Kinktober Day 12: Petplay (gznz)

“Sit.”

The command rolls off Piers’ tongue with ease, no hesitation or falter. He isn’t swearing, he isn’t yelling, he just says that one word and points a slender finger down at the ground. The energy of it hits Guzma like lightning, tingling through his body and shivering down his spine. His knees buckle without his asking them to, and he slides to the ground in an instant.

What the fuck.

Half of his mind rebels, while the other half is purely delighted. It isn’t supposed to feel good, to be ordered around like a dog. He’s the one who gives the orders, dammit. He’s a team leader, he’s tough, he’s a real man—

The toes of Piers’ shoes come into view, the leather worn but well cared-for, and Guzma realises he’s staring directly down at the ground. The shoes stop just in front of him, and a fleeting thought marvels at how small they are, how slender Piers really is. Yet so utterly self-assured.

Hands in his hair have him tensing on instinct, preparing himself for the presumed punishment to come. People don’t just touch him casually, and while this doesn’t feel bad, it feels like something he’s enjoying far too much. He should hate this. Nobody touches him, he touches them and that’s how it always has been, always should be.

Then Piers’ nails skate across his scalp, little lines of shivery pleasure that have him sighing with contentment against his own will as those fingers work their way through the messy mop of hair he rarely bothers to comb. They work through a snag, then drift lower to massage the base of his skull, digging into the muscle between his neck and head.

“That’s my good boy,” Piers murmurs, and Guzma’s world shifts on its axis.

Goodboygoodboyhecalledmeagoodboy!

It’s fucking embarrassing, how that shoots instantly to all the right places in his body and makes him yearn to please the man above him in any way possible. That very same urge, to perform and cause pride, has given him trouble for his entire life depending on the agendas of the people he tended to follow. But still…

He’s fucked it up so many times trying to hack it on his own.

All he wants is someone to tell him what to do. To be in charge, so he can’t screw it up any more. To handle his temper, to put him in his place, so he doesn’t have to worry about anything and can just exist. Shame courses through his veins; it’s so goddamn humiliating that he wants to be someone’s dog, he should call this all off, tell Piers he changed his mind—

Before he can tap out, Piers’ cool fingertips circle down the sides of his jaw, pressing in to let the pressure off and slowly tilting his chin up and up until their gazes meet.

“You’re doing such a good job for me right now. This is what ya needed, isn’t it? To let me take the reins.” He says the words with such a casual, calm dominance that all of Guzma’s fears drain out of him like water out of a bathtub. All the riots inside him go quiet when Piers looks at him like that, and his heart settles itself into comfortable obedience.

“You wanna keep goin’?”

Guzma breathes, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Piers’ eyes are gentle, but his fingers are firm, holding him in a grip he isn’t scared he’ll slip through. Maybe, just this once, he can be allowed to have this. Submitting feels like the scariest thing he’s ever done, and he’s done plenty of scary shit, but he still does it.

“Yes,” he answers, and a soft smile curls up the sides of Piers’ shell-pink lips. He’s really that pleased they get to continue?

“That’s my good pup. Now, I gotcha a surprise to help you get into the mood…stay while I go and get it.”

Guzma stays, like he’s rooted to the spot. Piers sashays off into the other room, and he watches those hips and that perfect peachy arse go with him, but he’d stay in this spot for hours if it made Piers call him a good boy again.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to wait that long. Piers re-emerges after only a few minutes, carrying a small wooden box that Guzma doesn’t recognise. That little smile has only grown wickeder, and Guzma wonders for a moment if he should be nervous before Piers saunters up and opens the box, turning it around to present it to him.

Inside, on a plush velvet lining, is a leather collar. Too nice for any real mutt, it looks soft and smooth, with gold hardware that glints in the low light of Piers’ apartment. There’s even a small tag with his name on it resting at one end, and now he’s blushing all over again from the thought of Piers actually having this engraved somewhere, just for him. Slender fingers lift it up out of the box, and he swallows as the gold buckle glitters, then Piers sets the case aside and holds the collar out between his spread hands.

“Can I put this on you?”

Always asking him permission, even when he doesn’t expect it. Like he’d say no to that gorgeous collar. He nods, and then when Piers continues to stand there, he remembers to use his words.

“Yeah—yes. Please.”

The feeling of the leather resting against his throat is almost soothing, a reassuring weight that grounds him with its solidness. Piers’ fingers are deft in securing the buckle, and the jingle of the tag rings in his ears like a chime. Instantly, he wonders what sort of other activities they might do that would make it jingle, over and over again…

Piers must have had a similar thought, because the hand that catches his chin is a bit more forceful this time, but he hardly minds. Always liked it a bit rough anyhow. There’s a dark smoulder of lust in Piers’ eyes now too, and apparently Guzma’s body has already signed on for full obedience to him, because he feels his cock starting to strain the front of his trousers already.

“You look so handsome like this…my good boy, down on his knees. This is right where you belong,” Piers says, at the same instant his hand snakes from Guzma’s chin to the back of his neck and shoves his face in against Piers’ crotch. Buried there, he can feel the heat of his body through the denim fabric and the shove of the zipper against his lips. Piers is already mostly-hard too, and the scent of it has Guzma’s mouth watering as it floods his nose. “Time t’ service your master, pup.”

His words are infuriatingly calm, but Guzma can already hear the undercurrent of desire burning in that silk-and-cigarettes voice of his. It only makes him drool all the more, soaking into the denim under his lips as every inch of his body begins to crave Piers in the most primal way. On his knees like this, he’s allowed to let go and admit how badly he’s starving for the man in front of him, and Piers has the control to keep it all in check.

But Guzma wouldn’t be Guzma if he didn’t have at least a few tricks up his sleeve. He might be Piers’ pet right now, but even still, he’s a naughty dog at best. Trailing his tongue up the metal pathway of the zipper, he takes it between his teeth and slowly drags it down, doing his best to look salacious when he glances up through his eyelashes. And fuck him, that burst of impressed lust on Piers’ face makes all of this worth it instantly, not that it wasn’t already.

Piers is at least kind enough to reach down and wriggle out of his jeans, shoving them past his own knees until they pool at the floor and Guzma’s body twinges with excitement when he’s finally face to face with that cock. Piers is thick, thicker than he expected a skinny guy to be, but that is the opposite of a fucking problem right now. The head is already pink with want, and when Piers tugs the skin covering it back, a glinting drop of precum beads out of the slit.

That’s all Guzma needs. Greedy, he tilts forward and licks the salty drop up, swirling his tongue around the tip until Piers gives a soft groan of approval. That sound is the only thing in his world right now, the only thing worth working for, and Guzma opens his mouth to swallow half the length at once, feeling the weight of it slip across his tongue and push towards the back of his throat. Moaning, delighted, he pushes his head down further until that scent is in his mouth and nose and every last sense. Piers’ skin and sex smell primal and earthy, somewhere between oddly floral and coppery-sharp, a scent that has his own cock twitching in eager approval. With a deep breath through his nose, Guzma forces his throat to relax just so he can slide down further and get a bigger inhale of it—

—Two fingers hook under the back of his new collar, and tug him off like a disobedient mutt. He gags at the sudden loss and the way the leather digs into his skin, saliva coating his chin as that cock bobs tantalisingly in front of him once more. Yet the surprise only sends him higher, he wants it, he’ll be a good dog for it, a good pet for Piers if only he can have his toy back.

“Slowly, pup. I wanna enjoy your throat,” Piers orders, and Guzma squirms in his spot. Dammit, this is a command he doesn’t want to obey! All he wants is to choke himself on his master’s cock, swallow it down like he’s been waiting to do and get a hot, sticky load as his reward. He wants to be good, and to not think, and to be praised. Fuck going slowly.

Yet Piers’ tone brooks no disobedience, so when his tongue strains out of his mouth, he keeps the motion steady this time. Up and down he laves the side of the shaft, worshipping the vein at the side with sloppy kisses and following his nose to the heavy sack that hangs beneath like a prize. More to be had, right there. His tongue swipes at the heft of them, guiding the balls into his mouth and sucking until he hears Piers bite off a curse above him. Beside his face, Piers’ cock gives a mighty twitch, and he hurries back before he can miss the next drop of precum slowly dripping down from it. It’s his reward for being good, he’ll not be letting it go to waste on the floor. Hell, if it landed there he’d be licking it up anyway—now that’s thinking like a mutt.

It doesn’t, though, and he starts up his suckling again with as much gusto as he can manage, unable to hold back even as he’s praying that Piers won’t pull him off again. He needn’t have worried, though. Piers’ hands are tightening both in his hair and on the back of his collar, and in the blink of an eye, he shoves Guzma down firmly. There’s nothing he can do like this; his eyes are watering, but Piers is forcing him to take it all, burying deep in his convulsing throat while all Guzma can manage is a pathetic mewl as he tries not to suffocate. Thoughts swirl, then vanish entirely. All he wants is to be right here. A good, empty, brainless pet. A cocksucking toy for his master to use.

Piers pulls back enough to allow Guzma a tiny breath of air that only serves to make his head spin more, and then starts up a steady rhythm of fucking his face in insistent pushes that stretch him to his limit. Absently, Guzma realises that Piers’ cock is probably straining against his collar, that he can probably feel the tightness it brings even through Guzma’s throat.

“That’s it—good boy, good fuckin’ boy, letting me use you like this,” Piers says, and the tremor of ecstasy in his voice is all Guzma needs, screw oxygen. “Doin’ so good for me.”

His lungs are burning, but he wouldn’t stop if given a dozen chances. This has to be a part of his life now; he certainly doesn’t want to keep living without Piers feeding him his dick on a regular basis, gagging him with it and filling him until all those pesky thoughts are chased right out of his mind. The world turns fuzzy, and Guzma swallows reflexively around the length pumping in and out of his throat, aware that he’s drooling on the floor and Piers doesn’t seem to care.

Then his hips shift, and he catches an angle against the inside of his own trousers—oh fuck. Subtly at first, then with increasing desperation, he humps the inside of his trackies and sucks Piers’ cock furiously, using the little gasps of air he gets between each stroke to keep from passing out. His lips are bruising and he might be on fire, but he doesn’t care about anything other than friction and satisfaction right now. And Piers. Always Piers.

“Fuck, someone’s a horny pup,” Piers chuckles, his voice already low and raspy and enough to send delicious shivers through his entire core. “You gonna hump yourself until you cum? I wanna see you do it.”

Guzma fucking whimpers around his dick, trying to be imploring. There’s just one last thing he needs, the orgasm is already building in his balls and he just needs one more push to send it over.

“Be a good boy and cum for me,” Piers purrs, and ah, that’s it. He’s finished. Hips stuttering, Guzma cums in his pants utterly untouched, feeling the warmth flood against his cock and seep out through the material of the joggers. Pleasure erases his brain, his body flashing hot and shaking against the ground as he empties himself, still attached to Piers’ cock all the while.

By the time he’s finished, his body is so limp and loose that Piers just grabs either side of his head and thrusts in with a wet, lewd noise. It’s music to his ears, and he swallows as best he can around the length lodged so deep until Piers shoves him down all the way. His cock twitches once, twice, and Guzma feels the thick pulses of his load pouring down the back of his throat. He doesn’t even have to swallow, isn’t master nice? Every last drop is wrung out by the dizzy sucks of his lips and tongue, and when Piers finally pulls him off, he has to lick his lips a few times to make sure it’s all cleaned up.

For a while he just drifts, feeling his lungs refilling with air, and when he comes back into himself, his face is pressed to Piers’ hip and those fingers are back to soothingly stroke at his hair. That might be a thing after all…having his hair played with, so casually and intimately.

Piers allows him a minute more before finally shuffling back, and reaching down to unzip his boots so he can step out of them and his pants alike. “Now that the scene is over,” he begins, and looks down at Guzma with a teasing twinkle in his eye, “I trust you’ll not be too difficult about getting into a bath with me?”

Guzma isn’t.