Despite several years of getting accustomed to the nature of their relationship, Matsuoka still occasionally needed to go at things sideways. He was innocently trawling through online shops in the wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep and stressed about his first college exams, when he saw the apron: frilly, pink and yellow, and perfect for a housewife with a cute, fun side.
He bought it with the rationalization: this is just a gag gift.
Which wasn’t true at all if his tripping pulse and twitching dick were any indication, but that was fine. It was true enough for Matsuoka to get away with it, to have the courage to act on the urge and the ability to keep from panicking immediately after.
While he finished filling out his information, Sougo rolled over with a grunt and growled out, “Master, go to bed. You need to sleep,” before wrapping Matsuoka up in his strong arms, his breath fanning gently out against Matsuoka’s shoulder. He smelled like fruit, both from his shampoo and also the flavored lube Matsuoka had used to open him up earlier.
It was nice, even with that bit of manhandling. Matsuoka let his phone go dark and fell asleep, but not before he paid extra for fast shipping.
“This?” asked Sougo. “What do you mean, Master?”
Matsuoka smiled, chin on his knuckles, still not quite looking at his lover. They were in the living room of their shared apartment, Matsuoka seated on the couch with Sougo kneeling on the floor across from him, a coffee table between. As Sougo finished cutting away the packing tape, Matsuoka said, “When we were checking out what being Master and slave meant for us, remember? The first time you came for me.”
In his peripheral, Matsuoka saw Sougo’s flush intensify. “Oh. Yes. I -- I remember.”
“I saw this,” Matsuoka murmured, “and it made me think of it. I didn’t exactly handle the end of that night very well, I know, but I thought -- maybe this would be a fun thing to have around the place? A reminder of the better parts of our first time.”
The bubble wrap was painstakingly removed.
“I still can’t believe you offered to wear one of these,” Matsuoka said, grinning, and finally turned his full attention to his slave’s face, waiting for the reaction.
“Is this --?” Sougo’s eyes were still wide and that flush wasn’t lessening any time soon. The apron looked ridiculous in his big, rough hands, the weapons of a delinquent. Thin, cheerfully colored fabric with ruched edges, two big pockets in the shape of hearts, and apron strings that were wide enough to tie into an adorable, full bow in the back.
Sougo was going to look absolutely perfect wearing it.
In his chest Matsuoka’s heart was speeding up, and the low level tension he’d felt in his muscles, shivering under his skin ever since handing Sougo the package, slid a notch higher. He hadn’t let himself really think about it again until this moment. Just a gag gift, he kept lying to himself to make it easier, but here, now, in the moment?
It was easy to say, “I know we decided you wouldn’t get anything out of playing maid service, but I really think we can work something out.”
He’d slept well the night before, jerking off in the shower before falling blissfully asleep next to Sougo, his slave’s body heat the perfect thing to ease him into dreaming. The alarm he’d set was early enough that Sougo wouldn’t have rolled out of bed without him, so as soon as Matsuoka had turned it off he’d propped himself up on an elbow and grabbed a handful of Sougo’s naked ass to shake him awake.
“Go make me breakfast,” he’d yawned.
“Mm,” Sougo murmured back. “What does Master want to eat?”
You was the obvious answer, but not in line with Matsuoka’s plans. So he said, “Omurice. Cute omurice. And wear the apron exactly as we discussed last night.”
Sougo had pushed up all at once, no longer half-asleep. The tousled, dark strands of his hair were all over the place, and Matsuoka had moved the hand from his ass to rub his fingertips against the bristling buzz of Sougo’s fade, waiting. “Oh,” Sougo said, clearing his throat. “That -- yeah. Okay. If Master wishes?”
“Master does,” Matsuoka had reassured, and then had the distinct pleasure of watching Sougo’s brows relax, his eyes go warm and dark, and his mouth to stretch into a happy, nearly bashful smile.
Again, Matsuoka’s willpower had been put to the test. Sougo was so cute it was unreal, and only the knowledge of what he had planned kept Matsuoka in control of his dick. Worth it though, entirely worth it, because now Matsuoka was here, drinking coffee while watching Sougo in the kitchen.
Specifically, watching Sougo’s naked ass in the kitchen, framed perfectly by the trailing ends of the apron strings, dangling down from a perfectly tied bow.
Breakfast was sizzling on the stove, nearly finished, so Matsuoka finally allowed himself to say, “This is fun. I like watching you like this. You’re so naked. Or almost -- the apron looks as cute on you as I expected it would.”
Sougo’s ears burned bright red, the broad line of his shoulders tense.
“Do you like it?” Matsuoka asked, almost idly.
“I -- I do.”
Matsuoka smiled against the rim of his coffee mug. “What do you like about it?”
The blush was hot against the back of Sougo’s neck now. “I like, uhm. That you’re watching me. I feel exposed like this, but I -- I like that it’s Master I’m exposed to.”
“Ah. I think you could probably expose yourself a little more though.”
An uncertain, quick glance over Sougo’s muscular shoulder towards where Matsuoka sat, waiting. Not unwillingness, though, just uncertainty. So Matsuoka said, “You only need one hand right now, right? Go on, then. Use your other to spread your cheeks. Show off what belongs to me.”
Sougo made a sharp, delicate noise, his deep voice gone faint. Eagerly, he reached with the hand not holding his spatula and spread himself, sliding his bare feet a little farther apart on the floor as well, widening his stance. “Like this?”
“Yes,” Matsuoka told him. “That’s perfect.”
Matsuoka really couldn’t see anything, not with the distance and how muscularly round Sougo’s ass was. Too plump, and so spreading just the one cheek barely revealed anything. But it wasn’t about what Matsuoka could see, not really. It was about Sougo wanting him to see. He asked, teasing, “You like this, too, don’t you?”
“Ah, ah. Say it clearly, Sougo.”
A fine tremor ran through Sougo’s body, because Matsuoka knew his slave well -- knew what he liked, what he wanted, the little ways he withheld because he wanted Matsuoka to pursue. Sougo loved it when he was forced to say things like, “I do. I like that you’re looking at my h-hole,” in a voice gone thin with desire and embarrassment.
The hand holding him spread spasmed, Sougo’s shoulders jerking. Matsuoka’s smile morphed into a grin as he watched his lover rock up onto the balls of his feet, like he wanted to present himself more fully for his Master’s perusal. “I mean -- Master’s, it’s Master’s hole, because it -- all of me, e-everything I am -- belongs to you.”
“Mm, that’s right,” agreed Matsuoka with a rush of pride and love and eager, burning horiness. “Breakfast ready?”
There was a moment of silence, which Matsuoka was going to go ahead and guess was surprise. The hand holding the spatula hadn’t moved once since Sougo had exposed himself. It was likely he’d completely forgotten about breakfast, despite it sizzling away right in front of him. “Ah -- you’re right, it is.”
Matsuoka said, “Finish up then. You can use both hands.”
Sougo’s shoulders fell with a little sigh, like he was disappointed. But he went ahead and finished getting breakfast ready, his big frame moving easily in the kitchen, full of strength and grace and power. Matsuoka had long ago learned how to admire the flex and bulge of all those muscles, and especially the expanse of smooth skin across them, occasionally marked with bruises or cuts from the few fights Sougo still wound up in.
He liked it best, of course, when it was marked by love bites, a visual map of every place Sougo gave up to Matsuoka’s hungry mouth.
There was only one plate in his hands when Sougo came to the table. The ruffled hem of his apron reaching just barely to mid-thigh, jarringly attractive brushing against the dark, curling hair on his pale, muscled legs, was such a sight that Matsuoka almost didn’t notice, but thankfully did. The single serving and what it implied surprised Matsuoka, because they rarely did this, but he supposed it suited the mood just fine. So when Sougo finished setting the plate down on the table, Matsuoka said: “Snag the cushion from the other chair and kneel at my feet, Sougo.”
The delighted way Sougo responded to Matsuoka’s order let him know he hadn’t read the situation wrong. Usually, they ate meals across from each other, not dissimilar to how they’d first begun eating lunch back in high school. But every now and then one or both of them wanted this: Sougo on his knees, looking up at Matsuoka with trusting, adoring eyes.
Matsuoka cut away a piece of the omurice, saying, “Ohh, this looks so good, Sougo! That’s a very cute heart.”
“Thank you, Master,” said Sougo, that deep, low voice warm with pride.
For a moment, Matsuoka simply chewed his first bite of breakfast -- hot, delicious, and made with love -- and looked down at his lover. He looked so good like this. A powerful man, a delinquent, entirely at ease and natural on his knees at his Master’s feet.
“You’re beautiful,” said Matsuoka.
Sougo flushed, gaze lowering. “If Master says so,” he murmured, sounding wry.
“I do. Now chin up -- say ah like a good boy, hm?”
Sougo did, lashes hiding his eyes even as he tilted back his chin and opened his mouth, tongue poking hesitantly at his bottom lip, making it shine temptingly. “Ahh,” breathed Sougo, flush darkening at such a ridiculous sound rattling up out of his broad chest.
It was incredibly hot.
Matsuoka carefully fed his slave, taking turns bite-for-bite. He couldn’t stop his roving eyes, following the graceful line of Sougo’s bared neck, the sharp slash of his collar bones, how the apron shifted and rustled with Sougo’s breathing. Matsuoka wondered if Sougo’s nipples were hard, teased to stiff little peaks with the way the thin cotton was dragging back and forth and --
He slipped a hand in to check, making Sougo’s breath hitch and still. “Cold?” Matsuoka asked, teasing. He pinched a nipple -- as erect and sensitive as he’d been hoping for -- between two fingers, making his slave gasp. “What other treasures are you hiding behind this adorable little apron?”
“M-Master,” Sougo grit out, obviously trying not to squirm. “You need to -- to finish your breakfast! It’s an important meal, and --”
Matsuoka rolled his eyes but released his lover’s nipple, reaching for his fork instead and interrupting him with a firm, “Say ah, Sougo.”
Sougo bit his lip, halting his flow of chastising words, before doing exactly as Matsuoka asked.
He was so very perfect and tempting, and it gave Matsuoka an idea. Another few bites and breakfast was over, but before Sougo could stand to clear the table, Matsuoka said, “Sougo, you’re not done.”
“Mm, no.” Smug, Matsuoka leaned back in his chair and pulled his dick out of the slit in his boxers. Despite how lovely Sougo was like this, his dick was only a little fat -- not that he’d remain that way for long. The low burn of constant arousal he’d felt all morning went from comfortable to hungry in no time. Matsuoka said, “Say ah, Sougo.”
“O-oh,” stuttered Sougo, eyes wide.
“Are you not hungry?”
“I -- I uh --”
“Sougo,” Matsuoka drawled, holding Sougo’s gaze. “Tell me -- are you hungry for my dick?”
He was, Matsuoka could see it. Sougo’s lips were parted on a trembling breath, and he swallowed hard enough that Matsuoka could almost hear it, too, his need and desire. Only with Matsuoka did Sougo’s sharp, dangerous face ever go slack with nerves, with need, with the overwhelming desire to please. He looked so soft like this, soft and wanting with wide, dark eyes.
His voice was a rasp in his throat as he said, “Yes. I -- Master. I am.”
A faint groan, and Sougo’s lashes fluttering. “I’m hungry for your dick, Master.”
“Well that’s good,” smiled Matsuoka. “Then you’d better say ah and let me feed it to you then, hm?”
Another groan, louder this time. Matsuoka glanced down and saw Sougo’s hands clenched into fists against his thighs, fighting to keep still. His jaw dropped open, revealing the soft, hot interior of his mouth; his tongue peeked out again, greedy, and he breathed out: “Ah-ahhh.”
Fuck, that was good.
“Good boy,” Matsuoka said, his own voice twisted up in a groan of his own. He shifted in his chair as Sougo leaned forward, and he placed his dick -- no longer as soft as it had been when he’d first pulled it out -- onto Sougo’s tongue, pure desire flashing through him at the first sensation of hot, wet, slick. “Take a lick. Taste good?”
Lick. “Y-yeah.” Lick, lick. “So good.” Lick. “M-Master…”
“You want more?”
“Please,” Sougo moaned, hopeful, so Matsuoka bit his own tongue and eased inside, shuddering at the way Sougo breathed sharply through his nose, holding still and working hard to take all of Matsuoka inside of his mouth, right to the root where he sealed his lips tight around.
“Fuck! That -- perfect,” grit out Matsuoka. “Yes, like that. Suckle it -- get me big and hard, Sougo. You like that, right? Like feeling me get all plump inside your pretty mouth?”
Another sloppy moan. Matsuoka hissed, sweating a bit at his hairline. It was a challenge to stay still, but he forced himself to do it. For Sougo, Matsuoka could do a lot of things, including sit there on a hard chair and slowly let himself grow hard simply by the feel of the gentle suction of his slave’s mouth holding tight around him. The bigger he got, the more Sougo struggled to keep him in place, forced to shift minutely and relax his throat, letting the tip slide down the hot, soft bend of his throat.
But Sougo managed it, face flushing ruddy with exertion and lashes getting tacky with tears. God, his slave was perfect.
When he was as hard as he could get, Matsuoka ran a hand through the glossy black strands of Sougo’s hair, humming in approval. “Well done, Sougo,” he managed to say, only a little unsteadily. A slight shiver was Sougo’s only possible response, and as much as Matsuoka loved seeing his slave’s eyes go teary-eyed and bright with exhilaration at being used, he needed to see beneath that ridiculously cute apron more than anything else.
“Expose yourself for me,” Matsuoka breathed. “Go on, lift up that cute apron and show me your dick, Sougo. God, it really suits you so well. Did I tell you that already? Nice to see you wearing something almost as adorable as you are.”
With a whimper, Sougo fumbled up his apron skirt, revealing his cock in its soft plastic cage, pressing fat and needy against the constraints. There was a drop of liquid at the tip, and it was obvious that if he wasn’t wearing his cock cage then Sougo would have been fully flushed and hard, close to coming already.
“That was such a good idea I had,” Matsuoka said, half laughing, half trying not to come just at the sight. “Couldn’t afford to ruin your look in that apron with an erection, now could we? Besides,” he added, just because he knew Sougo would love it, “everything about you belongs to me. Even your arousal. Especially your orgasms. You are my slave, after all.”
Another pulse of liquid dribbled out of the tip of Sougo’s penis in time with the deep, rumbling groan that vibrated around the tip of Matsuoka’s dick.
His lover really did like it when Matsuoka spoke like that.
“My perfect slave,” Matsuoka grunted out, gripping the back of the chair -- which he was now sitting sideways in, his legs on either side of Matsuoka -- in one hand and Sougo’s hair in the other. “I’m going to fuck your face. You’ll like that. You’ll like just kneeling here all pretty for your Master’s use. Like having my dick slide in and out of your throat until I feed you my come, yeah?”
Carefully, Matsuoka used his grip in Sougo’s hair to slide him back, hissing at the sensation.
When he popped off, Sougo gasped raggedly for air. Before he’d even finished sucking in a full breath he was babbling, though, desperate to tell Matsuoka, “Yes, yes, yes, Master, yes, please,” so that Matsuoka had to press the head of his dick against his lips, onto his tongue, and in and in and in until he was sliding back down that perfect heat once more, into the tight vise of Sougo’s throat.
God, this wasn’t going to take long.
Not with Sougo in that damned apron, too small on him but so attractive, so willing to be indecently and provocatively dressed to make Matsuoka happy, to please him. He was still holding up the apron skirt, knuckles pale with how tightly he was gripping the cotton, trapped dick and balls shifting back and forth in the valley of his pressed together thighs each time Matsuoka moved him bodily back down onto his erection.
“Don’t look like a maid,” Matsuoka said, feeling a little wild at the sight, the perfection of Sougo on his knees for him. It was so hot, and Matsuoka felt like he was burning, arousal and pleasure sliding through him in shocking waves with each drag of Sougo’s lips down his dick, each desperate wriggle of his tongue along the underside on the way up.
And especially that expression -- blissed out, happy and turned on and fuck, fuck, it was so cute that Matsuoka didn’t stand a chance.
“You look -- fuck, Sougo, you know what you look like? My wife, a perfect little housewife, you --”
And he did, a perfect little housewife straight out of porn, bare-assed with hard nipples and entirely at his Master’s disposal. Matsuoka tightened his grip and pressed Sougo down all the way as he came, sudden and hard, jerking and twisting with sharp relief spilling through his body, balls clenching as he shot his load down Sougo’s throat.
With a groan, Matsuoka held his lover in place, feeling it as Sougo’s throat swallowed awkwardly around him, milking him dry. Eventually, oversensitivity set in. Gently, he eased Sougo off, trembling with aftershocks.
“That was amazing,” Matsuoka slurred, feeling boneless and buzzing.
Coughing slightly, Sougo leaned his flushed cheek against Matsuoka’s knee, looking dazed. Still, he rasped out, “Not your wife, Master,” sounding incredibly wrecked and well-fucked and dazzled with it.
Matsuoka laughed. “You’re right, of course,” he said, and when he could move he curled over Sougo and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, sliding a hand down the broad, strong expanse of his back. “Not my wife, no matter how much I like you in that apron. What are you, Sougo?”
“Your slave,” was the sweet, content sigh.
“Mmhmm,” encouraged Matsuoka, heart rate settling. “Always and forever. You’re so good at pleasing me, Sougo.”
Happy, Sougo leaned in closer, pressing his hot, tear-sticky face further into Matsuoka’s thigh.
“I love you,” he said, feeling helpless against it.
Sougo smiled, a gentle, impossible to deny curl of his reddened, puffy mouth. “I love you, too, Master.”
“Thank you for breakfast. It was just what I wanted,” Matsuoka added, and tried not to smirk at the way Sougo’s eyes glittered and went dark, fast, at the way his tone changed, shifting, like a switch easily flipped. “Now, up you get, Sougo. There are dishes to be washed, aren’t there? And if you manage to finish them before I finish making you orgasm by slicking you up and massaging your prostate, I’ll give you a reward.”
Matsuoka leaned in, kissing Sougo’s temple. Murmured against his sweat-damp skin: “Would you like that?”
“Y-yes, Master! I would.”
Oh, what a tease his slave was. Matsuoka leaned back to level him with a firm glare. “Be clear, Sougo. What would you like?”
“All of it,” he gasped. Adorably, Sougo was still holding up his apron skirt, because Matsuoka had been entirely too delighted by the view to order him to let go. His hands were trembling now, in eagerness rather than fatigue. Matsuoka’s slave pleaded sweetly: “Everything you’ll give me. Please play with my hole while I wash dishes. Want you inside me, teasing me. M-make me come while I’m wearing the cage. Let me show you how good I can be, Master. I’ll finish in time, I promise!”
Matsuoka leaned in to give him a chaste, loving kiss. “Good boy.”