DISCLAIMER: This story is 100% a work of fiction. It depicts sexual
activity between same-sex adults. If you are offended and this is not your cup of tea, please stop reading!

PS: Please do not put identifiable details in the comment section. Safety and privacy first!

DISCLAIMER: This story is 100% a work of fiction. It depicts sexual

activity between same-sex adults. If you are offended and this is not your cup of tea, please stop reading!

David: an average built brunette on the shorter side, with striking green eyes. Living in poverty stunted his growth making him smaller than average. He has immense loyalty to the man he promised to serve for the rest of his life. Highly territorial and combative to the other servants under his master, he shows no one his sweet and caring side but his master.

Journal Entry 2:

My feisty cat is the same as always; fighting with the dog, drawing blood with his tongue instead of his claws. After visiting Japan and participating and enjoying tea ceremony and ikebana, I think a little lesson on the meditative practice of ikebana would calm that hissing cat. Well it is something to hope for.

David:

I heard the car on the gravel and my stomach flipped hard enough that the cage bit. Three weeks. I had kept the east-wing ledgers perfect and still snapped at Theodore over the length of a single stem, left the edge of my voice sharp enough that Sebastian’s report practically wrote itself. Missing him turned every small thing into a claw. I promised the mirror I would be sweet the moment the robe appeared on the terrace. The promise lasted until he smiled and I heard myself say the gazebo cloth looked wrinkled.

He only tilted his head. “Come arrange flowers with me. Theodore is already at the table with the morning cuts. I brought rods from Kyoto and a ribbon the color of the blush you get when you are trying not to beg.”

The gazebo sat inside the new crescent border. Roses Theodore had forced a deeper crimson while the master was gone spilled over the white rail, petals loose on the stone. Pale orchids hung in baskets above us, and the rare striped lilies, double-layered because Theodore had emailed photographs every third day, stood in buckets beside scented geranium and moon-garden whites that still glowed in full daylight. The air was green and heavy and warm. I let them tie me because I wanted his hands more than I wanted the dignity I kept failing to hold. Legs folded behind my head, arms laced tight at the small of my back, rope as neat as any pruning cut. Theodore sat on the table behind me, thick hairy thighs bracing my shoulders, the emerald green lace panties and bralette still on him, bear-tail plug shifting whenever he breathed. His large inverted nipples were swollen dark above the lace. Both cages came off under the master’s fingers. My ampallang tugged when the air hit it. Precum already beaded and ran.

“Beautiful contrasts,” the master said, tracing the gold rings at the base of Theodore’s heavy sack, then the barbell through my glans. “The teddy is broad and dark and steady. The cat is narrower, flushed, already making a mess. An arrangement needs both lines or the eye has nowhere to rest.”

Theodore ducked his head, pleased and shy, the way he always does when praise lands. I managed, “Sorry I was snippy with everyone while you were gone,” and then the rest climbed out anyway. “You were gone too long. The house felt wrong without you in it. I kept doing the work and it still felt wrong.”

He did not scold. He opened the lacquered box on the bench. Gold, silver, and glass sounding rods lay in velvet, several already wrapped with tiny seed pearls and thin wire leaves he must have finished on the flight. A warm speculum, shears, and jars of clear plant-safe lubricant waited beside them. Cut stems stood ready: the deep roses, white orchids no thicker than a pencil, sprigs of geranium, and those striped lilies.

“In the temple gardens they prepare the vase before they ever cut the branch to final length,” he said, voice soft as the rose leaves. “The container has to be ready to hold the line. Open for me.”

The speculum slid into my slit, warm from his palm, and clicked wider in two careful steps. I gasped as the passage bloomed open. Cool lubricant flooded me, thick and slick, running back out around the steel until my cock gaped and drooled onto my belly in shining strings. He did Theodore next. The big man shivered, leaked into the master’s hand, and whispered a shy thanks. I watched the lube shine on both shafts and felt my hole clench on the plug Sebastian had seated before dawn. Being opened like this should have settled me into something sweet. It only made the worry louder inside my skull. I wanted to be the easy one. Theodore is shy and good. Mathew calculates and then offers. Sebastian hides every sharp feeling behind perfect service. I only know how to burn, and the burn kept climbing even while I tried to purr.

He chose a slim silver rod first and fucked it slowly into Theodore while he talked about the hillside white wisteria he had watched for an hour. “Heaven, earth, and man. Three primary stems. You grew this rose deeper after I left. The variation held in the heat. I am happy, teddy. The crescent border stopped me on the path this morning. The whole garden looks loved. That made the trip worth ending.” A long stripped stem followed the rod, petals brushing Theodore’s hairy stomach. Theodore’s ears went pink under the gray in his curls. He stayed perfectly still, cock twitching around the intrusion, and came the first time with a low grateful groan when the master praised the scent. Thick pulses forced out around the flowers and hung in milky strands. “Pearls,” the master said, pleased, and gathered a little on his finger to slick the next stem. “We will add more. A vase should look abundant.”

The same silver rod entered me, then a ribbed glass one decorated with a spiral of tiny gold wire. He pumped it until lubricant and precum striped the gazebo cloth and my own chest. “Your sulking left empty space, David. Chan said the contracts closed clean. Mathew said the meals stayed precise. Sebastian said the silver was flawless and the cat drew blood with his tone alone. The work was done. The sweetness was not. I walked those moss gardens and thought about how much empty space a single sharp voice can make.” I whined, hips fighting the rope, the fire and the apology tangling. “Sorry. I missed you. Please keep going. I’ll be better. Just don’t stop filling me. I need it.”

He praised the double lily next, describing the way a single branch had balanced an entire stone court in Kyoto, and applied the lesson by seating an orchid beside the glass rod in my cock, then a rose whose lower thorns had been left on so they dragged sweetly against the stretched walls. Each thrust of the arrangement fucked the open passage deeper. My inner voice snarled that the others got to be simple. He likes the fire most. That is the part I cling to while another gold rod, this one hung with seed pearls that clicked against the ampallang, stretched me wider than the glass had. He drew it nearly out so I could see the gape, pink and shining and unwilling to close, then drove it back in short strokes.

“Asymmetry keeps the eye moving,” he murmured. “A steady bear at the center. A fiery cat at the lower left. I pictured exactly this table while the guide talked about negative space.” Theodore received a glass rod painted with tiny cranes. Stems of the rare lily packed in beside it until his heavy cock looked overflowing, the slit stretched into a soft oval around the decoration. He came a second time when the master ground the rod deep and told him the south bed had never looked finer. More pearls slid down onto the lace. I licked my lip and hated how badly I wanted that same gentle voice turned fully on me, even while I snapped.

The pearl rod fucked me until I came without permission, sobbing, release splashing the orchid and running down to join the mess on my belly. He only smiled and thumbed the open head. “Good kitty. More pearls. Your cockpussy is taking the shape of the vase so beautifully. Look how wide it stays.” He seated a thicker decorated rod, gold beads warm, and pumped until I spurted again, weaker, the cum clinging to petals and wire leaves. Theodore shook through a third when the master added one more sprig of geranium and praised the way the border roses had opened overnight. Pearls dripped steadily. Both of us were gaping, stuffed, the lubricant keeping the stems glossy and alive, our cockpussies stretched soft and shining around the arrangements.

“Full,” the master observed, thumbing both decorated heads, watching the way the slits fluttered and could not close. “Beautifully stretched. They will remember the shape of being my vases.” He bound the two shafts together with the wide silk ribbon, snug under the flower-heavy heads, blooms mashing, cum and lube soaking the bow into a darker rose. “Now the container is stable.”

He oiled his cock and pushed into Theodore first, still talking about the flight home and how the estate’s crescent had made him happier than any temple court because the hands that tended it were theirs. Theodore moaned, grateful, and came again around the packed flowers, fresh pearls sliding down the ribbon onto the master’s wrist. The master pulled out, shining with lube and spend, and sank into me. The thrust jolted every stem and rod. I yowled, half apology and half demand, and clenched hard so he would not leave. “I missed my pets,” he said, fucking deep, voice never rising above the garden sounds and the wet shift of stems. “I hope my cat can manage a little sweetness like my teddy. Though I do like the claws. Fiery arrangements last longer in the vase than quiet ones.” I came because he wanted the pearls, sobbing his name, the plug in my ass buzzing against the pressure of the flowers inside my cock, another weak string of cum joining the rest.

He finished in Theodore with a low pleased sound, plugged the bear with the tail that had been set aside, then pulled free and came in me, seating my own vibrating plug deep enough that I felt it nudge the base of the rods. We stayed bound and overflowing on the table, flowers trembling with every aftershock. He did not ring the bell yet. Instead he offered one hand to each of us. I stretched my neck and licked his fingers, cat-like, tasting rose water and my own cum and the salt of his skin, the fire finally banking into a purr I could not hold back. Theodore rubbed his broad cheek into the other palm, shy and heavy, lace damp, beard scraping gently. The master laughed, low and fond, and petted both heads at once, thumb stroking my ear, fingers scratching behind Theodore’s.

“My good vase. My good teddy. The garden is beautiful because you both touch it. I am happy to be home. The empty space is filled.”

Only then did he ring the small silver bell. Sebastian appeared at the step, immaculate in the open jacket and high-cut shorts, tail plug seated, eyes flicking once over the leaking blooms and the ribbon before his face settled into perfect service. Other hands lifted the board we were bound to. Wheels clicked over the stone path toward the house. I hung in the ropes, cock gaping around orchids and pearl-wound gold, ass full and plugged, still wanting to bite and to lick the same hand. The dining-room doors opened. Mathew entered in his short apron, tattooed arms bare, the incubus ink visible across his stomach, pushing the lunch cart, and stopped when he saw the arrangement already waiting beside the master’s plate.

Please do not put identifiable details in the comment section. Safety and privacy first!