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“You remember your safewords?” I asked Stevie as I tied the final knot in the Shibari arm binder.
“Yes, Daddy,” he replied, kneeling at my feet on the motel room floor. Such a perfect little slut. God, I love him.
I checked the tension on the soft black rope for the fifth time and confirmed it was correct. Not too tight, not too loose. “You remember the rules?”
Steve nodded, already pressing his thighs together in his light blue jeans. Wouldn’t be light blue for long…
“Repeat them for me,” I ordered, running my fingers through his pretty brown hair. His eyelids fluttered shut as I scratched his scalp soothingly—a little reward for being so good and patient during the Shibari process.
“Safeword if it gets too much. Answer Daddy properly when he checks in. Remember to breathe. Remember I am safe.”
“And?” I gave his cheek a gentle stroke.
“And don’t hold it till it hurts too much.”
“Good boy.” It was Steve’s first time in proper bondage, so I was gonna make sure to check up on him as many times as needed. We’d done simple wrist restraints with the rope as practice for him, as well as when I’d hold his hands above his head or behind his back during sex. But this was the first time we’d be doing a scene in full-blown bondage.
I’d made absolutely sure he understood everything before agreeing to let me bind his arms, had gone over all the safety details, and what it meant for him to be in this position for an extended period of time. I’d told him it would hurt, that his shoulders would get sore, and his wrists might chafe a little, and I’d made sure he knew he could ask to be taken out at any time. This kind of bondage is not for everyone; some people just don’t like being restrained in such a way for so long, and if he did want out, we could still continue the scene without the Shibari element.
But halfway through the knots, when I’d checked in on him, he’d told me he was really enjoying the feeling. That it was making him feel safe and secure. And that was exactly the answer I’d been hoping for. Because, as much as I like bondage, I’d never be able to have fun if I knew my partner didn’t feel that tug into subspace that came with being tied up.
I sat behind Stevie on the huge black rubber sheet and pressed my bare chest to the work of art that was his arms bound in, dare I say, one of the best arm binders I’ve ever done. My mentors would be so proud.
His fingers brushed the patch of hair jutting from above the waistband of my black pants, and I suppressed a shiver. Then he did it again. Purposefully.
The bastard knew I was ticklish, especially around my happy trail. So I wrapped my arms around him from behind and grabbed him by the jaw. “Little shit,” I muttered into his ear, letting my breath curl around his earlobe. His fingers stilled. Good.
But I didn’t loosen my grip on his jaw, I tightened it and leaned his head back to rest on my collarbone as I snaked my other hand down his bare chest and onto the bulge of his soft cock sitting behind his jeans. My silver rings rasped on the coarse denim, my black painted nails digging between his clenched thighs.
“Spread,” I demanded. He whimpered, but obeyed. God, he’s so fucking perfect. But he wouldn’t be so obedient for long, though. He’d be begging and crying and pleading for me to let him go, just like he always does when I make him hold it.
Fuck, there’s nothing in this world I love more than seeing Steve Harrington, my boyfriend, desperately wet himself and then enjoy it. Well, maybe seeing him fall asleep in my arms afterwards. It’s a tie between the two.
“Good boy,” I praised, palming the dry denim between his legs and the soft, twitching cock beneath. My own dick was rearing and ready to go—had been since I’d first knelt him down on the rubber sheet—so I rolled my hips and pressed its straining length into his lower back. His fingers instinctively unfurled to grasp it, and I let him have his way for a few minutes. But mostly because I knew the fact that he couldn’t get past my jeans to have it fully in his hand would drive him crazy. And it did.
He whined as he stroked along the trapped shaft, desperate to feel more than just the fabric of my pants.
“Do you want this, princess?” I drawled into his ear, my breath once again causing him to shiver.
He nodded, still palming my length, “Yes, Daddy.”
I waited for a few seconds, and when he didn’t say anything more, I hastily drew away from his touch and moved my grip on his jaw to his throat. With my fingers wrapped around his neck, I hissed, “What happened to your fucking manners? I thought I taught you better than that.”
“Sorry! Fuck… please, please, Daddy!” he cried out. “Please, can I have it?”
I may be going easy on him for this scene, but not that damn easy. So I shoved at the back of his head—carefully but forcefully—as I stood up and walked around to hover over him. He looked up at me, eyes wet and pleading. Just how I like him.
“Greedy little slut. You’re so mindless and desperate you forgot basic fucking decency?” I bit out. Then I raked a smarmy gaze over him and snorted. “Then again, nothing about you right now is decent. If only you could see how pathetic you look.”
At my words, he moaned. And that simple sound made my heart skip.
He’s the most perfect thing to walk this planet and any others in the universe, and if he wanted me to be mean, if he wanted me to push him around and sprinkle a little bit of degradation and shame in with the praise, then by god I’ll do my damnedest to make that happen.
Luckily, I enjoy giving (consensual) pain—emotional and physical—as much as I enjoy giving pleasure. And the fact that I know for damn sure he knows I don’t even remotely mean it, just makes this all the more sweet.
I crouched in front of him, took his chin between my fingers, and said softly, “God, you’re so perfect, princess. I love how desperate you are to be on your knees, tied up like a little whoreish present just for me. So ready and willing to degrade yourself for me.”
“I am. I’m yours. All yours, Daddy,” he breathed. “I’m sorry I didn’t say please. I won’t do it again.”
“And you’ll do whatever I tell you?”
“Yes. Yes, Daddy, whatever you say.”
I rubbed the pad of my thumb over his lips as I drawled, “And you’ll like it, won’t you? You’ll do whatever I want, whenever I want, and you’ll be so happy and grateful to do it.”
He nodded fiercely, a whimper crawling up his throat that ended in a whine as I shoved my thumb into his mouth. His lashes—heavy with tears—fluttered as he looked at me with the most adoring, trusting eyes. And no matter how many times I see that look, it still takes my breath away. Every single time.
Then a flash of pain went through that submissive gaze of his, and his brow pinched, and his legs snapped closed. I hid my smirk and asked innocently, “What’s wrong, baby girl?”
He tried to answer around my thumb, “Mmm… I…” but I slid the pad of it over his teeth, before slipping it out and replacing it with my index and middle finger.
“Go on, tell me, baby,” I teased, and this time, I couldn’t contain my devilish grin as he whined around my digits. “What’s the matter? Something got your tongue?” I drawled and laughed evilly.
Fuck, I love fucking with him.
He frowned and sulked, but didn’t try to eject my fingers. He knew better than that. When a tear fell down his cheek, I took pity on him and removed my hand to wipe it away. He took his chance and whimpered, “Daddy… I… I gotta…” but he trailed off as, after clearing away the tear, I moved my hand to scratch and massage his scalp again. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he moaned, eyes shut and head tilting back under the magic of my fingers.
“You gotta what, princess?” I hummed. “You wanna come? Is that it? It’s been three days, you must be desperate.”
He shook his head with a throaty mewl, another wave of a different kind of desperation furrowing his brow again. “No, I… I mean yes… but… is not that…”
“Then what is it, baby girl? You don’t like what Daddy did to your arms?”
“No,” he whined, “I mean yes. I do like. Very much, Daddy.”
“Are you thirsty? You want some water?”
Steve shook his head, frustrated tears spilling from his pleading eyes.
“Is it the temperature? I can go to the front desk and ask them to change it,” I said stupidly, still massaging his head. The more I played with him, the bigger my smile grew. And the harder my cock became.
“No, Daddy!”
“Now now, don’t be snappy. Be a good boy and tell me what’s up.”
“I have ta… fuck… I gotta…”
A deep red blush stained his cheeks, and he looked away with scrunched up eyes as if he was about to let out a sob. It was like he was actually mortified. Like he hadn’t pissed himself in front of and on me more times than I could count. Who knew King Steve, basketball champion of Hawkins High, was such a good actor? We theater kids might have actually made a decent production with him in the cast.
“Come on, spit it out, Stevie, don’t be embarrassed.”
“I gotta go pee, please, Eddie—Daddy,” he cried.
“Aww, but I’m not finished with you yet,” I replied with faux sympathy. “You think you can be Daddy’s big boy and hold it for a little while longer?”
He whined and bit his lip, but nodded hesitantly. “That’s my good boy,” I praised, giving his cheek a soothing pet. Then I stood up and positioned myself over him, feet on either side of his tightly clamped thighs, and the hard bulge in my jeans directly in front of his face.
“Now, how ‘bout we try those manners again, hmm?” I unbuttoned my jeans, my fingers sinfully slow as they worked down the fly. “I’ll ask you one more time, do you want this?”
“Yes, Daddy. Please,” he moaned immediately, his pretty pink lips already popping open in anticipation.
I chuckled darkly and thumbed my jeans and boxers down enough for my cock to spring free. He gasped out a little moan at the sight of it and leaned forward on instinct, eager and ready to suck me like the perfect little slut he is. But I placed a hand on his forehead and kept him back, much to his dismay.
On the one hand, he was desperate for it; on the other, he wanted me to take control, wanted me to use him, not the other way around. So I fisted my cock in front of his eyes, teasing him with the view of me touching myself while he salivated just inches away.
I may have drawn it out longer than I usually would because he was starting to wiggle and writhe, no longer able to keep still, no doubt due to the pulsing pain in his bladder. But he knew not to hold it until the point of agony. Knew that wasn’t healthy. So he played it up a little, pretended to be on the edge of genuinely losing it when in reality he still had that little bit of control. He decided when he wet himself. When the pain went too far and started to override the pleasure.
I knew when he started jumping in place and hunching in on himself, the desperation was getting to that final stage before he called it, so I caved and let him have the cock he was so hungry for.
I fisted his hair with one hand and pumped myself with the other, tugging his head toward me as I shoved the tip towards his lips. He took it eagerly, his eyes closing with a throaty moan as he tasted the precum and swirled it around the head with his tongue. When I thrust in a little deeper, he gagged and coughed. He was still getting used to deep-throating, so I pulled out and let him breathe before pushing back in.
Each time I went further and further, until my cockhead was lodged in the back of his throat, the muscles constricting around my sensitive tip as he swallowed.
“Breathe through your nose, princess,” I reminded him, careful not to let it show in my voice how much he was getting to me already. That would just make him smug, and we couldn’t have that. I needed him to be a mewling mess by the time I was done. A mewling mess covered in piss and cum.
He breathed out as I instructed, the warm air tickling the root of my cock. When he swallowed again, I pulled out with a muffled hiss and immediately thrust back in, not as deep, but enough to make him choke.
I knew he loved choking on it. It made him feel small. Insignificant. And that’s exactly how I wanted him to feel at that moment. The soothing caresses and whispered ‘I love you’s and ‘you did so good for me’ would come later. Right now, he wanted to be completely at my mercy. Completely powerless at my feet. Because—and I never could quite understand why—that made him feel stronger out in the world. Something about allowing himself to be small here, so he can be big out there.
“Fuck Stevie, you’re doing so good,” I rasped, as a sudden rush of affection hit me. The realization that this man, bound and on his knees for me, crying over the dick in his mouth because he has to use the bathroom so damn bad, and I won’t let him, is actually one of the strongest human beings I’ve ever met. I wanted to pick him up and hug him. But not yet. First, I was going to destroy him.
“This is where you belong, isn’t it? On the floor of a nasty motel room sucking cock like you’re dying for it.”
He looked up at me, his eyes streaming with tears and red with distress. When he gagged again, I pulled out, allowing him to gasp for air but not letting my dick stray too far. I slapped it against his cheek as he breathed, just to remind him I’m still waiting and needy.
Before I could shove it back in, he cried, “Ed—Daddy, please. Fuck, I have to go so bad.”
If he was calling me Eddie, he was letting himself get wrapped up in the fantasy. Letting himself pretend that this was just a regular scene and he needed out to piss. Needed to plead to his boyfriend, not his Dom or his Daddy, that he had to go. Then would come the embarrassment of wetting himself when he wasn’t supposed to.
Of course, he was actually supposed to. That’s what we’d discussed. Only twice had Steve genuinely had a proper accident—once in the park that day, and a couple of weeks ago at a New Year’s party—and I’d never let that happen if I could help it. Wetting his pants outside of a fully discussed scene was not something he enjoyed.
Inside a scene, in the privacy of our room—or a motel room—well, that was a different story. He loved those kinds of ‘accidents’. And he loved pretending to be humiliated by it.
I tutted and raked my fingers through his hair, “You really can’t hold it, baby?”
“No, Eddie, I’m…”
Pretending to be a little frustrated, I asked, “Oh what, you gonna have an accident or something?”
A deep blush covered his chest and neck, his face crumpling with shame as he nodded morosely. Then his eyes flew open, panicked tears flooding down his cheeks. “Oh god, oh fuck… ahh… shit.” A sob cracked the last word, and he suddenly looked down and let out a garbled gasp.
Time for the main event.
I stepped back quickly and looked down in time to see a growing dark patch spreading across Steve’s lap, his knees overlapping and his thighs quaking as he desperately tried to keep back the flood of piss. But try as he might, he couldn’t stop the stream, and that wet patch quickly became a pool.
A low hissing sound filled the room as he slowly let the tension drain from him along with his bladder, his head tipped back, eyes closed in bliss, and a contented moan escaping from his lips.
I watched in awe, my knees threatening to buckle from the sheer fucking beauty of it. Steve was always at his most breathtaking when he was letting go in his pants. Whether that be on my lap, at my feet, in my arms, or in bed beside me. He was fucking perfect. And he knew it too, because when he opened his eyes and looked at me, a hit of smug satisfaction lay in his expression before he blinked and replaced it with acted mortification and disbelief.
“Oh god… I-I’m sorry, Eddie, I thought… I thought I could hold it longer, I’m sorry.”
I just clicked my tongue and pretended that that wasn’t the most goddamn amazing thing I’d seen all week. “Oh, baby girl, why didn’t you tell me you had to go sooner? Now look at the mess you made.”
He blushed even deeper and looked to the side in shame. Now, to move on to the next part of the scene: Dom Eddie takes the ‘accident’ in stride and runs with it.
“I should punish you, should throw you on your face and spank you until you beg me to stop.” His eyes flashed with hope, arousal, and mock surprise, and I could see his cock twitch clear as day through his soaked jeans. It was full and stretched out the wet denim already, the act of having an ‘accident’ in front of his Dom/boyfriend so utterly humiliating and exciting at the same time.
But what kind of a Dom would I be if I gave him exactly what he wanted? No, this time I wouldn’t punish him; this time, I was gonna patronize the shit out of him.
“But you couldn’t help it, could you, Stevie?” I said lowly, crouching down to pinch his cheek with a little too much pressure. “You’re just a baby after all, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he replied solemnly, unable to meet my eye.
I drawled, drawing out the words slowly like he was an actual child, “Look at me.”
He did, begrudgingly, his big brown eyes full of tears that fled down his cheeks as he blinked back sobs.
“That was very bad of you, wasn’t it? Not telling me until you were just minutes away from peeing in your big boy pants.”
He choked out a moan at the statement. Never underestimate a Dungeon Master’s power with words. Still, the fact that just a few nasty little sentences like that could turn him on so much was like a liquid shot of pure power that went straight to my ego. And my dick.
“I-I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“Yeah, you should be. But I can’t stay mad at you, can I? Not when you’re clearly enjoying it so much.” I gave a pointed look at his tented dark jeans and chuckled condescendingly, “Who knew Steve Harrington was such a filthy, disgusting little whore? Do I need to add ‘piss slut’ to your list, on top of cumslut, cocksleeve, and fucktoy?”
He groaned desperately, “God, yes, Daddy. Yes, I’m a piss slut.”
“So you liked it? You liked flooding your jeans in front of me?” I asked, roughly gripping at his scalp, exactly how I knew he liked it.
“Yes! God, so much. I loved it.”
“Fuck baby, you’re such a nasty little bitch,” I hissed.
Riding a wave of all-consuming dominance, I picked him up by the armpits and stood him on shaky legs. I never usually kiss when I’m in as deep a domspace as this, but
I couldn’t resist crashing my lips to his in an aggressive, claiming gesture, before reaching down to rip off his pants. They fell with a plop into the puddle at our feet, and as soon as he’d stepped out, I grabbed him and tossed him onto the motel bed, which we’d put a waterproof sheet on just in case. And I was glad we did, because his thighs and crotch were still dripping as he bounced a few times, unable to steady himself with his arms still bound behind his back. But he still raised himself up on his knees and spread his legs like the perfect, well-trained little sub he is.
After crawling up and filling the space between his legs, I made sure to stuff a pillow under his chin to ease the pressure on his shoulders. Then I quickly asked, “Still okay with that bondage, sweetheart?”
“Yes, Daddy,” he replied.
“Shoulders? Wrists?”
“Sore, but… it feels good.”
“Good, you’re doing so well,” I whispered as I bent over him. Then to keep him in the scene, I added, “But of course you are, you were made for this, weren’t you? Just took you a while to discover it.”
He nodded as much as he could with half his weight resting on his face and shoulders, and moaned as I sat back and gripped his ass.
“I’m so glad you realized you’re not straight,” I said, kneading his cheeks, my breath punching out of me with a groan at the sight of his prepped and lubed asshole, already twitching and just fucking beckoning me. “This hole was just made for taking cocks.”
And with that, I notched myself at his rim. I teased it with the head of my dick for a few moments, popping in just half an inch and pulling back out to rub it around the pink, pliant skin of his hole.
He whined, but wasn’t stupid enough to try to thrust backwards into me and take what I was not yet willing to give. He done that before, and I’d punished him by not letting him come.
When I was done playing with him, I took pity on him—and my aching balls—and finally pushed in an inch. Then another, and another. Slowly and painstakingly, the pace drew a deep, desperate moan from him as his hole absently tried to suck me in further. And when he didn’t complain, I decided to reward him by pressing a palm flat on his back, pushing him into the mattress, and angling my hips so the last few inches of my descent glided over his prostate.
He gasped sweetly and beautifully feminine, just like he always does when I play with his p-spot. His hands, still bound at his lower back, curled into shaking fists, and his thighs began to tremble as I pulled my cock out halfway and rammed it back in, pounding into that little bump inside him.
He cried out, his feet lifting off the bed and twisting over the backs of my calves. I moved my hands to his hips and held him firm and steady as I repeated the motion, locked in on his prostate and delivering it unforgiving thrust after unforgiving thrust. Before long, he was moaning with every breath; each of those moans stuttered with every powerful slap of skin on skin.
“Fuck, Daddy…” he half sobbed, half groaned, and at that moment, I was very grateful we decided to get a motel instead of doing this in the dorm. Steve can get really loud when he bottoms.
He stayed perfectly still, like the good boy he is, as I fucked him hard and fast, pulling him back by the hips into every thrust I gave, my fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the soft skin. Bruises he’d look at later with dopey eyes and a contented smile. Bruises I’d trace lovingly with my tongue or fingers when I was done ruining him.
The bed started to creak, the headboard bumping into the wall as I took up a steady rhythm, but I didn’t care. In fact, a part of me even reveled at the fact that random strangers would know a little bitch was taking the mother of all ass-rammings from his Daddy in here. And thankfully, this motel was popular with the gay hook-up scene, so we wouldn’t have to worry about getting jumped on our way out.
“Oh god… Daddy… fuck… it feels… so good,” Steve got out between moans.
“Aren’t you glad I showed you this little spot inside you?” I said a little breathlessly.
“Yes, oh fuuuck, yessss…”
“Mmm, I’ve made you into such a bottom slut, haven’t I?”
“Yes, I’m such a slut, your slut, Daddy.”
“Yeah you are,” I rasped, my hips starting to falter as an orgasm curled in the pit of my stomach. “God, you’re so perfect, Stevie. My sweetheart. My princess. My little
whore.”
He gasped, his moaning getting breathier, his thighs tensing around my legs. “Fuck, fuck… Daddy, I’m gonna come. I have to come…”
“Aww, already? I haven’t even touched your pretty cock yet,” I replied, hoping my panting wasn’t too obvious. Still, I didn’t ease up on my thrusts. I was pounding into him just as hard, not willing to let up on the prolonged stimulation I was giving his prostate.
“Yes. Yesyesyes. I’m… fuck… I’m so close.”
“You wanna come for me? Totally untouched like the fucktoy you are?”
“Yes! Pleasepleaseplease, please!”
I chuckled, “Go on, baby. Show me how hard you can bust just from being my cocksleeve.”
As if his body knew to wait for my permission, he suddenly tensed up, his hole clenching around my cock. Then he cried out, and his hips started to shake wildly under my gripping fingertips. I knew when his breath choked out of him, and a jolt ran up his body that he’d started to come. So I kept up the pace despite my lower back starting to ache, and my own ejaculation bubbling up my shaft. And when I could no longer hold back, I let myself spill inside him. Let my head tip back with a long, low groan, my eyes shutting as I succumbed to the pure, full-body bliss that rolled over me in waves. Waves punctuated by shots from my cock into the warm, soft tissue of his ass.
It felt like my orgasm went on forever, round after round, wave after wave, so many that I lost count. And when it was finally over, I sagged, gasping for air, and pulled out my raw, oversensitive dick.
Steve was quiet and trembling like a leaf, and looked to be just seconds away from collapsing. So, still panting like I’d run a marathon, I carefully lay him onto his side and began deftly unlacing the Shibari arm binder.
When I was sure I could talk clearly and without breathless mumbles, I softly said, “You did so good, baby. So good.” I knew he’d be dropping hard from the high of that subspace, and I knew it would probably take a while for him to be able to verbalize anything, but I still asked, “Are you okay?”
He managed a barely perceptible nod and a meek, croaky ‘yes’, so I answered, “Good, that’s good. You did so, so good.” I was still reeling myself. But my own drop from domspace didn’t matter. All that mattered now was Steve and making sure he felt safe and loved. So once I was done unlacing the bondage, I tossed the rope aside and pulled him up the bed a little so his head was on the pillows. I quickly threw a towel over the sizable patch of cum he’d left on the sheets and grabbed the plastic water bottle from the nightstand.
He wasn’t able to sit up to drink just yet, but I set it on the bed close to him for later. Then I curled myself around him from behind, wrapped my arms around his middle, and rested my chin on the top of his head, effectively cocooning him in my embrace.
Later, when he’d come down enough to not need my physical contact, I’d get up and grab a washcloth and wipes to clean up the sweat and stale urine of his body. Then I’d fetch him a diaper, because even though he probably wouldn’t be Little, they made him feel safe and secure regardless.
Then I’d help him sip his water and get him a snack, usually a chocolate bar for the serotonin and blood sugar. And when he was ready, usually after an hour or so, I’d wash him in the shower while he stood under the cool spray (to bring down his body temperature) and hummed contentedly, swimming in endorphins.
Then I’d re-diaper him, sit him on the bed wrapped in a blanket while I cleaned up. Usually by that point, he’d be lucid enough to talk, so we’d discuss the scene in retrospect. Talk about anything he didn’t quite like or would want me to do differently. It was never really much, just a few notes on word choice or simple, unimportant things like that. But I value his opinions, because despite what it may look like, with all the degradation and ordering around, these scenes are mostly for him. And I would do anything for him.
It’s just a nice bonus that I enjoyed the hell out of it, too.