His muscles hurt just a bit today, but he was used to it. At work, where his colleagues respected him for his skills and he had a desk and chair configured to his needs, he hardly thought about his awkward movements.
But here, where everyone would be judging him on his body, it might as well be a death sentence.
He gave himself a mental pep talk. Just go to the bar and order a drink, Micah. You’re just here to look. Though the plastic wristband that he’d asked for when he walked in declared him a sub who was open to playing, he wasn’t going to have any expectations.
All you have to do is walk to the bar and order a drink. They didn’t kick you out yet, and if someone messes with you, they’re supposed to have people to break it up. You’re not here to get laid tonight, just to look around. Go get the damn drink.
He pulled the locker room door open too quickly and almost hit himself with it. Great start. But he was going to do this.
He made his way slowly across the room, eyes fixed on a section of empty bar stools. It felt like the whole room was looking at him, though that couldn’t possibly be true. He could still hear the quiet murmur of conversation, soft gasps and a sharp slap.
Out of the corner of his eye, Micah saw a scantily-clad sub on his knees, tears leaking from his eyes as an older man fucked his mouth. He looked like he was in ecstasy. The Dom certainly wasn’t looking at Micah; his gaze was fixed solely on his sub.
Micah didn’t let himself look any more. Didn’t even let himself imagine. But that was what he wanted. Someone to take control like that, their fingers tight in his hair. Someone who would focus on him that intently.
Micah peeked out from under his shaggy bangs as he moved toward the bar. Around the room, men sat in clusters or couples. Subs knelt on the floor or snuggled into their Doms’ laps.
A cluster of subs giggled and chattered in one corner, while the Doms seemed to be more scattered around the room, lounging in the black leather chairs.
Micah didn’t dare let himself think that one of them might be interested in him. But maybe he could watch a bit and figure out how it was all done.
He had heard that subs weren’t supposed to approach Doms, or sometimes even look at them, but there had to be something they did to express interest, right?
God, were people still looking at him? He felt like it. That tingle on the back of his neck.
At last, he reached the bar. It looked like most people just ordered at the bar and then went back to their chairs, but he hitched his way up onto a bar stool anyway. At least this way he could look busy. There was a mirror behind the bar that would let him check out the room discreetly too.
He tried to scan the room, his view broken slightly by the colorful bottles. Anyone who’d been watching him when he first entered the room had gone back to their own business. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.
For a moment, his eyes met in the mirror with a man from across the room.
Micah quickly looked down. Damn, the man had been gorgeous. His blue jeans and plain, black t-shirt did nothing to hide his firm muscles.
The way he sat in his chair, legs spread as though it was his due to have subs kneeling at his feet, spoke more about his ability to Dominate than any plastic wristband could.
From that distance, Micah couldn’t see his eyes, but he’d bet they were a dark black to match his curly black hair. His olive skin suggested that he might be South American or Mediterranean, but Micah couldn’t tell.
Was that who had been looking at him? The idea was both terrifying and electrifying. But looking didn’t mean anything, he reminded himself sternly.
Micah snuck another look at the mirror, but he couldn’t seem to find the man again. He supposed that he might be behind some of the people crossing the lounge, or he might have just turned away, his back indistinguishable in the crowd. Had Micah imagined it all?
He turned his attention to the bar. The two bartenders were dressed in identical silver lamé jock straps.
Micah noted with some envy that one of them wore a heavy leather collar with a stylized lock nestled in the hollow of his throat. Their muscles shone in the soft light and their moves were fluid and graceful. That would never be him.
It was clear that the bartenders were both busy. One was chatting and mixing drinks for a crowd of six or eight men at the other end of the bar. The other put a few more drinks on a tray carried it off.
As he passed Micah, he called out over his shoulder that he’d be right back to get his order.
Bars were another tricky place for Micah. He wasn’t supposed to drink because it interfered with his medications. But drinking was a social norm, and he didn’t want to look like a pansy for ordering something virgin when he was allowed one drink if he wanted to play. Moreover, he was feeling nervous, dammit.
He had just decided on his order when the light shifted, and he realized that someone was sitting beside him. There were plenty of empty seats on both sides which meant that, oh fuck, whoever it was sat next to him on purpose.
He looked up in the mirror first. Oh God, oh God, oh God. It was him. Sitting so close that Micah could feel the heat across the inches that separated their bodies.
Even worse, he wasn’t looking away, not even to check out Micah’s body. He was looking straight into the mirror, meeting Micah’s gaze.
Micah felt a flush warm his cheeks and then travel down his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
He looked down at his hands. At least if he’d gotten a drink already, he could have taken a sip to have something to do. Or chugged it all down.
The man shifted closer. His voice was deep and resonant, but soft enough to keep their conversation private. “First time here?”
Was it that obvious? “Yeah, uh… yes, um, Sir?” That’s what he was supposed to say, right? He was such a shit show.
The Dom chuckled, but it sounded kind, not mocking. “You looking for someone to call Sir tonight?”
Micah risked a glance up. Not in the mirror this time. He was so close that he could see the dark stubble on the man’s chin. How would it feel on his body? And the way that the man was looking at him—like he could see everything in him. Like Micah was the focus of his whole universe. Micah shivered.
Yes, his eyes were black.
“I, um, I… you might not want me… Sir.”
“And why is that?”
Micah gestured helplessly at the crutch, where it leaned against the bar on his other side. “I have cerebral palsy.”
“What does that mean?”
Micah hated this part. He had the spiel down—he’d either gotten an infection or his brain hadn’t gotten enough oxygen just before or during his birth and a small part of his brain was damaged.
It didn’t impact his intellect, but his muscles might be too tight or too loose, and he occasionally made spastic movements. It wasn’t genetic and it wouldn’t get any worse, but since he was already doing all the recommended exercises from his physical therapist, it wouldn’t get any better, either.
He opened his mouth to answer, but the Dom stopped him with a finger to his lips. His mouth had never felt so erogenous before.
The sexy man leaned in close, his mouth to Micah’s ear. “No, what I meant was, what does that mean when I’m fucking you?”
A shudder swept through his body and Micah grabbed the edge of the counter. He needed something to hang on to.
Oh, God. They were going to, this man was going to… His cock came to sudden attention beneath the packer.
He realized that he still needed to answer. Fortunately, he had this one by rote, too.
“It means that I can’t support my own body weight for very long, standing or kneeling. And my legs might move in ways that I don’t intend. My arms are fine, but my legs… I could even kick you without meaning to.” Hopefully his honesty would be worth something.
The Dom gave that rich chuckle again. “Maybe I’ll just have to tie you up then.”
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Micah had to look up then, to make sure that he wasn’t just imagining all of this. Or being played, though this didn’t feel like it.
This was everything that he wanted. The feel of ropes on his skin, letting everything go while this confident man had his way with him.
The man’s dark eyes were warm with desire. Micah felt like he was going to melt into the chair. He could look into those deep eyes all night.
Unfortunately, that was when the bartender came back. “Good evening, Master Eric. What can I get for you?”
Micah started to answer, but realized he hadn’t been asked a question. Master Eric had been asked a question. Now he knew the man’s name.
It was both disorienting and exciting to be in this world of submission. The bartender had said he’d get Micah’s order earlier, but now that a Dom was standing beside him, he wasn’t being asked.
Did that mean that Master Eric was going to order for him? Or was it just a protocol that Doms got to order before subs?
Now that he thought about it, how often did Master Eric come here? The bartender sounded awfully familiar with him. Had they dated before? Or, he tested out the new lingo in his brain, had a scene together?
Master Eric’s deep voice distracted him from his thoughts. “Hey Riley, good to see you.” The fondness in his voice was apparent. Micah felt his heart sinking. “I’ll have a mint lemonade. Have you ordered yet, boy?”
That name, boy, sparked something alive inside of Micah. But, um, what? A mint lemonade?
That sounded exactly like what he wanted, but was this kindergarten? He could literally see people fucking in the mirror, and the sexy Dom was ordering a lemonade?
“I, uh, haven’t ordered yet. I was going to get…”
Micah stopped talking when he felt the scratch of Master Eric’s scruff along his neck. His deep voice curled around his ear like a caress.
“I’m getting your drink, boy, and I’m setting a limit at anything harder than a beer. I don’t drink while I’m playing, and I want you to understand and remember everything I do to you.”
Micah shivered again. This was heady stuff, that mix of respect and control. In the rest of his life, he hated when anyone tried to baby him or make decisions for him. Here, he just felt safe and cared for. “I’d like a mint lemonade, too.”
“Good boy,” Master Eric whispered in his ear, sending shivers down his spine. “I left my jacket on a chair over there. It’s navy blue. Go wait for me there.”
“Yes, Sir.” This time the words rolled off his lips. The words he’d been waiting to say.
He picked up the crutch and tried not to feel self-conscious as he began to walk. He spotted the jacket quickly and started toward the chair.
Everything had just happened so fast that his mind was whirling. He tried to use the brief walk to give himself time to think. Was the Dom watching him? Was he turned off by his lumbering gait? Was he going to…?
Oh. Fuck. Micah had gotten so distracted by their sexy encounter, and the easy acceptance of his disability, that he’d forgotten to mention his other situation. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He should have just mentioned it first thing. Should have blurted it out. Got it printed on a fucking t-shirt. Or tattooed on his forehead. Now that he’d gotten his hopes up, the disappointment was going to be so much worse.
He turned to look over his shoulder. Master Eric had the two drinks and was walking toward him with a predatory grin, which only widened when he saw Micah’s face. He knew he must look like a frightened rabbit.
Micah’s heart was thumping, but for all the wrong reasons. He scurried toward the chair so they wouldn’t have the embarrassing conversation about what was under his shorts—or rather, what wasn’t under his shorts—in the middle of the room.
In his panic, his muscles started to tighten and his leg shot out ahead of him, knocking painfully into a side table. He swung around his crutch, scrabbling for balance, and ended up banging his other knee into a chair.
His bare toes throbbed, but that was nothing compared to his mortification. He wanted to sink into the floor, and just erase the entire night from his memory. He should never have come.
Strong arms circled him from behind. He found his whole, nearly naked body pressed against what must be Eric’s soft t-shirt and rough denim. A hard length pressed against his ass, making him shiver even as his embarrassment ate him alive.
Master Eric didn’t try to pull him or make him straighten up, just curved around Micah’s back so that his whole body was warm.
Only the palms of Master Eric’s hands were cool. From carrying the lemonade, came Micah’s irrelevant thought. But they were warming up fast.
Master Eric nuzzled his ear. “Are you alright?”
“My toes will probably be bruised in the morning. But that mostly hurt my ego. I promise I can walk across a room without making a fool of myself. I just…” freaked out was how he was going to finish.
“Got a little nervous? Excited?”
“Um… kind of. It only happens when I’m really tired or emotional. I, um, realized that I forgot to tell you something. That I, uh, should have told you before.”
“Take your time, boy. Do you want to sit down first and then tell me?”
Micah shook his head. “No, better to get it over with. I, um, if you’re not interested after I tell you, I’ll understand. Don’t feel, um, obligated. I didn’t mean to lead you on.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” Slowly, he straightened his back, bringing Micah with him until they were both upright. Because of their positions, he couldn’t see Master Eric’s face and he wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.
Micah swallowed. Then swallowed again. “I’m trans.” Oh please, oh please, oh please let him not be angry.
Master Eric’s arms tightened infinitesimally around him and then relaxed, but he didn’t let go. “Trans meaning transgendered? FTM?”
“Yeah.”
“Yes, what?”
It should have been a rebuke, but they were some of the sweetest words Micah had ever heard. “Yes, sir.”
“Anything else you need to tell me?”
Master Eric’s warm hands stroked slowly down his side. One of his strong fingers caught a metal loop on Micah’s chest and gave it a firm tug, sending a jolt through his body. Was it really going to be that easy? “I, um, haven’t really done this before. I mean, like, my ex kind of tried... I mean, but…”
The Dom licked along his neck and then nibbled up to his ear. “Oh, I could see that, boy. I’m looking forward to being your first.” He bit Micah’s earlobe.
Micah was floating at the touch, relaxing into that perfect intermingling of pleasure with just a hint of pain.
Until his legs betrayed him. Losing all tone, he started to slip down to the floor until Master Eric caught him up fast against his body.
With a simple turn, the Dom settled into the nearest chair and pulled Micah down into his lap. It was another disorienting moment, and not just physically.
Micah fought all day for control of his body, control of his life. He hated anyone trying to do anything for him. But this was completely different.
“Face me. Knees apart. Hands behind you.” Master Eric wasn’t tossing him around because he was weak or disabled. He was taking control, and it was hot as fuck.
Micah scrambled to obey. The command was less than a dozen words, but he was so horny and anxious he could barely think. Knees apart. Hands behind. Right.
Master Eric helped guide his disobedient legs into place. The black, leather chair was just wide enough for Micah’s knees to fold at either side of the Dom’s hips.
Then he looked up. He’d been so caught up in getting his body arranged that he hadn’t thought of the end result.
Master Eric’s lips were inches from his own, his deep brown eyes gleaming with desire. Their chests were so close that he could feel the Dom’s warmth. If he even drew in a deep breath they’d be touching.
; Lower down… Micah suppressed a groan. The man’s cock was pressing up against his ass. He shifted slightly and it forced the packer he was wearing against his own smaller, but very sensitive, dick.
Micah clasped his hands behind him. He wanted to please this man, but it also gave him somewhere to divert all his nervous energy. He clenched his fingers together.
“Let’s talk, boy.”
Every word out of the man’s mouth sounded sinful. He couldn’t think of what there was to talk about, but if it was what his master, well his master for the evening, wanted, then he would give it to him.
Chapter 2
Eric
From the moment that the sweet little sub opened the door, Eric had his eye on him. He had a slim, sexy body that even the crutch couldn’t detract from. His barely-there underwear and leather harness were bold and risqué for someone so apparently new to the scene.
He must have been wanting this for a long time.
Eric could already feel the smooth leather under his palms, the slick fabric as he ran his fingertips over that impressive package.
The sub’s cheeks were smoothly shaved, with just a hint of stubble. By his fresh face, Eric judged him to be in his late twenties, but the hint of grey at his temples could have put him well into his thirties. Eric loved a hint of grey like that.
The boy’s shoulders and pecs were deliciously outlined by the leather harness, every muscle defined. They were the bulging muscles of a gym rat, but didn’t match the rest of his body, which was trim, but not especially cut.
Eric realized that he must use his arms for mobility, though there might be some weights thrown in there as well.
Either way, he wanted to lick those delicious, defined muscles. Following the boy’s slow progress with his eyes, he realized that he wanted to lick his thin, soft calves even more.
He walked with a syncopated rhythm, right foot, crutch, pause, left foot. His right hip tilted outward as he walked, giving a glimpse of his inner thigh, lightly dusted with hair.
He was a medium height, which worked well for Eric who wasn’t overly tall himself. They’d fit together perfectly.
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