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Sir didn’t like my comment so much.

At least, he’s pretending not to, but I think we both know I saw that smile on his face.

So . . . I got gagged and plugged.

The drool is already slipping from the corners of my mouth, coating the ball gag. Sir holds the plug at my entrance, still prefering to loosen me up with his fingers. I moan into the gag, losing my mind at the way he touches me that shows me he already knows me, knows what I need.

My curse is muffled by the gray ball, the sudden absence of his fingers torturous, leaving me feeling empty.

So unfair.

He coats it in lube—the same plug he used on me the night I first came for him. His palm spreads over my ass cheek, fingertips digging into the soft flesh there as the pad of his thumb brushes against my sensitive hole.

I jolt a little, my hole clenching to kiss his thumb.

“That’s sweet, Marcus,” Sir says, voice low. “Relax now.”

I dig my teeth into the gag out of pure sexual frustration, the plug stretching me until it’s fully seated inside. I shudder as another wave of heat rolls down my body, everything feeling really hot.

I whine purposefully to get Sir’s attention.

He looks up at me with curious green eyes. “Need something baby?”

I nod slowly. He circles around me to kneel by my face, unclasping the ball gag.

I take a deep breath. “A drink please, Sir.”

He smiles, gives a quick pinch to my cheek as he fetches the cup of ice water from the little bedside table, holding it to my face, a straw poking at my lips. “You’re so cute.”

I smile weakly, sip the water and feel the coolness of it easing my discomfort. I immediately feel a little better, giving Sir a smile to let him know I’m done.

After returning the glass to the table, he moves across the room to turn the ceiling fan on. “Better?”

I grin, and he makes his way back to me. “Much.”

He holds the ball gag to my face. “Ready?”

I open my mouth, my lips settling around the bite marks I’ve made.

My wrists strain against the cuffs as Sir pulls out yet another object from his kinky arsenal. The blindfold is typical, black and soft when it brushes against my eyelids.

“How are you feeling sweetness?”

I sigh happily, and wiggle my ass around.

He laughs, gripping my cheeks in both hands and spreading them apart so the jeweled end of the plug is visible to him. “Good boy.”

He plays with me, drawing it in and out—and then the vibration starts.

I shudder head to toe, the pleasure drawing a moan from my mouth that’s once again muffled by my gag.

I push back into it, willing Sir to push me over the edge, but he doesn’t comply. I’m left hopelessly bucking my hips into the air, and wondering where my Sir has gone.

I take a deep breath, but don’t get the chance to steady myself as hot wax lands at the base of my spine, following it up as I dip my back, my cock pulsing as I drip onto the sheets below me.

My breathing is erratic as I fight to keep still, my cock just hurting with the need to release. The heat of it makes me flush—

“Easy, Marcus,” he scolds quietly, a warm hand at my shoulder massaging it for comfort. I duck my head down, use my shoulder to push his hand to my face, longing to feel his grounding touch.

He obliges, lets me tuck my cheek into the palm of his hand.

I yelp as the hot wax lands between my shoulder blades this time, but it’s so much easier to let myself melt when he’s touching me.

My muscles finally sink into the bed and relax, the pleasure finally settling.

I let out a long, drawn out moan, one that gets louder as what feels like an ice cube settles between my shoulder blades to cool the heat there.

Fuck, that feels good.

I feel like I’m overheating, and the ice just makes everything better.

And so, Sir continues to paint my back with wax, sometimes soothing the sting with cool ice, and sometimes prefering to let me suffer, never once touching my swollen, wet member. The wax, poured onto the back of my ass and thighs, has given in to gravity, bringing the heat to my most sensitive places, making me mindless with pleasure.

I can’t move, trapped in a paralysing heat and never wanting to leave.

I’m overwhelmed with joy when Sir touches me, tucking an arm under me and around my chest to pull me up, twisting me so I face him. My cuffed hands are tucked into my throat, until Sir takes hold of the chain binding them together and lifts until they’re above my head.

I moan distractedly as Sir’s arm around my back shifts the dried wax there, the sensation burning even though the wax is cooled. If he were to lower me just a little, I could manage to use the bed to control the vibrating plug a little—the weight of it pushing against my sweet spot and vibrating is so overwhelming that I swear I lose myself.

Sir removes my gag, holding the straw to my lips without a word. I’m grateful—drink a little too fast.

“Slow down,” he says, his chest rumbling against my side as he speaks. It makes me moan—any little thing about him making me want to go into a horny fit.

Sir is so perfect—so perfect.

I love him. I know it—I can’t be without him, I refuse to.

His soft lips brush against mine so gently I want to cry—I do cry, tears soaking into the blindfold. I don’t have the energy to kiss him back, just enjoy the way he lazily moves his mouth against mine, sucks my bottom lip until it’s even more swollen.

He pulls me further onto his lap, runs a centering hand up and down my torso, easing my breathing with a simple touch, until he casually cups my member and that same breath catches in my throat.

I shudder, pre-come gushing from my tip into his hand.

He owns me. I’m his—I only ever want to be his—

Then the heat is back, the molten wax settling on my nipples and forcing a strained sound from my weak body. It drips from my sensitive buds down my ribcage, rolling down my concaved stomach and settling at my hips, dangerously close to my member.

Would Sir really do that? Pour hot wax on the most sensitive part of me?

"Fuck you’re hot,” he says, voice low and lacking control.

He then takes an ice cube to my nipples, cool water dripping down my slick skin much like the wax did. I twist away from his cruel hand, can’t really handle the tsunami of sensations that a simple ice cube invokes.

The fingertips of his other hand skim the side of my ribcage, once again centering me, providing the simplest touch with the strongest sense of safety.

He moans, abandoning the ice cube to press cold fingers to my entrance. I jolt away, but he follows, hooking the cold digits around the end of the plug and pulling the vibrating toy out of me. I don’t have the energy to moan or protest as he takes his time, not at all concerned with how close I am to coming.

He drags the toy upward, the slicked toy leading a teasing trail along my balls, the underside of my cock.

I can’t help it—the senastion forced a loud moan from me, my thighs trembling with the effort it takes to recieve so much pleasure and still not come from it.

I feel pressure at my ankles—and after a moment, realize Sir is removing the ribbon that binds me. He quickly replaces it though, laying the vibrator along my member and tying them together with the ribbon.

I grit my teeth, shake harder—I’m going to come, but I don’t even have the energy to warn him—

But he knows, knows my body, and grips the base of my cock tightly. “I don’t fucking think so, sweetness.”

I whine, buck my hips into his hand, come but don’t, riding the pleasure so damn high I can’t even remember my name.

Just him. Lucas. Sir.

He cruelly denies me my orgasm, leaving me tortured and exhausted.

He leans down so that his breath tickles my ear, his lips teasingly brushing against it as he speaks. “The minute I enter you, you’re allowed to come. A second sooner, and we do it all over again.”

I cringe at the thought—very sure I wouldn’t be able to handle another round of this, straining every muscle in my body to make him happy with me.

He pulls me to him so that I’m straddling him, his hands at my waist keeping me in place. My hand weakly grips his forearm, my other dangling awkwardly beside it. He rolls his hips roughly into mine, forcing me to catch my breath, and all the while I’m sweating with the sheer effort it takes not to orgasm. His hands fumble near mine, until my dangling hand is suddenly freed from the cuffs. I use it to grip his other forearm, steadying myself.

I have to let go immediately when he moves, as he instead uses that hand to free his length from his boxers.

Just feeling him against my ass, my over-stimulated member, is enough to force the words from my mouth.

“Please,” I beg, sounding as exhausted as I feel.

So, so close . . .

He shifts under me, and, afraid he’s going to leave me, I hold tight.

“I’ve got to get the condom, sweetheart,” he groans.

“Fuck the condom,” I insist, my words barely audible.

He slaps my wax covered, burnt ass, holding me by the hips and lowering me onto him.

I’m so weak I almost fall forward, but he pushes me back so that I’m instead leaning against his legs, and he can move me as he pleases.

Just the feeling of him inside me, filling me far better than a toy ever would, makes me come.

Sir grunts, pulling me down so that I take all of him, completely down to the hilt, before lifting me only to slam me back down again.

It forces a yelp from my lips—he fucks me raw, roughly, through my orgasm, an orgasm that never seems to end.

My body jerks with the force of it, never once in my life having felt pleasure even close to this. My hole clenches around him, bringing him to the peak of his own pleasure as he bounces me on his thick cock, fucking into me with a shocking tenderness as I feel the heat of his come inside me.

I shudder, my body covered in sweat, wax and come, let my body fall onto his chest.

Feel his heart beating under my palm.

. . .

We haven’t left the bed.

We woke an hour ago at noon, and that was only because Lucas had to get his fat dick out of me so he could get up. Being the sweet cinnamon roll that he is, he not only brought me orange juice, but also removed the wax.

It was sexy as hell—having been oiled down first made it a lot easier to remove. He scraped his nails against my already sensitive skin, drawing the wax from my skin in a process that got me horny all over again. I couldn’t come though—not after last night. Pretty sure I emptied my freaking balls between us.

Now, I lay naked with my back to his chest, a fairly interesting cartoon on TV that he’s been trying to get me interested in.

“Come on, you’re telling me you didn’t watch this as a kid?”

I frown, watch a bald kid with an arrow on his head sit on a spinning ball of air. “Pre-tty sure.”

I bring my wrist up to my face, almost having forgotten the heart-shaped cuffs were still attached.

“When are you going to take this off? Not that it isn’t cute as hell, but . . .”

He snorts, reaching under his pillow for the key. Taking my wrist in hand, he unlocks it, but not before I notice what’s inscribed in the metal.

“No way,” I say, unbelieving. “BYOP? How’d you even do this?”

He shrugs. “I’ll never tell.”

I pout, but can’t find myself to really be even a little annoyed about it.

“Next time, I’m putting you in these cuffs,” I say cheekily, shift my head more toward his shoulder so I can give him a sweet smile.

He’s not buying it. “Um, no. No, you aren’t.”

I frown. “Yeah-huh,”


“Yeah-fucking-huh, Lucas, that’s no fair!”

“Don’t make me gag you again.”

"I’ll gag you,” I threaten playfully.

He tightens the hold of his arms wrapped around my waist, and leans in to nip at my jaw. “Oh yeah?”


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