I'm fine. The next person, who asks, if I'm okay, will get a punch on a muzzle
(Dean Winchester "Supernatural")
South Korea, 2018
The room was fairly large and contrary to the general idea of light-gray, quiet tones, was lit by a subdued light. Enough, what to clearly see the situation, but not so much, as to tire the tired eye. Thanks to the high ceilings, the room seemed even larger, which contributed to an unlimited field of any influences. Heavy Indigo drapes framed the windows, hiding what was happening inside from prying eyes. The soft shag carpet allowed to move freely with bare feet on its surface, pleasantly enveloping feet.
Next to the window – a high rack with many shelves, each of which lay peacefully, waiting for its hour, all sorts of devices. Their owner did not like to hide his favorite toys behind tight closet doors or in the darkness of another dark box. He liked to flaunt them, thus showing the choice to any daredevil, who decided to enter here. The owner of this place had nothing to hide. With the help of the devices he created. He created, that no one else could do. He is an artist in his field, and the items on the shelves are the tools of his sophisticated creativity.
Next to the wall, right in the middle, was a king-size bed. A little further away is a small table with securely fixed legs. The room would have seemed completely ordinary and unremarkable, with the exception, of course, of a fairly fair selection of devices, if not for what was happening inside. On that same bed, the limp body of a young guy was sprawled, shivering, and sweating. His arms, encircled by simple graphic tattoos, were secured by wide leather locks, which in turn were attached to the headboard on either side. The legs were tightly wrapped around the metal blocks, making it impossible not allowing to reduce or spread the limbs to the sides. The guy was completely immobilized, lying on his stomach, resting his face in a soft mattress. Every time he tried to move his hands, the seemingly soft leather bracelets clamped around his wrists, causing a palpable discomfort to his sweaty skin, and the metal on his legs dug into his ankles, threatening to leave noticeable bruises, that would surely show up the next morning. But that wasn't, what he wanted. The guy was desperately waiting for his Master to threaten with a lash, once again giving the long-awaited and so pleasant pain to his starved body.
Each blow of the multi-tailed braided lash was accompanied by a deep and stifled groan from submissive and the heavy, rapid, hot breath of his Dominant. The guy's back was on fire: each of the lash's tails felt like a small blow, but together it's felt much more sensitive. And given the intensity and timing of the impact on the red-streaked skin, already swollen in places, submissive barely felt, where the blow was coming from, and could not distinguish each tail of the lash separately, as previously. He just waited for the next swing, trying to hear the lash, as it whizzed through the air and landed on his sweating, torn back. His skin tingled mercilessly as individual drops of sweat fell on particularly vulnerable places, where the lash had touched its fierce kiss more than once or twice. Arms and legs were numb from what seemed to have been the same position for several hours. His teeth bit into the pale blue sheet, leaving dark spots where saliva dripped. The throat was dry from the constant monotonous sighs and moans. Dark circles swam in front of his eyes, drawing him deeper and deeper into the impenetrable darkness. Blood thundered in his ears, blotting out all the sounds around him, leaving only a loud heartbeat. The bright pain seemed to spread all over his body, sending searing flashes, engulfing his whole body. Submissive didn't know, where the beginning of one stroke and ends with another. The body went limp with every second, sinking into the abyss, but easily and so freely. The guy was drifting on the edge of pain and madness, walking on the edge of the abyss, intending to throw himself down with alacrity. His body had become a sort of incoherent and limp substance. It is like pliable soft clay in the hands of an experienced sculptor. And he wanted to be whole again. Find yourself. Take control of what's happening. But the desire to surrender to other's mercy, to put yourself in the hands of an experienced Master, to relax and allow another to take control of own body, was so alluring and pleasant. As a result, the guy felt the last crumbs of sanity, that still held him in this world leave him, and he willingly steps into the abyss.
"Tell me your color."
Master's voice is muffled and indistinct. Submissive drifts on the waves of the subspace, that has finally surged. He doesn't want to go back. He lets out a long, noisy breath, unable to utter a word.
"Tell me your color, John."
The guy remains silent. Master breathes raggedly after the regular session. His chest rises and falls with each heavy and noisy breath. The hand continues to grip the hilt of the device. Submissive doesn't hear him. The Dominant immediately lowers the lash, albeit reluctantly, and puts it on the nearest table. He goes to the sprawled body and crouches down next to it. Turning the submissive's head to one side so, that he does not suffocate, Master understands – the guy has flown away. Junior's eyes are open, but empty and serene, and his expression is a mixture of joy and incomprehension. The session is terminated. As if Master did not want to continue, as if he did not want to plunge into even more excitement, slashing such a pleasant look, blood-red shade of light and delicate skin, safety above all! Submissive is unable to continue the session. He didn't hear Dominant's call. Could not consciously control the further process. The euphoria, that enveloped his mind after the received subspace, did not allow him to assess the situation soberly. This was the difference between the Master's work and that of his submissive.
The Dominant's body shook with an almost overwhelming sense of satisfaction. But he could rarely afford the domspace fortune. He was obliged to control the process completely, constantly keep himself in hand, to soberly assess the condition of his partner and stop the session in time for the safety of the partner, even if the latter did not utter his safe word in time or did not warn Master about the desire to stop the process. All these nuances rarely contributed to the submergence of the Dominant in a state of complete satisfaction.
However, Master was not only dissatisfied with this. His emotional component had faded into the background. Over the past few sessions, his submissive's condition seemed to have deteriorated. He began to schedule unscheduled sessions, appeared on the doorstep excited and angry, lost control of his reactions and the process as a whole. Session times have also increased. The bottom could not reach the final point of reference, the subspace rolled on him for a long time, but at the same time persistently and for a long time. Submissive lost consciousness for a longer time. Coming out of a state of satisfaction with the session, it seemed, even more irritable. All this did not please Master. This behavior was dangerous for both – bottom and Top in general. But the most important thing was, that the submissive stubbornly refused to discuss it. No matter, how hard Master tried, the bottom didn't want to talk. And the second rule after security was the complete trust of the bottom and his Top. Without a trusting relationship, thematic meetings should be avoided.
Bottom hissed slightly, as Master ran a cotton swab dipped in antiseptic over the swollen red skin on his back. He regained consciousness about half an hour later when Dominant had almost finished processing his injuries. It remains to apply a healing ointment and several bandages on the most vulnerable parts of the back. Master truly admired the work done: large stripes from the lash tails crossed the entire back crosswise, also skirting the shoulders and touching a small area of the lower back. Quite painful and sensitive, but neat enough to completely hide under clothing, without attracting too much attention.
"Don't," submissive's slightly hoarse voice was deafening in the silence of the room, as Top treated the damage with salve, intending to apply bandages. "Leave it like this."
"If I don't cover the skin, any contact with the tissue will cause pain."
"I know."
Master frowned but gave in to the bottom's desire.
"How are you feeling, John?"
"Perfectly. Thanks… Master," the young guy turned to his Dominant and smiled acidly, intoning the last word. Now, in fairly good light, could clearly see his face: medium-sized deep brown eyes framed by black eyeliner, thick neat dark brows, one of which was crowned with a chameleon-colored titanium twister, thickly made-up long lashes, a regular nose, pink lips slightly swollen from bites, the right corner of the lower one was decorated with the same titanium black circular, a scorching blush on the still-young cheeks. The makeup, so carefully applied a few hours ago, was smudged and blurred in places from the intensity of the tear and the constant presence of the face in the fabric. His dark hair, which had been arranged in a chaotic mess, now looked even more upturned and tousled. The entire image of the guy as a whole represented blatant audacity in addition to insubordination. Fascinating picture. It was hard to imagine, that such a defiant, bright, at first glance impenetrable and confident guy playing the role of "bottom", allowing his Master to draw simple patterns, turning his skin into a kind of canvas under the hands of an experienced artist. This is how Dominant liked to see him. But now there was no time for admiration. A submissive must explain.
"Don't call me like that outside of the session," senior grimaced and got out of bed, leaving his partner personal space. He knew that the guy didn't really like other's touch for him without any reason, especially, when it came to partners of the same gender.
"Thank you, Blake-Hyong," the young guy corrected, and winced again, as the fresh wounds itched and stung again at the slightest attempt to move. But that was exactly, what he needed. Pain. A feeling, that will help him come to his senses and take control of his life again. But lately, it was getting harder. He began to schedule sessions much more often, than a conditional agreement, and completely fly off coils in the process. And recently something happened, that hasn't happened to John in a long time. Blake-Hyong abruptly canceled the session, citing an important business meeting at work, and John began to panic. He couldn't contain his anger and resentment. These sessions were necessary to him as air, given the recent events in his life. John felt the need so fiercely, that he could not stand it until the next session, and did what Dominant forbade: self-inflicted such long-awaited damage. The hidden knife, a gift from a former partner, was still in its box in the darkest corner of the closet. His hands twitched in anticipation, as he pulled out the item and ran headlong to the bathroom. Closing the door firmly, though it wasn't necessary, he sat on the edge of the tub, holding the knife handle firmly in his hand. After treating the blade with antiseptic and running the flame from an old lighter for more efficiency, John lowered his pants to his knees and bit his lip, touching the metal tip to the skin on the inside of his thigh, just below the groin. The coolness seared no less a flame, and pleasant sparks of emotional excitement raced through his body, exploding one after another in small fireworks, making knees shake shamefully. Pressing a little harder, John felt the sharp edge of the knife pierce the tender skin, causing such a welcome pain. John closed his eyes, seeing bright flashes, and his hand continued to press on the handle until the guy felt a tickle somewhere near the dangerous object. Droplets of blood slowly trickled down the skin of his thigh, dripping onto the light floor, turning it bright and beautiful blood red. John cut himself several times before realizing, that he had caught the feeling, that he was missing. Removing all the items in their places, the guy treated the wound, slightly hissing from unpleasant, but at the same time desirable sensations, bandaging the thigh with a gauze bandage. It was immediately soaked in blood, but John didn't care. Feeling a prickling sensation somewhere between his thighs, he was sure, that now he could hold out until a full session with his Master.
"You need to eat," Blake was standing next to a medium-sized semicircular table, that held a bowl of fruit, various brands of chocolate, juices, and drinking water.
"Hyong," the guy grimaced, glancing at the table next to senior. He was forced to take at least a small dose of Blake after each session. John wasn't particularly happy about it.
"It's not my whim, John. Your body must recover and function properly. After a full session, it is not recommended to eat heavy food, but your blood sugar level should be normal," Blake pointed to the table, motioning for junior to come over.
"Hyong, you same know, that I this not eat," John all same has drawn and sat down in near behind a small chair, skeptically looking around the choice "sweets". As soon as the guy's back touched the back of the chair, even if it was quite soft, the fresh wounds immediately made themselves felt, and John sat up straight. To experience pain, without being exposed to the endorphins, running through the bloodstream and causing such a sweet, numbing sense of oblivion was the flip side of the coin.
"My submissive must be healthy and eat properly. At least, in my presence," Blake's voice was calm and even, but there was still a hint of authority in Dominant voice somewhere beyond the line.
John sighed and picked up the first tile he saw, taking a bite. Blake nodded in satisfaction and moved a little to one side, lighting a cigarette. Gray smoke billowed over the guy's face like a transparent cloud. In this light, he seemed even more impenetrable. John had always admired his senior's self-control. No matter, what he did, no matter, what he said, he always remained calm and confident. Not a single muscle moved on his beautiful face.
"John, what's going on with you?"
John was taken aback by the senior's question. He almost choked on the orange juice, that he had just poured into his glass.
"What are you talking about, Hyong?"
Senior looked at his donsen carefully and seriously, taking another drag on his cigarette.
"Your emotional state is abnormal. Our meetings don't help you. You've become irritable and nervous. The sessions have become more intense, but your body can't cope with the damage, and you can't achieve satisfaction from the process. And when the subspace still covers you, you completely fall out of reality. And for quite a long time. So, what's going on?"
John lowered his eyes under the senior's gaze. He didn't want to share his problems. It wasn't his style. The guy tried to confide as little as possible with his senior, but unfortunately, he could not hide his condition from his Master.
John himself knew, that his behavior was deviating from the norm. But he still put on a nonchalant mask and smiled in the hope, that he could deceive his Hyong. As it is not so…
"It's all right, Hyong, really. Nothing like that. Just a little tired. The first week at Uni is hard."
It was almost true. John had joined the faculty of medicine about a week ago and was already cursing everything about it. He wanted something else entirely. Wanted to build his own future life. But his father decided everything for him, did not allow him to enter the chosen faculty at will, put pressure on authority, forcing him to submit to his will.
"Faculty of visual arts? Are you a girl, hah? I put up with your hobbies, waiting for you to grow out of them. You should choose a more paid and prestigious profession. How will your daub, which you call art, pay off?"
His father's words still rang in his head. That's how he called the future desire and passion of his son – a daub, that would later prove to be useless to anyone. John wanted to draw. His soul was desperate for it. Every time he picked up a pencil or brush, the world disappeared for him. There was only him and the blank white canvas before his eyes. John could do anything with being completely out of touch with reality. It was akin to the feeling, that he felt here, in the capable hands of his Master. But the ancestor decided everything for him!
And that wasn't the only problem. His seemingly solid heterosexual relationship fell apart, like a house of cards, when he found his now ex-girlfriend in the hands of her former crony.
"You've always been difficult, Jonghyong. I've never been able to fully understand you. It's like you're in your own world, and you just don't care about me. And besides, sex with you is like torture. You don't know, what tenderness and affection are. After your elaborate fantasies, I can't walk for a few days. I'm sick of it."
In real life, John didn't exist. There was the impenetrable and sullen Kim Jonghyong, who was used to keeping everything under tight control and never revealed his true emotions. And only here, for the big heavy door of the room in the dim light, the big bed Kim Jonghyong become John, who was given voluntarily alien male hands, trying to free yourself from liabilities and total control, which used, in an attempt to get those same emotions and feelings, that couldn't give anyone, even the most skillful pussy in the world – pain and humiliation.
"When was the last time, when you fucked, John?" the question was so impenetrable and unemotional, that John almost laughed.
"Hyong, don't you think, it's a little out of your business?"
Senior tensed and was immediately at the table, where John was sitting. Even though the session was over, and he was just his Hyong, his senior, and his sonbae, John still didn't want to make Blake angry for no reason.
"I am your Hyong, but I am also your Master. And "knowing" is my business. If you can't maintain a trusting relationship with me, I don't see the point in continuing our meetings. Thematic sessions are based on the complete trust of the Dominant and his submissive. And I haven't been able to get a word out of you lately. If you feel not only psychological but also physiological dissatisfaction with our sessions, choose a Dominatrix. Sexual needs are not always the basis of a thematic meeting. But if you don't have enough, you'll have to think about changing your partner."
"Hyong! What the bullshit are you talking about? How can you give me to some girl, who will spank me and then fuck me? You've been my Master for two years. Doesn't that mean anything to you?!" senior's words hurt his ego. John felt unwanted, and for a submissive, this is the ultimate humiliation.
"If it didn't mean anything to me, I would have given up sessions with you after a few tentative meetings at the very beginning of our acquaintance. You remember the first time, when you came here, don't you?"
Of course, John remembered that very well. He was about eighteen at the time, and had literally just broken up with his former and… the first partner. This guy was almost seven years older than he was, but John didn't care about what seemed like a huge age difference. Senior seduced him when he was sixteen. John was caught in the net of an experienced adult man, but at that moment he was not afraid of him at all. It seemed to him, that they loved each other, that they needed no one, but the two of them. But how wrong he was. Just six months later the real essence of his then-boyfriend came out. He turned out to be a cruel and unrestrained tyrant, jealous of his juniors of every lamppost, embodying indescribably stupid reproaches and quarrels. But at night… if John was in his hands at night, his senior was no longer the sweet and loving guy, he had seemed in the beginning. He beat John almost to unconsciousness, managing to leave no visible traces, but this was no less humiliating and painful, fucked so, that junior could not get out of bed for the next few days, showered insults, that John never heard, continuing to drive into his body with sweeping, hard thrusts, almost on dry. And when he saw the damage done the next day, senior gently and carefully stroked the traces of his work, describing circles with his long bony fingers on the body of the helpless young guy, and apologized, begging for forgiveness, swore, that this would not happen again, that he loved his boy and could not live without him. And John believed him, dropping bitter tears on the pillowcase, wincing at the next painful touch of his hand. But soon everything resumed. And John just couldn't stop it. The Stockholm syndrome worked really well: John realized, that he simply could not survive without his tormentor.
But after almost two years senior simply disappeared. Disappeared from John's radar, leaving only a brief message of farewell. And that's when John started to panic. His body, already used to this, was in desperate need of torture. John felt like a drug addict, who hadn't been given another dose in time. Given his young age, his body's sexual desires, and such a sophisticated need, John simply couldn't help himself. Casual sex with a girl at a party did not satisfy him for a moment. He almost strangled his in a fit of anger. His body was shaking from lack of certain sensations, his thoughts were confused, not allowing him to concentrate, his hands were shaking and not obeying, and all this was driving the guy crazy.
At that moment he tried to inflict injuries on his own for the first time. The knife, that his senior had given him, and that he had used on him himself more than once, was safely hidden in the closet. And John immediately took advantage of it. As soon as he felt a sharp pain, shoot through the inside of his hand, and John's blood was sticky and warm on his skin… slightly released. But only slightly. He pressed the blade harder on the soft tissue, causing more red fluid to seep through his clenched fist. The pain did not subside, spreading pleasurably through all the innards, touching sensitive nerves, sending bright flashes, that went straight to the brain itself. Feelings of excitement and adrenaline seized the guy, and he squeezed the blade of the knife even harder, feeling the excitement descend to his groin, and an unrestrained and hoarse moan bursts from his throat.
The member was filled with weight and proudly rose under the fabric of lighthouse trousers almost immediately. John closed his eyes and reached into his pants with his free hand, stroking the throbbing organ, still clutching the knife. The pain, which bordered on wild excitement and pleasant sensations, that was given by his own palm, simply blew the roof off. As he worked with his hand, pulling his foreskin tighter each time, he kept moaning, biting his lower lip hard, tasting the sweetish taste in his mouth. He cum as violently and violently, as he had not done for a long time by his own hand. The young guy was terrified, when he realized, what he had done. One hand still gripped the blade, and the other held his cock in a tight grip. John dropped the knife on the floor, as he ran to the bathroom, getting under the cool shower.
"You sick bastard. This is what you've become," the guy whispered to himself over and over, trying to banish images of the madness, that had just occurred in the room. But he couldn't deny, that he didn't like it, couldn't guarantee, that it wouldn't happen again. And was not mistaken… After a while, he felt the need to experience similar emotions again. This happened especially often in moments of sexual tension. The hand could not bring the long-awaited release unless accompanied by a painful sensation of the blade on the hot skin of the palm or the inner part of the thigh.
The guy didn't know, what to do. How to get rid of this nagging feeling inside, which, like a virus of a worm, is deeply embedded in his brain. Every time he remembered the sex scenes with his ex-partner, he was shaken with fear, and somewhere in the back of his mind, John was glad, that senior had left him. But the body was desperate for torture. So, the guy ended up in a closed club for themes. Having previously studied the closed site from top to bottom as well, as crawling around with fifty others in search of additional information on BDSM-related topics, John still stepped on the threshold of the institution.
"How old are you, child?" this was the first question Blake-Hyong asked him when they met. All information about members of the club was considered strictly confidential, real names were not used, video surveillance was not conducted, and there was no verification of any documents for their authenticity. Members of the club came here consciously, already knowing, what they were going for. But this did not mean, that the establishment was not guarded and did not follow all the points of protection of its members. Security stood at almost every room, whether it was a room for a private business conversation or a thematic meeting, and was ready to help and ensure the safety of any member of the club.
"Did you hear, what I asked?" Blake's voice cut through the silence, and John felt a pleasant sensation of slight fear settle in the pit of his stomach. Hyong exuded the dominance and strength of an experienced male, despite the fact, that he was quite unremarkable in appearance: a medium build and height guy, with rather thin arms, but broad shoulders and firm chest. Just his posture and piercing gaze aroused deep respect and a desire to obey. And his hoarse, slightly sibilant voice, made want to listen to him implicitly.
John blinked and nodded at the senior's question.
"Twenty," the young guy said uncertainly. He was lying. He was barely eighteen, and he was well aware, that he would be thrown out if he revealed his real age. Thanks to the false documents, he managed to fool the guards, but the attentive and serious Hyong, who was looking at him, as if he was going to burn a hole in his head, seemed not to be fooled.
Despite the bright and bold makeup, flashy expensive clothes, and wayward character, the guy's face still gave away his youth. And Blake immediately noticed it. But he also noticed something else. Madness. Madness, that literally resonated in the air, enveloping the guy completely. He tried to look fearless and even a little defiant, but his hands were visibly shaking over the table, his hips were drawn together, and his feet continued to tap-dance on the tiled marble floor from time to time.
"'Eighteen' I'll believe it faster," Blake kept his stubborn gaze on the younger guy, who shivered with a prickly sense of guilt at his blatant lie. John swallowed hard and cleared his throat, then clasped his hands together in an attempt to keep from shaking.
"Okay, I'm eighteen, but…"
"I'm not a pedophile or a child molester. I don't do sessions with minors," Blake started to get up from the table, but junior immediately leaned over and grabbed the other's arm. The touch stung, and John immediately remembered the rough, bony fingers on his tormented buttocks and closed his eyes, trying to suppress a sudden wave of nausea. But he needed it. Absolutely necessary.
"Hyong, please, beg you. I need this, really. Very, very necessary. Help me, please!"
Blake raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Just now this boy seemed to him just a spoiled child, stupid and pompous, who had no idea, what he was really getting into. Every day different kinds of people came here: men, women, young guys, underage girls. Blake had never liked the institution's policy on the age of its members. But everyone had their own preferences, and the club provided an opportunity to satisfy them as much, as possible. During his five years of membership, Blake had never engaged in relationships with underage partners, never agreed to repeat sessions, if he realized, that the person was not psychologically stable. He's a sadist, but not a pervert. Blake was not going to satisfy the needs of lustful men or spoiled young girls, just because they decided to try something "new". The theme is not a hobby, not a one-time hobby, and not a game, that two vanilla-lovers can play out of boredom. The theme is what you are. It's inside you. This is you.
Blake had learned a long time ago, that his needs for sexual and emotional gratification were far from, what most people considered normal. He joined this club consciously, although at that time he did not have enough experience, and he regularly attending thematic meetings and training seminars on topics of interest to him. In five years of membership in the club Blake has learned everything, he knows now. John could be his fifth male partner. At the moment he was only having sessions with one girl-bottom and, frankly, would not mind getting the guy's body at his disposal. But it wasn't even his age, that bothered him so much. It was the guy's emotional state, that Blake didn't like. John was unstable psychologically, and it was visible even to the naked eye. Blake didn't like to get involved with such partners. Later, they became difficult to manage, the session got out of control, and submissive often fell into a subdrop for no good reason, just because of an unbalanced state of mind. In truth, Blake would have advised this child to have the help of a good psychologist and the support of people close to him, rather than a session with an experienced sadist.
But something in the guy's eyes, in his actions, in the way John gripped his wrist with both desperation and confidence, made Blake feel uncharacteristically sympathetic and understanding for this maknae. After all, his intention to come here already spoke of a desperate decision. And if Blake doesn't agree to become his partner and can at least partially bring the guy out of this state, maybe, someone else, but less attentive and thoughtful, do that with him.
"All right," Blake gently released the guy's metal grip from his wrist. "I suggest, we have a trial session, after which we can figure out if our preferences are right for each other or not. If we are both satisfied, we will enter into a written contract, that clearly sets out our responsibilities and desires. But if you turn out to be just a spoiled brat, who came here out of boredom, I'll end the session right away, and you'll be kicked out of here so fast, that you won't even have time to blink."
Blake was a good judge of character. His even small experience in the subject allowed him to literally read the reactions of the intended partner's body. Also affected by the love of psychology. He knew, that the guy wasn't lying. He really needs, what he came here for. But it was his duty, as Top, to warn about all possible negative consequences, observing the conditions of secrecy, security, and voluntary agreement of the partner for certain actions. The theme was inside him, an integral part of his life, even outside these doors. The Dominant and tough nature of senior did not leave for a moment, but this did not mean, that his position suited everyone without exception.
John nodded madly, then rose from his chair so, that it almost fell to the floor.
"First, you need to calm down, you're too emotionally stressed," Blake said to his supposed partner, who lowered his gaze and lowered his head to the floor, causing his dark brown bangs to fall over his forehead, almost completely hiding his face. "I want you to be yourself outside of the session. If I become your Master, you will obey me implicitly, do whatever I want, given your limits. But outside of the session, I'm not your Master! I'm your Hyong, and you don't have to act like you're not used to it outside this place. Do you understand, what I'm saying?"
John looked up uncertainly, and there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He nodded, licking his dry lips, and followed behind the senior.
"I read your profile before met you. Your preferences are too vague."
"Yes, I know. I just wasn't sure, what could handle, and what couldn't, so I only indicated, what had already experienced."
John's voice trembled slightly, as they entered the room, and Blake closed the door behind him.
"Physical torture – this is all, what you need? Or is sexual satisfaction also included in the spectrum of your preferences?"
"I am… don't know," John flushed at the mere mention of sex, but Blake didn't seem to flinch.
"What do you mean, you don't know? Do you feel the need to have sex, when you feel pain? Do you feel sexual arousal from the fact, that your body is being damaged?"
John thought about it and nodded. The only way, he could cum the last days, was with a knife between his fingers. But he hadn't had direct sexual contact in a long time, not since the time at the party when he'd nearly strangled his partner in a fit of anger.
"All right. If you feel any discomfort or something, that makes you stop, just let me know. Your safe word?"
"What?" John stared blankly at Blake, who rolled his eyes at maknae's complete ignorance.
"Did you choose a safe word, that you will use to stop the session, if you think, that my actions are too intense for you, and you can't stand it?"
"No."
"You need to think about it. At the moment we will use the standard choice of colors: green, yellow, red. 'Green' - you use this signal, when you are completely sure, that my actions do not cause you psychological or physical damage, that you are ready to continue the session, being in full clarity of mind. Do you understand me?"
John nodded. After almost every question, Blake-Hyong asked him about it.
"'Yellow' - this color is used as a warning signal. You can call it, if you feel, that my actions are too intense, and you would like to reduce the effect, but not stop the session completely. Do you know?"
Another nod.
"'Red' - this color is used to stop the session completely. If you feel, that my actions are too intense, painful, or unpleasant for you, you can use the stop sign with the word "red", and all actions on my part will immediately stop. I guarantee you complete safety, I will not do anything, that will harm your health or psychological state. But you must clearly define your limits, so that I know, how far I can go. What exactly do you need. I will not do anything, that is beyond what is permissible for you, but whatever you designate as permissible will be used to its full extent, if I so choose. Do you understand, what I'm saying?"
"Yes."
Blake walked slowly, but steadily toward the guy, his hands outstretched in the direction of his shirt. John shivered slightly but tried to relax. Blake-Hyong promised not to harm him. Long, neat fingers methodically undid the buttons, exposing the pale skin, revealing a young guy's chest. Blake looked down at the naked, taut torso and unconsciously licked his lips, imagining, how beautiful purple-red stripes would flash like fire on such a pristine and beautiful clean canvas. Blake let the shirt fall to the floor at his feet, and was about to grab the younger guy's trousers, putting his hands to the belt buckle, when maknae suddenly shivered and grabbed senior's hands, shaking his head from side to side.
"N… do not. Like this… do not."
"You said, you were sexually aroused by bodily pain."
"I don't want sex, Hyong… Please. No… not like this… Not again…"
The guy's body was shaking with a large shudder, sending huge goosebumps along the skin. John closed his eyes in fear and held Hyong's hands tightly, preventing him from moving any further. It was only now, as Blake looked down, that he saw the methodical cross-section of scars peeking out from just above the hem of his trousers. He gently freed his hands from junior's grip and took hold of the straps of his pants.
In the eyes of maknae appeared to panic. He didn't know, where to hide from senior's insistent hands. After all, Blake-Hyong had promised, that he wouldn't do anything, that John didn't want to do. He tried again to push senior's hands away from his trousers, but Hyong looked up and studied John, and his voice was calm and soft, "I won't hurt you. I'll just take a look. RRelax.
John hesitantly let his pants drop a little, exposing his pelvic bones. He bit his lips hard, feeling the touch of other's fingers, where the blade of a sharp knife had danced in the past.
Blake had been carefully examining small, but fairly deep scars just above the pelvic bone maknae. It's were smooth and neat, as if the person, who had applied them, had shown unusual self-control and knowledge of their work. The younger guy's breathing quickened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, as Blake lightly touched the scars with his fingers. Hearing a choked sob somewhere above his head, Blake immediately took his hands off his skin and straightened to his full height. Going around the guy, senior saw wide light stripes, that hugged a large area of the back. Healed scars from whipping with a belt. This guy was subjected to physical torture long before, he came here.
"Sit."
When John opened his eyes, he saw, that Blake-Hyong was sitting a little away from him in a large chair, one leg crossed over the other, lighting a cigarette. Junior was so lost in the depths of his own fear, trying so hard to build another protective barrier against other men's touch, that he didn't notice when Blake-Hyong left him.
"What is it, Hyong?"
"I'm supposed to be asking that question, right? Why did you really come here, maknae? You can't stand even the slightest touch of your skin. I can imagine, what would happen to you, if I touched your body with one of my devices. Your body has already been subjected to torture, and judging by your reactions, you were not happy about it. So, why did you come here?"
John took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He was afraid, that Hyong would get mad at him. And so it turned out. Junior thought, that this was what he needed: the same treatment, that his senior had once used on him, torture and rough sex. But as soon as he felt even the slightest shadow of protection from his current Hyong, his bravado collapsed to all hell, causing his body to beat in hysterics from fear, and his brain to boil with overflowing thoughts.
After what seemed like an eternity, Blake's face didn't change, but it was still calm and impenetrable, even though maknae had just poured out his heart to him. But this was one of the first rules of the relationship between Master and his submissive – complete trust in the partner.
"Given what you've told me, I recommend, that you exclude direct sexual contact. As well as any touching, that is not related to the session as a whole and first aid. But you still need to think seriously about, what is within the limits of what is acceptable to you. Make a complete list, what you are willing to do, and what you refuse to do. I, in turn, will prepare rules, that you must strictly observe both in this room and outside it. If there is any disagreement, we will definitely discuss it. If in the future you want to add new clauses to the contract, we will discuss it. But you mustn't hide anything from me, or it won't work. I will not meet with you without full trust and will simply terminate the sessions, if I understand, that you are not sincere with me, endanger your health and body without my knowledge, or do not comply with the points, that will be specified in the contract. Do you understand me?"
The methodical and familiar question was asked as if Blake expected an immediate refusal. The guy was young and broken. He had no idea, what he wanted to get involved in. But maknae nodded slowly, but with understanding, not taking his eyes from his Hyong.
It had been two years since they'd met. And during this time, John became more manageable, became better able to control his emotions, feelings, desires, and preferences. The guy attended thematic meetings with his Master, delved into the process completely. He even became more loyal to his personal space and didn't flinch or pull away so much, when Blake touched him. The young guy gradually opened up and trusted his Hyong, but first of all, he trusted his Master.
And now, watching the state of his bottom the last few sessions, Blake was concerned about the changes. The guy seemed to be returning to the state, in which Blake had first seen him. And it wasn't just John or the session that was affected. This completely affected senior.
John remained silent, unsure whether to share his personal problems with Hyong. After all, nothing really happened. Who hasn't had problems with a girlfriend or a slight nervous breakdown, when entering a serious University after a carefree school life?
"You didn't answer my question, John. When was the last time you had sex?"
"A few months ago."
"It's a long time. You had an established relationship and regular sex. What happened?"
John closed his eyes again, remembering the unpleasant incident. He couldn't say, that the event had upset him that much. And it certainly wasn't the cause of his nervous breakdown. It just all came together like a snowball: the father's reproaches, the mother's disapproving look, the constant care of his younger brother, the girlfriend's infidelity, the new school year. But that was still not the reason.
"It's not just that," Blake seemed to read his thoughts. John had never been able to lie to his senior, much less to Master.
"I met someone at Uni."
Blake raised an eyebrow and reached for another cigarette.
"So, what's the problem? Judging by your reactions, the situation is much more complicated and goes beyond the usual sympathy, am I right?"
John nodded and drained the last of his juice, to moisten his dry throat.
"So, what's really bothering you?"
"Aish, it's a guy, Hyong! Fucking guy from my stream. Every time I see him, I start to shake. I can't control myself."
"That's why you came more often. Therefore, your reactions are different from the usual norm. With the help of action, you want to drown out the emotions, that you actually experience. But you know, what the problem is?" Blake stood up and approached the younger man, looming over him. "You're only making it worse."
"You think, I don't understand? I can't remember when the last time I felt this kind of tension. I feel like an unsatisfied urchin, who secretly wants to get under a maiden's skirt. It's annoying, Hyong, you know."
"Did you try to contact him?"
"I didn't have to. He spoke to me himself. And to be honest, it didn't make me feel any better."
This senior constantly crossed paths with John at Uni. They were in the same flow, but Hyong was two years older than him. As soon as he came into view, maknae would freeze in place, like a stone statue, unable to speak. This senior was driving him crazy. One look at his eyes, which were adjusted with high-quality sky-blue lenses, and junior was ready to throw himself on his knees before him and do, whatever he asked. The appearance of his new acquaintance did not match his powerful aura at all. Hyong had the makings of a domineering presence, and John could feel the fucking vibe of him. And that was what scared the hell out of him.
"You need to fuck, John. One action is not enough. At your age, the body needs emotional and physical release. You are young and full of hormones."
"Thank you for your advice, Hyong. As if I don't know it myself."
Blake-Hyong was right. But when he imagined another painted girl beneath him, he shuddered with revulsion. And he gave up on sex with guys two years ago, when he broke up with his first one and walked through these doors. It unconsciously, suddenly from nowhere came a desire to give himself to his senior from Uni, and it scarecrow and strained John to such an extent, that he tried to stifle these sensations under the blurred, drawn into the endless abyss veil long-awaited subspace with his Top.
"I told you, that I am always ready to consider new clauses in our agreement if you wish," Blake-Hyong's voice snapped John out of his thoughts, and he blinked away the delusion.
"Thank you, Hyong, really. But you know, I don't fuck with guys."
Blake just nodded understandingly. He made no secret of his sexual attraction to junior. But he did not press him, fully respecting the limits of his personal space and strictly observing the boundaries of what is permissible, which he indicated. Within two years, junior had already allowed himself to open up, began to trust, was allowed to experiment, and was always ready to consider new suggestions for the session. But it never came to sex.
"Next time, when you feel, that you need action again, call me before you make an official appointment, and we'll discuss it, okay?"
John nodded and got up from his comfortable chair, feeling the wounds on his back, which had calmed down during the rest, begin to itch again. He went into the small bathroom to correct his face and hair. Taking a shower now wasn't the best idea. So, John decided to leave it at least until morning. Putting on a light shirt, the guy again winced at the contact of the fabric with his bare back. Blake-Hyong was right, as always. Without the gauze bandages, the wounds remained completely open, and pain shot through the entire body at the slightest movement. But that was exactly, what John needed now. To control his emotions and feelings, that was what he needed.
He thanked Hyong again and calmly went outside, breathing in the fresh air after the stuffy room. The guy closed his eyes a little and tried to listen to the echoes of pain, which sent electric shocks through all his limbs, seeming to run all the way to the brain. He bit his lip and took a couple of deep breaths. He can handle it.
He did it then, and he will do it now. He is no longer the awkward and scared teenager, that he came here. Not the little boy, that Blake-Huong had pulled from the depths of his own fears, thereby balancing a precarious psychological state.
From the pleasant sensations of the guy, the loud vibration of the phone pulled out. He cursed and took the phone out of his pocket, groaning when he saw his best friend's name on the screen.
Chaebom, "Kim Jonghyong, get your ass over here right now, or I won't be responsible for myself! You promised, that you'd go to this fucking party with me. So, please, get on your damn bike and get over here as fast, as you can!"
Jonghyong had completely forgotten about the stupid party, that Muyong-Hyong had thrown, when he invited a few freshmen, including himself and Chaebom. For the moment all, Jonghyong desperately wanted, was to be home and sleep soundly. But he didn't want to offend his friend. Probably, the only friend he had left. On the other hand, it's likely, that alcohol and a relaxed party atmosphere will really help relax. In fact, Blake-Hyong was not happy with the fact, that Jonghyong allowed himself to drink, since it directly harmed his body, especially, after the action. But Jonghyong didn't plan to hold sessions for the next couple of days, and senior didn't need to know, what he was going to do today.
Jonghyong quickly typed a short answer and moved towards his bike, turning out his pockets in search of keys as he did so. The idea of a party suddenly didn't seem so bad. The only thing, that maknae prayed to all the existing gods, was that this gathering was not attended by Park, fucking, Jungsuk, who made Jonghyong's knees buckle at the sight of him.