Page 18

Davy

Master ordered me to clean the stainless mirror and put it away, but he said in the future I’d have to lick it up. My jizz had been there for nearly an hour by the time I stopped crying and we’d talked, though, so I was glad he didn’t make me lick it up that far after the fact. He could’ve, and I felt terrible about washing it down the drain, but I knew better than to apologize for screwing up the scene again.

He showed me the stainless tool he hadn’t used, and explained how it’s designed to help the milking process along, but felt like since this was my first time it should be his finger for the entire process.

Master has me give myself enemas every other day when he’s on a break, but I hadn’t been allowed to give myself even a single one while he was on the road. Well, except for when I cameto him, and I had to give myself a large one before I left, and then small ones while I was with him. He wants my ass always available to him and usually plugged, and he tells me so long as I go long periods without enemas, getting them so frequently for a few weeks here and there won’t make me enema dependent.

Carlos had me enema dependent, but then I couldn’t give myself one in jail, and after a few weeks, my body worked everything out. I hadn’t had any money at all for a commissary account in those first weeks, so buying even a Fleet wasn’t an option. Eventually, once I’d gone to court and then finally made it from the jail to an actual prison, Carlos had someone fund my commissary account, since I guess it wasn’t good for him to, with the Feds trying to make a case against him. Anyway, I’d met Bubbles by the time I could buy Fleets again, and he gave me rules about how many bowel movements I needed to have between them, so there was never another problem.

I didn’tgofor a few days when Master first went on tour, but then I did, and it was fine after.

And I guess the point of all of that is the fact I eventually got past crying every time someone gave me an enema or ordered me to give myself one. I was sure it’d be the same with being milked.

“I cried the first dozen or so times Carlos ordered one of his guys to clean me out inside,” I told Master when we sat down to eat. He’d set us up in the screened-in room outside, with the ceiling fans going so it wasn’t too hot, and a glass of local wine he’d found that I loved. He was drinking his high-dollar wine that tastes a lot like dry vinegar (in my opinion) while I drank wine that tasted like Welch’s purple grape juice with a nice kick to it.

“And if you cry the first couple of dozen times you’re milked, I’ll still hold you and love you.”

“Thank you, Master. If you stop doing it because I cry like a baby, I’ll feel terrible. I mean, it wasn’t so bad, you know? Weird, andwrong, but it didn’t hurt. It’s your right to do that kind of thing, and I want to apologize again, but I won’t because you’ve told me not to.”

We were sitting beside each other so he didn’t have to reach far to tweak my nipple. “No sneaking apologies in when you know better. Hearing you apologize for being emotionally honest makes me feel like you want to hide your emotions from me.” He held a piece of buttery garlic bread up for me to take a bite of, which of course I did. I love it when Master feeds me. Sometimes he ties my hands so every bite of a meal comes from him.

It’s something else neither Carlos or Bubbles ever did, and in my mind it’s the difference between a loving Master and a merely an owner, which is kind of how I’ve started thinking of Carlos and Bubbles, because what they did wassodifferent than what my Master does. I mean, sure, it’s a lot of the same stuff, but it’s a completely different energy.

Well, except when it’s Lord Byron fucking me, but once I got beyond that first time, even that works for me, being there for my Master when he’s still on the high of a performance.

Chapter 9

Will

Even with the crying jag after milking, Davy and I had a fantastic day together, and it was a full day that ended with another workout once our food had settled, which I was happier about than my boy, and then a nice relaxing swim.

I put him on the fucking station in my bedroom and fucked him long and hard before we finally went to bed. He asked permission to orgasm, which I allowed, and thankfully there were no tears when he didn’t ejaculate and was still just as horny after it was over.

“Fuck, Master! Oh, God. I orgasmed without coming! Fuck! I still need to come!”

I aimed towards his prostate a few strokes and his ass tightened oh-so-deliciously around me, closing and opening over and over, his body desperately trying to ejaculate when there was nothing there.

“My slave. My body to treat as I wish.” If tears were going to come, I needed to know. We’d deal with whatever happened with Micca the following night, but I needed to know where my boy’s head was.

“Yes, Master. Yours!Fuck, everything’s yours. I love you, Master!”

I slowed long enough to lean forward and kiss the back of his head. “I love you too, boy.”

And then I grabbed the fucking machine handholds and went to town on my boy's ass, so there were no more words from either of us.

There are certain rituals I put into our day meant as reminders of my boy’s status, and one of those is me taking the condom off where I stand and letting it hit the floor, so Davy has to throw it away and clean the mat. It’s one of those cushiony mats that go in front of a kitchen sink. I needed something so the fluids and constant cleaning didn’t fuck up the hardwood floor, so if I was going to buy a mat, it may as well be all soft and pillowy.

All this to say, I went to the bathroom and cleaned my dick while my boy cleaned up my mess. I’d put a nice fat plug in him and then used baby wipes all around it, so it wasn’t necessary for him to clean up in the bathroom.

It’d been a long day for both of us, and we fell asleep quickly.

I woke with a hard-on, of course, and I pulled my slave’s plug from his ass and then fucked him with only the lube on the condom.

One of Davy’s jobs is to completely strip the sheets every morning and make it up fresh, all the way to the bedspread and the fancy pillows my decorator said were necessary. She knows me, though, so the pillows also act as bolsters, which sometimes come in handy to prop a slave on, to get the angles just right.

So, I dumped the condom on the bed after I fucked him, and then I went to the shower. I didn’t allow him an orgasm, so there were no issues with the after-effects of milking, and I was of a mind to do the same during our session with Micca. I didn’t mind him crying, but I had a feeling he’d be mortified to cry in front of her, so I didn’t want to do that to him.

My boy thrives when properly humiliated and reminded of his place, but making him cry in front of Micca would be the wrong kind of humiliation. Our contract said no emotionalsadism, and it felt like that might be bordering on an area he’d specifically spoke up against. He denied me so few things, it felt even more important to give him the things he’d asked for.