Authors: Joey W. Hill
Thomas considered his half-empty cup of tea. “Sometimes I just don’t know why
he’s with me.”
“Maybe he needs a compass.”
Thomas looked up, surprised. Andrew shrugged. “A man looks at the person he
loves, he sees his compass. A man can command all the physical aspects of his world, but if his soul is lost, well…it doesn’t mean much. Maybe when you look at him, you see beyond the fantastic looks to what’s real, his soul. And maybe that’s what he needs from you.”
Ben nodded. “You aren’t like that sleaze who was trying to snake in today. You can tell you’re a family guy.”
“And what does Marcus seem like?”
Andrew grinned, discarding the serious tone. “You tell us, kid. You’re the one who looks at him like he’s the entire universe.” Then his gaze shifted, and Thomas knew the subject of their conversation was back.
Even so, his nerves rippled in excitement when a pair of hands slid over his
shoulders, cupped. He inhaled Marcus’ rich scent, which was an answer all in itself.
“Miss me?”
“Were you gone?” Thomas glanced up at him indifferently as Ben chuckled. “You
know, I could have pulled weeds out of the parking lot and boiled them. It would have been a hell of a lot cheaper than this crap.”
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Marcus shifted his attention to the other two. “I should have mentioned if he gets cranky, you can take him to the McDonald’s down the street to buy him some cookies and let him roll around in that vat of colored plastic balls.”
Thomas bared his teeth at him. Marcus slid into the vacant chair and handed him a shopping bag. “Here, go put this on. You’ll need to be dressed a little differently for the plans we have tonight.”
The way Marcus’ eyes lingered on Thomas gave him the terrifying vision of some
leather and chains combination and Marcus requiring him to step out of the coffeehouse adorned in it. Well, he didn’t have to do it. Didn’t have to do anything.
“Go on, pet.” Marcus nudged his foot under the table, his lips held firmly together as if suppressing a smile. Thomas reflected that he really did need to cultivate a better poker face. “We need to get going soon. It’s dark already.”
Thomas rose and left them for the privacy of the yacht club locker rooms. The white opaque bag at least felt like it held something resembling clothing, but there was a smaller paper bag inside of it that made a crumpling noise. When he closed the door of a private bathing room with sink and mirror, he opened the main bag to find a pair of black jeans in his correct size and a short sleeved heavy cotton tee in a royal blue.
In the brown paper bag was a full harness that would collar the cock and balls, and then run up the back of the ass with adjustable strap and ring for positioning a plug. So of course there was a plug and lubricant. He fished in the bag, found a note.
Put this on. Tighten it so the plug will stay deep in your ass and you’ll feel the harness on
your cock and balls with every step. No underwear. Put a condom on with the harness. You’ll be
hard enough, I’m sure.
Under the tee was a pair of loafers and socks. All of the clothes were top quality men’s wear that Thomas would never have bought for himself, but they were simple, clean styles he liked. He fingered the soft fabric, saw another note.
Still thinking? Am I your Master or not? Put the harness and clothes on and don’t make me
wait. And tuck the shirt in. I want to see your ass.
This week. Marcus was his Master for this week. It gave Thomas the courage to
strip off his cut off jean shorts and T-shirt that had been suitable for the yacht club coffee shop. The bag also held a razor, aftershave and other toiletries to clean up.
Marcus had left no message on them, because the message was clear. It made Thomas flush despite the fact he was alone.
Marcus preferred him to keep his genital area shaved, which made him think of the first time Marcus’ fine hand had cupped his smoothly shaven balls. The nerves had felt so exposed, sensitive to every stimulation. Jesus, he was getting harder by the minute, just looking at the things Marcus had bought for him. He was being prepared, and rising along with the anxiety was a hungry ache.
Thomas couldn’t deny his Master. Wouldn’t. And Marcus knew it.
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He’d been worried about the plug. He didn’t want to walk funny and give it away, mortifying himself. But the thinness made it more of a probe, and the snug fit of the jeans kept the harness firmly in place, keeping the stimulation right where he was sure Marcus wanted it. When tightened properly, the harness cut a bit, but it was supple and lined, so an adjustment on his now cleanly shaved groin took care of that.
He’d shaved his face too, washed his hair, put on the aftershave cologne. All in all, he admitted he cleaned up well. He typically didn’t think about whether or not he was handsome, except when he was with Marcus. Marcus had ways of making him
feel…well, like he looked pretty damn good. Good enough to make Marcus want to
take a bite.
Nodding at himself in the mirror, Thomas collected the bag of toiletries and beach clothes, and reached for the door. He had to stifle a groan at the tightening and stimulating restraint of the cock ring, the probe, the feel of the straps running along his hips. Bound, restrained. A slave to his Master’s desire. A slave to his own. Marcus brought forth in him what no other man could. This unquenchable desire to belong, to submit.
When they’d argued earlier, Marcus had cruelly but accurately pointed out that
Thomas was uncomfortable facing the truth of that. But when Marcus was his mirror, it was as if the only two things Thomas had ever wanted were to create his art and serve Marcus’ pleasure.
He kept telling himself he couldn’t lose himself in this, but hell, damn it all, sure he could. Because after a week it was likely all over. No, not “likely”. It fucking was. Who wouldn’t take a week offered in heaven before they had to descend back to a life sentence in Purgatory?
Stepping out of the bathroom, Thomas returned to the coffee shop, self-conscious enough to almost blush when Andrew let out a low wolf whistle, turning heads. Ben elbowed him, gave him an affectionate smack on the back of his head as Marcus turned in his chair and let his eyes settle on Thomas.
Thomas was hyperaware of the leisurely track his gaze took, strolling up his body, his green eyes going from warm to slow burn as he crossed his groin, slid up to his face.
Thomas forced himself to maintain an easy pace. He didn’t want to think about how obvious his erection probably was, compressed as it was in the snug jeans and
straightened behind the folds of the tucked in shirt.
“Have a seat, pet.” Marcus pushed out the chair next to him with a foot.
Of course he was going to make him sit there and suffer, when all he wanted to do was taste Marcus’ mouth, his skin, feel the smooth layers of muscle under his palms.
Thomas sat, feeling the plug settle itself more deeply, keeping his cock in ramrod stiff mode.
There was a tablecloth, and Marcus and Thomas had the corner. When Thomas sat,
Marcus slid a hand onto his knee, exerting some pressure so Thomas knew he wanted his knees splayed, increasing the tension and the angle of the—
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Holy Christ. Thomas’ teeth snapped together as the probe started to vibrate silently, as well as the base ring on the harness. Jesus… He clenched his teeth, trying to hear what Ben and Andrew were saying. It wasn’t the type of stimulation that would make him come, not for an excruciatingly long time. But it made it impossible to think coherently about anything.
He dropped his hand below the table. It landed on top of Marcus’, gripped hard.
Marcus’ thumb stroked the side of his smallest finger, just a teasing caress.
Ten minutes. Marcus put him through ten minutes of conversation that Thomas
was barely able to follow, let alone contribute to intelligently, and the bastard made him actually participate. Not huge long syllables, but having to say yes or no had the complexity of a physics equation. Finally, as Marcus began to make their goodbyes, the vibration stopped. Thomas noticed Marcus withdraw his hand from the pocket of his pants where he obviously held the remote.
Thomas managed a courteous farewell and followed Marcus’ lead to the door.
When he held the door for Thomas to precede him, Marcus’ hand grazed the dip in his back, his fingers brushing the top of his buttocks. As sensitized as Thomas was at this point, it was like receiving a hard electric jolt.
“You let me know if anything starts to hurt.” Marcus unlocked the passenger side door of the Maserati for him at their street parking place. “I want you stirred up, not in pain. You understand?”
Thomas nodded, his eyes on Marcus’ mouth as he took the passenger seat. He
wished they were home, at the cottage in the woods, in that soft darkness like the first night, just the two of them.
But another part of him wanted to be right here, particularly when Marcus leaned in and brushed his lips. Just a taste, even as Thomas strained for more, a stroke of his tongue. Marcus’ hand rested on his shoulder, a brief hold to keep it short.
When Marcus pulled away, it was like he was magnetized, for Thomas followed
him, trying to reestablish the connection, too hungry to exercise control. Slamming his hand down to pin Marcus’ wrist on the frame of the door, Thomas caught his Master’s other hand and pressed it to his groin in the shadows of the car. He nearly groaned in gratitude as Marcus flexed his hand under his grip, pressed the heel of his hand against Thomas’ engorged cock.
“Let go of me, pet.”
Marcus wasn’t trying to pull away, but was ordering Thomas to remove his touch, drawing the line. Making himself let go wasn’t easy, not when his thighs were
trembling with the need to thrust into that touch, insist.
“Are you going to be bad for me tonight? Make me really punish you, teach you
what being a slave is all about?”
Marcus’ voice was a husky growl. With the coffee shop left behind, the heat was now turned up. He’d shed the cloak of the courteous lover who’d always let his less experienced leman take cautious steps. His Dominant side was far more out front and 83
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less restrained. But tonight Thomas didn’t want caution. Maybe not ever again, not when it came to Marcus taking him over.
Raising his gaze, Thomas locked it with Marcus’. “If that’s what it takes to get my Master to fuck me. Any part of me. Whatever pleases him. That’s what I want.”
When he reached up, he wasn’t at all surprised that Marcus intercepted him,
gripping his wrist. He pulled back but Marcus held firm, strength pitted against strength until Thomas subsided, his gaze still on his Master’s, burning with a need to fight…and submit both.
“Take off the shirt and put your hands behind you, on the outside of the seat on either side.”
No gentleness, just hard command.
Thomas obeyed, pulling off the T-shirt, watching Marcus’ gaze course over his bare chest, down to the substantial bulge of his cock. When he put his hands behind him as directed, Marcus closed the door, went around to the driver’s side and slid in, one leg stretching out under the wheel before he turned, reaching into the back.
The rattling of paper told Thomas Marcus hadn’t brought in all his purchases. He wondered if there was a limit to the amount of blood his cock could contain as Marcus wrapped one of his wrists firmly in a Velour cuff then the other, snapping them together with a strong hasp behind the seat. It was enough of a reach that it put a strain on Thomas’ shoulders, thrust out his upper body so when Marcus straightened it was easy to reach over, run his hand down Thomas’ chest, play with his sensitive nipples.
“God.” Thomas swallowed as sensation shot straight down to his lap, an arrow of testosterone-charged adrenaline.
It was incredible. He couldn’t get loose, an anxious feeling, and Marcus was taking his full pleasure with it, not asking his opinion or anything else, just fondling him like he was his, with a stern set to his mouth and a hard lust in his eyes that made Thomas’
body into a tight rubber band of reaction about to snap. Marcus touched his navel, traced the indentation. The heel of his hand was so close, but his Master paid no attention to his suffering cock.
Marcus had closed his door and the Maserati’s windows were dark tinted. People
were walking along the sidewalk within feet of the car, and Thomas could clearly see them, a disconcerting effect, but he couldn’t deny the powerful arousal of it as well.
Marcus reached behind the seat again and this time came back with a dark black
strap with a buckle. He placed it against Thomas’ throat, nudging up his chin
impatiently then buckling it in the back, around the metal bar beneath the headrest, so Thomas couldn’t lift his head away from it.
It couldn’t help but make him remember the waist chain that had been his “collar”
before their relationship went to hell. This was a generic collar, no personalized lock that said “Mine”, no adornment. An unspoken barb whose pain was somewhat eased
by the new surge of response as Marcus put it in place. Thomas tried to strain, feeling suddenly restive.
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“I don’t… I think…”
“You don’t think. You respond. Fight all you want. It will just make me harder.”
Then Marcus bent his head and pressed his lips to Thomas’ bare sternum, coursing over to his left nipple to lick. Nip.
At the stimulus, Thomas arched even further into the uncomfortable angle, his
fingers fisting against the bonds, pulling against a metal clasp that would not give.
Marcus’ temple brushed him, just the hint of the silk of his hair.
“Please…your hair.”
“What, dearest?” Marcus murmured it, tilting his head so his green eyes, that sinful mouth, were so close, just beyond his reach. “Beg your Master.”