Saul removed his finger and Kenneth groaned at the loss. He anticipated Saul replacing it with his hardened shaft, but instead Saul walked away. His lover never, ever left him when he was tied. All the more so because of how Preston would leave him alone like that for hours.
When Saul was back in his field of vision, he held a riding crop in his hand. His butthole clenched. He wanted it so bad and he was in the perfect position for it.
Please…
Saul brought it over and presented it to him. He kissed the handle then the tongue at the end of the whip.
“Good boy.”
Saul stood between his wide open legs and looked down on his exposed areas. He brought his eyes back up to meet Kenneth’s.
“Stunning. Are you with me?”
“Yes, Master.”
“You and I together?”
“Yes, Master.”
“Then don’t count. Feel.”
The harsh slap of the leather against his sensitive hole sent a jolt of pain to the end of his dick. It was beautiful and he loved Saul even more for it. The next one was harsher, even more wonderful. The third one left his pucker raw and filled his eyes with water. It was then that he realized he’d been yelling very loud.
Saul trailed the tongue of the crop along the underside of his thighs, a terrible tease, too sweet and gentle. It made him ache for the sting that much more. The quick snap on his sac made him howl but to his ears, it was akin to a cheer. A flick on the other side caught one of his nuts at an angle that caused the tears to spill down his cheeks.
His cock strained, angled up until the tip touched his belly, smearing his skin with the copious moisture that leaked from his slit. The final smack hit his exposed glans and he sobbed as hot sparks seemed to consume his core, his pucker clenched so tight he thought it might never open again.
Saul plunged into him and his body gladly accepted his Master’s thick, heated shaft. Kenneth took all that Saul gave, noticed every bit of what they shared. The scrape of the bristled curls each time Saul slammed into him. Saul’s hips connecting with the backs of his thighs. His lover’s distinctive flavor when he plundered Kenneth’s mouth. The ache in his joints from each thrust of Saul’s vigorous fucking.
“You and I together?”
Their gazes locked.
“Always, Master.”
He was there—with Saul—and he felt everything.
Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:
Gin and Jazz: Hollywood Bound
Morticia Knight
Excerpt
Chapter One
“Nick. Give me five cents. I need a cuppa joe before we head to the theatre.”
“Who am I? Rockefella?”
Jack smiled and elbowed Nick in the ribs. They were at the far end of the counter on the swivelling stools Jack loved so much. Every time they had a few extra cents in their pockets—which wasn’t often—they would head on over to Huyler’s Diner in midtown. It was close enough to the vaudeville theatre where they worked, just off Broadway.
“Would ya quit spinnin’ around on those things? You’re acting like a kid.”
Jack frowned at him. Nick was four or five years older than Jack, but he acted like he was really something. All worldly and such. At the same time, Jack really admired him. He knew about things and always watched out for him. Nick had been there for him after he’d been kicked out of the boys’ orphanage in Buffalo. He’d only been sixteen and hadn’t known what to do or how to take care of himself. Nick was the best friend he’d ever had. And since he had no family, he guessed Nick qualified as that too.
“I ain’t no kid. I just turned nineteen. I’m a man.”
Nick snorted and took another drag of his cigarette. “A man. Sure ya are, kid. Here’s a nickel, get yourself some coffee. It’ll be a late night. We have to tear down all of the sets, and put up the new ones. The next show starts tomorrow.”
“Aw, shucks. I was hopin’ we could go out tonight to the Red Head. I know someone who’ll let us in. Plus, Mr Pearson swore he’d pay what he owes us from the last show.”
“Shee-it. The last time we went to a speakeasy, the place got busted. You wanna end up in the black mariah again? We’re supposed to be savin’ every penny to make it out west. I know it’s hard when everyone else seems to be living the easy life, but we have a chance to make it really big out where they make movin’ pictures—just like we’ve been dreamin’ about.”
“Geez, Nick, I don’t know. I still think we got a good enough job here. We make all right money. And I don’t know nobody out there.”
“You’ll know me, won’t you?”
“Yeah, but what about that gal you’ve got back in Philly? What if you decide to marry her and leave me behind?” Jack’s voice got softer. “You always said you’d have to do that someday.”
Nick didn’t answer. He looked straight ahead at the mirror behind the diner’s counter, worry etched on his brow, a cigarette held to his lips. Finally, he seemed to snap out of it.
“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ve put her and my folks off this long. They can all wait a little bit longer.”
Jack motioned to the waitress and asked for some coffee. He didn’t want to bug Nick about it, but it bothered him a lot. One time Nick had said that he would send for her when they got out west, but then he’d never brought it up again. Jack worried that once Penelope got in the picture, Jack would be out of it.
But it’s only right, ain’t it? Every guy has to get his own family one day. We can still be friends.
If only friendship was all that Jack wanted from Nick. He had been in love with him for a while, but didn’t dare say or do anything about it. That was the kind of stuff that had got him pushed out the doors of the orphanage. If it hadn’t been for Father O’Malley intervening, he might have been beaten to death by the other kids. He’d been half-beaten as it was.
He and Stanley had been playing with each other since they were both fourteen. That was what Jack had called it, and Stanley had said he thought it was okay because they weren’t going after girls. Stanley wasn’t super smart, so one day he’d told the other boys about his and Jack’s playtime when they were complaining that there weren’t any gals around. It had got Jack a one-way ticket out the front door. But not before he’d received a good beating too.
Father O’Malley had told Jack to head to New York City.
“You go out to the big city, Jack Stone. Things’ll be much better for you there.”
He’d said that there were places like pansy clubs that accepted guys like him. These were modern times, he’d explained. 1924—people would be more open and liberal from now on.
So far, Jack agreed that it was much better in New York City, but only if you hung out with the right crowds and went to the right places. But that was only from what he’d heard. He knew Nick didn’t go in for that sort of thing, and he wouldn’t dare do anything that Nick didn’t like.
He’d met Nick at the bus station when he’d first arrived. Father O’Malley had given him just enough money to get to the city and to buy a couple of meals. Jack hadn’t had a clue how he was going to survive beyond that. Having just arrived from Philadelphia to work over the summer with his uncle who ran a vaudeville theatre, Nick had quickly taken Jack under his wing. Jack still thought of it as the luckiest day of his life. Within a few short days, he’d had a job as a set-builder and painter at the Atlantic theatre run by Nick’s uncle, Fred Milton. As it turned out, after the summer ended, Nick suddenly didn’t want to go back to Philly, although he never really had a reason why.
But more than anything, it seemed Jack had Nick’s support no matter what. Tall, lean and with muscles born of hard work, Nick also had brown wavy hair that parted at the side and swooped down over his hazel eyes. Jack thought he was very handsome. Sometimes he fantasised about what it would be like if there was no Penelope, and Nick wanted to be with him like a woman. Sometimes he even thought that he could see it in Nick’s eyes, the way he stared at Jack, then quickly looked away.
“Here you go, honey.”
“Thank you, miss.”
The young brunette waitress placed a cup of salvation down in front of him and winked. He’d had plenty of days where he’d lived off just coffee and cigarettes. He’d stir in cream—not because he liked the taste—but so he could convince himself he was getting something more, like real food. Besides, it was free. The worst had been when Nick’s uncle had died. The theatre had been shut down, and he and Nick had ended up on the streets for a couple of weeks. It had been a very frightening time. Besides not having jobs and running out of money, Nick had started hinting around that it might be time for him to head back to Philly and take up with his betrothed. That had been over a year ago, but Jack still shivered when he thought about it.
Luckily, Mr Pearson had bought the closed theatre and rehired most of the people who had worked there before. In addition to set-building, they were also stage hands during the shows. It was terribly exciting, but more recently, he and Nick had become obsessed with silent films. They’d spent more of their money than they should have to go and see such wonders as
Sherlock, Jr.
and
The Love Nest
with Buster Keaton, and Jack’s favourites,
The Thief of Baghdad
and
Robin Hood
. That was where the seeds of the idea to head west had been planted.
Jack took a sip of his coffee, and looked at Nick’s reflection in the mirror. He was still brooding a little and taking drags of his cigarette.
“So you really think we can make it big in Hollywood?”
Jack hoped that talk of Nick’s brightest hope would lighten the mood a little.
Nick gave Jack a half-smile back from his mirror image.
“Yeah, kid. I do.” He turned to look directly at Jack. “You don’t think they call it Dreamland for nothing, do ya?”
He jostled Jack a little with his elbow and Jack playfully poked him back.
“Okay Nick. Whatever you say, I’ll go along with it.”
“That’s right, kid. Ya stick by me, and we’ll do just fine.”
Jack smiled at Nick and wished. A wish that he could be by Nick Gerard’s side forever and ever.
* * * *
“You two are crazy.”
It was after midnight, and they were still putting up the new set pieces for the next day’s new vaudeville revue. Their only other helper, Oscar, was continuously perplexed as to why anyone would ever want to leave the theatre for any reason.
“This whole moving picture thing is a fad—pure and simple. Why go see some blurry black and white pictures when you can go to the theatre—which, by the way, has been around hundreds, maybe even thousands of years—and see real, in-colour people who can actually talk so’s you can hear them. I mean where else can you see Fanny Brice, Billie Burke, Fred Astaire and all the other greats? These lunks out in Hollywood ain’t nobody.”
Nick held up a piece of wood frame scaffolding, whilst Jack stood on a ladder, attaching a large piece of canvas with a park scene painted on it. He had to be careful. It had been painted over so many times that if he bent it too much, large chunks of layered paint would fall right off it.
Jack called down. “How can you say that, Oscar? No one can hold a candle to Douglas Fairbanks or Buster Keaton!”
Jack was fascinated with Douglas Fairbanks—so suave and brave.
“Okay you two, I ain’t got all night. I wanna get outta here and get some shut-eye.”
The ever-present cigarette hung from Nick’s mouth even as he held up the heavy piece of scenery for Jack to work on. Jack tried not to stare at the way Nick’s upper arms looked, his muscles bunching just underneath his blue work shirt. He focused on what he was doing, not wanting to get distracted.
Once, when Nick had bent over to retrieve a hammer that had fallen off the work bench, Jack had lost his balance, almost tumbling off the ladder. Nick’s backside had been too wonderful a sight for him, his jeans pulled snug over his rounded ass. As had been the case many times for other reasons, Nick was there for him, grabbing him around the waist and lowering him to safety. It was a memory Jack had played over and over in his mind. The feel of Nick’s strong arms wrapped tightly around him. The way he had held him so close. And how it had been just a moment longer than necessary before Nick let him go.
“Okay, Nick,” Jack yelled down to him. “Have Oscar check and see if this is the correct length. I think I’ve got it.”
“Oscar! Now where the hell did he get to? Oscar, dammit! You were just here a second ago blabbin’ on about how glorious live theatre is!”
“I’m comin’. I’m comin’. Can’t a man take a piss?”
“Never mind that. Is the canvas hittin’ the ground?”
“Oh yeah. But a bit too much. It’s draggin’.”
Jack could hear Nick muttering under his breath.
“Fine. Oscar, measure the bottom. When he’s finished with that, Jack, get down offa there. Let’s get this done boys, they ain’t payin’ us by the hour.”
The theatre owner had struck a hard bargain with them. If they’d got regular jobs as painters or handymen, they could have made as much as a buck and a half an hour. But theatres were different. They were only paid when there was a show, and Mr Pearson could only afford a flat twenty dollars a week for Jack, and twenty-five dollars for Nick—since he had more experience and oversaw all of the backstage crew. As the small apartment they stayed in was twenty dollars a week all by itself, that meant that all of Nick’s money had to buy their food, clothes, cigarettes and other necessities. Also, Mr Pearson wasn’t always as timely as he should’ve been with their wages.