Sorry to take so long getting this to ya'll! It has been sooo busy at slave driver's office and, well, you know, the rent's due! Please enjoy. BTW, keep in mind this is a rough draft!
4.
It’s a ten-hour flight from D.C. to Cardiff. Angus spent the first two playing daddy to Alpert. Unbeknownst to me, Angus had texted our personal flight attendant, Daisy, to “clear out anything from the airport stores appropriate to a 3-year old”. The boy had more fun opening and getting Angus to assembly them than actually playing with them. Angus didn’t seem to mind, likely he was taking mental notes for our next session of pillow talk – you know, the laundry list of what one isn’t going to do with or to their children. Maybe if I’d paid attention to his mental wanderings then I wouldn’t be in the pickle I am with him now. But, that’s another story.
While Angus was in the conference room on the plane’s bottom floor, I was trying to get information from Natasha. I would have better luck talking to someone else’s hallucinations. The woman likely hadn’t slept since this all started some three weeks ago. Once she was certain we weren’t going to kidnap her (again!), she agreeably yawned through my questions. Unfortunately, she knew very little and I decided to show her to a second-floor bedroom. I monitored her there from a console in our master suite, careful to look away when she undressed, but once she laid down, she barely stirred. I sat on the bed. “Well,” I thought to myself after an hour of surveillance, “at least it isn’t like the last transport!” A few missions back, we’d transported back to London a Chinese defector, who was exchanging evidence of his home government’s contact with aliens for a UK passport. Turned out he was a double agent and when we got on to him, he tried to blow up the plane. Angus was furious and beat the man half to death. Angus takes his expensive toys seriously.
I then decided to look at her husband’s paperwork. It was full of neurobiology processes, anatomical references, and long molecular formulas. I couldn’t make any of it out, so I sent the 2” file as an email attachment to Ciara. If we were being tracked, I reckoned that the Russians already knew we had the information and thus the threat of being blown out of the sky by them was a possibility. However, destroying a private jet, presumably returning a couple home for the holidays, would not look good. Thus, I think we’re safe at least until we land.
I texted her that it was coming then went back to the bed and started streaming Spencer Tracy’s version of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde. I love movies, particularly black and white horror and sci-fi. Usually, this would relax me and I’d be asleep in a few minutes. But I was still randy and by the time the good doctor realized he was being taken over by the beast inside him, my mind was drifting onto a laundry list of ways I wanted hubby to plough my ass. My hand started to absent-mindedly took hold of my cock. Even if I did stop stroking before he noticed, the lump in my pants gave me away.
“My, my,” he said standing over me, hands on hips, “MI-6 missions doing it for you now, eh?”
“Hush you!” I tried tucking my member aside to obscure its greediness and hoped this bashful boyishness between us never lifted. “You were busy playing daddy and Natasha is exhausted.
“Alpert is too,” said Angus. He opened his side drawer and took a vape pen from his collection display. “I just put him down. He’s a good kid.” He laid back on the bed and took a long toke, held it for several minutes before letting it drift from his mouth. He handed it to me and asked, “Do you get anything from Natasha?”
“The husband kept his work from her. She’s a homemaker and believed whatever he told her. It was one of those ‘girl from small town comes to big city and makes it’ stories. Even if she noticed something, there was no reason to ruin a good thing. Until a few weeks ago she thought her husband was a doctor who taught residents on the oncology unit at the University of Moscow Hospital. He was working there when they met five years ago. He was an orphan since he was 2, somehow survived the Russian orphanage system, and had no family she is aware of.” I showed him the dossier. “This shit’s over my head. Ciara’s looking at it now.” Angus handed me the vape in exchange and I took my own long hit.
He flipped through a few pages and shrugged. “I’ll leave this to the experts.” He put the file on his side table and plopped on the bed. “Now, what about that hard on I spied a moment ago.” He smiled devilishly and reached down to squeeze my cock, which got harder immediately.
“What about these two? The boy may wake up scared. She may wake up and try to kill us.”
He let go of my cock with a disappointed scow and reached for the monitor at my bedside. Speaking to the tablet, he instructed, “Felicia, alarm #2 if the door 34 is opened and monitor the child in room 23. Should he call out, give alarm #6.”
“Yes, your Grace!” responded the device. Angus changed the computer’s name when it arrived. Names such as “Siri” and “Alexia” irritated him. He would say only he picks his servants. Again, the problems of the 1% of the 1%.
“You tell ‘em,” I said, purposefully being naughty.
Angus assumed his dom tone, right on cue, “Excuse me Deetz Mac Innes-Reese, did I give you permission to comment on this matter? Aren’t their duties which you are to attend?”
“Of course, your Grace!” I took my clothes off and headed to the luv. Absent-mindedly, I push the door closed but I met resistance in the form of Angus blocking the door. “Huh? In the shower? Remember how it dried out your skin last time?”
With a menacing grin, he pushed me against the sink with his chest . I closed my eyes, my lips slightly parted in anticipation of a dazzling kiss, when he said, “I want to see how you do it.”
My eyes popped open. “Do what?”
“Clean yourself.”
He backed up a bit – likely worried that this bout of curiosity was out of bounds. Typical social taboos are disregarded in marriage I suppose. It is about knowing one another fully. But a bottom’s “self-service sex prep” tends to be unique to each man. It can be a deeply personal ritual – I made a Hebrew prayer for it. Jews have prayers for damn near everything. “Is that an order?” I whispered.
Angus thought for a moment, then replied, “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, not like that, I mean.”
I bit my bottom lip and looked at my feet like Andy Hardy on a first date. “It’s just that . . . well . . . it’s kinda messy.”
I looked up and he was smiling shyly as well. “Love is messy, wouldn’t you say? I mean, I reckon if we are married forever then eventually I’ll end up wiping your ass.”
“Oi! Hold on now. I’m younger than you! More likely I’ll be cleaning your ass, thank you!”
Still grinning, he looked me in the eye and pulled me into his arms. “All the more reason to get to know all of each other now, don’t you think?” He squeezed me against him then kissed my forehead. He pulled his head back a bit then and set back to wait for permission. “It’s just that things can get messy. You’re trying to draw down feces from your anus after all.
“Sounds terribly clinical.” He stepped away to give me some room to get shelves next to the sink.
I grabbed a pouch from my bag. I unzipped it and took some items out. “It is kinda, I reckon.” I laid out my cleaning equipment like a 1960s TV nurse preparing the surgical theatre. I looked at him, now sitting on the chair next to the shower, leaning back like this was a private peep show. I became a bit embarrassed, I don’t know why. I took off my clothes like it was ’38 and I was at my draft exam. My semi-hard dick bounced about as the cute doctor doing the inspecting the boys liked his job too much. “Come here so you can see things better.” Luckily he didn’t touch me when he came over – likely I would have melted and stuck to the floor.
Instead, he hopped atop the sink. “What’s all this stuff? It’s all terribly clean. Is it new?”
“No, I am diligent about always keeping this clean, sanitized, and in working order as I never know when or . . . eh, when you’ll want me.” Did I just blush? Really? “I got this kit off of Amazon about three years ago – Deep Ended. It came with a complimentary vibrating butt plug. Handier than the hodge-podge I had previously cobbled together.”
“Well, I’m bigger than that!” Angus blurted.
“Brilliant observation, my good man!” I retorted. I wiggled the device between my fingers and looked at him slyly before saying, “Ah, but it is still useful! But that’s for later in this instruction guide.” I turned and grabbed the packet containing the collapsible bubble syringe. I turned on the tap. “Depending on where I’m at, I get bottled, boil then cool it. Don’t want any microbial creepy-crawlers, right? And I like the water a bit more than lukewarm. It seems to open things up and relax me.”
“But won’t that dry things out?”
“Yes, but douching does that in and of itself; that’s why you have to be careful.” I held up a small bag of greyish brown powder. “Ciara made this up for me. It takes the hardness out of the water, promotes restoration of healthy bacteria, and moisturizes the anal walls, at least that’s what she says it does. All I know is that I feel fresher and end up using half as much lube.” He nodded in agreement as I filled the bulb with a 1:3 ratio of herbs and warmed water. Then, I opened the pre-moistened, disposable nozzle and attached it to the bulb. I had never noticed before that the bulb was the same slut red as the dildo. “Okay, this is the icky part, and I would not be hurt if you wanted to leave for this part.”
“You bend over the sink, stick the nozzle up your ass, and squeeze ‘til you’re full?”
His guile was messing with the mojo of the moment. “Yes, well, I’m giving you a get-outta-jail-free card.”
Again, per usual, my husband surprised me. “Oh no! This is the good part!” He rushes over then turns me around and bends me over like the waiter escorting you to your table. He seamlessly takes the syringe from me. “I’ve got this. Just relax.”
He positioned the tip against my asshole, then rolled it around the entrance. The self-warming lubrication against my hole got my brand a stirring. “Slowly,” I said, my voice surprisingly already hushed and husky, “Things need to get loosened up still.”
He slapped my ass with his free hand to get my attention. “Don’t you believe I’ll take care of you? I thought we were over that?”
“My apologies, your Grace,” I half moaned, have pleaded. “You are nothing if not the perfect master.”
With a steady, deliberate push, Angus inserted the nozzle to the hilt and left it there. Until that time, I didn’t know that a man could transfer his dick’s moves to an inadament object. I shivered and could feel my nipples harden. It took a few steadying breaths before I could articulate, “Now, squeeze the bottle slowly. I think I’m pretty empty right now, so you put it all in. Again, keep it slow.” I looked up at his reflection in the mirror over the sink and caught the rear angle – his original hand stroking my ass while his prosthetic one held the bulb in place. He was wearing the Agility 2100 – a new design from the robotics company he, no we, own. This one was great for screwing and would have given the Terminator penis envy.
He rubbed my butt like an attentive masseur in a Russian bathhouse. The artificial hand vibrated at a low speed. And the combination with the heated water felt insanely pleasurable, like the jacuzzi was inside you. I started to have an anal orgasm but regarded my control when I felt water coming down my leg. “I think you’re supposed to hold it in, right?” he teased.
I snapped back and tightened my ass. He’d nearly emptied the bulb and I used my hand to encourage him to move the nozzle out. Careful not to step in my droppings, I plopped my self on the toilet. “Now we wait . . . let stuff loosen up and fall down, so to speak.” I sat back against the back of the toilet and tried to look nonchalant.
Angus frowned. “I’m sorry but my ADHD is kicking up,” he said looking around the room. When he located the stepstool tucked behind a linen cabinet, he quickly set it up next to me and unzipped his pants. His dick wasn’t fully hard but was definitely interested. “Let’s not waste any more valuable time,” he said waving his member at me.
“Mate, this is so very . . . “
“I am your master and I will care for you in all ways, particularly when it comes to sex prep,” he said with stern guile. “Consider this part of your training. You’re gonna have to hold on to that water load during this entire time. And don’t forget the balls.” He lifted his shack and jiggled his junk at me like a hawker in a 1940s Algerian market. I looked up at him incredulously until I realized he was quite serious. I took hold of his dick and put in my mouth. He moved my hand away, which reduced my ability to balance independently as he stood at a 45-degree angle, likely on purpose. Ah, my, it was going to be like that.
He lay his organic hand on my head, more as a resting place. He wanted full-service and for me to struggle a bit to provide it. I pulled my head back to let the dick fall out of my mouth. Then I hunched down and used my right face cheek to move aside the cock so I could suck his left nut. I don’t care how much Angus ran around, he always smelled like sandalwood and sea salt – his veins ran with Welsh water. The fine hairs near the base against my tongue felt like fur. I sighed blissfully and started sucking the ball itself. I was rewarded with one his sexy, guttural groans. There is nothing better for a sub than to please his master. While twisting my head to get his cock back in my mouth, I thought about how lucky I was. It was just after managing to deep throat him the first time, that I noticed the guilt-laden bile in the back of my throat. I jumped back which brought him from his bliss.
Angus likes the feel of his whole cock in my mouth but isn’t much into violent force – thinks it is beneath someone of his station and too close to rape. His master’s control is all psychological with a little Japanese robe play – something that had only recent crept into our sex life. “I like this – you struggling just an enough,” he said looking down at me. I closed my eyes, as his cock touched my tongue. He got most inside me but I struggled for those last few bits. He groaned again and stroked my cheek. “You’re at your best when you’re at the edges,” he said before positioning his hands – fingers spread wide over my ears and held my head still. He lifted himself on the balls of his feet a bit to get at a better angle to slip his dick farther down my throat. I relaxed and his head stretched the opening, filling it like as if I swallowed a whole apple and it lodged itself in the back of my throat. I gagged and he shivered. When he pulled out completely, I gasped for air and felt water dripping from my asshole.
“I’m not sure how long I can hold on to this.”
“You will manage,” he replied before putting his cock back in my mouth like a well-trained firefighter positioning a hose. We did this several more times and my brand was exploding tiny sparks I could feel searing the top of my butt. Holding the water in my asshole was preventing me from orgasming but left me feeling full and my insides throbbing like he was fucking me. I get the same feeling when he makes wear a butt plug to a social event, where he will randomly rub the base of my back at the most inopportune moments. I was about to give up, give in and accept my punishment when he suddenly pulled out completely. He waited a moment before commanding, “You may release now.”
He caught me when I fell forward. Warm liquid flowed out of my hole in a steady stream. He held me up as I came in waves that mimic the chug of a steam locomotive. It lasted longer than my usual experience but left me feeling strangely energized. That orgasm was wonderful but I needed another – likely his intention. Meanwhile, he stepped off the stool and held me close. As I came down, I watch in semi-psychedelic bliss the Celtic tattoos peeking from under his shirt. Their shifting back and forth to his breathing was magical.
After a few moments, he asked, “So, what’s next?”
“I need a couple of more rounds but, ah, if we skip the deepthroating, I can get done faster.”
He pulled up his pants pushed the stool aside from the sink and sat on it. “I’ll wait.” Then his mobile buzzed. He pulled it from a pocket. “It’s your sister. She started analyzing documents we got from Natasha.” He read more of the email, then continued, “She says it does involve manipulating DNA with microscopic bots. She’s bringing Whitfield in on it. Says she should have something by the time we get back.”
I took the second syringe, inserted and squeezed, surprised actually how normal it was all seeming now – a casual conversation about work while I douched my ass. “Microscopic bots? That’s really a thing?”
“Yes,” he said while putting the phone away, “the foundation’s scientists are looking into their use to anticipate limb rejection for patients who are candidates for osseointegrated implants.” Angus started a foundation to help amputees like him but who unlike him couldn’t afford a quality prosthesis. He has helped folks from London pensioners to Cambodian landmine victims. It helped his emotional recovery after losing his hand. He still has nightmares, flashes like a flickering incandescent bulb swaying in the wind – a saw, his arm tied to the table, the butcher’s white smock with increasing splatters of blood. The therapist taught him to let in another set of images of me rescuing him. It has helped also. But that’s from another story.
I finished the internal cleansing. I handed him a wash clothe and moisturizing soap from the kit. He washed my butt, thighs, and asshole. His strokes were firm but I wished he’d slap me there instead. “I know what you want. I told you we are practicing denial this trip.” He squeezed my left cheek before he started wiping off remaining soap. “Be good and you will get a special treat.”
“Last step,” I said when he was done. I held up a slenderer pre-moistened syringe that I attached to a tube of Easy Entry Post-Cleaning Moisturizing Gel. I presented it to him and he nodded, affirming my obedience. I leaned over the sink again, offering my ass to him. “Squeeze a little on your finger and swirl it around the opening first.”
Angus greased the middle finger of his origin hand. With his prosthetic hand, he pressed down on my mid-back then inserted the syringe directly. It didn’t hurt as much as the force startled me. After letting an oh escape my lips, I looked up at his reflection in the sink’s large oval mirror. His eyes were a bright emerald that scanned my face like a laser tracker. He squeezed the entire contents up my ass. When the tube was emptied, he pulled the device out, slower than he put is in. He picked up the vibrating butt plug and grinned slyly. “This gives me an idea.”
No comments:
Post a Comment