Amstelstraat 17
Title: Amstelstraat 17
Pairing: Joey/Mick
POV: Joey
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Joey’s on tour, missing his lover…
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fiction. It did not happen. This fiction in no way represents people mentioned within. I do not profit from these stories.
I’ve been on tour with Ministry for what feels like forever. It’s the middle of August and we’re in some small town called Hultsfred.
The gig last night went fairly well and the post show party was nice but nothing special. I even wandered around the festival grounds for a while, found a bar and watched three young women urging guys to take their shirts off and bang their heads. No others but metal chicks can party hard and objectify men like that. I couldn’t help but smile and the guy with long blond hair was kind of nice to rest my eyes on. I went back to the hotel rather late and was kind of surprised when I woke up unusually early.
I take a long hot shower, thanking the lord for excellent water pressure for once. I make good use of the first-rate pluming and wash my hair twice, condition and use the revitalizing mask for coloured hair I got in England.
The thing I like the most about Europe is that even in the middle of nowhere like this they still have excellent internet connections at every single hotel we stay at. I unpack my laptop and get on line using the wireless network that the hotel provides. I put on some clothes and wrap a towel around my head while downloading my emails.
A quick glance at my cell phone and I realize I still got time to get some breakfast before it closes. I brush my hair quickly and go downstairs. The restaurant is filled with musicians, most of them look like they’ve been up all night. I have coffee, toast and scrambled eggs. When I get back to my room I hear the well known sound of my messenger service. I can’t believe I forgot to log out when I went down for breakfast. There’s only one person in my contact list: Master.
While I’m on the road we play together by messenger. And now I’m kind of anxious of what he’ll say when I wasn’t there to answer him immediately. I try my best to beg for forgiveness but he’s unrelenting.
“You let me wait for more than twenty minutes!”
“Sir, I’m sorry, sir!”
“Well sorry doesn’t really cut it, does it? I believe you’ve been away for too long. Maybe you’ve forgotten who’s your Master? Maybe you’ve neglected you obligations and starting so let yourself go.”
“No Sir! You’re my Master! You will always be my Master and I’ll do anything to make it up to you. Please Sir.”
“I know that I’m really giving you too much slack here but I’ll let you pick the date for your punishment. Remember though that I’m getting very, very tired of your bad behaviour so choose wisely. You’ll need time to prepare; you have to get a new outfit. I assume you didn’t bring any of them with you? And you’ll need plenty of time to execute.”
With a big grin I reach for our itinerary. Four days until the gig in Amsterdam and then one blessed day off. Perfect.
”After the Amsterdam gig, Sir. I’ll take my punishment in four days. Thank you, Sir.”
I press return and get the automatic reply
“Shortstop’s Master seem to be off line. Your message will be delivered the next time Shortstop’s Master get online.”
Slightly annoyed I stare at the screen. I would have enjoyed talking a bit more but that Mick for you.
A couple of hours later, on the buss, I get a text message:
“You’re request has been accepted. This punishment will be performed on web cam, in full outfit and make up.”
My reply is short but efficient
“Thank you Master.”
A few days later I find myself in a fetish shop in the red light district of Amsterdam. This is one of the few places in the world I feel completely comfortable shopping for stuff like this. I usually shop online but Amsterdam is the world capital of open mind-ness so I feel at ease. The salesgirl is absolutely adorable - a tall, fat black lady that keeps calling me ‘sweetie’. I pick up a nice outfit that’s a bit too expensive and a few items to add to my make up supply.
I’m so excited when I get back to the hotel room after the gig that I wanna get ready straight away. I look at the watch on my cell phone and try to figure out what the time is in Des Moines. The text message signal scares the living daylights out of me.
“Get ready. We’ll begin in less than two hours.”
Still not sure of what time it is at home I start by getting the computer and the web cam ready, pointing it at the large bed of the anonymous hotel room. I take a long hot bath, shave carefully and wash my hair. While drying myself I order a bottle of an Australian Shiraz Cabernet. I find Type O Negative’s Bloody kisses on my computer and crank the volume up as high as I dare to. I will never admit it in public but that man’s voice does things to me that I can’t really explain. According to Mick they’re posers so I never play them at home but now I enjoy the music and the fabulous way Mr Steel sighs in between words and I sing along loudly when room service arrives.
The bell boy looks curiously at me when I answer the door with just a towel wrapped around my waist and wet hair in a total mess. Feeling very sensuous and rather horny I get him to open the bottle and I taste the wine carefully before I give him an approving nod. He serves me the beautiful deep red liquid and I tip him generously.
I sip the wine and listen to music as I put on my make up. I watch myself in the large mirror. I’m very proud of my work and begin to dry my hair. I know that the image of the web cam won’t be that clear but I still want to make myself pretty for him, make him want me. Miss me the way I miss him.
I’m ready to go and it’s still half an hour until he’ll log on so I surf the internet for a while. I log on to a bdsm community we’re members of. There’s a knock on the door and I shut the website down, look down at myself and decide to put on a bathrobe before I answer the door silently cursing that curious bell boy.
I open the door and take two steps back I shock.
“Mick!” I exclaim but before I get the chance to say or do anything else he interrupts.
“That’s Master to you. Take that hideous thing off. Now!”
His boisterous voice echoes through the hallway and I’m pretty sure the entire floor heard him loud and clear. Heart beating fast, out of shock and happiness, I comply. I slide the soft white terrycloth off my shoulders and expose my dressed up body to him. To my delight he grins wide, obviously content with how I look.
“On the floor. Crawl backwards. Let me in.”
Without even trying to conceal my excitement I get down on all fours and begin to move backwards further into the room. Considering what I’m wearing it’s far more difficult than it looks but eventually we’re both inside and he slams the door shut. I look up at him; dressed in all black, as usual, boots, pants, hoodie, hair loose and back pack in his left hand.
“Good boy.”
It’s really scary how much him praising me turns me on.
“Now get up and turn around. Face the wall.”
As always I do as I’m told. A small thud. His bag must have hit the floor. The sound of a zipper and then his heavy boots walking across the floor. I wait impatiently. I can’t believe he’s here, with me. God I’ve missed him. So long since he had me. I’m almost trembling with excitement. Then I feel his large hand on my butt and instinctively I turn around to face him. It takes maybe a fraction of a second until it dawns on me. I’ve moved without his consent. Mick might be right; I’ve been away for too long, forgetting the rules.
He grabs my upper arm with his left hand and slaps me with his right.
”Did I tell you to move?” His blue eyes burn with lust and determination. “You used to be so obedient and look at you know, can’t even remember the simplest rules. I’ll guess we have to start from scratch again then. You’ll have to earn my devotion and deserve you pleasures.”
A second pass, I look him in the eyes, waiting.
“Don’t you have anything to say to your Master?”
I straighten my back.
“Yes sir. Thank you Sir!”
”I can’t believe how patient I am with you. The ordeal I have to go through just because your little brain can’t remember even the basics,” he mumbles. “We’ll try again: Face the wall!”
I turn around quickly. I hear him rummaging though his bag. He walks up to me, standing close enough for me to feel his presence but without touching, motionless. I’m waiting in anticipation, nervous, excited. Just about when I can’t take it much longer he grabs my wrist and pulls my arm back. Then the other one. He laces the leather ropes around my wrists just perfectly.
Without a word he arranges me on the floor, tied hands on my back, face down, on my knees, ass in the air. He sits down on the bed behind me. I can’t see him but the sounds he makes as he moves around are familiar. He turns on the tv. I hate this; the waiting game, but I guess I deserve it. He must have noticed the wine because he stands up again, refreshes my drink and takes the glass with him back to my bed. He changes the channels for a bit, there’s not that many so he settles for a sport channel showing ice hockey.
Minutes pass. He watches tv and drinks my wine while I’m on the floor, keeping as still as I possibly can. Staying quiet. Obeying. It’s so difficult to not move, my hard on aches and feel rather uncomfortable in the small confinement of the silky panties that I’m wearing.
After what feels like an eternity I hear him unlace his boots. That’s a good sign. My heart beats faster in anticipation. I twitch when I suddenly feel his hand on my butt. Soft touch, caressing, feeling the soft fabric of the underwear, able fingers searching their way in between. Touching. Teasing. Then he stops. I hate when he stops and he knows it.
The clinging sound of his belt buckle, the small noise of the zipper, the soft rattle of the fabric as he undresses - everything ads to my anticipation and my waiting. He walks into the bathroom and I hear him turn the shower on. It might be just one of his ways to test me. But then there’s a change in the way the water sounds and I’m pretty sure he’s in the shower. So I crack my neck, shift my wait around a bit, trying to get more comfortable.
When the water’s turned off I keep completely still again. My forehead is flat on the floor so I can’t watch him but I hope he’s naked. At least his feet are as he stops right by my side. A quick slap on my butt and I have to use all my will power to keep from moaning. My cell phone rings on the nightstand but there’s nothing I can do about it. I need this too much so I let it ring, shutting out the world outside, concentrating on him. And me.
He places his large foot on the back of my head, pressing my face down into the carpet. He contradicts the rough and power-displaying act by softly fondling my thigh. My skin begs for more and small goose bumps erupt as he touches me. Slowly his competent fingers travel towards my panties. Slowly stroking the silky black fabric, circling around my most intimate parts. My breathing is strained and I’m not sure how long I will be able to take this. He knows me too well. He will push me over the edge and I will accept, gladly. I sigh in delight but regret it immediately because the touching stops.
“You’re such a slut!”
His touching gets rough and the caresses becomes a tight grip on my butt. He takes two steps backwards.
“Get up!”
The command might seem easy but in my position it’s very difficult to move at all. With my hands tied on my back it’s hard to get to a standing position. Cautiously I begin by lifting my head off the floor. I loose my balance and fall on my side. He sits on the bed and watches me struggle. Up on my knees, and then one foot on the floor. It takes much muscle control to stand but I get there eventually, still with my back to him.
“Turn around.”
He is naked and I take in every beautiful inch of his sturdy body. Strong arms crossed over his broad chest. Long black hair veiling massive shoulders. Pale thighs, tattooed calves. And in the middle - his beautiful member. His confident smirk is the icing on my cake.
He watches me watching him. I try to picture how I must look to him. Even though I took a shower recently I’m slightly sweaty, from the strain of getting up with my hands incapacitated and from excitement. My previously perfect hair slightly tousled. Hopefully my make up is still intact. I’m wearing a black silk bra and black silk panties, stay up stockings and a shiny pair of black high heels. And all of it fits perfectly.
There’s a big difference wearing women’s underwear and wearing underwear made for men to look like women. Even though I’m kind of small I can’t get stuff that fits nearly as well as these in a regular store. I love Amsterdam. I do not consider myself a cross dresser. I don’t wear these things because I feel pretty in them or because I want to be a woman. I wear them because it’s degrading; it’s just another way for him to belittle me. To make me feel even more powerless and stupid. Me dressing like a woman mark my place in our well-defined hierarchy. We don’t like women. We like men.
He’s holding on to his hard on and I can’t take my eyes off of him. Strong fingers wrapped around massive, hard flesh. He lets go, stands up and walks over to his backpack. I stand still, following his every move with my eyes but without turning my head. He places five items on the bed.
“Even though you don’t deserve it I will let you choose. But I must warn you. If you choice don’t fit the crime there will be consequences…”
He stands behind me and unties my hands.
“Go ahead.”
I take a couple of steps forward and evaluate my choices. There’s a riding crop, a paddle, a horse hair whip, a thin cane. I adore the whip made of horse hair. It may look like there’s nothing painful about it but used the right way it may cause quite a sting. And Mick sure knows how to use it. But it’s not enough, that’s for sure. If I choose it he’ll be very unpleased. So I look at the others. The cane is on the opposite end of the scale compared to the horse hair whip. It is very painful, always and in every aspect. The flexible rattan leaves well defined marks that stay for days. I consider it. If I’ll let him use the cane I will have marks to remember this wonderful occasion by. But on the other hand I won’t be able to undress in front of the others. I reach out my hand and touch the paddle. It’s the only one where he’d want me laying down on the bed. Or maybe even on his lap. Canes and whips are used with me standing up. And wearing these shoes I’d rather be lying down or even better over his lap. Definitely the paddle.
I close my trembling fingers around the sturdy shaft, place my other hand under the broad tail and present the paddle to my Master.
“Fine.”
The single word doesn’t indicate if I’ve made the right choice. Just that he accepted it. I whish he praise me for being good. Telling me I’m behaving well. But he says nothing; he just takes the tool and look around the room. All the chairs have armrests so both of us know that me over his lap is out of the question.
“You know what to do. Get into position,” he instructs me. “Or are you so totally spoilt that you need me to tell you very thing?”
“No Sir.” I answer quietly and get on the bed.
The truth is that I actually don’t know what to do. Does he want me on all fours or lying down? Will he be on the bed or standing up on the side? But on the other hand maybe it doesn’t matter what I do or which position I assume. He’ll probably say that it’s the wrong one anyways. Since I want him in bed with me I stay close to the side, so that he’ll reach from where he’s standing. I lay down, once again hoping he’ll correct me and tell me to get on all fours since that’s the way I like it.
I yelp in surprise as he strikes the first blow. But he doesn’t reprimand me he just continue hitting me with the paddle. I’m disappointed like hell even though I ought to know by now that playing mind games with Mick seldom pays off. He knows me too well. The pain he inflicts on me are intense but this is not the way I like to play. Pain isn’t the main goal. I want him to talk to me, to touch me, interact. Not simply hitting me like I’m some kind of rug that needs dusting.
But I keep still and quiet. It doesn’t matter that he’s not doing it right I still want to please him. I still want to be good. Soon enough the pain transforms into an adrenalin rush that makes my entire body tingle and I’m reaching the point where my brain shuts off. I do no longer think, just feel. Free.
Silent tears role down my cheeks. I’ve been working so hard that I’ve haven’t had the time to feel just how tired I’ve become. Back and neck constantly aching. So wound up I can’t sleep. Drinking too much and eating too little. Grinding my teeth in my shallow sleep makes my jaw and head persistently throbbing in pain. Chronic tension.
But now he’s here. Giving me what I need. Giving me peace in the way no dental guard or Prilosec ever could. Relaxed. Mind blank. Making me feel invincible.
I’ve been longing for him far too long, too eager. My need too big for patience. I want to touch him, feel him close, inside. So I begin to beg.
“Please Sir!”
“What?” His reply is harsh but with an evident undertone of satisfaction.
“Please let me look at you, Sir. Touch you.”
I hear him drop the paddle to the floor. He grabs my hair, his touch firm but gentle at the same time. A small tug is all it takes to get me up on my knees, facing him. I wait for his next command. He looks down on me and I hope he wants me as bad as I want him.
Without a word he retires to the large armchair by the window. Buck naked, legs wide apart and I know exactly what he has in mind. But I wait for my command, not allowed to move unless he says so.
“By my feet.”
I comply. I get off the bed and stand up. The heels of my shoes sink into the plush carpet. I walk slowly over to him on shaking legs and get down in between his feet, head bowed down. He gathers my hair in his right hand and tilts my head up, looking me straight in the eyes.
“Let’s see if you remember how to do this.” His voice is almost tender.
I feel completely safe as he pulls my mouth closer to his arousal. I open and let him in, eyes open looking up at him. A well known firmness press against my tongue. I relax my jaws, taking more of him. He looks at me calmly and waits for me to relax.
“Breath my little whore. Breath.”
It’s not like I don’t know how to do it - he knows I like to be told what to do. I take a breath, as deep as I can, breathing trough my nose and he pushes further down my throat. Much to my own surprise my muscles contracts. It’s been awhile but I thought I’d know how to control my own body.
“Swallow.”
I gain control and I swallow. He takes advantage of my working muscles and goes deeper. I’ll never forget how big he is but it is one thing to think about his size and to take him all in.
“You’re allowed to touch me.”
The small grant is welcomed. I place my undersized hands on his brawny thighs. By letting me hold on to him he enables me to fight off the unwanted reflexes. Once again I take a well needed breath.
“Good boy.”
My body reacts automatically to his praise and my mouth smiles even though it is a rather complicated task considering how packed it is. He smiles at my pathetic attempt. With soft hands he grabs my head and presses it carefully down. We work together and much to my delight I can feel the muscles in his sturdy tights begin to tremble. We find a comfortable pace and I begin to use my tongue and lips. I breathe loudly through my nose and he pants even louder. When he grabs my hair I’m careful to protect his sensitive flesh from my teeth by tightening my lips then he pulls me off. He leaves my mouth and makes a rather silly popping sound. He gasps but arranges his facial features quickly back into a stern frown. I do my best to conceal how pleased I am that I managed to make him loose control even if it was for just a second. He sits up straight.
“Undress.”
I’m sitting on my legs and decide to start right where I am, down on the floor. With my eyes on the floor I fumble around my back to unlock the hooks in the back of the bra. With my hands modestly on the cups I let the straps fall down my shoulders. My hair is covering my face and stops me from sneaking a peak up at him. I wanna know if he’s looking at me. I get up on my knees and let the bra fall off, my right hand follows its downward movement and lands on my satin covered hard on. I stroke myself thought the slippery fabric and it feel fantastic but I still wish it were him who was touching me. Eager to get things moving I get up, rather ungracefully, to a standing position. I turn around, standing with my back to him, with my feet apart. Hooking my fingers at the linings of the girlie panties I begin to slide them down my legs. Passed my knees they slip down my nylon-clad claves by it self. I look at him over my shoulder to make sure I got his attention. But it kind of backfires on me. The site that hits me harder than a round kick makes me loose my balance and it takes me a while to find my stance on the stiletto heels. He’s touching himself. He usually doesn’t since that’s a sure way of letting me know that he wants me. There’s not time to analyze his actions. I stumble towards the bed impatiently. I want more than just watching. I need his large body on top of me. Inside of me. I kick off my pretty but impractical shoes and take off the stockings as quickly as I can.
I’m on the bed, naked. He’s in the chair, naked. The few feet of wall to wall carpeting that separates us mock me. Come here. I silently call to him, hoping that I all of a sudden have developed an ability of thought transference. He looks so fucking arrogant with his hard on in his hand and that self assured smirk of his. But there’s nothing I can do about it. I just have to wait until he decides that he’s good and ready. So I wait.
The chair makes a squeaking noise when he finally gets up. I love the way he kind of trudges towards the bed, and me. There’s something in the way he moves that amaze me. Very energetic and powerful in the way that says “better get out of my way or deal with the consequences”. And at the same time somewhat arduous like it takes great effort to get that big old body moving. The soreness in his neck and shoulder makes certain moves compressed and erratic. Sometimes he reminds me of a black bear. Or a terminator.
I crawl backwards on the bed, making sure he’ll have enough space to join me. Heart beats faster. Yearning. Just when he’s about to get into bed he changes his direction, quick steps towards his back pack. His hair falls down over his face as he bends down to get the ky. When he stands back up he does a little headbanging motion that whisks his hair in a perfect arch before it lands on his back right over the tattooed cross in between his shoulders.
Things happen fast. He’s at the foot of the bed, then all of a sudden he’s on top of me. I gasp and lay myself instinctively flat on my back. My body submits habitually, instincts override rational thoughts. Commanding, hands on either side of my head, face close, framed by long black hair. He hums contemplatively, low and muffled, like his large body enables the small sound to reverberate into a carnal call. Then, long at last, he speaks to me.
“You’re not going any where. I’m gonna have you. You lewd little piece of meat. I’ll show you who’s your master.”
His words are rather random but they affect me more that anything else. He pulls my hair, stretching my neck, pressing my body down into the mattress by taking some of his weight off his arms.
“I’m gonna take you. You’re mine. Mine to use. To exploit. To have my way with.”
He prepares me quick but efficiently. Impatient, just like me. But when he enters me it’s done with nothing but gentle care. When he’s all in I exhale, a lustful gasp that says more than anything just how happy I am that he’s here, with me, inside me.
No more words of degradation, silently he begins to move. Concentrated. He drives me crazy with those long, slow strokes. Perfect and tender. Soon enough he accelerates and finds the place that makes it close to impossible to not let go. I want this moment to last longer.
“Please, Sir, wait…”
“No!”
My first thought is that he wants to display authority but then I realise just how close he is to coming. Tiny beads of sweat make his hair stick to his forehead. His hand, on my need, move in time with his bold thrusts. The muscles of his upper arms are flexed from exertion. Committed to giving me everything that he’s got he closes his eyes. With that little motion he’s no longer Master. He’s Mick.
No matter how big and dominant he is at this point he fails to keep control. I’m biting my lip. So close. It’s so obvious that he’d do anything for me. Just as I’d do anything for him. And I have one more task until I’m done. A small token of submission. And love. It’s not a difficult chore. If anything, a request I love to fulfil.
”Sir, may I come?”