by Wayward Ink
“Why not?”
“I screwed up, all right?” Paul’s gaze dropped to the floor. “He doesn’t want me anymore.”
“So why the fuck are you here? What game are you playing?”
“No game.”
“What the fuck did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“When you come here asking me to fill your shoes, even for a night, it matters. So. What. Did. You. Do?”
“I cheated on him.”
“I see.”
There wasn’t really anything more to say. Jackson hated cheaters, and he had never thought one of his friends might be one, much less Paul. Friends for years, Jackson had always admired Paul’s ethics. Granted, they had somehow drifted apart in the time Jackson had been away with his job, but he didn’t think Paul could have changed so much in a little under two years. Cheating on someone was the lowest kind of betrayal in Jackson’s book. He ought to know; he’d been on the receiving end of that.
“No, you don’t. I’ve gone through a rough patch.”
Jackson barely contained the sneer. They all said that.
“I’m not making excuses. I’m just telling you what happened.”
“It’s none of my business.”
“You deserve the truth. I brought my problems here. I could at least give you the facts.”
Though reluctant, Jackson nodded his acceptance to hear more.
“I was messed up. I had problems at work. I fucked up a contract and things didn’t go well. I put in a lot of overtime to make up for this and became so wrapped up in my problems, I forgot about Michael. I was going home to him, but he didn’t factor in my thoughts. He tried to talk with me, but I brushed him off every time.”
Paul paused, staring out into nowhere.
“Then Nicky came along.” Paul shrugged. “I fell for him. He was feeding my ego, while Michael called me on my bullshit. I was such an ass that I didn’t even try to protect Michael from the truth. He found out about us quite quickly and threw me out.”
Good for him, Jackson thought. But he kept it to himself. Paul, no matter his flaws, was still his friend. “So why are you here now?”
“Because I want to make up to him. I do love him, you know. I lost my chance, but I can at least give him this. And he won’t trust a stranger.”
He should very well not trust a stranger, for crying out loud. It was good that at least one of them was thinking straight.
“But no safe word? What are you thinking?” No matter how much he wanted to say yes, it wasn’t safe.
“It’s a long-standing fantasy of his. Playing with a virtual stranger without a security blanket.”
“Are you still together?”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I want to know where I stand.”
JACKSON MULLED OVER the decision the entire night. Why did he accept? It wasn’t his business what happened between Paul and Michael. Hell, he’d only met the man once, and that was in passing. Granted, Paul was a friend, or had been once, but was that grounds enough to get in the middle of this?
And playing without a safe word—he hadn’t done it before. He avoided it like plague, especially since it was a fantasy of his own. One he considered too dangerous for everyone involved and kept to himself. So what if his heart had jumped when he heard the offer? If it had been anyone but Paul, Jackson would have most likely refused to take part, no matter how tempting it had sounded. An entire night with a trained, obedient sub. His to torture, to pleasure. His to fuck if he so wanted.
And the power—so much of it. To have someone at his feet, completely at his mercy, was something he had fantasized about for a long time. He had both dreamed and dreaded it. How would he handle it?
He should have said no.
But if he had refused, Paul would have made the request to someone else. And perhaps that someone wouldn’t have his ethics or his experience. Michael could get seriously hurt, and in the end, it wouldn’t matter if it happened on purpose or not. At least Jackson knew he would do everything he could to avoid this.
Happy that he had found a way to put his mind at ease, he started working out a plan for the night. But first, he needed to go and see Michael.
“HI, MICHAEL.”
“Hi.” Michael fidgeted, barely meeting Jackson’s eyes.
“May I come in?”
“Yes, sorry. Please come in.”
Michael motioned Jackson inside, and Jackson stepped forward with a smile, trying to put Michael at ease.
“Would you like some coffee or tea?” Michael’s voice broke, and he glanced around as if he hoped to find something to help him feel more comfortable.
“No, thank you. Some water would be nice though.”
“Right away.” Michael sprang into action. He waved Jackson toward the living room and dashed to the kitchen.
Jackson heard him rummaging through the cupboards, and then the water running. A moment later, Michael was back, carrying a full glass which he half-spilled on Jackson before he could set it down on the coffee table.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t worry about it; it’s just water. And thank you.”
Michael nodded and fidgeted and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.
“Do you want me to go?”
“What? No.” Michael gaped at him, horror plain on his face.
“May I sit down then?”
“Oh, God, sure. I’m sorry.” Michael jumped to fluff the throw pillows decorating the couch, before inviting Jackson to sit. Jackson retained a smile. The place was spotless, but if Michael needed the task to put himself at ease, then he could fluff all the pillows in the world as far as Jackson was concerned.
“Nothing to apologize for.”
“I’m sorry. I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be.”
“Yes, Si— Yes.”
Jackson let the slip go and smiled at the man as if nothing had happened.
“I’m—”
“I know, you’re sorry.”
Michael nodded and sat on the edge of the nearby chair. “Yes. I’m so nervous.”
“Why?”
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
The hope in Michael’s voice took Jackson by surprise. His own heart skipped a beat, and heat rose to his face. “Why am I here?”
“You’re my birthday gift.”
He said it with so much confidence, laughter bubbled out of Jackson. He shook his head in disbelief and settled more comfortably on the couch. “Am I now?”
“Yes.” This time, Michael found it in him to meet Jackson’s eyes. “Paul told me he talked with you.”
“He did? What else did he say?”
“That he told you about my fantasy.”
“True. But why don’t you tell me what you want.”
Michael swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, but he didn’t look away. “I want a night with no strings attached and no safe word.”
“That’s what Paul said. But tell me something, and keep in mind that this is very important, so please answer honestly—”
“Yes, Sir, I will.”
“Are you suicidal?”
Michael’s eyes widened in surprise. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Jackson searched Michael’s face and nodded, satisfied with what he saw. There was hope and arousal written there, mixed with anxiousness and perhaps a little fear, and it drew Jackson in more than it should. He loved his subs to feel anxiousness, even a bit nervous. Keeping them guessing put them in the perfect headspace, while making Jackson feel all-powerful.
The hope, on the other hand, was something he always found humbling. There were many expectations. Could he rise to the occasion? With Michael in front of him, looking so innocent, so… perfect, Jackson felt the pressure even more.
But what he didn’t like was the fear. That was one thing that
had no place in the D/s world; not where Jackson was concerned. He knew it came with the territory, especially for new pairings, and that it would disappear in time, but it bothered him nonetheless.
“Let’s talk limits.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. No safe word.”
“I see. Health issues that I should know about?”
“I’m clean. No diseases, no heart condition, and no breathing issues.”
“If we do this—if—what happens if you change your mind? How will I know?”
“I won’t.”
Jackson held Michael’s gaze, making sure he got his point across. “If you do, call me before the scene.”
Michael nodded.
“Use your words.”
Michael’s pupils dilated and his lips parted slightly at the command, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now, ground rules. If I ask you something, you will answer honestly. You will let me know if something is wrong as soon as it happens or you realize it.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You will come to my place. Ask Paul to bring you. Bring your toys. Any questions?”
“No, Sir.”
“Then I’ll expect you tomorrow evening.”
“Yes, Sir. Thank you.”
Jackson picked up his glass and drank the water before climbing to his feet and heading out. He took his time, basking in the play of emotions on Michael’s face. Jackson remembered the first time he’d met the guy over three years ago. Michael looked so young, so carefree. So full of potential, and so attractive—perhaps for all of those reasons—and for a moment he’d envied Paul. For what he had, and for what he might have with the potential Jackson saw in Michael.
Looking at Michael now, Jackson realized he hadn’t changed that much. He might be older, perhaps wiser, but beneath that he was still the young man Jackson had met before.
And now was his chance to find out if he’d been right back then.
“PICK OUT THREE ITEMS.”
With Michael in front of him, almost naked and at his mercy, Jackson wasn’t the fun, easygoing guy anymore. He felt calmness spread through his body as his mind cleared and his senses opened. His focus was on Michael, on his reactions and facial expressions. He would pick up on changes in the man’s mood, in his posture, and his movements.
“Sir?”
“You heard me.” Jackson gestured at the box in front of them, his voice firm.
“Which three?”
“Whichever you want.”
Jackson watched Michael shift from foot to foot while staring at the open toy chest on the table. What would the man choose? Something he liked or something he disliked? His own gaze drifted to the paraphernalia on display and he smiled to himself. Floggers, whips, paddles, crops, cuffs, bondage gear—they were all there. There was even a blue wand. Everything a Dom might want. In fact, it was far more than Jackson had expected to find in Michael and Paul’s possession when he accepted this job.
Jackson’s eyes flew to Paul. His friend stood on the opposite side of the room, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, carefully watching Michael. There was nothing on his face to let on what he was thinking or what he expected from this encounter.
There had been no limits set for the scene, no safe word for Michael to use if needed. And there was no possibility for Paul to stop the scene if Jackson did something Paul didn’t want or like. Only if Jackson did something that hurt Michael could Paul intervene.
Reluctant to accept this arrangement, no matter how his heart jerked and his blood rushed at the thought, Jackson had asked Paul to remain with them throughout the scene. Paul was not supposed to interfere in the play, unless Michael was in danger or his limits had been crossed, thus taking away none of the thrill. He would hold the safe word for Michael.
Pirates. That was all Paul had to say to ensure both Michael and Jackson’s safety. One word to stop everything. The one thing Jackson had never played without. The word itself had differed, depending on the sub’s wishes, but it had always been there. Up until tonight, when it didn’t sit with the sub but with someone not directly involved in the scene.
Of course, he had never played with another man’s sub while said man was in the same room either; but he had a feeling he was going to enjoy it as soon as he got over the stage fright.
Michael hovered his hand over the display, bringing Jackson back to the present. What would he choose?
Before touching any of the items, Michael glanced back at his Dom.
“No, don’t look at him. You must choose on your own.”
Michael swallowed and nodded, dropping his gaze to the array in front of him.
“What was that? Speak up.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Remember the rules. You are to speak loud and clear. You are to offer feedback whenever requested.” Jackson rose from his seat and walked around the table to Michael.
“You will obey my commands as swiftly and as accurately as possible. Failure to do so will bring punishment. Lots and lots of it.” Jackson paused, carefully watching Michael’s reactions. “Or I can simply stop.” Michael’s deep inhale told Jackson he had hit the mark. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now, take your pick, and choose wisely.”
Michael jumped to comply, his hand dancing over the chest. He took out a large plug with a long tail dangling from it, a black leather muzzle, and a set of well-worn ropes. He lined each item up on the table in front of Jackson and stood back, waiting.
“I see.”
Why these particular ones? He knew from Paul that Michael was into mild bondage, so that explained the ropes. But what about the rest? Was he into pet play as well? Or was that something he didn’t want? Judging by how new the muzzle looked, it hadn’t been used much, if ever. But did that mean he wasn’t into it or that he hadn’t tried it before and wanted to do so now? He dismissed the thought and the item, having no intention in pursuing that particular fantasy.
His eyes on Michael, he took the rope and ran it through his fingers. Michael shuddered when Jackson grabbed it, but remained silent. Jackson felt his mind sharpen, his blood simmering in his veins.
Placing the rope back on the counter, he run his finger down the length of the plug Michael had set aside. It was thick around the base, and long—much bigger than Jackson’s own cock—but the image of it shoved up Michael’s ass held no appeal.
Michael swallowed audibly, carefully following Jackson’s every move.
Jackson gathered the three objects and put them aside. “My turn now.”
“Sir?”
“It’s my turn to pick out my items.”
Michael fidgeted. Behind him, Paul’s presence seemed larger than life. He hadn’t expected to feel it so intently. Right then, Paul wasn’t his friend. He was a Dom supervising Jackson’s work. He hadn’t had a tutor in ages, and Paul was a distraction he didn’t need. Not when he was trying to focus on Michael.
Ignoring Paul, Jackson pulled the chest closer and examined it, all the while keeping a close watch on Michael’s reactions. Every twitch, every tremble would tell him something.
He touched the leather of the cuffs and the suede of the floggers. He tested the firmness of the gags. For an instant, he toyed with the idea of using the gag spreader, but discarded it just as quickly. He liked the musicality of Michael’s voice, and he wanted to hear more from him, to hear him in throes of passion or strained by pain. Using the lip spreader would prevent that. Instead, he picked up a set of four thick leather cuffs linked together by metal chains.
He debated using a whip over a flogger, but decided against it. Perhaps the whip was more impressive, its sting harsh, but in the right hands, the flogger could run just as deep. He chose a red one with long, knotted cords and set it by the cuffs.
What else? A plug, after all? But none of them—and there were several—grabbed his attention. He
ignored Michael’s short inhale as he touched a handmade glass plug and dived in for the candles beneath them. When he extracted a silk blind fold, Michael jerked, his mouth opening and closing, but he remained silent.
“Yes?”
“You said three.”
“No, I said you have to pick out three. I didn’t set any number for myself.” Jackson paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. “I can choose as many as I like.” To prove his statement, he took another item from the box and placed it by the others. A cock ring this time. “See?”
Michael’s eyes bulged at the sight and he shook his head.
“Is there something you want to say? You may speak.”
“N-n-n… no, Sir.”
“Very well.”
The blue wand was next. Michael shuddered, a silent gasp parting his lips. Jackson couldn’t see Michael’s eyes, but he imagined the pupils would be wide in shock and arousal. His own skin prickled in anticipation.
“Of course, I could always use the whole box.”
Michael’s head snapped up and color drained from his face. Jackson met his gaze head-on, his brow rising in challenge.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Very well. Go upstairs, make a right, and enter the first room. Wait for me there. Naked.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Michael glanced at the toys on the table, but he followed Jackson’s command without further comment. Jackson watched him go, admiring his obedience and the trust he obviously had in Paul’s choice, despite everything that had happened between them.
Once Michael was out of the room, Jackson turned to Paul, who, so far, had been quiet, just as he’d promised.
Jackson pointed to the table. “Is there anything I need to know before following your boy upstairs?”
They both knew what was being asked. Did Michael have issues with any of the paraphernalia chosen? Were there any limits Jackson didn’t know about, or perhaps a medical condition he should be aware of before starting the fun?
“No.” Paul met his eyes, honesty and trust written clearly on his face.