Brink of Control

ZACH

Tyler has been testing my boundaries for what seems like forever. His fluctuating techniques of torment and delight, combined with his words and tone, are unlike anything I’ve ever experienced with him.

I’m teetering on the brink, ready to whisper the safe word, yellow, to signal that I’m on the verge of losing control.

I’m on the edge of explosion. Maybe that’s his aim. Maybe he’s looking for a reason to punish me further, but I doubt it. It’s probably about control, considering the recent strain between us.

Maybe his desire for control will heal our broken relationship. This is the person I’ve been molding him into. A version of me that, despite his unpredictable punishments, still maintains enough control to be the perfect dominant.

He’s interpreting my body language and skin color, rather than relying on my voice or words. This is a new strategy for him, but I find myself liking it. A lot. Even though I’m mentally screaming yellow.

Forget it, yellow, yellow, yellow. I wonder how much more I can withstand, how long until my body rebels and takes what it hasn’t been promised? I remain silent. He needs this, and so do I.

I’ve never felt more in control than when I’m his submissive, and I’m sure he’s never felt as in control as he does now, watching me submit to his will. He insists I’ve never fully surrendered to him. That’s not true. I trust him completely with my body. He’s always been able to read my needs, just like now. He’s the only one I’ve ever trusted with that. In reality, I submitted to him years ago. Only to him.

“You can say it,” he says, circling me like a predator stalking its prey. That’s what I am to him right now. His prey, and he can see right through me. Yellow.

Damn, I’m yearning for release, my balls drawn up so tight to my body they’re barely hanging. I’m desperate to spill my seed all over him. On him. In him. Anywhere but inside me, preferably.

“There’s nothing to say,” I lie, clutching the carabiner above my head to distract myself from my deceit. The metal feels cold and hard in my hands.

“Oh, Zachary,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the contours of my stomach, leaving a trail of electric tingles. He moves lower until one finger grazes the underside of my shaft. “Look at this, your cum, not precum, cum. You’re barely hanging on,” he says, holding up his finger to show me the pearl of white semen on it. He twirls his finger, admiring the tiny amount of cum collected there.

I narrow my eyes and shrug, a smirk playing on my lips.

“Open your mouth,” he commands. I comply. My own cum doesn’t bother me, just like his or Callum’s doesn’t. He swirls his finger against my tongue, letting me taste myself.

I close my mouth, sucking everything off his finger as if it’s his cock, and he turns on the plug again. My cock instantly reacts, desperate to tip over the edge, and he knows it. He knows I’m close to losing control.

We’re both breathing heavily. His eyes sparkle with excitement at seeing me like this, and I’m sure mine reflect the same.

“What happened to you?” Damn. I don’t want to have that conversation here, not now, not during our play. I shake my head, looking away from him. Not here, not now. Please don’t push it.

“Should I fuck it out of you? Whip it, maybe an ice bath?” Ice bath. Jesus Christ.

“Fuck, Tyler?” His hand connects with the opposite cheek from earlier, causing my head to whip to the side.

“Sir,” he corrects me, his mouth trailing down my neck.

His tongue glides across my skin as he licks me. “Should I leave you strung up for a night, will that give you enough time to reflect on the fact you’re keeping something from me?” His hands roam my ribs, stomach, and the muscles leading to my cock as he moves lower, then lower, and even lower.

My body is trembling with the need to cum. Everything is heightened. The sensory overload.

His hands, the cold air conditioning enveloping my body. His lips on my neck, the wet trail his tongue leaves behind, the vibrating toy and the fullness in my ass. The mental overload. His words, his actions, my body’s reactions. The need to give him this, to let him take it.

Emotionally, I need to give him a part of me that was stolen by another man. I’m barely clinging to my sanity when he suddenly drops to his knees, my gaze following him.

“You are mine,” he declares with a conviction I don’t want to fight, so I echo him.

“Yes, I am yours, Tyler.”

“Cum for me, pet?”

I couldn’t stop myself if I tried. He takes me to the back of his throat just as my cock jerks with the permission he’s given.

He swallows every last drop that spurts from me. Then I’m standing in a suspended silence, staring at an unfamiliar bed that isn’t ours but will be tonight. His head rests against my lower stomach while I pant, trying to catch my breath. He holds my lower back with both hands as he wraps himself around me.

As I come down from my high, I feel at peace. My submission has given me exactly what I needed. Tyler took control, using me until he knew I couldn’t be used anymore, using me for my pleasure. He knows and cares for me in ways I probably don’t deserve anymore. God, I love him. So damn much.

“I want you on the bed, pet,” he commands. I’m too spent to argue, so as soon as he releases my arms, I move to the bed with him close behind. I kneel with my back to him, but he has other plans.

He helps me turn so we’re facing each other, taking each other in. My skin is marked with crescent moon bruises from his punishment. His skin is flawless and perfect. We lock eyes, communicating everything we need in that look.

Love, hate, insecurities. But we don’t linger there because he pushes me back, yanking at the plug in his haste. Once it’s gone, he fills the void with himself. One deep thrust that steals my breath as his body covers mine. His scent and arousal connect us in a raw, primal way that I’ve missed.

“I love you,” he whispers, his words barely audible over the sound of our bodies colliding. He leans down to kiss me, making love to me as he slowly moves in and out of me with his rock-hard cock that I’ve missed.

“I love you too, Tyler, so damn much.”

***

“I can’t believe we gave in and let the club mix with the rest of the hotel,” I say, stuffing my face with room service food. Sea bass with fries and a side of garlic-laden green vegetables. Tyler is eating the same thing in bed, rather than at the small table and chair he usually uses.

Everything about this meal radiates contentment. It’s been a while.

“It’s what the clientele wanted. It’s going quite well, according to Caterina.”

“I heard,” I say. The daily email reports have been bittersweet. Between here and the club back home, the management has been managing quite well without either of us at the helm.

“Maybe we could…” He cuts me off with a look before I can finish my sentence.

Go upstairs and check on things… watch other people fuck. Let me fuck you in front of everyone who wants to watch.

“We’re on paternity leave. Let Caterina and her team do their jobs,” he warns, though his words are gentler than the ones I know he wanted to say.

I shove a large piece of fish in my mouth, glancing at Tyler. He smiles at me and does the same, savoring the fish as it melts on his tongue.

“You want to step back?” I ask.

He doesn’t correct me, so I assume I’m right. What would that look like? Working fewer hours, perhaps?

Life has been about work since we dropped out of our first semester of college. None of this would have been possible without the large inheritance my grandfather left me when he died. So what would life be like without working nonstop for five days and then taking two days to relax and play?

It would probably be much like it is now… it’s not like either of us has been fully committed to the businesses since meeting Violet. Damn, I’ve taken more time off work in the past year than I have since I was nineteen.

“I’ve been considering working from home after the paternity leave. Maybe we could convert one of the spare rooms into an office. I want to be there for our kids,” he suggests.

I nod in response, absorbing his words.

I ponder over his idea. Being alone at work while he stays home with Violet, Ella, and Callum. Is that something I’d want?

Probably not. Definitely not.

But it’s not fair to force him to work endless hours if he doesn’t want to. I understand his perspective. Our domestic life has transformed significantly. We’re no longer just a pair of college dropouts trying to prove a point.

There’s more at stake now. We have to reassess our priorities for the sake of our two girls who need us, whether it’s financially, emotionally, or physically.

“Alright, let’s give your way a shot,” I say, setting my plate on the floor. I slide over to him, taking his empty plate and placing it next to mine.

“Now it’s my turn. I need you, baby.”