End of the trial week
There is a long, intimate silence between us. Master alternately massages my neck and then caresses my cheek. The horniness still ripples through my body in waves. But slowly I feel more grounded again.
Master sees this too and speaks: “Call me whatever feels right in the moment.” he says. “When you are in complete surrender, call me Master. But in everyday life, just Milan. And in social situations...” He raises an eyebrow. “Sir.”
I nod. “I understand, Milan.” I'm startled; it sounds almost disrespectful.
A mocking spark flashes through his eyes, but he lets it go.
Milan runs a hand through his hair and leans back. His gaze rests on me for a moment, as if he's thinking about something. Then he pushes his chair back and stands up.
“Come on. It's almost time to eat.” His tone is light, but leaves no room for discussion.
My muscles feel sluggish as I get up and follow him to the kitchen.
Milan instructs me to cook for the two of us. I'm putting the finishing touches on the tomato sauce for the eggplant dish when he comes up behind me and kisses me on the neck. He gently caresses my butt with his hand and squeezes it briefly, a possessive gesture. I feel butterflies fluttering in my gut.
“That smells good, boy.”
“Thanks, Milan.”
A little later, we're sitting at the table, facing each other, eating in silence. “I knew it right away when you bumped into me in the dining room,” Milan says out of the blue.
I look at him questioningly.
“That I want you.” He adds by way of explanation.
He hasn't shown any signs of that in recent weeks.
The reproach must be written all over my face, because he looks at me almost apologetically. “I thought I had convinced you at The Leather Inn.”
“Convinced of what?” I ask, with an unintentional reproachful undertone.
“That I had convinced you to kneel before me.”
I look at him questioningly.
“I thought you were ready to submit to me.” He takes another bite, chewing it slowly. “I misjudged you,” he says calmly. He takes another bite, chews slowly, and looks at me intently. “I thought you were ready. But you need time to convince yourself. If you submit to me, I want it to be entirely your own choice.”
“You completely ignored me after The Leather Inn. You left me struggling in a cruel way.”
“Yes, that's cruel,” he says without a trace of apology. “I thought distance would make you realize you belonged with me. But I didn't see how it was destroying you. At the same time, I need to be absolutely sure that when you submit to me, it's of your own free will.”
“And in the meantime, you cockblocked me. No dominant guy wanted anything to do with me.” My frustration from the last few weeks comes pouring out.
Milan shrugs. “That's just the code of honor among dominant guys.”
“Code of honor, my ass! You cockblocked me and then ghosted me.”
“You've had sex, though... But it didn't mean anything, did it?”
I mumble something incoherent.
“Jelte, if you don't want me, just say so. Then this will end, and I'll give up my claim. You'll be free to mess around with any Dominant guy you want... except me.
Milan lets it sink in for a moment. “But you've already discovered what you want, what you need.” He looks at me intensely. “Sex without Dominance feels empty to you, doesn't it, boy?”
I nod affirmatively. “I want you.” My voice is twisted with frustration. Fuck! This isn't fair.
“But?” Milan asks.
“You're blackmailing me."
“I want you. But on my terms. I'm Dominant, remember? One of those terms is that you choose me unconditionally.”
“But I'm only eighteen! How can I choose for the rest of my life?”
“So what? I'm only nineteen and I know what I want.”
“You're the Dominant here...”
“Touché.” Milan looks at me understandingly. “I know it's a big decision, I do. But you know as well as I do that we both want this.”
I want to protest, but Milan continues. "I know you still want to experiment. And you can. I'll even show you how wonderful it can be... But only under my supervision.“
I look at him in surprise.
Milan's mouth forms a knowing smile. ”Come on, Jelte. I saw you at The Leather Inn.“ He takes a sip of wine and keeps his eyes on me over the rim of his glass. ”How eager you were..."
I feel my cheeks getting warm.
“And that one time with Ivar... yes, I know about that.” His voice drops to almost a whisper. “You have a certain... hunger, don't you?”
I didn't think he knew about me and Ivar.
“Yes,” Milan laughs, “you're a horny cock sucking slut.”
“It's not that bad,” I say, somewhat indignant.
“Don't sell yourself short,” Milan chuckles, “you're really good at it.” He leans back for a moment. “If you're under my authority, I can let you taste the elite of Dominant guys.” He gives me a wink. “But let's be honest... you'd just want to taste their cocks.”
I feel shy and my cheeks flush.
“No, really, a good submissive boy craves cock. There's nothing wrong with that. And you're a good submissive boy,” he sits up straight again. “This trial period is my sales pitch to you. I want you to taste everything, Jelte. I want you to discover what it means to be truly led. Not just by anyone, but by the best. You don't belong with the rabble. You belong with me.”
Milan leans back, takes a sip of his wine, and casually wipes a crumb from the corner of his mouth. His eyes remain fixed on me. As if he already knows the outcome of this conversation.
I want to protest, to say something back. But my mouth remains shut.
“You don't have to decide anything yet, boy. Just enjoy my dominance this week.”
That night, I lie in bed with Milan. We lie spooning, I feel his warm body against my back. He smells wonderful. Earlier today, I served and satisfied Milan. I haven't come yet. I'm horny and restless. I have a huge hard-on, but I don't dare touch it without Milan's permission.
“You're still horny, aren't you?” Milan whispers in my ear in a low voice. He wraps his hand around my hard cock and starts jerking me off. “I'll make sure you can sleep peacefully.”
As he alternately speeds up and slows down the rhythm, he pants in my ear, talking dirty: “This week you're my horny submissive slut.”
I moan softly.
“Will you obey and serve me?”
“Yes, Master!”
The tension builds, a rush I can no longer hold back. My body shivers and I come moaning in his hand. Milan's grip remains around me for a moment, his breath warm on my neck.
It takes a while for my heartbeat to calm down. Milan casually wipes his hand and pulls me even closer to him. I can feel the satisfied smile on his face, even though I can't see it.
------
During the trial week, I am also responsible for domestic work in Milan's quarters. I clean and tidy up for him. I do his laundry and lay out his clothes for the next day.
One job I particularly enjoy is caring for his leather clothing. I carefully and lovingly rub his leather pants with leather grease so that the next day he can walk around in pants that look as good as new and show off his figure perfectly.
I kneel in front of the low table, one of his favorite pairs of pants spread out in front of me. My fingers glide over the soft, supple leather as I apply a dab of leather grease to a clean cloth. The scent is deep and rich, a mixture of oil, leather, and a slight hint of tobacco, a scent that is now inextricably linked to Milan.
With circular movements, I begin to rub the grease into the seams, my fingers carefully sliding along the stitching and laces on the side. I rest my hand for a moment, when I touch the inside of the thighs, where the leather is softest from constant friction. My breath catches when I think of how tight the pants fit around his legs, how the sheen emphasizes his muscles, and how casually he always moves, completely aware of his own appeal.
A shiver runs down my spine. I know I'm here to serve him, not to daydream. And yet...
“You do that with great dedication, boy.”
I freeze. Milan's voice is calm, but the undertone is clearly amused. My head shoots up, and I see him leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. His blue eyes rest on me with a look that makes me feel warm and nervous at the same time.
I swallow. “Yes, Sir,” I reply hastily. My cheeks are burning. Caught.
Milan pushes himself away from the doorframe and walks slowly toward me. “Stand up.” His tone leaves no room for discussion.
I obey immediately, letting the cloth fall into my lap and stand up. Milan is standing just a little too close to me. His gaze flickers to the pants on the table and then back to me.
“You take such good care of my leather,” he says softly, his fingers lazily sliding over the oiled material. “But are you aware of how much more I appreciate you than just your hands?”
His voice is velvety soft, hypnotic.
His fingers find my chin and lift my head just enough to force me to look at him. “Be honest, Jelte.” His voice drops to a whisper. “When you do this... when you slide your hands over my leathers, do you think about how I wear them?”
My heart is pounding. My lips open, but no sound comes out.
Milan smiles slightly. “I thought so.” He leaves his fingers resting under my chin for a moment. His thumb brushes briefly against my cheek, a subtle reminder of his control. My breathing is shallow. I feel him letting me simmer in the tension he has built up with just a few words.
Then he lets go of me and lifts the pants off the table. He looks at my work with a critical eye, slowly pulling the leather tight over his fingers to inspect the sheen. “Mmm. You have talent,” he murmurs. “Careful. Dedicated.” His gaze flashes to me. “Almost... reverent."
I swallow more. My gut tightens at those words. He knows, he feels it. How I don't just take care of his leather clothes, but worship them.
The corners of his mouth curl slightly upward. He puts the pants back on the table but remains standing right in front of me. I can feel the warmth of his body, the subtle scent of leather and his own deep, masculine scent. My body reacts instinctively, a tremor running through me.
Milan sees it. Of course he notices.
His hand slides casually to my collar, his fingers slowly playing with the clasp. “You're a natural house boy,” he says languidly. “You want to care, you want to serve. It's in your blood.” He tilts his head slightly. “And yet... I see how you struggle with it.”
I bite my lip and nod, almost imperceptibly. My head feels heavy, too full of feelings I don't dare name yet.
His fingers slide from my collar to my shoulder, slowly moving down my arm until they reach my hand. He lifts it up and places it palm up on the table. Then he takes my other hand and does the same. My hands now rest next to the leather pants, as if they are still part of them. As if he wants to keep me there.
“Your hands have already accepted what your head is still trying to deny,” Milan whispers, slowly stroking my wrist with his thumb. “Can you feel that?”
My breath stalls for a moment. The nerves in my wrist seem to be on fire. I nod.
Milan grins almost imperceptibly and lets go of me. He picks up the pants from the table and turns around, slowly, as if he just wants to prolong the game. I don't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. My skin still tingles where he touched me.
As he casually slings the pants over his shoulder, he glances at me briefly. “I'm getting changed. Stay here.”
His tone is casual, as if he's saying something completely normal, but I can sense the underlying tension. I watch him walk to the closet and open the door. From where I stand, I can see him slowly pulling the pants over his hips, the tight leather molding to his muscular legs, unbuttoning his shirt with the same calm precision he always has.
I feel a feverish heat coursing through my body. I don't want to stare, but Wodan, I have to look.
Milan glances over his shoulder at me in the mirror that is half incorporated into the closet door. His smile is barely visible, but his eyes betray everything.
“Just going to stand there, boy?” he asks, voice low and teasing. “Or do you want to check if your work actually holds up?”
My breathing falters. I don't know what to say.
He turns slowly and spreads his arms a little, as if presenting himself to me. The pants fit like a glove, the leather glistening softly in the lamplight. “Come closer,” he orders softly.
My legs react before my head. My feet slide forward, my gaze fixed on the way the pants fit tightly around his thighs, how they mold to his body. I want to reach out, touch the leather, feel how my own hands have cared for it.
Milan tilts his head slightly. “Go ahead,” he murmurs. “Feel it.”
With trembling fingers, I reach out and let my hand slide gently over the smooth leather. The warmth of his body radiates through the leather. A faltering breath leaving my lips.
His hand shoots up and grabs my chin, forcing me to look up. Our eyes lock. “You love this, don’t you?” His voice drops into a dangerous purr. “Serving me. Pleasing me. Making me look like the god you secretly worship.”
My lips tremble. “Yes, Master.”
Milan smiles slowly. “Good boy.”
His hand slides from my chin to the back of my neck, and with a gentle but unyielding pressure, he slowly pushes me down. My knees hit the floor. My hands still rest on his thighs. My breathing is fast and irregular.
Milan looks down at me with a look of pure possessiveness. “And now, my faithful house boy...” His thumb strokes my lower lip, just long enough to make me feel the desire.
“Serve me.”
------
Later that week, Milan takes me back to The Leather Inn. This time, a businesslike but handsome Dominant guy leads us to an area I haven't been to before. In front of a heavy door with wood carvings of scenes from the Edda, Milan adjusts my collar.
“What you're about to see is different from what you know. This is where the real elite gather. Follow my example and only speak when addressed. Here, perfection isn't appreciated, it's expected.”
When the door opens, I see a space that bears no resemblance to the rougher bars of The Leather Inn. Here, everything is refined. The lighting is warm, strategically dimmed above immaculate tables with shiny silverware. The air is filled with the subtle scent of leather, expensive perfumes, and fine food.
The young Dominant men are dressed in impeccable, tailor-made leather clothing and speak with the relaxed confidence of people who know that the world is at their feet. But just as striking are their submissive partners: all young men with an unmistakable aristocratic air, who carry their position like a precious privilege. Some sit neatly beside their Dominants, others kneel elegantly at their feet, but all move with a calculated grace that betrays their membership of this elite.
My attention is drawn to a submissive boy whose posture is so perfect that it seems almost unnatural. His movements are minimal but extremely precise, like a living work of art. His submissiveness is not just submission, but an art that only the very privileged can afford to practice.
I feel nervous. My shirt suddenly feels cheap. Milan notices my discomfort and places his hand possessively on my butt.
“Breathe,” he says softly. “And remember: you belong here because I say so.”
I catch the gaze of a Dominant boy who is openly studying me, his eyebrow slightly raised. The submissive boy next to him is also looking at me, with a calculating gaze that weighs and measures me, not disapproving but pensive; as if he is wondering whether I have what it takes to ever truly fit into their world.
Milan pulls my chair back. I'm here because he says so. I take a deep breath and sit down.
I'm sitting next to the submissive boy with the calculating gaze. He looks at me intently and then turns his head toward his Dominant, who gives a small nod of approval.
“Welcome, I'm Hemming. You're new here?” He sounds genuinely interested.
I give him a nervous smile. “Nice to meet you, Hemming. I'm Jelte.”
“You don't need to be nervous,” Hemming says in a reassuring tone, “Everyone here already knows who you are.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Not because they already know you personally, but because you belong to him.” Hemming's gaze rests on me for a moment, sizing me up. “You are Milan's choice. That makes you more important than you think.”
Hemming's Dominant now addresses Milan. “Ah, so this is your boy, Milan?” He lets his gaze slide over me as if I were an object in a museum. “He's beautiful, but I wonder if he knows how to use it.”
“He's a quick learner,” Milan replies, “But I don't need to change him, just refine him.”
The Dominant boy looks at me again appraisingly and then briefly at Hemming. “He lacks the artificial refinement of our submissives. He is... unspoiled. But that doesn't make him any less attractive. On the contrary.”
Milan lets his gaze slowly slide over me. He turns his attention back to Hemming’s Dominant. “You do have an eye for beauty, Reinout.”
“He has a beautiful mouth. I wonder how obedient it can be,” says another Dominant boy.
I should feel humiliated, but I don’t. I feel my cock swelling. I look shyly at Milan. He looks back with a warm, approving smile.
The Dominant boy stares at me again and sighs loudly. “I think I can already see how obedient he is... Milan, how do you always manage to do that?”
“Jelte is indeed a boy of an unprecedented class,” says Milan with undisguised pride in his voice.
Hemming brings his face close to my ear. “You're enjoying this, aren't you? How they talk about you in this way?” he whispers.
Hemming is right, strangely enough. I nod softly in confirmation.
Hemming smiles faintly.
Reinout, Hemming's Dominant, now looks at me directly with a friendly gaze. “You carry more grace than you think, boy.”
His gaze drops, resting briefly on my lips. Not fleetingly, not accidentally, just a little too long. With a small, approving twitch at the corner of his mouth, he remarks, “I suspect Milan knew that all along.”
I take another sip of my wine to wet my dry throat. I want to say something, but there is nothing to say. They have already decided what I am.
Milan places a hand on my thigh. A reassurance, a claim.
------
It's the last morning of my trial week with Milan. For seven days, I've been living under his authority as a houseboy. I've cooked for him, taken care of his clothes, rubbed his leather pants until they shone like new. I've kept his apartment clean and quiet. And when he needed me, I was there.
Milan took me into his world, to his friends, his network: sympathetic submissive boys like Hemming and sensual, seductive Dominant boys like Arvind.
Everywhere he went, he showed that I was his. Without words, with a hand on my neck, a firm slap on my butt, or just the way he looked at me. I enjoyed it. His dominance is exactly what I needed. He was strict, but not harsh. Warm, but never soft.
He awakened desires in me that I didn't even know I had. And he didn't just name them, he fulfilled them. I didn't know I could go so deep in my submission. Dive so low and feel so light at the same time.
But now it's almost over. Milan is standing in front of me, his hands already reaching for my neck to undo the collar. He seems to hesitate. His hand slides from my neck to my ass. He squeezes my buttocks. “I'm sorry to let you go like this,” he says softly.
“I'm sorry too, Master,” I mean it. Everything in me wants to stay with him.
“If you want, you can stay a little longer. You don't have to leave right now.”
I look at Milan questioningly.
“If you stay today, I have a very nice surprise for you tonight.”
“Then I'll stay with you today, Master.”
Milan smiles broadly. “Fantastic! I think you're going to love it.”
I am still wearing his collar.
Milan has no obligations for the rest of the day. He gives me his undivided attention. He is relaxed, funny, and entertaining. He asks me what I thought of the trial week. He teases me about my curiosity about the tawse and Arvind's crotch on my first day with him. When he mentions Arvind's name, I blush. Milan smiles and I see a twinkle in his eyes. We prepare dinner together. We eat together. It’s warm and congenial. You’d almost think that Milan is not a Dominant.
After dinner, however, he orders me to go to the bedroom, undress, and wait there for further instructions. When I am completely naked, except for my collar, Milan's voice sounds.
“Come in, Jelte.” When I enter the living room, the room is darkened and atmospherically lit with candles. In the middle of the room, Milan has set up an altar with a statue of Balder. Milan's tawse lies in front of the statue.
Milan tells me to kneel in front of the altar. “Head down, ass up.”
I tremble a little with fear and desire as Milan picks up the tawse. He gives me a few taps on my ass. It feels hot and horny. For now.
“Have you been lusting after Arvind's cock all week?”
I don't dare say anything, because Master is right.
SMACK!
“Be honest.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Good boy, you're learning. You’re being honest. You served me well this week. And that deserves a reward.”
There is silence for a moment. Then I hear someone come in. I don't dare look up. But in front of me are a pair of boots under tight leather pants.
“I hear you're good at sucking cock?” It’s Arvind's voice.
Is this a question? I don't know if I should answer. I decide to kiss the boots in front of me.
Arvind lets out a mocking laugh, “Look at that horny little slut... Go on, lick my boots.”
I begin to devoutly lick Arvin's boots. Freshly polished, they smell like leather and taste like leather grease. It's so heavenly humiliating. Unconsciously, I stick my ass higher in the air.
SMACK!
I flinch as Master's tawse burns my buttocks. Instinctively, my ass drops a little to avoid the tawse.
“No,” Arvind's voice sounds calm but stern, “keep offering your ass up for your Master's discipline.”
I stick my ass high in the air again while I continue to eagerly lick Arvind's boots.
SMACK!
The tawse burns my buttocks sharply, but it doesn't make me any less horny. My cock is rock hard between my legs.
“See? You were made to serve Dominants.” The mockery in Arvind's voice is mixed with sweet approval.
After letting me continue for a while, Arvind pulls his boots back. Judging by the crackling of leather, he takes a seat in the luxurious armchair.
“Crawl towards Sir Arvind,” Master's command sounds soft, almost like a suggestion.
As I crawl towards the armchair, I see how Arvind has taken his seat in his characteristic manner: legs spread wide, as he always sits, as if the whole world belongs to him. To me, it is an invitation. With one hand, he unabashedly adjusts his balls. I swallow. He looks so arrogant, so hot, so Dominant.
When I kneel between Arvind's legs, languidly, slowly he opens his fly and pulls out his hard cock. Big and thick, impressive.
“You may taste it,” Master's voice sounds almost tender.
First, I lick Arvind's balls. His scent is intoxicating, leathery and masculine, it makes me drunk of horniness.
I take his cock between my lips. It tastes salty and a little like the leather of his pants. I try to take it slowly, respectfully, but I feel my own lust making me greedy.
SMACK!
Master delivers a firm slap with the tawse on my ass. The shock causes Arvind's cock to shoot deep into my throat. The sudden penetration makes my own cock throb with horny submission.
I move my head away from Arvind's cock again to get some air.
SMACK!
Arvind's cock shoots deep into my throat again. I understand Master's message now: He sets the rhythm.
SMACK!
Once again, I feel him filling my throat, mercilessly, deliciously.
Master's discipline turns my body into an instrument. Every stroke is a command. Every stroke is a confirmation of His authority.
CHAK!
My head drops down again automatically. My throat opens. I don't have to think anymore. Only to serve.
CHAK! CHAK! CHAK!
The rhythm quickens, my ass is on fire. But I don't care, I'm just horny. And I'm not the only one.
“Tell me honestly,” Arvind's voice is hoarse with lust, “What do you like better: my cock in your mouth or that glowing ass of yours?”
I respond with a horny moan.
Arvind grunts in agreement, I can taste his precum.
My head is pounding, my ass is on fire, my cock is leaking. Everything is feeling. Everything is serving.
Arvind's breathing quickens. His thighs tense. His hand now rests on the back of my head. He pushes me deeper. “Stay... like that.”
His cock swells even further, filling me completely, pulsing with power.
Arvind growls deeply. “Take it. Swallow it, you horny submissive cocksucker. Taste my Dominant cum.”
I feel the first jets shoot down my throat.
Master caresses my cock and balls with his tawse. I'm about to explode myself.
Arvind pulls back a little, his cock still giving me his cum in powerful spurts. He tastes deep, spicy, sweet.
The moment seems to stretch into a blissful eternity as I cum myself.
Exhausted, my forehead rests on the warm leather of Arvind's thigh. My breathing is ragged. Amidst the smell of leather, sweat, and cum, I feel deep gratitude that I am allowed to serve these two men.
Arvind stands up, zips his pants. He leans forward slightly, whispers low in my ear: “Now I understand even more why Milan wants you.”
After a short silence, he winks: “And why I would want to do this again sometime.”
After Arvind has left the room, Master lifts my chin. Our eyes meet. “This is my farewell to you for now,” he says, “so that you don't forget my Dominance.”
He lifts me up so we are looking at each other. He holds my face in both hands and gives me a French kiss. “Now you can feel me for a little while longer.” His hands move down, slowly tracing the contours of my heated ass one last time while he looks deep into my eyes.
Only then does he remove my collar. His fingers linger on my neck for a moment. “You are once again under the authority of the Temple,” he says, giving me a tender kiss on my forehead. “For now. If you submit to me permanently, you will get the Milan back from this trial week. And more.”
I nod. My mouth remains closed. Everything has been said.
When I close the door behind me, it feels like I'm leaving a part of myself on the threshold. I miss the collar with Milan's name around my neck. It feels bare. Not that it's bad, I feel light, my butt is glowing deliciously.
I'm walking on clouds. Light as air, my ass sore as hell, and every bit His boy.
