An afternoon with Jair

It's been probably five weeks since the last time Jair was here, and he's getting impatient. He needs it.

I was going to have him over last weekend but something came up last time, so it will have to be today. It's 30 minutes before he arrives and I have some arrangements to make. 

First, I clear the space in my living room. Some of my boys just need a chair or a post, but Jair needs lots of space and something covering the rug just in case. A bed sheet will do. Then, I go to the basement and bring out two things that I got made specially for Jair. They belong to me, but they are for him. 

They're heavy and cold and it takes a bit of work to roll them into place. They're perfect.

And finally, I call a pizza parlor in the neighborhood and place an order with the instruction to deliver it in three hours. Half with black olives for me, half with ham for Jair. He hates black olives. The guys at the parlor already know how it is. I wonder what else they know. 

The timing is perfect, when all of that is done there's only a couple minutes left in the clock, and I just sat down on my couch when I hear the familiar rapping on the door.

There is that slight vacillation after the first knock, and then the rest come in a fast succession, like he finally accepts that he's doing this again. 

— Door's unlocked, come in. — I order.

It's that, an order. 

With guys like Jair you need to start things early.

He locks the door and walks in and stands in front of me, and I don't even look at him at first. We began playing the second he crossed the door, and I play my part just like he plays his. So, I don't look at him. I keep on my book and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And eventually, he cracks.

— Hello, Sir. — I know in his mind he's pronouncing it capitalized.

— Hello, Jair. — I finally drop the book and stand and look at him.

Jair is tall and athletic and looks like he could beat me if he wanted, but we both know that what truly matters here is not size. He's been out of balance since he crossed the door and he just surrendered to me by speaking first.

— Why are you here? 

He hesitates. But he knows he wants what will happen to him today, and he knows the only way he will get it is if he says what he wants, because those are the rules of our game. He gives in. The only thing he can do when he's in this house is give in.

— I'm here to be your boy, Sir.

— Are you a good boy?

This is a trick question. The result will be the same for him no matter what he answers and he knows it. He lowers his eyes.

— No, Sir. I'm not.

A good boy wouldn't be here waiting for me to take him. Or maybe yes. Jair has been a good boy some other times and I haven't even noticed the difference. But today he's a bad boy. He told me so.

I stand in front of him and talk very softly.

— You know what happens to bad boys in my house, don't you? 

I grab his chin and make him look directly into my eyes.

— They get punished.

He swallows, hard. He takes a look at the two things waiting for him behind me, and even if he fears what is about to happen he wants it more than anything in the world. This is why he's here: He wants it.

— Take off your clothes. — I order, and he obeys. Slowly, he's getting into the right place. Usually, taking off his clothes would be a prelude for sex, the kind of sex he has with women in other places, but it means a lot more here, something deeper and more powerful. 

When he undresses for me he's showing himself to me without barriers, he's vulnerable and exposed. He's casting away any protection. And that, that is why I remain dressed.

He stands naked in front of me, absolutely self conscious. He's showing me his body and he knows he's showing me his body, and he knows what that means. That's the point of this: that he knows it and he wants it.

And what an amazing body he has. He's athletic, with the kind of muscles you get from years going to the gym four days a week, with broad shoulders and big, dark nipples, and strong legs. He's full of strength that comes here to get broken. I take my time looking at him and he stands there, letting me look at him.

Then I point with my head to the two things waiting for him at the center of my living room. Two metal posts, each of them with a heavy steel base that needs a lot of effort to move. And in each post, one ring welded at the top and one at the bottom. They are a bit closer than one armspan apart, perfectly placed to receive him. They are for him... but it would be just as accurate to say that he belongs to them. 

He does.

He belongs to them because he decides to belong to them. He walks to them on his own feet, walking his own steps. He looks at me, dressed in front of his nude body, and he surrenders. He stands between the posts and lets me grab his arms and tie them to the upper rings. He doesn't help me, he doesn't even lift his arm. Right now he's become just a passenger of his own body, letting me do things to him. He's breathing faster and his cock is getting hard, and there is a mix of fear and arousal in his eyes when he looks at the ropes encircling his arms. 

Hello, Jair. You've been a bad boy, and in this house bad boys get punished. And this is what you came here for.

Let me tell you something about pain: No one likes to feel pain. Not even the people who get whipped and cut and burn with cigarettes and candles and who cum while that happens, not even they like to feel pain. What they like, what they crave, is to be MADE feel pain. That's why they can't just roll on a bed of broken bottles, because it's not the same if they're doing it to themselves. 

They want to be made feel pain by other person because for them, that's the only way they can feel powerless and controlled. Pain is a byproduct of power and dominance, and what matters about submitting to pain is more the submitting than the pain.

I have other guys who submit in other ways. Some of them come here to be made feel pleasure, some come to be made serve, some come here even to be made feel ignored. I don't judge: to each their own. What I do is find out what each of them likes and give it to them. But some people can't truly submit if they're not submitting to something their primal instincts reject with all their might, because they want to fight that fight and lose. The want to feel something they don't want to feel, but they want to be made feel it.

In one word: pain.

Pain is a gift that needs to come from other person. I know it and they know it, and so does Jair. That's why he came here today and that's why he keeps coming back.

I don't do pain... usually. It's not my thing. I do control and power, and that's how we got started before Jair asked for more. It took us a long way of trial and error to find the middle point we're standing in now, something that is far enough for him, but not too far for me. And something that, preferably, won't leave any mark.

I hit his chest and his legs with my open hand, and he tries not to moan and fails. 

I grab his nipples and twist. And they get hard, delightfully hard under my hands.

I caress him and get close to him and don't kiss him, and then I slap his ass and he moans and none of us knows if it's pain or pleasure because he's losing the ability to tell the difference. 

I take off my clothes. 

He looks at me, naked, standing in front of him. We both know that our nakedness is not the same. His is a show of vulnerability, mine is a display of control. He's naked for me, but I'm naked at him. I'm naked and there is nothing he can do about it because he's naked too. 

I continue hitting him and caressing him and touching him in all the ways his body doesn't want to be touched but his mind does, and his cock keeps getting harder and harder. 

I get hard too. I don't do pain usually, but I do control, and that is what this is. Control. Right now he's mine. 

I circle his body admiring its beauty and submission. The ropes are there to establish the atmosphere, to help him get into place, but even without them right now he would be completely submissive, completely gone, completely mine. His mind has surrendered to me and the body goes where the mind goes, and right now his mind is exactly under my foot. I'm stepping on all of him simply by standing in front of him and making him raise his head to look at me.

— Can you... can you please...?

— Can I what, boy? Say it. — He gets no mercy. Whatever he wants, he needs to beg for it. 

— Can you use me, Sir?

— How? Say it, boy.

— Fuck...! — he breathes out. He wants it more than anything.

— Fuck...?

— Yes. Fuck me, Sir, please fuck me!

— Do you want this cock in your ass, boy? 

Just as always, his eyes open wide when he looks at my cock, when he realizes what he's actually begging for. All of that, inside all of him. But that's what he came for and he wants to play to the end. And the dam bursts.

— Yes, sir. Please, fuck my ass and cum inside me. I'm just a hole for you and I need to be used by you in any way you want. Please, Sir, I'm begging you, please fuck me. 

Things are simpler when he surrenders to the need. Once he hears his own voice saying what he wants, begging for it, there is no way back. His whole body shivers and he's panting, moaning, ready to be taken.

I circle him again and stop behind him. I put some lube on my cock and stand right behind him with his back on my chest, encircling him in my arms with my hard cock rubbing on the entrance of his ass. 

— You want this, boy?

— Yes, Sir. Please. Please...

And I begin fucking him.

I know for sure no other man has ever fucked his ass. I know for sure outside these four walls he's never been fucked. This is just between him and me. And he's so fucking tight. It's like a ring of steel, warm around my cock, so warm and tight...

And specially, so mine. Right now he's submitting entirely to me, letting me fuck him and take him, surrendering, giving me his ass to fuck like he would never let anyone else fuck him... 

Power and control: the ability to make someone do something. Right now, I'm making him get fucked and he's letting me do it and we're both loving it. 

I move forward and bite on his shoulder, softly. This is not gonna leave a mark, but he shivers and moans and begs for more. 

I pick up my pace. His ass is loosening up for me, just a little, just enough to let me take my cock almost out and then ram it back inside him. I'm losing control. I fuck him harder, faster, letting the need consume me. Right now all I want and need is to cum inside him and feel how his ass is mine. 

I'm almost there. I can feel the orgasm building up inside me, and then I grab his nipples and twist them and his shout of pleasure and pain is what I need to cross over the edge. 

I'm cumming. I'm cumming inside me, inside that ass that no one else has ever fucked, and he's letting me do it because right now and here he belongs to me. He's surrendering to me. He let me tie it and do whatever I want to him. Right now when I'm cumming in his ass, I feel on top of the world and I feel that he's completely mine.

I come back to myself, panting and sweating with my cock still buried deep in his body. He's barely holding on his feet, and there's a wet spot in the floor in front of him. He also came, at some point during this fucking. As he should.

I gently take my cock out and hold on to him and he turns his head back towards me. And then, only then, he kisses me. 

He's still not completely here and he's beginning to shiver and his knees are buckling. This was just too intense for him and now he's coming down too. I untie him as fast as I can and lead him to the sofa, where there's a blanket waiting for him and another waiting for me. 

He already did all the touching he will do for tonight. 

I sit next to him and don't touch him, but I talk to him for a while telling him that he's a good boy, that he did amazing, that it's okay to feel how he feels right now. The words matter, but even more the voice and the company. He needs this time to return to himself and regain all the parts of his mind that got shattered under my hands.

I have a great sense of timing: he's starting to rise from the daze of lust and submission when the doorbell rings. Pizza's here. 

It's not only the act of eating, no. It's getting him back to normal. Something as simple as smelling the pizza and grabbing a slice and putting it in his mouth is the last step to get him back in the ground. 

— Thank you — he finally says. — that was fantastic.

I smile at him.

— You were fantastic. —  I take a bite of my own slice. Black olives. 

Jair hates black olives.

— How can you eat those? That's just... gross.

— Shut up, boy. Or I will make you eat some next time.

He laughs, but something in his eyes tells me he doesn't know if I'm really joking. I am, but I'm not gonna tell him. 

He gets dressed and gets ready to face the world outside. Whatever happens in my living room stays in my living room, but he carries a part of it deep inside him, when only he and I know what happened. All he feels now is the satisfaction of having that deep hunger within him sated for a while. He will be happier and more relaxed for a couple weeks, but we both know he will come back. 

Because some people need to be made do things by others, and Jair is one of them.

He needs to be made feel pain. And powerless. And controlled.

And I can give him all of that.

***

Author note: Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it! Due to the changes this month I think this is better as a story for all my patrons, please let me know what you think and if there's something here you would like to see more (or less, that works too)

I'm beginning to craft some new ideas, but I'm still a bit out of balance. Thank you for your patience.