Page 11 of There’s a Way (Mythic Beast #2)

Our agreement says no emotional sadism, but that doesn’t include a basic mind-fuck, and I’d been clear about that when we negotiated.

I didn’t think he’d be able to manage another orgasm, but I ordered his next one early enough, if he’d managed, I could’ve waited an hour and ordered another.

But I was right that he was finished at five for the day, though I still made him try for thirty minutes while I put clamps on various parts of his body to up his arousal levels. He got close, but never close enough to beg for release.

“There’s still jizz in there, Davy. Either get rid of it yourself or I’ll do it for you.”

When it was clear he wasn’t going to be able to get himself off, I ordered him soft and put him on all fours on the playroom bed with a smaller stainless-steel mirror under his torso to catch the mess.

It turns out, no one has ever milked my boy, so I found a first for him, a new experience I could give him.

I use a medical-grade stainless-steel tool designed especially for milking, but I started with my finger in his ass, rubbing back and forth over his prostate to start, since he was new to this.

It’s a slow process, even with his poor dick wrung out from all the action and releases so it was easier for him to stay soft. I talked him through the process, and removed my finger the second I felt any muscles moving around inside him, waited thirty seconds to a minute, and then went back to it.

I never moved to the stainless tool. I could do that in the future, but I realized this first time needed to be flesh-on-flesh, personal and intimate.

Milking isn’t fast, especially the first time, but eventually, slime slid from his dick and my boy understood just how much control I can have over his body.

I didn’t expect tears, but I talked him through them, told him how much I loved him, and when I was certain he was fully milked, I quickly washed my hands before I just held him and let him cry in my arms.

One never knows what will be a big emotional hit to a submissive or slave, and this had clearly hit Davy hard, but I didn’t demand an explanation while he cried. There’d be time for him to explain later.

When the tears slowed, I ordered a big delivery from my favorite local Italian place with all of Davy’s favorites, let the security guys know it was coming, and then snuggled in with my boy again.

“You ready to talk about it?”

“I’m sorry, Master.”

“I didn’t ask for an apology, Davy. You’re supposed to be emotionally honest with me, and your reaction was about as honest as it gets.

Talk to me, my sweet slave. I’m not upset with you.

If you need some time to sort through your feelings, I’ll give it to you, but I’d like you to trust me with them so I can help you sort through them.

” I kissed the top of his head. “Relaxed speech. Say it however you need to.”

He nodded, his face buried in my chest so I felt it more than saw.

“The first time Carlos had someone give me an enema, I cried. The guy who gave it to me was rough, and there was lots of soap, so he thought I was crying because it hurt, and that might’ve been part of it, but it was the loss of control over my body that got to me.

I don’t remember when or how I was potty trained, or whether that might have something to do with it, but for as long as I can remember, I’ve been in control of when I poop.

I mean, I was caged in a dog crate when the state found me, and there are notes about the first facility I went to transitioning me to use the toilet, so maybe I was kind of old before…

” He shrugged. “I don’t know, Master, but for as long as I can remember, I decided when to go poop, so it was a really big deal when Carlos took that from me. ”

Right, and I’d just taken all the ejaculate from his body in a brand new way. It was different from ordering him to come. I’d pressed it from his body, more or less. I hugged my boy harder and decided it would be best if I never met his biological parents.

“I’ve controlled when you can come since the very beginning, but I understand how this was different.

I was going to let you figure out the after-effects of being milked on your own, but under the circumstances, I think I should explain that part to you.

You’re now completely empty, and it’ll take days for your body to build up enough fluids again for you to have a normal ejaculation.

That means when you get hard for play with Micca tomorrow, you aren’t going to be able to come.

You may or may not reach orgasm, but you’ll stay hard after. ”

“How long, Master?”

“We’ll have to see how your body reacts. Maybe forty-eight hours, possibly double that, but you’re young and virile, so I don’t expect it to last much longer than two to four days.”

He nodded and kissed my chest. “It’s as it should be, Master. You’re supposed to have control over your slave’s body, and it’s a huge turn-on, but it still makes me want to cry.”

“Cry all you need to, and if the tears come around Micca, it’ll be okay. You’re my boy, and that means being one thousand percent emotionally honest with me.”

* * * *

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 came to 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’t go for 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, and wrong , 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 was so different 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.