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The Lesson

K. Matthew

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Smashwords Edition

It wasn't an impressive-looking house, nor distinguished in any way from the ones around it.

From the outside, no one would have been able to guess that a Master lived there with his slave.

Jim allowed his fist three firm taps, announcing his presence. His heart raced with anticipation

as he heard footsteps approaching, knowing that once the door was opened, there would be no going
back.

The slave, a thin pale man named Lost, answered wearing nothing but a yellow apron.

“Welcome to our home, Sir,” he said politely, moving from the doorway to allow Jim entry. All the
while, he kept his face toward the floor, not seeming to care if anyone else saw how scantily he was
dressed.

“Thank you,” Jim muttered before stepping inside and allowing Lost to close the door behind

him. “How are you doing?”

“Well. Thank you, Sir. Master Wicked is waiting for you in the living room. I hope that Sir likes

spaghetti. That is what I have prepared for us for dinner. If Sir does not like spaghetti, this one can make
him something else to eat.”

“Spaghetti is fine.” Jim hadn't expected to be fed, and while he wasn't hungry, he felt that it

would be an insult to deny their hospitality.

“I am glad it pleases you. Right this way, Sir.” The slave led Jim into the living room where

Wicked was sitting on the sofa watching some action movie that Jim had never seen before.

He looked up at Jim, completely ignoring Lost in the process. “Good evening, little Neko. Did

Lost give you a proper greeting?”

“He did.” Jim nodded.
Wicked scowled. “Have you already forgotten what I taught you at the club?”

An uncomfortable feeling rolled through Jim as he stared down at the Dom. Wicked was

wearing a black button-down shirt and dress slacks, but he still looked every bit as intimidating as he
had in the BDSM club in his trench coat. Jim caught himself swallowing hard before he bravely
responded, “I thought that was only necessary in the club.”

“We live the lifestyle even outside of the club, so we use respective titles all the time.”
“But I don't live the lifestyle, so I don't understand why I should have to use them.” Jim quirked

a brow, beginning to wish he hadn't come at all.

A smirk creased the side of Wicked's mouth. “Does it make you so uncomfortable?”
“If we're being honest, then yes it does.”
“You may sit down, if you wish,” Wicked offered, and Jim was quick to take him up on it,

nervously lowering himself into the recliner closest to the door. “You do remember why I gave you my
number, don't you?”

It seemed like a trick question. Jim thought back to the moment in the BDSM club when Wicked

handed him the card with his number. He had said something then, but Jim couldn't remember what it
was.

“I thought you were just being friendly,” Jim said finally.
“I wasn't,” Wicked's voice was cold as usual. He was being completely dismissive, watching the

television while he talked to Jim.

“Oh.” The discomfort deepened. “Then why did you give me your number?”
“I told you to use it if you ever wanted to learn about the lifestyle. The use of it was exclusive to

that purpose. You may need more friends, but I don't. If you're not interested, then beat it.”

Jim's heart sank to his stomach, causing it to flop with overwhelming nervousness. This wasn't

what he had expected at all. Sure, he knew that this probably wasn't going to be a normal visit, but he
hadn't expected Wicked to be so set on teaching him about the lifestyle. Now there were only two
choices to make. Stay or go. The drive to Wicked's house had taken almost twenty minutes, and Jim
hated the thought of wasting gas for nothing. How much harm would there be in allowing for Wicked to
share his knowledge? It's not like Jim would ever have to come back if he didn't like what happened
here tonight.

“So, what's it going to be, little Neko?” Wicked asked, still refusing to look in Jim's general

direction.

“I'll stay,” his voice was as soft as snow.
“I'll stay, Sir,” Wicked reminded him.
“I'll stay, Sir,” Jim repeated.
“Good. Dinner should be ready shortly. Until then, we can begin your lesson.” He flipped off the

television before leaning back against the couch and turning to look at Jim. “How much do you know
about the lifestyle?”

“You might want to start from scratch, Sir,” Jim suggested, keeping his gaze down. The thought

of looking into Wicked's commanding brown eyes was too intimidating, and Jim was honestly afraid
that he'd displease the man. Already, the evening had gotten off to an unpleasant start.

“Today will be mostly about observation. You'll get to see how Lost and I function as a Master

and slave partnership. He has lived with me for four years now, and he is very well trained—a good
example of what the perfect slave should be. Do you know the difference between a slave and a
submissive?”

Today? Wicked made it sound like this was going to be one of many lessons. How did he know

that Jim would be interested in more? Jim was already uncomfortable and partially wishing that he
hadn't come. The thought of subjecting himself to this control freak on a regular basis felt unhealthy.
Still, he had to play along unless he wanted to find himself back in his car and spending the night bored
and alone.

“I do not, Sir,” he replied.
“The main difference between slaves and submissives is that submissives are allowed to set

certain limits. They retain an agreed-upon amount of freedoms and are allowed to set sexual boundaries.
Slaves, on the other hand, have no free will. They do as they are told or face punishments. Those
punishments usually consist of their previously discussed limits. That makes it less likely that they'll
disobey. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.” Jim nodded.
“I don't like submissives. They tend to be disobedient and like to test their boundaries. I prefer to

have complete control of those who are beneath me.”

Lost peeked around the corner, announcing that dinner was ready. With a nod, Wicked stood to

go to the dining room. Jim followed, making sure to stay several feet behind. They seated themselves
and waited silently for the slave to serve them. He served his Master first and then Jim before himself.

“Lost. Eat on the floor,” the Dom said abruptly.
The slave eyed his Master wearily as he took his plate and set it on the floor. He then knelt to

pull his long black hair into a loose ponytail before getting on his hands and knees and carefully dipping
his tongue into the spaghetti to pull out a noodle.

All the while, Jim sat mortified. His mouth hung agape for a moment before he found sense to

close it. Sympathetic embarrassment flooded his mind, and he found himself quickly losing his appetite.

“See how he moves without a second though,” Wicked said, but despite his words, Jim had

taken note of the hesitation behind Lost's eyes. Surely, the man didn't enjoy being treated like this—
couldn't enjoy being treated like this. It just didn't make sense.

“He obeys well,” Jim agreed.
The rest of the meal played out in silence aside from the slurping noises that Lost made while he

struggled to eat. Despite having lost his appetite, Jim cleaned his plate, too afraid to leave a morsel
behind. Wicked took his time eating, seeming to savor watching his slave act like a dog. At one point
during the meal, he tossed a piece of garlic bread down on Lost's plate. Later, he even called him over
for a head rub. Every time Wicked addressed his slave, it made Jim cringe, his stomach turning
uncomfortably.

Lost had barely even scratched the surface of his dinner when Jim and Wicked finished eating.

The Dom paid no mind to him though, excusing himself from the table without so much as a downward
glance. Jim followed Wicked back into the living room, leaving the slave to finish eating and tend to the
dishes.

“Have you had any thoughts to what you are, little Neko?” Wicked asked as he channel surfed.
“You mean, in terms of sub or slave or Master?”
“That is what I mean.”
“I think I'll stick to being an observer.”
“If you had to choose.”
“I'd be a Master.” It was an easy choice after witnessing what had just gone down in the dining

room. Jim refused to subject himself to that level of humiliation.

A short laugh passed Wicked's lips, and Jim didn't have to ask to know what he was thinking.

Jim was petite, tiny even—small and frail and cute. He had the word submissive written all over him.
Even his cowering actions spoke stronger than his words.

“You don't have the balls to be a Master,” Wicked commented finally.
“I don't have the balls to be a slave,” Jim replied, avoiding his eyes.
“Serving is easier than you think.”
“Have you ever been a submissive or a slave?”
“Once,” came the surprising reply. “I started as a submissive for a Dominatrix. She taught me

everything I know about the lifestyle.”

“But you didn't like being a sub?”
“It was fun at the time, but no. Being submissive isn't really in my nature.”
“Oh.”
Lost returned from the kitchen, but before he even had a chance to make it to the couch, Wicked

was barking an order at him. “Foot stool,” he said, and the slave found himself on his hands and knees
once more, this time crawling in front of the Dom so that he could prop his feet up on his back.

“Does it,” Jim hesitated, “give you pleasure to treat him like that?”
“Would I do it otherwise?” Wicked's voice was ice cold, and Jim found himself internally

cowering away once more, afraid to open his mouth again.

They watched the rest of the action movie in silence. Or rather, Wicked watched it. Lost was too

busy looking at the floor, and all that Jim could do was stare blankly at the screen while his mind raced
with thoughts of escape. Being in this environment was stressing him out.

“Well, it was fun, guys, but I need to get home.” Jim yawned as if he was tired.
“You're not going anywhere,” Wicked said, spiking the fear in Jim's heart. “You're going to miss

the best part.” In a harsh gesture, Wicked planted his foot in Lost's side, pushing him so that he toppled
over. The slave hit the ground with an oompf but quickly righted himself, kneeling in front of his
Master.

Jim tensed in his seat. If the 'best part' was violent, he wasn't sure he would be able to handle it.
“Take off the apron,” Wicked instructed, and Lost was quick to obey, reaching a slender arm

behind his back to tug on the strings that kept the apron fastened to his body. The top part sagged,
revealing pale skin stretched across tight muscle. When the garment was completely unfastened, Lost
tossed it to the side. “Pleasure yourself,” Wicked told him as he relaxed back against the couch to enjoy
the show.

The slave's eyes flitted up for a moment, first looking at Wicked and then at Jim before he wet

his fingertips and wrapped his hand around the base of his shaft, sliding it up until only his tip was
showing. While his index finger rubbed tiny circles over his glans, his other hand reached up to roll and
tweak one of his nipples.

Jim had never watched another man masturbate before, and he found himself quickly becoming

aroused, though he hated himself for it. It made him feel ashamed, and yet he couldn't break his gaze
away.

“Spread your legs,” Wicked told the slave.
Obediently, Lost shifted so that his legs were in front of him, spread wide so that his phallus and

testicles were well exposed. He spat into his palm before gripping his length again, making slow passes
up and down it, causing it to thicken beneath his grip. Soon he was fully erect, displaying his impressive
length.

Jim felt a flush coming to his cheeks as impure thoughts flooded his mind. He wanted to be

down on his hands and knees sucking the slave off. He wanted to be part of the action, not just a
spectator.

Lost moaned softly as he picked up the pace, pumping his cock rapidly to create the delicious

build that friction was prone to cause. His hooded eyes spoke volumes about his pleasure, and Jim
wondered just how much longer he could last. Already, his slit was leaking its pre-juices, further
slicking his wet manhood. It was only a matter of time before he burst.

“Stop,” Wicked commanded, bringing the action to a halt. He leaned over, opening a drawer in

the end table and pulling out a small purple plastic vibrator with a curved end designed to stimulate the
prostate. “Use that.” The Dom tossed the toy at his slave's feet before leaning back against the couch.

Lost panted as he took the toy in hand, still working to catch his breath. Without hesitation, he

climbed onto all fours, turning his backside to face his Master. He wasted no time lubing up the vibrator
and then pressing the curved end against his hole. The toy inched its way inside, spreading and filling
his entryway. A small groan fell from the slave's lips as he pushed the vibrator all the way in, the curved
end doing its job as it rolled over his prostate.

“Good boy. Now fuck yourself,” Wicked instructed, and Lost was more than happy to obey,

moving the toy in and out of his hungry channel. The first few passes were slow, allowing for his body
to get used to the intrusion. It wasn't long before he was working it faster though, thrusting as rapidly as
his wrist would allow.

Jim's cock throbbed against his jeans as he watched the display before him. His hands felt

fidgety on his lap, wanting to grab his own sex, to find his own release, but he wouldn't allow Wicked
the pleasure of seeing him wanton, especially when it probably came with consequences. It was bad
enough that he had a raging hard-on.

After a while of watching Lost fuck himself with the vibrator, Wicked seemed to grow restless.

“Come here,” he commanded, hitting the low note that made Jim cringe. He wondered if the Dom's
voice inspired the same feeling in his slave when it became obvious that he was displeased.

Lost backed himself up to Wicked, leaving the toy in place. It was obvious that they had done

this before. The slave knew exactly what his Master wanted; there was no need to ask.

As soon as Lost was within reach, Wicked leaned forward to take control of the vibrator,

working it back and forth at a pace that was far faster than the slave could have accomplished on his
own. Lost moaned as his Master fucked him, his pleasure cries taking on a louder volume, making Jim's
cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. Surely, the neighbors could hear.

Jim shifted in his seat, watching the slick toy pillage the slave's helpless hole. Now he was

wishing that he was in Lost's place, getting mercilessly fucked by the vibrator. If it felt anything like it
looked, Jim might die from the pleasure of it.

The slave sneaked his free hand between his legs, grabbing his shaft and stroking its length

while his Master continued to molest his ass. Wicked's strokes were deep and rapid, making Lost's balls
tingle with the need for release. It wouldn't be much longer.

“M-Master,” the slave cried out between a groan. “Requesting permission to come.”
“Permission denied,” Wicked replied.
In an instant, Lost's hand dropped back to the ground, abandoning further stimulation. Jim

marveled at the slave's self-control. If it had been Jim in Lost's place, he probably would have lost his
load long ago. Then again, in his virginal state, Jim was a lot more sensitive. He didn't have the practice
of controlling his orgasm, something that the slave was obviously an expert at.

Wicked rotated the toy inside of Lost, then pushed it in at an angle, mercilessly pressing into the

slave's prostate. For all of his reservation, it wasn't much longer before Lost's phallus was spurting out
milky white semen on the carpet below. He gasped as his orgasm over took him, forcing him to defy his
Master's wishes. Jim wished he could see Lost's face in that instant—see if his expression was that of
fear or pleasure, but his features were obscured behind long dark hair that had fallen out of its ponytail.

“How disappointing?” Wicked commented, though he showed no signs of slowing down,

milking the slave's prostate until the contractions stopped and he was a heaping mess of panting.

Jim chewed his bottom lip in nervous anticipation as he watched the Dom slowly pull the toy

from Lost's ass. His pucker sucked at it hungrily, closing as the curved tip left him.

“Apologies, Master,” Lost breathed. “It just . . . it just felt so good.”
“I know it did,” he replied, but there was surprisingly no cruelty in his voice. “You know what to

do.”

Without hesitation, Lost went to lick his seed off of the carpet. Wicked lost interest, tossing the

vibrator next to his slave and leaning back against the couch. He threw a glance in Jim's direction,
landing straight on his crotch.

“Do you enjoy watching?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jim admitted. If he denied it, Wicked would know he was lying. The bulge in his jeans

said it all.

“Would you rather participate?”
Jim knew better than to say yes—knew what the consequences would be if he did. “I like to

watch.”

“That wasn't the question. I can see your cock begging for release from here. Perhaps next time

you'll be interested in an interview.”

“An interview?”
“Yes, an interview. It's the process of seeing whether or not a Master and a slave are a good

match for one another.” He looked at Jim with inquisitive eyes, assessing his reaction.

“Oh. No.” Jim shook his head. “I'm not interested in doing . . . this.”
Wicked smirked. “Perhaps you should consider it. When an interview goes well, the slave starts

on a trial with the Master. It's a length of time determined by the Master and slave during which either
one can back out of the arrangement should they not find it suitable to their needs. That way, there's no
obligation to stick around, if you're uncomfortable. It gives the Master and slave a way to explore each
other's needs and boundaries without getting too involved.”

A trial. That didn't sound too bad, should Jim want to explore this BDSM thing further. Still,

there was no way that he wanted to do it with Wicked. The man was far too rough for his taste—far too
disrespectful. Jim would never allow anyone to treat him the way that Wicked treated Lost.

“It sounds interesting,” Jim admitted. Despite his insistence that the lifestyle wasn't for him, the

sexual aspect of it was certainly attractive. When Lost wasn't busy being punished or humiliated, it
seemed like he was lost in a state of erotic bliss.

“Think about it. You have my number.” Wicked paused, watching his slave stand up to go to the

kitchen and get a bottle of carpet cleaner to take the come stain out of the carpet. “The show is over for
tonight.” He returned his attention to Jim. “I apologize for sounding rude, but Lost and I both have work
in the morning.”

“Oh. I understand.” Jim was momentarily startled by the realization that he was being kicked

out. He stood to take his leave, but Wicked didn't even move. Instead, Lost was quick to escort Jim to
the door.

It felt odd being followed by a naked man, but Jim tried to pay no mind to it. With a courteous

nod, he excused himself, stepping out into the cool night air and listening as the door creaked closed
behind him.

As it had been when Jim left the BDSM club the prior week, his mind was filled with thought. It

felt like a strange new door had been opened to him, one of which he was scared to enter, yet the
excitement of it kept him peeking inside, gazing into temptation. BDSM was not Jim's forte, but he
couldn't shake memories of the pleasured look on Lost's face every time that Wicked touched him. He
wanted to feel what the slave felt—wanted that look on his face. But there was only one way to get it,
and Jim wasn't sure if he wanted to go there.

That night, Jim masturbated fiercely to thoughts of the toy plunging deep inside his hole.

Wicked was at the helm, working it back and forth with feverish cruelty, rubbing the curved end
mercilessly over Jim's prostate until his balls couldn't hold on anymore. When Jim finally came, he
gasped from heightened pleasure. For some reason, masturbating to thoughts of Wicked always felt
better than doing it to anything else.

If he wanted Wicked, he'd have to go through an interview first though. The whole purpose of

the interview was to see if they were compatible or not. Judging from everything that Jim had seen so
far, they probably weren't. There was no way that he could ever be like Lost—could ever handle that
level of abuse and humiliation. Still, thoughts of wanting to see Wicked again made Jim consider going
through with the interview, just for the hell of it. Worst case, and probably even best-case scenario, they
would find themselves incompatible. What would happen then? Jim wondered.

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