Christmas Bloody Christmas Read online

He gave me a curt nod and opened my door, and then the back one to place the bags inside. I sat there waiting for him to finish, and then he was back at my side. He buckled me in and then placed his fingers under my chin.

  “I own you, boy. You are mine until I say otherwise.”

  His gaze was intense and shadowed in the car, only illuminated by the interior lights.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  And for the second time he kissed me without expectation. My softer lips conformed to his firmer ones. This wasn’t during sex or a reward for enduring my punishments, not even one I had to ask for. I wondered what truly went through my Sir’s mind.

  3

  Cowen

  The beautiful stripes left behind by my whip graced my boy’s broad back. His knuckles were white where they clenched around the chains of his shackles that were attached to the support secured to the wall. With every lick of the whip, he writhed and rose onto his toes. I approached and ran the hilt of the whip down the indent of his spine to his hairy crease.

  His whimpers sweetly filled my head and I slipped my arm around him, tugging at the body warmed metal of his cock cage. His hips slammed back against mine.

  “I knew the moment I met you that your pain would be better than all the rest. You fought so hard to resist.” I brushed my lips to his ear. “Now, you crave it. Beg me for it.”

  He stuttered out a husky Sir as he rubbed his ass against my hard cock behind my zipper. I remembered when my body showed no response to anyone. Yet, all it took was a submissive look from my boy, and I ordered him to his knees to worship me.

  “Sir’s pretty whore.” I cupped his balls and tugged until he gasped. His muscles played beneath his sweat slicked skin.

  I retreated with the length of leather slithering on the floor. I took a deep breath, then with smooth movements of my arm and wrist, I issued more punishment. A few trickles of blood eased down his back. He was arching and begging me for more. He’d learned so quickly that pain was the other side of pleasure. You couldn’t experience one without the other. It was a symbiotic relationship as old as humanity.

  I ceased and coiled the leather. I took my time returning it to the hook on the wall beside where he was secured. I released his restraints and caught him as his legs gave away. I praised him as I led him to the bed and spread him out on the comforter.

  I toed off my shoes and shoved my underwear and pants down my legs. I lifted my knee to the mattress and climbed onto it. I straddled his shoulders. I gripped the base of my dick and nudged his lips with the fat head. “Open.” As soon as he obeyed, I thrust until I reached the back of his throat. I fucked his mouth, him sucking loudly every time I retreated. His hands gripped my ass cheeks and tapped to ask me for more.

  “Fuck, boy, your mouth…was made…to be fucked.” I fisted my hand in his soft hair. I pulled back as I felt myself getting ready to release and moved to the side. “Assume the position,” I ordered as I picked up the lengths of rope as he pulled his legs back to his chest and grabbed his ankles, bringing his heels close to his ass.

  “I should leave you wanting and empty.” I paused in my task of wrapping his limbs in the soft, thick rope to tap the base of the plug filling his ass.

  “I’ll do anything you want, Sir.” His panic made my cock harden further.

  Time didn’t register as I wrapped him in rope and readied him for me. I could deny him, but I craved him as much as he did me. I finished and found my boy panting, lifting his hips from the bed as I tied him to the bedposts.

  “Grab the ropes, boy.”

  As I watched his fingers tighten around the ropes, I removed his plug and quickly replaced it with my cock. I licked the tears and sweat from my boy’s cheeks as he sobbed and shook beneath me. His nails teared at my lower back as I abused his hole however I saw fit. His teeth clenched tight and his lips pulled back in a snarl as he gifted me with the most beautiful whimpers. I could sense he was torn between begging me to stop or to fuck him harder. I craved his indecision—his moral dilemma of right or wrong.

  His legs were secured and restraints held his legs wide. I loved him at my mercy. I surged to kneel between his thighs. When I left him empty, his panicked gaze met mine. I spread my hands across his hairy skin where his ass cheeks met his thighs, used my thumbs to play with his swollen, abused rim.

  “Sir, I was good.”

  I stroked my hands upward, traced the warm metal cage around his cock. His dick was swollen and flushed an angry red. I moved higher. I loved keeping him on edge pleasure or pain or denial.

  “It is my decision whether you were good or not.” I smacked his tender inner thighs and loved the ripple of his flesh. His softness as much as his submission turned me on. His pain made it so much sweeter.

  “Why should I give you Sir’s cum, boy?”

  I don’t know what possessed me, but I sensed that I’d never grow tired of my boy and the gifts he’d given me. He was the perfect embodiment of willing masochist. Always ready to be punished and to thank me for it. I held his fevered gaze as I raised my hands to remove the chain from around my neck. I slowly freed him of the cock cage that I’d made him wear for days. Teasing him to the point tears flowed from his eyes as I denied him the ecstasy of release.

  I threw the items aside and jacked his pretty cock. He fought against his restraints as he tried to hasten my strokes.

  “Do you enjoy being your Sir’s whore?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Are you honored to be my whore?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Precum pooled in the thick hair on his lower belly. His length thickened and pulsed in my grip. “My boy is always the sexiest when you have my cum leaking from your abused hole.” I growled as he slipped his arms beneath him and spread his cheeks wider. I took my cock in one hand, placed the fat, leaking tip to his hole and leaned forward until I could shove two fingers past his lips. I pushed down on his tongue, felt his gag reflex, and then I took him harder and faster.

  I pounded his ass until his muffled screams rose above my grunts. I never grew tired of owning his ass and mouth; my ownership of him clear in the pale scars on his back and ass; mixed in with the fresher wounds. The bruises forming around his nipples from my teeth and mouth.

  I froze balls deep and met his panicked gaze, a feral smile pulled at the corners of my mouth as I pulled from him. I released the ropes with a single pull and flipped him The rope banding his thighs and calves had him in the perfect position. I spanked his ass cheeks until I was satisfied by the red and ravaged curves.

  “Sir, please, hurt me more.”

  I didn’t make him wait, I took him in one brutal thrust and blanketed his back. I gripped his throat. His grunts were raspy as I forced them from him. I sipped at the moisture at the corner of his eye. His mouth was wide as I restricted his breathing, then allowed him a few deep ones before I controlled him again.

  Loud sobs and whines, sweaty skin connecting, and the nasty sounds of his well-slicked hole being fucked blended to create the most beautiful symphony of agony. I hurt him because it’s what we both wanted—needed.

  “Fuck, you’re so beautiful. I’ll never tire of your pain.” My guttural voice was even harsher. My muscles protested my pace, but I couldn’t slow or stop. I relished the pain of his ass strangling my cock and the sting of my hips meeting his ass. I lifted my eyes to find where his nails were adding new grooves to the headboard. I released his throat and brought my hands to his hips.

  “May I, Sir?”

  I knew what he was asking for, and I debated making him wait or not allow him to orgasm at all.

  “Tell Sir what he wants to hear.”

  He turned until he stared into my eyes, and I leaned in just enough so I could feel the words brushing my lips when he whispered it.

  “I love you, Cowen.”

  It was never Sir. It was always my name and he never closed his eyes. I heard and saw the truth, tasted the words on my tongue. I kissed him as I increased my pace, and he was grun
ting and cursing. I knew he was working his cock, and then his ass tightened. I buried my length to the hilt and filled him with every drop of my release. I straightened to watch as I fucked until it was painful to move. My cock slicked with lube and cum, and I forced his cheeks wider to get deeper. I pulled all the way out, seeing the seed in the hair around his hole. I shoved the plug back in to keep the sign of my ownership where it belonged.

  I disassembled the intricate pattern of the ropes until he was free and I rolled him to his back. I massaged his inner thighs and hips as he laid there with his legs wide.

  “Do you really, boy?”

  “I know you can never say it to me”— I observed his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed— “but it, I don’t know why sometimes, but it doesn’t change the fact I do.”

  “I can’t be different, Harrison. But I don’t want to kill you.”

  “I think that’s the sweetest thing you say to me.”

  “You’re weird and I’m being serious.”

  “I was, too.”

  I smacked his thigh and eased him off the bed to take him to bathe. I started the shower and stepped inside with him, enjoying his protests as cold water hit his back. I washed him slowly, tending gently to the small wounds on his back and ass. Sometimes I wondered if it would be an act of mercy to let him go before I broke him, and then I realized I couldn’t do it, not to save either of us.

  4

  Harrison

  Sir’s jaw clenched in a regular rhythm as Christmas music filled the cabin, and he watched me as I prepared breakfast. I tried to pretend calmness as I pictured the presents under the tree. The sheer number of them had shocked me when I came down that morning. My anticipation was great, but he had informed me in his calm voice that I would have to wait until after breakfast.

  My pout had earned me a glare, and I’d shuffled off to the kitchen. I hadn’t expected to receive a lot of gifts from him. Not that he didn’t give me presents, he tried to make occasions special for me. In his own way he showed me he cared—that he valued that I belonged to him.

  I finished making the food and plated everything, I carried them to the small table that was already set. I jumped as he came up behind me, and then moved to the side to set two coffee mugs and the pitcher of juice. He pulled out my chair and I sat down. I waited while he filled my glass.

  “Eat.”

  I ate my food and enjoyed every bite, but I knew he only consumed what I made him because it sustained his body. He considered his body’s requirements an inconvenience. Something he did only when we shared meals or I reminded him he needed to. I loved his lean frame and its surprising strength. His thinness was just natural for him, so I didn’t worry as much as I had in the past.

  “How annoyed are you right now?” I asked as I lifted my glass and took a sip.

  “Immensely, and glad this is only a once a year requirement.”

  “It’s not that bad, just because you can’t kill anyone.”

  “That’s not true.” His voice was solemn as he arched a brow as he glared at me.

  I dropped my chin to my chest and concealed my smile. “It’s only been three days.” I was enjoying the break from washing him of blood and grime or burning his clothes. He’d buried his last job the day before, after the furnace had done all it could do.

  “I’ve delayed contracts in order to be here.”

  My assassin was cranky that he hadn’t tortured anyone in days, but I knew his kills calmed and grounded him when his mind was too chaotic.

  “I know and I appreciate you subjecting yourself to the torture of making your boy happy.” I playfully pouted and his disgusted expression intensified.

  “I make you happy every day,” he announced as he pushed his empty plate away and moved his coffee mug in front of him. “You love being my boy and whore; you’ve admitted it. Don’t pretend that you wouldn’t get on your knees and suck my cock at just the crook of my finger no matter where we were.”

  My face heated as I finished my food and juice, then picked up my coffee. I was helpless to deny him. I loved the days of being chained to the floor of our bedroom, made to suck him off and forbidden to find my own release. I savored every touch, lash, and kiss. I sometimes lived for the pain. I hadn’t anticipated how addicted I would become when I’d awakened in the basement and he announced he could do whatever he wanted to me.

  “Would you like to open your presents?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Clean up and we can go into the living room.”

  I hid my pout and cleaned the kitchen in record time, even dried and put all the dishes and pans away. I danced on the other side of the island as he stood. He wasn’t moving fast enough. He nodded and I ran to the front of the house, kneeling on the floor and sitting back on my heels to wait. I listened to him making another cup of coffee and groaned. I composed myself before he appeared.

  I frowned as he stopped by the tree and he reached into the limbs. A box appeared and he turned. He didn’t say a word as he lowered himself to the couch, setting his mug on the end table.

  Sir nodded and I separated all the presents, his pile two times smaller than mine and I felt bad.

  “Open them,” he ordered, but I was curious about that one box. He still held it in his left hand and tapped it on his thigh.

  I smiled as I received paddles and a new cock cage, a few items of clothing, and the best present were tickets for a vacation.

  “Working?” I waved the tickets.

  “Yes, but it’s a quick job. A single shot between the eyes with a sniper rifle, an hour or two at the most. No torture or information gathering needed. That’s the first night, the other two weeks are for you, and I’ll even let you plan what you want to do.”

  “Won’t complain?”

  “I never complain, boy. I’ll go anywhere, but I won’t promise to enjoy myself.”

  I moved to my hands and knees, crawled across the floor. I met his gaze as he slid the coffee table out of the way and widened his stance so that I could sit between his thighs.

  “May I thank you, Sir?”

  His only answer was to pull his silk pajama bottoms out and down to tuck them beneath his heavy balls.

  I sat back on my heels and draped my arms over his thighs. I licked up the underside of his cock, gently kissed the fat head, sucked at the loose foreskin. I opened wide as he lifted the heavy length.

  “Sir’s little cocksucker. Mine, boy.”

  As soon as he growled mine, I sucked him to the back of my throat. I didn’t censor my noises or try to hold back. I fucked my mouth with his cock. His fingers tangled in the back of my hair, and I shivered at the sting on my scalp. My cock hardened where it rested on my thighs, but I didn’t want to get off.

  It pleased me to take care of him. Without warning he pushed my head down, and I felt his release hit the back of my throat. I sucked greedily until he jerked my head up. He released my hair and I rested my head on his thigh, staring up at him. He was breathing roughly and sweat misted his fair skin. I took in all the scars and sections where flesh was missing.

  Then my world shattered as he flicked the top off a box and inside rested two rings.

  “This isn’t a marriage proposal or a promise of forever. I can’t guarantee that I will come home from all my jobs. This is a sign of ownership.”

  My hands shook as I lifted the two rings. The twinkling lights from the tree reflected off the platinum. One ring was plain and slightly smaller, but the other one was etched with a single word, Owned.

  “You’re the only person in my life that I haven’t wanted to kill. I can’t tell you that I will ever say the words you want to hear. This is all I can offer, that ring and everything I own. Just remember I sleep light, and if you try to murder me—”

  I surged upward and pushed my lips to his. “How much money are we talking about?”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  I placed my hands on the couch beside his hips as I pulled back to stare
at him. “I was born to be owned by you. I don’t care about body count or you torturing people in the shed. It bothers me that you’ll never say the words, but I know it’s not a tangible for you. It’s not flesh and blood; it’s not something you can experience with all your senses. Maybe one day, when you’re old and gray, and your trigger finger is arthritic and you’re rocking on the front porch, you’ll have a weak moment and say it.”

  “I think I’m going to put you in the furnace.”

  “Ouch, Sir.”

  He took the rings and slid mine onto my ring finger, and I did the same for him.

  “I picked you out a nice scenic spot for when the time comes.”

  I rolled my eyes at his even tone and realized he wasn’t joking. I knew too much and I’d known the dangers of having him keep me.

  “You know you’re going to hurt my feelings talking about killing me.”

  “Why? I’ve put a lot of thought into a very painless death and then peaceful resting place.”

  “Cowen.” I called his name to distract him before he went into more detail.

  “Yes, boy.”

  “Just remember you don’t want to kill me,” I reminded him

  “I’ll try, you make it so hard to resist.”

  I’d never know if he was serious or not, but I had to take the bad with the good. With Sir there was a lot of bad, copious amounts of blood and a body count I didn’t want to ask about. I made a deal with the devil when it came to being owned by him, but love isn’t black and white—there’s the murky gray in between. And I was perfectly fine with that.

  About the Author

  J.M. Dabney is a multi-genre author who writes Body Positive/Diverse Romance and Fiction. They live with a constant diverse cast of characters in their head. No matter their size, shape, race, etc. J.M. lives for one purpose alone, and that’s to make sure they do them justice and give them the happily ever after they deserve. J.M. is dysfunction at its finest and they makes sure their characters are a beautiful kaleidoscope of crazy. There is nothing more they want from telling their stories than to show that no matter the package the characters come in or the damage their pasts have done, that love is love. That normal is never normal and sometimes the so-called broken can still be amazing.