Chapter 10: The Catch
Daveed pulled back slightly, his eyes still drifting down to Dominic’s chest, still encased in the stained silk robe and rough terry vest, the nipples beneath undoubtedly flushed and tender. "Come on, let's talk," he repeated, standing up, the words quiet but carrying absolute weight. "Before we go any further. About what this," he gestured vaguely between them, encompassing the kneeling figure, the dissipated tension, the lingering scent of sex, "could be."
Dominic couldn’t speak. He could barely process. He nodded mutely, the movement stiff. His entire body felt like a plucked string, vibrating with spent adrenaline and unresolved need. The spreadsheets, the loan application, the manicured lawns outside, they felt like scenes from someone else’s distant life.
Daveed pulled Dominic to his feet, supporting and guiding him over to the couch, still maintaining eye contact. "That shy guy who came in earlier? Who needed help with his business plan? That’s part of me. The mentee. It isn't a lie." His voice was calm, conversational, yet every word landed with precision. "The man who told you to put on the robe, who named your cunt, who just had you swallow him?" A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "That’s the other part. The finder."
Dominic blinked, confusion warring with a terrifying flicker of understanding. "Finder?" The word scraped from his abused throat.
"Yeah." Daveed’s gaze sharpened, assessing Dominic’s reaction. "I belong to an organization. Small, quiet. We find people. Two kinds, mainly. Studs." He paused, letting the implication hang. "And sluts." He held Dominic’s gaze, unwavering. "People born with a certain wiring. A deep, undeniable sexual drive, often tangled up with shame, repression, all that societal noise. People who need this," he gestured to their states of undress, Daveed's soft, uncut cock, hanging heavy over his still full-looking balls, "like they need air. But most never get to breathe it. They suffocate in the quiet desperation of picket fences and credit scores."
Dominic flinched. The description hit far too close to the bone. The years of repressing anything considered non-conforming, the gnawing emptiness beneath the competent facade, the shocking ease with which he’d submitted to the pump, to Daveed’s commands. It wasn't just curiosity. It was innate.
"We find them," Daveed continued, his tone matter-of-fact, but not unkind. "We recognize the signs. The hidden tension, the acceptance of an unfulfilling life, the flicker behind the eyes. Soft, barely noticed, inconsequential. Like I saw in you, Dom. That first reaction when I walked in yesterday was text book perfection." He leaned forward slightly. "And when we find them, if they’re ready, when they're ready, we offer them a path. A way to live authentically. To stop fighting what they are."
The air felt thick. Dominic’s heart hammered against his ribs. "A path?" he rasped.
"Training," Daveed said simply. "Guidance. Structure. A place to belong. We teach techniques – ways to unlock that repression safely, to channel the need, to understand the power dynamics that are already humming inside you. To serve, or to command, depending on your nature. In time, maybe both. We help you become who you were meant to be." He paused, letting the enormity sink in. "No cost. It's a calling. For us. For you. If you want it"
Dominic’s mind reeled. An organization? Training? He pictured clandestine meetings, rituals, a hidden world beneath the suburban sprawl around him. It sounded insane. Yet the pull was undeniable. The sense of terrifying rightness he’d felt kneeling, obeying, belonging.
"You can say no, Dominic," Daveed said, his voice softening, but losing none of its gravity. "Right now. This part of me can walk away. Put the spreadsheets back on the table. Forget the pump. Forget this Daveed. Go back to the quiet desperation." He held Dominic’s gaze. "I will take your support, give you the feedback you need and disappear. But the offer then closes. Forever."
The silence stretched, filled only by the distant drone of a lawnmower and the frantic thudding in Dominic’s ears. Forget? Could he? The gnawing emptiness he’d lived with for years felt suddenly unbearable compared to the intense, terrifying fullness of the last two days. Only two days? Dominic's head swam. The shame was still there, a cold knot, but intertwined now with a burgeoning, dangerous hope.
Daveed watched him, patient, reading the conflict playing out on Dominic’s face. "But," he continued, his voice dropping to a low, compelling murmur, "if you say yes, and I can't help myself, but I hope you do... if you want this life, there are rules. Strict ones."
Dominic swallowed, his throat protesting. "Rules?" The word felt heavy. Daveed stood up, bringing Dominic with him. Helping him to steady himself on numb, cold legs. Daveed took his hand and led him back to the armchairs in the study, a call-back to their first meeting. Daveed sat Dominic in the chair that he had licked clean only yesterday.
"Commitment," Daveed stated after they were both settled, now in the mentor's seat. "You agree to be sexually available at designated times. Your body, your responses, become part of your training, your service. You follow commands," his gaze sharpened, "without hesitation, without challenge. Until you prove yourself, until you rise through the ranks on your merits, obedience is absolute."
Dominic’s breath caught. Absolute obedience. The mere thought sent a fresh jolt of electricity through his already sensitized nerves, a terrifying thrill mixed with profound relief. No more decisions. No more hiding.
Daveed’s eyes hardened slightly. "And there are consequences. Punishments. For breaking rules, for failing expectations, for disrespect. They are instructive. Necessary. But they are real and uncompromising" He didn't elaborate, but the unspoken promise hung heavy in the air. "It’s not easy. It requires discipline. Surrender. Trust."
He reached out, his hand surprisingly gentle as he placed it on Dominic’s exposed knee. "But you won’t be alone. I will be your guide. Your trainer. Your protector. I will care for you. Push you. Show you the depths of what you can be. What you are." His thumb stroked Dominic’s thigh. "The submissive slut with the hungry mouth who amazed me today. Whose perfect cocklet and willing mancunt I hope to serve."
The words, so crude, so specific, spoken in that calm, possessive tone, shattered Dominic’s last defenses. The shame didn’t vanish; it transmuted. It became part of the surrender, part of the terrifying, exhilarating path opening before him. Daveed saw him. Truly saw the hidden thing he’d fought for years. And he didn’t recoil. He valued it. He wanted to cultivate it.
The ordered neighbourhood outside, the distant dog barking, the ghost of his old life, they faded into a dull hum. Here, sitting opposite this glorious man, in his soiled clothes, with Daveed’s hand warm on his leg and the taste of submission thick on his tongue, felt like the only real thing. The only place he could finally breathe.
He looked into Daveed’s dark, expectant eyes. The shy mentee was gone. The commanding finder, the potential trainer, waited.
Dominic’s voice, when it finally came, was a mere whisper, ragged but clear, carrying the weight of a life tipping point. "Yes." Daveed gave him a questioning look. "Please". Daveed's eyebrows raised. "Stud". Daveed smiled. "That's my good slut, Dommie baby".
Daveed’s smile deepened, a satisfied curve that held as much possessiveness as warmth. "Good boy," he murmured, the praise settling over Dominic like a heavy, welcome cloak. He leaned back in the armchair, studying Dominic with renewed intensity, his gaze sharp and analytical despite the calm posture. "Tell me more about yourself, Dommie. The physical truths."
Dominic shifted, the silk robe rasping against his sensitized skin. "What... what do you mean?" His voice felt thin.
"Your body," Daveed stated plainly, his eyes tracing the outline of Dominic’s chest beneath the stained silk. "Its responses. You tasted yourself yesterday." He paused, letting the memory hang between them. "Describe it. Honestly."
A flush crept up Dominic’s neck. He looked down at his trembling hands. "It’s... honestly, it's intoxicating," he whispered, the word escaping before he could stop it. "All my fluids. Salty-sweet. Strong. My... my ass juices..." He swallowed hard, forcing the crude term out. "They’re... they're the best. The creamiest? But clean. Really clean."
Daveed’s eyes lit up, a spark of genuine excitement cutting through his composure. "Clean?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, intent. "Naturally? No douching? No prep? Just clean?"
Dominic nodded, the movement jerky. "Yeah. Well it was when I played down there, clean that is. Then, the... the toy you sent me... when it came out of me... it was covered in this thick ooze that I couldn't get enough of. So, yeah... I suppose just... self-cleaning, I guess?" The talk of anuses and juices felt suddenly filthy, incredibly revealing.
"And this morning? When the call of nature sang?" Dominic had never been questioned about his toilet habits by anyone but the doctor and that had been humiliating. Telling Daveed didn't bother him in the slightest. "I had forgotten... clean. Completely. I went to wipe as usual and there was just that slightly milky stain on the paper".
"And what did you do when you saw that?" Dominic blushed, deeply, but pushed on. "I licked it, sir. And then I poked my finger inside to find more, but there was barely anything there".
Daveed chuckled, a low, delighted sound that vibrated in the quiet room. "Oh, Dommie baby," he breathed, shaking his head in amused awe. "That’s not just biology. That’s proof. Fucking proof you were born for this. A slut’s body, ready and waiting." He stood up abruptly, the chair scraping softly on the hardwood floor. "Stand up."
Dominic obeyed instantly, his legs shaky beneath him. Daveed closed the small distance between them, his still naked body a constant delight and thrill to Dominic. His hands, large and warm, settled on Dominic’s shoulders, then began to move. Slowly, deliberately, he peeled the stained silk robe from Dominic’s frame, letting it pool around his feet like discarded skin. The cool air of the study hit Dominic’s torso, making him shiver.
Daveed’s touch mapped him. Calloused thumbs traced the vulnerable hollows of his collarbones, drifted down the planes of his ribs, smoothed over the slight curve of his belly. He kneaded Dominic’s shoulders, squeezed his soft, upper arms, ran palms down his flanks, exploring the trembling muscles of his thighs. Dominic had never been touched like this. Never wanted to be. Until now. Daveed was everywhere, except his chest. The avoidance was palpable, a deliberate tease that made Dominic’s breath labour.
He sank to his knees before Dominic, his hands sliding around to grip the backs of Dominic’s thighs. His face was level with Dominic’s groin, partially covered by the cotton terry vest that barely contained his aching breasts and the thin briefs below. Daveed’s fingers hooked into the waistband of the briefs. He tugged them down Dominic’s legs in one smooth motion, leaving him exposed from the waist down, the vest hanging loose around his chest like a bizarre, frayed curtain.
Dominic stood utterly vulnerable, the cool air prickling his bare skin. Daveed remained kneeling, his gaze traveling upwards from Dominic’s feet, lingering on the sparse hair, the semi-soft cocklet nestled above tight, small balls. No, not there, Dominic thought, anywhere but there. Then, finally, Daveed's hands rose again. Not to the vest. Not yet. One hand settled firmly on Dominic’s lower back, keeping him balanced. The other hand moved lower, fingers spreading the cheeks of Dominic’s ass. A thick finger, warmed from exploration, pressed firmly against his hole. It circled once, twice, applying slick pressure. Then, with a low grunt of approval from Daveed, the tip breached him.
Dominic gasped, his back arching involuntarily. The intrusion was sudden, deep, but not painful. A wet, obscene squelch echoed in the silent study as Daveed’s finger slid in to the knuckle. Daveed worked it slowly, the movement deliberate, the slick friction echoing the squelch, the milky fluid beginning to ooze from his mancunt.
"Fuck, you are clean," Daveed murmured, having brought his finger to his nose and mouth, taking a deep whiff and a long moment to taste, awe lacing his voice as he returned the finger and twisted it inside, drawing out more wetness. "Perfect little slut hole. Ready." His free hand finally rose. It didn’t caress. It grabbed. He seized the front of the terry vest and ripped it open, the thin cotton tearing apart with a harsh rrriip.
Dominic’s breasts, swollen and heavy from the pump, bounced free, the nipples still puffy, pink and engorged. Daveed’s gaze locked onto them, hungry. His finger still grinding deeply in Dominic’s ass, Daveed brought his other hand up. The strong palm simultaneously engulfed Dominic’s breast, squeezing hard, thumb and forefinger grinding into the hypersensitive nubs.
Dominic cried out, a sharp sound ripped from his throat. The dual assault – the deep, wet penetration from behind and the brutal kneading of his tortured nipples – sent shockwaves through him. His legs buckled, but Daveed’s grip on his breast and the finger hooked inside him held him upright. The squelching sounds filled the air, mingling with Dominic’s ragged gasps and the rough friction of Daveed’s hands on his skin.
Daveed leaned back slightly, his breath hot against Dominic’s belly. "Look at you," he growled, his voice thick with possession and a dark thrill. "My perfect, natural slut. Look at what you were made for." He twisted his finger again, drawing another guttural moan. "Now tell me you want the training. Tell me you’re mine." The finger paused, buried deep. The thumbs pressed harder on his nipples.
The pressure on Dominic’s tits intensified, a sharp counterpoint to the deep, slick twist of Daveed’s finger inside him. The dual sensations short-circuited thought, leaving only raw sensation and Daveed’s demanding presence. "Tell me," Daveed commanded, his voice a low rumble vibrating through Dominic’s belly. "Now."
A gasp tore from Dominic’s throat, half-pain, half-desperate need. "Yours," he choked out, the word barely audible over the wet noise of Daveed’s finger starting to work his hole again.
"Louder," Daveed demanded, his thumb grinding hard against the swollen peak of Dominic’s right nipple. He withdrew his finger slightly, then plunged it back in with a deliberate squelch.
"I’m yours!" Dominic cried out, his back arching away from the pain in his chest, pushing him onto the invading finger. The cool air of the study felt sharp against his sweat-slicked skin.
"LOUDER!" Daveed roared, the sudden volume shattering the room's intimacy. Both hands left Dominic’s body for a split second, one moving to grip the back of his neck, the other grabbing a fistful of hair, forcing his head back. "Scream it, slut! Let the fucking neighbors hear!"
"I’M YOURS!" Dominic bellowed, the force of the admission ripped from his core, raw and primal, echoing off the bookshelves. It felt like shedding a skin, terrifying and liberating.
The instant the shout died, Daveed moved. He surged forward, powerful thighs propelling him, and his mouth latched onto Dominic’s left breast with astonishing force. Not a kiss, not a bite, but a deep, voracious suckle. His lips sealed around the swollen areola, tongue working the taut nipple beneath. Dominic cried out again, a shocked, high-pitched sound, as the incredible pressure and wet heat engulfed his chest. Daveed’s arms wrapped around him, one bracing his lower back, the other snaking down with surprising speed.
Strong fingers, still slick from pleasuring Dominic’s hole, found his anus again. Not penetrating this time, but rubbing firmly, insistently around the rim, spreading the wetness, allowing it to keep flowing, the pressure constant and demanding. Dominic whimpered against Daveed’s head, his body held aloft by the man’s strength, suspended between the competing motions. Daveed switched breasts with ruthless efficiency, pulling off the left with a wet pop and engulfing the right nipple just as greedily, his nursing fierce and rhythmic. The stimulation was overwhelming, a direct line to Dominic’s core, making his cocklet twitch and leak against Daveed's meaty pecs.
As Daveed suckled deeply on the right nipple, pulling hard, Dominic felt an impossible sensation. A pinprick of wetness, thin and startlingly cool, beaded at the very tip of his tortured left nipple, still damp from Daveed’s mouth. Daveed paused mid-suckle, pulling back just enough to see. His dark eyes widened, then crinkled with fierce delight. "Well, fuck me sideways," he breathed, voice thick with awe and a predatory thrill. "A lactating slut? Naturally? Dommie baby, you’re a goddamned miracle. Proof positive indeed."
He removed his finger from behind, his hands flying to cup both of Dominic’s aching mounds. He squeezed, not gently, thumbs finding the stiff peaks and rubbing the slick moisture spreading there. "Look at that," he murmured, almost reverent, watching the thin, clear liquid well. He tasted it, groaning. He moved from one tit to the other in quick succession, gathering the fluid there. He pulled Dominic's head towards his and shoved his tongue into the slack mouth. The taste almost familiar, but still slightly different. This was much sweeter, much more pure, than Dominic's other juices. They groaned into each other's mouths. Then Daveed's gaze snapped down. While his hands worked Dominic’s breasts, spreading the nascent milk, Daveed dropped smoothly, his descent controlled. Before Dominic could process what was happening, Daveed’s mouth opened wide and engulfed Dominic’s entire small, leaking cock and balls in one hot, wet cavern.
The sensation was instantaneous, catastrophic. The intense suction, the rough swirl of Daveed’s tongue against his sensitive head and shaft, combined with the relentless kneading and rubbing of his milk-dampened nipples and the wet warmth still squelching from his hole, it was too much. A strangled shout tore from Dominic as his body seized, back bowing violently in Daveed’s iron grip. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and all-consuming, radiating out from his groin and chest simultaneously. He came in frantic, helpless spurts, his vision whiting out, his cry dissolving into broken, gasping sobs as Daveed swallowed relentlessly, milking every drop.
Daveed held him through the violent tremors, sucking firmly until the last shudder subsided. He released Dominic’s spent cock with a final, soft pull, then slowly, deliberately, licked a broad stripe up Dominic’s belly, collecting the stray beads of milk glistening there. He looked up, meeting Dominic’s dazed, tear-filled eyes, his own expression one of fierce satisfaction and profound discovery. "Mine," he stated, the word a quiet, absolute truth in the sudden stillness.