Chapter 131: His Submissive dick -4

Quillon returned with the fresh mug of tea and stopped in the doorway.

Vesper hadn’t moved. He still lay on his back in the centre of the bed, palms flat against the sheets, cock standing rigid and marked. The thin red lines from the cane stood out against the darker flush of the shaft. A slow bead of precome had gathered at the tip and was sliding down toward his stomach.

Quillon took a quiet sip, then set the mug on the dresser.

"Still hard," he said. "Good."

He walked to the side of the bed and looked down at the evidence of the earlier punishment. His fingers traced one of the warmer stripes lightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind. Vesper’s hips twitched once and then stilled.

"You’ve taken what you earned," Quillon said. "And you kept it hard the entire time I was gone. That counts for something."

He stepped back and pushed the black lounge pants down his hips, kicking them aside. He was already hard himself—thick, heavy, the head glistening. He climbed onto the bed and straddled Vesper’s thighs, settling his weight just above the aching cock without letting it touch him yet.

"I’m going to let you fuck me," he said, voice low and even. "As a reward. You’re going to stay hard the whole time. You’re going to come inside me when I tell you to, and not a second before. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Good."

Quillon reached back, took hold of Vesper’s cock, and guided the head against himself. He was already slick—whether from earlier preparation or simple readiness, Vesper couldn’t tell. Quillon sank down in one slow, controlled motion until he was fully seated, the tight heat of him enclosing every inch.

A rough sound tore out of Vesper’s throat.

Quillon’s hands settled on Vesper’s chest, pinning him lightly to the mattress. "You don’t thrust until I say. You stay still and let me feel how hard you are."

He rolled his hips once, testing, then again, deeper. The wet sound of it filled the quiet room. Vesper’s marked cock throbbed inside him, every stripe from the cane seeming to pulse with the pressure. Quillon’s eyes stayed on Vesper’s face the entire time, watching every flicker of need.

"Now," Quillon said. "Fuck me."

Vesper’s hands stayed where they were. He planted his feet against the mattress and drove up, slow at first, then harder when Quillon’s breath caught. The dominant bottom took every thrust without yielding control—meeting him, guiding the angle, squeezing down whenever Vesper got too close to the edge.

"Harder," Quillon ordered. "I want to feel it."

Vesper gave him harder. The bed shifted under them. Quillon’s cock slapped against Vesper’s stomach with every downward grind, leaving wet streaks across his skin. The heat and the friction and the lingering sting from the cane layered together until Vesper’s vision narrowed.

"Not yet," Quillon said sharply when Vesper’s rhythm faltered. "You come when I tell you."

He rode him through another long minute, hips rolling in deliberate circles, then lifted almost all the way off before slamming back down. Vesper’s breath fractured.

"Now," Quillon said. "Come inside me."

The orgasm hit like a breaking wave. Vesper’s hips snapped up and stayed locked as he emptied himself in thick, pulsing waves. Quillon kept moving through it, slow and deep, milking every last drop until Vesper was trembling and oversensitive beneath him.

Only then did Quillon lift himself off.

Come immediately began to slip from him, thick and white, sliding down the inside of one thigh and across the curve of his ass. He stayed on his knees above Vesper for a moment, looking down at the mess, then shifted forward and turned so that he was facing the headboard on his hands and knees, ass presented.

"Clean it," he said.

Vesper pushed himself up on shaky arms.

"Lick my asshole," Quillon continued, voice calm and absolute. "And my cheeks. Every bit of your come that you can reach. I want it gone."

Vesper leaned in. The first pass of his tongue caught the warm, salty smear along the left cheek. He licked slowly, carefully, gathering what he could. Quillon’s hand reached back and rested on the back of Vesper’s head—not pushing, just resting, a quiet reminder of who was still in control.

"Deeper," Quillon said. "Get your tongue in me."

Vesper parted him with both hands and pressed his tongue against the slick, used entrance. The taste of himself was strong—salt and heat and the faint musk of Quillon’s skin. He licked in slow, thorough strokes, cleaning what had slipped out, then pushing inside as far as he could to gather more. Quillon’s breath left him in a low, satisfied sound.

"The other cheek," Quillon instructed. "Don’t miss any of it."

Vesper obeyed. He licked the right cheek clean, then returned to Quillon’s hole, tongue working patiently until the last visible traces were gone. Only when Quillon finally shifted forward and turned to face him again did Vesper sit back on his heels.

Quillon looked him over—flushed face, wet mouth, cock already beginning to fill again against his thigh.

"Still hard," Quillon observed quietly. "Good boy."

He reached out and brushed his thumb across Vesper’s lower lip, collecting a smear of residual come.

"You’re going to stay ready for me the rest of the night," he said. "I’m not finished with you yet."

Quillon didn’t let him rest for long.

He climbed off the bed, collected the mug of tea from the dresser, and drank what was left in a few unhurried swallows. Then he set the empty mug aside and looked at Vesper the way a man looks at something that already belongs to him.

"On your feet."

Vesper stood. His legs were still unsteady from the orgasm and the careful work of cleaning Quillon afterward. His cock remained hard, the head shiny, the faint red lines from the cane still visible along the shaft.

Quillon walked a slow circle around him, one hand trailing lightly across Vesper’s lower back, then lower, then around to the front. He took the heavy length in his palm and weighed it, thumb stroking once along the underside.

"Still ready," he murmured. "That’s what I like. You’re going to keep it that way while I decide what I want next."

He released him and crossed to the low armchair by the window. He sat, legs spread comfortably, and crooked two fingers.

"Come here. Kneel."

Vesper crossed the room and sank to his knees between Quillon’s thighs. Quillon’s cock was still half-hard, resting against his stomach. He didn’t ask for Vesper’s mouth. Instead he reached down, took Vesper’s jaw in one hand, and tilted his face up.

"You’re going to stay exactly like this for a while," Quillon said. "Hard. Quiet. Waiting. I’m going to read. Every few minutes I’m going to check you. If you’ve gone soft even a little, we start the cane again. Understood?"

"Yes."

Quillon picked up the book that had been lying on the side table, opened it to the marked page, and began to read in silence.

The minutes stretched. Vesper stayed on his knees, hands resting open on his own thighs, cock jutting upward between them. The ache from the earlier caning had settled into a deep, warm throb that only made the constant hardness more noticeable. Every so often Quillon’s eyes flicked down from the page. He would reach out, close his fingers around Vesper’s cock, give it one slow, assessing stroke, and then return to his reading without a word.

Each check found him hard.

After the fourth check Quillon closed the book and set it aside. He looked at Vesper for a long moment, then stood.

"Up. On the bed. On your back again."

Vesper obeyed. Quillon climbed over him and settled his weight across Vesper’s hips, trapping the rigid cock against his own ass without taking it inside. He leaned down until their mouths were almost touching.

"I’m going to use you again," he said quietly. "But this time you’re not allowed to come. You stay hard inside me for as long as I want. If you get close, you tell me. If you come without permission, the punishment will be worse than the cane. Clear?"

"Clear."

Quillon reached back, guided the head into place, and sank down in one smooth motion until he was fully seated. The tight heat closed around Vesper all at once. A low sound escaped him before he could stop it.

Quillon began to move—slow, deep rolls of his hips that dragged every inch of the marked shaft. He kept his hands braced on Vesper’s chest, holding him down, controlling the depth and the pace. Whenever Vesper’s breathing grew too sharp, Quillon slowed even further, squeezing deliberately around him until the edge receded.

"Still hard," Quillon said after several minutes, voice a little rougher. "Good. Stay that way."

He rode him without hurry, sometimes lifting almost all the way off before sinking back down, sometimes grinding in tight circles that made Vesper’s thighs shake. Precome and the earlier mess made everything slick and loud in the quiet room. Quillon’s own cock dragged wetly across Vesper’s stomach with every movement.

Time blurred. Vesper’s world narrowed to the heat of Quillon’s body, the constant order to remain hard, and the growing, almost painful need to come that he was not allowed to satisfy.

At last Quillon stilled, fully seated, and looked down at him.

"You’re doing well," he said. The praise was quiet, almost private. "I’m going to come like this. You’re going to stay hard while I do. Then you’re going to clean me again—exactly the way you did before."

He began to stroke himself in long, firm pulls, still sitting deep on Vesper’s cock. His breath shortened. His thighs tensed. When he came it was with a low, controlled sound, thick stripes of come landing across Vesper’s chest and stomach. He kept moving through it in small, grinding circles, milking his own pleasure while Vesper stayed rigidly hard inside him.

Only when the last pulses faded did Quillon lift himself off.

Come slipped from him immediately. He turned onto his hands and knees once more and glanced back over his shoulder.

"Clean it," he said. "Asshole and cheeks. Every drop."

Vesper pushed himself up and leaned in. The taste was stronger this time—his own earlier release mixed with Quillon’s. He licked carefully, thoroughly, tongue working over the warm skin of Quillon’s cheeks and then pressing inside to gather what had slipped out. Quillon’s hand settled on the back of his head again, steady and possessive, guiding without force.

When Quillon finally decided he was clean enough, he shifted away and sat back against the headboard. His gaze dropped to Vesper’s cock—still hard, still marked, still leaking.

"Good boy," he said softly. "You’re learning."

He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the base, giving it one slow, proprietary stroke.

"Stay hard for me a little longer. I’m not done watching you like this yet."