What is this man like in his everyday life? I don’t know anything about him—hobbies, friends, family, career. Nothing. He’s not very forthcoming, and honestly, I haven’t been either. He reminds me of someone who spends most of his life in control, like he needs it, which is such a juxtaposition to him when we’re together.
That’s nothing new, really. Subs are just like everyone else, and all of them are different and aren’t a monolith. Who someone is outside this lifestyle doesn’t go by any set of rules,but again, I find myself more intrigued by James than I probably should be.
He returns a moment later, naked, soft cock hanging beautifully between his legs. I wrap my hand around it, give it a gentle pull and say, “You’re gorgeous hard, but just as beautiful soft. Maybe I should put a cage on you. Keep your pretty dick limp while I fuck you.”
“Whatever…” he says breathlessly, “…Sir wants.”
“Yes, I like that. Whatever Sir wants. Let’s go. You first.”
He heads for the stairs. He lives in a large house, in an expensive neighborhood. It looks nothing like my place, but almost as though it’s a spread in a magazine. I would have to hire someone to get this look. But one thing I did notice is it’s not very lived in. It’s immaculately clean, nothing out of place. Nothing that looks personal either. No family photos or photos of James. No college degrees on the walls or anything that says anything about who he is as a person.
His room is at the end of the hallway upstairs—all the other doors are closed—and I follow him inside. He has toys and supplies for me to use. Last time I told him I could bring my own, but he insisted I use what he had here—even asked if I needed him to buy anything specific that he didn’t have. Providing everything we might use was a limit of his.
“Stop,” I say, and he immediately does as told, freezing a few feet in front of me as though his feet suddenly grew roots to his carpet.
Just like the rest of the house, there’s nothing personal in his room—just a space decorated in sage green and white, with a king-size bed in the center of the room, large windows on the far wall overlooking the backyard.
I walk around him, sit on the edge of the bed, and remove my shoes and socks. I place them neatly at the foot in a way I wouldn’t do at home but that I think James needs.
“I could…do that, Sir. Undress you, if you’d like.”
“I know.” I smile at him. “But where’s the fun in not torturing you a little?”
I remove my clothes next, my dick perking up again, half hard and eager for what’s to come. I ignore him while I fold my clothes, then walk over to the locked walk-in closet where he keeps his supplies. There’s a small silver key on the dresser, but I don’t want to presume, so I ask, “Are they still in here?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I unlock the door.Does he have a family? Someone he’s afraid might see all his toys?The small space is filled with bins, each perfectly stacked, with a list of what’s inside. He has floggers, crops, and other instruments hanging on hooks on the closet walls. I grab lube, condoms, a spreader bar, cuffs, and one of his crops, before going back into the room. He’s still standing exactly where I left him, looking like he hasn’t moved an inch, watching me.
“You have quite the collection.”
“I like having my own things.”
“Yes. I know.” I set the supplies on the nightstand, then stand in front of James. He’s breathing heavily, his cock hardening already in anticipation of whatever I’m going to do with him. “Hmm… What do I want first…” I lift my hand and smack his cheek, making James tremble.
“Please,” he begs. He likes this. I learned that last time. I give it to him again, slightly harder and earning a sharp sound that probably makes his dick throb just as hard as mine.
“You’re such a good boy. You love it, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.”
This time when I lift my hand, I don’t smack him, instead tracing his lips with my fingers before pushing two inside.
“I think I want your pretty mouth first. You have a great mouth, nice dick-sucking lips.” I push my fingers in deeper,and he sucks them, letting me fuck his mouth with them, whimpering around them. When I look down, his fingers are flexing like he’s fighting himself not to reach for my wrist and work my fingers like he would my dick. I pull free of him, his pupils flared in hunger. “You’re starving for cock, aren’t you? Such a needy little slut who only lets loose for the right man. You keep it all bottled up, and then here you’re free, aren’t you?” I brush my thumb against his temple.
“I’m not… I don’t…” He shakes his head, like he doesn’t know what to say or think. Like he doesn’t want me to see those truths in him or call him out on them.
“Get on the bed, lie on your back, head toward me.”
“Yes, Sir.” He moves fluidly, different now, like I constructed a wall between us without meaning to. I’ll have to remember to be careful, though honestly, I’ll probably never see him again after today.
I grab the cuffs and place them on his wrists, arms in front of him. His dick is as hard as mine now, both of us swollen and stiff, ready for more.
“Scoot down a little. I want your head to hang over the bed. You’re hungry for my dick, and I want it in your mouth. I’m going to fuck your throat before I take your hole. Raise your arms twice for red and once for yellow.”
His cock twitches at my words, and that’s always one of the most beautiful things in the world to me—a hard, needy dick, a lubed, open asshole, or a pretty, wet pussy. I love sinking into any willing hole.
“Yes. Please.” He uses his foot to push himself up the bed slightly so his head hangs over, then opens his mouth, ready and waiting.
