17. Sixteen

I stared at the clock, sucking hard on the cherry candy in my mouth. Shepherd would be home from his private practice soon, and another evening of domestic servitude and sexual frustration lay ahead.

I'd just returned from my tattoo apprenticeship. My hands ached from hours of inking practice on synthetic skin, but the pain didn't distract from the throbbing between my legs. It had been almost a week since I rubbed against Keres’ thigh to get off, the longest I’d gone without a hookup. I wasn’t used to this dry spell, let alone not being able to jerk off at least once a day.

Pushing aside thoughts of my aching cock, I turned to the list of chores Shepherd left me. As part of our service submission agreement, I had to keep the house spotless and prep dinner. I didn’t particularly enjoy cleaning, but focusing on the repetitive tasks helped keep my mind off sex.

I started in the kitchen, putting away the clean dishes and wiping down the counters until they gleamed. Then I moved to the living room, fluffing throw pillows and vacuuming the plush carpet, ensuring I got into all the corners. Dusting came next; I lifted Shepherd's psychology textbooks, running a microfiber cloth over their spines before placing them back in order.

By the time I scrubbed the bathroom until the chrome fixtures shone, it was nearly seven. My muscles burned from the exertion, but my mind felt clearer. I headed to the kitchen to lay out the dinner ingredients and start prep. The familiar routine of chopping vegetables and seasoning the steaks he’d selected calmed my nerves more than I expected.

I was slicing bell peppers when I heard the familiar creak of the front door. My heart raced, thumping against my ribcage. I set the knife down with a clatter and wiped my hands on a dish towel. Pivoting, I hurried to the foyer, my bare feet padding on the hardwood.

Shepherd stepped inside, his broad shoulders slumped and his handsome face drawn with fatigue. Deep lines creased his brow, and shadows smudged the skin beneath his dark eyes. His hair looked mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it in agitation. Clearly, he’d had an exhausting day at his practice. A twinge of sympathy pinched in my chest at his haggard appearance.

“Welcome home, Sir,” I murmured, falling into my submissive role. I took his leather briefcase and set it carefully on the bench by the door.

I slid the charcoal wool overcoat from his shoulders, hanging it neatly as Shepherd toed off his shoes with a soft groan. The tang of his cologne—a dark, woodsy scent—teased my nose, and I yearned to lean into him, but I stopped myself. I needed to see to his needs first.

“Would you like scotch, sir?” I asked, keeping my eyes lowered.

Shepherd sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Make it a double tonight.”

“Right away, Sir.” I padded into the kitchen, pulling out a cut crystal tumbler and reaching for his favorite Macallan single malt. I poured a generous measure, watching it catch the light.

As I turned to bring Shepherd his drink, he called from the living room, “Eli, I’m too tired to cook tonight. Put away the food you prepped. We’ll order takeout later.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, quickly stowing the cut vegetables in the refrigerator and wrapping the steaks in butcher paper before placing them in the meat drawer. I hurried back to the living room, the scotch held carefully aloft.

Shepherd had sunk onto the leather couch, his long legs splayed and his head tipped back. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slow. I approached and held out the tumbler, waiting for him to take it.

His eyes fluttered open, and he reached out, taking the glass from my hand. His fingers brushed mine briefly, sending a shiver racing up my spine. I watched, transfixed, as he brought the glass to his lips, taking a long swallow. A soft groan escaped him as he savored the rich flavor.

I sank to my knees beside the couch, resting back on my heels, palms flat on my thighs, awaiting further instruction. Shepherd cupped my cheek, his thumb stroking over the silver ring in my bottom lip. I leaned into his touch, cherishing these fleeting moments of gentleness.

“You’ve done well today, boy,” he murmured, his deep voice rumbling through me.

“Thank you, Sir,” I whispered, a flush of pride warming my chest at his praise.

Shepherd took another sip of scotch before setting the glass down.

“Please Sir, may I lay my head on your thigh?” I asked softly, craving his closeness.

Shepherd considered me for a long moment. Then he nodded. “You may.”

Gratitude bloomed in my chest. “Thank you, Sir.” I shifted closer and lowered my head to his strong thigh.

As soon as I made contact, relief washed over me, unwinding the tension in my muscles. I felt grounded by his solid presence, comforted by his closeness in a way I couldn't articulate. These moments of intimacy soothed a deep ache inside me, born of years without gentle touch.

Shepherd's hand came to rest on my head, fingers threading into my white-blond hair. I sighed softly at the contact. My eyes fluttered shut as he began to pet me with languid strokes, his short nails lightly scratching my scalp.

The physical contact sent relief flooding through me, easing the tension that had built throughout the day. Shepherd radiated heat like a furnace, and I drank in his warmth, letting it soothe my raw nerves. The familiar scent of his cologne wrapped around me, making my head swim pleasantly. I nuzzled into his thigh, savoring the intimacy of the moment.

Shepherd's fingers continued their lazy path through my hair, igniting sparks that danced down my spine to pool hot in my core. The soothing touch was both a balm and a torment, lulling me into a dreamy haze while stoking the hunger that roiled in my gut.

An image flashed through my mind—me kneeling between Shepherd's spread thighs, his zipper lowered, that thick, perfect cock jutting from the opening. I imagined leaning forward, extending my tongue to lap the gleaming bead of pre-cum from the broad head, savoring his bitter salt. In my fantasy, Shepherd's hand fisted in my hair, guiding me down, urging me to take him deeper.

A whimper escaped me, and my hips shifted restlessly, my own swollen cock throbbing in my jeans. I squirmed, seeking relief from the near-painful pressure, but the movement only intensified the ache.

Shepherd's hand stilled on my head, and I froze, realizing my mistake. “Something wrong, boy?”

I drew in a shuddering breath, heat flooding my cheeks. I couldn't lie to Shepherd.

“I... I'm struggling, Sir,” I admitted quietly. “This is the longest I’ve gone without any release in a long time, and it’s harder than I thought.”

Shepherd made a thoughtful noise, resuming his idle stroking through my hair. “And you've been obedient, keeping to the rule of no self-pleasure?”

“Yes, Sir,” I mumbled against his thigh, frustration creeping into my tone. “But I'm so horny all the time I can barely think straight. Even the slightest brush against my cock makes me want to hump the nearest surface.”

Another huff of laughter escaped Shepherd, but it held no cruelty—only gentle amusement. “My poor boy,” he crooned, rubbing his fingers over my nape. “You've done well. I know it hasn't been easy.”

I preened internally at the praise, even as my body thrummed with need.

Shepherd's hand slid from my hair to cup my chin, tipping my face up to meet his penetrating gaze. His dark eyes glittered with something hard to define—heat and approval that made my mouth go dry.

“It’s been a long day for me. I could use a little entertainment. You've been a good boy lately, Eli,” he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave. “So obedient and hardworking. I think you’ve earned a reward.”

Hope flared in my chest. “Thank you, Sir,” I breathed.

Shepherd's lips quirked in a smile. “But you’ll have to follow my instructions.”

“Yes, Sir,” I nodded eagerly.

“Stand up and go to the fireplace,” he instructed, his voice roughened with arousal. “Face me and start undressing slowly.”

A shiver raced through me at his words. I rose on unsteady legs, moving to stand before the large stone fireplace. The low flames cast flickering shadows over my body as I turned to face Shepherd.

With trembling hands, I reached for the hem of my t-shirt, peeling the thin cotton up my torso, revealing my flat stomach and lean chest. Shepherd tracked my progress intently as I pulled the shirt over my head and let it drop to the floor.

“Good boy,” Shepherd praised, sending a flush of pleasure through me. “Now the jeans. Unbutton them, but leave them on for now.”

I obeyed, fumbling slightly with the copper button. The rasp of the zipper sounded obscenely loud in the charged quiet. The worn denim parted, revealing my black boxer briefs, the cotton straining over my painfully hard erection. A damp spot had already formed where I’d started to leak.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my briefs, hesitating. My cock twitched eagerly, begging to be freed.

“Go on,” Shepherd prompted, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight. “Nice and slow.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, I began to inch the briefs down, baring my hips and lower abs. The fabric slipped over my erection, my cock springing free to slap against my stomach with an obscene sound. I moaned at the sensation, my hips rocking forward involuntarily.

I pushed my briefs and jeans down and stepped out of them, fully nude before Shepherd's intense gaze. His eyes roved hungrily over my body, widening as they landed on my erect cock.

“Well now, that's a surprise,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “You didn’t mention you were pierced.”

Heat flooded my cheeks, and I fought the urge to cover myself. “Yes, Sir,” I replied softly.

A silver ring glinted against the flushed head of my cock, a Prince Albert piercing I'd gotten on a whim after leaving the cult. Suddenly, under Shepherd's scrutiny, I felt unbearably exposed.

Shepherd leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze zeroing in on the piercing. “I've never had a submissive with a piercing before. It suits you.”

I shivered at his words, pleasure and embarrassment making my skin prickle. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Play with it,” he commanded, sipping his scotch. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

My heart hammered as I wrapped my fingers around my aching shaft. I gave myself a few languid pumps, savoring the slide of my foreskin over my swollen head. Then I toyed with the metal ring, tugging gently and sending sparks of pleasure through me. A low moan escaped my lips, and my hips canted into my touch.

“That's it,” Shepherd purred, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Pinch it. Pull it taut.”

I obeyed, pinching the ring between my fingers, tugging it taut, the sting of pain blending exquisitely with pleasure. Clear fluid welled from the tip and dribbled over my fingers, making it easier to stroke.

“Fuck...” I gasped as I pulled harder on the ring, my other hand flying over my shaft.

“Language, boy,” Shepherd chided, but his voice was rough with arousal as he palmed himself through his tailored slacks.

I whimpered an apology, my hips pumping frantically into my tight fist. I was so close, my balls drawing tight. The tension in my core wound tighter, my blood roaring in my ears.

“Stop,” Shepherd barked. “Hands off. Now.”

A wounded sound tore from my throat, but I obeyed, releasing my dripping cock. It twitched and jerked, angry red and leaking. I panted harshly and trembled, watching a long string of pre-cum drip onto the floor.

“You’re leaking a lot,” Shepherd observed. “You must be really turned on.”

My face was on fire as I admitted, “Yes, Sir. I…I like you watching me.”

“You like entertaining me? Performing for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He leaned forward. “But you also like the way I control your pleasure. You like being denied release until you’ve earned it, don’t you?”

I bit my lip in a failed attempt to hold back a groan. When I finally answered, my voice came out small and desperate. “Yes, Sir.”

“And have you earned it yet?”

Fuck. My cock pulsed, sending another heavy drop of pre-cum dripping to the floor. “No, Sir. Only when you say I’ve earned it.”

“That’s right.” Shepherd leaned back against the couch, swirling his scotch. “Show me how you pleasure yourself, boy.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth bone dry. With shaking hands, I cupped my balls, rolling them gently. The stimulation sent sparks racing up my spine. Slowly, I trailed my fingers up the underside of my cock, teasing the thick vein before wrapping my fist around the base.

I stroked myself with long, languid pulls, twisting my wrist just how I liked it. My other hand toyed with the piercing, tugging and flicking the ring until my cockhead glistened. I pinched the metal, reveling in the sharp sting of pleasure.

“That's it,” Shepherd purred, his eyes intent. “Take your time. I want to see what makes you feel good.”

Encouraged, I laved my palm, slicking it with saliva before wrapping my wet hand back around my cock. I stroked faster, slippery sounds filling the air.

Shepherd's heated gaze tracked my every movement. I felt exposed but thrilled. This was the most intimate act of service I’d performed for him yet.

I trailed my free hand to my chest, finding a sensitive nipple and rolling it between my fingers. I pinched the nub, sending jolts of pleasure to my core. My hips canted into my slick fist, seeking more friction against my aching flesh.

“You like having your nipples played with,” Shepherd observed, a purr of approval in his voice. “Pinch them harder.”

I obeyed eagerly, twisting the nub until it throbbed. A low moan clawed its way out of my throat.

“Good boy,” Shepherd praised, and I preened internally, responding to his voice.

My cock pulsed in my grip, growing harder. I could feel my release building at my spine, my balls drawing tight. I squeezed the base, staving off climax to last longer for him.

My strokes grew urgent, the wet sounds of pleasure filling the room, mingling with my ragged pants. I rolled my balls, tugging gently, savoring the ache. My other hand twisted my nipples until they were red, each pinch sending a bolt of electricity to my core.

Shepherd watched, pupils blown wide with lust, fingers digging into his thigh. I could see the thick line of his arousal tenting his zipper, and my mouth watered at the thought of tasting him.

Saliva flooded my mouth as I imagined sinking to my knees before Shepherd, nuzzling into his clothed erection. I hollowed my cheeks and suckled on two fingers, picturing his thick cock sliding past my lips.

“You're imagining that's my cock, aren't you?” His voice was pure sin, rough with arousal.

I whimpered and nodded, losing myself in the fantasy. I bobbed my head, taking my fingers deeper, swallowing around them, picturing Shepherd's thick length pulsing against my tongue. I hoped he’d let me keep sucking until I fell asleep like that.

I sucked harder on my fingers, drool slipping down my chin. I moaned around them, imagining I could taste Shepherd's arousal. My other hand moved faster over my aching cock, swollen and leaking steadily.

“Look at you,” Shepherd purred. “You're so beautiful, drooling all over yourself in your desperation. You're making me so hard.”

I whimpered, my hips hitching into my grip. Knowing I pleased him sent a thrill through me. There was no greater satisfaction than serving him well.

I ground the heel of my palm over my piercing, tugging with each stroke until my cockhead throbbed. The tension coiled tighter, my release building at my spine.

I shuddered and paused, sliding my fingers briefly from between my lips to ask, “May I cum, Sir?”

Shepherd palmed himself through his slacks with a small hiss. “Yes, boy. Cum for me.”

I slipped my fingers back into my mouth and sucked hard, stroking my cock with renewed determination. My orgasm hit hard and sudden. I cried out around my fingers, my back arching as pleasure sparked through me. My cock jerked and pulsed, spilling cum all over me. I stroked through it, milking every last drop until I was spent, trembling all over, fingers slipping from my lips with a wet pop.

My legs wobbled and threatened to give out on me, my muscles turned to jelly. But before I could crumple to the floor, strong arms caught me around the waist, holding me up. I sagged into that solid embrace, my head lolling back against a broad shoulder.

“I've got you,” Shepherd murmured. “You did so well for me, sweet boy. Such a good boy.”

Warmth bloomed in my chest at his gentle praise, chasing away the last tendrils of tension. I hummed in contentment, burrowing deeper into his arms. Shepherd's clean, masculine scent surrounded me, leather and spice with an undercurrent of his unsatisfied arousal.

Shepherd's strong arms tightened around me, holding me close against his solid chest. I melted into his embrace, boneless and sated, my over-sensitized skin tingling everywhere it pressed to his clothed form. The steady thump of his heart under my cheek grounded me as the aftershocks of my intense orgasm continued to spark through my nerve endings.

“There you go,” Shepherd murmured, his deep voice a soothing rumble that reverberated through me. “Relax. I've got you now.”

I sighed in contentment, letting my eyes slip shut as I breathed in his familiar scent, an intoxicating mix of rich cologne, aged leather, and masculine musk. The last coiled tendrils of tension slowly unspooled from my muscles, leaving me pliant and heavy in his arms.

Shepherd lowered us both to the plush area rug, cradling me in his lap. I curled into him instinctively, craving more of his warmth and closeness. He wrapped his arms more securely around me, one large hand coming up to pet over my sweat-damp hair in long, soothing strokes. I arched into his touch like a cat, a low purr building in my chest.

“You did so well, Eli,” Shepherd’s fingertips trailed over the vulnerable nape of my neck and raising goosebumps in their wake. “You were perfect for me, sweet boy. So beautiful and obedient.”

I preened internally at his gentle praise, a different kind of heat unfurling in my chest - softer and sweeter than the inferno of lust that had consumed me moments ago. I lived for Shepherd's approval, craved it like a drug.

His fingers carded through my hair, blunt nails scratching lightly at my scalp, and I sighed in bliss, arching into his touch. He petted me how I liked, as if he could sense what I needed. Long minutes passed like that, with me curled naked in his lap, boneless and sated, as he soothed me with tender touches and soft words of praise. Shepherd's steady heartbeat and even breaths lulled me, his clean scent and solid heat wrapping around me like a blanket.

Gradually, awareness of my surroundings filtered back in past the buzzing static of bliss in my head. I became cognizant of the way Shepherd's crisp dress shirt rasped against my oversensitive skin, the bunched fabric of his slacks under my bare thighs. And the hard, thick ridge of his erection pressing insistently against my hip.

Guilt pricked at me as I registered Shepherd's unsatisfied arousal, hot and heavy against me. He'd given me such intense pleasure, had praised me so sweetly as I shuddered apart for him, and yet his own needs remained unmet.

I shifted in his lap, deliberately brushing against the rigid length of him through his slacks. Shepherd inhaled sharply, his fingers tightening reflexively in my hair. Emboldened, I nuzzled into his clothed erection, mouthing at the straining fabric.

“Please, Sir,” I breathed, flicking my tongue out to trace the shape of him. “Let me take care of you, too. Use my mouth.”

Shepherd's hand fisted in my hair, tugging my head back. I whimpered at the delicious sting, meeting his heated gaze. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of brown visible around the black. But there was a firmness in his expression too, a resolve that told me he wouldn't be swayed.

“Eli,” he said, a note of warning in his deep voice. “You’re approaching a hard limit, according to our agreement.”

My stomach dropped at Shepherd's words, frustration and desperation clawing up my throat. I knew he was right, that we'd negotiated the terms of our arrangement and sexual contact was strictly off the table. But in that moment, still floating and drunk on his touch, his praise, all I could think about was how badly I needed him - needed to feel that thick cock stretching me open, claiming me, anchoring me.

“Please, Sir,” I whimpered, not above begging. Tears of frustration pricked at the corners of my eyes. “I need it. I need you. I'll do anything.”

Shepherd's expression softened, but he remained resolute, catching my wrists in his large hands when I reached for his belt. “Eli,” he said firmly, “I said no. Now, we can renegotiate the contract if you’d like, but not right now. We both need clear heads before we change anything. Now, if you keep pushing this limit, there will be consequences.”

I hung my head, shame and frustration burning through me at the gentle rebuke. “I'm sorry, Sir,” I mumbled, my voice coming out smaller than I intended. “I didn't mean to push.”

Shepherd sighed, cupping my face in his warm hands and tilting my chin up to meet his gaze. His dark eyes were serious, but not unkind. “I know this is new to you, Eli. I know you’re still learning, but you mustn’t let your impulses get the better of you again.”

I bit my lip and nodded, blinking back the tears that still threatened. “I want to be good for you, Sir,” I whispered, raw honesty bleeding into my tone. “I want to serve you well, to be the submissive you deserve. I just... I need you so badly. All the time. It's excruciating.”

Shepherd's thumbs swept over my cheekbones in a tender caress. “Oh, sweet boy. You are good for me. You please me more than you know.”

A broken sound escaped me at his praise, something between a sob and a sigh. I leaned into his touch, soaking up the rare moment of softness.

Shepherd's hands fell away from my face and I immediately missed their warmth, their steadying presence. “Go on now,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “Go get yourself cleaned up and changed into something comfortable. I'll order us some food and we can relax together for the rest of the evening.”

I nodded, slowly extricating myself from his lap on still-wobbly legs. My softening cock gave a half-hearted twitch of interest as it brushed against the wool of his slacks, drawing a shaky exhale from my lips. Shepherd's hands found my hips, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the jut of my hipbones as he helped me stand.

Shepherd's touch steadied me as I stood, but the absence of his warmth left a hollow ache in my chest. I swayed slightly, my legs still weak, and his strong hands guided me until I found my balance. His gaze followed me, heavy and dark, but he remained composed, his control unwavering.

“Go on, Eli,” he reminded me, his voice soft but authoritative. “Do as I said.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded again, the sting of disappointment still fresh, but the comfort of his praise lingered. I wanted to make him proud, to prove that I could be the obedient submissive he desired.

Without another word, I turned and padded toward the bathroom, feeling Shepherd's eyes on me the entire way. Each step took me farther from his touch, the urge to turn back and beg for more almost overwhelming, but I fought it down. He’d given me what I needed—reassurance, care—and he was right. We both needed clearer heads.

Sometimes, what I needed wasn’t the same thing as what I wanted. It was a difficult lesson to learn.