Of Being Yours[another way 2] (10 page)

When we reached the short, squat bar, we saw some poor bastard handcuffed to the metal pole that ran the length of the wood. A helpful someone had written FAGGOT SLUT on his back, and a guy in a leather harness was fucking him hard.

The club was usually wanton, but they must have gone all out for the holiday.

“Want a drink?” Will asked.

I nodded. “Yeah. Vodka.”

I didn’t trust anything else in this place. The clear alcohol would kill any germs.

The barman served it in four shot glasses. We clinked the first two and knocked back the next in quick succession. Immediately the burn spread down to my stomach.

I met Will’s eyes. I wanted this… whatever
this
was that he wanted to give me. I wanted him. Always.

He seemed to understand my silent communication, maybe better than I did myself.

“Stand over by that wall,” he said, pointing to an area where several lengths of hemp rope were hanging from iron pegs. “Shirt off.”

I followed his instruction and found a suitable spot where I could see and be seen, then grasped each elbow with the opposite hand behind my back, spread my legs, and waited for him.

The Dungeon wasn’t the sort of place where they stood on ceremony; unlike our previous session of the evening, no one was going to invite us to play, and people would watch or not depending on what they wanted, rather than our dictating when things would start and finish. It required a totally different mind-set and the bringing forward of my normally well-hidden exhibitionist nature.

When Will came up behind me, once again he caressed my shoulder with his lips before he firmly gripped my arms and turned me so that I was facing out into the room. There was nowhere to hide.

He selected a length of the hemp rope from the wall and began to enclose my upper body in what I recognized to be one of his most-used chest harnesses. I liked this one too; it securely bound my arms to my sides, and my crossed forearms were caught in its strong web.

The club was playing its usual electro-dance music, and it actually helped me find the right headspace for this particular scene. The beat of the music thumped through the floor, through the air too, and altered the rhythm of my heart until I was existing in time to it. This music was a million miles from what Master would normally play when we were alone together, but we weren’t alone.

Although I kept my eyes closed, I was hyperaware of the people moving around us. Master worked quickly, and I soon found myself testing the amount of wriggle room he’d left me—it wasn’t a lot.

I found myself with my head falling back on his shoulder and his hands roaming freely over my chest, pulling at my nipple rings and the line of hair that led from my belly button down into my pants. Now, they were the only thing left covering my body. That was okay, though. I would be okay with less.

Even though I was restrained, the ropes didn’t connect to any suspension point, so I would be holding myself up if Master were to back away. He didn’t blindfold me either, or gag me; this was something about pure control, submitting to him because it was something we both craved.

I had never performed sexually with him in public before.

I had never wanted to before.

But I was pretty sure that was where this was heading.

His thumb skirted the waistband of my pants, teasing each sensitive hipbone before dipping just underneath, enough to tease. He must have known I was hard, not just hard but aching and wanting, even with the people who were watching.

I was sure that they were watching now.

My Master gave me every opportunity to back out as his hands roamed my body. I wouldn’t ask for it—that wasn’t the way it worked—but he kept pushing until he could be sure he was correctly interpreting my mood. My throat contracted and I gasped involuntarily as his thumb worked the first shiny button through the brown leather. It was really happening.

“Jesse,” he said in a low voice, his mouth next to my ear so I could feel his hot breath on my skin.

“Yes?”

“We have rules in parts of our relationship to keep us both safe.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He kissed my neck. “So tell me what you want.”

“I want…” I said, then rearranged my thoughts so there would be no hesitation when I said it, “I want to break the rules.”

Of all the reactions I could have anticipated from him, a bark of laughter wasn’t one of them. He wrapped his arms around my chest in a tight hug and kissed me again.

“Okay. I’m breaking them as Will, though, okay? Not as your Master.”

“Okay.”

What he was trying to do made sense to me; although this wasn’t normal for both of us, there was always a degree of flexibility in the rules we set for ourselves. If he was going to flex them at all, like we had that night with Jeff, he was going to do it in a context where my trust and dependence on my Master wouldn’t be compromised.

When his hand pushed under the waistband of my pants, I was naked underneath.

He knew that, of course, but our audience didn’t. I kept my head resting on his shoulder, my eyes, if I opened them, trained toward the ceiling. Despite this, I had enough self-awareness to know that Will drew a crowd whenever he decided to show off, and the two of us together were fairly compelling to watch. We had a connection that transcended the traditional roles of BDSM and what people tended to expect of gay men.

That being said, when he drew my cock out of my pants, I forgot everything. I craved his touch.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered in my ear and bit my earlobe. “Let’s give them a show.”

I needed that sense of fun to be able to really get into our “performance” and let out a groan that was only slightly louder than normal, to make sure it reached the ears of anyone standing nearby.

As he started to stroke me firmly, slowly, my mind drifted to a place of self-analysis. The gaze of unknown strangers on my body didn’t bother me at all. I had to figure out if it was the fact that they were strangers, not friends or acquaintances, that drew out this part of me that reveled in being watched. Probably. I couldn’t do this in front of Laura.

I couldn’t do this in front of
women
.

It was partly the knowledge that there was no judgment here. Other men would watch if they wanted to, leave if they didn’t. Openly jerk off if they were aroused. Normal rules of society were gone in this place, and instead, lust ruled.

When Will’s thumb gently circled the sticky head of my cock, drawing out more moisture from the tip, I stopped acting and let my cries of pleasure speak for themselves. He was incredibly talented at even this, the most basic of pleasure-seeking activities, and his fingers were firm and sure as he stroked up and down the shaft of my cock.

Then when he spoke, I got lost in his voice.

“When we get home, I’m going to shove my cock so far down your throat that you choke,” he promised, stroking me harder now. “I want you so fucking much.”

“I want you too,” I said. “Please.”

“Please what, you little slut?”

“Please let me come!” I yelled.

“Don’t let him, Will!” someone in the crowd shouted back. I whimpered, mentally planning bloody revenge on this faceless enemy.

“Are you going to come with all these people watching you?” he asked, taunting me as I rutted into his hand.

“Yes, Sir,” I said, using the title because they’d expect it from me. Because it was part of the act, part of the fun.

“Are you going to enjoy it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you going to come
because
they’re watching you?”

“Fuck! Yes, Sir! Please, Sir!”

“Oh, go on then,” he said, his voice totally at odds with the speed and pressure and movement of his hand over my cock.

It was natural for me to try to force my way out of my ropes as my body prepared to orgasm, the unyielding tightness of my bondage contributing to the mess of endorphins in my head and making the rush of come even more explosive.

There was no way I didn’t draw attention to myself, and Will too by association, as I let loose. Everything came together at the same time, and suddenly I wasn’t even me anymore, I was some wild thing that he had to restrain with ropes and force orgasms from with his bare hand.

“Good boy,” he said. Hot breath on my neck. “Good boy.”

F
ROM
the rush of my orgasm came the inevitable drop. Normally I’d take tea and intimacy, but I wasn’t going to get either in the Dungeon, and I wasn’t ready to leave yet.

By the time I was ready to open my eyes, anyone who had possibly watched Will jerk me off had dispersed, and he had untied part of the harness so my arms were free but the rope still decorated my chest.

I was ready for another drink and to let go and just dance for a little while, the numbness of the alcohol and repetitive beat bringing out another type of primal in me.

For a couple of hours, we danced, drank shots, and ignored everyone around us. In the back of my head, his promise echoed, and when it got to be too much, he dragged me from the bar and into a cab. For the short drive back to the house, all I could think about was his cock and finally getting a taste of it.

Chapter 7

T
HE
snow set in over Thanksgiving weekend, which meant only one thing in our household—snowboarding. I had never had my own board until Will bought one for me as a birthday present, not that it did me much good in April, as the snow had just about finished melting. In the weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas, things seemed to wind down in Will’s job, and mine too; it would be during the holidays that I would get busier. It was the perfect time to take a long weekend and get away from it all for a couple of days.

My car had a roof rack that we could load our gear onto, and we only packed a small bag each, which easily fit in the trunk. All we really needed was snow clothes and a few warmer sweaters and things for the evening. For this trip we decided to head for Whistler—it was the closest resort to Seattle, and there were enough slopes to keep us occupied.

We booked into a different lodge every time we went up to the mountains. Sometimes we hit a place that we liked and went back there, but it was more fun to explore new towns each time. When we arrived, we were shown to a huge lodge; there was a large communal living space that bloomed out from the entranceway, snow boots were piled up by the door, and there was a long line of pegs for people’s jackets. In the center of the room there was a fireplace, and the mix of different style sofas and chairs added to the homey feel.

The greeter showed us through to the kitchen and dining room at the back of the lodge where we could prepare our own food, although there was a chef that worked there too. There was a small library off to one side of the main living space and a broad staircase that led up to the rooms.

Ours was a double and, to her credit, the young girl who showed us around made no comment about the fact that we were sharing. There was a bathroom attached, although this one didn’t have a tub, and a huge bed covered in soft, homemade-looking blankets.

“Thanks,” I said, giving the greeter a tip as she smiled and closed the door behind her.

“Bed looks good,” Will said and bounced on it, a silly grin on his face.

“We can test it out later,” I said and pounced on top of him.

We laughed as we kissed, his hand tightening in the back of my T-shirt. Will always seemed lighter when we were up the mountain, sillier, younger maybe. He rolled me onto my back and pinned me to the bed with his hands and hips and eyes and watched me silently beg for him to kiss me again.

“Do you want to hit the slopes this afternoon?” I asked him as he cupped my cheek in his palm and ran his thumb back and forth on the soft skin under my eye. We had left Seattle by 7:30 a.m., just missing the commuter traffic around the city but still running into some of it around Vancouver. By the time we’d checked in and been shown our room, it was a little after one in the afternoon—still plenty of time to get in a couple of hours of snowboarding if we wanted to.

“Yeah,” Will said. “We might as well.”

All of our gear was strapped to the top of the car, and we had to bundle back up in our coats to go outside. Even though we were only a few hours north of our hometown, the temperature had dropped considerably.

With the time in between each trip, it always took me a few runs to find my balance again and get back up to the skill I knew I was capable of. There were others who would try to tell us that skiing was easier, but I was yet to be convinced. As a teenager I had been something of an avid skateboarder, not that I was ever particularly good at it. It was those skills that had helped me when I first got on a board, and the rhythm and movements were familiar to me.