We like to play you see
A game with added reality
You treat me like a dog
Get me down on my knees
We call it master and servant
We call it master and servant
It's a lot like life
This play between the sheets
With you on top and me underneath
Forget all about equality
Let's play master and servant
Let's play master and servant
It's a lot like life
And that's what's appealing
If you despise that throwaway feeling
From disposable fun
Then this is the one
Domination's the name of the game
In bed or in life
They're both just the same
Except in one you're fulfilled
At the end of the day
Let's play master and servant
Let's play master and servant
Let's play master and servant
Come on master and servant
Depeche Mode "Master And Servant"
by Tom
Carlos was by no means drunk.
That said, though, at this particular moment he would have given practically anything to get
there.
Tightly bound and lying prostrated, stomach-down on the carpet, Carlos’s inability to move
panicked him slightly. Leather straps, or rather one extraordinarily long leather strap, constricted his
naked body: biting into his wrists and ankles, pinning his arms to his sides and behind his back, tucked
snugly between his buttocks and tied tightly around his desperately rigid cock and balls. How had he
gotten here again? Certainty eluded him. Leather straps also ran from the corners of his mouth,
silencing his caustic tongue. The carpet rubbed against his whole body, making it burn.
So, fettered and powerless, Carlos lay dependent on mercy and the holder of such mercy, one
who sat at the opposite corner of the room in partial shadow. Calmly smoking a cigarette, his sharp
blue eyes never left Carlos’s trussed, bare body.
The bassist fidgeted, moaning into the gag.
“That’s right, Carlos,” Paul’s voice flowed over him like dark warm velvet, like the tingling
heat of alcohol. “Squirm. Squirm for me.”
The leather pulled at Carlos’s cock and rubbed between his buttocks in the most disquieting
way as he moved. Paul had him cornered, trapped, seduced. The feeling of being bound was
agitating, but desperately erotic. His defiant nature stilled his body with a spike of insolence, holding
strong no matter how tightly Paul had him bound.
Paul flicked fragile ash from the end of his cigarette and stood, a smirk tugging at his smooth
lips. He stalked across the room, circling his conquest on the floor idly, before placing the tread of his
heavy shoe against Carlos’s buttock.
“Carlos, Carlos, Carlos.” Paul said softly, darkly. “Disobedience will get you nowhere. I
said I want to see you squirm.” He pressed his foot slightly against Carlos’s skin, but the bassist
remained still. The result would be the same whether he moved or not, and both of them knew this.
Carlos moaned, but his voice leapt to a yelp as Paul’s shoe pressed hard against his arse.
“Shh.”
Carlos bit into the leather as the shoe lifted. Paul glanced with satisfaction at the treadprint
he had left in Carlos’s skin before moving away; Carlos could hear Paul moving around behind him,
but he couldn’t turn his head far enough to see him.
“Yes,” Paul said darkly, a sugary-poisonous note in his voice. “Here is Carlos, here’s my
pretty little boy all dressed up and ready to play…” It occurred to Carlos that Paul wasn’t speaking to
him. He glanced upward and saw the piercing red light of a video camera honing in on him like a
sniper’s eye. Paul circled him again, taking in every aspect of his bindings, immortalising that
moment on film: arms behind back, ankles and thighs lashed together, mouth and cock bound as
tightly as the rest of him.
“And am I ever going to play with him.” Paul’s voice was as sweetly venomous as drug-
laced wine. Carlos shuddered slightly; he couldn’t see Paul, and the scenario was making him even
more nervous. Paul set the camera on a tripod across the room.
“So Carlos,” Paul said suddenly. “What am I going to have to do to get you to squirm?”
Carlos wanted to respond. He wanted to scream fuck me as hard as you dare but the leather
pushed his tongue hard back into his mouth. He sank his teeth into its tough thickness and worried it
slightly.
Paul was moving around behind him, and suddenly hot hands seized his hips and hauled him
onto his knees; Carlos groaned as the cord pulled uncomfortably on his cock. His face pressed even
harder into the carpet, rubbing against his already tender face and scouring his knees.
“Let’s see…” Paul said softly. His hands ran over Carlos’s secured body, plucking at leather
strips at will, before sliding down to the front of his body and lightly circling Carlos’s nipples.
Carlos made a hungry sound and his cock twitched imperiously. Paul smirked as he pinched
the hardening bud of Carlos’s nipple tightly, coaxing a muffled growl from the bassist. Carlos moved
restlessly for a moment, and Paul grinned a little wider.
Sudden, conquering pressure on both his nipples made Carlos’s whole body jolt and shudder;
he did exactly what Paul wanted him to. He twisted like a madman on an anthill, straining against the
leather, crying through the hard gag like a tortured animal. It felt incredibly sumptuous, filling him
with a deadly mix of pleasure and anguish.
Paul stood, leaving Carlos wriggling and groaning on the carpet. “That’s a good boy,” He
said as he reached for the next surprise.
Carlos’s eyes squeezed shut as nine strands of red-hot pain burned along his body. And
again, banding his flesh with rising scarlet stripes. Carlos twisted and struggled under the blows,
again, again, again. Carlos’s face was red and irritated where it rubbed against the carpet, his arse
sore where the leather rubbed against it, his skin burning as the lashings continued.
He contorted and flailed uselessly against the myriad ribbons of hot, delicious pain gridding
his pale flesh. His fingers stung where the leather whipped past him; his arms and back and neck
burned; all of his flesh patterned pink and red. Rabid, feral noises came loud through the leather,
Carlos’s sharp white teeth sinking into it fiercely, tasting the slightly briny, soggy leather. Half-
relieved, half-disappointed, Carlos collapsed weakly onto his side when the lashings halted.
“Well, Carlos?” Paul said, nudging Carlos with his heavy shoe, indicating that he should
look up at him. “Have I convinced you?” Paul’s clothed form made Carlos feel even more naked.
Carlos squirmed appeasingly, nodding. It was half to mollify Paul, and half to relieve the
carpet-burn on the side of his face.
“Should I fuck you?” Paul asked idly, speaking to no one in particular. “I wonder. Should I
fuck you, or should I just leave you here?”
Carlos shook his head slightly.
“No? No, Carlos? I shouldn’t fuck you? Or should I?”
Carlos could feel his eyes wetting. His cock stood recklessly hard and proud between his
legs, upright in defiance of its own bindings. Paul pulled him up onto his unsteady, abraded knees
again. His nipples still sang with fiery pleasure-pain, but he had managed to ignore it. He prided
himself on his pain tolerance sometimes.
“Do you want to be fucked, Carlos?” Paul asked him, somewhat brusquely. Carlos nodded.
Their eyes met, and Carlos’s hair stood on end at the raw, powerful sexuality burning in Paul’s blue
eyes. “You dirty little bitch.” He said innocuously, striking Carlos’s wounded arse with the flat of his
hand. Carlos yelped into the leather gag. “That’s for being too eager.” He ran his hands over the firm
flesh gently, soothing it, before slapping the other cheek. “And that’s just because I felt like giving
you a matching set.”
Carlos heard trousers unzipping quickly and buttons unsnapping; he swayed shakily on his
bound knees. A cap snapped open and shut, the leather strip between his buttocks moved, and an icy
sleekness whispered over his arsehole. Carlos groaned, trying to push his hips back against the touch.
It did not linger, and he squeezed his eyes shut, groaning louder.
Then Paul was pressing into him, a thick steely shaft stretching and stirring his whole body.
His cock twitched again, more fiercely this time, as Paul wasted no time in building up a hard rhythm.
Carlos gasped and choked in pain and ecstasy as Paul’s thrusting jarred his whole body. There was no
time for politeness or hesitancy, like there sometimes was; this was hard, fast, reckless. Paul was
fucking him so hard, so deeply, that Carlos felt his insides liquefying. He desperately wished he could
spread his knees, brace himself against the carpet and keep, but Paul had a good tight hold on his hips.
Despite the brutal savagery of the whole ordeal, Carlos’s whole body began to ripple with
internal heat, his leashed cock jolting as Paul pushed into him again and again and again. The pain felt
incredible, delicious, a pleasure in itself. The cord around his cock felt tighter than ever, and he cried
out as an aching spark ran its length. Muffled pleas seeped from behind the soggy leather in Carlos’s
mouth.
Paul arched up against Carlos, coming so hard inside him that Carlos swore he could feel it.
Another painful shock ran down Carlos’s dick, and he groaned. He needed to come, he desperately
wanted to, but the tightly-tied cord prevented it all too easily. Paul snapped the cord on Carlos’s back
and slipped it off the bassist’s cock, sliding his sweaty palm along its hard length.
That was all it took. Carlos burst into Paul’s hand, mewling frantically before collapsing
again onto his side. Paul came down with him, laying heavily against his winded prize. He sucked
lazily on his fingers, licking away the mess, savouring the sour-brackish taste of Carlos’s come.
After a few exhausted moments, Paul reached up and undid the knot on Carlos’s gag, the
nipple clamps, and then the knots that had so sufficiently constrained Carlos’s body. The bassist spat
out the leather, the corners of his mouth chafed pink, and shed the last strands of leather as Paul
carefully withdrew from him. The blonde walked over to the video camera and shut it off before
coming back to where Carlos lay, falling back down on the carpet with him.
He ran the tips of his fingers over the tender corners of Carlos’s narrow lips, through his hair,
kissed his mouth. “All right?” Paul murmured.
“Never better.” Carlos smiled sweetly. “In fact, Paul, I only ask one thing.”
“And that would be?”
“What’s the video for?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it will afford us some inspiration later on.”
“After that, I don’t know if there’s much else to try.”
“We’ll think of something.”
Paul picked up Carlos’s sore, welted body and carried him to the bed, where he wrapped
himself around the bassist until late in the morning.