Okay – before you start reading a few warnings. This is transgressive homoerotic fiction – it contains BDSM, self-harm, dubious consent, blood play, breath play and anal sex. If these things bother you, please don’t read. If you do please, no flames!! Any other comments will be lovingly answered 
Desert Dreams
He dreamt of the desert, endless expanses of emptiness, the hiss of the wind on the dunes like the insomniac porcupines in his attic, quills shshshing on the floorboards as they listlessly paced away the hours of the night. Thoughts spun in the glittering pinprick the world had closed down to. When the silken choke hold loosened, the sound of waves lapping on the desert shore deepened, thickened, into his lazy heartbeat, and the shshshing of grains of sand dancing in the taunting wind, and the quills of the porcupines skritching their way into his consciousness.
“That was very nice.” Master’s praise was important and he nuzzled into the warm flesh as his body began its usual litany of complaints. But master was happy, so they were pushed to the back of his mind. An embarrassing near purr escaped his lips when that rich baritone once again addressed him. “Are you ready for more, pet?”
Truth be told, he was always ready for more. It was something master knew all too well, and the reason he found himself here. Before this, before Master and his carefully balanced games, he had almost died. No was a concept that eluded him, and the consequences had been horrific. Where everyone else saw a flaw to be exploited, master had seen the seeds of greatness.
He shifted slightly, relishing in the sticky warmth oozing down his legs, proof of Master’s pleasure, proof of his devotion, proof of the bond they had forged outside of society’s boundaries in the desert of the porcupines.
“Have you eaten?”
He turned and fixed his lover with a beatific grin. “Does Master wish me to eat?”
“Of course I wish you to eat. If you don’t you will grow thin and pale. That would not please me.” The handsome face grew stern, thin lips quirking downward ever so slightly. “You are mine. I will not allow anyone to harm what I have claimed, even you.”
“Yes, Master.” The reverently purred response seemed to mollify his owner. He was proud to have such a generous and caring master, grateful for the heavy collar that strong hands were once more fastening around his neck.
The supple leather band was thick and wide, just tight enough to serve as a reminder that Master controlled even the air that he breathed. His thoughts slipped back to the first time those hands had touched his throat, long fingers brushing over fading bruises in a near caress.
Master had paid dearly for him. Too much, really. He was, after all, scarred, bruised and most assuredly broken. He tried to remember a time before he had made friends with pain, but thinking just confused him. As always, too many related memories swirled up at once, the hidden curse of an eiditic memory. At least, in this, the choice was easy.
Such a familiar scene, silver blade, red blood. Just the thought slowed the panic threatening to claw its way out through his skin. Rooting him, once again, firmly in the world. He studied the landscape of his inner arms, intricate crosshatched scars that seemed to shift in the low light, turning and twisting like an M.C. Escher etching.
“I will be very angry if you hurt yourself.”
“I don’t need to,” he murmured, eyes never even flicking up as he traced the intricate patterns with a calloused fingertip. No explanation was given or expected. In this, as in all else, Master’s wishes were law. Besides, why disobey Master? He, alone, understood what was needed, balancing the pain with pleasure, and never, ever, going too far.
The first time had been an accident, the ragged slice welling crimson until it gained critical mass, sliding in a bright, glittering stream down the pale flesh to drip, unheeded. He bent to suck at the wound, the sharp sting of pain and the taste of copper flooding his mouth, clearing his mind of the traitorous thoughts threatening to topple it.
Before long it had grown into an elaborate ritual, his favorite silver blade cleaned and prepared as every cell in his body began to thrum under the pressure. The sight of his skin parting in its dancing wake blurred the cacophony of competing thoughts, granting him a few moments peace. First the right arm. Five cuts, no more, no less. The left arm was trickier, it took years to train his weaker hand to the precision required.
When the scars became too interwoven he moved to his thighs. The deeper, sharper pain proved even more addictive, and all too soon the traces of his escape wound their way over every inch of skin easily hidden from prying eyes.
His scars are what caught the eye of his first master. Out of school, and firmly ensconced in the working world, he could no longer disappear inside an oversized sweatshirt. He wasn’t aware of the way his cuff rode up, exposing his secret to the world. But he couldn’t help but notice the way he was pushed up against the wall, the boss’s thigh between his legs and a firm hand on his throat. The relieved acceptance that rushed through him at that moment was the closest he’d come yet to the bliss of his secret addiction.
“What are you thinking about?” Master’s stern voice pulled him back from the wasteland of his memories.
“How much I adore you, Master.”
His lover laughed, a warm, husky sound that sent electric pulses dancing over his synapses. Then he found himself lifted to sit astride the welcoming lap, strong arms wrapping tightly around his chest to pull him close. The feel of the thick shaft inching its way inside him as he was pulled down to sit flush grounded him in the present, forcing his traitorous mind to concentrate solely on the sensation.
An index finger looped through the ring on his collar, pulling his head back to rest on master’s shoulder. “Who do you belong to?”
“Only you, Master.”
“I’m not sure I believe you. I think you need to show me.”
His eyes popped open, locking briefly with Master’s intense grey before slamming shut again. A nervous tongue flicked out to lick at his suddenly dry lips.
“Did you just look at me?” The amused tone did nothing to put him at ease. A rule had been broken, now he would be punished. Master couldn’t afford to go easy on him, he was willful and needed a firm hand.
“I’m waiting for an answer.” Master’s voice was firmer now, but not harsh, never harsh.
“I’m sorry, Master.” He hung his head, thoroughly ashamed by his own lack of obedience. Such a simple rule. One of the very first he’d been taught, and he still couldn’t get it right.
“You’re thinking when you should be trying to get back into my good graces.”
Distraction bled away, his thoughts blurring into the soft susurration of his desert, all his power and energy focused, like lightning, on this one man, this one moment. The tapestry of scars decorating his thighs came alive as muscles bunched and he slowly slid upwards, hovering for a long moment before dropping hard into Master’s lap.
Fingers twisted in his collar, stopping the flow of air into his lungs. “You can do better than that, pet.”
Pinpricks of light in the darkness. The scratching of quills on a hardwood floor. He was alone in the desert of his mind, the tiny sips of air Master allowed him only enough to fuel his body, leaving his perception in the calm eye at the center of the raging sands. It was only in these moments of perfect clarity that he was ever, truly, at peace. This was Master’s gift, the reason for his devotion, the chance to let go of his control and just experience, without his convoluted thoughts getting in the way.
The collar loosened imperceptibly, chapped lips parting, body struggling to fill the void his lungs had become. “I love you, Master.”
“Then why do you disobey me?”
Again the slightest loosening of the band around his throat. “Because you spoil me, Master. I need punishment.”
“No, you want punishment. You’re manipulative, boy, and willful. I don’t know why I bother with you.”
“No, don’t say that, Master.”
He found himself being lifted up and away from the warm lap, and his mind wailed at the emptiness that filled him when that thick length retreated. Then he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor. “Perhaps I’ll wait until you can behave.”
“Master, please, I’m sorry.” His tears wet the floor where he lay, but Master steadfastly ignored his pleas.
He shivered and shook on the cold floor, knowing better than to turn and look at the man who ruled his world. When a hand fisted in his hair and pulled, though, he couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at his lips. “Proud of your disobedience?” Master dragged him across the room, yanking first one arm, then the other, over his head and clipping the cuffs on his wrists to the hook on the wall. “How many strokes have you earned?”
“Ten for looking without permission and ten for talking back, Master.” The muscles in his back fluttered, tensing and relaxing in waves as he tried to anticipate where the first blow would fall.
“Keep the count. If you lose your place we’ll start again.”
He tensed slightly, preparing himself for the first impact. The crack of the strap on his inner thigh caught him off guard, and he barely managed to squeak out his response. “One, thank you, Master. I love you, Master.”
Time and again, the lash seemed to somehow find the place he least expected and send a trail of fire licking across his skin.
“Seventeen, Master. Thank you for my punishment, Master.” The words came automatically, his voice calmer and more certain with each count. When he shut his eyes he could see the porcupines frantically racing to nowhere while their quills bounced and rattled. The steady hiss blotted out the fears and doubts that had plagued him. How foolish to doubt Master, who always knew what he needed.
“Feeling better?”
“Yes, Master. Thank you for your correction.”
Master didn’t answer, carefully freeing his slave’s hands before scooping him into his arms. “Enough for now. Let me get you cleaned up.” Long legs carried them into the bathroom while he stayed curled up against Master’s chest.
His hair was washed, blunt nails scratching against his scalp before his eyes were shielded and it was carefully rinsed. His body was washed next, gentle hands lingering on the marks of his punishment, stroking and pinching before a wet tongue soothed the sting.
He remained unresponsive as he was dried and his teeth brushed, concentrating on the shshshing the atoms of his body made as they raced endlessly to nowhere. Dark eyes blinked in surprise as he was slipped between silken sheets.
“You please me very much, boy. You’ll sleep in my bed tonight.”
“Thank you, Master. I love you, Master.”
He knew this was Master’s favorite time, although he tried not to let it show, pride could lose him his hard won place. He looked his best like this, warmly pliant from their play, his satiny skin enticing in the flickering light, like a rich damask, the scarred ridges giving shape to the whole. Strong hands ran down a twitching flank, spreading muscular cheeks to gaze at the rosy pucker.
“Gods, how you tempt me.” He barely heard Master’s muttered complaint. Every hair on his body stood on end when that thick cock pushed inside, filling him beyond the point of words.
Then Master’s mouth was on his neck, nipping and sucking as he pounded into his willing body. A calloused hand wrapped around his hardening cock, plucking at the thick rings adorning the head before smoothing down the silky flesh, twisting the barbells studding the underside.
And he could only sigh and press back, opening himself totally to this most intimate assault. “Pinch your nipples for me.” Master’s command had him twisting the heavy gold rings until they throbbed. A sharp line of pain stitched together his excitement, from neck to nipples to cock to anus, binding him as surely as any shackle.
“What do you have to say for yourself, boy?”
“Fuck me harder, please, Master.”
“Any harder and you’ll be able to taste me.” Despite Master’s protest he sped up the pace, roughly twisting and folding his lanky lover to achieve the deepest possible penetration.
“Please, please, may I come, Master? I’m so hard for you.”
“Not until I give you permission. Do you need your training repeated, boy?”
“No, Master.” Dark hair stuck to his cheek as his shook his head in vigorous denial.
“Are you sure?” The conversational tone was at odds with the hard thrusts steadily targeting his prostate.
“Yes, Master. Anything that pleases you, Master.”
The hands wrapping around his throat left him struggling not to come. He could feel his heart beat in his cock, see the tiny droplets splatter from the tip as the world slowed down to a crawl around him. He twisted and jerked when the hot jet of cum hit his prostate, crying out soundlessly as the world greyed out around him.
“Come for me, boy.”
The whispered command had him screaming his adoration, thrashing spastically as his seed shot over his chest and his oxygen starved brain tried to decipher which way the world was turning. “Thank you, Master.”
“Clean up your mess. Then thank me properly.”
He gratefully bent to suckle the salty trickles off Master’s skin, dropping his head to swallow the soft cock and balls, laving them thoroughly with his tongue before reluctantly moving on.
“That’s enough. Now get some sleep.”
“Thank you, Master.” He shut his eyes and almost immediately drifted off, unaware of the confusion now painting his lover’s face. Content in the peace he had once again found, however brief the respite might be.
