As I sprawl in my bed my toy huddles in his. His bed is not an afterthought: nothing I do with or to Will is an afterthought. He does not have a pillow, his sheets are woolen and scratchy, his mattress was carefully chosen to be harder than he likes and too short for him to fully stretch out on — a headboard and footboard block him from even trying. All of these remind him of his purpose: my pleasure. He sleeps uncomfortably and restlessly so that I can have the satisfaction of knowing it.
Sometimes Will sleeps in my bed. I like having access to his body and he deserves the occasional treat. If he sleeps with me I usually tie his feet or ankles together, not so much to restrain him as to remind him that he is mine. My toy, my pet, my slave; in my bed not for his pleasure but for mine.
But last night he slept in his own bed and I'm horny. I usually wake earlier than he does, a benefit of having a bed not designed to make my nights difficult, and this morning I feel extremely alert and ready to have some fun. I climb out of my bed, walk over to his, yank his head up by the hair, and say, "Good morning, sleepyhead."
"Master?" he mumbles, not really awake, not really sure of where he is. I kiss him to help him wake up, then twist his nipple, a bit of pain to remind him of his place. I kiss him because I like kissing beautiful men; I twist his nipple because I also like hurting them. "Master," he says again, more firmly, more certainly, "How can I serve you?"
Always a good question. On one hand, he's been a good pet these past few days and maybe I should reward him; on the other hand, he's really cute when my underpants are stuffed in his mouth and his butt is red from a good spanking. I'm not actually wearing underwear right now, so I grab a pair from my hamper and tell him to open his mouth; he does and I shove them in. "You know that you are mine?" I ask him, and he nods. "I can do whatever I want with you. I can give you pleasure" -- I stroke his cock, already rock-hard with anticipation, for awhile, letting him enjoy the sensation -- "and I can give you pain" -- I pull a fold of skin on his stomach, pick up a clamp from my dresser, and put it on -- "and I get to decide which."
He nods. I sit down on my bed and order him to grab the paddle hanging on the wall. A moment later he's standing next to me, paddle in one hand and cock in the other. I slap that hand away. "Bad toy," I scold. "Your cock is mine and I decide when -- and if -- it gets any more attention today. Give me the paddle and get in my lap."
When we first started dating, he might have feared that the paddling would be harder than usual as a punishment for his infraction; he knows better now. I don't punish him by hurting him, I hurt him because I like to see him in pain and he is mine, he exists for my benefit. Anything I do to him is to add to my pleasure, the only punishment he gets -- or should need -- for disobedience is the knowledge that it displeases me.
He's lying in my lap now, my hard cock poking into his stomach. I swing the paddle and hit his ass. I do it again, and again, and again, watching his ass redden. He lets out a whimper and I stop, letting him think that maybe I'm feeling merciful, then I hit him the hardest I have so far, grinning as he moans and squirms.
I like his face with my underwear gagging him, but I also want to hear him say that he's mine. I extract the underwear, put down the paddle, spank him with my bare hand, and ask, "Who's your master?"
