Pairing:  Ben/Kyle

Warning:  BDSM scene

Author:  Jenny

 

Assumptions

 

Facedown, pillows thrust under my hips, the wide blindfold ensuring

all light was shut out.  Wrists and ankles shackled loosely to the

pillars of the four-poster bed.  Heart thumping so hard I could feel

my pulse throb against the leather cuffs of the restraints.

 

Although the order for silence had already been given, a hushed

whimper of arousal escaped from somewhere deep in my throat.   But

as long as no actual words escape, he allows a loose interpretation

of silence.  He hadn't told me anything about the coming scene,

leaving me totally off-balance.  The benefits of a long term play

relationship.  He knows my limits better than I do.  Master of the

mindfuck, he keeps me balanced on the edge of desire and dread.

Teetering on the brink, right where I want to be.

 

I felt the dip of the mattress as he settled on the bed next to me.

He didn't speak but I heard the small noises he made, amplified

by my apprehension.   Incomprehensible noises.  Finally identifying

the slosh of water in a bowl, possibilities raced through my mind.

Of him shaving me.  Of him filling me with water.  But then I heard

the strange scraping sounds.  And suddenly the unmistakable scent of

fresh ginger reached me.

 

And I had thought that hand of ginger in the fridge meant stir-fry

for supper.

 

This was something new.  I had never experienced figging before but

one of my fellow subs had raved about its intense pleasures. I

listened keenly to the sounds of him peeling and carving the finger

of ginger.  I wished that he would speak, the silent anticipation

killing me.  But he didn't.

 

The mattress shifted again as he knelt between my spread legs and

gently parted my cheeks.  I felt a cool wetness at my opening and my

muscles tensed.  Slippery and cold, its rounded end pressed against

me insistently until its tapered shape was enveloped inside.  I lay

shivering, feeling his eyes on me. Watching.  And then slowly I

began to be aware of it.  A subtle warmth that built and spread.  It

was soon no longer simply warm, it stung and burned and I

couldn't keep my hips still.  Now I understood why he bound me so

loosely.  I writhed uncontrollably and gave up the first strangled

moan.  I could feel his presence close to me; smell his own unique

scent of cigars and cologne.  I heard his quickening breath and knew

he was savoring the show I was putting on against my will.

 

I jerked uselessly on the restraints, the thwarted desire to touch

myself making me growl in frustration.  I settled for grinding my

hard cock against the pillow, too aroused to control myself.

"Don't come," he commanded, his tone deep and forbidding.

 

I managed to still my frantic writhing for only a second before I

had to move again.  The burning sensation inside me demanded it and

it was beyond my power to stop.  "Master, Master," I begged

hoarsely, although I wasn't sure what I was begging for.

 

"Silence."  The paddle stroke fell across both of my

buttocks.  The momentary shame I felt at the need for correction

barely flitted across my consciousness although my training had

progressed far beyond such a novice slip.  But I couldn't stop

the moans, growing louder as the feeling that my ass was ablaze

inside grew too.  He permitted these, knowing I was powerless to

stifle them.

 

The feeling of the individual strands of the flogger as it was

dragged across my back made me shudder.  Then it was gone and I

panted in desperate hope.  I heard the soft swish before I felt the

sting and warmth on my right cheek.  He twirled the flogger expertly

and I felt the same on my left.  Back and forth.  Over and over as I

twisted and groaned with the tremendous heat that was building

inside and outside my bottom.  I couldn't help but clench under

the assault of the flogger in his skilled hands and it only

intensified the fiery sensation inside.  I had never been so turned

on, my cock leaking a veritable puddle of fluid under me.  I wanted

to plead for release but my mind, overloaded with sensation, only

allowed me to wail incoherently.

 

He stilled his arm but I kept howling, the fire in my ass vying with

the flame of my scorched skin.  A cool hand caressed a soothing path

down one trembling flank, then the other.  But with the other hand

he twisted the knob of the ginger root, igniting the burn that was

starting to die down.  I shouted, completely undone.  Then I felt

the plug being slowly removed and I gasped in relief.  The lube

quelled the burn and I welcomed his cool thickness inside me.  His

hand reached under me, encircling my weeping erection.  I was so

hard; it was flat against my belly.  He stroked me in time to his

thrusts and I shouted again, this time as I came.  I collapsed on

the bed, the weight of him on my back.  I was dimly aware of him

withdrawing and then removing the blindfold and undoing the cuffs.

Released from the bondage, I was held by my own exhaustion now and I

lay still, drifting.

 

I could hear his voice, faint and far away.  "Kyle,

sweetheart," he coaxed.  "Come back now."  And I did.

Eventually. I felt boneless and unbelievably heavy.  We lay on the

bed, he'd rearranged the bedclothes and I was half on top of him,

head on his solid chest.  I tried in vain to speak, incapable of

producing anything recognizable, my tongue thick and

uncooperative.  "Good trip?" he asked gently, stroking my

face.  I nodded.  He let me return gradually, watching my eyes to

gauge my presence before he started to speak again.  Asking what I

liked about the scene, if it was too intense.  Holding me, feeling

close, feeling loved.

 

We had just finished showering when the phone rang.  We always try

to schedule our play sessions when we have time together

afterwards.  I feel especially submissive to him for a while and we

both revel in the special closeness.  So I was a bit put out when

arrangements were made for his mother, unexpectedly in town, to join

us for dinner.  Not that I didn't like his mother.  I did

actually, very much but it was hard to switch gears so quickly.

 

"She's only here for tonight," Ben explained reasonably.

 

"I know, its fine," I agreed. It's difficult, hiding our

relationship for what it is at certain times.  It takes a great

effort to screen every interaction for someone else, something I

didn't want to do right then.

 

Sensing my discomfort, he said, "Kyle, she knows what I am. You

don't have to worry about outing me."

 

"What?"

 

"She knows about my lifestyle.  That I'm a Dom."

 

I stared blankly at him in shock; selfishly my thoughts were for

myself.  If she knew about him, then she sure as hell knew about

me.  What I was. I would never be able to look at his mother again.

Forget what I wished about not needing to hide the nature of Ben and

my relationship.  "You told her?" I hissed angrily.

 

"Calm down. I told her about myself.  She had heard a rumor and

asked me point-blank about it.  I wasn't going to lie to

her."  It was said with a degree of wryness but also with a

certain relief.  He was close to his mother and I could see how it

would be a relief to him, her knowing.  Not having to pick and

choose what you said in case you gave away something unwittingly.

That he had her obvious acceptance made me burn with jealousy, I

could never make that admission and expect that from my own parents.

 

"Come here."  He held out his hand and I went to where he was

sitting.  Pulling me down beside him, he ran a hand down my stiff

back.  "I'm not going to lie to you either. Yes, I'm sure

she's figured out what we are to each other but she's known

for quite some time, Kyle.  Has she treated you any differently?"

 

"No,' I admitted grudgingly.  It still made me feel uneasy.

A person in the community knowing was completely different.  They

didn't make the assumptions that `vanilla' people fell

into and there I was proud to be his boy, free from misunderstanding

about what that meant.  While he assured me he hadn't divulged

anything about us, I couldn't help but wonder what his mother

thought of me, now that she knew.

 

She was as lovely and warm as ever, giving me her usual hug and kiss

when she arrived.  But with my own insecurities set free, I

couldn't shake the suspicion that she thought less of me.  His

mother was an important person to both of us and her good opinion

meant a great deal to me.  The idea of losing her respect frightened

me, I guess.  So much that I stopped thinking rationally.  Stopped

thinking at all.

 

When I went to the well-stocked bar in our living room and poured us

all a liberal drink, I'm sure Ben thought I was being

deliberately defiant.   Well, what else could he think?  I had

actually picked a meaningless way to assert my independence from him

if I was trying to disprove Gwen's supposed assumptions.  After

all, she didn't even know about Ben's edict on alcohol.  I

had just grasped onto the first thing that crossed my mind.  And old

habits die hard; a drink was my first defense against any kind of

stress.

 

"Here you are, Gwen," I said, handing her a large scotch,

neat.  "Bottoms up."  Bottoms up all right, if I read

Ben's look correctly.  But he didn't say a word, just

accepted his glass with a quiet thanks.  He could read me too and I

think he knew that even the mildest reproach from him at that point

would have prompted a full-scale argument.

 

Every topic discussed, I took a passionate opposing opinion to his

until his mother finally remarked, "I had no idea you were so

conservative in your views, Kyle."

 

I had to stop and think about what crap I'd actually been

spouting.  I think I'd essentially declared my support for capital

punishment, a moratorium on gun control and rescinding abortion

rights.  She was going to think I'd lost my mind.  Or worse,

joined the Alliance party.

 

"Would you like another drink, Gwen?" I asked to cover my

embarrassment.

 

"Oh, no thank you dear," she laughed.  "I won't make

it through dinner if I have another one of those."

 

I didn't even bother offering one to Ben; I just walked over to

the bottle of scotch and poured myself a tumbler full.  He shook his

head, his glinting eyes silently warning me not to drink it but I

ignored him, gulping down the strong alcohol.  When he tried to

discreetly take my arm and shepherd me into the kitchen, I shook him

off.  So he shrugged and I could see him mentally sitting back and

seeing where this was going.  He pointedly didn't fill my wine

glass at dinner and I wisely didn't escalate the situation by

demanding it.  Dinner was awful though, my good sense having already

drowned in the scotch and every time Ben opened his mouth I snapped

back a smart reply.

 

I finally looked at them both properly; his mother wore an

expression of anxious confusion and although Ben's mirrored hers

to a certain degree, his simmered with an underlying anger.  Looking

at Gwen's bewildered face I abruptly remembered how unbelievably

kind she was.  She'd never treated me with anything but kindness

and I was ashamed that I would have forgotten that.

 

All of a sudden I couldn't stomach my own self and all I could

think was to escape from my shame.  I stood up and announced that I

was going for a walk.  I knew I had a slim chance of actually making

it out the door.  It was one thing for Ben to sit back and let me

embarrass myself but he would intervene before I did anything too

stupid.  But Gwen spoke first.

 

"Oh please dear, I hardly ever get to visit with you anymore.

Stay and have coffee with me instead."

 

My eyes filled, I was quite sure she'd had enough of my company.

She just didn't want me to wander the streets, potentially

offending strangers who might not be as tolerant.   I stammered out

an excuse that I wasn't feeling well and I was going to lie down

for a bit and stumbled up the stairs.  In our room I flopped down on

the bed and cried, great drunken sobs.

 

"All right, sweetheart, all right." I felt the large warm

hand rub my shaking back a few moments later.

 

"Tell her I'm sorry," I sobbed into the pillow.

 

"She knows."

 

He manhandled me out of my clothes and I fell quickly asleep, thanks

to the effects of the alcohol.  I'd lost my tolerance since my

drinking had been curtailed lately and I was at the best of times, a

lousy drunk.

 

I woke, thirsty and groggy, after a while.  I went to the adjoining

bathroom to get a drink and wash my face.  I couldn't bear to

look in the mirror.  I felt like such a fool.  Trying to prove I

wasn't less of a man, being a submissive, I'd only proved

that I was an idiot.

 

I pulled on some jeans and a t-shirt and then listened at the door,

trying to hear if Gwen was still in the house.  It was quiet so I

ventured out.  The issue of punishment due rumbled somewhere deep in

the back of my mind but I was far more concerned about making

amends, both to Ben and his mother.

 

He was in the living room, reading.  I knelt just inside the

doorway, head down, hands laced behind my back, silently waiting for

his acknowledgement.  He let me wait for a while, a good twenty

minutes until I was starting to get uncomfortable holding my

position.  My conscience was giving me a lot more grief than my

knees though.

 

"Here." He gestured to the carpet beside where he was sitting

and I shuffled over to him. "Explain what that was all

about."

 

I could hear the hurt in his voice.  I didn't blame him. I knew,

without a doubt, that he'd never betray my trust.  That he'd

never obviously correct my behavior in front of his mother.  I

trusted him not to shame me by exposing something she wouldn't

understand.  I had betrayed his trust in me by testing him that way,

trust to behave like a loving partner.  And I had betrayed our

relationship by disrespecting him.

 

"Please. I just …. I didn't want her to think…."

The tears leaked down my cheeks, my head bowed in disgrace.

 

"Didn't want her to think what?  That you loved me? Respected

me?"

 

"Nooo," I wailed and leaned my head against his knee,

sobbing.  "I didn't want her to think I was weak."

 

He sighed sadly and his fingers rubbed the back of my neck.  "Oh,

Kyle, why would she think that?"

 

I didn't answer; preoccupied with trying not to choke on more

tears.

 

"Are you ashamed of our relationship, Kyle?  Of being a

submissive?"

 

"No," I protested, indignation replacing remorse.  "But

she's vanilla for God's sake, Ben.  That's what she's

going to think.  I needed to make her see…." I trailed off;

the only thing I'd made her see was that I couldn't handle my

booze.

 

"Kyle Robinson," he said, with a trace of humor in his voice.

"You prejudiced little boy. Just because someone isn't

involved in the lifestyle doesn't mean they can't understand.

My mother has known and loved you for more than a year.  The only

thing she cares about is that you're a kind, loving man that

makes her son happy. The details of our relationship are none of her

business and she couldn't care less about them."

 

Well, that startled me.  The thought that I was the bigoted one.  I

had assumed Gwen would judge me and find me lacking based on my

experiences with my own mother, who recoiled in horror when she

caught the faintest glimmer of that aspect of me.  That I had never

experienced acceptance outside of the community didn't mean it

didn't exist.  There was such little opportunity for it though,

that part of you was carefully hidden until you knew it was a shared

bond.  It was a secret club that bound you to silence because you

were included.  You couldn't reveal another without revealing

yourself.

 

"The hairbrush, Kyle. Go and get it."

 

"Yes, sir," I said readily enough and scrambled to my feet

when he took my arm and lifted me.  The hurt was gone from his voice

now, Thank God, but he sounded pretty grim.

 

When I got to the bedroom and was unearthing the hated thing, I

wasn't in such a hurry.  Well, I wanted the absolution all right

but I absolutely didn't want the spanking that preceded it.  I

tormented myself a little more, waiting instead of going directly

back to Ben.  I finally gathered my courage, not wanting the

indignity of him having to come for me and I went slowly down the

stairs.

 

I handed him the wooden brush and watched, my stomach rolling, as he

turned up the sleeves of his shirt, revealing his well-developed

arms.

 

"The rule about only being allowed a drink from my hand still

stands.  Which you knew very well.  If we have to repeat this lesson

again, Kyle it will be with the strap. And you have every right to

voice your own opinion as long as it IS your opinion, not something

used as a way to disrespect me."

 

I nodded vigorously at his stern scolding, taking his warning

seriously.  I was expecting a thorough spanking and when he removed

my jeans and shorts completely it only heightened my expectations.

 

Once I was settled over his lap, he picked up the hairbrush and said

firmly, "Just because I won't react in front of an audience,

Kyle doesn't mean you can manipulate me.  I won't cheapen our

relationship by making a private aspect of it public but you will

not like the consequences when they catch up to you.  And trust me,

they will."

 

And they did.  He spanked me hard and I felt his disapproval in

every stroke of the hairbrush.  I was a very sore and regretful sub

when I was finally allowed to slide off his knee.  He let me sob out

some more apologies into his leg as I knelt as his feet before he

took me into his arms to finish comforting me.  When I'd finally

stopped crying I asked plaintively if I could call his mother to

apologize.

 

"Tomorrow, sweetheart," he assured me, kissing my

tear-stained cheek.  "It's too late now, you'll wake

her."

 

Ah, it was going to be hard to sleep on my guilt.  Or my back.  My

ass felt absolutely blistered, although I knew it wasn't.

Despite my earlier nap, I was exhausted and was happy to lie in bed

while Ben got himself ready.

 

Prostrate, my reddened bottom still throwing off a considerable

amount of heat, I gave him a look of mute appeal when he got into

bed beside me.  I felt miserable and anxious, knowing I hadn't

made things right with Gwen. He picked up the latest Economist from

his bedside table and leafed through it leisurely, looking for the

most boring article. "Did you know, Kyle that goats are the

fastest-growing sement in agriculture?" He began to read, his rich

baritone voice rising and falling gently, lulling me to sleep.

 

The End