Page 61 of The Cartographer

He does as he’s told, and I wrap a towel around my waist before I dry him off. When there’s not a drop of water left on him, I do myself without nearly as much care. After I’ve gotten myself serviceably dry, I tell him to stay where he is, fetch a few things from the closet and lay them on the floor outside the shower stall, and then head to the kitchen to get the rest.

Allie’s still standing, hands against the wall when I return. The sight of him—this big, strong, self-sufficient man standing still for me simply because I’ve asked him to—gives me a rush. As does his compliance when I tell him to lie on his side on the bath mat with his knees tucked up.

He makes a desultory sound of protest but does it, resting his head on the folded towel I’ve handed him. I set up, hanging the bag filled with warm salt water and assembling the tubing, and when I’m done, I sit down behind him and stroke him from shoulder to flank.

I tell him exactly what to expect, how it might feel, and what’s important to tell me. From his carefully measured breathing—it’s so different from what it sounds like when he’s not regulating it but letting his body do its own work—and periodic bob of his Adam’s apple, I can tell he’s still nervous. He’s going to do it anyway.

I expect him to crack jokes or snap at me with coarse words and sarcasm because that’s frequently what he does when he’s afraid. There’s none of that this time, and I can’t quite tell whether it’s because my assurances have made him brave or because he’s moved beyond fear into dread.

Regardless, it’s time to go before the water gets too cool. I part his cheeks and find his hole, slicking some lube over it before greasing up the nozzle I’ll put inside him. It’s strange I’ve done so many things to him, had fingers and my dick inside him and he barely blinked, but this is unsettling him.

I tease him some with my finger because I can and because I hope it’ll get him to relax.

“Do you like it when I push my fingers inside you, Hart?”

“Yes, sir.” His voice is thin and faraway, and I want to bring him back down to Earth, with me. I don’t want him to be so wound up. So I ease the tip of my finger inside him and it makes him inhale.

“Like this?”

He makes a wonderfully strangled sound, and I have to smile. It’s enough to get his attention, but it’s not enough to be terribly pleasurable. Hopefully the memories of when it’s turned to ecstasy will allow him to project and picture what’ll come. I stroke inside him, not pressing for an answer, and when he’s settled under my touch, I withdraw and replace my finger with the nozzle. I can see how his eyes squeeze shut, the tension around them creasing his skin. It’s hard to be dignified during this process, but he’s awfully sensitive to the humiliation aspect. Doesn’t take much with my Allie sometimes.

I wipe my fingers on a towel, and then it’s time. I could ask him if he’s ready, but it seems cruel to make him agree to this. Later, certainly, but not his first time.

“It’s going to start now.”

I flick the clamp to let the water flow through, and he makes a small, startled sound as it enters him. It can be unsettling the first time, such a foreign sensation, but some subs tell me they come to enjoy this, very much. Not so surprising, given how intimate this can be.

Stroking and murmuring to him, I watch the water flow out of the bag and into his body. After a while, he grunts and clutches at his stomach.

“It hurts. I think I’m full.”

Double-checking the amount of fluid in the bag, I shake my head, not that he can see it. Not even close. I close the clamp, though, to stop the flow and lay down beside him, taking my place as the big spoon and propping myself up on my elbow. I kiss by his ear, enjoying the sandpaper roughness of the hair close to his scalp, and reach a hand around to gently knead his stomach. “You’re not, but we’ll take a break. It’s normal to cramp some, and you’re having your first. Tell me when it’s over.”

He presses his face into the towel, and I kiss him some more, down his neck and over the rise of his shoulder before trailing back down to nip at his earlobe. Normally I’d make my charge talk to me more, but I know Allie. Sometimes it’s easier for him to handle these things by himself. Makes him feel more capable and I don’t want to take that away. That’s the last thing I want to take from him.

After a few minutes, he rolls his head to look my way, his gaze reluctant but open. I haven’t lost him. “Okay.”

I could ask for more detail, but don’t. Some tops enjoy pushing their bottoms hard and fast, but I’ve always found more success with the slow coaxing, the building of trust and the seduction of their senses. If I prove I’ll never hurt them, they let me get away with murder and without that exasperating flinch. Reluctance sometimes, sure, because I can ask a lot and it’s intimidating, but fear play isn’t my thing.

He’s volunteering for more of something he doesn’t particularly care for because he trusts me, and that’s the best feeling in the world. I give him a warning again and let more of the water drain into him. When he’s taken enough, I stop it and let him rest, get used to the strange feeling of being filled this way. He lies quietly, docilely, as I talk to him and touch him. After I’ve judged him to be accepting and not so agitated about this now, I get his attention with another nip to his ear.

“You can expel it now. Would you like me to leave or stay?”

There’s no hesitancy in his answer and it’s precisely what I thought it would be. “Go.”

“That’s fine. You should know some Dominants won’t take that for an answer, so be prepared.”

“Some Dominants can go fuck themselves,” he mutters under his breath, and it makes me laugh.Oh, Allie, you’ve added to my to-do list, lovely boy.

I kiss him one last time on his temple and then lever myself off the floor. Note to self: next time bring in cushions to put under the mat. I’m not getting any younger, and I can feel the stiffness in my bones when I stand.

Doing as he’s requested, I leave, closing the door with a snick of the latch, and I turn on some music in my room to give the illusion of greater privacy. I can still hear him, though, grunting and grumbling as he pushes off the floor himself. I can’t make out any words, but I’d make a hefty wager he’s swearing at me. That’s fine. He’s due his privacy, and I won’t punish him for something I’m not supposed to be privy to.

I debate what clothes to put on while I wait for him. I’m going to make him wait a bit for his reward. So on with some casual slacks and a button-down, and Matthew’s washed my favorite pair of socks so I pull those on as well and lay out a blazer on the bed. Respectable enough for brunch down the street with my lover who’ll be starving. Because he always is.

It’s not entirely surprising the shower turns on again briefly, and a couple of minutes after it shuts off, Allie emerges, face a bit flushed because I know exactly what’s been happening behind that closed door and it embarrasses him.

“Feeling okay?” I study him carefully for signs of actual distress, and his answer confirms my evaluation.

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