“That’s been found at all but one of the fire sites, is that right?” Becket asked.
“Yes. The very first suspicious fire was an allotment shed. It was completely destroyed—nothing left but ash, so if there was a message there it went up in flames.”
“I’m going to get Aiden to do some digging into backgrounds of The Underground’s members. If anyone holds a grudge against Beau, there might be a likely candidate there.”
“He can’t come up with any ideas. He’s thought long and hard, but he’s never dumped anyone and he can’t think of any particularly persistent subs or jealous Doms. Won’t you get into trouble using our resources on this?”
Becket shook his head. “I have clearance. This concerns your safety, Marty. Aiden can dig in places other investigators won’t be able to reach.”
Marty finished his coffee and glanced at the clock. To his surprise an hour had passed. “Thank Aiden for me. I hope I get to meet him in person one day. I really appreciate your help. You’ll let me know if you find anything, won’t you?”
“Of course. Now go and enjoy your evening. Forget about all of this for a few hours and have some fun.”
Marty grabbed his jacket and made his escape. Just knowing that Becket and Aiden were on the case made the weight on his shoulders a little lighter.
* * * *
Marty made it home in record time. He’d been anticipating the night ever since Beau had told him he’d booked the playroom. Since then, Marty had received regular texts from Beau adding to his list of instructions. “In no particular order,” Beau had said. He sent the messages when they popped into his head. Marty was determined to follow them all to the letter. Beau was picking him up at nine—that meant he had a little less than three hours to get ready. They wouldn’t be eating at the Club so he had to fit a meal into that time as well. Beau had said to eat light but Marty wasn’t sure there was any room in his stomach for food, it was already full of hyperactive butterflies.
The peace and quiet familiarity of his flat calmed him. Marty stripped to his boxers and put his clothes away neatly. The first two tasks on his list were the ones he dreaded. He wanted to get them over with. Beau’s first instruction simply read
Clean Inside
. An enema kit in a sealed package sat waiting in Marty’s bathroom cabinet. After that came shaving, most of which could be accomplished in the shower. Alistair had recommended some depilatory cream for the harder to reach bits, much to Marty’s relief. It seemed a much safer option than putting a razor anywhere near his balls.
Ninety minutes later the worst was over. Marty was buffed, polished and fuzz free from the neck down. He cleaned his teeth and dried his hair, using some product to make it more tousled than usual. Alistair had taken him to a shop in Soho called The Fetish Forum to find an outfit that fulfilled Beau’s next text,
Leather and Lace
. That trip had been a real eye-opener for Marty. He had no idea that kinky clubwear was so readily available. The assistant, a flamboyant goth going by the name of Arcan, had taken charge and persuaded Marty into a variety of outfits consisting of scraps of fabric.
“You have a perfect body under those baggy clothes, you need to show it off,” Arcan had stated confidently.
Marty didn’t want to show off, he wanted to run away and hide, but Alistair had made all the right soothing noises and Marty had walked away with a pair of low-rise, form-fitting leather trousers with a zip that started in the front and finished in the rear, allowing the trouser legs to be separated ‘for easy access’. He’d also invested in a pair of ankle boots with chunky soles and a series of buckles. Choosing underwear had been an exercise in humiliation for Marty as Alistair had held up item after item for him to consider. With Alistair’s smiling encouragement, Marty had eventually given in and purchased stretchy black lace shorts.
With a towel slung around his hips, Marty laid the new garments on his bed. He intended to go shirtless at the club so a plain black T-shirt, which he’d take off later, finished his ensemble. He had found a sheet of skin transfers featuring hearts surrounded by flames. One of those went on his chest, above his left nipple.
Now for the next instruction.
Plugged.
Next day delivery from an online supplier had brought him a bulbous black rubber butt plug. The smooth version had seemed a bit of a cop out so Marty had purchased the one covered in interesting bumps. In real life it appeared a hell of a lot more daunting that it had on his computer screen. It took several attempts and a liberal coating of Astroglide to get the thing inserted. Marty stood still for a while, getting used to the sensation of a foreign object filling his ass. The moment he moved, the damn thing nudged his prostate. Marty moaned. “Oh God! I’m never going to fit an erection into those trousers, my dick’s going to stick out over the waistband it’s so low.” He considered jacking off to relieve the pressure, but Beau’s final text had said,
No touching
. That message had arrived the previous evening and was the cruelest one of all.
“The man is wicked. Evil. He’s twisting me up into spirals.” Marty’s mind clicked into maths mode. “That’s it, spirals…reciting mathematical facts should put my dick to sleep.” Marty picked up the packet containing his new underwear. Just catching sight of the picture on the front made him harder. “Oh God. The logarithmic spiral is a spiral whose polar equation is given by r equals ae to the power of b8 where r is the distance from the origin. The logarithmic spiral is also known as the growth spiral, equiangular spiral and spira mirabilis. It’s related to Fibonacci numbers, the golden ratio and the golden rectangle, and is sometimes called the golden spiral. It can be constructed from equally spaced rays by starting at a point along one ray and drawing the perpendicular to a neighboring ray. As the number of rays approaches infinity, the sequence of segments approaches the smooth logarithmic spiral.” He peeked beneath his towel. “Yes!” His cock was no longer iron hard. Quickly, with equations still swirling through his head, Marty dropped the towel, ripped open the package, removed the scrap of lace then pulled on the shorts.
“What the hell am I doing?” Marty stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. The shorts barely covered his ass. The stretchy fabric molded to his body and though it wasn’t quite see-through it might as well have been, because his package was on full, lace-clad display. Marty grabbed his new trousers from the bed and shoved his feet into the legs. It took some wiggling and cursing to pull them up, but he managed it. The fine leather clung almost as tenaciously as the underwear, but moved with his body. “Surprisingly comfortable,” Marty murmured. “But I look like a slut.” He gave a wry smile. “Beau will love them.”
Marty thought it was adventurous to shop in Hollister. Never in a million years would he have pictured himself wrapped in leather like an offering to the bondage gods. “But that’s exactly what I’m doing…offering myself on a platter to Beau.” Marty’s heart beat a little faster. He pressed a hand to his bare chest and took some deep breaths. “I can do this.”
His phone buzzed, making him jump. He picked it up to find a new text from Beau.
Pick a safe word.
Marty collapsed onto the edge of the bed. “Fuck. That’s it. Sorry, Mother, but I’m taking up swearing.”
The phone buzzed again.
Don’t panic.
Marty snorted. “Too late!” He wandered barefoot to the kitchen and had a drink of water. He fixed a plate of cheese and crackers and ate them leaning against the kitchen counter. To sit down meant pressing the plug deeper into his ass and it was already driving him insane. Eating settled his stomach but not his nerves. He cleared up then went back to the bedroom to finish dressing. He cleaned his teeth again then applied a smudge of charcoal eyeliner. He barely recognized his own reflection.
At half past eight the intercom buzzed.
“It’s Beau. I couldn’t wait any longer. Are you ready or should I come up?”
Marty swallowed. “I’m ready,” he lied. “I’ll be right down.” He shrugged into his jacket, checked that his wallet and keys were in the pocket and headed for the stairs.
* * * *
Beau on any day was, to Marty’s eyes, a stunning specimen of manhood. Beau in leather was a walking wet dream. Marty’s confined dick twitched and his ass clenched around the plug. He stood on the pavement, shifting his weight from foot to foot, not sure what to do.
“Stand still. Hands behind your back. Let me admire you.” Confidence and control reflected in Beau’s voice, his posture, even his expression, which was part amusement, part understanding.
With instructions to follow, Marty relaxed.
Beau made a circuit around him. “You are stunning.”
Beau kissed him. No gentle caress of lips, this was a demanding, possessive assault on Marty’s mouth. Marty’s knees buckled, but Beau was there to support him. When Beau finally pulled away, Marty’s head was spinning.
“Perfect. Stubble burn and kiss-swollen lips. Everyone will know you’re taken.”
Marty opened his mouth but no words came out. Beau pressed a finger to his lips.
“Hush. I’ve got you.” He started to walk down the street, gripping Marty’s wrist. “I have a cab waiting. The company has a contract with The Underground—owner’s a member.”
“That’s a relief,” Marty mumbled. “Walking with a hard-on is uncomfortable. Oh, did I say that out loud?”
“Yes, you did.” Beau chuckled and guided him into the back seat of the car. “Have you followed all my instructions?”
Marty nodded and leaned against Beau’s shoulder. “Yes, Sir.”
“What’s your safe word?”
“Fibonacci, Sir.”
“Good. From this point on, consider yourself in a scene. Use that word at any time. Everything stops, instantly. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The car rumbled through the back streets, avoiding the traffic pinch points that never got better, even during the evening.
“Using your safe word is not weakness, it’s what I demand. You’re very new to all this, Marty, and I don’t want to scare you. We haven’t had a chance to discuss your hard limits yet—I doubt you even know what they are. If anything I do makes you uncomfortable, use your word. We will discuss how you feel and agree your limits before we continue.”
“You sound so serious, Sir.”
“I
am
serious. I want you to get as much pleasure out of our relationship as me and that means consent, at all times. It’s not like we’re going to the park to feed the ducks.”
“We’re not? Damn.” Marty giggled.
“Brat.” Beau pulled him close and sucked on his neck. “The more of my marks on you, the better.”
Minutes later the cab pulled up outside The Underground. Beau escorted Marty inside with an arm around his shoulders. They went through the rituals required to get inside, and Beau fitted the club collar around Marty’s neck. Christian gave Marty a knowing smile but didn’t attempt to talk to him directly. Marty appreciated his consideration. He didn’t feel much like talking to anyone. All his attention was fixed on Beau.
They went first to the members’ locker room and stowed their jackets. Marty pulled off his T-shirt, revealing the temporary tattoo on his chest. Beau traced it with a fingertip. “This is beautiful. A permanent one would be even better.” He flicked a nipple. “When we get these pierced, we can add some ink to the appointment.”
“Yes, Sir.” Marty found he liked that idea. A lot.
“
You
are temptation walking, Marty. Those trousers are…sinful.” Beau ran his finger down the zip. “This is a nice touch.”
Marty moaned. “Sir…please. You’ll make me come.”
“I should have included a cock ring in your instructions, shouldn’t I?” Beau pressed the heel of his hand to Marty’s groin. “But you won’t come. Not without my permission.”
Marty’s response came out as a strangled gasp.
“We’ll go straight to our room. I can’t wait to torment you some more.” Beau’s grin was feral. He pulled a lead from his pocket and attached it to Marty’s collar. “Keep your hands behind your back. Don’t make eye contact with, or speak to, anyone. If I stop to greet another Dom, go to your knees.”
“Yes, Sir.” Marty could deal with clear instructions—less chance of him fucking things up.
He wanted to make Beau proud to be with him. If that meant crawling naked behind him, then he would do it. He locked his fingers together and pressed them in to the small of his back. When Beau moved and the lead went taut, Marty was ready. He stayed a consistent distance behind Beau, who took even paces, helping him. Beau stopped twice, and each time Marty sank to the floor as gracefully as he could and bowed his head. They reached the corridor leading to the private playrooms without incident and Marty counted it as his first success.
“I’m proud of you, Marty. I’ve seen seasoned subs perform far worse than you just did.” Beau entered the access code for the room into a keypad next to the door.
A warm glow enveloped Marty from head to toe. Beau’s praise made him shiver with delight. Such a simple thing and yet so significant. His worries slipped away.
“In you go.” Beau ushered him into the room. “Carey has all the playrooms kitted out in different themes. This one’s just been redone and I wanted to try it out. I think it suits you.” He waited, allowing Marty to take everything in.
“I didn’t know what to expect, Sir, but it wasn’t this.”
“Nothing like a dungeon, is it?”
“No.” Marty hardly knew where to look first.
The room was lined with brushed steel panels. Flexible neon tube lights snaked around the walls, glowing iridescent blue and lilac. The flooring was black rubber, not smooth but covered in a pattern of raised circles. At intervals, pieces of equipment stood gleaming, the lights shimmering on polished metal. Restraints of all descriptions hung from pegs along one wall. Marty’s balls tightened as he counted the whips, floggers, paddles and canes. A chiller cabinet held bottles of water. Silver bowls full of lube, condoms and smaller restraints sat on a shelf. A metal tray next to them had rows of implements in neat lines. Marty had no idea what most of them were for.