Page 141 of Smart Ass

But could he get on his knees like a good little sub? If it was for Oliver?

Some impulse in his submissive little heart wanted it like his next breath. He would kneel and Oliver would call him a good boy and do all sorts of wicked, wonderful things to him.

But even more, he wanted to make Oliver work for it. He wanted to be chased. He wanted to be captured.

The second Oliver let the pinching grasps loosen, Ben slipped through.

“Fuck you!” he shouted over his shoulder. He was grinning like a maniac.

Now he was buck naked, except for his socks that squished through the damp grass. His hard cock bounced against his belly, aching with arousal.

The vulnerability of his tender skin exposed to the night air made him shiver. He was small. Scared. Cracked open and laid bare for Oliver’s lustful gaze.

He ran, lungs burning, until he was almost to the copse of trees at the side of the property. Maybe he could hide in there.

He crashed through, branches slapping and stinging at his sides. The rough scrapes sang through his veins. He felt alive with joy. Gloriously terrified.

There was a darker clump amidst the darkness, and he dove for it.

He could hear his own panting, his pulse thudding in his neck and where his watch fit tightly around his wrist.

He looked at it for a minute. Should he take it off? Oliver could certainly use it to pinpoint his location.

He touched the latch, but he couldn’t do it.

Oliver had given it to him. Engraved, this time. It said Property of Oliver on the back and just touching it sent another pulse of desire and adoration through him. He was never going to remove it again.

He could sure as fuck turn off the tracker, though. Oliver would know that he was alive, and he couldn’t leave the property from here, but where exactly he was could still be a surprise.

Ben shut off the app, sinking further into the spindly bush. His knees were wet and cold, buried in the leaf litter. His socks were beyond disgusting, but at least they offered him a little protection from jagged rocks and sticks.

He pressed his lips together to control his breathing. He was hidden behind a tree trunk, and almost certain that there weren’t any cameras in the immediate area.

Then he waited.

And waited.

A distressed voice wailed in the distance. A clank of chains came from the other side. He strained his ears for any evidence of mechanical movement, only to hear a deep animal growl much closer than he expected.

“Don’t think you can hide from me,” a speaker announced behind him in Oliver’s dark tones, so close that he jumped.

Should he stay? Wait?

Oliver’s voice boomed again, now in front of him. “You’re mine, Ben.”

Every muscle was bunched in anticipation to flee or be taken down and fucked into dizzying submission.

There was a crunch of footsteps from behind, and he finally broke cover, darting away. Four moonlit bots stalked and scuttled and rolled toward him from where they’d been fanned out in front of the trees. He checked behind him. There hadn’t been any bots in the trees at all, just more speakers.

Sneaky bastard.

Now that Ben was out in the open, there was no way he could hide. The four bots were gaining on him. He darted in zigzag paths, then just ran like hell to try to make some headway.

A spider-like bot emerged from where it had been hiding, still and low on the dark grass, and scooped him up.

Ben kicked and twisted and turned, but it had him on top of its round central body, held awkwardly down with at least four limbs. It carried him toward the garden shed at top speed.

Shed might have been a misnomer. It was more like a barn, and Ben fought harder as he got closer to the doors.