Becoming His Slave (39 page)

“I only meant that at his age he may not be able-”

“Silence Paris.” Trenton was not concerned with Paris’ reason, nor was it acceptable right now, but Rachel had gone far beyond defiant or willful action.
It
was inexcusable.

“Since you took it upon yourself to attempt to top another slave your punishment will now be to be topped by him.” Rachel’s eyes grew wide and her head shook, to be taken by the man she just struck was demeaning. She quickly crawled to her master’s lap pleading, but Fambleush ignored her whimpers.

“Do not beg from him. He is not your master anymore, I am. He gave you to me this evening remember, Slave?”

Another whimper, but she dropped away from Fambleush’s lap and submitted before Trenton’s feet, “Yes Dominus.” Her head dropped, and she fought to keep the tears from taking over. Her first night under the Dominus’ command and already she had upset him in the worst kind of way.

“Do you accept your punishment? Or do you need to use a safe word?”

She choked back a sob, “No. I accept my punishment.”

“Dominus—please.” Paris’ blinded face looked up at him and Trenton knew why. Trenton tapped the man’s lips to still his pleas. Paris quickly kissed it then rubbed his face against the hand.

“So how do I punish an insubordinate slave when the slave she crossed doesn’t want her?” Trenton spoke aloud of the dilemma he faced. To force Paris to take her anyways would be a punishment to him. He returned to his seat his mind considering the option so f appropriate punishments until he found just the right one. One he was certain Paris would likely take full advantage of. “Your punishment will be to accept whatever disciplinary act is issued the next time Paris earns a punishment.” And Trenton was certain he could already hear the wanton gears in motion inside Paris head. He would no doubt take full advantage of the reprieve.

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CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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SATURDAY

That following night as they arrived at Club Pain, Trenton was looking forward to seeing his little mouse in her booth, only to have his heart sink when he came out of the hall and found the booth empty. It was still early, but like him, Amelia and Katianna were usually here by now; making their way to the club shortly after the usual dinner time.

As they rounded up at the bar to order a drink he sent a text to enquire if she and Amelia were on their way. “Paris, wait on your knees.” Dominus commanded softly as he sipped at his tumbler of white tequila. And he noted the anxious feeling he had inside, as he waited for her response. Diesel relaxed against the bar, next to him, tickling Paris’ ear purposely to get a rise out of him while sipped on a shot of anejo. Trenton’s phone blipped and he flipped it up to read, but the return reply didn’t make him happy as Katianna’s return text informed him they were not coming out tonight. He text back saying he would miss seeing her.

Trenton tossed the remains of his shot back then popped a lime between his teeth. Chewing thoughtfully, contemplating if his comment had come too soon, but quickly dismissed it. He’d waited long enough to show his feelings for Katianna and was weary of it.
Dammit
, He needed to stay focused on Paris. His training was important and there was so much to cover. Hard enough he didn’t dom over men and felt himself nearly stumbling to find ways to establish the training of dominance and still manage a pleasurable reward for the man. It complicated things further when he could only think of Katianna and it pulled him down when she wasn’t near.

Diesel was of some help in that he didn’t have a problem being sexual with men, but he didn’t do public display not even in the club, so once again the sexual gratification that should be Paris’ experience was lacking.

Trenton waved two fingers at Derek, deciding he’d try to further his connection with his intended with some light text chatter and perhaps she’d improve his mood.

—
So what are you wearing right now?
—
He sent the teasing question to see if she was open to a little playfulness. She was after all a writer. What was the harm in her writing titillating things for him? At least he hoped she’d take the bait.

His phone blipped a moment later, —
Not much.
—

—
How much is not much?
—
He smiled to himself. She was obviously going to make him work for it and that already had his spirits lifting.

—
A chemise nighty and matching lacy boy-short panties.
—

—
Mmmm, what color?
—

—
Smile. Pale brown like dark sand
—
embroidered lace. Very see through.
—

The image filled his head; he was certain which one it was. While he had bought her many
pretties
, only one or two came in a color as she described. The Sahara series from Chantelle Africa. Just picturing her in it had him chewing at his lip. The see through embroidered lace wrapped around her body accenting all the right curves of her petit body. Those budding nipples pressing against the fabric.
—
Grrrrr
— He texted his response.

—
giggles and blushing.
—

—
Are you getting any writing done tonight?
—
He pressed
send
and waited.

A few moments later her reply came back,  —
I’m distracted.
—

Trenton grinned, —
who’s distracting you?
—

—
You.
—

—
Good. I like it when I distract you.’

A long moment and finally a response came,  —
Me too.
—

Trenton dropped his phone in his pocket returning to his responsibilities to Paris, “Let’s move upstairs.” He waved a hand at Diesel and Paris and they headed up. “It’s a lucky night for you Paris.” He spoke with no discerning purpose.

“How so Dominus?”

“Someone special has put me in a very good mood.”

“How does this benefit me Dominus?”

“You’re about to find out.”

Upstairs Trenton and Diesel lead Paris up taking him to a corner sitting area separate from the main gathering space were a slanted bench seat with a well padded cross post on the top awaited them. The bench for all intensive purposes it simply looked like a modified weight pressing bench to Paris, but he knew he wasn’t being presented to it for weight lifting.

Diesel stood directly in front of him, at his side was a wheeled serving cart topped with several bundles of silk rope in a rainbow of colors and Paris’s entire body sizzled with apprehension and stimulation. They were upstairs and as it had been explained there was nothing subtle about the play that took place up here and tonight, they had told him, his limits would be pushed.

The first thing they did was order him to strip down naked. Not his first favorable thing since the upstairs lobby was anything but empty. Head Master Dane and the same young blonde Dom who had copped the feel of him last night sat nearby with his twin Steampunk Subs.

On the far side a woman body builder. Packing enough muscle to possibly be a professional bodybuilder. With her, stood a smaller framed woman but still very muscular and kneeling at their feet was a young slender Latino man. Another man whose face was hidden behind a leather mask that covered his entire head, his chest bare with the exception of criss crossed leather studded straps attached to leather pants. God the man looked as if he’d just walked off a cheap low budget S&M horror film set. There were others there too, faces that Paris just decided he’d rather not take notice.  

He closed his eyes and switched his mind to auto pilot. He’d taken his clothes of enough times; he didn’t need his eye sight to do it. What struck him as odd was that he’d paid his way through school as a stripper. So why did it seem so overwhelming now? Just then he got a wicked thought and as he pushed his jeans down he wriggled his ass and once more after a few faltering steps to get them off his feet.
Jeans were not a stripper’s best friend
. Paris twirled the freed garment in the air and tossed them to his masters who shook their heads with restrained amusement, refusing him a full laugh, but he heard the snickers behind him and that was enough to feed his ego, at least until he got a smack on his ass from Diesel’s firm hand.

“Ouch.”

Diesel’s grin only deepened. “By all means have some more fun.”

“But you popped me on my behind.” Paris pushed out his lip giving an exaggerated comic pout.

“Because spanking my
brat
is fun for me.” Diesel chided him and rewarded another pop to his ass.

“
Ouwa
.” Paris grimaced, feeling the hot sting now. Paris tried to glare at him, but those eyes staring back at him. Wicked and sinful. They stirred something no one else had ever stirred. Most people when they looked at him their eyes screamed—
Oooo please, please I want you
—but Diesel—his eyes said one thing and one thing only—
mine.

Paris’ cock twitch instantly with the thought, he understood that kind of stirring, but that it was happening because someone else wanted it, that part was new. Paris closed his eyes trying to break the spell of the other man’s stare. He’d done a thousand dances and never got a hard on. I never get hard, I never get hard—
there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home
—

Geez
—he was such a nerd and damn wouldn’t you know it—half mass and still rising. Pretty soon at some point in the night he was sure he’d be calling out something like—
there she blows!
—then again by the time that special welcoming event comes, no pun intended—
well maybe so
—he’d most likely being singing stuff like
hallelujah
and
glory be
rather then doing standup comedy.

 “Hands behind your back.” Diesel’s command sliced through Paris’ mental comedy act demanding his somberness like the click of a heel.

Paris’ gaze floated down his naked body to the bundles of rope next to them, watched as Diesel took two, unfurled them and stretch out the 9 or so meters of shiny silken braid, one black, the other red, then disappeared behind his back. He felt Diesel’s hand around his wrists with a surprise. Hell he hadn’t realized he’d already obeyed the order. But as he stared at the remaining ropes that waited their turn, he seemed to drift.

It began, whatever extent
it
was, it was beginning. And Paris felt the first loops of rope slip around his wrists.

“Remain still do not move unless I tell you to move. Play all you want up in that pretty little head of yours, but remember that I am in command here. You’ll do what I say when I say it.” The strict golden rule was handed off with a clad iron fist, the very—
don’t even try messing with me tone
—told him, just stay put and deal with it. “When I want you to move I will give you permission.”

“Yes Patronus.”

Diesel took the double lengths of rope and began coiling around Paris’ wrists till he had a column of about 8 wraps, he set the cinch wrap around the column, stretched out a few inches to reach his elbows, set a center knot then started up a new column of coils just above them, drawing Paris’ arms together like a corset with six coils. Another set of four around his upper biceps, then seated the ends. He took a new length, a bright orange this time, made a double cow hitch over the last column cinching the column tight then hand stitched a dragon fly loop over Paris’ shoulders then worked the lengths back down his arms. A little more difficult to do since Paris’ arms were already bound, but the added color made up for it with aesthetics and would give Diesel the lead line at Paris’ wrists to do what he wanted on a different part of his body.

Trenton stepped up, his hands planted on Paris’ shoulders and walked him back against the bench just a few feet away. Trenton’s heavy boot kicked at his own feet to position them open and walked him back further, till his feet straddled the bench with his back to it.

“Down on your knees.” Like everything else when Trenton spoke now, it was calm and warm, but by no means a request.  Paris lowered down, first one knee then the other. Diesel was behind him and raised his bound arms, pulling them over the post rail while Trenton’s hand pressed him back on the slanted bench board and held him. The warmth of Trenton’s hand fired through him, melting into his nerves till Paris could no longer discern the Dominus’ hand from his chest and he raised his head till his lips found his master’s wrist, being the only part he could reach, but for now that would suffice. He kissed and licked at him and to his relief Dominus didn’t pull away from him, allowing him to continue till the strain in his neck begged him to stop and relax back down.

Diesel had made fast work with the ropes as Paris had preoccupied himself. Discovering with some surprise that his ankles and his calves had all been bound in what felt very similar to what his arms felt like with the exception of the spreader pad placed on the floor between his knees keeping his legs spread open. Diesel knelt in front of him now, working the ropes around his thighs, each leg bound individually this time.

Patronus’ focus zeroed in on the intricate knots he was assembling, like someone who put together airplane models—nothing else existed, except the braided rope cords in his hand. Or so it seemed—as Diesel began again to wrap the ropes around his body, coiling over Paris’ hips so they became secured to the bench he was reclined on, it seemed that he too was a part of Diesel’s concentration. Diesel’s fingers glided over his skin as if tickling the ropes into their place. Patronus didn’t just wrap around him like one of those villain cartoons tossing coil after coil around the damsel and tossing her down on the railroad tracts.
Paris was always routing for the villain and the train to prevail. But the hero always got his girl. Why didn’t they make gay cartoons?