Page 14

When I finally came, it was as if everything was wiped clean. No lingering anger or pain. My boy wasmine, and we were good.

I pulled the dildo from his mouth and told him. “Say it one more time.”

“I follow Master’s orders.”

“I love you, slave. Normal speech again.”

“I love you too, Master. More than anything.”

He hadn’t asked to come because he hadn’t been allowed speech other than the one line. Also, because it wasmaintenance. His dick was hard and leaking a little — did I want to deny him, or give him a day of orgasms?

I pressed one of the skinny-necked plugs into his ass and told him, “On your knees and jack off, boy. We’re going to see how many orgasms my slave can have in a day.”

It didn’t take him long to jack himself off, and I allowed an orgasm nearly as soon as he appropriately begged for it.

While he licked his jizz from his hand and the mat, I looked around the room at the mess we’d made. Sometimes I make him clean everything as soon as we finish, but most of it would be fine waiting. In fact, everything would be fine waiting.

I helped him up, walked us to the bed, pulled the covers and sheets down, and we crawled into the snuggly warmth.

Chapter 7

Davy

Master had known exactly what we needed, but he apparently wasn’t joking about seeing how many times I could orgasm in a day. We snuggled for at least thirty minutes before he left to cook us some food while I cleaned everything we’d used and put it away.

He was making gravy when I finally made it to the kitchen, and he ordered me to kneel on the counter and jack myself off again. “Permission to use some olive oil, Master?”

“Yes. The bread comes out of the oven in four minutes, and the gravy should be ready by then. Chop chop.”

That meant I should hurry, but I was still beating myself off when the oven dinged.

Master put everything on the table — mashed potatoes, country fried steaks, gravy, and rolls.

The steaks are premade and frozen, and only need to go into the oven, and he has a potato slicer, so the potatoes are in small slices and don’t have to boil long, and then are easy to mash up, but still, he’d made us a whole meal in the twenty-five minutes it’d taken me to clean everything and put it away.

I was suddenly starving, but I knew without being told I wasn’t eating until I came, so I closed my eyes and remembered the feeling of having to go back and forth across the mat wearing the damned humbler, getting bigger and bigger dildos with each trip, holding one after the next in my mouth while crushing myown balls and stretching my ball sack with every turn, and then gently crawling, every movement magnified in my balls, back and forth, a bigger dildo in my mouth with every circuit, and then the last one stretching my jaws until they cramped. Back and forth because that was what Master ordered, and I follow Master’s orders.

That last bit was what it took, and my balls boiled up enough I nearly came without permission. “Master! Permission for this slave to make a mess. Please allow your slave to find release!”

“Permission granted.”

With those two words, I came mostly in my other hand, though some fell on the bar. I licked up the mess in my hand and then scooted back on my knees and licked up what’d landed on the bar, thankful this had been a second orgasm and I hadn’t spurted far enough for it to land on the floor.

And then I went back to my kneeling position and waited for Master’s orders.

“Good boy. Wipe the bar down and then come eat. Permission to sit in your chair.”

Something was up with him giving me permission ahead of time. He usually made me stop and wait for it at every step, but I didn’t question him about it.

And it was nice, sitting with him and eating. Sharing a meal.

“Thank you for fixing dinner, Master. I could’ve made us something this morning and had it in the crock pot.”

“And you would’ve, if I’d told you to, but I knew what I wanted, and this meal doesn’t work in a crock pot. Tomorrow we’ll be eating out, and we’ll see what we all want the next day. Your abs are beginning to show, proving you’ve been doing your exercises. It’s probably time to add some intensity, so your abs can match mine.”

Master’s abs are big-time ripped when he’s on tour, and only slightly ripped during his down time, when he eats moreand isn’t performing and sweating three hours a night on top of working out during the day.

Rather than begging him to not make me do even more ab work, I said, “I follow Master’s rules and orders.” To myself, I added,whether I want to or not.