Hands were suddenly propelling Jace forward as the crowd magically parted. Before he realized what was happening, he’d been half-hoisted, half-pushed up onto the platform. He looked out into the crowd, his heart smashing like a mallet in his chest. He saw Carlo, who smiled and nodded encouragingly, his dark eyes caressing Jace like an embrace. “Courage,” Carlo mouthed. “You can do it.”
Jace felt a veneer of calm settle over his nerves. Pulling back his shoulders, he turned to face Brandon.
“What’s your name?” Brandon asked.
“Jace,” he replied, pleased his voice didn’t shake.
“And your safeword?”
“Hammer.”
“Hammer,” Brandon repeated. “Hard limits?”
Thinking of the prior scene, Jace said, “No blood play. Or bullwhips. I don’t like bullwhips or canes.”
Brandon nodded, his icy blue eyes glinting. “No problem. Anything else, Jace? Speak now or forever hold your”—he gripped his crotch, flashing a sudden grin to the crowd gathered below them—“piece.”
Jace felt himself flushing as the men below him laughed. Lifting his chin, he added, “I want a pure BDSM scene. No jerking off for the crowd.” Boos added to the laughter. Jace’s body felt hot, his head light. He kept his eyes on Brandon.
“Ignore them,” Brandon instructed, serious now, his voice at once soothing and commanding. “You and I are the only ones who matter.” Brandon tilted his head appraisingly as he regarded Jace. “I think we’ll go with a flogging. I don’t stop until you fly or until you use your safeword. Sound good?”
Jace swallowed hard but nodded. He could handle this. More to the point, he needed it.
“Strip.” There was no question in Brandon’s tone. It was an order, and instinctively, Jace reached for the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head. There were several appreciative whistles from the crowd, though otherwise they had quieted.
Brandon crossed his arms, waiting, though his expression said he wouldn’t wait too long. While nervous in front of all these leering guys, Jace wasn’t particularly modest, and he knew he had a good body. He pulled off his boots and socks and unzipped and removed his jeans, placing everything in a pile toward the back of the stage.
Taking a breath, he pulled down his briefs and kicked them aside. Predictably, the catcalls and hooting started up once more. Jace did his best to ignore them, keeping his focus on the Dom. Brandon swept his naked body with an appreciative gaze and then met his eyes. “You want to be cuffed or can you stay in position on your own?”
Jace lifted his arms and laced his fingers behind his head. He moved his bare feet on the smooth, polished wood until they were planted shoulder-width apart. “I can stay in position.”
Brandon nodded. One of the staff appeared by the stage, a large, black flogger in his hand. He held it up to Brandon, who reached for it. He ran his fingers sensually through the dozens of long leather tresses, his eyes fixed on Jace. He brought the flogger close to Jace’s face. “Kiss it,” he commanded, offering the long, suede-wrapped handle.
Jace touched his lips to the flogger, unable to stop the small sigh of desire that escaped as Brandon pulled the handle away. “Turn around,” Brandon said. “I’ll start slowly in order to assess your tolerance.”
Jace turned, his mind now firmly on the gorgeous flogger in Brandon’s capable hands. The first kiss of leather landed lightly, whispering over his flesh like a promise. Jace drew in a deep, slow breath and let it out again, just as slowly. He loved the way erotic pain lifted him out of himself as it slowed and stilled his otherwise constantly whirring mind. As Brandon continued to flog him, the crowd beneath them fell away.
Jace loved the flogger above all instruments of erotic pain. He loved everything about it, from the rich scent of fine leather, to its sharp but sensual bite, to the way it covered so much skin at once, blanketing him in sensation as it whipped him clean.
“You can take more, I think.” Brandon’s voice was barely audible now over the sound of Jace’s heartbeat pulsing in his ears. He became aware of the slapping sound of the tresses as they smacked his ass, back and shoulders in a steady rhythm. He gasped as the soft leather tresses suddenly snaked out in a flurry of stinging darts that lit his skin on fire. He clamped his fingers tighter against the back of his neck, jarred out of his reverie.
Though intellectually he understood his need for erotic pain, as usually happened at this point in a whipping, Jace wondered what the hell he’d been thinking. What had made him believe being beaten with a heavy, stinging flogger was a good thing? What the fuck was wrong with him that he sought out this experience again and again and again, somehow imagining this time it would be different? It hurt like a motherfucker! He was going to make a fool of himself in front of all these seasoned players. He would fall out of position. He would turn around and grab the damn flogger that was flaying him alive and hurl it across the room.
Jace shifted slightly in an effort to keep his balance. The strokes began to increase in intensity, the leather thudding against him with the force of fists. Jace could hear Brandon grunting behind him as he brought his full strength to bear with each thrashing blow.
Fuck. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, it hurts!
Jace felt dizzy, unable to fill his lungs, to catch his breath. He was a hair’s breadth away from calling out his safeword—from giving up before the magic happened. Why was this so hard tonight? He’d had much more intense whippings. What was the deal?
The deal is you’re on display in front of a bunch of strangers, scening with a guy who doesn’t know you from Adam. You’re on your own, Jace.
That was it.
He was on his own.
Patrick wasn’t there to get him through. Jace realized he’d been waiting on some level for Patrick’s encouragement when the pain threatened to overwhelm the pleasure. Patrick had always talked him through the toughest parts. Patrick’s gone. He’s not coming back. The thought twisted like a barb into his mind.
The flogger hit him with such force he nearly staggered forward. Focus, Jace admonished himself. Desperately he fought the shadow of panic hovering on the edges of his psyche, ready to spring forward like a wolf if he let it. Jace opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d been squeezing shut and turned his head toward the room. He found Carlo easily in the crowd, as if he were the only real person standing amidst a group of mannequins.
He was watching Jace with those deep, dark eyes, and Jace heard Carlo’s voice in his head as clearly as if he’d been speaking aloud. Flow with the pain. Let it take you where you need to go. Breathe.
As if Carlo had spoken aloud, Jace nodded his thanks. He inhaled deeply, letting his lungs fill. He imagined his body easing and opening, the bones and muscles melting into the heat of his raw need. In…and out… In…and out… You can do it. Breathe through the pain.
The lashing, though just as intense as a moment before, became easier to bear. Instead of twisting away, Jace was now able to lean into the pain, embracing it like a long lost lover. He focused for as long as he could on Carlo until his head grew heavy, his eyelids fluttering closed.
The flogger continued to crash against his back, ass and shoulders but Jace no longer felt the pain. Or more accurately, he no longer experienced it as pain. He let his head fall back, his lips parting softly as wave after wave of deep, abiding peace sluiced through him until he was washed clean, as empty and smooth as sea glass, floating through peaceful, buoyant waters of pure serenity.
Jace became aware that the flogging had stopped. He was mildly startled by the burst of applause that penetrated the peace surrounding his spirit. Lifting his head, he smiled in the general direction of the sound, though his eyes weren’t quite ready to focus.
“Good job,” Brandon said, and the words of praise warmed Jace. A soft robe was draped around his shoulders and he realized with some surprise that Carlo was now on the stage with them.
“You were right, Carlo,” Brandon said, turning to the man with a
grin. “An excellent candidate.”
Jace looked with some confusion toward Carlo. Carlo just nodded and smiled. “Let’s go to the recovery room for some aftercare, Jace,” he said quietly. “We’ll talk more there.”
Still dazed, Jace allowed himself to be helped down from the stage. Carlo put his arm lightly around Jace as they walked through the playroom to the recovery room. Jace moved slowly, still caught in the dreamy weave of his altered state.
Once in the small room, which was unoccupied save for the two of them, Jace sank into a deep, comfortable sofa. Carlo went to the refrigerator and returned to Jace a moment later holding out a glass of cold orange juice, which Jace accepted gratefully.
Though he appreciated Carlo’s attention and concern, in a way he wished he was alone. The flogging had accomplished its goal of wiping his mind and heart clean, at least while it was in process, but now he felt curiously fragile. He was tired—weary to his bones. Everything he was facing out there beyond the comforting walls of this club would still be waiting when he walked out the door. No job, no money, no lover, no prospects, no future. He had nothing, and no one, to turn to. He was well and truly alone.
He took a deep breath, determined to hold it together in front of this stranger, however kind and well-intentioned the guy was. But then Carlo sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s hard sometimes. I know,” he said softly, as if he’d been reading Jace’s thoughts along with him. It was just the push he didn’t need, and Jace found himself careening over the edge of an emotional precipice, all vestiges of control obliterated with that single kind gesture. To his horror, he began to cry.
Even as he sobbed, shoulders shaking, tears and snot wetting his face and hands, he knew he was overreacting, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “I’m sorry,” he gasped, embarrassed that Carlo was witnessing this unmanly loss of control. “I’m sorry.”
“Shh,” Carlo said softly as he patted Jace’s back. “It’s okay to cry. There is no shame in feelings.”
Finally the tears slowed and Jace accepted the hand towel Carlo held out to him, using it to wipe his face. He fell back against the sofa with a sigh, managing to smile weakly at the older man. “Jesus. I don’t know what the hell happened. That was crazy.”
Carlo shook his head. “The experience with Brandon was very intense. It lowered a shield you had erected around your feelings. This release was a good thing, Jace. It will help to wash away some of the pain you’re carrying in your heart.” He paused, and then added, “The redhead. He hurt you?”
Jace snorted. “Yeah. I guess you could say that. It did kind of hurt to come home to find him in bed with a good friend of ours. It hurt even more to find out they’d been doing it for the past month while I was at work.” He closed his eyes, banishing the image from his mind.
“This happened recently?”
“Two days ago. Then today just added insult to the injury, I guess.”
“Today?”
Jace lifted the glass of juice and held its cool surface to his swollen eyelids. “Today I lost my job.”
“What do you do, Jace?”
“I’m in construction. Or I was until this morning, when my company declared bankruptcy and let all of us go without our final paycheck.”
Carlo looked genuinely sympathetic. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Then he smiled. “Though I may have an opportunity in which you might be interested.”
“Oh yeah? You know a crew who’s hiring in the Miami area?” Jace looked quizzically at Carlo. Unlike most of the guys who came out to the club in either jeans or leather, Carlo wore light gray trousers and an elegantly tailored darker gray blazer over a white shirt. He had the soft, smooth hands and clean, manicured nails of someone who'd never done a day’s physical labor in his life.
Carlo shook his head, still smiling. “No, no. Nothing like that. Actually, I represent an exclusive community located on a small private island in the Florida Keys. We cater to wealthy patrons in the gay BDSM community. We offer the finest in resort living, including every possible facet of a fully integrated BDSM lifestyle. Membership is by invitation only.”
Jace shook his head, his heart suddenly plummeting into his stomach. Had he misjudged this guy so thoroughly? “Wait—you’re not trying to sell me something, are you?”
Carlo’s smile widened into a grin as he shook his head. “Quite the contrary, Jace. You have something I want to buy. Something my community values very highly and will pay top dollar to procure.”
“Oh?” Jace replied, skeptical but intrigued. “And what’s that?”
“Your submission.”
Jace stared, wondering what Carlo’s pitch was going to be, his mind still functioning in slow motion after the whipping and the cry. Top dollar sounded good, but how did you buy someone’s submission? His gut told him he could trust Carlo, but then, his gut had told him Patrick was the love of his life, so…
There was a soft knock at the door. “Come,” Carlo called out. The door opened and a slight man dressed in the staff uniform of black leather chaps and a codpiece held a neatly folded pile of clothing that Jace recognized as his. The man placed the clothing on a sofa beside Jace and left the room.
When he was dressed, Jace faced Carlo expectantly, though he kept his expression neutral. “Go on. I’m listening.”
Carlo smiled. “Club Hieròs is a community of likeminded men who live a BDSM lifestyle. We—”
“Club Heroes?” Jace interrupted.
Carlo shook his head. “The word is actually spelled h-i-e-r-o-s. The owner, Theon Papadopoulos, is of Greek descent and something of an historian. Hieròs Lokhos means sacred or sanctified troop in Greek. It refers to a particular group of soldiers that fought in the Theban army in Ancient Greece. They were an elite force consisting of a hundred and fifty pairs of male lovers.” Carlo shrugged. “Hence the club’s name, since our clientele is exclusively male and exclusively gay.”
“Okay,” Jace said slowly. He’d heard of places like this, but had never personally known anyone affiliated with one.
Carlo continued, “We have two types of residents—guests and clients. Guests sign up for the vacation experience of Club Hieròs. They have full access to all the amenities, including the use of staff subs, who cater to their every desire. Clients take things to a higher level. They also have access to our trainers—highly skilled Doms who will work hands-on with clients wishing to achieve a higher level of intensity in their personal D/s relationships, or just learn basic skills in bondage and erotic discipline. Most clients stay longer than just a week, some for as long as six months at a clip, if they wish.”
“And I would fit in…how?”
“You would be available as a submissive to anyone requiring your services. Your duties would include BDSM play, much like what you currently engage in at clubs like Brandon’s Lair, as well as full sexual service. You make yourself available to whoever takes a fancy to you. Of course, you would be paid handsomely for your services.”
“So wait,” Jace said, trying to wrap his head around what Carlo was offering, conflicted about what he was hearing. “I would be like a—a prostitute? Is that even legal?”
Carlo shook his head. “We don’t characterize it like that, any more than you might call what you did up on the stage tonight with Brandon prostitution. We’re a private club, and while men pay for membership, they are not paying for sex, not legally speaking.” As Jace tried to think these semantics through, Carlo continued in his richly accented English, “BDSM is by its nature a highly sensual experience, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I would,” Jace said. “That’s part of what makes it so powerful, I guess.”
Carlo nodded. “Our community offers that sensual experience in a safe, luxurious environment for men serious about BDSM. The guests and clients are willing to pay top dollar for our expertise and high level of service.”
“It definitely sounds intriguing,” Jace admitted. Especially given that I’m dead broke, he thoug
ht but didn’t add aloud. “So, where is this island, exactly?
“It’s in the Keys. A private island not far from Key Largo. Service contracts are generally for three months and can be renegotiated at the end of that time if all parties are in agreement.”
Jace was quiet as he pondered the possibilities. Living at some luxury resort and being paid to scene sounded like a pretty good gig, he had to admit, even if it only lasted a few months. Though he wasn’t a big fan of casual sex with strangers, he had no particular moral objection. The job sounded like a kind of extended vacation, with benefits. If the money was right, it would give him a chance to get back on his feet.
“You mentioned I would be paid, uh, handsomely?” Jace picked up his juice glass and took a sip while he waited for Carlo’s response, trying to assume a relaxed posture he didn’t feel. In fact Carlo’s offer was spinning like a whirligig through his brain, leaving a trail of hope and yearning in its wake. He only prayed it wasn’t too good to be true.
“You would receive seventy-five thousand dollars for the three-month term. Plus room and board and full access to all amenities on the island, of course.”
Jace choked on his juice. “What? Seventy-five thousand?” Shit, that was more than he earned in a year.
Carlo nodded, his perfect white teeth glinting against his tan skin as he smiled. “That’s right. You would receive twenty-five thousand in advance, so you can settle any affairs before arriving, and then the last fifty upon completion of the contract.”
What had sounded like a kind of fun vacation now sounded a whole lot more serious. That kind of money would put him way ahead of the game. He could buy a new truck, find a better place to live. He could get his general contractor license and go into business for himself. He searched Carlo’s face, looking for the catch. “That’s serious money.”
Switching Gears (Serving his Master Book 7) Page 7