, to watch how he pleasuredhimself.
He gripped his cock with his right hand and instantly began to pump. There was no slow build up, no ball handling, no caressing. He hadn’t even wet his fingertips or spit on his hand. He focused on something on my wall of implements as he feverishly jacked off. His free hand didn’t touch his body; no chest rub, no pinching or rubbing over his nipples. Nothing. He didn’t even look down at what he wasdoing.
Masturbation was a disconnected chore to him. Had he ever found actual pleasure in it, or was it just something he did to relieve thatneed?
He stifled a low whimper and then a quiet grunt. This must be his signal of an orgasm because he suddenly decorated his stomach and chest with a few creamy strands. After he came, his hand quickly moved away from his cock. He took no time to nurse it down slowly or stroke it tenderly, and he still hadn’t lookeddown.
Watching Ryan masturbate was like watching an unbalanced dinosaur in a china store. He took no pleasure in it, or time to enjoy it. This was most likely connected to something from his past. Right now he looked like he was covered in shame. I lowered my arms and was going to offer him a towel, when he quickly asked to use mybathroom.
“May I use your bathroom please?” his voice was urgent andrushed.
“Of course,Ryan.”
I gestured to the door so he felt that he had permission to leave on his own. My mind began replaying and retracing our events, and then I began gathering mental notes. Tons of mentalnotes.
It had been a number of minutes and I wanted to get Ryan out of the bathroom and under my eyes again. Selfish reasons? Perhaps. But I was also driven by responsibility. I went to the closed door and heard water running. I knocked andwaited.
“Sorry, just a minute,” he called. I could tell he was standing close to the door at thesink.
There’s that damn airapology.
“I mean, not sorry,” he quicklysaid.
I smiled and shook my head. RyanHudson.
“I was going to tell you to please feel free to use anything on the counter and there are fresh towels in thecabinet.”
If I’d learned anything about Ryan over the past couple of weeks, and I had learned a lot, I knew he’d be too afraid or nervous to touch anything on the bathroom counter without expressedpermission.
“It’s okay, thankyou.”
I frowned at the door as the water shut off. I could hear the toilet paper roll being spun and then torn off.Was he drying himself off with toilet paper?The toilet flushed, more running water, I could hear him drying his hands, and then the dooropened.
“Sorry. I’m all cleannow.”
Interesting.I’m all clean now. As if I thought he were dirty. Did he feel that pleasuring himself made him dirty? Was it the cum that made him feel dirty? This was connected to his father, mother and brother, I quickly thought.Diglater.
“Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen. We’ll take a bite to eatoutside.”
He nodded and went back into the play room while I quickly put together a tray of a variety of items. I wanted us to sit out from under the covered patio. He needed warmth from thesun.
Under the sun and sitting across from me, I would be able to get a good look at Ryan and assess how he was doing. There were many things on my mind, and most of which had gathered within the past twenty minutes. From the way he masturbated, to how deep the wounds were from his parents, to his immediate and shame ridden departure to the bathroom. Not to mention him using toilet tissue rather than the ample freshtowels.
“Mmm, these are good,” he said while shoving a handful of grapes into hismouth.
He concentrated on plating some fruit and a few small sandwiches while I concentrated onhim.
“Is your back sore,Ryan?”
He sat up straight and twisted from side to side before he rolled his shoulders, testing forsoreness.
