Ryan regained his composure quickly.  He stepped over to me, within an arm's length and held my chin firmly.  His eyes burned into mine.  "It felt good, what you did.  And I'm still working on whether I believe why you did it.  But remember who's in control here, and when I say stop, you'd better fucking stop."  He released my chin and pulled his hand away, then sharply backhanded me across the cheek.  I turned my face back to him and blinked the tears away.  His face still bore an angry frown, but his eyes betrayed him.  His eyes told me that he hadn't wanted to do it.  He had done it to re-establish his control, and I knew that it was something we both needed.  What else I saw, in his eyes and in the tension of his posture, kind of surprised me: there was fear.  He was looking at me tentatively, watching to see whether he had gone too far and whether, by making it physically violent outside the context of sex for the first time, he had provoked me into responding.  He was ready to retreat.

I remembered how he had flinched when I had reached up to take his glasses off to kiss him the last time we'd been together, and how he had backed away from me when I suddenly stood and stepped from the shower.  He knew I was stronger than he was.  For all his control, he was still worried that I would turn on him.  The realization only took fractions of a second, and so to did acknowledgment that I needed his control.  I needed him to know that I accepted our roles and would not rebel.

"Yes sir," I said, turning my face to the floor.

I could feel relief wash over him as I saw this muscles in his legs relax.  "Into the bedroom," he directed.  I followed him across the hall into his room.  "I want you to lie down on the bed, with your arms hanging off the sides.  Your back should be about in the center of the bed, so that your ankles hang off the end."  I climbed onto the bed and assumed the position he had described.  He opened the armoire at the foot of the bed and selected some ties and casually tossed them onto the mattress at my feet.  He then closed the armoire, took a tie, and walked to the side of the bed.  Without looking at me, he tied my wrist to the bed rail than rang along the edge of the box springs and formed the support structure for the sleeping surface.  One wrist secure, he walked around to the other side, knelt on the corner of the bed by my feet, and used another tie to restrain my other wrist in the narrow space between the bed and the wall.

When he was done, I saw him looking down at my chest.  With my arms pulled out and down this way, my pecs and abs were more starkly defined.  He moistened his lips.  I knew that he was in turmoil.  He wanted to reach down and stroke my chest, and probably to lean over and lick me and suck on my nipples, too, but the way he defined our roles in our relationship prevented him from doing it.  His construction of my subordination required that he use me for his pleasure, but never reveal his lust for me.  He had done that the first night we were together, and he had felt rebuffed.  He didn't understand how much I had changed between that night, just one week earlier, and tonight.

He quickly looked away and stood.  He walked over to his desk and unlocked a drawer, taking out lube, the vibrating butt plug, and the tit clamps.  My erection, which hadn't even begun to subside, throbbed and drooled as I saw him walk to the bed with the toys.  He saw it bobbing in the air and smiled wickedly.  "You are not going to cum," he said as he lubed up the plug.  He took his place between my feet, which hung over the edge of the bed, and took them with his free hand, one at a time, to bend my knee and swivel my hip so that the sole of each was planted on the corner of the mattress.  My thighs were spread and my hole was exposed, and he lost no time in slipping the plug into me, burying it to the hilt in one stroke.  I closed my eyes and groaned, pulling subconsciously at the bonds securing my arms, as I felt it slide between my ass lips and into my gut.

"Alex," he called softly.  I opened my eyes and looked down my torso and between my spread knees to look at him.  He smiled wickedly again as he switched on the vibration.  My cock twitched.  Ryan walked up to the side of the bed and leaned over me, propping himself up with one hand.  He used the free hand to begin torturing my nipples, pinching him first between his fingertips, then between his fingernails, then rolling them and pulling them up from my pecs.  My face contorted with the pain of his tit work and the pleasure of the vibrations deep in my ass.  The orgasm, which had been waiting in my balls for literally days, and which had only been seconds away from spewing forth as I'd been fucked in the shower, began to churn in my sack again.  The muscles of my groin began to tighten.

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," I chanted like a mantra.  I clenched my eyes shut, and then I felt the first tit clamp close on my nipple.  I cried out and bucked my hips into the air.  He wasted no time in repeating on the second nipple.

"Don't cum," Ryan said.

"Please, oh God, please!"  I begged.  My cock was throbbing in the air and my hips were rising up, trying to fuck into something, into anything, to feel some sort of friction.  Or to find some escape from the sensation in my ass and crotch and the dulling pain from my nipples.

"Do you want it?" he asked.

"Yes, oh God, please yes, Sir!"

"Do you think you deserve it?"

"Please Sir, oh please let me cum!" I shouted.

"Tell me who else cheated on that calculus exam," he ordered.

"What?!" I exclaimed, and like a bucket of ice water had been thrown on me, my writhing stopped.

"You said last week that cheating wasn't your idea.  I want to know whose idea it was."

It was my turn to be speechless.  He reached over and began to stroke his fingertips up and down the underside of my cock, from the root all the way up the cum tube to the head.  They picked up some of the precum I had drooled, and he massaged the viscous fluid into my cock head.  I could feel the sensations building back up inside me as he teased me, and I became aware again of the pulsing inside my ass.

"No!" I protested.  He leaned over, wrapping one arm around my leg, bent up into the air, for support and leaned over my crotch.  He began to blow cool air over my nutsack.  His fingers never stopped massaging my cock head except to run back down along my cum tube to retrieve more slime.  "No, no, no, no," I began to beg, my resolve softening.  He stood as my hips began to gently rock again, trying to find some way to avoid the pleasure in my ass.  He walked to the foot of the bed and pulled my ankles down and apart.  He knelt between my spread knees.

"Tell me," he ordered.

"I can't!" I sobbed.

"Do you want to cum?"

"YES!!"

"If you cum without permission, Alex, it's over.  You'll leave here, tonight, and you'll never come back."

"No! No! No! No!" I was struggling hard against my bondage now, my head rocking side to side in protest and desperation.  I began to thrash my legs, so Ryan pinned them down to the bed with his hands and then moved his legs to trap mine under him.  One hand of his hands stroked my nutsack, which had tightened up as my orgasm approached.

"Who was it, Alex?"

"No," I whimpered.  I was clenching every muscle in my body, focusing on clamping the prostate closed to hold back the tsunami of cum I knew was in my balls, ready to explode.  I thought about that fucker, Jason Martin, who'd gotten me into this with his stupid fucking idea about that stupid fucking calculus exam.  I thought about what would happen if I shot my load, being dismissed from Ryan's house, never to return.  Never being used again.  Never having his cock inside me, mouth or ass, ever again.  I thought about the liquid fire churning at the base of my cock.

I felt fingertips stroking the inside of my thigh.  I couldn't hold back anymore.  "Jason Martin," I screamed.  "It was his idea!"

As soon as the name was out of my mouth, Ryan gripped my cock tightly in his hand.  "Cum," he ordered.  And I obeyed with intensity.  I couldn't think.  I couldn't breathe.  I had no conscious connection with the pleasure that erupted between my cock slit.  It began as if in slow motion as Ryan knelt beween my knees, his legs pinning mine down, fisting my cock.  Like hot magma, the cum exploded past my clenched prostate and through my cum tube, and fired into the air, and rained down on my face, hair, chest, and the bed beneath me.  I have no idea how many times I shot, or how long the orgasm lasted.  I couldn't have told you what day it was or what my name was as I came.  As, at last, the sensation began to ebb outwardly from my groin through my legs and chest and out to every extremity, my brain left that place in the clouds where it had retreated and consciousness flowed back over me.  My nipples, trapped in the steel clamps, were hard.  The hair on the back of my neck stood.  I was covered in goosebumps.

I felt Ryan release my cock.  He stood and walked over to the side of the bed, where he sat beside me.  I opened my eyes, which at some point had overflowed with tears.  I blinked them away and saw him as he held his hand, drenched in my cum, to my lips.  I opened my mouth and began to lap at the juice I'd coated him with.  His free hand stroked my hair softly, and when his other hand was clean, he began to run his fingers through the pools on the sheets and on my chest and on my face, bringing each to my mouth to feed me.  I was exhausted, mentally and physically.  There was nothing left as I lay limp, eating from Ryan's hand the spunk I'd spewed.  My nipples ached.  My guts vibrated.

I had no idea what lay in store for me.