"Fuck! I am so ready to get out of here!"
Steven had been confined to the hospital for a week after the shooting, and he was champing at the bit to leave. He was pacing his room, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He looked magnificent.
"Calm down, Steven. Your papers will be here soon." He kept pacing, and I pointed at the bed. "Sit down, boy! You're making me jumpy."
"Yes, ma'am," he said as he sat, but his hands never stopped moving. They clenched and unclenched rapidly, and I frowned at him. When the nurse came in with his discharge papers, he sighed in relief.
"Now, remember, Mr. Katsaraos, no driving and no excitement for another two to three weeks. See your doctor tomorrow and once a week after that until he--"
"She," he interrupted.
"Sorry, she tells you otherwise. The stitches will dissolve on their own, so you don't have to worry about that. Take all your meds like you should, and return here immediately if you have any problems at all like fever or intense pain."
He nodded, she handed him his papers, and we walked out of the hospital to the parking garage. I had gotten his car from the restaurant the day after the shooting, and now, as we walked slowly toward it, I looked at him.
He was pale, and his steps were cautious. The bullets that Armelda Harland had shot into him had done a lot of damage, and he was far from his normal self. The first had entered just below his heart and had lodged itself in his left lung. He had been on an oxygen mask when I first saw him after surgery, and he'd had a chest tube for what seemed like an eternity. The second had penetrated his liver, and it was that one that had worried the doctors the most, but everything had gone well, and now we were going home.
As I pulled out of the garage into the afternoon sunshine, I pointed to the glove box. "There's something in there for you, boy."
He glanced at me but opened it. Then he smiled and pulled out his cock cage. This wasn't the one with the rings, however. This was the too-small pink one I'd found the first night I was in his home.
"Put it on, boy. Lock it up tight for me."
"Yes, Mistress Chiara." At once, he undid his pants, pulled out his cock, and slid on the cage.
"The nurse said no excitement for two or three weeks, boy. I think I'll keep you caged just to make sure you don't excite yourself."
He groaned as he clicked the padlock shut. "Yes, Mistress."
I glanced at him. "And don't think I have forgotten about your punishment for disrespecting me in the restaurant."
"No, Mistress," he said softly as he tucked himself back in his pants. "I still deserve to be punished for that, I know."
"And you will be, boy. As soon as you tell me you can handle it."
"I can handle it now, Mistress," he whispered, and I stared at him as we sat at a red light.
"You don't even know what I have in mind, boy."
"I have a pretty good idea, Mistress." He frowned deeply. "I fucked up talking to you like that, Mistress. I want to be punished for it."
"Hmm. When we get home, we'll see if you can really handle what I had planned for you before that horrid woman showed up."
"Yes, Mistress," he said, his frown turning into a small smile. "Is there anything I can do for you now, Mistress?"
I knew what he wanted. He wanted to taste my pussy or finger me, but I wasn't about to give it to him. "No, boy. Not now."
"Yes, Mistress," he answered, and I heard the disappointment as he dropped his head.
"Part of your punishment, boy," I continued. "Denial to the extreme. Denial of your pleasure, and denial of mine." I glanced at him with a smirk. "Denial for you, anyway."
"Yes, Mistress. It's no more than I deserve."
We rode in silence the rest of the way home. His home. I had sublet my apartment and moved in with him four months after we met. When we reached the garage of our building, I parked in his assigned spot and waited as he slowly got out. Then he walked around to my door and opened it, holding out a hand to me. I took it, and when he tried to drop it, I grasped it tightly as I shut the door.
"Kiss me, Steven," I whispered, moving my other hand to his bicep.
He groaned and took a step closer, pushing me up against the car. His free hand came up to my cheek, and he lowered his lips to mine. The kiss was sweet, even when our tongues met, and my pussy started to throb.
When I pushed him back, I asked, "Do you remember what you said to me after you got shot?"
He pressed himself up against me and nodded.
"Say it again."
He grinned. "I love you, Chiara Martinelli. I can't imagine my life without you."
I smiled and said softly, "I love you, too, Steven."
"Eímai polý charoúmenos pou akoúo óti, agápi mou," he whispered and kissed me again, this time a little more forcefully. I let him kiss me for a few more minutes, and then I gently pushed him back.
"What did you just say?"
"I am very happy to hear that, darling," he answered with a smile.
I returned the smile and then walked away from him without another word, and he humbly followed, his hands clasped in front of his crotch since he still couldn't stretch them behind him. When we reached the apartment, he unlocked the door and held it for me. I walked past him, still without speaking, and went straight to the bedroom. He followed and carefully knelt by the door, his head down.
"Strip, boy. Then get on the bed on your knees," I said quietly but firmly. "Don't hurt yourself, though."
"Yes, Mistress," he answered, and he did as I commanded. When he was naked on the bed except for his pink cage, I went to the closet and got a few things. I wanted him to know what was coming, so I walked back to the bed and laid them out. His eyes went wide, but he said nothing. I crawled onto the bed, and he held out his hands for me to put on the cuffs. Then I put on the ankle cuffs and hooked them together, left wrist to left ankle and right to right.
"Are you okay, Steven?" I asked, truly concerned about hurting him.
"I'm fine, Mistress," he said breathlessly.
"You must tell me if something aggravates your injuries, boy. Understand?"
"I understand, Mistress. I promise to tell you if something hurts too much."
"Good boy," I whispered, and then I clipped two straps to his wrist cuffs and tied them to the headboard's posts. I left enough slack so that he could move slightly.
I slid off the bed and picked up the birch cane. "This is what I had planned before everything happened, boy. Can you handle a caning right now? Tell me the truth. If you can't, I'll give it to you later."
His eyes were still wide, but he nodded. "Where, Mistress?"
I cocked my head at him. "Thighs, boy."
He took a deep, shuddering breath but then nodded again. "Yes, Mistress. Please punish me for disrespecting you."
I took him at his word and said, "Lean back a bit, boy." When he did, resting his palms on the mattress, I raised the cane and snapped it across his thighs. He cried out softly and closed his eyes, but he knew the procedure and said, "One, Mistress."
I wasn't striking him very hard, but by the time I got to twenty, his thighs were striped from his cock to his knees, and several of the stripes were welted. "Thank you, Mistress," he gasped when I put the cane on the dresser.
"Oh, I'm not done punishing you yet, boy." I turned my back on him as he sucked in his breath, opened the top drawer of the dresser, and pulled out an eight inch vibrator and a bottle of lube. When I turned back around, he was grimacing. I just grinned. "This isn't for you, boy. It's for me. You were not only disrespectful to me in your speech, you also walked away from me when I was talking to you. Because of that, you don't get to touch me or fuck me."
He gulped. "For how long, Mistress?" He sounded pathetic, and my grin grew.
"I haven't decided yet. Perhaps until your doctor clears you for a little excitement."
With a groan, he closed his eyes.
"Open them, boy. Watch me or I'll clamp them open."
He slowly opened them. "Yes, Mistress Chiara."
I put the dildo and lube on the dresser, stood at the end of the bed, and slowly started to undress. I pulled my shirt over my head, and Steven gasped. I dropped it on the floor and peeled my jeans down my legs. His gasp became a groan. When I took off my bra and panties, I thought he might hyperventilate. Then I sat on the bed facing him, lubed up the vibrator, spread my legs, and slowly slid it into my cunt. His hands fisted in his restraints, and when I turned it on and started fucking myself, his mouth dropped open, and he started drooling.
"Do you wish this was you, boy?"
"Yes, Mistress," he whimpered. Then he started begging, "Please, Mistress, please let me touch you. I'm sorry for my behavior, Mistress. Please!"
I gasped when the clit stimulator did its job. "No, boy. It's not punishment if I give in just because you beg." I heard the straps creak, and I would have looked, but I was fucking close, so I leaned back on my elbow and picked up the speed of my self-fucking. It didn't take long until my first orgasm raced through me, and I cried out loudly. When I opened my eyes and looked at him, Steven's teeth were clenched, and he was staring at me, misery written all over his face. I made myself cum once more before stopping, and then I got off the bed and put the vibrator in the bathroom sink. When I unstrapped Steven, his hands twitched, but he didn't touch me.
"Clean everything up, boy, take your meds, and then it's time for you to rest."
"Yes, Mistress." He got off the bed and moved toward the bathroom, but then he stopped and looked at me. "Chiara?"
"I'm not sure I'll be able to handle this punishment. I love you too much to stay away from you for that long."
I walked to him and kissed him softly. His hands shuddered, and I said, "You can touch me now, Steven. Just not in a blatantly sexual way. Keep your hands to places where you wouldn't be embarrassed to touch me in public."
He breathed a sigh of relief and gathered me to himself. "Thank you, agápi mou. I think I would have died otherwise." Then he kissed me, and when our tongues met, I groaned deeply. "Fuck me, moró korítsi, I love you so much," he whispered as he trailed his lips over my cheeks. "So much." He let me go, and I could feel his reluctance. Then he disappeared into the bathroom.
I got dressed in sweats and a T-shirt and then sat on the bed to wait for him. It didn't take long before he came back out. He glanced at me briefly and then put on his own pair of sweats. When he got to the bed, he raised his eyebrows at me in question. I scooted over to my side and gestured for him to join me.
"Did you take your pills, Steven?"
"Yes, ma'am," he said as he laid down on his stomach. The two bandages on his back each had a small spot of blood that had seeped through, but it was nothing compared to the pool that had surrounded him at the restaurant. I ran my hand gently over his back, taking care not to get too close to the gunshot wounds.
"Are you in pain?"
"Some, Chiara," he said, turning his head to look at me. "That's what the oxycodone is for." Then he smiled. "I have to say that my thighs hurt more than anything else right now, moró. Too bad the drugs will take that pain away, too. It would be a nice reminder to guard my tongue better." He reached out his hand to me, and I laid down and inched close to him. He draped his arm over my hip and closed his eyes.
"I love you, Steven," I whispered, and he smiled without opening them.
"S 'agapó, pára polý, moró mou," he mumbled, and then his breathing evened out, and he slept.
I kissed his forehead, slipped out of bed, and went to watch television.