Center of Attention by R. J. Moray

Author:R. J. Moray [Moray, R. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-05-22T04:00:00+00:00

Day Three: Wednesday

Jack waited until Channon had got out of bed to open his eyes, and then he lay there, gazing at the ceiling, wondering if this had all been a bad idea. Channon was perfect, of course, taking everything Jack threw at him with an astonishing grace, and yet.

Jack was bored.

This thing they’d built had been formed from fantasies, and frankly, those fantasies had billowed over the weeks of incapacity Jack had suffered. That they both had suffered, in fact—Channon had been suffering along with him.

It was possible, Jack thought, that they had allowed fantasy to run out of control.

The trouble was that a week of slavery was a long fucking time, and there were only so many things Jack could do with Channon on any given day. Fucking Channon was a pleasure, but Jack was only human. How many times a day could he realistically fuck Channon? How many days in a row could he keep that up?

So, fucking aside, what else was there? Punishment—or rather, funishment—couldn’t be stretched out for hours every day. And it wasn’t fun if it happened all the time. Familiarity robbed scenes of their thrill. They became just…noise.

Jack refused to be that to Channon, background radiation in his life. He wanted Channon’s focus, his worship, his love. He wanted it intensely, in concentrated doses. He wanted Channon to notice when he walked into a room, to turn toward him like a plant seeking sunlight. Channon’s attention—he wanted all of it.

What did Channon want?

The nature of the game was that Jack couldn’t ask him, though he wanted to. Would it break immersion too much to take a time out? Would that ruin the whole thing?

Jack decided that it shouldn’t, and even if it did, it was worth it to find out what, exactly, Channon wanted. They could always try again another time, with a little more planning.

Determined, he got up, pulled on a pair of sweats and his dressing gown, and sat on the end of the bed to wait.

When Channon came back in, he was naked, his collar in one hand. He stopped when he saw Jack sitting up, and then he came over to kneel at Jack’s feet. He offered his collar with both hands, his eyes flickering upward to catch Jack’s before glancing away. Jack felt it hard, this certainty that Channon was trying but that this? This thing they were doing? Wasn’t right for him.

“Channon,” he said.

Channon looked up, his eyes wide. “Sir,” he said, and then he corrected himself. “Master.”

It was such a potent word, and right now Jack didn’t want it. He wanted Channon, his boy. He missed him powerfully, so he said, “Time out, Channon. Let’s take a break.” Channon stared at him like he didn’t get it, so Jack held up a hand. “Yellow,” he said.

Channon’s eyes went very wide, then his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said.

He sounded miserable. Jack didn’t like that at all. “For what?”

“Ruining it for you.” He frowned at the

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