"Pick up that pen."

His knees and cock equally stiff, Viggo crawls to the coffee table. Bending his head, he manages to get the pen into his mouth by flicking it with his tongue -- tip curling around cheap plastic -- and sliding it to the table's edge. Frustration and anticipation course through his body.

He sits back on his heels, awaiting both approval and instruction.

"Good boy. You can come once you write this five times: I serve only my Master."

Viggo's hand moves eagerly to grasp the pen, but Sean bats it away.

"No. Write with your mouth."