By Sorbus

“So, you have 4 brothers? No other family? Parents?” He turned off the stove, after giving the food a quick check with a meat thermometer.  I saw now why he didn’t let anybody use his kitchen. He didn’t just ‘cook’ food, and saying he ‘prepared’ it was also an understatement. This man could have been, should have been a chef! He’d had to pause his culinary performance twice, snapping his fingers to get me to refocus and continue when I’d trailed off because I’d been enraptured by his skills. His cooking had literally been on fire- in a good way- when he deglazed the pan with a red wine from a bottle written only in French.

“No, Sir,” I replied, my restraints only allowing half a shrug. “Killed in a car crash a month after I graduated high school. It’s almost a 10-year gap between me and the brother just older than me, I, uh, was a ‘surprise’ baby. My brothers sold the house and split the money between us. They were kind enough to give me mom’s brand-new car- they even paid it off for me. Of course, they used a big chunk of the house money I would have gotten to do that. And my oldest brother was both executor and lawyer So. . . uh, yeah?”

“They sound like a group of assholes,” he replied with a frown. He took a few steps and opened a cupboard, pulling out a plate.

“Yeah. . . I don’t think I would have shared a lifeboat with any of them, had we been on the Titanic.” I half shrugged again, finding the sensation of being bound so solidly to a chair like this to be. . . an interesting one and a little distracting. “But thankfully Grandma was still alive. She let me move in with her, and I lived with her while I went to college. I, uh, inherited the house from her. And thankfully she knew the ‘quality’ of men my brothers were, so she made sure her will was air tight. There really wasn’t any actual money, because the house needed a lot of repairs she’d been ignoring when she let me move in, but it was nice to be able to close the door in their faces. And then the neighbor called the cops when they started yelling and pounding on the door. It was great!”

I bit my lower lip then, watching as he effortlessly slid the food onto the single plate he’d gotten. The smells that wafted towards me were amazing, and I couldn’t suppress the sound of my rumbling stomach.

“I’ll take that as a complement,” he said with a grin, piling the food high. Sauteed pasta with mushrooms in butter sauce, along with steak strips cooked with onions and red peppers. The amount of food was . . . significant. Much more than any one person could or should eat, but he’d put it all on a regular sized dinner plate, not a serving platter. And he only pulled out one fork and one knife. The same wine he’d used for cooking filled a single glass as well, although he did fill a second one with water from the fridge dispenser.

I watched him carefully, but remained silent. I was pretty sure this was another test of some sort. . . and I had to swallow to keep my salivating under control. Seriously, I’d have gladly eaten from the dog bowl I’d been looking for earlier. . . I tugged, discretely and helplessly, against the locked bonds that held me to the chair. It was useless, I knew, but I couldn’t help it.

I continued to watch as he simply placed the plate, the silverware, and the two glasses in front of the chair next to me. He walked around the island and took that seat, reaching up to run a thumb along my jawline and then along my lower lip. “Well, you’re not drooling. At least not yet.”

“No, Sir,” I replied, biting my lip once again when he pulled his hand away. I cringed a little at the way my voice sounded when I spoke next, “do. . . uh, do you want me to?” It was perhaps a little too whiny. . .

“Some cooks might be flattered by that,” he replied, taking a sip of the wine and then swallowing. “Yes, boy, I know that many, if not most Doms would have dumped some food into a bowl, and made you eat it kneeling on the floor, probably without a knife or fork either. They’d eat their own meal with you at their feet.” He cut a bite sized piece of meat and held it up, the tines of the fork piercing it, juices dripping down onto the plate. He grinned at me before saying, “But I’m not that kind of a Dom.”

My whimper was audible as his lips closed around the food, and he raised an eyebrow at me. I watched helplessly as he cut another piece, stabbing it and lifting it up once again. He ate that bite as well, chewing it slowly, savoring the food he’d made.

“You see, the amount of control that a Dom wants, that a Dom requires, is different for each one of us. Just as the type of control is as well. I think most Doms would require you clean their kitchen, scrub the toilets, and complete all household chores. But me? I’d much rather be playing with my boy than having him do menial chores. I’d rather pay a house cleaner. And yes, they are paid a generous ‘discretion’ tip. My regular knows all about my interests. Justin, my previous boy, got along quite well with them- although I had to do some explaining of why I had that pup locked in a kennel one afternoon. . .” He lowered the fork and used the knife to cut another bite. The meat was barely medium well, pink enough to be fully cooked, but still allowing the juices to be released. The fork stabbed a piece of flat pasta and a mushroom, and he once again brought it up into the air.

“Justin, Sir?” I looked down, breaking my eyesight from the food. My stomach tightened and I wasn’t sure if it was from a ridiculous stab of jealousy or from hunger pains. . .  My nostrils flared. This was getting to be borderline torture. I would have been willing to run back to that flogging post, I would have fetched the dice for him, to be able to have just one bite. Just one!

“Yeah, I had Justin for about 5 months last year. Unfortunately he needed more time than I could really give him. It wasn’t fair to either of us. And I realized I prefer a boy, not a pup. His owner actually texted me a couple of weeks ago, they’re very happy together. Henry, fittingly enough, is a veterinarian at the University. I’ve taken in some injured hawks for rehabilitation to him. I had a feeling he’d take good care of Justin and I was right. OK, alright boy,” he finally said with laugh, deciding he’d tormented me enough with the food denial. “Contrary to what you might be thinking, I’m not actually into torture. Open up. Here comes the chew-chew train. Get it? Chew-chew!”

My mouth snapped around the food, teeth making an audible clicking noise as they bit down hard, hitting the metal tines. My eyes closed and I groaned, chewing slowly as the flavors exploded in my mouth.

I was incredibly surprised at just how much pleasure he seemed to get, feeding me. Maybe he had a touch of Daddy in there somewhere. . . because he even used a cloth napkin to wipe my chin. Or maybe he just really liked the power, the control it gave him, because he teased me with each bite mercilessly- he’d extend the fork to just out of reach, my collar nearly choking me at times as I did my best to get it, only to swerve it to his own mouth. He did not, however, share his wine. I was given the water, which I drank without complaint.

After we were both fully filled he pushed the plate away and leaned back. Part of me wanted to ask if he’d let me lick the plate clean, but I doubted I could have eaten any more. I groaned when he began to release me from the chair restraints, especially the lap belt.

“Good boy,” he said as he paused to rub my belly. “I’m glad you liked it. Now, let’s get everything cleaned up. I wash and you’ll dry. Set the dishes on the counter once you’re done so I can inspect them. It’ll be a swat with the paddle for every droplet or water spot you miss.”

I promise you, there was not a spot left undried! It wasn’t fear of punishment, but rather the avoidance of disappointing him. I stood there, a little nervous, as he gave the dishes the ‘white glove’ treatment, even holding the wine glass up to the light. He handed me each one after he’d inspected it for me to put it away. Thankfully, I’d been paying attention because I doubt he would have found it amusing to have to tell me where it all went.

“Alright boy, time for the tour. Follow me and I’ll show you the rest of the house.” He waited for me to hang up the drying towel, folded perfectly and hanging at an exact angle on the towel rod, before he left the kitchen.

“You’ve already seen the laundry room, of course. The downstairs also has a rec room and my office that has my grandparent’s library. He liked to collect old books. You can read them, if you stick around, but you must ask permission before touching them. Some of them are rare first editions.” He led me past the open door at the top of the stairs and we stopped at the end of the hall. “Garage is through that door. It’s still hot outside, so we’ll keep that door closed. Here’s the guest bathroom and the guest bedroom.”

I obediently poked my head in the door of each one. His cleaning person was obviously a professional, because both rooms were immaculate. I then followed him as we retraced our steps, traveling through the open concept living room and down the opposite hallway.

“This is my bedroom,” he said, opening the door and we entered. “It has a master suite with a jacuzzi tub, through that door over there. If you behave yourself, you might get to join me. . . someday.”

I could see into the walk-in closet, and I stared in amazement. It was almost as large as the guest bedroom! It also looked like it belonged in a high end department store- wooden shelves and drawers lined the wall, and rather expensive looking shirts and pants were hung with precision. I had a feeling the double row of shoes were worth more than I made in a month.

“Now, this is the boy’s room,” he said after he led me through a pocket door on the wall opposite the bed. The door seemed a little out of place, but it was obviously added for convenience and not aesthetic.

I stopped dead in my tracks, my mouth falling open in . . . lust. Yes, lust, if such a thing were possible. This was literally my bondage bedroom dream come true. I swear I could feel the precum boiling inside me, ready to come leaking out. . . I even brushed a hand over my borrowed jockstrap, just to check if it actually was.

“You like this, do you?” his voice was at my ear and I moaned as an o-ring gag was pressed against my opened lips. His voice had that predatory tone, the one that had made me kneel so readily for him in the forest only a few hours ago. Wait, had it really been that short of a time?

And wait. . . where’d that gag come from? Oh, yeah, I was literally surrounded by tools and toys. I whimpered in delight as the leather strap was buckled behind my head. My thoughts scattered, as my eyes flitted around the room. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything. My breathing turned ragged as my heart began beating thunderously, at the unspoken suggestion of what was to come.

“Easy there, boy,” his voice hadn’t changed but it suddenly seemed to center me, to ground me. Of course, his hands pushing down on my shoulders, pushing me down to the ground might have played a part in that as well. “And I think you’re going to need some help keeping your hands behind your back…”

I knelt eagerly, my cage straining as hard and as painfully as I think I’d ever felt. The cold metal of handcuffs sent a shiver down my spine and I whimpered again. My tongue moved over the metal circle of the gag, and I swallowed in an attempt to stop any drool. It was pathetic, I knew, but I didn’t want to seem too eager.

Who was I kidding?! My mouth watered even more when he stepped in front of me, his shorts falling to his ankles. His white Lycra boxer briefs were bulging and a large wet spot was forming before my pupil-blown eyes. This. This is EXACTLY what I’d been hoping for. The room’s scent, smelling of leather from all of the equipment it contained, took on a sharper tone, a muskier tone, as I breathed in deeply.

But I had learned from earlier, even though every muscle in my body was screaming at me to just lean forward, to be patient. At least, I waited the full 4 seconds until the hand on the back of my head was pulling me forward. Clearly he was just as eager as I.

I mouthed at the fabric eagerly, my lips doing their best to move over the metal gag that held it open. His underwear was soon soaked by the liquids we were both producing, and he chuckled at my whimpering noise when he pulled back just long enough to pull them down. His sizeable organ bounced up, bopping the tip of my nose, making him chuckle again. I swear, I could have come in my cage just from the sound that rumbled in his chest.

“Alright, boy.” His voice was husky with a lust, a hunger, that matched my own. “It’s obvious you’re ready for your desert. Here you go.”

My tongue swirled around like I was sucking on a popsicle, but one that would never melt. My breath blasted in and out of my nostrils, and my eyes closed in ecstasy. His hands gripped my shoulders firmly, just millimeters away from the edge of being painful. But that was exactly what I needed, the   sense of. . . the reality of the control, keeping me fixated on my goal.

And then he pulled out suddenly, putting a hand on the top of my head to hold me still. “Hold up there boy. As much as I hate it, I’ve gotta take your gag out. You’ve got me so excited, that the ring is too small now- and I don’t want to get stuck in it. Hold on, let’s get a bigger one.”

I whimpered again, the sense of denial almost too much to bear. But I obediently, eagerly, nearly unhinged my jaw so he could swap the gag for a different one. It was a very good thing that this room didn’t have carpet, because the mess that we were making would have left an enormous stain.

I could feel it now, the pouch of my jock becoming saturated. My glutes flexed, and I wished he’d plugged me, or better yet, would fill me with his own cock. But then I refocused on my task, refocusing on him, bringing him pleasure, when he plunged deeply into my mouth. I choked, my gag reflex rising up, and he slowed down only slightly.

“Don’t worry about deep throating, boy,” he told me, his voice sounded tight- as if he was battling with himself. It was obvious he wanted to let his rigid self control free, to take me and claim me without any restraint, without restraints on himself, that is. . . And it made me even more eager to please him. I imagined, based on the contents of this room, the kinds of things that would be in store for me, if I managed to please him well enough. . .

I lost all track of time, all sense of anything beyond his piston-ing movements, of the way his girth filled my mouth, of the way my tongue slipped and slid, twirling around. And then. . . then with a groan of pleasure that filled the air, filled my ears, he was cumming. One final thrust, pushing at the back of my throat, just enough to send his load down my esophagus without needing any ‘help’ from me.

I nearly blacked out, however, because it didn’t seem to be stopping! My head spun from the lack of oxygen, or maybe it was the sheer euphoria. Either way, when he finally did pull out, he had to support my heaving shoulders to keep me from falling over. I was panting uncontrollably, even as I nuzzled my head against his naked thigh.

“Well, I think it’s obvious that you enjoyed that just as much as I did,” he said with a rough chuckle, his voice ragged from his own heavy breathing.