Pup

By
SJD P

 

 

I
N ELEMENTARY
school—first or second grade, the exact date elusive now— Tackett Austin had discovered he was different. He’d shown up on the playground late for recess, the groups already decided. Some boys played ball. Others used index finger and thumb as a pretend gun, running, ducking, rolling, and shooting at each other. Then there was the group of girls playing hopscotch, boring game, while another group of girls sat on the monkey bars watching the boys and their antics. Tackett, without hesitation, joined the girls on the monkey bars and watched the boys. He took a lot of ribbing for that choice, got called names like sissy, freak, was bullied by the other boys, but he didn’t pay them any attention and never questioned the decision he’d made.

During his teenage years—while experimenting, learning blowjob etiquette and Tapping an Ass 101—he realized he had a propensity for kink. Tackett didn’t want a guy just sucking his dick; he liked to force them to take it. Vanilla didn’t do much for him, even when it was new. Without questioning the reasons why, he sought out likeminded kinksters. And the rest, as they say, was history.

Not usually one for selfintrospection, rarely questioning his decisions or choices, Tackett was a little stunned to find himself sitting at the bar several decades later, questioning everything, every choice he’d ever made. Hell, he was staring at an empty glass, for fuck’s sake, debating if he should say screw it and order a double shot of bourbon or stick with water.

Tackett knew the exact moment it all changed.

He hadn’t been in the Guards of Folsom since the night of Ty Callahan’s collaring, six weeks earlier. He was impressed with the changes Blake and Ty had made to the place. Bobby, the previous owner, hadn’t done much to it over the years. It was always a great place to play, even if it was a little outdated.

The twenty-year-old booths had been replaced with soft leather couches, the scarred and worn tables gone and new black shiny ones brought in. Instead of the medieval feel it had previously, the club now had a warm, comfortable ambiance even with the dark color scheme and low lighting. The power play being exchanged between Doms and subs, leather and sex the prevalent scent in the air—that was still the same, but now in a sleek new modern setting.

Perhaps it was the modern part that bothered him, reminding him that, like the previous décor, he was outdated. However, he knew there was more to it than that. Ty’s collaring ceremony had been beautiful, and as Tackett had watched, he’d known he was witnessing something he’d never experienced before, although he’d seen hundreds of collarings. This one, for some reason, had caused him to look at his life, and he wasn’t very happy with where it had taken him.

Forty-five years old, and what did he have to show for those years?

Sure, he owned a successful financial company, had more money than he could ever spend, all the toys afforded by wealth, good friends, and a steady diet of sweet little sub boys to delight in. What was there not to be happy about? And he
had
been happy, or at least he’d thought he was, until he’d seen the love between Blake and Ty and realized what was missing from his life. How empty it truly was. Had envy kept him away these past six weeks? Perhaps, but it was more than simple jealousy.

Life had become a predictable series of events. Wake, eat, work, fuck, sleep, repeat. At his age, how long did he have before the fawning subs would find a new Dom to worship? When he no longer had the strength or the energy to satisfy, what then? Maybe not next week, or even next year, but it would feel like the blink of an eye and he’d wake up one day an old man, alone.

“Another drink, sir? Maybe something a little manlier this time?”
Tackett looked up and met Micah’s laughing blue eyes. Oh, this one was a pistol all right. Micah couldn’t be much more than twenty-one, twenty-five, tops, and while he had sub written all over him, he also had an air of confidence that rivaled most Doms Tackett knew. How the hell this smartass kid had ever gotten a job in a BDSM club was a mystery.

“Manly? And what would a kid like you know about manly? Have you even started shaving yet?”

“Only my balls, sir.” He chuckled and picked up the empty glass off the bar. “Another tonic with a lime twist? Or could I interest you in a marshmallow cake-tini? You’ll love it. It’s pink and has these yummy little sprinkles on the rim.” Micah’s smile turned playful. “I could even add a cute little umbrella.”

Ten years ago—hell, six weeks ago —Tackett would have answered the challenge in those baby-blue eyes. He’d have wiped that teasing smile off and left a completely different kind of smile behind, one made from pure bliss and sedation. However, the melancholy funk he’d been in was still riding him hard, and he simply wasn’t up to playing the game tonight.

“I’ll just take another water.”

Micah’s smile faltered, but he recovered quickly, though the laughter in his eyes dimmed when his baiting tactics proved ineffective. “Yes, sir.”

He set another water—without a cute umbrella—down in front of Tackett. “Thank you.”

Micah opened his mouth to say something, but snapped it shut when Blake took the stool to Tackett’s right. “Good evening, Tackett.” He nodded toward the water. “I take it you’ve come to play tonight?”

He was aware of Micah’s eyes on him, felt the younger man lean in a bit closer, no doubt wondering what Tackett’s answer would be. If Micah was hoping to play with him, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

“Evening, Blake.” Tackett picked up his glass and tipped it at him. “No playing tonight—just thirsty.” He took a sip, then set the glass back down and stole a glance at a now-scowling Micah.

Ever observant, Blake also noticed Micah’s interest in their conversation. “Micah, there is a customer who requires your assistance.”

The flirty smile reappeared on the kid’s face, and he took a step back. “Yes, sir.” He winked at Tackett and went back to work. Tackett’s gaze was drawn to the exaggerated swish and sway of Micah’s hips.

Blake chuckled. “I do believe you have an admirer.”
Micah placed his hands on the bar in front of the customer at the end, spread his legs, and pushed out his tight little butt. Jesus, the kid was begging to be beaten. Tackett shook his head at his antics.
“Nah. I’m guessing that boy is just a terminal flirt.”
“He’s a flirt, all right. It makes him a very popular bartender, but he saves these kinds of extremes for when you’re around.”
When Tackett turned away from Micah’s backside, he had schooled his features, not showing any interest. “What’s his story, anyway?”
“He started working here right around the same time Ty was hired. He came from the Whip.”
“They got tired of his antics, I take it?”
Blake shook his head. “No. He actually came highly recommended.”
That took Tackett aback. He glanced down toward the end of the bar, where Micah was now mixing drinks, but turned away quickly when the kid caught him staring and winked at him again. “As a bartender or as a sub?”
“Both. He just hasn’t found a Dom he wants to obey. That pup needs a seasoned Dom with an iron fist and a lot of patience.” The look on Blake’s face was sly when he added, “Someone like you.”

“Not interested,” Tackett responded without hesitation. In his current state of mind, he simply wasn’t up to the challenge of bringing an insolent pup to heel.

“That’s too bad. I think you’d be a good match.”
“Micah!” Bobby’s deep baritone voice bellowed behind Tackett, making him jump. “A bottle of our best bourbon and three glasses.”
Tackett’s longtime friend took the free stool on the other side and slapped him on his back. “Happy birthday, old man.” He stabbed a thick finger at his glass. “We can’t toast your birthday with water.”
Tackett cringed internally.
Fuck! I should have kept my ass home.
He’d been hoping to avoid the subject of his advancing age; then again, he’d come to the Guards of Folsom, so maybe on some level he was hoping someone would remember. His family, apart from his mom and dad, sure as hell hadn’t remembered.

“Thanks, Bobby. Nothing like keeping it on the down low,” he muttered.

“Why would I do that? The day of your birth is to be honored, your life celebrated. Don’t tell me you’re worried about age. You, my friend, are in your prime.”

Tackett arched a brow at Bobby. “I’ll remember this when your birthday comes around. Half a century, if I’m not mistaken.”

Bobby laughed heartily, his big belly shaking with it. “I’m sure you will, old friend. I’m sure you will.”

Micah set three glasses on the bar and poured two finger-widths of George T. Stagg from Bobby’s private stock into each glass. He didn’t say anything and Tackett didn’t meet his gaze, but he was aware of Micah’s eyes on him.

The three of them each took a glass, and Bobby raised his. “Like fine bourbon, you just get better and better with age. Happy birthday, Tackett.”

“Happy birthday,” Blake echoed, and they all clinked glasses.
Tackett took a large gulp. The darkamber fluid was smooth, and it warmed him all the way down to his gut.
“Happy birthday, Mr. Austin, sir,” Micah said.

“Thank you.” Tackett caught the slight lift of the kid’s lip, a teasing smile, and the laughter was back in his baby-blue eyes.

They continued to stare at each other.
In the time since Tackett had first met Micah Slayde, the younger man had been growing out his chestnut locks, and the curls now covered his left eye. Tonight he was wearing a white buttondown dress shirt, black slacks, and black-rimmed glasses. He looked innocent, but Tackett wasn’t fooled. He had seen Micah in nothing but a pair of low-rise jeans and a leather harness, and he knew beneath the geek wear Micah was currently sporting there was a lean muscular body with piercings in both nipples and his navel. He also had several tattoos on his arms, and one on his left hip of a gun with the barrel pointing toward the impressive bulge.
“Boy, don’t you have other customers?” Bobby scolded.

“Yes, sir,” Micah responded, not taking his eyes off Tackett. “Just waiting to see if the birthday boy will require anything further from me.
Anything
at all.”

Blake chuckled at Micah’s proposition and the way he emphasized the word “anything.” It was an open invitation, as evidenced by the hopeful look in the kid’s eyes. Tackett would be a fool not to be tempted, and he’d never been accused of being an idiot. However, that didn’t mean he had to act on the temptation, and he refused to be baited.

After throwing back the rest of his bourbon, Tackett set his glass down and pushed it toward Micah. “Sure, you can pour me another drink before you go.” Two could play the cocky game.