tagBDSMParadise Loft Ch. 10

Paradise Loft Ch. 10

byumami©

The effects of Mark's accidentally transcendent experience linger days later. He's different but only because he's more fully himself, more luminous than ever and love radiates from him in a way his subs can feel. Jenni muses that if he were a cult leader, he'd have no shortage of followers. She draws him posed on a lectus, being fed delicacies as he receives his devotees who, one by one, worship the divine leader's phallus until some lucky soul receives a communion. Or maybe it's a baptism? She's getting better at drawing cum. She's becoming a graphic artist in all senses.

Mark's bond with Jenni is palpable to everyone. He can't keep his hands off of her, even surprising her throughout the day with mental touches that make her turn to him only to find him nowhere close. When he feels her eyes on him from across the loft, he smirks attractively. Enlightenment has made him an incorrigible flirt.

This new closeness could become a problem in a poly relationship. Mark and Jenni are the legally married ones, have a kid together. Freddy was never meant to be the "second wife." Jenni realizes she has to get out of the house more to give them time alone. She shocks her family by deciding on a mom and baby fitness class at some trendy health club. "What. I can be normal," she grumps.

"Okay, but what about Little Jenni?" Mark asks gently, not wanting to burst her bubble about doing something positive.

Jenni writes an embarrassing email to the instructor to explain in detail her dissociative identity disorder and ask if she'll check on her and call one of her many emergency numbers if needed. To her surprise, the woman says yes. Jenni signs up for the two-hour class that includes a relaxing infant massage lesson at the end.

"Like that kid ain't touched enough," Mark laughs. When he's awake, Lucien is always being held by one of them.

Tonight, Jenni goes to her class and will then sleep over at Evie's. The class is closer to Freddy's house than the loft, so the husbands spend the night at his place. If she needs them, they can easily drive to get her. She truly hopes she can stay herself so she won't mess up their date night.

* * * * *

One of the nicest features of Freddy's house is his kitchen. He'll cook for them while they let the anticipation build for whatever activities Mark has dreamed up for the rest of the evening.

Mark likes to watch him work. He likes his scarred, dextrous hands and springy step. He likes the sight of him in a shirt and tie with his sleeves rolled up.

"You look kinda like Hannibal in the kitchen, ya know that?"

Freddy responds with an Anthony Hopkins slurp through a sharp intake of air. He does not watch TV.

It's October, so Freddy is making a vegan Thai pumpkin curry. Of course, Freddy starts with a whole pumpkin. Watching him muscle the thing apart and pull its guts out doesn't make him look less Hannibalesque. Other people might attempt that to show off, but Freddy just prefers to do things the hard way. If a meal doesn't take work, he gets little satisfaction from cooking. It makes it harder to accept the praise, too.

While his husband works on his project, Mark opens the wine. Though he generally doesn't drink because it's not good for him, he sometimes does with his boy, especially when they are celebrating. It feels like they are tonight. Freddy buys the expensive organic stuff, so it's easier on his damaged stomach. He doesn't drink with Jenni because he's Daddy to her and needs to stay in control. It's less like that with his husband, though he feels protective of him, too. He just knows his sweet giant requires less of it.

Perhaps it takes an edge off when they are alone together for a romantic night. Mark struggles with his heterosexuality; he still feels like a fraud, though he has no doubt he's in love with this man. The thought of his father spinning in his grave tickles him, though statements he heard growing up sometimes surface in his mind. He doesn't believe them - he married Freddy - but they are there.

He hands Freddy a glass. "𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘵," he says.

"𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘥," Freddy replies.

Mark sips as he leisurely sets the kitchen table. The light, smooth red is already going to his head in an enjoyable way. The kitchen grows warm from the chopped pumpkin roasting in the oven as the homey tap-tap-tap of the knife continues. Mark's cheeks blush a little from the warmth of the room and of belonging there and maybe from longing, too.

"Are you going to tell me about the present?" Freddy asks.

"You can open it after dinner."

"What is it?" Freddy deadpans.

"Somethin' to surprise you, sweet boy."

"Is there an occasion I forgot?"

"Nah. Just that it's the first time we've been alone together in a while."

Freddy pauses his slicing to smile at his master. "You know I understand, right? Lucien is the center of your life right now. That's how it's supposed to be. It's natural."

"I know. I just miss ya is all."

"I miss you, Sir."

Mark knocks on the wooden table. "Unless we get a call, we have all night, just you an' me."

"That is my favorite English sentence."

Dinner is ready. It smells ambrosial. Freddy knows how to use fresh ingredients to make food that is interesting without hurting his husband. Each time Mark eats one of his delicious meals and isn't in pain afterward he feels a rush of gratitude that he bestows on his boy.

Freddy gets the special, decorative plate from a cabinet and scoops some fragrant rice and curry onto it, then garnishes it with fresh orange slices and a cinnamon stick. Mark grins, both at his boy and his own twinge as a grown-up poor kid at the idea of leaving good food outside. That plate is for the goddesses and Freddy doesn't fuck around when it comes to respecting them. "They like cinnamon," he explains, as he slips through the side kitchen door to deliver it to the birch grove.

Mark lights candles and adjusts the bright kitchen lighting. When Freddy returns, his raises his eyebrows. "Very good," he says. He brings their plates to the table. Mark pulls his chair out for him and they sit down.

"Do you think it's silly that I do that?" Freddy asks for the first time.

"What, feedin' supernatural beings? No. You can say a blessin' if ya like."

"Oh. Okay." He reaches across for Mark's hand. "Lady and Lord, thank you for the food before us, the life within us, the world around us, the love between us. So mote it be."

"So mote it be. I think I want Lu to be raised like you."

"Really? I wasn't sure if it was just something you tolerated for my sake," Freddy says.

"Well, your kids will be. I don't want him to feel left out. Besides, since we met... hidden things have made 'emselves known."

"My dick?"

"Freek Berkenbosch-Fairbairn! I'm bein' spiritual," Mark scolds.

Freddy grins like a bad little boy. "Sorry, Sir. The first rule of being a witch is not to take things too seriously. 𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 don't like it. But please go on. I'm curious."

"Well, there was our wedding night. That was hard to explain away. You could just feel it."

"Where is Leitayan these days?"

"I think he went home, unless he's gone back to lurking around in Jenni's brain. Maybe it's less hospitable since she got depressed."

"She seems better to me. Is she?"

"I guess she must be. I mean, a mommy exercise class? Her?"

"She needs ways to feel more independent, not stuck at home with a babysitter all the time. She wants to be well, Sir."

"I know. She don't even know how scared I was. But the antidepressants are kickin' in. They can't prevent Little Jenni from showin' up, but at least I don't worry about..." He can't finish the idea aloud and there's no need to.

They eat and drink in contemplative silence for a long moment. "There is more to it than that, isn't there?" the perceptive witch boy asks. His husband's been subtly different lately, but starting when and exactly how he can't be sure.

"More to what?"

"You wanting Lu raised pagan."

There is. Mark's thinking of his tantric experience inside Jenni that had expanded his consciousness and shrunk his ego's struggles. He can't say this, however. Tonight is all about Freddy.

"Nothing I know how to put into words yet," he says with a smile. "This is delicious, by the way. Better than my favorite vegan place."

Freddy's eyes narrow at having the subject changed on him, but smiles back. "Would you like more, Sir?"

"No, thanks. I'm just right."

"More wine?"

"Ehhh... yeah, go on. If you'll have some, too."

Freddy opens a bottle of pinot noir for dessert. "I have just the thing to go with this."

"Ya always do."

"Eating is something I do take seriously. I made this last night. It's safe for you," he says though that's unnecessary by this point in their relationship. He places his creation on the table for presentation, then serves them each a slice of the dark chocolate raspberry tart. Mark privately hopes he won't burst into tears. He's never even had a birthday cake in his life and his boy did this on a random night just to make him happy.

"Fuck, Freddy. How do you find the hours in the day?"

'Witchcraft. Good?"

"Incredible. And you're right, it tastes great with this wine."

Freddy discreetly wipes the proud smile away with his napkin. They eat in silence except for Mark's faint humming. He does a subtle happy dance in his seat while he finishes every bite of dessert.

"More wine?" Freddy asks.

"Better not, thanks."

Freddy takes his glass with him when they move to the living room to relax. He's almost seven feet tall and about 270 pounds of mostly muscle, so a bottle of wine is more like a glass for him. Mark would have rules about drinking and BDSM play otherwise, and not because they might play too rough and injure each other. Freddy's heart is in Mark's hands and if he were a maudlin or unpredictable drinker, then wine and D/s sex wouldn't mix at all. Before Mark sits beside him, he asks if he wants to open his present now. His boy nods and gives him his dimpled smile.

When Mark hands him the gift-wrapped box, Freddy shakes it lightly first. "Is it clothing?"

"Sort of. Guess you have to take a look."

Freddy opens the paper quickly, but carefully. When he removes the lid from the box his face shows no expression as if his brain has short-circuited for a moment. Finally, he says, "Um, perhaps there was a mix-up, Sir?"

"No. Picked them out especially for you. It's designed for the male form and I think I got your size right. If ya hate it, I can send it back."

"I don't... hate it. I just didn't know..."

"It ain't about humiliation. Not one bit. I just think you're beautiful and wanted to see you in somethin' pretty. It won't make ya look like a girl. I don't want you to. Is this too much, baby?"

Freddy takes a mouthful of wine before exploring the contents of the box. Freddy holds up a pair of stretch lace shorts. "This is for men?"

"I'm sure. The model in the picture wasn't wearin' makeup or nothin' and he looked good."

Freddy is clearly thrown, but his master can tell he's not forcing himself to say yes to this. He's just shy.

He sets the shorts carefully on the coffee table and continues through the box. There is a matching spaghetti strap top, cut very wide with no cups. There's a pair of blue satin panties that do appear to be designed for a man and a matching bra built for pectoral muscles rather than breasts. Next is a champagne-colored basque and the matching lacy panties. Lastly are some fishnet stay-up stockings that go on and on as Freddy unfurls them.

"You must have spent a bundle," is Freddy's comment.

Mark points to the holes at his knees. "I spent my clothing budget, that's true. You can keep all of it or none of it. I'm not offended if I made a mistake... but I do think it will be fun."

"All of it," Freddy decides. "You do have good taste, Sir."

"Well, I know exactly what I like."

"Married life is interesting so far," Freddy says. He turns to kiss him. "Thank you, Sir."

"The pleasure is all mine," Mark drawls.

He puts his head on Freddy's shoulder and they relax into one another. Freddy drinks his wine. When he sets down his empty glass with a sigh, Mark asks if he wants another.

"Maybe I do need a little more courage."

"It don't take courage. You'll look great, baby. I'd like a little more of that chocolate thing, too."

Freddy brings back another glass of wine and a glass of almond milk for Mark, as well as a big piece of tart with two forks.

"I remember when we first shared a piece of cake."

"Uh-huh. When ya first told me I'm a demisexual. That was the night that changed things between us. This is better."

"Everything is better."

"What's up with you and Angel?"

"I'm going to see her again this weekend. I was thinking you and Jenni could come with the baby. Not to the prison. There's a pretty lake nearby. If it's nice weather, I thought you guys might like an afternoon like that."

"She'd love that. So ya like her?"

"Angel? I do, Mark. I did find out what she's in for."

Mark takes a careful breath. "Oh?"

"Her sister is married to a very bad guy. He was beating her, the kids. One day he was terrorizing his family in front of her, so she shot at him."

"At him?"

"She meant it as a warning. She missed on purpose, but still got three years. I believe her. She had some priors for drugs and he's rich. You know the story."

"Yep. And her baby?"

"Oh... I didn't tell you, did I? The baby was already lost when I met her. She was in denial and used me as a distraction. That's why she was there... to have the baby removed, not to give birth."

"Baby, that's awful. Is she okay?"

"She's strong. Very, very strong. But it hurts. She has told me she thinks she can have babies under different circumstances when she's in the real world again."

Mark can feel his husband's excitement. She told him that because she wants to with Freddy. He smiles.

"She'll be a badass mom. I ain't worried about her no more. She don't sound like a sociopath. Hell, I don't have siblings, but in her shoes, I might have done worse to that asshole."

"You'll like her when you meet her one day. So will Jenni. I know she hates pretentious people and Angel is very real."

"We've already learned that demons are," Mark chuckles. "Feel like playin' dress up for me?"

Freddy audibly gulps down nothing but nerves. "If you promise not to laugh, Sir."

"Why the hell would I laugh at you? I'm the one who wants to see it. Maybe you'll like it more than you think," he says in that tone that promises untold pleasures. He does a have a good track record for being right about sex.

"Sorry, Sir. Of course, you wouldn't. I'm just shy."

"I know. I knew that when I ordered this stuff and it didn't stop me because I'm a selfish bastard, in case ya ain't caught on to that yet. If it's too small, I'll get you a bigger size."

Freddy gives Mark's thigh a gentle slap. "What makes you think it will be too small?" he asks dryly. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"What? No, baby. Just most people aren't built like you are," he says, petting his husband's biceps.

"Okay." Freddy stands up slowly and stretches to give Mark a preview of his attractive body. He takes the box upstairs.

Mark lights a fire in the small stove so his scantily clad boy won't be too cold, then he sits in the armchair with the best view of the spiral stairs to enjoy his grand entrance. Freddy's taking his time. His knee bounces as he tries to guess which of the options he'll model first.

Unlike Mark, Freddy rarely wears black, but in lingerie that seems to be his taste. He's chosen the shorts and cami set. Mark tracks him every step of the way down the stairs and notes his boy carries himself with perfect posture. He walks to the open area of the small living room and stands before his master for inspection.

"Is this what you had in mind?" Freddy asks.

Words fail him, but he nods. His eyes burn into Freddy's. He raises his hand and twirls it. Freddy sighs and turns to give him the back view, too.

The lines of the ensemble enhance Freddy's natural shape. Mark's seen him naked countless times, but never part by part like this. It's as though he never really got what lingerie is meant to do before now. The black fabric is like a visual speedbump for his fetishistic gaze that lets him savor all the beloved parts of his boy's body in a new way. The stretchy lace shows off the muscular roundness of his ass, the bare midriff highlights the thick slab of his abdominal wall. The thin material tight across his chest makes him look even bigger and more powerful. His body art looks more mysteriously pagan disappearing behind it and it clings to his nipple rings. Surprisingly, the only feminizing touch to the look is his faded blue collar he never takes off.

"C'mere," Mark almost croaks.

He turns and goes to him obediently. He touches Mark's face as he gazes down at him affectionately. "Thank you for my presents, Sir," he says in his soft, submissive tone.

"Freddy, you look gorgeous."

"So do you. I love the way you're looking at me right now."

"Like I'm gonna eat you?"

"It's a little sweeter than that, but okay. We can do anything you want, Sir. I just want to be good to you."

"Baby, you always are. Think ya deserve a nicer collar for when I dress you up, too."

"I thought Jenni was your little doll," he teases.

Mark laughs, but breathily and certainly not at Freddy. "Yeah, she is, but this is... somethin' new entirely." He fingers the lace waistband before his eyes and it makes his husband shiver. "I never felt this way... don't tell her, okay? She don't need to know how much I like this."

"Yes, Sir."

Mark hinges forward to rub his scruffy cheek against the pleasing scratch of lace. It feels interesting on his tongue, too, as he licks Freddy's cock through the pouch. It's not the same exact design as female boy shorts. These are the literal ones.

Mark feels the present stretch and change shape against his mouth. His boy moans and Mark is deliriously aroused. He's been Daddy so much lately that this nearly aggressive Dominant lust hits him like a drug. The lace grows damp and he explores his boy's heavy balls through it. He's so full...

Freddy's moans take on a whiny note that Mark finds adorable. Nothing gets Freddy more excited than serving, doing anything to please his master. He tugs down the waistband carefully to expose just the head of Freddy's rigid cock. It's shiny and pink as hard candy. Mark probes the slit with the tip of his tongue and looks up into his eyes with a gaze that is not at all submissive. He squeezes him through the spit-wet lace and is treated to the first generous flow of sharp, clear liquid. Mark takes him in his mouth to drink it up.

Freddy makes a sound like a wounded animal.

"Does that feel good, sweet boy?"

"Mark! Yes..." he hisses.

Mark doesn't stop stroking him as he speaks. "You didn't come yet today, did you?"

"No, Sir. I haven't had time."

"That's why you're so sensitive. I know what I want ya to do for me."

"Sir?"

"Every day, when ya wake up, I want you to make yourself come and say my name when ya do it."

"Mark!" he gasps.

"Uh-huh, like that. I don't care if it makes ya later to the studio, you'll do this for me. I want you to have one hand on your collar, the other on your cock, and that orgasm is mine because you are. You belong to me: My boy, my pet..."

Freddy loses it right then. He takes his husband by surprise and erupts onto his face. His overdue load of cum hits his beard, his nostrils, his tangled hair. Mark sputters.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do that, Sir!"

"That's okay. Think that was my fault. But now ya gotta clean me up, sweetheart."

Freddy drops to his knees at once and licks Mark's face until the Dom captures his mouth. He sucks his boy's gourmet tongue to remind him it's not just for tasting and speaking loving words, but an erogenous organ like the one he's just been enjoying. It's something he likes done to him and when Freddy catches on and sucks his master's tongue he does so with breathtaking sensitivity. They trade back and forth, filling each other's mouths, massaging, nibbling gently, enjoying the flavors of red wine, chocolate/raspberry, and Freddy.

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