Those Who Trust (Phan)

Part 14

He was kneeling, his knees digging into the padded floor. Cum was on his face and in his hair, warm against his skin, the smell of it in his nose, drops of it on his lips, and his tongue darted out to taste. His hands were bound behind his back, a collar around his neck a notch too tight, the leash of it attached to the wall, making it impossible to move, to slump down from his upright position without choking.

"Look at you, such a good boy!" the deep voice spoke. He couldn't see but he could hear, hear the footsteps circling him, from left to right to left again. Rough hands tugged at his hair and pulled on it, forcing him to face up, breathing got harder. Skilled fingers played with his nipples, pinched them and rolled them between their pads until it hurt. "Look how hard you are for me, how much you enjoy this."

His cock was hard and red and leaking precum, starved for touch. Small ropes had been skilfully bound around it and his balls, preventing him from coming no matter how much touch he received. It was painful, a pressure that he tried to fight against but couldn't, and the voice laughed mockingly as he whimpered when the ghost of a touch lay over the head of his cock. The hand wrapped around his aching member and started to tug on it, hard and fast, and he started to scream in pain and pleasure, wanted to cum, begging words tumbling over his cum-stained lips.

"Oh god, please please please," he whimpered. The hand was gone as the words left his mouth and he swallowed, felt his Adam's apple against the leather collar. He had fucked up.

"What did you just say?" the voice boomed through the room, loud and intimidating. He flinched, his dick twitching in excitement at the words.

"Master, I'm sorry I forgot, it won't happen again Master, I'm sorry."

"It looks like you're not as good of a boy as I thought you were."

A hand was back in his hair, tugging at it, and he felt the tip of a hard cock pressed against his lips again, fingers prying at his jaw, forcing him to open his mouth. "You're nothing but a filthy slave, don't you ever forget that."
___

"And remember to drink some more water once you're home," Phil said.

The boy in the taxi rolled his eyes at him fondly. "Yes, dad. I'll be fine, honestly, don't worry."

"Okay, then have a good night!"

"Bye, thanks for the amazing night!"

Phil closed the door and waited at the curb until the taxi had left. The cold air of an early December night made him shiver and he quickly went back into the club, where he was met with stuffy air instead. It wasn't all too late, an hour before midnight, and he felt good, buzzing on the high of his two orgasms that night. The last time he had been at the club had been three weeks ago and it felt so good to be back. He had missed the feeling of going, of being a dominant, had felt an uncomfortable prickling sensation under his skin the longer he went without going there. It was like an addiction, a better one than drugs and alcohol and he had really truly missed it. Of course he enjoyed the Friday movie nights he had with Dan, he liked them a lot, but they couldn't give him quite the satisfaction that being a dominant gave him.

Phil went to the bar and ordered a bottle of water, starved for some liquid. He felt the eyes on him, watching him, as his lips touched the bottle and he drank, knew that there were others out there, submissives that wanted his attention, wanted to be taken to one of the rooms by him. He prided himself in having a good reputation, having people trust him with their life; that even though he wrapped chains around their bodies, there was no need to worry.

"Haven't seen you here in a while!"

Phil turned around and smiled as he saw PJ standing next to him, without a shirt and his skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. He looked good, looked like a mess, and behind him stood another man, one hand on PJ's shoulder possessively. "How are you?"