The Telemachus Story Archive

Dear Gary,
By Hooder

Dear Gary,

Ethan paused in his cleaning of the restraint table and looked at the remaining puddle of spunk. It was from the slave he’d had in here last night. He sighed.

Like many tops, Ethan had started as a sub a long time ago. He’d learnt from the best, and had been on the way to becoming an experienced slave until he’d realised one day that he was envying the top who was working on him. What he’d really wanted was to be him – be the one who was in control. And so Ethan had embarked on becoming a top. And it had turned out that he was a natural; it felt so right . Since then he’d never looked back and, for the great majority of the time he had no regrets about it.

But – and this only happened very rarely - just occasionally he found himself remembering the old days, that wonderful feeling of being helpless, and when that happened he felt a longing to be controlled himself. Not a slave, he knew he was not slave material, but simply to be tied up and controlled. He wasn’t even sure what kind of control he meant; it was just a kind of nebulous feeling, an ill-defined yearning.

But in any case there was no chance of its ever happening; guys looked at his 6’ muscular frame, his tattooed biceps under his short-sleeved leather shirt, his polished boots and his big, hefty cock bulging under the thin rubber codpiece of his leather jeans, and they saw one thing: T op. Usually this was perfectly fine, but just occasionally, when he was feeling like this, he cursed the way he looked.

He mopped up the remaining spunk and threw the tissue away, then sat down in the leather chair. The playroom always felt strange when the cleaning lights were on and he was alone in it. He had quite a few regular slaves; he enjoyed them a lot, and he knew that he was skilful at what he did. Ethan had a good rep as a Master, and new guys frequently got in touch with him, asking for sessions. It felt unusual to be sitting here without having a collared slave between his knees sucking his cock or moaning into a gag as Ethan worked on his tits. His slaves loved that, and he was good at it, but he wanted something else at the moment. He tried to think of exactly what he did want.

Bondage, certainly; he wanted to be tied up or strapped down. Hooded? Perhaps - yes, why not? Gagged? Very possibly. But then what? He enjoyed inflicting pain if it turned a slave on, or as punishment; he was skilled at beating arse or using CBT or electro on a guy, but he didn’t want it himself. He’d experimented with tickling, with some success (and it was an effective punishment on some guys), but he didn’t feel that was right for him either – the idea didn’t do much for him.

He fucked guys on a regular basis but he wasn’t about to get fucked (though he had a sneaking feeling that a finger or a small dildo would be worryingly effective on him in the right circumstances), sucking cock was against his religion, as was rimming (but he really got into it when he made his slaves do that to him) and tit work was a bit limited on its own, though he did love having his nipples played with. Fisting? Oh yes, he did that, but there was no way he was going to be on the receiving end. CP was out because the pain didn’t turn him on, ditto for CBT or electro, and sounds were a no-no for him.

So what did that leave? Not a lot. Edging, perhaps. He hadn’t experienced that himself for a very long time, though he was good at doing it and it was always very effective when he used it on his slaves. Hmm. Yes, he quite fancied having that done to him - that might be something to think about.

And there was that thing he’d read about in a story recently – cock-rape. Making another guy cum while he was trying to stop you. Seemed a bit odd to Ethan, but there was something interesting about it. He’d always loved the control aspect in the things he did to guys - being a top was really all about control – and where edging was controlling a guy’s ability to cum, cock-rape seemed to be the reverse of that: playing with a guy’s ability to stop himself from cumming.

But back to the problem in hand. So what did we have so far? Being restrained, hooded and/or gagged, tit work, edging. That would work. But how? How could a six-foot top get that done to him without destroying his reputation completely?

Ethan was a top; and everybody knew that. Tops did not get themselves tied up. He wondered for a moment if there were such things as ‘Super-Tops’ – guys who specialised in bringing down normal, mortal tops. No, he supposed not.

He imagined being got by some other regular tops and tied up. That would be incredibly humiliating on its own - but if they then did things purposely to increase that humiliation it would be – it would, he thought, be even more horny. Humiliation. That, he realised with surprise, was something he wanted as well. That complicated things even more. He’d never be able to show his face again.

He stood up, gave the leather chair a quick, automatic dusting, and then, his cock hardening slightly in his jeans, he headed down to his computer. Not really knowing what he was looking for he surfed the net, and ended up on an escorts page. Ethan had never paid for sex in his life, but this, he thought, was a possible solution; it would, most importantly, be with a guy who didn’t know him and whom he’d never have to see again. An escort he’d known ages ago had told him that they sometimes paid each other for sessions, to get exactly what they wanted for a change, rather than what the client wanted. Remembering that made Ethan feel better somehow about what he was doing. After looking under ’Tops’ and wading through lots of unsuitable guys, he found one that sounded a distinct possibility. “Unusual scenes a speciality.” His name was Gary. He charged a lot, but fuck it, thought Ethan, it would be worth it. He put the guy’s email into his address book and made a cup of tea while he thought about it.

The email he’d written was no masterpiece of creative writing, but it listed everything he thought he wanted. And he’d been completely honest – he’d explained that he was normally a top, and the reasons why he needed this so badly at the moment. He added the fact that though it would be humiliating, even the thought of that was a big turn-on too, then he pressed the send button before he could have second thoughts.

For the next week Ethan checked his emails several times every day, but there was no reply from Gary. Oh well, he thought, he clearly wasn’t interested. He debated whether to look for another guy, but decided he’d leave it for now – he had a double session with Dean and Steve this evening and he’d better sort the butt plugs out.

Dean and Steve were two slaves he’d played with many times individually and - more often, lately – together, because they worked well with each other. Both were intelligent, responsive, and creative. He’d had some excellent sessions with them.

The two boys were, at the moment, kneeling at his booted feet on the black rubber floor of the playroom, wearing leather masks with curved eye holes and open zip mouths above their slave collars; and fully clad in leather jackets and jeans, and bike boots. Sessions often began with them like this, as they were both into leather, and they both enjoyed being forcibly stripped and then worked on by someone in full gear – it always emphasised the power dynamic, and they loved the feel of his shiny leathers against their bare skin.

He gazed down at them. “So, what shall we do with you tonight?” He didn’t expect a reply – in fact he had better not get one. Hmm, something simple to begin, he thought. He’d make them strip each other, then restrain them face to face with electrics on their balls and make them compete with each other – see who broke first. It was a long time since he’d done that with them but it had worked well last time. After that we’d see what happened. He rarely had to plan out sessions with these two – the action usually seemed to unfold on its own.

He stood up. “Get the electrics for both of you, and double restraints for the table.” He always told them to prepare the required gear while he went to have a piss.

“Yes Sir!” They replied in unison as he left the room.

In the bathroom he gazed at himself in the mirror as he shook his cock and put it back inside the codpiece. Every inch a top – he wore this gear for that very reason: his heavy leather jacket – the one with the studded belt and the chain in the left epaulette – zipped halfway up over his bare chest so that the shelf of his well-developed pecs was visible, his tight leather jeans with the bulging black rubber codpiece, and his fuck-off bike boots. Yeah. He smiled – he did indeed look every inch a sexy top, he decided.

When he got back to the playroom he didn’t have time to notice that they hadn’t prepared things as he’d told them, because they jumped him, got his wrists handcuffed behind his back and the loose leather bag hood over his head.

“What the fuck?” It was too late to struggle, but he did anyway.

“Sir,” Dean said apologetically, “please don’t struggle. It’s for your own good, Sir.”

“What the fuck are you playing at, you – mmmfffh!”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” A hand gagged him through the hood, tentatively – almost apologetically - at first, but then more firmly. The feeling of the leather over his face was unfamiliar but, he realised – and despite his mounting anger - wonderfully sexy. He remembered, from his sub days long ago, just how much more dangerous not being able to see made things. And the feeling of being restrained – if only by a guy who wasn’t quite sure he was allowed to – already felt strangely good. His cock was beginning to get hard.

He swore into the hood as he felt something going around his booted ankles. Before he had time to do anything about it, it was tightened and his feet were strapped together. Damn this hood, he thought, I didn’t see that coming.

Ethan jumped as fingers teased his cock for a moment through the rapidly-filling rubber codpiece. He jerked away from them. The hand was removed from over his mouth.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, boys, but you are going to suffer greatly for this.” His voice was threatening.

“Sorry, Sir,” said Dean.

He felt leather cuffs being buckled around his wrists above the metal handcuffs, and then vibration as ropes were threaded through their rings. Hands were at his feet, and he was bodily lifted and placed on the restraint table.

He started to struggle more, but the two slaves were ready for that: they quickly strapped his lower half tightly to the table. Then, while one of them held him in a sitting-up position, the other removed the handcuffs. Ethan’s arms came out from behind his back, trying to find someone to push – or even to hit – but as he couldn’t see to aim, they met only empty air; and he couldn’t kick because of the strap around his ankles. He felt his wrists being pulled, and realised that the bastards had put the cuff ropes through restraint points at the top of the table. Even his gym-worked muscles weren’t enough to prevent his arms from being pulled up beyond his head as they heaved on the ropes, and his upper body fell back onto the padded surface of the table. Once there, he felt more heavy leather straps quickly going over his body. His booted feet were still tied together, and he realised that between them the slaves had got him helpless. Before he could stop it a sigh of pleasure came from him - fuck, it felt good to be tied up, he thought. But this could not be permitted to continue.

His hood was pulled off and he looked up at the two masked faces above the slave collars. He couldn’t see their mouths under the leather, but he was sure the bastards were smiling. Ethan snarled at them. “What the fucking hell are you doing? Let me out of this. Now!

Steve was holding another hood – the heavy one Ethan used on slaves who were very into hoods (and also on some who were very afraid of them…). He’d tried it on himself when he’d first bought it, and he knew that it was very heavy trip. He shook his head. “If you think you’re getting that thing on me…

They thought exactly that. Working together they held him and pulled the hood down until they’d got it over his struggling head, then buckled the straps tightly – especially the one over his mouth. When it was on, they raised the restraint that was built into the end of the table, pushed his head down into it, and secured it there. When they’d finished Ethan was effectively gagged, he couldn’t hear very much, and he couldn’t see a fucking thing.

Now that he was under their control, the slaves turned their attention to the straps holding him down, removing ones that weren’t necessary so that they had more access to his body. Soon only two remained: a very tight one over his pelvis, just above the codpiece, and a second positioned exactly over his knees so that he couldn’t bend his legs. His boots were still strapped together, and his head was immobilised. Minimal but extremely effective - the thought occurred to Ethan than experienced subs made the most devious tops.

He felt hands unzipping his leather jacket. They pulled it open to his sides, and then there were fingers gripping his nipples. They squeezed and rolled – gently at first – but with gradually increasing pressure. Ethan couldn’t stop himself from moaning softly inside the hood; that felt wonderful. The fingers were removed, and then replaced by mouths. He could feel the zips of the slaves’ leather masks as their lips, teeth and tongues worked on his tits. He jumped as a hand touched his hard cock through the thin rubber codpiece and began stroking it.

Ethan was getting very horny indeed. He had not been tied up for years, since he’d been a sub, and he had to admit that he was loving it. He struggled in the restraints – partly out of anger, but mainly so that he could really feel them - and he felt himself beginning to move in pleasure as the slaves worked on him. Oh fuck it, he thought, he couldn’t do anything about this, so he might as well enjoy it. He could cause retribution to descend upon them from a great height later.

The mouths went away. After a few seconds Ethan felt fingers wiping his nipples dry, and then pressure on them as clamps were carefully applied. He recognised these from the feel – they weren’t the vicious ones, but the gentler Japanese Clover clamps. Reluctantly he smiled at the guys’ choice, knowing that the clips would be fine for a long time; they wouldn’t hurt too much even when they came off, but they’d keep his mind on his nipples. The sleeve of a leather jacket brushed his bare chest for a moment – fuck, even that felt horny.

A hand enclosed his cock, squeezing the thin rubber of the codpiece around it. It wanked him firmly but slowly for a while. He could feel the rubber stretching over the head with every down stroke. That, he thought, somehow felt more horny than if they’d been doing it to his naked cock. Other hands slid up and down his legs, working between his thighs now and then. Ethan felt gorgeously helpless, and he was very rapidly getting dangerously horny.

He groaned as the hand left his cock – he wanted them to carry on until he came – and then the clips on both nipples were being twisted. There was a thin chain connecting them, and someone pulled it, forcing the Clover Leaf clamps to grip tighter with the tension. Just when the pain was about to become unpleasant, they stopped.

Fingers were around the stretched rubber shape of his cock bulge again – but this time they didn’t grip firmly at all. They squeezed and released the shaft gently, working their way slowly up it; they stroked over the head lightly; they tickled his balls through the thin rubber. The jeans themselves were made of heavy horse hide, but when he’d bought them Ethan had chosen a thin rubber codpiece so that when he got hard his slaves could see his impressive cock under it as clearly as possible. It was always fun to prick-tease slaves with the sight of what he was going to fuck them senseless with later if they played their cards right.

Now, however, it was obvious that these two were purposely using that choice against him: he could feel the lightest touch in excruciating detail through the thin, sensitive rubber, and their fingertips were teasing over it so lightly he could scream. He yelled at them to do it harder, but his voice was muffled into near-silence by the hood. The two slaves were clearly enjoying themselves, and they carried on teasing him like this for much longer than was strictly necessary.

As the fingers worked on him, Ethan was getting more horny by the second. There came a point when he realised that he was more turned on at that moment than he could remember having been for a long time. He wanted to cum. An orgasm right now would be a very fine thing, he thought. For some time he’d been trying to thrust his hips, to push his cock harder into their hands, but they’d buckled that damn strap over his pelvis too tightly to allow it. He couldn’t. Well, he said to himself, you wanted to feel controlled – and he most certainly felt that; for the first time in years he was unable to cum when he wanted to. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and he was loving it.

This was all very well, but enough was enough. It was time for an orgasm, he decided. He wanted to cum. All right, he needed to cum.

It seemed that the slaves were not in agreement, however. Far from making him cum, their fingers continued to work on his cock and balls. They teased and stroked, somehow managing to find the very spots that made him want to shoot his load most of all. Each time the fingers touched it, it jerked with need, and the head had become so sensitive from their frustratingly light work that every time they released it, the rubber seemed to stick to the finger for a moment, before returning with a tiny flick and transmitting another spike of pleasure. They tickled his balls – he really wished they’d stop doing that; it only made things worse – and now one of the bastards was gently twisting the nipple clamps again as well. Had they no decency? It wasn’t fair – he wanted to cum. He really wanted to cum. This had gone on quite long enough.

But there wasn’t a great deal he could do about it. He was strapped down, hooded, effectively gagged, and he would just have to wait until the bastards got tired.

The clamp on his left tit was carefully removed. Soft, warm lips sucked in the nipple – which was a lot more sensitive than it had been before the clamp had gone on - and a tongue played with it, squeezing it against teeth. There was pain, but it was good pain. Ethan groaned. This was only making him need to cum more. The second clamp was taken off and the mouth transferred to the right nipple. He groaned again.

The fingers hadn’t stopped working on his cock and balls, and they weren’t doing it any harder. They were, however, now concentrating just on the head. Because the codpiece was so stretchy and had been designed to accommodate everything when he was fully erect, it was sticking up away from his body, making every spot on his cock accessible, every tiny detail of the head clearly visible through the black rubber pressing over it. This accessibility had not been the idea when he’d ordered it – the idea had been extreme visibility for prick-teasing purposes – but it meant that his damn cock was just about as vulnerable as it could get.

And the bastard working on it was clearly aware of this. His fingertips teased and stroked over it maddeningly.

Ethan heard a voice through the hood. It was whispering close to his ear; he couldn’t tell if it was Dean or Steve. “Sir, do you want to cum, Sir?”

He yelled into the gagging leather, “YES!”

There was a pause, the fingers still teasing. “Sir, I’m sorry, Sir, I couldn’t understand you, because of the hood.”

He yelled again. He was going to murder these bastards later.

“Sir, please move your right foot for ‘yes’, or your left foot for ‘no’.”

His boots were strapped together at the ankles, but he could still move his feet up and down - they were just about the only bit of him he could move. He waggled his right foot violently.

“Thank you Sir. That’s good. I was just interested, Sir.”

Ethan fumed.

The fingers continued. His cock head seemed to be getting more and more sensitive. Every fucking touch now was making him more desperate. He needed to cum!

They kept working on him. Every so often one of them would suck a nipple as well. There was no need for that, he thought - that was just gratuitous.

It must have been a good half-hour before he heard the voice again, though minutes and hours had long since become meaningless to him. “Are you ready to cum yet, Sir?”

Ethan struggled to nod his head but he couldn’t move it at all in the restraint. He tried to remember which foot was ‘yes’. He waggled his right one.

“How badly do you need to cum, Sir?”

How the fuck do you answer that with yes or no feet? He jerked both feet about wildly.

For a while the only sound in the playroom was the whisper of fingers teasing over a hard, rubber-covered cock, and quiet, but increasingly desperate moaning coming from under the leather hood.

“Sir, Are you ready to cum yet, or do you want us to stop, Sir?”

Those were two questions; he couldn’t answer with a yes or a no. And they knew it. Bastards. And he knew they fucking knew it. They probably even knew that he knew that they kne… Oh shit ! -

- The fingers had hit an acutely responsive spot on his cock head for a moment. He yanked both feet about so violently that the leather strap creaked with the strain on it.

“I’m not sure if that was a yes or a no, Sir.”

Ethan took a deep breath, got himself under control and waggled his right foot.

“Which question was that an answer to, Sir?”

He screamed into the gagging hood. He vowed that the moment he got free he was going to make these two suffer the tortures of hell.

But for now, all he could do was lie there and take it while they proceeded to drive him slowly out of his mind.

Much later – much, much later – the voice came again.

“Sir, do you want to cum, Sir?

Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! With great difficulty Ethan made his left foot move.

“No? You don’t? Ok, Sir.”

What? Wait! No! Shit shit SHIT - t hat had been the wrong foot! He waggled the right one instead. But either the cunt had stopped watching his feet or – much more likely – he was pretending not to have seen it.

The unbearable teasing continued…

And continued…

Ethan wailed into the gagging leather hood.

“Sir, if you want these slaves to make you cum, you must agree to something, Sir: you must agree to go with us to the pub tomorrow night wearing a tee shirt with the words ‘I AM A SLUT’ written on it, Sir. With nothing over the top of it, Sir.”

What? You’ve gotta be fucking joking! There was no fucking way that Ethan was going to -

The fingers stroked once, just a little more firmly, right on the frenulum. O H FUCK!!!

Nothing else mattered: he had to cum. Ethan tried to make his brain work. Right foot. Right foot, he thought desperately. He waggled it like mad.

“Sir, are you agreeing to do that, Sir?” Even though it was a whisper, it managed to convey theatrical disbelief that a top would do such an unthinkable thing.

Oh fuck it. He had to cum. He would agree to anything the bastards wanted – if only they would let him cum.

He moved his right foot up and down fast.

The fingers were still working on his cock.

There was a pause. “Sir, I want to be very certain about this, Sir. Are you promising that you will go to the pub tomorrow wearing a tee shirt that says, ‘I AM A SLUT’, Sir?”

Aaargh! Yes! Yes! For fuck’s sake YES!

He moved his right foot, clearly and unambiguously. It kept moving. It didn’t stop moving.

“Ok Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

Even the way the fuckers were using the word ‘Sir’ was making it worse. He seethed under the leather hood. But it seemed that at last he’d got through to them.

They continued to work on him with no change. Hadn’t that been the yes foot? He moved it up and down some more. It felt like it was going to drop off.

They carried on working on him for another ten minutes.

Ethan was sure he was going insane. He’d never needed to cum as badly as this in his life. He hadn’t even believed it was possible. And there didn’t seem to be any way he could make these fucking bastards understand that he had agreed to their demand.

Eventually the voice came back. “Just to confirm, Sir: you do realise it’s slaves working on you, Sir? You’re a top, Sir. You’ve agreed to the demands of these slaves’ , Sir?”

‘Slaves’. He hadn’t fucking needed to use that fucking word. He hadn’t fucking needed to fucking rub it in. He hadn’t fucking needed to make it quite so fucking humiliating. But at that moment, with those fingers teasing, tickling and stroking over his cock head Ethan was so desperate that would have begged his own damn grandmother to make him cum. He had been moving his right foot so much that it was getting cramp, but he waggled it again. Hard.

“Right, Sir. Thank you, Sir. You’ve agreed to your slaves’ demands, so we will make you cum, Sir.”

He was expecting to feel the press-studs of the codpiece being unfastened at last, but they weren’t. Instead of a hand firmly gripping his naked cock, or a hot wet mouth descending on it, the fingers continued to work on him through the rubber – but their technique changed. Now they gripped the whole cock head and slid the shiny rubber over it firmly but very slowly. Immediately Ethan felt his orgasm start. It began in his feet, of all places, and traveled up his legs to his cock – which exploded volcanically. He yelled into the hood, struggled in the restraints and fought to pump his hips. His spunk erupted into the rubber codpiece as the fingers milked him. He could feel it running down the shaft, over his balls, and inside his leather jeans. His body jerked on the table as he came.

When he was again capable of rational thinking, the first thing he experienced was intense humiliation. He had been got helpless, edged insane, and forced to agree to something – something that was more embarrassing than he could bear to think about, for fuck’s sake - just to be allowed to cum. To be milked – not by strong, masculine tops - or even by an escort he didn’t know and would never have to see again - but by slaves. His own fucking slaves. He didn’t know how he was going to face them again. And not only that, but the bastards had made him cum in his fucking jeans. That was most definitely not on. For a top to be restrained and made to cum at all was unheard of, but to make one cum in his jeans was – was – was unthinkable. It was terminally humiliating and warranted punishment by a slow death involving whips and scorpions. But in spite of this he was smiling inside the hood; the humiliation of having been controlled like that felt quite wonderful. Oh fuck, it had all been so, so good…

They left him untouched after that for half an hour. He felt warm, comfortable, and very satisfied, and he found that he was really enjoying this hood. He closed his eyes under the leather and felt himself beginning to drift into sleep.

He didn’t get that far though. He felt rather than heard the two slaves come back to the table and he waited for them to release him. They didn’t. Instead he felt the press studs popping open one by one as they removed the codpiece. His cock had gone soft after his orgasm, but a mouth enclosed it and began to work on it.

Ethan no longer felt very horny – that orgasm had taken it out of him. Literally. But it felt nice so he let them do it. Let them? What fucking choice did he have?

He was surprised therefore, a minute later, when he felt his cock getting hard again. It continued to do so until it was fully erect. He still didn’t feel like cumming, but it was good. Very good. He thought he recognised Dean’s technique, though it could have been Steve - both guys were excellent at sucking cock.

Bit by bit he got more horny still. And then he was conscious of that feeling beginning to make itself known – it wasn’t possible to describe it; it was his body telling him that there was no great hurry, but it wouldn’t actually be averse to another eventual orgasm if he felt disposed towards the idea. He shifted slightly in the restraints, and that made him aware of them once more. He was still hooded, and the leather tight over his face was beginning to feel very sexy again. Experimentally, he licked the shiny inside of it. Mmm. Oh yes. He pulled at the restraints.

The lips enclosing his cock head were working well. The tongue was also being employed now, teasing over the piss-slit and around the glans, and also he felt fingers stroking, gripping and releasing the shaft. His right nipple was sucked into a mouth; fingers squeezed and rolled his left one, and more were teasing his balls gently.

His body had decided now that it definitely wanted another orgasm, and was making the fact known – in no uncertain terms.

The hand left his balls, and after a short pause Ethan gasped as a finger was inserted into his arse. It went all the way in smoothly, and then began to explore. He moaned as his body expressed its approval of this.

Less than five minutes later he was back to where he’d been when they’d been working on his cock through the rubber codpiece – viz he badly needed to cum. He waggled his right foot urgently.

The mouth was removed from his nipple. “Are you asking these slaves to allow you to cum again, Sir?”

Bastards. But the foot waggled again. More urgently.

“Thank you, Sir.” The mouth was replaced.

The finger moved over his prostate.

A mouth sucked one nipple, fingers squeezed the other.

And the second mouth continued to work on his cock.

The slaves were enjoying themselves, and they continued to do so for quite a while.

The lips were removed from around his nipple.

“Sir,” the voice whispered, “we know you agreed to wear the tee shirt, but we think that perhaps it’s not fair for a Top to do that. So your slaves have decided to give you another chance. Sir, if you can stop yourself from cumming you won’t have to go to the pub in it, Sir.”

The mouth was replaced on the nipple, and warm wet lips enclosed his cock again. They both sucked, the tongue working on his naked glans.

Oh fuck no. Now he had to stop himself from cumming – and he knew that the fuckers would make damn sure he couldn’t. This wasn’t fair. And he realised that that was turning him on like crazy.

He was so close that he wouldn’t have held out for five seconds if the mouth had milked him properly, but the bastards purposely made it last. He knew they wanted him to feel himself losing it very gradually, to make the humiliation as bad as fucking possible. Boiling oil was too good for these fuckers, he thought.

He concentrated like mad, did everything he possibly could not to cum – he was a top , for fuck’s sake - but his cock was under their control, not his. The mouth sucked gently, the tongue teased lightly over the shiny glans and the sensitive piss-slit, and stroked so slowly over the frenulum, and the finger moved over his prostate. Thirty seconds later he came. And it was fucking wonderful. Again he struggled in the restraints, moaned into the tight black leather of the hood, and generally acted shamelessly as his spunk pumped out into the sucking mouth.

“Oh bad luck Sir, you came.”

Ethan growled, imagining these two strung up with exceedingly heavy weights hanging from their balls. With spikes on them. But the smile was back on his face.

They eventually released him from the table, but re-cuffed his hands behind his back. They sat him down in the leather chair and only then removed the hood. Both slaves were kneeling before him.

Steve gazed up at him – Ethan was convinced that he detected extreme smugness beneath the leather mask, and the slave was looking him in the eye. In other circumstances this would have been met with swift disciplining, but Ethan remained silent for the moment.

“Now, Sir,” said Steve, “with the greatest respect, first of all we need to know that we will not be punished for that, Sir.” He paused, then added meaningfully, ”it would, after all, be easy for us to get you back onto the table, Sir…”

Ethan shook his head and laughed. “You insufferable bastards. You will not be punished. That was wonderful. And it was fucking intense. And unbelievably fucking horny. But what the fuck made you do it? As he asked that, a terrible possibility occurred to him. Oh no. Please not...

“Sir,” said Dean, “it’s usually a good idea, when you send an email, to make sure that it’s going to the right person, Sir.”

Ethan closed his eyes. It was as he’d guessed. “I sent that to you, didn’t I.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He must have clicked on the wrong line in the address book – Dean had been the first, until he’d added Gary above it. He remembered all the embarrassing stuff he’d written in that email. “Oh fuck,” he said quietly. Thank God I don’t blush, he thought.

“Sir, we didn’t know any of that, that you needed to feel controlled now and then. We can understand that, Sir. We did it to please you. I hope we didn’t do wrong, Sir.”

Ethan looked at his two slaves, and smiled gently. He shook his head in wonder at them. “No, you didn’t do wrong. That was exactly what I needed.” He reached out and fondled both their heads. “Thank you both.”

He straightened up. “But don’t let that give you ideas.”

“Sir,” said Dean, “It’s not something I’d want to do often, Sir, but it was… interesting. For a change. It was horny. I think if you ever need relief in the future,” he glanced at Steve, who nodded, “your slaves would be happy to get you helpless and tease you out of your fucking mind. It was fun hearing you humiliate yourself just so that a slave would let you cum, Sir.”

Ethan smiled. “Yes. Well. That is quite enough of that.” He sat forward. “Now, you,” he pointed a finger at Dean, “will lick my fucking spunk off that codpiece. And you, Steve, tidy up the playroom.”

“Sir,” said Steve, “if I may be excused – I have a tee shirt to write on.”

Ethan froze. “What? You are not actually serious about that?”

“Well, Sir, we have to be. Otherwise next time you agree to something when we’ve got you strapped down helpless, you’ll think you can get away with it, Sir – and then it won’t be effective, Sir.”

Ethan shook his head slowly. “You bastards. You absolute bastards.”

“Yes. We’ve learned from the best.”

There was a pause, and he lowered his eyes respectfully. “Sir.” He added.