Rough Canvas (17 page)

“I want to feel your hair…on my skin. Take it down.” He swallowed as Marcus

waited, uncompromising. Damn it. “Please take it down, Master.”

Marcus had it queued back. After a long, harrowing pause, he reached up and

pulled the band loose so that when he turned his attention back to Thomas’ nipple, the shoulder-length strands brushed his bare skin. Thomas closed his eyes. There was a physical component—Lord God was there ever—when Marcus made love to him, but

then there were times like this, when it was beyond the intensity of an orgasm, where every muscle was rigid, tuned to Marcus’ every touch or kiss.

It was like Thomas was in the rapture of Heaven and torture of Hell at once, too stretched between the two to do anything other than stay in this fixed point in space. In the moment.

That said, if Marcus touched his dick Thomas was going to go off like a geyser.

Now he knew why Marcus had required he put on a condom with the harness. Or at

least one of the reasons, the other reasons still part of the murky possibilities planned for the evening.

Marcus’ tongue was damp and firm, and Thomas’ legs were jerking, his hips

fucking air. Leisurely, Marcus moved to the other nipple, and Thomas cried out at the very first contact. “Jesus!” He bucked off the seat. Then the vibration started up in his ass and around his cock again. It shot a current of reaction through him and then stopped in a blink, a hair before he would have come if it hadn’t been for the secure fit of the harness.

“I have your attention?” Marcus’ breath was hellfire hot on his skin.

“Yes. Shit, yes.”

“Good.” He lifted his head, lips moist from what he’d been doing. Thomas licked his own lips in reaction. “What do you want, Thomas?”

“To serve you.” The words came out of that void he couldn’t face on his own, that Marcus had opened in him. He was falling deeper into it than he’d known he could go.

The words were the first thing that came to his mind before he could analyze or be spooked by them.

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Marcus sat back in his seat, put the key in the ignition and turned the engine over.

Laying his hand on Thomas’ thigh, he let one long finger stroke to a hairsbreadth below his genitals. “I plan to do a lot of things to you tonight. If you can’t handle something, you say ‘stop’.” Not ‘please don’t’. Stop is the only word that will change things.”

“What? No safe word like ‘shoe’ or ‘New Jersey’?” Thomas tried to sound

offhanded, even as he remained hyper-cognizant of the fact Marcus had all the control, while Thomas’ arms and throat were restrained, his chest bare.

“No. If you’re going to stop me, you’re going to have to say it directly.”

When he was with Marcus before, Thomas didn’t know whether to be afraid or

ashamed of his desire to be topped. He hadn’t had the courage to embrace it except with tentative, easily backtracked steps. Tonight he’d stepped all the way in, and Marcus had shut the door behind him.

To get back out he’d have to go through his Master. Looking at the way Marcus was eyeing his body, Thomas knew there was no way in hell Marcus was going to step out of the way.

Unless Thomas said stop. The hardest word for Thomas to say to Marcus, and he

was sure Marcus damn well knew it.

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The Zone was one of Florida’s most high-class BDSM clubs. The fact they’d bought and renovated the fetish club Detonation meant it likely would soon have the same reputation in this area. Particularly if Tyler Winterman’s name was involved in it.

Marcus grudgingly gave the arrogant ass that much. The Detonation already was

known as one of the area’s finest underground fetish clubs catering to the BDSM

lifestyle. It also catered primarily to men, and so had many different play options catering to their fantasies and tastes. Marcus had been here before, but not since the renovations.

As Marcus stepped into the foyer area, which was designed to look like the open terrace of a Roman plaza, he showed his card and paid the cover charge. Artfully arranged among the various columns and tall urns of plants were chairs and low tables for the men sitting and ordering drinks, eyeing each newcomer. Except for another couple who had entered just ahead of them, he and Thomas were the only recent

arrivals to this front area. Since Marcus knew Detonation’s entrance ritual, he decided it was a perfect way to start the evening.

He glanced at Thomas at his side, his arms now free, but still shirtless and wearing the collar.

“Take off all your clothes.”

“What?” Thomas’ gaze snapped to him.

“Do you need help with your slave, sir?” The maître d’ said coolly, looking as if he did bouncer work.

“No. But thank you.” Marcus inclined his head.

Thomas saw that the obvious submissive member of the pair who’d come in ahead

of them was already stripping for his waiting Master, who was casually talking to another Dom he apparently recognized. Because of the many men lingering here with avid eyes and an anticipatory air, Thomas quickly realized that most of the Masters had their slaves strip off all their street clothes here, preparing for the environment in a very public manner, underscoring the way it was going to be up front.

“Thomas. I said strip.”

Thomas nodded, suppressing an unmanly tremor in his hands as he opened his

jeans, pushed them down over his haunches, careful not to snag the harness. His ears burned at the whistles from their audience, the explicit comments made about what he was revealing. He tried not to be reminded of movie scenes where a new prisoner was brought into the cell block.

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Removing his shoes, he took it all off, folded it up into a bundle. Marcus handed the maître d’ the bundle and a tip in exchange for a token on a chain, which he put over Thomas’ head. It dangled below the collar. The pewter disk had number sixty-eight on it.

“When we come back for your clothes, that’s how we’ll get them. However, if

anyone other than me speaks to you here, you are Slave Sixty-Eight. Do you

understand?”

Thomas managed another nod, though he could barely follow Marcus’ words.

There must be fifty men lingering in this area. Two more slaves had come in and were being made to strip. One was rebellious. His Master quickly yanked the chain attached to a manacle locked just below his slave’s knee, above the swell of muscular calf, dropping him to a kneeling position. The maître d’ and another bouncer were brought in to forcibly strip him, his struggles obviously arousing them all.

Marcus pressed against Thomas’ side, holding his arm when he instinctively started forward.

“Easy. It’s the way he and his Master like it, pet. Things are a bit more high-

powered here than at the other clubs you’ve been to, but it’s all still consensual. All right?” His fingers tightened on Thomas’ quivering shoulder.

Thomas wondered if he was the only one close to a panic attack. It was too warm in here. Too many staring faces.

“Eyes down, pet. On my feet at all times unless I say otherwise. Hands at side, palms open.”

“Leash, sir?” This from the maître d’ again. “Cock or collar?”

Holy shit, no.

“Yes. Cock, please.” Marcus’ hand came into view, snapped it onto the ring on the cuff at the base of Thomas’ very erect, sheathed cock. Thomas could see some fluid inside the condom where he leaked.

“Is he up for auction tonight? Jesus, I’d like a bid on his ass.”

A male voice, right behind him. Thomas stiffened, almost turned before he

remembered Marcus had him tethered. Marcus’ hand slid around his biceps, stilled him.

“You’ll let the Master look at you, pet. He’s complimenting my taste.”

I don’t like this. I don’t. Please, let’s go home where you’ll touch me and murmur to me in
that fuck-me voice I can’t resist.
But he didn’t say it. And his cock got harder at Marcus’

touch, the protective authority in his voice.

“He’s not up for auction tonight, but he will be on public view. This is his first time here. First time participating, ever.”

“Enjoy, then.” The man moved away, but Thomas’ body remained rigid. Too many

people…too close…

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“Thomas.” Thomas had to fight the urge to look up as Marcus pressed his forehead to his. “Sshh. You’re ready for this. No one will touch you without my permission. You understand? They might say things, but no one can touch you unless I say so. It’s the rules. This is a safe place. I’m not going to let anything happen to you that you can’t handle. Okay? Just enjoy the scenery.”

Marcus watched Thomas digest that. He’d never taken it to this level with his shy, tough farm boy, and now he was wondering if that was because of Thomas’ underlying innocence, his gentle nature, or something else Marcus didn’t want to face in himself.

There were a large group of unattached Doms trolling for partners. They would

participate in the auction that would occur periodically, allowing a sub the thrill of a new handler, or his Master the opportunity to share him. Before Thomas, Marcus had shared subs when it would be a kick for both of them, something to increase the intensity. It usually involved laying out the slave over a bench to be fucked by him while his sub went down on another Master.

But he wouldn’t share Thomas. Couldn’t imagine or even countenance it. Marcus

told himself it was too much; Thomas looked overwhelmed as it was. But that wasn’t why.

I’d kill anyone who’d touched you…you’re mine.

He hadn’t intended to say those words that day next to the field, but in the dark shadows of his heart, the place he knew a pure spirit like Thomas should never come near, Marcus considered Thomas exclusively his.

He pushed down a sense of uneasiness. Thomas
was
ready for this. But was he?

He changed his mind about the leash and took it off, set it aside. Thomas obediently kept his gaze on Marcus’ shoes…or thereabouts. Marcus suppressed a smile, even as it built the hunger in his gut to see the flicker of lashes checking out his cock.

Thomas was nervous, hell yes. But he was aroused and there was that sexy little tremor to his limbs that tightened all those pleasing muscles. Nerves, but more than nerves. Thomas still didn’t consciously understand this type of intimacy enough to know his reaction was normal, but Marcus had been deep in this world a long time, and recognized every sign. As most submissives did, eventually Thomas would take the bit in his mouth and ironically pull his Master where they both wanted to go.

I want to call you Master again…for a week.

“Do you want my cock in your mouth?” Marcus demanded, cognizant they were

still standing center stage.

Thomas nodded. Marcus reached out, toyed with the numbered disk on his chest.

“When I ask you a question, Slave Sixty-Eight, you will respond, ‘Yes, Master’.”

Thomas’ nostrils flared. “Yes, Master.”

Marcus let his fingers trail upward now, hook under the buckled collar, tugging so Thomas moved a step forward. “You want it enough to take it here, in front of all of them?”

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Thomas inhaled sharply, but Marcus saw his eyes close, his cock jump another inch.

He didn’t like it confined in the Latex, but he knew his slave would need it, though there were few things he liked as much as feeling Thomas’ semen warming and wetting his skin, smelling the musk of it. “Yes, Master. Whatever pleases you.”

There was a wave of appreciative response from those sitting nearby, a reaction to the chance to witness an unexpected floor show. The Dom who’d spoken to Marcus

took a seat on a divan behind Thomas, not more than several feet away, where he’d get a good view of every flex and shift of Thomas’ tight ass, still penetrated by the probe, the strap running between his buttocks.

Marcus exerted downward pressure on the collar. “On your knees, then.”

As he stripped off his belt, he thought what it would be like to leave his marks on Thomas’ flesh, hear the pleasurable grunts of pain. He could let the other Master do it while Thomas sucked him off, a suitable punishment for his flirtation earlier in the day, but Marcus wanted the pleasure of marking his skin. He wanted to hoard all the

pleasure involving Thomas.

Marcus also thought about having Thomas clasp his hands behind his head, his

only anchor Marcus’ hand in his hair, pushing him into a bobbing rhythm on the cock he knew was long, thick and hard enough to gag most slaves. But Thomas knew how to take all of him, so good at relaxing his throat. He wanted to feel Thomas’ hands.

Thomas’ first touch caused a shudder to run through him. Marcus was usually

good at masking such reactions, but apparently breaking Thomas into his first high-level BDSM arena was affecting him strangely. Though scared as hell, Thomas was trusting him. And the power of a submissive’s trust could blow away anything a Master had to offer.

Thomas unfastened Marcus’ slacks, took down the zipper and eased underwear

and outer garment down just enough in front to release Marcus’ cock to the gaze of the crowd a scant moment before he covered most of it with his mouth, not an easy feat. He took it deep into the back of his throat, just as Marcus liked it. It made him pulse and leak the first drops onto Thomas’ tongue. When he felt Thomas swallow, he suppressed a growl of response.

Thomas’ strong, firm fingers circled him, his thumb stroking the taut vein beneath as he slid down, up. Slow, letting the crowd see the glistening moisture his mouth left all along Marcus’ shaft, polishing it up for them.

Like many submissives when being Dominated, Thomas’ focus narrowed only to

his Master, so Marcus knew it was likely his slave was no longer even aware he was performing in front of a group. Essentially given no choice, his only task was to please his Master. His tongue caressed Marcus, tasted, mouth pulling, increasing suction.