Saving Sebastian

The following story is a work of complete fiction, dreamed up in my own twisted little mind. I invented Lance and Sebastian, and any resemblance they might have to real people is purely coincidental. If you're uncomfortable with themes of consensual, loving bondage, domination/submission, or humiliation and training between two young men, please stop reading here. Everyone else, enjoy!

Comments are welcomed, adored, and lovingly spanked and petted at bondedboy13@yahoo.com. All but flames will be replied to.

Part Five: Rules

Thank god for the internet, seriously. Seb had passed out cold before I even left the room, and I threw some clothes on and headed straight for the computer. I was a little shaken up by how far we'd come in so short a time, and I was desperately in need of some reassurance.

My new mentors calmed me down pretty quickly. 'It's okay to push him,' one wrote. 'Push yourself, too. He sounds like a stubborn little brat, and you may need to slap him down pretty hard before you can build him back up into the wonderful, whole person that is a contented and well-trained slave. Be unpredictable. Never let him know what the next trial is going to be, where the next pain is coming from, when you'll allow him pleasure. You'll become his whole world, and that's when the true training can begin, when you can start making him proud of who he truly is, instead of just blindly arrogant." I sighed a little, hopeful, at the idea of being Seb's whole world. 'A boy's mind is in his cock,' another, more blunt master told me. 'Control that and you control him. Your slave's a masochist, so only hurt him when he's in his belt. When he's out of it, he should get no pain at all. I let my boy come once a month, and he's grateful for my mercy.' That seemed a little extreme to me, and Seb a boy much too complex to be reduced to a cock and hormones. Someone else suggested that I 'force the obedience until it's second nature. Trust him to try, but not to succeed, until his slavery is so much a part of him that restraining him is purely symbolic.' I liked that a lot.

After thanking everyone who'd replied to me, typing up Sebastian's list of rules, and bookmarking some sites on milking and safe torture, I made a short circuit of the house. When our concert tour ended three weeks ago, Sebastian had moved in with me, more or less. He had his own room, his car was here, most of his clothes and general clutter had migrated to my place. Now that things were changing so drastically, I knew I'd have to make some modifications. The room he was sleeping in now, my guest bedroom, had only a small window to the huge backyard. It was mostly bare already, and I thought it would be perfect to be our 'play room.' I wished briefly that I had a reasonably-sized basement, but really it was just a crawlspace. Anyway, that room would work fine, with the whipping frame in the center, a boxspring with posts attached to the walls, some hooks for gear, and bolts fastened to the floor for restraints, and it had the added bonus of an attached bathroom. But it would need a lock on the door.

I strolled through the house slowly, looking around. I'd bought it after our first album went platinum, when I was twenty. It was huge and kind of bland; since I spent a lot of time on the road, I hadn't made much of an effort to decorate it. Now, with Sebastian here, it was starting to take on some character. His big sneakers tossed in the corner of the living room, his X-Box hooked up to my widescreen TV, his jacket on a chair in the kitchen. I snickered a little at this bland construct of suburbia being the setting for slavery and torture, and wished briefly that I'd bought a castle instead. Sebastian would look exquisite hanging from a stone wall. But at least this place was very private, surrounded by trees and large stretches of lawn, and set well back from the road. And the security I'd installed, at the recommendation of our management and bodyguards, was top-notch.

I'd decided I wanted a D-bolt attached to the baseboard somewhere in every room in the house. It would be easy to clip Sebastian's leash to any of them at any time, if I felt he needed some punishment time out of 'his' room, and they'd be easy enough to hide. After placing a huge order to the local hardware store, I stretched out to close my eyes. Training Seb was both emotionally and physically demanding, though the twinkle in his eyes and his ready smile these days was reward enough for me.

I called my mom after my nap, and the other guys in the band. Yes, I was doing fine, yes, Sebastian was too, he was sleeping and couldn't come to the phone, and yes, we were still on for practice night on Friday. I was interested to see how Sebastian's new life would affect his interactions with people outside, and who better to test him out on than our bandmates? They thought he was crazy anyway, and had accepted the announcement that he'd be staying with me with rolling eyes and an "it's your funeral" attitude. When I finally made it back up the stairs to our room, it was dark outside.

He didn't even stir when I flipped on the light, stretched out on his side with both hands on his chastity plate. It had been harder for him than I'd expected, getting it on and accepting it as part of his life. I didn't delude myself into thinking that that struggle was over. The belt was actually very flattering on him, though, revealing almost more than it concealed, the slim straps and harsh angles highlighting the delicate curve of his hipbone and the white smoothness of the skin between his legs. The black leather of the belt and the cuffs was stark against his milk-pale skin. He was frowning a little in his sleep, and his fingers twitched, scratching at smooth metal. He looked very young, and I was suddenly hit by an intense wave of love. This beautiful young man was mine, he'd given himself to me. I swore then and there that I'd never fail him.

I'd coiled the cat 'o nine tails on the bedside table, and picked it up now, settling on the bed beside him gently. As gently as a feather, I started stroking the tails down his arm, over his side, down between his legs. He shivered and shifted away, then forwards, and slowly, his eyes drifted open. He blinked at me for a few moments, then stared at the whip, not fully awake, and then his face crinkled in a sleepy smile.

"Hi, sir," he punctuated it with a yawn so huge I could see his tonsils. "'mawake."

"Yes you are." I grinned at him, and played the whip over the delicate skin just at the crease of his thigh, flicking the ends gently. He moaned and scrunched away, and I let him go. "How are you feeling, baby?"

He blinked a few more times, taking stock. "I'm sore," he confessed, though he didn't seem too upset about it. "Still sleepy, a little. I have to shi-" his eyes darted to me, and he frowned a little. "I have to go," he amended, "and my bottom hurts."

For all he was kicking against using the baby words I wanted from him, he didn't realize he'd started the trend himself, when we were alone, though in public he was as raunchy as any locker room jock. With me, it was always his bottom, never his ass. He would gesture at his groin, and call it 'hard,' but never refer to his cock in so many words. I reminded myself, I had to push him to do what he wanted, what he needed. I curled my hand around his thigh, squeezing lightly. "Say it right," I reminded him, still smiling.

"I don't want to," he pouted prettily. "I'm not a baby, you know. It's nasty anyway, that you're not letting me go, that you're all thinking about my poop like that. I'm sure it's unhealthy for me to hold it like this." He squirmed a little, very carefully.

I laughed. "You are a baby, you're my baby. And holding it for a few hours isn't going to do you any permanent damage. As for nasty..." I let a little warning creep into my tone, "nothing that we do is nasty, Seb. It's all for a reason, and you'll be grateful. Just be glad I haven't put a diaper on you. Yet."

He ducked his head instantly, chewing his lip, his long eyelashes fluttering. "Yes sir," he said quietly. "Thank you, sir."

I patted his belly. "Good boy. Now, up and at 'em, I've got a delivery coming and we've got a lot of work to do."

He rolled too quickly, and groaned, and I grinned. "Careful, sweetie." The stripes from the lash on his back and thighs had already faded to a soft pink; I hadn't hit him very hard, really, knowing that I'd probably need to discipline him at least once more today. His ass, though, was a mess; the belt, then the brush, then the whip, had left it almost purple in a couple of spots. The black strap bisected the redness neatly, and I admired the view as he stood, slow and careful.

He looked uncomfortable, standing there in front of me, shifting from foot to foot, his belly a little bloated. I stayed sitting, but put a hand on his hip to still him. "Now tell me how you're feeling. Inside and out. We need to talk about this, and then I'll show you your list, and we can get started on the room."

He has always had trouble talking about his needs, and we needed to start getting past that right now.

"I..." He trailed off, a little lost. I gave him an encouraging smile. "It's like. I hate the belt, you know." I nodded. "It's, it's kind of hurty, but not really. I've got all these feelings inside, making me hot, but my body can't do anything about them. So they just sit there, inside. It's horrible."

"Are you getting used to it?"

"No," he said frankly, then quickly amended. "No, sir. It's like it comes in waves, it builds and builds, like when you're touching me or spanking me, and all I want is to come, or get hard, ANYTHING, and I can't. It's like I'm hard everywhere but where I need to be." He was looking more and more upset. "And my bottom, it hurts so good, and I want to jerk off, and..." His hands were back at his plate, pulling and scratching, and I caught and held them.

"It's okay, honey." I made my voice as soothing as I could. "It'll get easier. You're a horny thing, aren't you?" He finally smiled at me.

"Yeah, I guess." His cheeks were pink, and I could see a little clear fluid dripping from between his legs. Precum, the only relief he'd be getting for a while, and no relief at all. Clearly, I'd be needing to get him a pad for when we went out in public.

"I love you like that," I said frankly, and his smile got wider and happier. "But we're going to work together so that you only come when it's okay, when I say. And pretty soon you'll only get hard when I say. Won't that be nice?"

"I don't know about NICE," he said petulantly, and I snickered. "It'll be different, though."

"I lot of things will be different now," I said, much more seriously, and locked my eyes to his. He sobered, and stared back, those gorgeous blue eyes deep and full of love and secrets, and finally, slowly, he nodded. It was like I could see his beautiful soul. I bent him down to me and kissed him, tasting his lips and tongue, holding his shaggy hair in my hands. He was pliant and tasted so sweet, and soon was sucking my tongue, moaning and squirming his hips.

"Okay, that's enough." I held him away from me firmly, and let go, and he immediately dropped to a squat, his eyes vague and fogged with arousal, his mouth open and red and shiny from my kiss. That position seemed to bring him some relief from the ache he must have been feeling, because he hunkered there, heels of his hands pressing rhythmincally against the plate on the chastity belt, pressing it up and in over and over as he tried to get some pressure on that cute little cock. His hips were flexing too, pumping down towards the floor like he was riding his plug, and I shook my head.

"Is that helping?"

"Noooo," he wailed softly, meeting my eyes again but not stopping his movements. "Not even a little bit!"

"Then stop. Stand up, please, and behave yourself." There was a little flash of anger in his eyes, but he stilled himself and slowly stood. His precum was sliding down the inside of his thigh, in much greater quantity than before. His prostate must have been throbbing like a bitch.

"Good." I stood up myself. "I unpacked the new things while you were sleeping. Go get your plain everyday collar, I put it in the special drawer." I shook my head a little. Our special drawer, which only yesterday had just held our handcuffs, extra lube, latex gloves and the condoms left over from before we'd both gotten tested. Sebastian went to the plain dresser eagerly, curiosity clear in every line.

He stood there for a moment, looking into the drawer. It held all his collars and cuffs, now, as well as his gags, his buttplugs, his leashes and a blindfold. He turned back to me slowly, collar in his hands.

"Things really are different now, huh?" He looked scared, and excited, and so relieved my heart hurt for him. "We're really doing this, aren't we? Sir?"

"We sure are." I beckoned him closer, and snapped the collar around his neck, stroking the tender nape with my fingertips before locking the padlock. "There, now. Wipe yourself, you're leaking, and go to the kitchen. Your list is on the fridge, I'll be down in a minute." His eyes lit with excitement, and he kissed me quickly before trotting off to the bathroom. I grinned. So cute.

He was standing in front of the refrigerator, rocking back and forth a little, when I made it down. I moved around the kitchen quietly, making us some sandwiches, since I hadn't eaten since breakfast and he hadn't eaten at all. He was clearly thinking hard, absorbing the list, his bare feet shifting on the cold linoleum. I smiled privately. I always kept the house cool, and now that Sebastian was going to be naked most of the time, I didn't doubt he'd notice. When the sandwiches were done, I got us both sodas and sat at the table, waiting for him to turn.

He did, finally, and his face was flushed, his eyes wide and electric. "Oh my god, sir."

"Do you want to talk about it?" I beckoned him over, and he came immediately. I put his plate and soda on the floor by my chair, and he looked at them in disbelief. "That's your place, Sebastian," I said with complete control. "Get down there, kiddo. We'll talk once you've gotten some food into you."

He fought it. Oh, he didn't like that one bit, and he stood locked in indecision, hands clenched in fists. I decided to make it easy on him, today. "Sebastian." His eyes flew to my face. "Do you need to go get your strap?" I kept my voice gentle. This decision was his.

His skin paled immediately, and his eyes dropped. "No, sir." It was reluctant, but it was obedience, and he slowly crouched down by the plate, picking up the sandwich in shaking hands. He kept his silence while we ate, though I filled him in on the other guys, the songs we had lined up for practice at the end of the week, the new stuff Adam, our keyboardist, had written that he was really excited about. He nodded and chewed thoughtfully, clearly hungry and thirsty. When we were done I had him take the dishes to the sink and wash them, and then return to my side.

"Okay. Your list." I got it from the fridge and laid it on the table, and let him stand and look at it. It was neatly typed, and I read it over again, to be sure I hadn't forgotten anything. It had been a real relief to get it all down on paper; it was a lot to remember, for me as well as him, and I knew that I had to be utterly consistent when it came to his behavior.

1. When in the house, Sebastian will wear his collar, his cuffs, and a plug, and nothing else, unless told to do so. (I'd left the belt off the list, because I knew it would be coming on and off as needed) Outside the house, he will wear what his master wishes.

2. Sebastian will obey his master instantly and without argument, no matter what the command.

3. He will call his master "Sir." He will not swear in the house. He will not sit without permission.

4. He will not get an erection, touch himself, or above all come, without permission. He will not have sexual contact of any kind with anyone but his master.

5. He will not use the toilet without permission.

6. He will be polite to everyone, in public and private, and behave respectfully towards everyone he sees.

7. He will wake up at nine every morning.

8. He will submit to discipline gratefully and willingly, at the hands of his master. He will thank his master for helping him after every punishment.

9. He will recieve a spanking every morning on awakening and every night immediately before bed, no matter what.

10. He will be restrained for serious punishment.

11. Sebastian will never lie to his master, in word or deed. Lance will never lie to his slave, in word or deed.

12. Lance will never cause his slave permanent harm.

13. Use of the safeword will cause all activity to stop instantly.

14. Lance will love his slave with all his heart, and act always with his ultimate well-being in mind. Sebastian will love his master with all his heart, and submit to him absolutely, trusting him to know best.

I'd added the last one as an afterthought, but I was very pleased when reading it caused Sebastian to sniffle a little and reach for my hand. I squeezed his fingers, and he gave me a watery smile. "Is it good?"

"It's perfect," he said quietly. "Can I ask a question, though?"

"Always."

"You said I'd get spanked only for fun now, when we were making love. But you're gonna spank me twice a day now? Even if I've been good?"

"Especially if you've been good," I grinned up at him, and he rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Your spankings won't be punishment, Seb. They're just a reminder of how things are. If you've been bad, you'll have been punished already for it, the spanking will happen separately." He quailed a little at the thought of being spanked on a whipped ass, but nodded his understanding. I ran my fingers over his hipbone, and he sighed and curled closer to the touch. "Have I told you how proud I am of you?" He shook his head, shyly. "You're incredibly brave, baby. You're letting me help you, and give you what you need, even though it's hard and scary. I'm so proud I could burst." He was bright pink with pleasure, and standing tall, by the time I was done. I pinched his ass lightly, and he squeaked and jumped, glaring at me. I laughed. "Go get started clearing out your room. Take out everything but the dresser, the bedframe and the box spring, and stick it in the big storage closet at the end of the hall. Scoot, now." He scooted, and I went to answer the doorbell.

If he hardware deliveryman thought it was odd that he was dropping off boxes full of locks and bolts and fastenings, hooks and chains and rubber mats, a few power tools, and an extra-large dog bed, he didn't say anything about it. It's amazing, the power of a famous name and a platinum card. He even brought it all into the living room for me. I could hear Seb moving around upstairs, and hoped he had enough sense to stay up there. I signed the slip, tipped handsomely, and grabbed the boxes to bring with me as I headed up to the room.

Sebastian's a quick worker, and he had the place almost cleared. Not that there was a lot in there to begin with. It's a big room, and it looked strangely bare without an armchair or endtables or desk. Well, we'd fill it up soon enough. He was pale, though, with a little sheen of sweat on his face, and I set down the boxes and had him come to me.

"What is it, honey? Tell me." He blushed, and looked down, and placed his hands on his abdomen.

"It's...here. I'm getting cramps now." The food probably hadn't helped. "Please, sir. Please may I go?"

"Say it right." I was starting to lose patience with this.

"May I go poop please?" His face was scarlet. Instead of answering, I took his hand and led him to the dresser, taking out a plastic bag filled with the enema kit I'd grabbed at the store yesterday. He folllowed me meekly to the bathroom, his face hopeful.

"Okay, kiddo. Turn around and bend over, hands on knees." He did it with gratifying alacrity, and I unlocked his strap, letting it dangle. I took a moment to appreciate the sight. The end of the plug was clearly visible, the ring of his anus stretched and strained-looking and red around it, contracting and expanding madly now that there was relief in sight. He was hairless there, since yesterday, and I stroked the hot skin with my fingertip.

"Oh, sir." A breathless gasp. "Please take it out, it hurts." He was pushing now, I could see the soft pink of inner tissue as he tried to force the plug out of his body. It wouldn't work, of course. The widest part was snugged nicely just above his muscle.

"Calm down," I ordered. "Relax, Seb." I grasped the end of the plug and started working it out of him. He grunted at the first tug, a deep animal sound of pain, which changed into a breathless "uh uh uh uh" as I twisted and pulled, finally getting the wide part out of him, and controlling the slide of the rest. He was pushing it so hard I had to push back, once or twice. Finally it was out, and his hole was empty, raw and gaping open and twitching as he fought to hold his bowel closed. I walked out from behind him, and dropped the plug in the sink, then strolled to the tub, filling the enema bag with cool water, testing the flow in the tube, soaping up the end. I completely ignored his growing whimpers. Finally, when it looked like he was about to simply mess himself, I touched his shoulder.

"Go to the toilet, Seb." He almost leaped for it, and I followed him there, watching his every move as he squirmed in shame, finally emptying himself with a huge sigh of relief. I'm not into piss or shit as sexual acts, myself, but something in me knew that he needed this humiliation, me watching him shit helplessly. He would have no privacy any more, and this was just the first step. When he was done, he just sat there panting, his head hanging.

"Wipe yourself," I said shortly. "Then get in the tub, on your knees and elbows. We're gonna clean you out."

"Oh man," he groaned, grabbing some paper. "Is it going to hurt?"

"Not too bad," I reassured him. "Nothing you can't handle." He was a masochist, after all. He must have heard something in my tone, because he looked at me skeptically as he cleaned himself off and flushed and hobbled over to the tub, assuming the position.

"It's so wierd," he commented as he ducked his head between his arms. "I feel all empty, like I'm five pounds lighter."

"Judging by sound, you probably are," I said dryly, and he snickered. "Spread those knees, please." They spread instantly, and I rolled up my sleeves and started running the hose up his nice stretched hole. He whimpered a little, but it was a pleasure sound, so I ignored it. The start of the water running got a whole different sound, a shocked little hum as he processed the sensation of the cool water. Soon he was grunting again, and when I saw his belly start to swell, I turned off the flow. "Hold it," I ordered him, though water had already started to trickle from his hole.

"I don't think I can," he gasped, his face contorted with effort. "I'm so full. Oh god. I'm trying, I promise, sir."

"I know you are, honey. You're doing really well." I stood him up gently, and spread his legs again, and pressed on his belly. With a sob he let go, brown water gushing from him in a steady stream, down his long legs and then down the drain. I stroked his tear-covered cheek. "Down on knees and elbows again, Seb."

"Oh, n-" He caught it in time, and folded back down into the tub. I filled him up one more time, and this time he was quiet, though his lashes were clumped and spiky with tears. He held it a little longer, and I praised him, before having him squat and release, this time holding his strap out of the way. The water was clear, and I had him scrub himself off with a soapy washcloth while I put away the enema kit.

"Feel better now?" He'd calmed down considerably, but that could be decieving. Sometimes, like the first time he put on the belt, Seb is calmest right before a big explosion. This time, though, he just nodded quietly, and stepped out of the tub. "Hands and knees," I told him, and he did so passively. I pressed him down until he was tilted, head down and ass in the air, and slicked up my hand a little. I've found it's very important to have lube in just about every room in the house. I slipped two fingers into him and he took them easily, sighing, and I stroked his back. Slowly and gently, I massaged his prostate, twisting my fingers and fucking him with them, and soon he was shivering and pressing back against me. "You're a good boy," I told him softly. "I love you."

"I love you too, sir," he gasped, humping his hips back on my fingers. "Oh, it's so good...please let me out of the belt, please fuck me, I need to get hard, please..."

I kept fingering him even as I slapped his ass sharply, hitting the belt chain and making him yelp. "You know better than that. Quiet." Every muscle in his body was twitching, now, and there was a steady stream of clear fluid dripping down from the hole in his gear, puddling between his legs on the floor. I reached around and stroked one of his small nipples, teasing it into hardness and then pulling and twisting it sharply, watching his back arch in an agony of pleasure as I continued to rub his prostate directly. Soon he was drawn tight as a bow, chanting "oh, oh, oh, oh," twisting helplessly. I let go of him completely then, standing and stripping, folding my clothes as he quivered on the floor at my feet.

Sometimes I'm so focused on Seb, on what I'm doing to him and how he's reacting, that I barely notice my own body. I'm almost always hard when I'm training him, though. Of course, I've got a lot more self control than he does, but this afternoon had left me painfully, exquisitely erect. And Sebastian was mine, to be used for my relief and pleasure. The thought made me impossibly harder. I slipped back behind him, grasped his hips, and pushed myself into him dry, all eight and a half inches in one long hard thrust.

He almost left the floor he jerked so hard, his ass contracting like a vise around my cock, and he squealed like a girl, his voice high and wavering and echoing off the bathroom walls. "Easy, honey," I soothed him. "Relax." He didn't, of course, and I started to thrust, hard and pounding and merciless. Sebastian has the most amazing ass, and of all places in the world it's my favorite place to be. A hot slick fist holding my cock, taking my punishment, even as he bucked and moaned and screamed, a beautiful soundtrack to the fuck. I lasted a lot longer than I thought I would, actually, lost in the feeling of him, holding him tightly so he couldn't squirm away. Not that he wanted to; soon he was pushing back as eagerly as I was thrusting forward, and I felt the hot coil of pressure building in my groin, curling out to my thighs and belly, and I shot into him, throwing my head back and shouting his name.

When I came back to earth I was still inside him, softening rapidly, and I pulled out with a little pop. He was completely still, braced on his elbows and head hanging. Immediately, I pushed two fingers back into him through my own spunk, tapping his prostate, and he convulsed, back arching like a bow, just gushing precum. I held him there for a little while, before sliding my hand away, and he just collapsed, like a puppet with its string cut. He was panting harshly, and my breath wasn't exactly even either. My knees were shaky when I pushed to my feet, and I cleaned myself up and got dressed in silence. Seb didn't move.

"Talk to me," I finally said quietly. "You're okay, Sebastian. Tell me what's going on."

"That was the most awful thing..." he answered immediately, his voice thick. "I couldn't even get hard, sir. Not when you were fucking me, and it felt so incredible, and I couldn't get anywhere with it."

"How does that make you feel?" He was clearly on the edge of something, and I pushed him.

"Bad." He paused, curling up on his side. "Good. Dirty. Ashamed. I never want to feel that way again." He glanced up at me, eyes wet. "A-and I can't wait for you to do it again."

"Oh, baby." I dropped to the floor and pulled his head into my lap, stroking his hair, pushing the long strands behind his ears. He was still thrumming with tension, unreleased pleasure, and I petted him until he calmed a little. "It's okay that you feel that way. I do care about how you feel, you know. Just remember that knowing won't change what I do to you." He shivered, and nodded, and we held hands for a little while in silence. Finally, I sighed. The tile was COLD, and I could only imagine how Seb felt, still naked. "Up, Seb. Clean your ass and your plug, then you can have some time off. Play your X-Box, or your piano, or call your mom. Whatever you want, and I'll get the room set up." He sniffled gratefully, and got to his feet, slow and stiff.

"This is gross, you know," he informed me from the sink, where he was scrubbing his plug.

"Why do you think it's your job and not mine?" He rolled his eyes at me over his shoulder, but finished the job and stood quietly while I worked it back into him, only jerking and crying out at the widest point. I strapped him back in, and kissed him, and sent him downstairs for some much-needed downtime.

Part Six: Play

It had been the worst, best, longest, shortest, most difficult day of my life, and it wasn't even ten PM yet. My bottom was on fire still, my hole was stretched and burning and sore and plugged, and I couldn't get a hard on. But I was happy, oh I was happy. Lance was making a room for us to be in, master and slave, and I could feel my belly trembling in anticipation. The thought of going back to any other way of life was completely unimaginable already.

I wandered into the kitchen, liking the naughty feeling of roaming around the house mostly naked. More food; apparently screaming and crying and hurting really works up an appetite, and first on the agenda for my free time was dinner and a LOT of water. I paused for a moment, considering that. It was a rule that I wasn't to pee until Lance said okay, but I was really thirsty and my mouth felt like it was full of cotton. I drank a glass down in long gulps, and filled it again, grabbing some cold pasta out of the fridge and heading for the living room. I could hear Lance upstairs, hammering and the occasional hum and scrape of a power tool, and it reassured me.

I like Lance's living room. It's got big picture windows that look out over the trees in his backyard, and gorgeous Oriental rugs. The furniture doesn't match really, but it's all comfy and well worn, and he's got the best sound system ever. There was a big dog bed sitting in the hall, and I wondered at it, but finally shrugged and moved on. I passed the chair that I'd smashed in a screaming fit a couple of months ago, and winced. It scared me how out of control I'd been, how close I'd come to really fucking up my life. A few more months of drugs and hookers and groupies and freakouts, and I think the band would have broken up. I'd have been alone. No Lance. I shivered at the thought, and sat carefully on the softest couch in the room.

If you've never had your butt well and truly beaten you have no idea how intensely aware of your body it makes you. Just sitting requres muscles and skin movement and all kinds of things that normally I wouldn't give a second thought to; with a sore bottom those all sprang into sharp relief. I finally made it down, the plug a hard presence that I was almost getting used to, and reached for the phone. It was strange to think of the outside world, now. Lance and I had our own, and everything outside seemed strange and vague. I needed to reconnect, so I called my mom.

I think she was shocked by how happy and calm I sounded. She kept asking me if things were really okay, if I'd gotten into some kind of trouble. Finally she came right out and asked if I was stoned. I laughed myself silly at that one, and she finally believed me, and told me she loved me a lot, and was so glad I was doing better. I silently thought she ought to be thanking Lance, but... I talked to my little brothers for a while, and Pete told me the dirty joke he'd learned in school all proudly. They had me in stitches, they're really great kids. It was their bedtime, so I smooched the phone and listened to them squeal "eewwwwww!" and laughed and hung up.

Adam was next. I had a feeling Lance wanted me to apologize to James in person, so I called our keyboardest instead. He's a big guy, but really mellow and nice, and I figured I had some explaining to do.

"Talk to me." He always answers the phone like that.

"Hey, man. It's Seb."

"Seb." His voice was instantly a little wary, and I winced again. "What's up, man? You need bail or somethin'?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I'm home. I just wanted to, you know, say I'm sorry. For being such a shithead to you, and stuff." I caught my breath, I'd boken the no-swearing rule.

"Whoa." He sounded impressed. "What the fuck, dude? Who are you and what have you done with Sebastian McKay?"

"Nah, it's me." I sighed. "Look. I know I was making things real hard, last tour. You all had to deal with a lot of my crap, and that isn't fair. Things are changing, dude, I'm making some changes. They'll be better, I swear, I'm getting my act together."

There was a long pause on the other end. "You were already starting to get better there at the end," he finally said thoughtfully. "I'm real glad to hear it. REAL glad. Wanna tell me what's going on?"

I shook my head unconsciously, then spoke. "Not right now, no. But me and Lance, we're working together, he's been a huge help. The hugest. I was on the slippery slope, man, but I'm on the way back up."

Another long pause, and he hummed contemplatively. He's a very smart man, Adam, and I was pretty sure he knew something was up. "Okay," he said finally. "You sure you two know what you're doing?" That confirmed it.

"Absolutely." I put all the conviction I could into my voice. "Without a doubt. Now tell me about this amazing new song I'm hearing about." He laughed, and started talking, all bubbling enthusiasm. It was great, just chatting about music again, and by the time we hung up I was feeling like a million bucks. I scarfed down the pasta and did some channel surfing, but the X-Box was calling me. I'm a total addict, I love that thing and all the games I've got for it, and that's STILL no excuse for what happened next.

I was right in the middle of a really difficult level on Halo, and I guess I hadn't heard Lance calling me. I was totally into it, I'd forgotten the belt and my bottom and my collar and everything, I was completely focused. When he walked into the room I didn't even look up.

"Sebastian," he said, a little louder than usual. "I've been calling you. Time to come to bed, sweetie."

I didn't even think. Just opened my mouth. "In a minute," I said, eyes focused on the tv screen. "I'm in the middle of this."

Looking back on it now, he must have known that something was going on, because he'd brought a riding crop with him. I didn't even know we HAD a riding crop. But he was on me so fast I didn't even get a chance to react, tearing the controller out of my hands and grabbing my collar, twisting me over and putting a knee in the middle of my back as I bent over the couch. I didn't have time to do more than shriek "SIR!" before he laid into me.

He wasn't even mad, and that was the scary thing, though I wasn't thinking about it at the time. No, I was screaming and flailing around, as that crop hit my bottom so hard and so fast and so many times it was like a solid brick of pain slamming into my body, jerking me around like a puppet as I screamed "no no no no no stop AAAAAH NO NO NO SIR NO I'M SORRY I'M SORRY PLEASE NO," constant meaningless words that had no effect on him. When he finally stopped and took his knee off me I had no words left.

"Get up." His voice was firm and still calm, in contrast to my shaking sweating twitching whimpering self. I collapsed down to the floor, then pushed myself to my feet, quivering like a leaf, almost unable to stand. It had been so shocking, so sudden, that my mind was just blank. "What do you say? I'm not going to remind you again, next time you'll be punished for this."

I looked at him. He was standing there, fully dressed, a wicked-looking crop hanging from his right hand. His eyes were harder than usual, his lips in a firm line, displeasure clear in his posture and face. He had worked hard, the curls at his temples were damp with the effort it had taken to discipline me properly.

"I'm sorry, sir," I wept. "It won't happen again."

"No, it won't. But that's not what you say. On the couch, Seb." I howled again, but my body obeyed him, stretching out over the couch with my bottom in the air. This time it was only five, but just as hard as before, and I was so sensitized that it felt like he was beating my entire body with the crop. I was hot to my fingertips, jerking and moaning with each stroke, my legs kicking up in automatic reaction. The endorphins were blurring my vision and making my heart pound and my cock strain desperately against the metal, my writhing pushing that damn plug into my prostate HARD. Even without the belt, though, I wouldn't have been enjoying this. When he was through he pulled me back to my feet. "Let's try this again. What do you say, Sebastian?"

"Th-th-thank you," I got out between great gasps for air. "Thank you sir, f-fo-for helping me be good."

"You're welcome, love." He dropped his hand and felt between my legs, and when he pulled it back his fingers were shiny wet. "You're incorrigible, you know that?" He smiled at me, open and loving and forgiving, and I had to smile back, weak as it was. "Now, it's bedtime. Get your bed, we're going upstairs."

"My bed, sir?" My head was swimming, and I couldn't think at all. "But I sleep with you."

"Not any more." He pointed at the dog bed, and I started crying even harder, but walked over to it reluctantly and picked it up. It was large, but light, and I got it upstairs fairly easily, setting it at the foot of his bed as he commanded. It was sort of a huge wicker basket, with a dark green padded lining.

"It's for mastiffs, great danes, or large dogs with litters of puppies," he explained, amused, as I stared at it with hatred. "A pup like you should find it very comfortable. Now, do you want to see your room, before we hit the sack?"

I nodded, wiping my nose on my arm, and follwed him as he led me across the hall. He looked so pleased and excited, warm brown eyes sparkling, and I felt my spirits start to rise. He loved me, after all. And I had definitely messed up. The great thing was, now that he'd punished me, it was over. I knew he wasn't thinking about it any more, so I could just let it go, with no lingering painful guilt. I sighed, and did, at least as much as I could with every step agony for my poor bruised bottom.

The room...I just stopped walking, as soon as I stepped through the door. The walls were still the same light blue, but everything else was completely different. I'd had no idea Lance was so handy with tools!

The middle of the room was empty, but covered with a thick rubber mat over the wood floor. On one wall, the bare boxspring had been fastened to the frame, and the frame bolted to the wall. It looked scary and exciting and neat. The cuffs and straps were still attached to the corners and arranged neatly on the bed, which extended long-ways out into the room. He could get at me from any angle, and I shivered, my heart speeding up just a bit. I turned slowly, taking it all in.

Large silver hooks were fastened all along one wall, and hanging from each was something different. Two of the hooks had three arms, and held the collars and matching cuffs, both the silver and the leather. The strap, solid and menacing, had its own hook, the cat next to it, and as I watched Lance walked over and hung the crop from one by the little loop on its handle. Lance has a gorgeous ass, round and full and firm, and I let myself admire it before continuing my little visual tour.

The dresser had been pushed to the corner by the closet. Neatly displayed on top were three dildos of varying sizes, four buttplugs, all different, something that looked like those little chains that hold security passes with sharp triangular snaps at both ends, and a tiny little riding crop. I'd find out soon enough what those were for, I was sure. There were labels on the drawers, too, and walking closer I could read them. "Gags," one said. "Blindfolds," another said. "Leashes," "Clips," "Chains," "Straps," "Rings" and by the time I'd finished reading them all I was whimpering softly, excited and ashamed.

"The whipping frame will go there, I think," Lance said thoughtfully, slipping one arm around my waist and pointing to a place on the edge of the big rubber mat. "And see, there are rings in the floor there and there, and on the wall there, and the ceiling. I had a hell of a time finding the posts in the walls." They were gleaming dully, big and solid and inescapable looking. I shivered again, and leaned into his comforting hold.

"It's perfect. Wow, Lance," I whispered, awed. "This is incredible." He grinned at me.

"I'm glad you like it, sweetie, I think we'll be spending a lot of time here." He held me closer when I flinched. "I made a couple little modifications to the bathroom, too, but those aren't as interesting. It's your job to make sure everything here is neat and clean, every day. And the door must always stay locked, unless we're in here playing. That's your job too." I nodded, determined to be responsible. "And I put up our rules, too," he said, gently turning me to the door. Right next to it, proudly displayed in a plain black frame, was the list he'd typed up earlier. "I want you to read it every day, at least once."

"Yes sir," I said happily. He pinched my side lightly, and grinned when I giggled.

"You're a special boy, Seb. I wanted to make this room just as special as you are."

"Oh," I whispered, eyes filling. I was overwrought, what do you expect? "Oh Lance, you did. Thank you SO much. I love it."

"I'll remember you said that," he warned lightly, snickering a little, and I stuck out my tongue playfully, dancing away from his swat. "Now come on. I'm beat, and we've still got some talking to do." I'm proud that I remembered to lock the door as we left.

Once in his room I stripped him, worshipping his body with my hands. He's not slim, but there's not an ounce of fat on him; he's just built solid, wide sturdy shoulders, long body, straight flat waist. His hips swell out some, and his thighs and calves are thick and strong. His cock hung down between his legs, not hard but full and plump and gorgeous, his balls like a sweet secret behind it. I wanted to taste, but a little shake of his head got me back on my feet, fingers tingling from the touch of his skin. It's so soft. Softer than any woman's I've ever screwed.

He sat on the edge of the bed, and motioned me over. I went, feet dragging with dread. My bottom was still agony from the crop, and it showed no sign of getting better.

"Over my knees, honey." I draped myself over his strong thighs, forcing myself to relax. All he did at first was unfasten the strap on my belt, then the chains. My cock was still trapped in the tube behind the plate, though, although suddenly I could feel a draft on the soft skin behind my balls. He spread my thighs with a gentle hand, touching me there, stroking me and pressing my prostate up against the plug, and slowly I felt that hot anxious feeling building in my stomach and groin. It was quiet, though, and nice, him just touching me and making me feel good. Finally, he stopped, leaving me a quivering mass of nerves. I was making his thigh all wet, I could feel it.

"Oh man. You've got some serious welts here, Sebastian." He touched my bottom, and I cringed away, nodding. "I advise you to mind your manners tomorrow, huh? The fact that your butt is blistered is not going to keep me from beating it if you need it." I bit my tongue.

"Yes sir. I'll try my hardest." Even I had to smile at the fervency of my promise, and he laughed.

"Now, tell me about your day." I actually lifted my head and stared at him over my shoulder, and he smiled and touched my nose with a finger. "C'mon, I want to hear it." I relaxed back down, and sighed, and tried to organize all the tangled feelings I had about the day.

"Well, I woke up WAY too early-" I broke off with a yelp when my thigh was pinched. "I woke up on time," I corrected, "and got my bottom smacked because I was pissy. Then I did my chores, and we went to the store. That's a really great store." He snorted agreement. "We picked out all the stuff that'll help you teach me to be a good boy. It was kind of scary, but really good." He was stroking my back gently now. "I got a chastity belt," I said in a tiny voice. "I hate it, but it's helping me learn to control myself, and my master thinks I need it."

"I KNOW you need it, Seb," he said quietly, and I nodded.

"I need it. Then we came home, and I was whipped hard, because I'd been really bad. It hurt so much I wet the bed." I didn't realize it, but I was falling into the same speech patterns I'd had when I was a little boy. I was giving up all my adult ideas about self-will and independence and autonomy, bit by bit, and it was starting to show. "Then we showered and I got to come, and then had a nap, which I really needed, and then when I woke up we started cleaning the room. Then I-I-I-" I didn't want to say it, but I knew he would make me. "Then you let me poop, and cleaned me out inside, and fucked me," I whispered, and his stroking hand never paused. "It was awful and amazing. Then I got free time, and I called my mom and my brothers, and Adam. I apologized to him. I think he knows something's going on, sir," I confesed to him.

"I wouldn't be surprised." Lance sounded unconcerned. "He's super smart, and he was watching us pretty close that last week on tour, when you started behaving yourself a little better." I nodded.

"I swore on the phone with him," I told him meekly, and he shook a little with laughter.

"We'll let it slide this time, Seb. When you're talking to other people it's okay." I exhaled in relief.

"Then I played my X-Box. And I was bad again, and got whipped hard again, just like I deserved. Twice, because I forgot to say thank you after. You showed me my incredible new room, and now I'm going to be spanked, and I really have to go pee." I was regretting that second glass of water.

His hand paused, then moved up to my collar, shaking my head back and forth gently. "Why didn't you ask when we were in your room?"

"I didn't have to go then," I protested, and he chuckled.

"Okay. After your spanking, we'll go. Next time though you spend the night full, if you don't ask before your spanking."

"Thank you, sir." Sometimes he's so nice to me.

"Ten tonight, I think, baby. Just my hand. Count, please."

Oh, it burned so bad, even though I could tell he was only smacking me lightly. I was crying again by the end, I didn't know a person could cry so much in one day. It felt like he had on a flaming glove, each swat scorching my tortured skin. He hugged me when we were through, and stroked my hair and back, and told me I was good. Those magic words calmed me right down, even while he refastened my belt. His cock was hard, but he's not like me; he's got self control, and it went down right away.

Sitting to pee is really embarrassing, especially when your master is standing right in front of you, watching you go. But it was a huge relief, too, and something in me loved the shame I was feeling. It made my insides squirmy and hot, and I clung to him as we walked back to the bedroom.

That bed. God. It's a tight fit even when I'm not sore, but bending myself into it, with a big heavy plug in my butt and a chastity belt on and a blistered bottom? Not the easiest thing in the world. He'd laid a towel down in the middle where my hips would go, probably knowing I'd make a mess, and I shifted around until I was as comfortable as possible. He left me there, and I could hear him moving around the house, shutting off lights and locking doors. I felt safe and warm and loved, even more when he draped a blanket over me, before clicking off the lamp and settling in. I closed my eyes, hips still twitching from the plug and the spanking, and was asleep before I could do more than sigh.

[end part six.]