Marking my men, p.13
Marking My Men,
p.13
“Yes.”
No. It’s not. We decide new toys and everything else as a unit.
If he wants to be a stubborn butthole, two can play at that game.
Hooking my thumbs into my shorts, I shuck them and my panties to the ground where I kick them off. He eyes me like I’m a delicious candy buffet he can’t wait to eat. Fat chance, with that attitude, that I’ll let him sample the goods. I’ve learned that to teach Rob a lesson, you don’t have to argue, since that usually does little to help the situation. You merely deny him something he wants. And that something is me. Next, I tear my tank over my head and discard it, pretending he isn’t standing in front of me with an obvious boner.
Giving him my back, I face Tyler, who, by the subtle wink he offers, knows exactly what I’m up to. See, we’re on the same page. He gets me. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to put a certain someone in his place. He has a habit of trying to mark his territory, when it’s unnecessary. For instance, at the grocery store last week he stuck his tongue down my throat in the bread aisle when he thought some biker he knows was checking me out. He wasn’t. All the guy wanted was the wheat bread I was standing next to. But Rob couldn’t see past his defenses. In a way it’s adorable. In another, I want to throttle him. So I go this route instead. It’s more fun for everyone involved.
Stepping closer to Tyler, I offer him an upturned palm, and he locks his hand in mine. Here goes nothing. Taking the lead, I escort our sexy artist to the bedroom down the hall, with Rob in tow. It’s not like I expected him to sit idly by as I screw our masochist in the other room.
Stopping next to our king, four-poster bed, that none of us bother to make any more, I block Rob’s view of Tyler the best I can, by standing in front of him. I don’t make the best wall, considering they’re taller than me by a lot. But I can’t give him a front row seat to our kink show. Not when he’s in trouble.
“Undress and position yourself against the headboard. Are you wearing your plug?” Signing in front of the Big Man when he knows we’re up to something drives him insane.
As if on cue, Rob voices his aggravation. “Words. You know I don’t like when you do that secret shit.”
See. Do I know him or what?
Tyler snickers, able to read the broody butthole’s lips from here.
I roll my eyes, doing my best to avoid smiling. It’s futile when this is entirely too much fun. Hell, our entire life is chockful of it. Living together is quite the adventure. You never know where the next day will lead. Whether we’re hanging with bikers at Nowhere, or attending a gala that showcases Tyler’s art. Even down to the simple things like arguing over which show is better—Vikings vs. Game of Thrones, there’s never a dull moment. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, our house is an uneven split. Two for Vikings and one for Game of Thrones. You’ll have to guess who chose what because I’m not going to tell you. It’s a secret amongst lovers.
Not letting Rob deter him, Tyler focuses his energy on me. “I am wearing my plug. Do I need to take it out?”
“No. We’re not doing that today. I have something else in mind.”
Needing no further explanation, our super-hot partner undresses, going for speed, not sensuality. Once naked from head to toe, he crawls into the middle of our mattress, marked ass swaying for effect, before he positions himself against the headboard. Legs straight out, his pierced cock is ready to tango.
Following suit, I do the same crawl and ass sway, playing up my curves they love. Sitting on my feet beside Tyler, I draw a fingertip up the inseam of his thigh, ankle to balls. He shivers, emitting the tiniest noise from his throat.
“You ready for me?” I purr, licking my lips for show, wanting them primed and ready for what happens next.
“You gotta be fuckin’ shittin’ me,” Rob growls from the end of the bed.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him grip the footboard hard enough his knuckles blanch. The wood groans under pressure. Now we’re getting somewhere.
Throwing a leg over Tyler’s, I straddle his calves. He grips the pillows on either side of him to occupy his wandering hands. When I’m in charge, he knows he can’t touch without consent. I’m glad somebody recognizes their place.
To solidify Rob’s mounting torment, I rotate my hips in a slow sensual motion, combing fingers through my silky curls. Back slightly arching, my bosom arcs toward the ceiling, rosy tips desperate to be sucked on. Hungry eyes sear through me, watching, feasting, evoking shivers, spurring me on.
Needing more, so much more, I inch my way closer to Tyler’s waiting shaft. I moan, and my cunt spasms, anxious to be filled, to have her g-spot owned by that studded cock, ready to take it deep. I pass his knees, pussy lips grazing the tops of his thighs.
“Mistress,” Tyler breathes, air punching from his lungs, pupils, already blown.
Cupping his stubbly jaw, I lean forward and trace his lips with the tip of my tongue, tasting him, savoring his flavor. A final swipe and I seal our mouths together, grasp that beautiful dick, and lower myself onto him painfully slow, taking my time, needing to feel every perfect inch.
Yesss.
That’s what I needed.
This.
Us.
Him inside me. To reconnect. To be.
“Ronan,” Rob rasps in broken desperation.
Hmm… someone’s unhappy. I wonder why. Is the Big Man feeling a little left out? I bet he is.
Prying my lips from Tyler’s, I glance over my shoulder. “Can I help you?”
“Why are you doin’ this?” Rob’s face is bright red. Someone took off his shirt and is busy playing with his nipples.
“Now why do you think?”
His jaw works. “Fuck. Okay. I was outta line.”
“And?” Eyes on Rob, I cup the back of Tyler’s head and lift a breast to his lips. Taking direction, he suckles my tit into his mouth, swirling and nibbling on the bud—driving me mad. I rock back on his cock, fucking it with mini-strokes. Just enough for us to feel amazing, but not enough to make me come.
“And? Why does there gotta be a damn and?” Somebody’s still not getting it.
Arching a cynical brow, I wait patiently for him to stop fighting over nothing. He knows what he did was wrong. There are rules we follow in this relationship. He broke one. As their Mistress, it’s my duty to punish them for stepping way outside our established lines. Where many women would yell at their partner for acting out, I choose a different tactic. One that works without creating an overdramatic episode that would leave us all upset. My way’s better. It ends in orgasms. Which would you choose?
“Alright. I’m sorry. I could’ve handled it better.”
See.
There’s a method to my madness. It works like a charm.
All I ever ask if for him to own his actions and apologize accordingly.
Pleased it didn’t take too long, I forgive his indiscretions as if they never happened, and give in to temptation. There’s something I want, and I’m not afraid to take it. And that something is standing at the end of the bed, half-naked, ready, and more than willing.
“Good.” I nod. “I’m glad we cleared that up. Now grab the lube. I want you inside my ass. I think I deserve a little double penetration today, don’t you?”
Rob groans, palming his erection through his jeans. “Hell yes, babe. Hell. Fuckin’. Yes.”
Indulging in a grin that reaches my eyes, I point to the nightstand, wanting him to hurry up.
“I expect you to come inside me, too.” Lots and lots of cum. I want it leaking out of every orifice… There’s no better feeling in the world than to own and be owned.
“Anything for you, sweetheart. Anything.” He works the button of his pants free.
“All I want is you both. Forever. Like this.” My soul couldn’t have picked better mates.
Offering me a kind smile, Rob removes his jeans and boxers. “And that’s what you’re gonna get, baby. We’re not goin’ anywhere. Now let me find the lube. You’ve got some coming to do.”
Amen to that.
Aren’t I the luckiest Domme in the world?
The End
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AUTHOR NOTE
Fellow kink lovers,
Thank you so much for reading Marking My Men. I know this isn’t a typical Bink story. But one day I was sitting in my living room talking book talk with Deb, and she started telling me I should write a book about a Domme. At first, I was skeptical. Sure, I had a partner in the past who I practiced a milder version of this lifestyle with, so I have firsthand experience. I just never thought I’d write a book with not only one submissive, but two. Much to my surprise, an hour after our discussion commenced I was convinced this was the book to write, after I’d finished the long and emotional Sacred Sinners MC- H.O.P.E. trilogy expedition.
At this point, after reading this kinky yet oddly sweet story, you’re either left strangely satisfied, disgusted or a wonky combination of emotions. There’s nothing I can say to you besides thank you for taking a walk on the ProDomme wild side. If anything, I hope you learned a thing or two. Maybe that this kinda book turns your crank. Or that it doesn’t. Perhaps you’re ready to write me off as an author. Or, you love me more for pushing the limits. Whatever it is, I’m glad you took this journey.
Happy Reading.
Peace,
Bink
If you liked the epilogue and want to know more about Master and his submissive, you might want to check out.
HIS MASTER
(M/M Standalone. Out now)
A profound solitary knock resounds at my commune door.
“Mike, Master Kellan needs you in the kitchen,” one of my fellow subs calls from outside of my lush bedchamber. Our rooms are sacred grounds to us in a place where little else is left to privacy. No one but the occupant is permitted inside.
For the last twenty minutes, I’ve been composing myself. It’s a necessary and enjoyable task that I take great pride in. Cleansing, trimming, moisturizing, and wearing my favorite blue jeweled butt plug for added sensuality as I prep myself for whatever my masters need. It’s something all of us subs learn on training day. I just wish I would be left to my own devices for this ritual. Interruptions unnerve me, stealing away my Zen-like state.
“Thanks. I’ll tend to him in just a minute,” I reply calmly, even though I’m more than a little eager to see Master Kellan again.
“Please don’t wait long. Craig has already been dismissed, and Master Kellan is in need of your expertise. There’s a new in-house sub that Craig left insufficiently trained. Master Kellan isn’t pleased, and neither is the sub’s new master. You have to fix this. You’re the only one who can,” the man clarifies.
Great. This doesn’t sound good. Craig should have never been given seniority status to teach in-house subs. He’s only been in the commune for a year. Definitely not enough time to learn both the skills needed to perform vast sexual acts, as well as impart the knowledge to newcomers. The House of Red is where we live. It’s a commune for twelve highly trained sex slaves or subs, whichever word you prefer. Though the term sex slave is not derogatory in our home. Everyone who lives here signs contracts, willingly participates, are all gay bottoms and must perform without hesitation. Often times repeatedly with multiple members of The House of Red. Two Masters live under the roof with us, while the majority come and go as they please. Many, such as Master Kellan, come from wealthy lifestyles and are married with children. They simply come to our opulent home to be fulfilled in ways they cannot be in the outside world. It’s a safe, disease free, condom free, bareback breeding commune, where the term no is never an option. To put it in layman’s terms: it’s a refuge for closeted or openly gay powerhouse men of society—strictly members only.
All of my fellow sub brothers range in age, looks, and skill. I’m both a servicer and a teacher. While we may only have twelve sub slaves in our commune, we do offer training for what we call in-house subs. They’re submissive live-ins. They’re taught to perform and act just as we do, except they’re for men who prefer one partner—ownership, if you will.
Climbing down off the platform of my king mattress, I pad my way across the hardwood floors to stand in front of my full-length mirror. My hair is relatively short and dark brown; a little wispy in the front. My eyes are an orange hazel that look amazing surrounded by thick, illustrious lashes. My body’s authentically fit, tall, somewhat tan, and unmarred. My cut cock stands proudly at seven inches with more than a handful of girth. It makes me the perfect top whenever my masters ask for me to perform in that method.
Standing stark nude in front of the mirror, I run a steady hand through my hair. Trailing my other hand down my abs, I grab my dick and fist it in my hand, giving it a tug, hardening myself slightly. I wonder how many times I’m going to come today. Master Kellan is very responsive. And when he visits, I know I’m his absolute favorite. The way he kisses only me on the lips. The way he chooses only me to rim his asshole. But, more importantly, I can tell his fondness by the posh gifts he brings—chocolates, silk boxers, a jeweled butt plug, colognes … even the simple necklace I’m wearing. All of it shows his softer side—one I’m sure people rarely see from him—and I love it.
Backing away from the mirror, I remove the butt plug with a pop and set it on my dresser before spritzing myself in his favorite cologne. Then I head to the door. It’s time to work—if that’s what you’d call what I do. I don’t. Never have. It’s a privilege to be used readily.
…. Want more…. Check it out on Amazon- It’s in Kindle Unlimited.
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Other Works by Bink Cummings:
MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 1 (FREE)
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MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 2
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MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 3
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MC Chronicles: The Diary of Bink Cummings Vol 4
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Beyond Her Words
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Beyond Christmas
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Nowhere
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His Boy
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His Master
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Master’s Vlogger
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Hopelessly Shattered
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Hopeful Whispers
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Hopelessly Devoted
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Bink Cummings, Marking My Men
