So, here we are again. The Evil Mastermind defeated once again: the universe saved. All's right with the world and everybody can sleep soundly in their beds tonight.
Well, almost everyone. I'm wide awake. Waiting.
The anticipation is making my skin crawl. There are butterflies dancing in my stomach. My head feels like it's going to explode. My heart beats erratically. Do I really want to do this again?
It would be so easy to turn over and pretend to sleep. Ignore the knock on the door. Stay here, alone, until morning. I could do it. I could. I'm strong enough to finish this: strong enough to put an end to this.
I could do it. I know I could.
The knock is hesitant: quieter than ever before. If I hadn't been listening so intently I would never have heard it. It would be so easy to ignore...
He opens the door slowly. He walks in, reluctance in every small, timid step. He stops in the center of the room: his head bowed; arms hanging loosely by his sides. His usual confidence is missing.
He is pale in the moonlight streaming through the window. He is paler than the moonlight itself: long and slender, pale and beautiful. This is my friend, my hero, my life, my *world*.
I could still stop this. Refuse to do what he wants of me. I could send him away. And he would go. He would.
And in the morning it would be as if this had never happened.
And it would never happen again.
I swallow. I will tell him that I cannot, I will not, do this again.
I open my mouth to say the words:
He drops to the floor with none of his usual everyday grace. Hands on knees with his head lowered he waits.
I move towards him like a moth drawn to his flame.
He is trembling.
I am not. I close my eyes for a heartbeat, then open them again. I am suddenly calm, sure. I am an ocean of serenity. I can do this. Foolish of me to think that I might refuse. I can refuse him nothing.
I reach out with a steady hand. One finger trails softly across his shoulders with the merest whisper of a touch.
He shivers, his body rippling with tremors.
I move away from him and go to the wardrobe. The box is heavy, heavier than last time, but I manage to drag it to the floor in front of him. I open it up, noticing the newest additions. Sometimes I think about asking him from where he gets these things. But I know that I will never do that. It would make this too...
It would make this too real.
He watches me through lowered lashes as I sort through the box. I pick up the leather restraints.
A tiny flicker of...something...passes over his face: anticipation?
I let the restraints drop from my hand.
No, I will not do this. He wants me to bind him. He wants to give up control to me. But tonight it's going to be different. Tonight I will not let him *give* up control. Tonight he is going to lose it...
He seems to sense my changing mood. For an instant his eyes are raised, raking me with his characteristic situation-assessing glance. Then the eyes are veiled again. He doesn't know what I intend to do. For the first time I am not abiding by the 'script'.
I walk around him, then halt, grasping his chin and raising his head, forcing him to meet my gaze. I see the uncertainty in his eyes. This isn't how we usually play this.
I smile, caressing his cheek.
'Go to the bed. Lie down.'
No, this isn't how we usually play this game *at all*.
He does as I say, though. I never doubted that he would.
I place the lubricant and the dildos on the bedside table. Then I return to the box and pick up the riding crop. The crop fits in my hands as if it was made for me. For all I know it might have *been* made for me.
I smack it noisily on my palm, watching as his trembling begins anew. He tenses, waiting for the first blow. Instead I slowly move it over his back, tracing my name along his spine. I slide its tip towards his buttocks, smiling to myself as he raises them involuntarily.
The first slap echoes loudly throughout the room. He flinches, but more from the sound than the pain, I think. I hit him again and again, quite gently, watching the pink weals as they are raised against the whiteness.
He saying something, over and over again into the pillow, as his hands try to rip my sheets to shreds. I stop. The words become clearer:
'Please, please. Do it, please'
'Do what?' I know what he wants. I want him to say it.
'Tie me down. Please. Use the restraints or the scarves. Please.'
He stops. I let the silence flow over us for a moment. Then:
'No, I don't think so. Not tonight. We'll do this differently tonight.'
I surprise both of us by grabbing hold of his ears almost viciously, pulling his head back so that he has to look at me.
'From now on you don't speak. You don't make a *sound* unless I tell you to.'
He blinks. Then his eyes widen and his pupils dilate with sudden comprehension. The rules have changed. I have changed them. Another blink, slower this time. Acceptance, acquiescence.
What has gone on before this has been mere play-acting. Despite our supposed roles in this sordid little drama we've been playing, he has been the one to call the shots here. I have done what he demanded of me. Because that has always been my métier in life: sidekick to his superhero; Doctor Watson to his Sherlock Holmes. But something has changed. Sometime in the last ten minutes it's as if I've become someone else: someone stronger. For the first time since we began this *I* am truly the one in control here.
I run the crop along his buttocks once more. I do not strike. I will not inflict any more pain on him. No matter what he thinks he *wants*, it isn't physical pain he needs to obtain release from the tensions of our lifestyle. And I never wanted to hurt him. All I ever wanted to do was love him.
He is moving. He puts his arms down on the bed and rests his head upon them. Then draws his body up, spreading his knees wide raising his rump into the air. He is completely defenseless, completely open.
I notice that I'm still wearing my dressing-jacket. Absently, I tug on the belt, letting the garment fall to the floor. I climb on to the bed, settling myself behind him. I touch his hip and he moves again, spreading his knees wider, opening himself completely to me.
I lower my head, nuzzling at his perineum. I feel him shudder and hear a bitten-off moan. He is tensing again. I suddenly remember my earlier proscription. I raise my head and stroke his sweating, shivering flank.
'Forget what I said. You can make as much noise as you want.'
The change is practically instantaneous. The tenseness disappears; he raises his rear even higher and begins to moan gently.
I return to my previous activity, licking along his inner thighs and balls. Then I move my tongue upward, skirting the opening of his body. His timbre of his moan alters: becomes more desperate and wanton. I probe his anus, inserting the tip of my tongue into its center. He pushes back: his breath coming in short gasps.
The realisation comes almost as a surprise. Every other time he has come to me he has had to suck me before I've become hard enough to take him. But this time my body is crying out for satisfaction and he has not touched me at all.
But he hasn't lost control yet. And I *want* him to lose control. I *need* him to lose control.
I sat up, causing him to moan again, this time in disappointment. I soothe him with a gentle stroke. Then I reach over to the bedside table and collect the lubricant and the dildos.
I let the dildos drop to the bed and open the tube. I squeeze the greasy cream on to my hand and begin to apply it to his anus. His moans begin again, increasing in intensity as my finger slips past the tight muscle. I pull out, causing him to groan in protest. I pick up the smallest dildo and use it in place of my finger. I watch it as I move it in and out of his passage, pushing it deeper and deeper.
He is beginning to lose control. I can feel it in the shudders that are wracking his slender frame. But he hasn't reached the point of no return yet. He is still holding on to a modicum of control.
I pull out the dildo gently, biting my lip at the groan of loss this produces. I replace the small dildo with a larger one and continue thrusting in and out of his body. My own erection aches, throbbing to each moan forced out of his mouth. I feel as if I've been hard forever. I want him like I've never wanted him before: want to sink into a hot, tight heaven.
But not yet. Soon, but not quite yet.
He is moaning and gasping continuously now. I push the dildo in deeper, harder. But it is not enough.
I use my free hand to scrape along his back.
As if the last action of mine is the straw that broke the camel's back he begins to buck wildly, crying out incoherently, drawing in air with hiccuping gasps.
'Now, now, do it now. Fuck me now. Pleeeease!'
It takes an effort of sheer will to remove the dildo from his body gently enough not to hurt him. And I realize that I possess a greater strength of purpose than I ever though when I do not ram into him then and there. I bite my lip until it bleeds but I manage to slide into him slowly. Even with my body on fire with need I will hurt him again. Never again.
I'm thrusting in and out of him faster now. And he is thrusting back at me, sobbing with the need for completion. It is difficult given our respective sizes but I manage to reach around him and take his hard stiff maleness in my hand.
It is enough to drive him over the edge. Screaming my name he comes. His passage tightens in response milking my own long-awaited climax from me.
It is light when I awaken, wrapped tightly in his strong arms. I look up at his face. He is wearing an expression of profound peace, not the tense, forced cheerfulness that usually marks our 'morning after' encounters.
Seeing that I'm awake he kisses me softly then untangles himself from me, stretching sinuously. The stretch halts abruptly and a twinge of discomfort passes over his face.
Seeing the guilty concern I cannot hide he grabs hold of me kissing me convulsively.
'Don't you *dare* feel guilty! I enjoyed every moment of last night. Well, I did just as soon as you realized what you wanted, what *I* wanted.'
'What do you mean?' I almost understand but I need clarification. I need him to explain.
'Pain excites me. You know that. Pain gives me pleasure. But being mastered gives me more pleasure. You hated hurting me, I could see that but you were aware that I needed controlling. It devastated me, seeing the pain it caused you to hurt me. But I couldn't think of any other way to get you to dominate me. You're stronger than I. Until last night you hadn't accepted that. I'm the superhero, but you're my strength. I needed you to see that. I don't *need* pain but I *do* need to submit to someone. I need a master. And you're my master. I've always known that. It just took you a while to discover it. To discover that you enjoy really dominating me just as much as I enjoy losing control to you.'
He smiles at me as if *I* were *his* world as much as his is mine. And maybe I am.
He seems to be able to read my mind.
'Like the song says, Penfold, you are the wind beneath my wings.'
What else could I say?
The End (thank goodness, I hear you say!)