Jeremy is sitting at the bar, finishing off his second beer of the night. Coming here has become routine for him. He's lonely, he knows he keeps coming here in a pathetic attempt to replace whatever is missing in him, but it never works. Sometimes he'll leave the club alone and drunk, and other times he'll leave the club hanging off of a stranger's arm. It doesn't matter if he's with a man or a woman or something in between, he'll always be seeking the same thrill. And sometimes, afterward, when he stumbles home the next morning before they wake up, he'll get a text from them. Every time, he ignores them, blocks their number if they get too annoying, and he feels more empty than before. Every time.
But he keeps coming back anyway, holding out hope that he'll find a person that doesn't leave him feeling empty.
It's a Friday night, so the club is particularly busy. There are a few people that catch his eye, but they seem to be busy participating in scenes or are already taken. It's not like he's any good at approaching people anyways, he'll usually wait until someone approaches him. "Back again?" he hears Rich, his favorite bartender ask as he approaches him, slinging a towel over his shoulder. "Girl from last night wasn't the one?"
"Not even close," Jeremy says, sliding his empty glass towards Rich. He doesn't even have to say anything, he comes here so often that Rich already knows what he likes to drink. He pours a glass from the pitcher, filling it up to the brim so Jeremy gets a little extra for his money. "Thanks."
"That dude over there kinda looks like your type." Jeremy follows Rich's gaze and sees a guy that surprisingly does look like his type, with a thin frame and blonde hair. The only problem is that he's holding a leash that's attached to a collar that's wrapping around a girl's neck.
"He already has a sub," Jeremy says, maybe a little disappointed. He can't go home alone tonight. He doesn't have to be in at work tomorrow so it doesn't matter how long he's out.
"They could be open," Rich shrugs.
"Too complicated."
Jeremy watches a scene play out where a small crowd has gathered. There's a man strapped to an X-shaped post while another man takes a flogger to his back. And the whole time, the sub is remaining silent with a straight face as a group of people watches red lines bloom across the skin of his back. Jeremy couldn't do that. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't take it that far, especially knowing that his body was exposed to anyone in the club who wanted to look.
The first few times Jeremy came here, he almost got scared out right away seeing people wearing chains and gags and masks. He probably would have run out and never looked back if he hadn't met Rich, who explained to him he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to and that most people there were actually really nice. And he was right, they were nice, and it gave Jeremy a way to meet people who could help him let go for a while. It was never enough, though. Something was still missing.
Someone he's never seen before walks through the door alone. He's got thick glasses and a nervous look on his face, dressed in a red sweatshirt and jeans, and in a room full of people that are half-naked, he looks just as out of place as Jeremy. "Haven't seen him here before," Rich says, pointing out the same guy that caught Jeremy's eye. "He's cute. You should say hi."
And as cute he is, he doesn't seem to have the type of attitude that Jeremy needs right now. He's skittish, flinching at every loud sound, and he appears lost, looking around with his hands in his pockets. Maybe he really is lost, he could've somehow stumbled into the wrong building. Jeremy is almost completely sure he's a sub, or maybe he's just here to see what it's like.
"You're gonna miss your shot," Rich says when a man approaches the cute glasses guy. He's much older, judging by his greying hair, but not necessarily unattractive. They seem to be getting along pretty well and Jeremy thinks that Rich is right, he's missing his shot before even getting to know the guy's name. He's talking with his hands, too, waving them around awkwardly, and Jeremy smiles.
And then things take a turn for the worse. The older man is reaching out, trying to touch glasses guy's shoulder, and the younger man is backing up to avoid his touch. The older man says something that Jeremy can't hear, and the other guy is frantically shaking his head no, trying to get out of the situation, but his protests continue to go ignored. "Are you seeing this?" Jeremy asks Rich, who is also watching with wide eyes. "Should I go do something?"
"Yeah, yeah go, I'll watch your drink," Rich encourages.
"I'm scared. What if he tries to fight me or something?" He's a lot bigger than Jeremy, he could definitely take him down. But the older man is closing in, trying to grab at the other's waist, and nobody's doing anything about it and Jeremy can't let it go on for any longer. "Alright. Here it goes."
Jeremy leaves his seat at the bar alone, with Rich applauding him as he approaches the scene. "Hey, what's going on here?" Jeremy asks, trying to sound more confident, but his voice is as shaky as his hands. He shoves them in his pockets so they won't see.
"I'm just trying to be friendly, but he's being a dick," the older one says. Jeremy's never seen anything happen like this in this club. He'd been to other bars where he saw it happen way too often, but everyone in this club was usually surprisingly respectful, despite the...unusual circumstances.
Jeremy says the first thing that comes to mind. "He's my boyfriend," he blurts, his voice still sounding weak. "So...fuck off."
The younger guy, who Jeremy has just proclaimed is his boyfriend, doesn't agree, but he doesn't disagree either. He just looks at him, confused but grateful. "The more the merrier," says the asshole, who is relentless and persistent, and the more he says the more he pisses Jeremy off. He wants to punch the guy, but he knows that'll only get him kicked out, and it's not like he'd do much damage anyway with how scrawny he is.
"I can get you kicked out of here," Jeremy says, looking back at Rich for reassurance, who gives him a thumbs up from behind the bar. It sounds like an empty threat, but it's true. He can get anyone kicked out, really, because he can easily have Rich call security. "Get the hell out of here before the police get involved and you have to be escorted out of here wearing...that." It's easily one of the ugliest things Jeremy has ever seen, fake black leather that barely covers him with chains attached — the stereotypical kind of thing someone might expect from a place like this.
That idea seems to get it through his head that Jeremy is not fucking around, and he disappears into a back room, presumably to change into clothes that he can walk outside in. "Uh, thanks," the younger man says, outstretching his hand. "Michael, by the way."
"Jeremy," he says, accepting the handshake. Now that he's closer to him and the old prick is out of the way, Jeremy gets a better look at him. There are dark eyes behind his glasses, darting around the room like he isn't sure what to expect next. His skin is dark as well, so clear and smooth. "You seem like you're new to this type of thing," he adds, judging by the way Michael is trying to watch everything that's happening all at once.
"Never been to a place like this before," Michael laughs. Maybe Jeremy won't get what he needs from him, but he could at least make a new friend out of this. God knows he needs more of those. "It's intense."
"It is," Jeremy agrees with a nod, looking around. He could never do anything weird in public like these people do, but it's the only place he can come to find people that can give him what he needs. "Do you want a drink?"
"Uh, yeah, sure," Michael says. Jeremy leads him over to the bar where Rich is waiting patiently and he sits down at his stool from earlier, taking a sip of his beer.
Rich glances back and forth between the two of them, arms resting on the bar. He's got the biggest smile on his face as he grabs a glass and sets it down in front of Michael. "This is Rich," Jeremy introduces him. "He's hot and taken."
"What can I get you?" Rich asks with a smirk.
"Just a beer," Michael says. Rich starts filling his glass up and Michael takes a few dollars out of his wallet.
"On the house," Rich says, shoving his money back to him. "Just since it's your first time here."
"That obvious, huh?" he asks with a giggle. Definitely a sub. Maybe Jeremy should just go home, come back another night. It seems like his luck is pretty shitty right now. "I'm just here to...y'know, meet people."
Jeremy, of course, knows exactly what it means. "Same with me," Jeremy says.
"Oooh!" Rich hums. "Looks like you have some competition, Jer."
More like a lot. It can be hard for Jeremy to get people to notice him when he just sits at the bar talking to Rich the whole time. It's even harder when the place is crawling with people who look like Michael -- young, lively, and not dead inside. "Competition?" Michael repeats. "What do you mean?"
"Do I really need to spell it out?" Rich asks with a groan, gesturing to the club and the types of people that they're surrounded by. Michael still looks just as lost. "Obviously, you're both here looking for some dom to come fuck you."
"Oh, I'm not..." Michael starts to say, blushing a little bit. For a second, Jeremy is sure he's about to say he's not just looking for someone to fuck him, which would have been complete bullshit anyway. No one comes here looking for anything more than that. "I'm not a sub. So I guess that means...yeah, I'm a dom, then."
Rich and Jeremy give each other the same look, thinking the same thing. But Michael is way out of his league, he could have anyone in that room that he wanted. Apparently, Rich has other ideas. "Sounds like you two would be a good match," Rich says with a chuckle. He's always trying to set Jeremy up, and usually, he's grateful because he could never just start a conversation with someone by himself. But then there are times like these where Jeremy just knows he's going to end up embarrassed. "This is the part where you're supposed to ask me to leave so you can talk this out...alone."
Jeremy is going to kill him the first chance he gets. "Then go," Jeremy says, not because he particularly wants to be alone in an awkward situation with Michael, but because he knows Rich is only going to keep making matters worse. "Sorry about him. He's kind of a mess."
"It's okay," Michael says. "He's right, though. I think we'd make a good match."
Jeremy's eyes light up as his head turns around to look at him. "Really?" he asks, still surprised. He takes a moment to glance around the room again, seeing that they're surrounded by so many attractive people. And he's caught Michael's eye? Jeremy doesn't know how, but he really doesn't want to fuck it up now. He sits up a little straighter and adjusts his tie, trying to make himself appear a little more presentable. "I guess I'm just surprised because you're really hot," Jeremy says breathlessly. He's trying to hide the blush on his cheeks, resting his head in his hands.
"I've never been to a place like this before, so I don't really know what to do next, but I guess I'm supposed to ask..." he says trailing off. "What are you looking for? And what are you like...into? Because I don't think this is gonna work if you wanna be shit on or something."
Jeremy chokes on his drink a little. "No, no shitting," he says quickly. "What I'm looking for is just...someone who can take control for a while, I guess? I'm a CEO, so it can be really stressful and I'm always trying to control everything else in my life. So this has become my way to just...let go for a while."
He's afraid he's shared too much of his personal life, but Michael nods along, listening intently. "That's actually really interesting," Michael says. "You know, usually it's the other way around. Most rich businessmen just want someone pretty to play around with." Jeremy had met way too many people who were just like that in his past. And all of them were awful in bed. "Sorry, I know it's weird talking to someone about what you're into, but I just want to make sure it's nothing really crazy before I go home with you."
Oh, fuck, this is happening tonight. Jeremy's brain short circuits at the thought of this being just an hour or two away. He's been craving it so desperately recently, and having Michael, one of the hottest guys he's ever met, give it to him? It's like a dream. "I'd like being restrained. Either, um, rope, handcuffs, ties, whatever w-works," he stutters. He's never talked about it like this out loud before. Usually, he just goes with the first person who approaches him and he hopes for the best. "I'd like to be called names. And I want...I want it to hurt."
It sounds so much worse when he says it. The things he does, the things he has done, they don't even seem like him anymore. But when he's in the right mindset, it all seems to fit together and he realizes that that's who he is at his core — starved of attention. That's what this is about. "That's - I can do that," Michael says, lips hung open in a gasp. "That sounds really good.
It's a relief. "Oh, and by the way," Jeremy starts to say. He never tells them this because he knows most of them would turn away if he said it. He prefers to wait until after they'd have sex to cut them off, but Michael is too sweet. He can't just ghost him like that without warning. "I won't see you again after this. I don't like seeing the same person twice." Michael looks disappointed, eyes downcast, but he nods. "Nothing against you. You're one of the nicest people I've met here. I just...can't do a relationship right now."
"It's cool. I get it," Michael says. He finishes off his beer and leaves a tip for Rich, even though he said not to give him any money. "Your place or mine?"
"Your's," Jeremy says immediately. He tries not to let too many people see where he lives. When they leave, Jeremy doesn't say bye to Rich. He can't deal with his teasing any longer.
***
Jeremy is slammed against the door of Michael's apartment not even seconds after he's stepped inside. Michael has his hands at the collar of his shirt, a tight grip that leaves him no wiggle room. He isn't even really kissing Michael back, he can't move enough to do so. It's just Michael's lips and tongue and teeth on his, fighting against him almost angrily. "Shit," Michael says, taking a step back. Jeremy's body relaxes and he licks his bottom lip. "I've got something I want to try. I need to know if it's okay first." Jeremy nods, his mouth is too dry to speak. "Stay there. I'll go get it."
Jeremy wonders what it could be. Is it something he's done before? Probably, he's tried most things at least once. When Michael returns, he's holding a small black box. It looks the kind that would hold a ring for an engagement. It can't be that, though m, so Jeremy stares at it, puzzled, trying to figure out what it could be. "You don't have to," Michael says, slowing opening the box. Inside, sitting on a plush white pillow, as if anything else might break its delicate structure, is a collar. It's pink with white lace trim and a heart charm dangling from the front. It's pretty. Jeremy has seen people wearing collars a lot, but it's never really appealed to him. Until now. "No one's worn it yet. I was saving it for...someone special. And you're pretty special."
Jeremy reaches a hand out and runs his fingers over the fabric — soft, tempting. "Special?" he repeats, questioning. He isn't special, Michael just thinks he is. "I'm not special," he tells him, his tone serious.
"How many 20 something CEOs who need to be controlled are out there?" Michael asks. Jeremy doesn't answer, he can't because he doesn't know. Maybe it's just him. "Exactly. You are special. Do you want to wear it?"
He does, but he doesn't know if he should. He doesn't know if he deserves it. It looks like the type of thing that should be reserved for an actual princess, with the frilly lace and shiny jewels on the heart. "Yes, please," he finally says. The room suddenly feels too hot and stiff when Michael steps forward, slowly undoing his tie and letting it slip to the ground. He peels back the collar of his shirt, exposing his pale neck, and he wraps the collar around him, adjusting it in the back.
It's light on his skin, barely even noticeable, but it's there and Michael is looking at him like owns the whole world. Jeremy reaches up and touches it, feels the lace tickling his skin and the weight of the heart piece pulling down the front. "Is it too tight?" Michael asks, slipping a finger between the fabric and Jeremy's neck to test the give.
"No, it's..." Jeremy says. "It feels really good." He's staring at the ground, but Michael places a finger on his chin and tilts up, gentle but demanding, until their eyes meet.
"Oh," Michael breathes. "That's pretty. Very pretty." He hooks his fingers under the collar and pulls him in for another kiss that Jeremy reciprocates eagerly. It's softer this time, less intense, and Jeremy moves his mouth in sync with Michael's fluidly. Michael shifts his leg forward, pressing in between Jeremy's thighs and against the bulge in his pants. Jeremy groans into the kiss, lips open and willing.
"H-How," Jeremy starts to say, getting cut off by another kiss. "How often do you do this?" he manages to ask in between open-mouthed pecks. He seems so innocent, yet he seems to know exactly what he's doing at the same time. He contradicts himself in intriguing ways.
"I'm not a slut," Michael answers matter of factly. "But I've done it enough to know how to give you what you want."
His voice is low and dark and it makes chills appear up and down Jeremy's arms. That's the thrill of this — each person is different. He never knows exactly what they might do to him, and Michael is no different. At any time, he could pull out a knife and slit Jeremy's throat and he wouldn't even see it coming. That should scare him, but the risk only adds to the experience. Maybe that's fucked up, but he's too deep into this to care.
Jeremy's getting more needy, more bold, testing Michael's limits. He's reaching his hands up to wrap around Michael's neck, using one hand to grip a fistful of Michael's hair and pull him down closer. "Getting eager?" he teases, but he lets Jeremy think he's in control for a few more moments, following his lead. "Maybe I need to tie you up. How's that sound?"
"Oh, fuck," Jeremy moans. "Yes. Please." He knows how desperate he sounds; he can hear it in his voice, in his head. It's pathetic, and that only makes him harder.
"I'm going to make you regret wanting this."
And that threat alone is enough to make Jeremy want to come right there. He feels Michael's hands at his neck, grabbing him by the collar and using it to pull him forwards, leading him to the bed down the hall. The fabric tightens at Michael's grip and he finds himself working a little harder to take in air. "Get these clothes off," Michael demands, and then he's forcing Jeremy's blazer open. He hears one of the buttons pop off and land on the floor, spinning like a coin. "Oh. Shit. Sorry, I didn't mean that. I can sew it back on, if you like."
"No, it's okay," Jeremy says through a laugh. It was getting too small for him anyway. After the brief interruption, Michael is back to stripping him, pulling his belt from the loops and slinging it to the side, then yanking his pants down so Jeremy can step out of them. He leaves his undershirt and his boxers on, which doesn't make much sense, but Jeremy isn't about to question his methods.
"What's your safeword, baby?" Michael asks, tugging him closer by the hem of his boxers.
"Stoplight system," he says. He uses the same thing every time. It's simple, easy to remember, and everyone knows it. "Sir," he adds on at the end for good measure.
Michael tsks, shaking his head no. "Don't call me sir," he says. "Daddy is better."
He's done it before. He's called plenty of guys 'daddy' through his escapades. Fuck, he's even called women daddy. So why does saying it now make his tongue go numb and his chest ache? "O-okay, daddy," he chokes out, reveling in the look of pleasure that surfaces from Michael
Jeremy is flung down on the bed then, spread eagle style, and Michael is rummaging around in a nearby drawer. He holds up cuffs and restraints, then gets to work locking them around Jeremy's wrists and ankles and tying them to the bedposts. He stops when he's at Jeremy's left hand, his gaze fixated on the tattoo on his upper arm. It's partly covered by his sleeve, but still visible. Michael gives a little chuckle, then rolls up his sleeve to reveal a Pac man tattoo that's just like Jeremy's. "Wow," he says, lining his arm up with Jeremy's. "I guess it must be fate."
As Michael moves on to binding his feet, Jeremy stretches his arms out above him. He can move them a little bit, but not quite enough. The cuffs are made of a soft velvety material so they're soft and uncomfortable, unlike the rope some people liked to use on him. His wrists always had red marks on circled around them for days afterward, and he didn't mind the marks at first, but then they started to burn every time his sleeves chafed against them at work.
Michael finishes up his handiwork on his face and then crawls up on the bed, over Jeremy's body. He's straddling his waist with his hands cupping his face. "Color, baby?" he asks, dragging a thumb down his cheek. Jeremy wants to reach up and kiss him, but he can't move enough.
"Green...daddy," he says, earning a look of approval from Michael.
"Now, before we get started," he says. "I remember back at the club you said you wanted to be called names. Is there anything I shouldn't say? Like, something that would maybe trigger you?"
This is new. No one's ever asked that before. And while there aren't any words that he thinks might trigger him, per se, he has been called things during scenes that he didn't particularly like. Things that were just taking it a bit too far for his liking. "Don't call me any slurs," he says. "And don't say anything about my appearance."
"I couldn't," Michael says. "You're beautiful." He stands up and moves away from the bed, leaving Jeremy feeling cold and alone. He's rummaging around in the same drawer from before. "I have something else we could try. It's kind of intense, so it's perfectly understandable if you don't want to do it. I'm--I'm going to tell you what it is before I show you because I don't want to scare you...it's a knife." And for a minute, Jeremy thinks that it's finally happening. This is going to be the night he gets murdered. But Jeremy has actually been wanting to try this but he hadn't been able to find the right person who he trusted enough to take a knife near his skin. Maybe he was a little crazy for trusting Michael so soon, and maybe that quick trust would end up being the death of him. "I won't cut you or anything. I'll just use the dull side. And I've done this before, I'm really careful."
In Jeremy's logic, it doesn't matter what he says. If Michael is a serial killer, he'll stab him either way, so he might as well take this opportunity while he has it. "O-okay," Jeremy stutters. He watches Michael pull the knife out of the drawer, holding it carefully. It's not very big, and it doesn't look like the type of knife someone would use to kill someone. "You could kill me right now," he says. This is possibly one of the stupidest things he's done, and he's done a lot of stupid things.
"If it's too much, we can stop," he says, but Jeremy shakes his head no in determination. Michael moves closer, steadily slow, until he's on the bed again kneeling between Jeremy's spread legs. "How expensive were these clothes?" he asks.
"Not at all." He knows where Michael is going with this. And it's one of the hottest things Jeremy has ever experienced.
"I'll give you some clothes to borrow before you leave. Color?"
"Green, so fucking green," he spits out. Then Michael is moving the knife up to the collar of his shirt, tipping the blade against the fabric, and dragging down until the threads start to tear. The blade is so close to his skin, if he flinches, sneezes, breathes too heavy, it'll cut him. Michael cuts into the shirt enough that he can rip it open at the front. He sets the knife aside, grabs two fistfuls of the shirt and tears it apart. The sound makes Jeremy gasp.
The only part left is the sleeves. Michael glides the sharp edge along the seam of each sleeve until it's falling off of Jeremy's body, pooling around him on the bed. He lets out a breath, shaky and needing more. He's hard, aching against his boxers. "Please," he manages to mumble. "Please hurry."
"I don't think you're in a position to be making demands right now," Michael says, gently placing the dull side of the knife against Jeremy's chest. Even though it's not sharp, he's careful not to press down, but Jeremy still takes in a sharp breath at the feeling of the metal on his skin. The fabric of his boxers is much thinner, so it's easier for Michael to cut through. He cautiously draws a line on each side of his boxers with the sharp side of the blade. He pulls them off, along with the shirt, and tosses them to the floor. "You did good," he says, sitting back and admiring Jeremy's body. "Though I suppose you didn't really do much other than lie there. Good at being useless, I guess."
Jeremy can already feel himself slipping into a loss of all self-control, a space where he can shut off his mind and forget about everything. "Thank you, daddy," he says politely.
Michael leans up over him, knife in hand, and gently drags the dull side down his chest. It tickles over his stomach but Jeremy tries not to move too much. With just one wrong move, he could end up with a gash in his chest. But Michael is meticulous, predicting Jeremy's every move, and somehow Jeremy knows he's safe. "You're hard, baby boy," Michael points out, his voice condescending. It only adds to how turned on Jeremy is. "Are you getting off on being helpless?"
"Mmhmm," Jeremy hums eagerly. Michael sets the knife down on his bedside table and it hits with a clang.
"I could leave you here, spread and tied down like this, always ready for me," Michael says. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, baby?"
"Yes, daddy," Jeremy agrees. "I'd love that. I'd love to be your toy."
"That sounds really good," Michael says. Jeremy thinks that Michael is going to fuck him now, which he needs desperately. He's so hard, he's been hard since the moment Michael slammed him against the door when they first got to his apartment. He gets his hopes up, only for them drop not even seconds after. "But daddy doesn't want to use his toy just yet."
Jeremy is about to start begging, but he knows it's not going to make a difference. Besides, there's another part of him that is eager to see what else Michael plans on doing to him. He sees Michael pull out a vibrator and a bottle of lube. It's going to be a long night. Michael starts stretching him, his fingers slathered with lube and working quick. "Surprised a little slut like you is still so tight after getting fucked so often," Michael says, circling his fingers around. "It's never enough, is it? You're always needing somebody to take you down a notch, but it's never enough. Pathetic, if you ask me."
It's like he's inside his head and Jeremy is moaning in response to everything he says, wordlessly telling him that he's right.
"And now this," Michael says, holding the vibrator against his open hole. He hasn't turned it on yet. "This won't be enough for you either. But that's the thing about you — you haven't earned the privilege of having enough just yet." Jeremy melts into the bed at each word, at each push as Michael starts sliding the vibrator in.
"You're not," Jeremy starts to say through a wrecked groan. "You're not going to fuck me?"
Michael laughs. He laughs at him. "Maybe, darling," he says. "If you're good."
With the vibrator in place, he takes a step back. There's a chair on one side of the room, and Michael pulls it closer so it's at the foot of the bed. He takes a seat and holds up a controller to the vibrator, showing it to Jeremy. "I hold all of the control in my hand, right here," he says, running his hands lightly over the buttons, but not pressing on any of them. He knows he can come like this, he just needs a little more.
"Turn it on," Jeremy says, his throat scratchy and raw. "Please, daddy, turn it on."
"Louder," Michael orders.
"I need it on," Jeremy begs, his voice growing louder, more hoarse, with each word. "Please, please, I'll do anything. Please turn it on." He's squirming in his binds now, trying to move the vibrator enough for it to brush against his prostate. It's a useless attempt.
"These walls are pretty thin, someone could hear you," Michael tsks. He's so close to pressing one of the buttons, it's all Jeremy needs.
He has no dignity left. He doesn't give a shit who hears him, he'll let them hear him. If it's going to get Michael to give him what he wants, then he'll make sure they hear him. "I don't care who hears, daddy. Please give it to me." He's on the verge of screaming now. If anyone is home next door, they're hearing him for sure. He can't find the strength to care
"Disgusting," Michael says, then turns it on to the highest setting. It sends a jolt through Jeremy's whole body, each of his limbs trembling with the overwhelming force. He hears a familiar noise and glances up to see Michael still in his chair, jeans around his ankles, fist around his cock. His mouth waters at the sight, and suddenly he realizes just how right Michael was, because this vibrator could never be enough when Michael is sitting there looking like that. "That's good. Keep your eyes on me," he says.
Jeremy does, eyes locked on Michael as he struggles to stay composed. He's trying to twist his hips with the little amount of space that he has to move. If he can just fuck himself back on the vibrator, even if it's just a little bit, it'll be enough for him with how far gone he already is. "You can keep squirming around all you want," Michael says. It's pretty dark in the room, but there's a lamp on that illuminates his skin, sweat glistening on his muscles. "It's only going to make you more needy."
Michael is messing with the controls now, turning it all the way down and letting Jeremy have a break before launching it all the way back up to the highest setting. He never keeps it on one setting for too long, and he definitely doesn't leave it on the highest one long enough for Jeremy to get off. He knows exactly what he's doing to Jeremy: he's ruining him.
Jeremy knows he's right. He's going to keep struggling and he's going to keep working himself up, but he still won't be able to come. He needs to do something, he needs Michael's hands on him. "Michael..." he moans, but he quickly realizes his mistake and scrambles to correct himself. "Daddy, need you to touch me," he pleads, hoping this will be enough. "Anywhere. Need you to touch me anywhere."
"Anywhere, huh?" Michael repeats, standing up. He's still wearing his shirt, but at least he's bare from the waist down. "Makes sense that a useless cockslut like you doesn't care where you're touched, so desperate for it that you'd take it anywhere."
But Michael doesn't touch his cock like he was hoping for. Instead, he brings his hands up to his neck, wrapping them around his collar. He presses his fingers against his neck, just enough for him to have to take in deeper breaths. You said anywhere," Michael teases. And then the first tear drops. It comes from the corner of his eye as he blinks, sliding down his reddened cheek until it's caught by Michael's lips. "Color, baby?" He takes his hands off of Jeremy's neck, but Jeremy still finds it difficult to speak with how overstimulated he is. "Need me to stop, love? We can stop now."
"Green, green," Jeremy finally says. "Please don't stop."
"That's what I thought, baby," Michael says with a smirk. Jeremy can still feel tears on his cheeks, because God, he's so fucking frustrated. He thinks he may actually combust if he doesn't come in the next minute. Michael is reaching over to the bedside table, hand wrapping around the knife. He holds it carefully at the end of the handle, right where the metal blade meets the plastic, and he draws the other end of the handle over Jeremy's lips. "Open," he says.
Fuck. Is he really about to do this? He doesn't have much time to think this through, because he's already opening his lips and the handle of the knife is already halfway in his mouth. He can see himself in the reflection of the blade. Cheeks red and streaked with fears, eyes glassy, lips wet and pink around the knife. He looks like a mess. He is a mess.
Michael encourages him, slowly moving the handle back and forth past his lips as if it's an actual dick. And Jeremy makes it sloppy, filthy and sloppy, wrapping his tongue around the handle and coating it with saliva. When Michael pulls it out past his lips, it's wet. A part of Jeremy is ashamed, but an even bigger part of him is more turned on than he's ever been in his life.
"Hmm, that's a good boy," Michael says. He sets the knife aside again and moves towards Jeremy's cock. "I think you deserve this, don't you?"
"Yes, daddy," Jeremy says immediately. He's so close. Just a few touches from Michael will send him over the edge. "I've been so good. I'm so close, please touch me."
Michael answers by wrapping his hand around his cock. Jeremy throws his head against the pillow, eyes fluttering shut as Michael starts to stroke him. He realizes soon that Michael is still holding the controller of the vibrator, and he flicks it back up to the highest speed as he works his hand over Jeremy's dick.
And it's all so much. The buzz of the vibe, relentless, always there but never enough. The ache of the binds around his wrists and his ankles, keeping him from touching himself or Michael. Finally, though, there are skilled hands on him, handling him roughly but still with care. Jeremy comes, exhausted and limp against the bed, spilling all over Michael's hand and his own abdomen.
Michael turns off the vibrator, but he keeps his hand on him as he comes down from his high and slowly starts to catch his breath. "Beautiful," he praises, but Jeremy barely hears. He's practically on another planet. "Suck me off?" Michael asks, pumping a hand over his own cock.
Jeremy wants to. He really wants to. But he doesn't think he can. He feels numb all over, like even if his restraints were gone, he wouldn't be able to move. "I'm sorry," he mumbles. It feels shitty, saying no after Michael gave him all of that. "I'm sorry, I can't do it."
"That's okay, baby," Michael says, his voice going back to being soft and caring. "You don't have to apologize. It's okay." He lets Michael straddle his waist and Michael keeps his gaze focused on Jeremy as he strokes himself to his orgasm. It doesn't take long, which tells Jeremy that he must have been close all this time, meaning he had been holding himself back until Jeremy came. That means more to Jeremy than it probably should. Michael comes on Jeremy's chest, making a mess of his otherwise flawless pale skin. "Look at you, all covered in come. A pretty little cumdump." Jeremy can't argue with that. "One more thing."
Jeremy almost protests because there's no way he can take anything more. But then he sees Michael grab a marker from a drawer, and he's writing something on Jeremy's waist. It's small, and upside down, so Jeremy can't make out what it says. "Perfect," Michael says. He unties Jeremy and kisses him softly, running his hands over his skin. His hands feel softer than they did before somehow. "Let me clean you up. I'll be right back."
He leaves to get a towel, and when he returns, he's wiping off Jeremy's chest. This isn't how it usually happens. Usually, Jeremy has to clean himself and whoever he was with doesn't bother with making sure he's okay afterward. And sometimes, when it's really bad, he'll fall into a drop for the following days. Rich is always there to help him out if it. But this is different. "You did so good for me, baby," he says. "So good. I'll get you some clothes."
He goes over to his dresser and pulls out a pair of boxers that are covered in an ugly weed print design. "These used to be my favorite, but they're getting small on me. You can keep them."
Jeremy pulls them on and wraps himself up on the blanket that's on the bed. "Thanks," he says. It's the first word he's spoken since he came, and it feels like just the right thing to say. "You know..." he starts to say. "You didn't even fuck me, and you're still somehow the best I've ever had."
And after all of that, after the collar and the tying him up and the knife, for fuck's sake, Michael blushes. "Really? You mean that?"
"Yeah, you were...amazing," he laughs. Michael pulls his boxers back on and lies down next to Jeremy, pulling him in close to his chest and holding him there. "And this...this means a lot to me. Like, you know, actually caring about me. That doesn't happen too often."
And for once, Jeremy doesn't feel empty.
Michael rubs a hand through his hair, gently soothing him. "You did perfect," he says. "Do you want anything? Some water? Ice cream?"
"Just want you to stay here right now," Jeremy says. He can feel Michael's chest against his back, the steady rise and fall of his heart beating.
"Next time," Michael says.
Jeremy quickly cuts him off before he can finish saying whatever he wanted to say. "Told you, I don't do next times." As amazing as Michael is, rules are rules.
"Shit, sorry, Michael apologizes. Jeremy hates hearing the disappointment in his voice. Maybe his rules are a bit harsh, but he needs them to keep his life on track. He doesn't need himself getting distracted by something stupid like love.
Jeremy falls asleep in his bed. Usually, he'll wake up before his partner of the night and slip out before they can say anything to him, but not this time. When he wakes up, Michael is already in the kitchen standing over a pan of eggs. "You hungry?" he asks.
"No thanks." He's still wearing Michael's ugly weed boxers, but that's all he's wearing. He doesn't have any other clothes, they've been destroyed.
"Oh! Clothes!" Michael says, remembering what he did the night before. He turns the stove on low and leads Jeremy to his closet, opening the door and gesturing to his (limited) supply of clothes. "Pick something out. Anything. I owe it to you for ruining your clothes last night."
Jeremy flips through the clothes and pulls out a t-shirt with an old Nintendo game system on the front. It's kind of perfect. He also grabs a pair of grey sweatpants, since Michael has two that are just like them. "Can I take these?"
"They'll look cute on you," Michael says, leaning in to peck him on the lips.
"What about, the um..." Jeremy says, reaching up to point to the collar that's still around his neck.
"Keep it. It suits you."
Jeremy gets dressed and starts heading for the door again, but he stops in the kitchen where Michael is back to cooking. "Are you sure you don't want any eggs?" he asks, looking over his shoulder.
"I'm sure," Jeremy says. It's never like this when he leaves. He's always in a hurry, rushing out the door at the first chance he gets. There's something in him telling him to linger for a while longer. "I think...I'm going to go now."
He hears Michael sigh, and he turns around to face him. God, he looks adorable in the morning, his hair messy. He's wearing just a t-shirt and boxers, baggy, but still complimenting his frame. "I can't believe I'm not going to see you again," Michael says, pulling him in for a hug.
"If our paths ever cross again," Jeremy says. "Then we'll call it fate."
"Okay," Michael says, nodding. "Bye, then."
"Bye." Jeremy leaves reluctantly, giving Michael one last glance before he shuts the door behind him.
When Jeremy gets home, he goes straight to the bathroom for a shower. He folds Michael's clothes carefully — it's all he has left of him. He takes off the collar as well, admiring it again. It is really pretty. But what's more important is that he remembers Michael writing something on his chest, and then he couldn't see what it said before. He turns in the mirror, traces the letters, lets out a soft gasp when he realizes what it says.
There, inked on his skin in dark black marker:
Property of Michael Mell <3