The Commonalities of Silk and Leather

Eleven

"He was a gorgeous little thing," he mused. "I just couldn't help myself."

"Oh really?" I sat on the bed to let him continue.

"Really. I'm not sure he liked me at first but once we were at the hotel, he couldn't resist."

"I see," I replied, playing along. "Did he give you all those pretty marks?"

"Yes, Sir." His normal expression had returned to his face. Just barely a smile. Boys are so much more fun when they're drunk. He was a little temperamental though."

Fought back? Drunk? "What the fuck?" I didn't mean to say it aloud but come on!

He looked up at me like he was confused at my reaction. "Well I was drunk too," he reasoned. I should have kicked him out, but I couldn't not correct him. The other things were minor inconveniences in comparison to this.

"Forgiveness. Now."

I don't think he'd ever seen me properly angry before in the years I'd known him. I should have stopped the second I realized I was, but I was here and so was he, and I wanted this dealt with.

Why wouldn't he fucking submit already? The bastard just sat there, haughty as I was losing my mind. I asked if he wanted to go to bed early, or back to his house. He didn't.

So he was going to brat out? I could work with brats.

I physically moved him into forgiveness, a little rougher than a regular reminder, and cuffed his hands behind his back. If he had the gumption to do the things he practically bragged about, he would get a taste of his own medicine.

"We're going to do a bit of role play," I said as I walked around the room, collecting a few things. "You will be your little escapade, and I will be you. Sound good?"

He lifted his head. I resisted the urge to force it back down as he gave another, happier, "Yes Sir." I cringed. I didn't want him to call me that anymore. Honestly, I was turned off, but I hid it well enough. It wasn't like he could tell either way in the moment.

He was already prepped and no stranger to rough play so everything would be fine. He'd atone, maybe get off, have some quiet time, then dinner and bed, and I could figure myself out later. In the meantime, I'd deal with him and his attitude.

I had him come up on his knees with his chest still down and started with the braided tails, dragging them lightly across his rear to give him a sense of what was next. I couldn't leave him completely in the dark, no matter how much I wanted to. I'd have to avoid his back since it was probably sensitive. His ass and legs would be fine though.

He received a few rough swats on his backside as I got into a rhythm. Left, then right, then left and right again. Sometimes, I'd double up on one cheek or change the pacing to keep him on his toes. I'd throw in a harder one from time to time.

Though I wasn't particularly aroused nor in a good mood at the moment, I couldn't help but find the sounds he made exciting. Like he was trying to egg me on with every whine and howl he'd emit. Part of me knew he was doing it on purpose in an effort to make me go even further.

"Stop," he shrieked after another blow.

"Stop? You've got a raging boner. Don't you want that taken care of?"

He nodded. Good. He was still having a fun time. I couldn't believe that was my concern considering all that had led up to this, but it was more to make sure I hadn't overstepped. With that confirmation, I continued.

With his ass sufficiently reddened, I hauled him onto the bed. With his hands still fastened behind him, he landed rather unceremoniously on his side, an audible yelp escaping him. I didn't care. I wanted to hurry things up and send him to bed or, better, home.

I shoved myself inside of him. I wished I could come away from this. For my mind to enshroud itself in fog. To be able to conjure the image of someone I wasn't pissed off with. I wasn't in bliss. I wished I could be.

We didn't do penetration often. Regardless, I'd have him prepare for it and let the thought loom about him. He loved anticipation. Tonight, I found it just to overwhelm him.

He squirmed beneath me, mewling, as I took of him. He clawed at the air, which was all he could grasp at in his position. I pinched, and slapped, and bit at him more and more as time went on. He pulled at his restraints, stretching his hands in a vain attempt to shield his rarely used hole.

He was screaming now. How it hurt and how he was scared. He was acting. I could see it in his face. He dawned a shit eating grin. I wanted to wipe it off his face. Quickly.

I pulled out. He gave a sigh, likely thankful for the break. I grabbed his face in one of my hands, turning it to me. He would make things right.

"Go get your phone," I said. "You will apologize and you will mean it.  Am I clear?"

He blinked. Confused, he laughed. I didn't.  He stopped. I undid the cuffs on his wrists and sent him to the entryway to retrieve what I'd asked. He returned and opened the boy's contact. I set the phone aside and fastened each of his limbs to a corner of the bed, face down.

I pressed an inflatable plug to his rim, watching as he slowly took it inside while it was in its smallest form. I gave the pump a few good squeezes to get him aquatinted with it. A few more to make him writhe. I let a bit of air out of it. We went on like that for a while and he couldn't lay still. He tugged at his binds which I did not loosen.

"Take it out," he whined as I added more air.

Instead, I hit dial. The ringing tone sounded throughout the room. I couldn't see his face but I watched as he tensed up and tried to turn to look at me. I just held the speaker near him as a timid, "Hello?" floated into our ears.

"Wade," Lucas croaked as I squeezed the pump again. "It's me."

"I know. I'd prefer not to talk to you again." His voice was soft and unsure. It made me think he was shaking more than the dipshit beneath me. Poor guy.

I added more air. He yelped. "I-I'm sorry," he said. I gripped his hair and turned his head to look in his eyes. He repeated himself, more sure of himself this time.

There was silence on the other line for a second. Then a quiet, "Okay."

The boy hung up. I let go of Lucas's hair and released some of the air in the plug before taking the base in my hand to remove it from him, still well inflated.

"Red," he snapped, panicked.

I wasn't one to make a goal of safewording, but this? This felt good. This felt right. Deserved.

"Red," I jeered. "You can't take a little plug up your ass?" Regardless, I deflated it fully, took it out, and removed his restraints. I gave him the space he usually liked after scenes, electing to start dinner. I heard the shower start.

So, you've heard the story. Where in that did I keep going after he safeworded? Tell me. When exactly did I say fuck this, what I say goes?

Exactly.

Imagine my surprise when he left without a word, hair still wet from the shower, bag in hand. The door came shut with a heavy thud. I didn't go after him. Maybe I should have. Maybe then I wouldn't be in this mess.