“Oh…sorry?”
Beau chuckled. “It’s hardly your fault that you have a beautiful body. Don’t worry—I’m a big boy. I’ll cope. Just don’t be scared if I come across as a bit possessive.”
“Are you going to go all caveman on me, Mr. Beauman?” The twinkle in Marty’s eyes betrayed his amusement.
“I just might.”
Anything to make the point that no one else gets to lay a hand on you.
Chapter Three
As they headed down to the lower ground level of the club, Beau made sure that Marty was tucked close to his side. He didn’t want the young man to feel nervous or intimidated, he wanted him to love the club atmosphere as much as he did. To Beau’s delight, as they wound their way through the occupied tables searching for a free place to sit, Marty kept his hand in Beau’s. Doms and subs alike turned curious gazes on Marty as they would any newcomer. Beau acknowledged the appreciative leers and spoke briefly to a few people he knew, but he wanted to get Marty settled. The dance floor was crowded and all the tables around its border seemed to be taken, but then Beau caught a wave and a shout.
“Beau, come and join us!”
He hunted for the source of the voice and found it belonged to Carey Hoffman, who occupied a prime table near the edge of the dance floor. He gave Marty a gentle tug and guided him over. Carey stood to greet them.
“Good to see you, Beau. Christian said you might be along tonight. He and Becket will be here for the show in a little while.”
Beau shook Carey’s hand. “We’d love to join you. This is Marty… Marty, this is Carey Hoffman, owner of The Underground.”
Carey nodded at Marty. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Marty. My partner, Alistair, will be back soon, he’s at the bar getting drinks.”
“Hi,” Marty said, his voice soft.
Carey smiled and retook his seat. Beau slid in next to Carey and pulled Marty onto his lap.
“Is this okay?” Beau whispered in Marty’s ear.
Marty nodded, leaned against him and looked around at everything, wide-eyed and a little flushed. Every now and again, he touched the collar around his neck as if to check it was still there.
“We had a delicious meal in the restaurant, Carey. Your chef is worth his weight in gold,” Beau said.
Carey grinned. “He is. You’d never guess he was a sub by the way he orders everyone around in the kitchen, but once he’s out of that environment he undergoes a personality transplant and becomes the sweetest man. Mind you, he can wind his Dom round his little finger. All he has to do is threaten to withhold home-baked treats. Ah, here’s Alistair.”
A slender blond wearing skintight black leather trousers and a diaphanous silver shirt approached the table, balancing a tray of drinks, which he slid onto the table. Carey pulled him down for a kiss.
“Thank you, love. You know Mr. Beauman, and his companion is Marty,” Carey said by way of introduction.
“Hello,” Alistair said with a dimpled smile. “I saw you at the table so I brought some extra glasses and bottles of water over. It was busy at the bar!”
“Harry, the bar manager, is away for a while,” Carey explained. “He and his sub, Kai, are up at The Edge, taking a course. Goran, the deputy manager, is doing his best, but it’s a little frantic.”
“What’s The Edge?” Marty asked but then cast his eyes down as if realizing that he’d spoken out of turn.
Beau tucked a knuckle beneath Marty’s chin and lifted his head. “Ask all the questions you like, sweetheart. If I want you to be silent, I’ll tell you.”
Marty’s smile was so sweet that Beau knew he’d said exactly the right thing.
It was Alistair, after a quick check for permission from Carey, who answered Marty’s question. “The Edge is an amazing place. It’s a company that provides specialist training courses, mainly for the security services, but two Doms own it. Heath and Joe run BDSM courses as well. Everything from a beginner’s introductory workshop to advanced knife play and bondage. They cover things you might not expect as well, like psychology, human anatomy, diet and nutrition… All kinds of subjects that can be useful for people who are heavily into the lifestyle.”
Carey nodded. “We recommend courses at The Edge to all our members and the vast majority have been up to Yorkshire more than once.”
“Their place is on this cool island just off the coast with its own causeway to the mainland,” Alistair added.
“It sounds amazing.” Marty conjured up his best pleading expression. “Maybe we could go one day?”
Beau almost melted into his seat. Marty’s words meant that he could see a future for them, and Beau really liked the warm feeling that gave him.
“Of course if you do go you’ll get to meet Joe’s sub, Olly, and Aiden, he’s Heath’s sub. The two of them couldn’t be more different but if you’re after a variety of perspectives on the lifestyle from a submissive’s point of view they’ll tell you anything you want to know. And I do mean anything!” Alistair giggled.
“He doesn’t mind sharing personal stuff?” Marty asked.
Beau gave him a gentle squeeze. “If you’d met Olly, you’d understand. He resembles an angel but he’s part demon. Fortunately Joe is a very strict Dom with a well-deserved reputation for discipline. Exactly what that brat needs.”
“Olly has a heart of gold,” Alistair said. “He’s an amazing friend, but he does have a tendency to get up to mischief.”
Beau nodded. “Can’t disagree with that. Aiden is much more stable—in fact, you’d probably get along really well with him, he’s something of a genius when it comes to computers. You could discuss interesting equations or something.”
“I already know Aiden… Well, know of him,” Marty said. “Becket sings his praises all the time, and it was Aiden who worked out the Templar connection to the bombing I got caught up in.”
“Of course… I didn’t make the connection,” Beau said. “It sure is a small world. You and Aiden have the same boss. Talk of the devil… Dave!”
Beau waved to attract Dave Becket’s attention and soon their little group had grown to six as Becket and Christian joined them. Beau wondered how Marty might react to his boss seeing him with leather around his neck.
“Good evening, Marty, enjoying yourself?” Becket asked as he took a seat.
“Yes, Sir, very much, thank you.”
Marty had a light flush on his cheekbones but Beau didn’t think it had anything to do with embarrassment.
“I keep telling you to call me Becket, Marty. Beau might take exception to you calling another man ‘Sir’.”
Marty tensed. Beau had no doubt that Marty had applied the honorific to Becket out of habit and a natural subservience to a more Dominant man, but he didn’t want him to worry. He carded his fingers through Marty’s hair, settling him. “We haven’t discussed appropriate forms of address yet, Becket. I’m happy with Beau. For now.”
The stress disappeared from Marty’s frame and he relaxed against Beau. It felt good and right for Beau to have Marty in his lap, holding him, taking care of him. Beau had never felt so much at ease with a man he’d only met a couple of times. As his friends chatted and caught up on the latest news, Beau pulled Marty close. “The show will be starting soon. It’s a whipping demonstration. Are you going to be okay with that?”
“Yes…Sir.”
Beau met Marty’s questioning gaze. Marty had let the ‘Sir’ roll off his tongue in a way that made Beau think he was experimenting, testing Beau’s reaction. Beau’s cock certainly had no problem responding and Beau had little doubt that Marty would be able to feel the physical reaction. He could… A pleased smile played around the corners of Marty’s lips. Beau’s smile was a little more rueful. Marty read expression and body language as he might a demanding textbook. They were puzzles to be solved. Beau was going to have to practice his poker face.
Beau swiveled Marty around in his lap. He positioned Marty’s limbs so that his legs were spread and his hands resting on his thighs.
“Comfortable?”
“Mmm.” Marty’s back pressed against Beau’s chest. His head rested in the crook of Beau’s shoulder and his ass was in the perfect place to feel every jerk of Beau’s cock. It was a shame Marty had clothes on. Watching the show with Marty naked in his lap, preferably impaled on Beau’s cock, would have added to the ambience. Beau grinned, glad that Marty could not observe the lascivious expression that Beau knew must be on his face.
The club lights dimmed and the volume of the background music reduced. A single spotlight illuminated the center of the stage where a St. Andrew’s Cross had been erected. Marty stiffened. He stared toward the stage, transfixed. Beau rested a hand lightly on Marty’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Okay?”
Marty nodded but didn’t turn around.
“The bullwhip isn’t a toy. These guys know what they’re doing,” Beau said quietly in Marty’s ear.
The Dom that strolled confidently onto the stage had ebony skin and the muscles of a professional wrestler. His bald head gleamed almost as brightly as the gold rings in his nipples. Bare-chested, he wore black leather trousers with a red stripe down the outside seams. They were tucked into highly polished combat boots. In one hand he held a coiled whip, in the other he gripped the wrist of his tiny, Japanese sub.
“Oh my God, he’s huge!” Marty said to no one in particular.
The group around the table all laughed. Marty twisted around and stared at Beau. “Are you sure this is safe? The little guy…he’s so…well, little!”
“Kato is an experienced sub, Marty. He’s been with Lash for years and they do these demonstrations regularly. Lash is the best I’ve ever seen with a whip.”
“Appropriate name.” Marty paid attention to the stage, where Lash was positioning Kato against the cross. He bound Kato’s wrists and ankles in place, whispering to him constantly. Other than a tiny yellow thong, Kato was completely bare. His slight body was lightly muscled and firm.
“I can’t see any scars,” Marty whispered.
“Of course not. I told you, Lash is an expert,” Beau replied.
Lash faced the audience. “It’s not the toys that are dangerous, it’s the men that wield them.” He uncoiled the whip and let it trail across the stage. “Lesson one—clearance. Use a four-foot whip and you need a minimum eight feet of clearance.” He flicked his wrist and the whip rippled. “I’ve been throwing single tails for more than ten years. I still practice about four times a week.” He glared sternly around the room. “Lesson two—if you intend to start using a single tail, buy a quality whip, even at first. The better whips are accurate and can last a lifetime. If anyone’s interested, come and examine mine after the demo.” He walked over to the cross and stroked Kato’s back. “Safe, sane and consensual applies to all whip play. I would never recommend trying this without expert guidance and a hell of a lot of practice on items that don’t bleed. Soft toys make great target practice. Lesson three—never ever crack a whip toward anyone’s face.” Lash stroked Kato’s hair. “And finally, there’s no place for ego when you have a whip in your hand. Your actions should only be directed by this head”—he tapped his skull—“not this one.” He grabbed his crotch. “Use your brain, fully engaged and under the influence of nothing but common sense.”
Lash stroked the firm curve of his sub’s ass. Marty fidgeted in Beau’s lap.
“Anticipation is the best part of BDSM play. I’d bet you a week’s salary that Kato’s hard as a rock by now,” Beau said quietly.
“Did you know that the crack of a whip is a miniature sonic boom?” Marty said. “The cracker at the end of the lash breaks the sound barrier. The whip acts like a magnifying glass, taking the motion, momentum and energy you place into the whip’s handle and focusing that energy into the whip’s tip.”
Beau grinned then planted a soft kiss on Marty’s neck. “I’ll bear that in mind when he starts to make some noise with it.”
Marty fidgeted. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. I see science and maths in everything and it just kind of spills out.”
Beau hugged him close and took a calculated gamble. “I have a few, very effective, gags to use on you when I want you quiet, don’t worry.”
Marty’s little gasp was followed by a low, sexy moan. He turned his head away, and Beau guessed that Marty was blushing to the roots of his hair. The fact that he didn’t leap from Beau’s lap and make a run for the exit was very promising.
Still with his hand palming Kato’s ass cheek, Lash addressed them again.
“One interesting thing about the bullwhip is that the wielder does not need to be a big guy like me. Some of the best whip crackers I’ve seen have been small women. A gentle stroke made with grace carries more power than an uncontrolled, strong swing.” Lash held his whip for them all to see, and Marty sat straighter, clearly fascinated by what he was hearing.
“The bullwhip has a short, rigid handle and a flexible thong which can come in various lengths. The longer the whip, the less accurate it will be. Until you are an expert, protect your eyes. You only get one set, so it’s better to cover up than lose one of them. Goggles or even a hat with a brim can work. Before you start swinging, make sure there is no one behind you and nothing loose on the ground because if you strike just right, you can send an object flying like a bullet.”
Rotating his wrist, Lash began to spin the whip in a circle around himself like a propeller. He created a disc of movement above his head, keeping his body at the center. “If you need to release the whip’s energy, crack it into the ground.” He snapped the whip down and a sharp sound split the air, bringing a gasp from the crowd.
“I’m going to demonstrate three basic shots—the overhand throw, the circus crack and the reverse snap.”
Lash proceeded to do just that. His commentary gave a detailed description of each movement and position. On every stroke his accuracy was astounding. The tip of the whip grazed Kato’s flesh, raising a reddened line, nothing more. The audience remained respectfully silent as they watched a master at work.
Once the show was over, the lights on the stage dimmed to give Lash some privacy with his sub. The volume of the music increased and a steady flow of men hit the dance floor. Beau stroked Marty’s bare arm and rotated him until Marty straddled his thighs, facing him.