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[Steph] You have Saturday night off, don’t you? 💜🔑
[Jay] Yeah ❤🔒
[Steph] Good. I’ll see you at seven💜🔑
Jason re-reads their messages for the nth time before glancing at the clock. It’s ten past seven. He has food sitting on the stove, burners turned low to keep it warm. The smell permeates his apartment, but he’s too keyed up to feel the hunger he knows is building in his gut.
Steph would have texted him if something came up, he assures himself.
The knob turns.
Jason’s ears prick. His body reacts before his mind catches up, leaving him standing at attention as Steph steps inside. A flush heats the back of his neck. Steph only smiles as she closes the door behind her. “Hey handsome,” she greets warmly. “Sorry I’m late. I’m pretty sure my Uber driver just moved here; he got turned around twice.” She rolls her eyes.
“If only you’d waited five more minutes,” he says with a sigh. He moves to take Steph’s jacket at the same time as she turns her back to him; the two of them perfectly in sync as he slips it off her shoulders. The heat of her body through her clothes feels more intense than normal. “Then you’d be fashionably late instead of just late.”
Steph snorts, swatting him lightly. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” She’s wearing a purple turtleneck and black skinny jeans tonight, both tight enough to emphasize her curves, and her hair is braided, falling down her back in a single golden rope. Her only accessory, at least that he can see, is a necklace: a silver key, dangling from a leather cord. Just the sight of it makes his stomach fluter. She takes off her shoes before heading further into the apartment; her purse left by the door, but a bag still slung over her shoulders.
Jason approaches to take it—but she stops him. “Have you eaten yet?” she asks lightly.
He shakes his head. “Not yet.”
Steph doesn’t look surprised. “Is it done?” she inclines her head toward the kitchen. At his nod, she says, “Plate us up some food, then. And don’t forget the water… you’re going to need it.” His face heats, and she grins like the wicked thing she is.
His cock also twitches, traitorous thing that it is.
Steph laughs at him. “I’m going to go put my stuff in your room. I’ll join you at the table when I’m done.” Her tone is gentle, polite, but her words are unmistakably orders—the same way her text about tonight had been. Rather than rankle him, though, it settles him; something in his shoulders loosening as he nods again.
“Okay.”
Steph kisses him briefly before she leaves to head upstairs, to his bedroom. Jason catches himself smiling on his way to the kitchen… but for once feels no reason to wipe it away.
He makes two plates and brings them to his small dining room table. It’s lighter fare than he's used to, and vegetarian for Steph. Stuffed portobello mushrooms and spinach, slightly wilted with a bit of lemon zest. Plus a side of garlic bread, because he tends to bake when he’s nervous.
He pours them both a glass of water, too; the nice stuff he keeps in the fridge in a pitcher, infused with strawberries, lemon, and a little mint.
Steph comes down just as he’s lit a couple of candles. He hears her coming, but the kiss she lays on him still surprises him. It’s not as brief—or chaste—as the first one. “It looks great, Jay,” she says. She’s got that starry-eyed look—the look that says How did I get so lucky? more clearly than words ever could. Jason has to turn away from it. His blush is back, and deeper than before.
“It was nothin’,” he says… and knows his mistake as soon as the words have left his mouth.
She clicks her tongue, and tugs him to face her again. The stars in her eyes are softer now; not so hard to look at, but still overwhelming. “It wasn’t. You put together a romantic dinner for us, and I appreciate it.”
His stomach squirms. The muscles feel tight. But there’s warmth, too, prickling under his skin. He doesn’t know what to do with praise, never has. As a little kid he could snap off a retort and it was still cute, but the older he got the less that was an acceptable option. Not that it stopped him, usually, but Steph is… different.
And also determined to undo him in as many different ways as she’s able.
“It really wasn’t…” He lets the sentence trail off when he sees her mouth twitch. “I was happy to do it,” he tries instead. “I—like when we can stay in. Have a nice night.”
Her face softens further, somehow, and it gets him another kiss. Kissing, he can do. It’s so much easier than talking.
Steph pulls away first—reluctantly, judging by the way she lingers in his airspace; her breath warm on his mouth. “The food’s gonna get cold.”
Jason hums. “We’ve uh. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.”
She grins at that, the wicked glint back in her eye. It makes him squirm in a different way than the stars—but he prefers this. This kind of heat is so much less embarrassing to get worked up to. “Hell yeah we do.”
They sit at the table. Steph moans at her first bite of mushroom. Jason shifts, adjusting himself surreptitiously under the table. Every shift of his clothes against his skin sends a tingle up his spine. “God, so good,” she says, one hand half-covering her mouth, still full of food. “Seriously, I cannot believe someone didn’t snap you up before me. Good looks and you can cook?”
Aaaaand that terrible, wonderful squirming feeling is back again, feeding into his arousal in a way that make him want to duck and hide. He settles for taking a bite of spinach before drawling, “Yeah, that was probably because of all the murders.”
Steph pauses halfway through raising her drink to her mouth, cocking her head. “Hm. Well.” She shrugs. “Nobody’s perfect.” She shoots him a cheeky smile and a wink before taking a drink—and then making a bright, delighted noise. “You spoil me.”
He gets another compliment on the spinach, and the garlic bread too, and then, blessedly, Steph makes a comment about how long it all must have taken, and he’s able to shift the conversation onto one of his favorite subjects: cooking. And then, to further distract them both, he prods Steph about her day, and then vice versa, until, suddenly, there’s no more food in front of them.
The conversation keeps on for a while after that; they chat about everything and nothing at all. It’s not enough to distract Jason from the night ahead of them, his cock staying half-hard the entire time, but it’s… peaceful. Domestic, in a way he never really thought he would have.
Eventually, though, the conversation does trail off, and a content silent reigns before Jason stands up to gather the dishes. Steph helps him pile them up, but when he turns the water on, she presses herself against his back. She’s tall enough that she doesn’t have to rise to her toes to press a kiss behind his ear. “I’m going to go get things ready upstairs,” she whispers, her breath hot on his neck. “Come up whenever you’re ready.”
He shivers, bites his lip, and nods. “Yeah. Alright.” He turns, just enough that she can kiss him properly before she leaves—and so that he can watch her leave.
Then he turns back to the task at hand, trying not to lose himself in thoughts of what’s to come.
Jason finishes the dishes and sets them to dry before doing a sweep of the house. It’s less about checking for last-minute things that need doing, though, and more about re-affirming that all of his security systems are functioning. He checks the door first, then moves through each window, one-by-one. Each confirmation soothes him a little more; unwinds the tension in his shoulders, his lower back.
His last stop is the upstairs bathroom, where he brushes his teeth and pisses, and then, finally, he enters his bedroom.
Steph is perched by the window. While he’d been taking care of things, she’d prepped the bedroom, as promised. His bed has been stripped of everything but the fitted sheet and the pillows; the blankets sit, folded, atop his dresser. Soft, white towels have been stretched over the middle of the bed. The overhead light is off; the only light is provided by his nightstand lamps, which cast a soft golden glow over the room.
Jason shuts the door behind him. His stomach flips at the soft ‘click’ of the latch settling into place.
Steph smiles at him. She’s toying with something in her hands, but before Jason can focus on it, she says—orders, “Strip.”
The word settles over him. He doesn’t respond, not verbally. He takes his watch and leather bracelets off, first. He notes, absently, that he’s nearly chewed through one of his bracelets again; he’ll need to replace it soon. The beaded one, at least, seems to be holding up better.
His jeans go next. He pops the button and pulls down the zipper before shimmying out of them—his boxers, too. He doesn’t try to make it sexy. Steph’s eyes stay on him anyway; an intensity in them he finds himself unable to meet. He tugs his shirt off next, and then his socks. Then he picks up his pile of clothes to fold them neatly, setting them on the dresser next to his blankets.
When he’s done, he turns back to her, arms held loosely at his side.
All that’s left now is the cage around his cock.
“Kneel on the bench.”
He loves the way Steph sounds when she orders him around like this. She sounds… kind, but also firm, without room for disobedience. (She wasn’t always that way. When they first started, she was much more unsure of herself, but now— Jason shivers.)
He kneels on the bench at the end of his bed, arms crossed loosely behind his back.
Steph finally moves away from the window. She lets him watch as she conducts the final check; she keeps her movements obvious, allowing him to track everything she’s doing. She’s watched him check his apartment at least a dozen times, and it shows in the way she doesn’t miss a step. Then, security measures in place, she draws the curtains, blocking out the streetlights before crossing the room to his side.
Now he sees what she’s holding in her hands: his collar. It’s a one-inch strip of purple leather, with a fastener in the back and a d-ring in the front. He bows his head, eyes falling shut as she wraps it around his neck and snaps it into place.
The sound is followed by a warm, open mouthed kiss to his nape, just above where the collar stars. “Who am I, baby?” she whispers.
“Mommy.” The title makes him blush a little. “Or Ma’am.” He feels—good. Not floaty, not yet, but. Breathing comes easier. The world feels… slower. Smaller. More contained.
Nothing else matters outside of this room. Outside of what Steph tells him.
“Good.” Another kiss, to the top of his head this time. “Hold out your wrists.”
He offers them up, fists loosely curled, wrists turned up. Steph fastens cuffs around them, planting kisses on each wrist. The cuffs match his collar, leaving him even more owned. She finishes by fixing a pair around his ankles, too.
“Stand,” she says, and he grimaces a little before rising to his feet.
Steph is only an inch or two shorter than he is, so it’s not like their height difference is that stark, but… It just feels wrong, being taller than her when he’s wearing his collar. Luckily, he knows she won’t make him suffer through it long. Not without a good reason, anyway.
Steph smiles at him, reaching up to toy with the key hanging around her neck. “Remind me again, sweet boy, how long I’ve had you locked up for?”
Jason shivers, his nipples feeling tight as goosebumps prickle over his skin. “One month, Mommy.” It’s the longest they’ve gone so far. Prior to that, they’d done a day; three days; a week. The month jump had been Jason’s idea, and Steph had agreed only after stipulating regular check-ins.
It hadn’t been as bad as either of them feared. The cage he wore was comfortable, and after the first three or four days… He hardly noticed it most of the time. Sure, there were moments. Moments that were, embarrassingly, preserved probably forever on Steph’s phone, when he’d break down and text her, begging her to to please, please, please let him come.
(And those moments were always followed first by a check-in, which he admittedly hadn’t been enthused about at first, and then, when he said he was good to keep going, the wickedest of punishments. Somehow, having to admit he didn’t really need it that badly, badly enough to safe word, always made Steph’s scolding feel that much more humiliating… in the best way possible.)
“One month,” Steph repeats. “Goodness, baby.” She slips her hand behind his cock, cupping his balls in her hand. His breath hitches, stomach tightening briefly. “You must be so wound up.”
Jason bites his lip. “I… I can wait, Mommy.” It hurts to say it. He wants—he wants so badly. But if Mommy says he has to wait, then that’s what he’ll do.
Steph smiles at him. “You’re so sweet. But I think you’ve done enough waiting.” She kisses the corner of his mouth, then drops to her knees in front of him.
The position immediately makes his stomach squirm and his chest feel tight. He feels far, far too big like this—big and cumbersome and just. Too much.
Steph smooths her hands down his legs, then reaches for the key hanging around her neck. She leans forward and unlocks his cage before easing it off of him. She smiles at the sight of his cock, and looks up at him with a cheeky smile before pressing a kiss to the tip.
His cock twitches, visibly, and Jason’s face heats.
Mommy laughs, soft and bright, and then climbs to her feet again. She puts his cage on the nightstand, beside a few other toys and the lube. The sight of them makes him blush brighter.
“On your hands and knees on the bed.”
Jason obeys.
Steph attaches a spreader bar to his ankles. “I noticed you put the waterproof sheets on tonight, baby. Very good choice.”
Jason flushes. “Thank you, Mommy.”
Steph pets his back—then pushes him down so that his cheek brushes the bed. She orders his hands between his legs, where she can attach them to the spreader bar—leaving him bound and helpless; utterly at her whim.
“There we are,” she murmurs, petting over his flank.
He burns with arousal; with embarrassment.
“You’re going to come for me tonight.” It's both an order and a promise. “But… I’m not going to touch your cock. Not even once. Do you understand?”
Jason’s breath hitches, and he whines before he can think about it.
Mommy swats him. It’s surprise more than pain that makes him gasp. “I asked you a question.”
“S-sorry. Yes, Mommy. I understand.”
“That’s better.” She caresses over the place she’d swatted him. Jason arches into it without meaning to, biting his lip and turning his face into the sheets when he realizes what he’s done. “Have you been keeping yourself stretched for me?”
Jason knows she's only asking to embarrass him. That doesn't stop it from working. He squirms slightly, wishing he could hide his face but not wanting to risk earning a punishment so soon into the night.
“Yes, Mommy.”
“Good boy.” Mommy scrapes her nails down his flank and Jason moans softly. “Tell me about it.”
He squirms a little more. Arousal pulses between his legs. “I, um. I’ve been wearing my plugs, Mommy. I sent you pictures.” Pictures he kept deleting and then recovering on his own phone. He couldn’t look at, or think of, them without wanting to hide his face, but at the same time—
He couldn't bear to get rid of them either.
“Yes, you did.” He’s not looking at her, but he can hear Mommy’s smile. “Very pretty pictures, too.” She pats his ass, then grabs the lube from the bedside table. The bed dips as she settles beside him, and pops open the cap. “I especially liked the one of you wearing it at the bar.”
The sound Jason makes is almost as embarrassing as the memory—the way his heart had hammered in his chest as he’d worked his pants down just under the swell of his ass, the way he’d twisted this way and that, trying to find the right angle before he’d finally snapped the pic. He’d been safely hidden in a stall, but he’d still worried the entire time that someone, everyone, could tell what he was doing.
Mommy's finger brushes his hole. The lube has been warmed by her hands, but it’s still a little chilly and he gasps. She rubs his ass with her dry hand, before gripping his cheek and pulling it aside, further exposing his hole. He whines, thin and embarrassed. His cock hangs between his legs, fully engorged now. Mommy smears the lube around his rim before darting the tip of her finger in and out of him, the pad catching on his rim each time. It sends little shivery flutters of pleasure up the nerve-endings in his spine, and his toes curl.
“Look at you… so eager for me,” she teases. “Did you miss me that much?”
He makes a sound that’s half-whine, half-moan. “Mommy…”
Mommy laughs. “You’re the one who wanted me in control of your pleasure, baby,” she reminds him. “That means I get to tease you as much as I want.”
He makes a soft, incoherent noise, turning his face more into the bed.
She laughs again, but after a little more teasing, slips two fingers inside him. Her other hand comes to rest on his lower back, the touch both possessive and grounding—and the warmth a sharp contrast to the way she spreads him open, stretching her two fingers as far as they’ll go. Jason twists his fingers into the towels, embarrassment flooding him. He feels so exposed like this—so open. His cock pulses.
“Look at you,” Mommy murmurs. “Bet one day soon I could fit my whole hand in you.”
His stomach clenches and he moans, the loudness of it muffled by the sheets.
“Oh, do you like that idea, baby? You want Mommy to fuck you with her fist?”
Jason nods. “Y-yes, Mommy. I want—a-ah. I want whatever you’ll give me.”
Mommy rubs circles into his lower back. “You say the sweetest things, baby.” She brings her fingers together again, turning her wrist just so before crooking her fingers.
The first brush of them against his prostate makes him gasp. A warm, tingling pressure spreads through his groin; one that grows in intensity as Mommy presses her fingers against it and begins to rub in steady, tight circles. He pants, turning to press his face against the sheets. Drool trickles out of the corner of his mouth.
“Does that feel good, baby?”
Jason goes to respond verbally, the way she likes, but a sudden, intense wave of pleasure hits him at the same time, and he moans, loud and long. His stomach swoops. Embarrassment curls in his belly, but all that does is make the pleasure that much more intense.
It only gets worse when Mommy laughs. “I guess that answers that,” she teases.
He turns his head more, so he can press his mouth to the bed, but Mommy swats his thigh. It was barely even hard enough to sting, but Jason whines anyway. “None of that,” she scolds. “Mommy wants to hear you. …Yes, there we go. That’s better, sweetheart.” Mommy brushes some of his hair from his forehead, and tucks an errant curl behind his ear before she goes back to rubbing his back.
That first wave of pleasure is followed by more, of varying intensity—and like a dam had opened, a flood of sounds escape him… all made louder by the way he can’t seem to close his mouth. The sheets under his cheek grow damp with drool. There’s a pressure in his groin like he’s going to piss. Jason is familiar enough with it to relax into it—to push instead of clench.
Fluid dribbles out of his cock. Jason gasps—shudders. His body tingles. He feels like he just had an orgasm in miniature.
“You really needed this, didn’t you, sweetheart?” Mommy croons. “Look at how much you’re leaking—and we’ve barely even gotten started.”
Jason whines.
“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, baby.” Mommy scratches lightly over his back. “It’s cute.”
Jason whimpers, but only half from her teasing. Calling attention to his cock has also called his attention to the way it aches—to the need for friction, any friction. “Please,” he manages; a horribly pathetic sound, the word cracking clean through the middle. He barely sounds like himself.
“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t hear you over all the noise you’re making.”
Jason whines again, high and thin, before swallowing and trying again. “Please.”
It doesn’t earn him any relief. “Please what? You know if you want something you have to use your words—all of them, not just one.”
Her scolding tone makes his stomach swoop again, and he squirms, his toes curling. He has to fight against the urge to hide his face. It takes him a couple of swallows before he can speak again. “M-mommy… my cock… please…” It’s the hardest he’s ever worked to string together a sentence.
Mommy clicks her tongue. “Uh-uh, baby. I told you: Mommy’s not going to touch your cock.”
He squirms a little more insistently, and widens his eyes imploringly. “Please.”
Mommy swats him again—harder this time, the sting settling in deeper. “No. If you come, you’ll come just like this: on Mommy’s fingers.”
He whimpers. “I— I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Mommy says patiently. “You’ve done it before. You can do it again.” Her movement changes until she’s no longer rubbing but thrusting her fingers against him. His hips roll without conscious permission. He gets none of the friction his body is looking for, but Mommy matches her pace to him. Together, they find a rhythm—slow, but steady and firm. Jason’s panting turns heavier, deeper. His cock dribbles again; and again he shudders, waves of pleasure pulsing from his groin and throughout his body as his skin tingles. It’s… The intensity is like nothing he’s ever felt before. He’s utterly helpless against it. It’s terrifying. It’s wonderful.
“Mommy,” he gasps. “Mommy—”
“I’m here, baby,” Mommy says, her free hand sweeping over his back. Her nails scrape his skin—light, barely scratching. “I’ve got you.”
Mommy’s got him. He shudders again… and then relaxes into her hands.
Mommy keeps going, drawing a third—a fourth—even a fifth mini, shuddering orgasm out of his body. Each one sweeps through him, driving him just a little higher than before. His nipples are tight, hard. They scrape against the sheets with every heaved breath, sending even more pleasant tingles running through his body, like ripples following waves. His cock is nearly as wet as it would be if he’d slicked himself up with lube.
“You have no idea what you do to me, baby,” she says, a husk to her voice that never fails to make his belly tighten. “I’m so fucking wet right now.”
His eyes open—when did he close them?—and drop to her groin. Her black jeans don’t give anything away. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He swears he can taste her.
Mommy laughs lightly. “Cutie. Maybe I’ll ride your face, later. If you’re not too worn out.”
“Please,” he gasps—and at the same time, a sixth wave rolls through him. She laughs again, low and sweet, before ruffling his hair.
“Of course, if you do pass out on me, you can always just make it up to me tomorrow,” she muses, scratching his scalp.
“Yeah,” he nods. “I’ll be so good for you, Mommy.”
She leans down and kisses his temple. “I know.” She shifts her weight on the bed—then shifts her arm, her wrist, changing the angle and speed of her thrusts just so. His hips stutter as he loses the rhythm. He tries, and fails, to pick it back up again. Mommy’s hand slides down to rest between his shoulder blades—and presses, forcing him into a deeper arch.
That helpless, vulnerable feeling increases.
“Unh— Mommy—” There’s a tightening, low in his pelvis, and a spreading warmth that overtakes him in pulses. “I’m— I need— I think—” It’s hard to talk. It’s hard to think. All of the muscles in his belly grow taut as he bears down on, then clenches around Mommy’s fingers.
“Yes— Yes, good boy. That’s it.”
He keens. Warm, electric heat starts in his pelvis, then arcs up his spine, into his head. He feels light-headed—dizzy, the world spinning around him. His stomach drops, flips. His heart feels like it’s skipping beats. Dimly, he’s aware of something hot spraying onto his chest; of liquid, dripping down his skin, but it’s distant. Barely there. Consumed by the rush of feeling threatening to swallow him whole.
He doesn’t know how long it lasts. It feels like forever. Like he’s been swallowed up by an ocean of pleasure; the waves crashing over him again, and again. He’s lost to it.
And then—slowly, it fades, and he sinks into the mattress, breathing hard. Sweat slicks his skin. The air feels cooler now, and he shivers. Mommy presses against his side. Her fingers had slipped out of him at some point, though her hand still rests possessively on his ass. The other pets him, stroking every bit of skin she can reach.
“So good for me, Jay,” she says, her voice warm. “Look at how much you came.”
It takes effort for him to twist so he can see; his muscles are limp. When he does, he immediately hides his face again. His already flushed skin burns hotter.
Mommy laughs, before kissing the base of his spine. She wipes her fingers on one of the towels before undoing the clasps of the spreader bar, releasing first his wrists, then his ankles. With her help, Jason rolls onto his back. Mommy is careful to make sure he doesn’t land in the wet spot, which Jason appreciates… though at the same time, he couldn’t care less about that right now. His body feels heavy, loose. His eyelids droop. He thinks he could sleep for days.
Mommy’s hand trails down his leg until it reaches his ankle, where she removes first one cuff, then the other. She leaves the ones on his wrists alone. He appreciates it; the weight of them almost as comforting as his collar.
He feels her shift on the bed again, and then she’s nudging his hand up, curling his fingers around a bottle of water. “Drink,” she orders, softly, and he lifts up onto an elbow to obey. While he drinks, she gets a package of wet wipes and gets to work cleaning up his chest. He hisses—the cold is nearly enough to jolt him awake. Mommy pets his side, but keeps going. The package itself is trapped under her thigh, so the next wipe she pulls out is warmer. He appreciates it… especially when she moves down to clean off his cock.
He drains about a third of the bottle before passing it back. Mommy caps it and puts it aside. He makes a startled sound when she reaches up to clean his face.
“Lift your hips,” Mommy orders, and he does, letting her slide the towels out from under his waist. She balls them up and puts them in the hamper to wash tomorrow, but doesn’t get back into bed immediately. Instead she pulls her sweater over her head before shimmying out of her jeans, revealing the dark purple satin bra and panties she was wearing underneath. He’s too wrung out for his cock to even twitch—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want.
Especially when Mommy reaches around, undoing her bra and letting her breasts free of their confines. Some of his wanting must show on his face because Mommy winks at him before peeling her underwear off. He can see the shine of her arousal on her thighs, and finds himself reaching for her before he consciously decides to.
Mommy comes to him, climbing on top of him—warm and soft and smelling of sweat and lilacs. She kisses him deeply; licking into his pliant mouth before sucking on his bottom lip. He moans, arching into her, one of his hands coming to cup the back of her head while the other rests loosely on her hip. He does his best to return her kiss, but it’s not long before he flags.
She pulls away, rubbing noses with him before she murmurs, “Bedtime,” and slides off to rest beside him instead. She uses her foot to snag the blankets folded at the end of the bed and pull them over them both.
“What about you?” he mumbles, even as he curls into her. The sentence is only half coherent. Steph runs her fingers through his hair—he sighs, butting into it.
“Tomorrow,” she tells him, throwing her leg over his. “After we put your cage back on.”
“Mm,” he hums. “L’ve you.”
Her, “I love you too,” is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep.