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I swear I see disappointment wash over him.
“Do you…want to stay here?”
His expression is unreadable. It’s blank yet guarded, and I pause for a moment, trying to decipher what’s happening. Before he can answer, I take the choice from him.
“You know you’re always free to stay here. For whatever reason.”
“Okay,” he mumbles.
That tender spot in my chest aches again. He has the ability to look so cocky one minute and then innocent and desperate the next. As if he needs something he’s too afraid to ask for. Like a puppy that’s been kicked one too many times.
I wish I knew what it is he needs, but now, all I can offer him is exactly what he came here for. And I wish what I needed at the moment was an orgasm or something more fun, but sadly, what I really need is some help around this house.
“There are six boxes in the kitchen that need unpacking. Do your best to guess where everything goes, and if you don’t know, set it aside, and we’ll go through it later. Break down the empty boxes and stack them in the garage. When you’re done, come kneel by my desk. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, a gentle smile playing on his lips. Then he rises from the chair and disappears down the hall. I’m staring for a moment at the spot where he just sat, trying to figure out this weird, tender feeling in my chest when he lets his guard down around me.
Most men I work with don’t show a lot of emotion. I’m not used to seeing the facade crack like that, but there’s something about seeing it with Beau that I didn’t expect. The sexual chemistry between us is distracting, but I cannot let myself get emotionally attached in this situation.
This is just an arrangement to him, and we can’t let it escape the confines of this house. We have no future, no relationship, no connection other than the ones we need to serve our roles. That tender feeling will just have to go away because I’m not entertaining that idea at all. I can’t.
Rule #15: Once a dick, always a dick.
Beau
“Fuck,” I mutter, sucking in a breath through clenched teeth as I slam my laptop closed. I’m not going to make it. Even after that cruel, unfinished blow job, Maggie sent me home without an orgasm.
After I unpacked the kitchen, I came back to her office and knelt next to her like she told me to. Minute after minute, she ignored me, typing on her laptop and making phone calls. With every passing second, I grew more and more irritable, struggling to stay still until, at one point, she set afuckingcup of tea on my head.
I fumed while it wobbled, warm against my scalp.
Finally, when I’d had enough, I quietly mumbled, “Fuck this, Maggie.”
And for that…I got punished.
I had my safe word. I knew my way out. If I wasn’t digging the scene, I could have saidmercyand been done. Instead, I got a disappointed glare and another menial task while she ignored me.
No blow job or hand job or make-out session. I didn’t even get to see her pussy. Nothing.
She just made me dinner, forced me to eat, and sent me home with strict instructions to do my research and keep my hands off my dick.
Which leads me to this little dilemma. It’s kinda hard to research BDSM with a poor, neglected cock and a pair of swollen nuts in need of release.
It’s been four days. Four fucking days, and I can’t remember the last time I went two days without jacking off since puberty.
And what’s really fucking stupid is how ridiculously good every brush of my cock feels. It makes me wonder…how would it feel after a week? Two weeks? A month? The right breeze would make me come at that point, and I bet it would feel like heaven.
Carefully, I open my laptop again and try reading through another blog post about things Dommes and their submissives can do together, but my brain literally cannot focus. All I keep seeing is the image of Maggie while I stared up at her from the floor, looking so much more confident and sexy than normal.
I wonder if she can see how much she changes when she fills that role. How surprising it is to see her facade transition from overstimulated and distracted to confident and collected. It’s addicting. And it’s the only reason I’m still playing along. I can’t get enough of this new version of her, and I feel like if I quit now, that version will disappear forever, and it would be my fault.
Tossing my laptop aside and giving up on the research for tonight, I find what’s left of a joint in my desk drawer and open my bedroom window to light up.
Just as the hazy calm of my high settles over me like a warm blanket, I see my phone screen light up. There’s only one person I want it to be, so I dive over to my bed to grab it.
But it’s not Maggie.
It’s from theoneperson I don’t want it to be—Charlie.
