His Master's Voice [2] Page 3

  His eyes softened and his fingers followed the path of the sponge, touching and exploring me inch by inch, first arms, then legs, then back. I shivered. I felt exactly like what I was—a newly acquired pet he wanted to thoroughly examine. He first shampooed, then rinsed out, my hair, a sensation that had me all but purring in response. He had me open my mouth so he could examine my lips and teeth. He looked pleased—delighted. He used a soft sponge around my genitals. He took his time between my legs, commanding me to spread my legs wide so he could soap me up well and sponge away all the suds.

  He looked amused as he ran skillful fingers over my testes. “You’re hard. The eternal curse of youth.”

  I blushed ridiculously hard at that. It was impossible not to be hard with the way he was handling me—gently but firmly. In total control.

  “Always so shy,” he teased. His lips pressed together in a lustful smirk while he squeezed soapy water over my ass so it dripped down between my legs. “I wonder what my pet will do when he’s asked to serve at one of my dinner parties and my guests want a turn with him.”

  I flushed even redder at that. “You’d do that?” I asked, afraid of the answer. My heart was thudding again, harder. With just a few words, he could turn me on like a machine.

  “Share you?” he said, his voice whispery-hoarse with lust. His eyes, darker now with lust, studied me intently. “Of course. But only with those few I trust. You’re mine to use…and share, given the gentleman is worthy of you.”

  Maybe he’s just teasing, I thought. Another one of those fantasies we shared.

  He took a soft cloth to my face, being very gentle as he wiped at my eyeliner. “Ah. We will need to reapply your makeup at a later date.”

  His words made me tingle with warmth.

  He commanded that I climb out and sit on the wide ledge surrounding the tub. Grabbing a big, fluffy towel, he knelt down and started drying me off, starting with my feet and ankles and working his slow way all the way up to my shoulders. His touch was gentle and teasing as it passed over my chest and between my legs. I almost felt like I could fall asleep against him, but he stood up suddenly and snapped his fingers. “Next room.” He nodded toward a door that led to an adjacent chamber.

  This room was smaller, but more sterile. Whereas the last room was obviously designed to be sensual and romantic, this one looked more utilitarian, with mirrors on the walls, a large stainless steel table, a full vanity with two sinks, and a collection of what looked like high-power dog grooming clippers and hair trimmers. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that his dogs had their own grooming salon.

  He indicated the grooming table. “Up. I want you to lay flat on your back.”

  I looked at the stainless steel table—it looked cold—but dutifully climbed atop it. It was cold enough to give me goosebumps, but I braved the metal surface as I settled down upon it.

  “Good boy,” Master said approvingly before moving to the collection of grooming supplies on the vanity. He picked up a particularly fierce-looking electrical trimmer and an attachment and turned to give me a smirk. “You will need to pay special attention, pet. I expect you to groom exactly as you see me do it today.”

  “Yes, Master,” I said, not without a little trepidation while I looked at the trimmer. It was now emitting a low, insidious hum. We had a pet salon at the back of Pet World. Intellectually, I knew they were safe, but I suddenly felt like one of those nervous little furbabies being walked into the salon.

  I wasn’t especially hirsute. My folks were Irish, and my natural hair color, under my black and red dye job, was a light brown. Most of my body hair followed suit and ran from blond to nonexistent. Still, he carefully trimmed the little bit between my pecs and even the stuff under my arms, making me giggle a little with the ticklish feel of the teeth.

  “I require my pet to be smooth—everywhere,” he said, making it sound almost sinister as he moved to the head of the grooming table. He gave me a dark look. “Spread your legs, pet.”

  I felt a shiver of anticipation as I obeyed. He looked me over before setting the trimmer down and taking each ankle and spreading my legs much farther apart before bending them slightly at the knees. I was instantly hard, my dick pressed against my lower belly. “Don’t move. I wouldn’t want to harm such lovely perfection.” The lusty, carnivorous look was back on his face. He took my balls in his hand and gave them a gentle squeeze before bowing his head and briefly flitting his tongue over their surface.

  My stomach muscles contracted and I jerked my hips up in response.

  “No, pet.” He stopped licking my balls and glanced up at me with narrow eyes. “You must hold absolutely still for this.”

  “Y-yes, Master.”

  He gave the crown of my overly stiff cock a brief lick, just enough to send a shiver up my spine, and then picked up the trimmer, choosing an attachment with long, narrow teeth. I watched him with fascination, and not a little bit fear.

  He sensed my fear. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” My voice was soft.

  “Trust me.” He leaned between my legs with his little tool. “A shame to conceal such beauty,” he told me with a small smirk. “You may do this yourself, or request that I do it for you in the future, but, however you go about it, it must be done.”

  I swallowed and the muscles of my lower belly twitched when he began his skillful removal of the hair there, scraping delicately around my cock and balls, the vibration of the device making me want to squirm with delight. He stopped to spread my legs still more and bend my knees further so he had better access to my perineum. A few scrapes later, he dragged me forward by the hips until part of me was dangling off the table. Then he quickly skirted the blade around the outer edges of my hole. I held my breath, but he never so much as nicked me.

  “My sweet Christ,” he said, his voice low and breathy while he examined his work. I had never heard him swear until now. “You are so lovely,” he added, becoming infinitely more concentrated. I blushed for about the thousandth time that day. Setting the trimmer aside, he bowed his head and followed up with his tongue.

  I gasped at the sensation of his tongue moving wetly—unhurriedly—along the former path of the trimmer. Hot and rough and oh so insistent, it traced a path over my balls, rasped along my perineum, darted over my asshole, then changed course suddenly to race up the underside of my stiff cock and catch the sudden bead of precum at the head.

  I moaned, hoping he would take me in his mouth. Instead, he slid his tongue to the base of my cock, his ghost-grey eyes rolling up to watch me. “You’ve been very good, pet,” he said. “But you must learn to control yourself better. Not like that night outside the restaurant.”

  “Oh,” I said. I hadn’t thought he’d noticed that he’d made me come so hard in my jeans. Obviously, I was wrong. Would there be no end to my blushing?

  “Coming without your gentleman’s permission is not permitted,” he reminded me. He pushed me back on the table and seized my knees, fitting himself between my legs—still fully dressed. Something about that shook me to the core—my being so naked and vulnerable with him fully clothed and looming over me, pinning me to the surface of the table. He slid his big, warm hands sensually up my legs before setting his palms upon the insides of my thighs, holding my legs open to him. He bowed his head again, and I felt his tongue like a kiss of flame, this time rougher, fiercer, as it flickered over my perineum and then my sweet spot.

  “Uhhh,” I said, my eyes fluttering with the sensation. Feeling him right there, his tongue pressed insistently against my opening, made my whole body respond. The power of his mouth made me shudder and my back arch. It made me grip the edges of the table to keep from falling off.

  He licked—first fast, then slow, then fast again. “Do you like that?” he asked me.

  My whole body shivered in response.

  With a growl, he resumed lapping at me—a touch that grew steadily more concentrated. “Don’t come,” he insisted. He held me down and grun
ted like a fierce wild animal while he rimmed me, his saliva dripping down the insides of my legs, his wickedly hot tongue grinding into my tight opening in a way that left me breathless. The pressure of my orgasm built and built. I honestly didn’t know how long I could hold off.

  Another bead of precum squeezed out of the head of my cock, but this time he didn’t lick it away. Instead, he took my hard-on in hand, halting my orgasm so I gritted my teeth at the tremendous pressure and lack of relief. He resumed his licking, briefly darting his tongue inside me before smiling. “You are so response, but your body is mine, pet. As such, you may not touch yourself without permission. Understand?”

  I shuddered. “I can’t even fantasize about you?”

  “You may fantasize all you like, but if you touch yourself—if you come—you will be severely punished. And, trust me, I will know.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Again, he squeezed my cock, hard, a sensation that nearly made me cry out for relief—not that any seemed to be in sight at the moment. “Understand. I don’t want your best, pet. I want your perfection.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOUR

  He sent me back to the bedroom to wait while he showered alone. That was disappointing, but I understood his methods. It was the same as when I trained my clients’ dogs using the reward system. If I did well, I would be allowed more intimacy with Master, but if I failed him, I would need to make up for it. I was determined not to fail.

  He returned to the bedroom fully dressed in pressed new clothing—the same dark navy suit I first remembered seeing on him. He wore a waistcoat with it, but no tie and his shirt open at the throat. It gave him a dangerously modern, yet dashing, look that made me hard just to see. His hair was newly washed and slicked back, and his chin had just enough razor stubble to make me melt inside. His cologne was soft and subtle, emphasizing rather than hiding his own manly scent.

  “When we go out, I will choose your clothing,” he said, stepping into an adjacent room I suspected was a giant walk-in closet. When he returned, he was carrying a rather expensive-looking suit in dark grey linen and a button-down shirt. Not the kind of clothing I would have chosen, but this was for Master. His word was law. I started reaching for the shirt, but he took me gently by the wrist. “I will dress you.”

  “Whatever you like, Master.”

  “I like that. Say it again.”

  “Whatever you like, Master.” I repeated. “Whatever you want.”

  I shouldn’t have added that last, because, for the next five minutes, while he physically dressed me like a giant doll, I kept encountering the press of his partially erect cock against various parts of my body. Once he was done, he looked me over critically—and frowned, which surprised me.

  “You are most certainly not a suit man,” he announced, and started to undress me. We went through a few more ensembles before he settled on a plain black tee, ultra-tight blue jeans, and a soft leather jacket with an Italian label I couldn’t pronounce. He finished me off with a thick, heavily studded leather belt and a necklace with what looked like the skull of a bird on it.

  He produced a small array of makeup items and redid my black nail polish himself, then replaced my guyliner with expert precision. I could tell he had some experience and wondered if he’d been a lot like me, growing up. Some of his jewelry items suggested he had.

  I didn’t mind being his dress-up doll. It felt really intimate in a way I had never experienced with anyone else. I wanted him to kiss me, to hold me down against his bed and plow his way into me, again and again, but he seemed in no rush to deflower me once more.

  When he was done with the makeup, he ran a hand through my hair, letting the multicolored strands slide through his fingers, and smiled. It was the first genuine smile I had seen on him. It transformed his otherwise pale, cold face, and the sight of it warmed my heart. “If you’re good, and do everything I say today, pet, you’ll get a reward tonight. Would you like that?” He whispered the words an inch from my mouth. His heat and scent infused me. “Would you like to be rewarded?”

  “More than anything, Master.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sunday Evening

  I didn’t expect our first day out to feel so much like a date, but it did.

  Master drove us to Central Park where The Birthday Massacre was putting on a special Halloween concert, complete with paper pumpkin lanterns strewn through the trees.

  The music was totally sick, and Master didn’t even seem to mind when I started moshing with a bunch of young guys. Afterward, sweaty, my heart running like a jackrabbit in my chest, we walked down one of the paths with just muted lights to show the way. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” he said. We walked close, his hand brushing down my back in a way that raised shivers along my spine. Normally, I wasn’t the type to let others be all hansy with me out in public—I was always afraid of attracting the wrong kind of attention—but I liked that he was touching me, marking me as his for everyone to see. Protecting me.

  “It was great!” I laughed. “I’m gonna add some of their covers to The Long October’s lineup.”

  He studied me with his usual intensity. “Do you always do just covers?”

  “Right now, yeah. I mean, we have some original material, but it isn’t ready yet.” I recalled the song I had written for my sister, Taylor. Would I ever finish it? Some days, the answer seemed to be no.

  We reached his car, and Master opened the passenger side for me. I thought that that was extremely gallant and charmingly old-fashioned of him. We had parked near the pond, in a somewhat secluded area, and the city lights outlining the jagged, precise points of Central Park West were incredibly beautiful.

  I lost myself in the view for a moment. But when I turned to share it with Master, he caught my chin in his thumb and forefinger, and before I even knew it, his mouth was pressed insistently against mine, his tongue ravaging the inside of my mouth. His hands wandered under my jacket, and then under my tee. How his touch made me tremble, and before long, he was kissing me and pinching my nipples at the same time, his touch—his need—so demanding I wound up gasping into his mouth.

  It was fun making out with him in the car like that. For a few moments, I pretended we were boyfriends, best friends. Then his hands brushed my quickly hardening erection and he tsked. “So young. So eager,” he whispered against my mouth. “We really should do something about that.”

  I wriggled around. “Can’t help it.”

  He smirked wickedly before starting the car, and we drove into downtown Manhattan, to one of the shopping plazas full of restaurants and movie theaters, but we didn’t go into any of those. Instead, he parked behind a nondescript little redbrick shop and got out. When we came around to the front, I saw some of the items on display behind the windows and started. It was an adult toy shop, similar to the one I had visited to buy my collar and lead, but more upscale, elegant.

  There was even a bell that tinkled when we went inside, and the man behind the counter looked up from a magazine he was reading. He was tall and young and kind of dreamy, dressed in a tight-fitting tee with a lot of ink running down his biceps and up the sides of his neck to his oversized ear plugs. He was really beautiful. “Lord Byron, Sir,” he said, immediately coming to attention. “What can I show you today?”

  “We’re just browsing,” Master stated casually, glancing around. “I need some toys for my new pet.”

  He kept his eyes respectfully downcast. “Let me know if I can help you with anything, Sir.”

  We started down the aisles together. “Lord Byron?” I said, trying to hide my smile.

  Master shrugged it off. “It’s a bit of a joke. Most cannot remember my surname at all, yet they always remember the Byron part.”

  That made sense, and made it even more exciting to know that, when I finally got to meet his Society friends, they would be calling him Lord Byron.

  “Erbach-Schönberg,” I said, wanting him
to know I remembered. That I would never forget. We stopped in front of some merchandise I didn’t recognize. “I was meaning to ask. Are you connected to the Erbach-Schönberg Diamond Exchange?” I already figured he was, but I was hoping the question would open him up on the subject of the family he didn’t seem to want to talk about.

  He dangled what looked like a collection of straps in front of my face. “Do you see this? This is for courtiers who ask a lot of inappropriate questions.”

  I thought he was reprimanding me, but there was a glint of amusement—and, more, of lust—in his eyes, and I immediately knew things had shifted. We were no longer boyfriends on a date. We were gentleman and courtier now.

  “Sorry…I didn’t mean…”

  He cut me off by fitting the straps around my face. The front of the device sported a thick leather bit that fitted between my teeth and stretched the corners of my mouth. He buckled it behind my head—snugly. The tightness of the straps prevented me from even so much as parting my lips. I immediately began to salivate—not the most attractive thing, I thought.

  “There,” he said, brushing a hand down my cheek and admiring me. “That should keep you quiet for the moment. Color?”

  We had discussed situations where I might not be able to speak but need to end our play. He told me to tap three times against him—or to blink three times, if I was otherwise unable to reach him. I blinked once for green.

  Master put a hand in the small of my back and steered me to the end of the aisle where even more frightening toys awaited. He played with a series of crops and whips while he spoke. “I’m trying to decide if you would better respond to a crop, a whip, or a cane,” he explained. He gave me a lusty smile. “No preference, I assume?”