Point of Order

by Jane Davitt

Blair passed a head of lettuce down to a kneeling Jim and chuckled. "Reversal of position. Want to borrow my collar?"

Jim wedged the lettuce on top of a bottle of wine and then glanced up at Blair. "You think me being on my knees and you being up there makes a difference when it comes to what I am to you?"

He watched Blair blink, absorbing the change in his mood. Oh, yeah. The groceries could wait. Jim wanted to play some more. "No?" Blair replied uncertainly.

Jim edged back enough to slam the fridge door and twisted so that he was facing Blair. Without haste, he placed himself in the exact, precise kneeling position that he'd -- finally -- taught Blair to assume at the snap of his fingers. "Do I look like you when you're kneeling?" he inquired, his voice pleasant.

"Uh, maybe. A bit. If we're not being literal, because you're six inches taller and there's the whole thing with me having more hair…" Blair was hedging, a flush rising in his face, his teeth worrying his lip. His consternation and confusion were adorable and completely fake; Jim could see just how much Blair was enjoying this.

Hard to miss the stiffening of Blair's cock when it was right in front of you.

Jim brought his spread knees an inch closer to each other, subtly reminding Blair that his access to Jim's body, visual or tactile, wasn't a right but a privilege. He relaxed in an easy slouch, not the arrow-straight spine he demanded from Blair, or the penitent bow of a man with his forehead to the floor, but his own choice of position. With exaggerated deliberation, he ran his gaze over Blair, from socked feet to windblown hair and rubbed the heel of his hand across the throb and pulse of his own dick, already matching Blair's for hardness. Blair wasn't allowed to touch himself; Jim wasn't limited that way.

Blair. His. All his. "How about now?"

Blair moaned, a choked, ecstatic sound that sealed his fate as far as Jim was concerned. "Oh, God. Jim, let me suck you -- please?"

Jim stopped Blair from falling to his knees with a glare. "Stay where you are," he ordered. "You really think that it matters if I'm on my knees? Seriously?"

"No. I was just --" Blair shoved his hands through his hair, the gesture revealing so much impatience, all directed at himself. "I wasn't thinking it through."

"I know," Jim said quietly, a soft reassurance, an aside. Blair was too much of a perfectionist at times and if there was a chance that Blair thought that he was really in trouble... "I'm teasing you, babe, you know that, right?"

Blair nodded and Jim exhaled, relieved, and then took them both back into the scene.

"Lean back against the counter."

Blair obeyed him, his fingers twitching, flexing on air. Jim smiled. He'd give them something to do.

"Unzip. Get your dick out; I want to see it."

The caution Blair used was understandable; he looked ready to spill already, the head of his dick shiny and red, a well-licked strawberry sucker. It had been three days since he'd gotten to come, with Jim using him regularly, whenever the whim took him, and keeping Blair naked and collared most of the time they were behind closed doors. The shopping trip had been an extension of the drawn-out tease and torment, not a break.

"Nice," Jim said indifferently. "Hold onto the counter."

Blair took some ragged breaths and did as he was told, his dick bobbing. "What.. I mean, I don’t get what you want me to do?"

Jim smiled. "Watch me. Don't come. Clear enough for you?"

"Jim, it's been forever," Blair pleaded. "I think my balls are fucking indigo, not blue. You're going to let me come soon, right?"

"When you look this good desperate for it? I might never let you come again," Jim said, sincere about the first part, if not the last. He was surprised that Blair had lasted this long; so easy to stroke off furtively in the night and blame damp sheets on a wet dream -- though Blair had slept in bondage. Or to wash certain bodily parts a little too enthusiastically -- but Jim had taken over the task of bathing Blair since this particular game had begun.

Poor Blair. No options but begging and Jim had kept him gagged when the whimpered exhortations had gotten just a little too demanding and wild…

With a luxurious sigh, Jim got his own dick out and began to jerk off under Blair's frankly envious gaze.

"I could order you to do this some time," Jim said conversationally. "You'd like the way it makes you feel, I think. Your climax being for my entertainment, not your pleasure." He ran his thumb through the pearled fluid glazing the crown of his dick and tasted it, then went back to jacking himself with a leisurely stroke. "Of course when I'm doing it, the entertainment comes from watching you squirm. You're licking your lips, did you know that? Like you can taste me. Your knuckles are white and you're sweating."

"I want you," Blair whispered intensely. "Want to touch you. Want to -- I want to be on my knees, Jim. Please."

"No," Jim said and went back to what he was doing. Blair might break position before Jim came, and if he did, Jim would punish him in a way that Blair wouldn't enjoy as much as Jim would, but if he endured this, Jim decided to make it the final ordeal.

Blair writhing against the leather holding him, balls drawn up tight, stomach smeared with pre-come from a jerking, throbbing dick was fucking gorgeous, but Blair coming, mouth open, eyes screwed shut, sobbing out words that he'd blush to recall was even more of a treat.

Jim held Blair's gaze and brought himself off with an easy, arrogant flick of the wrist. He rode out his climax with no more than a single gasp escaping him, his back straight, his thighs quivering slightly. Come decorated his hand and was spattered across his shirt, but he continued to work his dick, loving the slick slide of his fingers against the tender skin.

Blair looked first cousin to a volcano, but he hadn't moved.

"Good boy," Jim said and grinned at the indignant spark in Blair's eyes. "Want a treat, puppy?"

He held out his hand, messy, wet, and Blair bucked his hips against thin air and came with a yelp that held as much satisfaction as it did dismay.

Jim sighed. So close…and there were tickets to tonight's Jags game in his wallet, but if he punished Blair properly, they wouldn't get used.

Blair, disobedient, disrespectful, delicious Blair, went to his knees and crawled over to Jim, his head hanging. "Sorry," he said meekly.

Jim rubbed his wet hand through Blair's hair and hauled him closer for a rough, biting kiss. "You will be," he promised.

The Jags were on a losing streak anyway.

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