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What Am I Bid

Page history last edited by nate 10 years, 9 months ago

Disclaimer: I don’t own the CSI boys or Ebay. No money has or will be made from this fic.

 


What Am I bid?

 

 

Greg laughed and rubbed his hands together as he checked his ebay sale. The amount was up to $400,000 and the sale hadn’t yet been pulled. He’d only done a one-day sale to lessen the chance of it being spotted and pulled by the site team. He laughed to himself.

 

“What are you cackling at?”

 

He looked up as Gil came into the lounge and he quickly minimised the browser and tried to look his most innocent.

 

“Nothing, Master.”

 

Innocent was not a convincing look on Greg Sanders and Grissom raised an eyebrow.

 

The brown-haired young man gave him his best puppy ‘I’m a good boy’ look. The older man wasn’t buying it though.

 

“Pet?” The word and tone were a warning. He knew he had him as he saw the adams apple bob under the leather collar: the only item he was wearing on his body.

 

Greg’s arms moved almost protectively around his laptop. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? He shook his head but steely eyes bore into him.

 

“Last chance, boy.”

 

And he knew it was, he whimpered, starting to feel a tiny bit of regret at what he’d done, it was mainly stirred by the fear of what could come after the revelation. It wasn’t the first time and he seriously doubted it would be the last, he liked to play these silly games, to push a little and inject a bit of fun into things. And Gil, well he liked the challenge, almost as much as he liked it when he was a good obedient sub.

 

He slowly relinquished his grip on the laptop and turned it towards his Master. The wallpaper was showing: a goofy picture of the two of them curled close together, grinning. At the bottom of the screen only one window tab showed and Gil used the touch pad to open it.

 

His face was stoic, unreadable as he took in the page. “Just what did you intend to do with the money?” He asked, his voice laced with steel, the tendril of humour was undetectable. Inside he was trying hard not to laugh, this was the game they played; he would chuckle about it later in private.

 

“Well,” Greg shifted nervously, unable to gauge the response, he was in trouble, he knew that for sure… but how much trouble was indiscernible at the moment. “I thought, a bigger house, maybe with a pool. And… um… a convertible, something…err… flashy.” His tongue flickered out to lick his lips: he was worried.

 

Griss nodded thoughtfully. “And you’d live in this house by yourself and drive the car to work by yourself, coming home and swimming in the pool…all by yourself?” he carefully enunciated that last three words.

 

“No.” Greg shook his head emphatically, “With you.”

 

“Interesting!” Gil navigated his way around the page, “Just how were you intending on doing that, when you’d sold me?”

 

His pet’s face fell, he hadn’t thought of that. If the sale didn’t get pulled… he quickly scrabbled to try and pull the auction, but the laptop was lifted out of his reach. “No no, pet. I think we should let it play out see how much I’m worth.”

 

“No… please, Master…don’t. I’m sorry I was just being silly – I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to sell you I’d rather live in a cardboard box with you than in a mansion without.” Greg pleaded, unable to see that clever fingers had already halted the sale.

 

“You were being silly, pet?”

 

An emphatic nod, “Really, just silly.”

 

“Oh, and I thought you were being a brat. How silly of me. So you weren’t trying to goad me into tying you up and spanking your butt?”

 

“Um…” Greg flushed. “I…”

 

That eyebrow rose again, silently demanding. He watched as his boy stuttered and stammered, but was unable to answer. Gil closed the lid on the laptop and set it down on the coffee table. He pointed to the floor in front of him; Greg knew what was expected, as he slid off the sofa and into a kneel on the soft carpet at his Master’s feet.

 

He put effort in to make sure he had perfect posture: he didn’t want to piss the man off if he wasn’t already or more if he was. Thighs were spread, butt resting on his heels as his back was held straight; his chin was up but his eyes were lowered, settled on Gil’s feet. One hand clutched the wrist of the other behind his back; the position pushed his chest out slightly.

 

Griss ran fingers through his boy’s long loose brown curls. Since he’d grown it, it had become softer and caressable; there were many times he just wanted to bury his hands in it, but while at work – that was not acceptable. At home though, he could do what he wanted. He gave a gentle tug on the curls and then ran his hand over a bare shoulder down to finger the nipple ring. He watched as a lower lip was pulled between teeth to stifle to moan and the physical response that Greg wanted to make.

 

“Playroom… and crawl.” The command fell from his lips before he’d even given thought to what he was going to do with his boy.

 

He watched long enough to make sure that he was being obeyed, before opening the laptop back up. When it came out of hibernation he took a screen shot of the auction page and pasted it in paint to save it. That done; he closed it down properly and allowed himself a smirk of amusement. Gil took a moment to pull himself together and let Greg stew a bit, before he headed for the playroom they had created in their second bedroom; his stride confident even in bare feet.

 

Greg had crawled slowly and carefully to the playroom, the last thing he needed were carpet burns on his knees. He knew what was expected of him in that room, they had rules to make moments like this easier on both of them. He took himself to the middle of the room and shifted back into the formal kneel that was expected, this time hands went to his thighs, palms up. The black plastic flooring was cool under his limbs but it was there for practical reasons: ease of cleaning.

 

He was kept waiting a few minutes, just long enough for him to centre himself and to begin to sweat over whether he’d been stupid to pull the prank. He’d picked a good day for it: they both had the next two days off; and it had seemed like such a good idea at the time. He really wasn’t sure now though, but then, he went through those doubts every single time and had only once found that they were founded.

 

His Master was circling him: he both loved and hated it when he did that, he felt like prey; that was not always a bad thing at all. Fingers threaded into his hair; Gil was stood behind him and his hands tightened, pulling backwards until he tilted his head back. His eyes flickered up to meet blue-grey, serious-looking eyes. Nothing was said but plenty of communication took place in that locked gaze: I love you; I’ll never hurt you; make me fall; you’re mine; make me fly; forever; I’m yours; I love you too, and the most loudest of all, I trust you!

 

They played the games, they danced the dance, but when all was done, this was the life they both chose to lead. They were partners and they were equals – but they weren’t: power was exchanged every day; given and received freely and it only worked because they trusted each other with every ounce of their souls. It was the moments like that, before they played, and the tender moments after, that reminded them and reaffirmed it all… they were bound in more ways than one.

 

“Spanking bench.” Gil’s soft command broke into their silent conversation; his hand releasing the hair it held, to allow obedience.

 

Greg slid back onto hands and knees with surprising fluidity and crawled to the equipment named and positioned himself on it. His knees and shins rested on the ledges for them, spreading his legs apart as he leaned his torso over the main part of the bench. His arms stretched out in front of him and his face fitted into the cut out made for it. He liked the bench, it was padded and comfortable, and he never failed to get hard when on it: like he started to get now.

 

He could hear movement but, from his position on the bench, he couldn’t see anything. He jumped slightly in surprise, as the padded and lined leather cuff fastened around his ankle. He was ready for the touch as it moved to fasten the one higher up, across his calf muscle. The matching cuffs on the opposite leg were fastened equally as efficiently and hands caressed over his exposed ass, momentarily; making him shiver.

 

Gil ran his hands up over that perfect butt, the scarred back, the tattoo of ownership on his shoulder and down along his stretched out arms. His touch had been light but very there, grounding his boy, connecting them. There was a jangle of chain as he retrieved the wrist cuffs and secured them around Greg’s wrists. The hand trailed its way back down the bound body and without warning pulled back and struck: landing a series of medium-strength smacks to one cheek then the other.

 

There was no pause between them and when he stopped the sting blossomed across Greg’s ass, he moaned at the heat and pain; his cock stretching and filling to full hardness. The touch left his flesh and he was left with just the residual feel of the rapid fire spanking to focus on, and the sound of his Master moving around the room.

 

Gil opened a drawer and pulled out lube and a medium sized butt plug with a harness that wrapped around the genitals. He lubed the plug and his fingers as he crossed back to his boy. Slick fingers pressed against the well-used hole: Greg was his boy and he fucked him every day so he opened up fairly quickly. Two fingers sunk straight in, slicking up the entrance and stretching slightly; he crooked his fingers and pressed the joy spot.

 

Greg gasped, his anus flexing around the fingers in response. He moaned his pleasure; no doubt the begging would come soon enough. The fingers disappeared and he felt the pressure of a plug slowly being inserted, it didn’t pause, it just moved insistently all the way in until the flared part popped through and his sphincter settled around the stem. The strap was buckled around the base of his hard cock and balls and tightened. He groaned in frustration, he wasn’t going to get to cum until that was released: he found himself whimpering already.

 

Gil wiped his hands off on one of the small towels they kept in the room – there was nothing worse than trying to wield a flogger when your hands were slippery with lube. He picked a paddle off the rack and rotated his wrist, to loosen it up, as he stepped behind and to the side of his boy’s butt. He lowered the leather to let it rub lightly over one ass cheek, letting him know what to expect next. He pulled back and brought it down with a short sharp smack; precise and hard, he let the pain from it bloom before he repeated the action on the same spot.

 

The paddle fell, the same place, the same side, once…twice… thrice…. Greg counted in his head: his Master loved to occasionally throw the question out of ‘how many?’ and if he couldn’t answer he would start again; and he would count, but it would be uncertain whether he would be asked again – sometimes he was and sometimes he wasn’t. So, he’d taken to trying to count from the start, just in case. He was never sure if Gil even knew himself how many he gave; probably did though.

 

He counted six on one cheek before the paddle moved to the other. Another six and he had matching globes on fire. The spacing of each blow was perfect for maximum pain and each one was harder than the one before. There was no respite though before his Master started on the first side again, a different area this time.

By the time he was finished with the paddle, Gil had made sure that Greg’s ass was glowing red all over it; burning hot with pain. He wasn’t going to be sitting on it any time soon. He was hard, so hard and his bound cock was leaking precum steadily; he was moaning and whimpering with each contact the paddle made on his bruising butt. He hadn’t been asked for the number, and it was just as well because, after the fourth set, he’d lost count

 

The sight in front of Gil was too irresistible. He unfastened his pants and released his own raging erection. Reaching between his boy’s legs, he released the strap that bound his cock and pulled the plug from the hole with one hand; he slicked his cock and pushed into the stretched hole with no further preparation or warning.

 

Greg cried out at the sudden and deep penetration. Pleasure warred with pain, the sting of his butt was aggravated as hips slapped against it and his hole was stretched with a delicious burn. His Master barely waited for him to adjust before he set up a punishing rhythm: fucking him hard and fast, each stroke slammed into him and made him grunt or cry out. His moans were coming steady and his cock was throbbing as his balls pulled up tight; he was so close.

 

Griss was panting, a light sheen of sweat covering his face from the exertion. He was driving them both towards completion. Thrust after hard pounding thrust drove into his boy and he was riding a wave of pure ecstasy as he slammed in one final time and shot his spunk deep inside. He cried out, “Cum!” as he fell over the edge, and he felt his boy’s muscles clench around him as he followed him into orgasm; the joint climax seeming to prolong it for both of them.

 

They both panted for air as they came back to themselves Gil’s hands were already working at unfastening cuffs before he’d even pulled out. When he did pull his softening erection from Greg’s hole it dragged a whimper from the younger man. He picked up the towel and wiped himself then his boy’s ass as gently as he could. He finally uncuffed his boy’s wrists and helped him up from the bench; cradling him to his chest lovingly, petting his hair.

 

“Now,” Gil started to say, his voice coloured with amusement, “How much do you think I’d get for you? I quite like the idea of a pool!”

 

~fin~

 

[ readers]

 

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