With or Without Him (6 page)

Tyler tugged the collar of his jacket up over his neck and then tucked his hands in his pockets as he hurried to the Tube. He’d played too fast. Flowers wouldn’t be happy. Neither would Boris. At least he hadn’t completely cocked up like Anna. She’d missed out a whole section and dissolved in tears when she got off stage. He’d felt bad being pleased that her mistake had given him an extra few minutes to get to Wapping.

He ran the rest of the way to the underground station, dashed down the stairs to the westbound platform, but then had to wait for the train. Prescott had wanted to send a car, but Tyler preferred the illusion of him not knowing about the college or where he lived. Christ, the wanker probably knew his brand of toilet paper.

Earlier that evening, it had crossed Tyler’s mind to leave a note in his room detailing where he was going tonight in case he didn’t come back, before the depressing thought struck him that there was no one to care if he didn’t. Prescott would weasel his way out of trouble and by now Jeremy had likely deleted his number after he’d failed to respond to any of his text messages.

The train pulled in and Tyler climbed on board. He winced when he thought of Jeremy. When Prescott had proposed using him instead tonight, Tyler had protested, but he was fooling himself if he said it was solely because he was trying to protect him. He didn’t want to lose a thousand pounds. The sooner he had the money he needed, the sooner he could put all this behind him.

He ran out of the Tube station and reached the warehouse just before nine. The place looked like a dump, though there were a lot of smart cars parked on the street. He suspected he wasn’t going to enjoy tonight but for that amount of money, he’d put up with a lot. If he really didn’t like the way the evening was going, he could always walk out. He pressed the buzzer.

Mex opened the door and gave Tyler his usual scowl.

“I’m not late,” Tyler said. “No way am I grabbing your crotch again. Yuk.” He wiped his hand on his pants.

“Dickhead.” He moved aside to let Tyler in. “Up the stairs. Second floor.”

Tyler unfastened his jacket as he walked up worn stone steps. When he pushed open an old wooden door on the second floor his eyes widened in surprise. He’d expected a bare room and maybe a group of leather-clad muscled guys waiting to humiliate him in front of video cameras, and instead he faced a stylish gallery with a high arched ceiling. The walls had been sandblasted to bare brick and the wooden floor restored to rustic glory.

A raised dais about ten feet square stood in the middle of the room and above it hung a black St. Andrew’s cross which set the tone of the event even before Tyler took in the rest. Booths lining the sides of the gallery displayed risqué paintings and pieces of erotic sculpture. There were stalls selling sex books, DVDs, and lots of bondage gear: leather, whips, restraints and sex toys.

Not really my scene.
Which was more than a little worrying. He had no problem with the lifestyle. As long as it was consensual, each to his own. He’d never tried full-blown BDSM, though he’d dabbled on the edge at some of Prescott’s parties. He didn’t mind being spanked and he quite liked nipple clamps, but there was no way he’d ever feel comfortable as a submissive, asking to be punished, and the idea of deliberately causing pain, even at a recipient’s request, didn’t sit easy on his stomach. The occasional use of a flogger or handcuffs was one thing, but the deeper world of true BDSM was something beyond Tyler’s knowledge and experience, and he preferred to keep it that way.

He spotted Prescott heading toward him, followed by Lu, a tall, muscular Asian who’d fucked him a few times at the Saturday night parties and always had a smile on his face, even when he was angry, which was unnerving. For once, Tyler struggled to stand his ground when his instincts yelled at him to leave. His gaze flickered back to the suspended cross, to the attachment points and a heavy weight settled in his gut.
Oh shit. Don’t let them see I’m scared.
He rubbed at his wrist with his nail, feeling for the non-existent band, and stopped when he realized what he was doing.

“You should have told me the dress code,” Tyler said.

Prescott wore a tux. The heavily-tattooed Lu was bare-chested, wearing only tight leather chaps, his cock and balls encased in a contoured black pouch.

Prescott smiled. “How did the concert go?”

Tyler didn’t answer.
Fuck you.

“You think I didn’t know where you were?” Prescott asked.

His only weapon was defiance.

“What exactly am I going to be doing?”
Don’t tell me it has anything to do with that fucking cross.

“You won’t need to
do
anything.” Prescott raised his eyebrows.

Tyler took a deep breath. “I’m not into this.”

“You’re being paid to be into it for tonight. Pretend. You’re good at that.” He slung his arm over Tyler’s shoulder and it was all he could do not to squirm free. “Don’t worry, Tyler. I don’t want you damaged, not your gorgeous face anyway. You’re my lucky charm, my perfect fly, my irresistible lure. The guy everyone wants to fuck.”

Lucky me.
“What? Even Mex?”

Prescott laughed. “Especially Mex. It’s the fact that he wants you and I know he wants you and I’ve said no that keeps you safe from him. He has…unusual tastes that I doubt you’d find appealing. Now, strip and get onto that platform. You can store your gear underneath behind the curtain. There’s another pair of black wings under there. Put them on.”

“I don’t like being hurt.” He didn’t want to say it but felt he had to.

Prescott smiled with his perfect white teeth. “So much the better.”

Oh fuck.

“But you do like the money. I have the cash in my wallet.”

He could have walked out. There was nothing Prescott could do to stop him—probably—but it would most likely have been the end of the money, and Tyler had grown used to the satisfaction of putting the cash into his bank account and watching his debt go down. This couldn’t be
too
bad, not with all these people around. Although having an audience made it worse in some ways if he was going to yelp, it also made whatever was going to happen safer.
Didn’t it?
All he had to do was say no or stop and that would be it. The BDSM world was full of boundaries.

Tyler stripped unselfconsciously and put his things behind the curtain as he’d been told. His mobile was in his pocket but not his wallet which he’d left in his room. The phone was a cheap-ass thing anyway. He doubted anyone would steal it. Tyler pulled on the wings and tugged the straps over his shoulders. As long as Lu didn’t want to do anything painful, he didn’t mind being hung on the cross. Except Lu was going to do
something
to him.

“Get on stage,” Lu said.

Tyler climbed up and Lu followed. He fidgeted as Lu unfastened ropes and used a couple of pulleys to lower the cross to the platform where he locked it in place.

“Stand there. Arms out. Legs out,” Lu snapped.

“Don’t you want to know my safe word?”

“What you like?”

“Police?”

Lu grinned. “Too much like please.”

“Yeah, well I won’t be saying that. Help, then. If I say help you let me go. And try not to hurt me.”

Lu’s laugh wasn’t reassuring. “Spread legs.”

Engage autopilot.
Tyler did as he was told and let Lu fasten him to the frame with nylon rope and every minute it took, Tyler told himself he was an idiot. It wasn’t much reassurance that Lu knew what he was doing. Tyler had watched him tie up a man at one of Prescott’s parties with complex twists of rope that made the bondage actually look like a work of art.

“Grasp leather, best way,” Lu said.

Tyler wrapped his fingers around leather straps that hung at his wrists, pressed his butt against the center of the cross and crushed a few feathers. He didn’t much like being restrained. It made him feel too vulnerable. He’d never been tied in front of so many people before.
I don’t want to do this.
His heart had already been pounding as he walked in, and now it started to race out of control.
Christ, I’m an idiot to do this with someone I don’t trust. Say something. Now.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Tyler said and added, “Help.”

“All these people pay to see you. Prescott pay you good money for them to stare at your dick but you need get hard-on.”

Like Tyler could make his dick jump to order under these conditions. “My cock’s not listening. Let me down.”

“Then I tell it listen.”

“I don’t want to be whipped,” Tyler said through gritted teeth.

“I not whip. Promise.”

Tyler flinched as Lu pulled his tackle through a tight rubber ring. Lu tipped oil into his palm and rubbed his hands together and as he massaged Tyler’s cock, he chatted to a man who’d stopped to watch. Lu might as well have been milking a cow for all the interest he showed in what he was doing. He pulled Tyler’s dick through his fingers and wrapped his palms around his balls over and over. Tyler thought he was too tense to feel excited but blood inevitably flowed to his groin.

Lu laughed and rubbed his thumb over the crest of his stupid dick. “See, it listen to me.”

Bastard.
He considered asking again for Lu to release him, but thinking about the money kept him silent.
A thousand pounds?
For that amount of cash, he’d hang here for a while like a fallen angel for people to gawp at. He’d just imagine himself a million miles away. Actually, it didn’t have to be that far. Jeremy’s bed would be fine.

Maybe he should give it a try, being with someone, seeing them more than once, trying to start a relationship. Tyler sighed. But not with Jeremy, not with someone who did the same fucked up stuff as him. No, he needed a decent bloke, someone who wasn’t into kinky stuff. Except decent blokes wouldn’t be attracted to him. And if they were, once they found out what he was like, they’d run a mile.

“He’s hot,” muttered the man Lu was talking to. “Fantastic face, contoured body. I don’t like too much muscle in a sub. Is he…available?”

“No,” Lu said. “He already taken.”

A crowd began to gather and Tyler closed himself off. One thing his musical training was useful for was enabling him to ignore anyone watching. When he played, his concentration was absolute. All he had to do was reach inside himself and zone out. It didn’t matter who watched whether he was playing the piano or hanging around naked. All that mattered was the thousand pounds he’d get for putting up with this shit.
Concentrate on that.

Tyler gasped when a jolt of pain shot through his chest and catapulted him back to reality. He looked down to see a metal clamp attached to his nipple. The tips were covered with rubber but it was still painful.

“Hurt?” Lu cocked one eyebrow.

“Yes, it fucking does. Some warning would have been good.”

The bastard grinned and pushed down a small circle of rubber over the tips, pinching them tighter together, increasing the pressure beyond guilty pleasure into severe discomfort.

“Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” Tyler gasped.

A clamp pinched his other nipple and as he squirmed, groaned and loudly protested, Lu attached more of them down the sides of his body. He’d seen pictures online of guys having this done, but it hurt more than he’d thought it would, pain radiating through him as if he’d been cut with a knife.
Shit.

“You call me sir. Say thank you,” Lu said.

“Fuck off, wanker,” Tyler muttered through gritted teeth.

“Do as I say.”

No.

Lu fastened a clamp to his balls and Tyler only just repressed a wail of pain. “Ouch. Stop it. Fucking stop it. Help. That’s my word. Help. And I’m saying it now. I didn’t agree to this.”

“You shut mouth.”

His vehement protests drew more people and he spotted Jeremy with Prescott.
Oh damn.
Lu pressed a clip onto his cock and Tyler cried out, “Fuck it. Help.”

He knew Lu heard him, but the fucker just smiled and before Tyler realized what he was going to do, a silicon ball was forced into his mouth. As Lu tied it in place, Tyler thrashed his head from side to side. Panic surged in his chest as his breathing was restricted.
No, no, no, no, no.

“You okay. I know what I do,” Lu whispered in his ear. “I look after you. Keep safe. They like when you struggle. Keep doing it.”

He tried to tell Lu to take out the gag, that he’d cope with the rest but not the fucking gag, but all that happened was his mouth filled with saliva, swallowing became impossible and he thought he’d choke or drown.
Swallow. Try. Do it.
Lu fastened more clamps to Tyler’s hips and the inside of his thighs, and he trembled in pain, anger and frustration—but fear had the strongest grip, its black tentacles sliding over his entire body.

Prescott stood smiling, drinking champagne, his arm around Jeremy, whose wide-eyed gaze was fixed on Tyler.
Tyler struggled to get free, tried to yell at Prescott to keep his fucking money, fought to make Lu see he wanted out. As fear of suffocation began to overwhelm everything else, he stopped struggling. Drawing enough air into his lungs through his nose proved difficult enough.

Tyler closed his eyes and tried to lose himself in one of Rachmaninoff’s pieces, imagining his fingers flying over the keys while all too aware of Lu fastening more and more clamps to his body and then bloody well flicking them.
Bastard.
Every time Tyler thought he could stand this without his head exploding, the clip would fasten on some ultra-sensitive spot and send lightning wicking through his body, and when Lu tightened the attachment, he thrashed involuntarily, the rope chaffing his wrists and ankles.