Golden Boy Two-Volume Set

by Claire Thompson

  Now they had two healthy, beautiful children. Sandy was a nurse, working part-time to supplement Billy’s income at the garage. They certainly weren’t rich, but they were very happy. Billy hated when Hank would put down his wife Marla, sharing private information about her that made Billy uncomfortable and embarrassed. But, per his usual MO, Billy rarely confronted Hank or his father, or anyone. He was a peacekeeper, though now with the loss of Johnny, he wondered about the cost of his silence.

  He’d stood by for years, watching while Hank and his father harassed and teased Johnny, comforting his little brother later as best he could. In retrospect, Billy guessed it was pretty clear Johnny had been gay. He’d never had the kind of mad, gut-wrenching crush on a girl Hank and Billy did, instead remaining rather aloof or even indifferent to the attention he received from girls. And that attention was considerable, Billy recalled, as Johnny had definitely gotten the lion’s share of good looks in the Wilson family.

  While Billy and Hank favored their father, stocky and dark, Johnny was like their mother, tall and blond, with unusual green eyes, the irises rimmed with gold. His muscles were long and lean and though he was very strong and a good athlete, he never carried himself in the “tough guy” fashion Hank and their dad seemed to favor. Billy too, he had to admit, had tried to project a tough-guy image as well, at least when he was younger.

  But unlike his brother and father, who liked to tease Johnny for his choices and their perception of his failure to be a “man”, Billy had always supported Johnny, listening sympathetically to him at night in their shared bedroom about Johnny’s desire to take art class instead of shop, or his dream to be an artist or an architect. Even then they both knew it wasn’t an option—they had all been groomed from the time they could walk to work in their father’s auto shop, and that was that. One didn’t question Frank Wilson, not unless one was ready to pay a heavy price.

  Billy glanced at his watch. It was quitting time for his dad and Hank, who came in earlier than Billy did. Billy would stay and close up as he always did. Once he’d said good night, Billy sat down at the small plastic table where they usually ate their lunch, pushing aside old newspapers and junk mail for the shop. Taking his cell phone from his pocket, he dialed Johnny’s number, his fingers trembling ever so slightly.

  ~*~

  When Billy didn’t pick up, Johnny almost left a message. Almost. What was the point after all? What would he say? “Hi, this is your little brother. You know, the one you haven’t seen for months now. How are the kids? How’s Sandy? Does Dad still plan to shoot me on sight?”

  No, it was better Billy hadn’t answered. He’d only called to give Billy his new address anyway. He figured someone in the family should at least know where he lived now, in case of an emergency. It was official. Eric Méndez and Johnny Wilson were living together. It was surprising to Johnny and a little sad how few things he had acquired in his life as an adult. He’d only packed a few boxes of clothing, books and CDs. He really had little of value to show for seven years out of high school. He’d sold the futon couch, chair and dining room table to the new tenant his landlord had leased his place to, and that was that.

  Johnny was now living in Manhattan, going to school, working in a gallery, living as the sexual submissive to a dominant gay man. He was living a life his family would never understand, not in a thousand years, and he was happier than he’d ever dreamed of being. What would his big brother Billy make of that?

  ~*~

  “Come on now, Johnny. You can do better than that.” Eric held the riding crop in his right hand, his other hand on his hip as he stood behind his naked slave, who was standing with his hands behind his head, fingers interlaced, his legs spread, his firm ass red from the crop. He’d given Johnny a job and Johnny had failed. He was to take the crop without moving a muscle or making a sound, to prove what a disciplined slave he’d become.

  Eric had promised Johnny they would return to The Cavern one day, a very select BDSM club and the very place where Eric had nearly destroyed their relationship and Johnny’s confidence by pushing him too far, too fast. Johnny wanted to go back. He wanted to show everyone there how far he’d come as a slave, he told Eric. Eric wanted to show them too, but not before Johnny was truly ready. Thus they’d begun to train seriously, with Eric teaching Johnny to submit to various forms of physical and sensual torture with discipline and grace.

  As Johnny had sprawled out of position after only twenty-two strokes of the crop on the area just below his left ass cheek, grabbing the spot with both hands and hopping around the room, Eric knew they had a way to go. The Cavern was for pros, and though Eric loved him dearly, Johnny was clearly still an amateur.

  Johnny was breathing hard as Eric moved around to face him, noting with satisfaction Johnny’s still erect cock. Playfully Eric slapped it with the crop, only a tap. Johnny flinched, instinctively pulling back.

  Eric frowned. “Don’t move away from me, slave. You stay still, no matter what, understand?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Johnny whispered throatily.

  “Okay. We’ll try again. Fifty strokes on one spot. You stay still, you stay quiet, you exhibit the grace I know you possess.”

  Once again Johnny assumed the position, his legs spread in an “at ease” position, his hands behind his head, his eyes facing the wall, his ass thrust out just slightly to receive its leather due. Eric began to smack the back of his other thigh just below the muscular curve of Johnny’s ass. He well knew it was harder to take the crop on the thigh than the ass, but Johnny would be subjected to much rougher treatment at The Cavern, should they return.

  “Forty-two, forty-three…” Johnny had begun to twitch, shifting slightly on the balls of his feet, his breathing rapid and shallow, though to his credit he hadn’t fallen out of position.

  “Very good, very good,” Eric said softly as he delivered the fiftieth stroke. He dropped the crop, kneeling to lick the red, hot spot he’d created. He resisted his urge to make love right then to his beautiful golden boy. There would be time for that later. Now the training would continue.

  “You took that well, slave. We’ll work on it. We’ll work on spot whippings until you can stay as still as a statue, a willing object for your master’s twisted pleasures.” Eric, topless and barefoot, his cock straining against his faded jeans, stood up and moved in front of Johnny.

  How hot he looked with those gold rings gleaming against his hard, beautiful chest. Johnny’s nipples had fully healed since the piercing two months before. They looked so hot with the gold hoops piercing the flesh. Eric loved to lightly tug at the jewelry, drawing a moan from his lover. Johnny had told him they were far more sensitive now as a result of the piercing. Eric loved to run his tongue over them, sometimes lightly pulling on the ring with his tongue until Johnny’s pants of pleasure mingled sweetly with his whimpers of pain.

  They had yet to engage in real nipple torture however, as Eric had wanted to be absolutely sure his lover’s body had fully healed. Now, he had decided, was the time. “Are you ready to truly suffer for me, boy?” Eric took hold of each ring, pulling Johnny’s nipples taut before releasing them.

  Johnny, with his arms still raised, hands obediently locked behind his head, licked his lips and took a deep breath. “A specific question, slave, requires a direct answer.” Eric’s voice was firm, his eyes narrowed.

  “Yes, Sir,” Johnny said, his slightly trembling voice belied by his very erect cock, a drop of pre-cum glistening at its tip. Eric reached for Johnny’s cock, unable to resist its invitation. He stroked it gently for a moment, moving his hand lightly up and down the hard shaft, using the bit of pre-cum as a lubricant. Johnny moaned, closing his eyes, starting to lower his arms.

  Eric dropped his cock, slapping it as he admonished, “Did I tell you to move out of position, slave? That’s going to cost you.” Johnny’s eyes flew open as he hurriedly put his hands back behind his head. Eric knew his arms were probably tired, but he was young and strong and should be abl
e to hold his position a while longer.

  Eric grabbed Johnny’s shaven balls in one hand, squeezing until Johnny winced, though he didn’t try to pull away. “You need to be used roughly, don’t you, slave boy? You need what I do to you. While I do it for me, it gets you hot, doesn’t it, you little slut?” Johnny didn’t respond. Eric squeezed harder, pulling Johnny by his balls, forcing him to kneel. Johnny gasped.

  “Answer me, boy! You need this, don’t you? You need to be tortured and used because you are a masochistic slut.” Eric released his balls, instead pulling his head back by a handful of thick gold hair.

  “Oh Eric,” Johnny said, closing his eyes, his lips parting, a rapturous look on his face. Eric understood. While it might look and sound to an unenlightened casual observer as if Eric were being abusive to his lover, in fact he was feeding his soul, giving him what he’d craved all his life, though he hadn’t known it until he’d fallen into Eric’s arms. Feeling a rush of love, Eric bent down and kissed those parted lips, cradling Johnny’s head as their tongues swirled in a familiar but still delicious dance.

  The moment of tenderness passed as Eric stood, his slave still kneeling at his feet. They were in Eric’s playroom, a study he’d converted into a BDSM dungeon. Against the wall stood an antique sideboard filled with “toys” Eric had acquired over the years, including several very fine floggers and whips, leather and metal cuffs, cock rings, dildos, blindfolds and ball gags. Chains dangled from sturdy hooks in the ceiling, clips in place waiting for Johnny’s soft leather cuffs to be secured there. In the center of the room lay a thick, soft sheepskin rug for naked slaves to recover after a torture session.

  Eric moved to the sideboard, taking out their newest toys, purchased that weekend in their favorite BDSM sex shop in the Village. “Stand up, slave. I’m going to put your new cock strap in place and secure it to this chain.” He held up a Y chain, the bottom of which would be secured to the leather strap Eric would place snugly at the base of Johnny’s balls. The top two chains had small clamps at each end, ready to compress Johnny’s sensitized, pierced nipples. This was the first time Eric had used the clamps since Johnny had been pierced.

  He could see the fear in Johnny’s eyes as he pressed open the little rubber-sheathed alligator clip, moving it over Johnny’s right nipple. Instinctively Johnny stepped back. Eric said softly, “Johnny, do I need to restrain you?”

  Slowly Johnny shook his head, moving back toward his master. His cock, forced completely perpendicular by the leather restraint around his balls, was hard as a rock, despite his fear, because of his fear. “Breathe. You can do this. You can take it because you’re doing it for me.” As Eric spoke, he let the clip close down on Johnny’s nipple. Johnny took in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes closed.

  Eric smiled. “Good boy.” He clamped the second nipple. Again the sharp intake of breath but otherwise Johnny remained still. “Time to add some more pictures to your album. You look so hot I’m afraid this room’s going to burst into flames.”

  Eric produced a little digital camera and began to snap several pictures of his slave boy, tall and strong with clips on his perfect nipples, the chains dangling at his chest and down his strong, hard abs, drawing the eye to his gorgeous cock looking huge in its leather strap. “You’ll print these later and add them to your album, won’t you, boy?”

  Johnny nodded though his expression clouded for a moment. Eric knew he was recalling that horrible night when his parents had let themselves into his efficiency apartment in Brooklyn, only to discover his secret album of photos, photos that depicted him in very compromising submissive poses, suffering for his master, serving his master, leaving no question whatsoever as to his orientation and predilections.

  He felt a moment’s regret for having reminded Johnny and to distract him he released the clamps, quickly removing them from Johnny’s nipples. “Oh,” Johnny breathed a low moan of pain as his raw nerve endings were flooded with renewed sensation once freed from the compression of the clamps. Eric detached the Y chain but left the cock strap in place. He permitted Johnny to lower his arms. As he’d expected, Johnny’s hands moved to his tender nipples, smoothing the delicate buds.

  Eric returned to the sideboard where he rummaged a moment before finding what he was looking for. He produced two long, thin chains, each of which had a small clip at either end. He returned to his slave, his own cock as hard as Johnny’s. The rush he got from domming his lover was as strong as any drug. It made Eric feel powerful, invincible, immortal.

  He knew himself capable of being much rougher than he had so far been with Johnny. Indeed, his usual pattern with submissive boys was to use them until they cried, begging for release, begging for him to stop the whipping, the bondage, the cock and ball torture, the rough ass play. He would always stop of course, but sometimes he took them just this side of dangerous, just this side of sensory overload. Ironically, or perhaps not so if one truly understood the psyche of a sex masochist, these slaves invariably came back for more, becoming so devoted, so dependent on Eric he would soon feel stifled, trapped in a relationship with someone who wanted more than he was capable of giving.

  How different it was with Johnny. He had been careful, even tender, telling himself at first it was because Johnny was so new to the scene. If he’d treated Johnny as he treated most sub boys, Johnny would have probably had a heart attack. He wouldn’t have been able to handle the intensity. Indeed, that night at The Cavern had confirmed this.

  But it wasn’t merely his novice status that kept Eric gentle for longer than he’d ever been with a sub. It was this new, almost fiercely tender feeling of love inside his heart, a love he’d never experienced for another man. The feeling was frightening but Eric was insightful enough to realize that just because he was afraid, that didn’t make the feelings less real.

  Today he would take Johnny further. Johnny had been asking for more, promising he could “take it”, begging to be tried, to be given the chance to “suffer for his master”. He would have that chance today.

  “Now, we’ll see what you’re made of, boy toy.” He showed Johnny the long, thin chains. “I’m going to secure your sexy nipples to the hooks in the ceiling. If you struggle too much, you might just rip those hot little hoops right out, so I suggest you control yourself.”

  “Oh Eric. I don’t think I can do—” Eric stopped Johnny’s words with two fingers over his lips.

  “You don’t have to think. You just have to take what I give you with all the grace you can muster. Remember, it’s me. It’s the man who loves you more than life itself. I may hurt you, but I would never let real harm come to you. Don’t forget that. Now. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Johnny said softly.

  Eric brought over a small stepstool so he could easily reach the chains hanging from the ceiling. Carefully he attached the clips, one to each ring. Standing on the stepstool, Eric pulled the chains taut, gauging how much pressure Johnny could take on his tender nipples before securing the chains. He tested their flexibility, satisfying himself they weren’t too tight.

  Stepping from the low stool, Eric opened his fly, his cock springing fully erect from its denim prison as he kicked his jeans aside. He stood a moment in front of Johnny, his hand on his own cock, lazily massaging his thick, hard member. Johnny, breathing hard, couldn’t help but stare, his tongue sliding over his lips hungrily as he watched Eric handle himself.

  “Stand flat. You’re on tiptoe. Stand flat.”

  “I can’t. My nipples are on fire.”

  “What did you say?” Eric’s voice was low, steel beneath the calm.

  “I’m—I’m sorry, Sir. I’m afraid if I do it’ll tear my nipples.”

  “Nonsense.” Eric had carefully noted the tension on Johnny’s nipples, and while they were pulled somewhat by the rings attached to the chains, he could see more tension could be applied without risk. He tried to quell his disappointment at Johnny’s refusal to obey, reminding himself it took time to mold a sub i
nto a true slave.

  Eric continued to massage his cock. Keeping his voice calm, he said, “Johnny. What you’re telling me now is you still don’t trust me. I gave you an express command and you resisted. Do you think I’d ask you to do something that would harm you? You still don’t trust me. That’s my fault. Trust is earned.”

  “I do trust you! I swear! I trust you with my life!” Johnny’s expression was stricken.

  “Okay then. Prove it. Stand flat. Now.”

  Fear, arousal, anger, desire, confusion—they all flashed over Johnny’s face as he stood frozen, still on his toes. Eric stood frozen too, waiting to see if Johnny was ready to move to the next level.

  Slowly Johnny lowered himself, causing the rings to pull more tightly against his pierced nipples. He winced, closing his eyes as he finally stood completely flat. Through it all his cock had remained hard and erect, his balls still buckled into their leather restraint.

  Eric knelt in front of his lover, releasing the leather strap from his balls and sliding it off over his hard cock. As Johnny stood still, tethered by his nipples to chains hanging from the ceiling, Eric began to suckle his cock, taking it deep into his throat. Johnny moaned and thrust his hips forward. Eric cupped his balls, sliding his head back so he could lick and tease his lover’s cock before moving his head back down, taking the shaft deep.

  Johnny shuddered with pleasure, grabbing Eric’s head as he began to gyrate against him. “Jesus!” he hissed, pulling himself up short. “This hurts. It fucking hurts!”

  “Then stay still, slut,” Eric said, after glancing up to make sure his lover was in no real danger. Johnny tried to obey, his breathing heavy but his body now still as Eric did his best to bring him to an intense release with his hands and mouth.

  Finally Johnny said, “Eric, I can’t come like this. I’m too afraid I’ll lose control and hurt myself. Please, Sir. I need to be let down now.” Of course Johnny could have released himself. He wasn’t bound, except by his promise to submit to his master. Yet he did not, waiting instead for Eric’s decree.