Golden Boy Two-Volume Set

by Claire Thompson

  “Yes, actually. A boy I’ve played with from time to time named Steve. He’s owned by a friend of mine James Caldwell. James likes to lend him out and then punish him after for being with someone else.”

  “But that isn’t fair! I mean, if he sends him out, he told him to do it!” Johnny said indignantly.

  “For them that’s the game. They both get off on it. James said he got the idea from Story of O. Sir Stephen did the same thing to O, near the end of the book. That’s the delicious irony, I guess, at least for James and Steve. You tell your slave to do something he isn’t permitted to do. Then when he does it, naturally you have to punish him.”

  “Well, it doesn’t seem fair to me. But whatever floats your boat I guess.” Johnny took a drink from his glass of iced tea. “So. This guy. What’s he look like?”

  Eric tried not to read too much into the question. A very natural question to ask when you’re being told you’re expected to dom this person, to use them sexually and otherwise. It would be odd for him not to ask. It didn’t mean Johnny wanted to run off with the guy. Stop it. This is to give him an outlet. Don’t mess it up. This will keep him here, instead of in the arms of Albert Miller.

  Aloud Eric said, “He’s cute. Medium height, light brown hair, very buff. Works out constantly. Maybe a little muscle bound for my taste but very submissive. A pain slut. Can take a savage beating with perfect grace. James whips him every day to create fresh welts. He keeps him constantly marked.”

  “Hmm,” Johnny nodded, looking worried.

  Eric felt a rush of sympathetic warmth, knowing Johnny was mentally comparing himself in terms of grace and finding himself wanting. “Don’t compare yourself, Johnny. You are exactly perfect for me. If I wanted someone like Steve, I’d have found him. You are who I want, just as you are.” Johnny smiled, that wonderful wide grin of his like sunlight, and Eric knew things would be okay. They had to be. He would make it so.

  ~*~

  Steve Hayward stood quietly in the center of their playroom, his eyes on the floor, his arms behind his back. “Steve, this is Johnny. He’s going to use you tonight. James wants fresh marks—other than that, he says we can do what we want with you. The first thing I want is for you to strip to your underwear and stand at attention, your hands behind your head.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Steve said. He had glanced up briefly at Johnny and then looked down again, the picture of submission. Johnny watched as Steve pulled his T-shirt over his head. He unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his jeans, first kicking off his sandals. Kneeling, he folded his things into a neat little pile and placed them in front of him before again standing in the position Eric had commanded.

  He was about Eric’s height but, as Eric had said, thickly muscled, especially his shoulders and chest, the muscles bulging like bunched sacks of cement beneath over-tanned skin. His thighs, chest and belly were crisscrossed with fading pink lines, evidence of a recent whipping. With round hazel eyes and a snub nose sprinkled with freckles he looked younger than his twenty-eight years.

  “Johnny. Take off his underwear.” Johnny glanced at Eric and swallowed, trying not to betray his nervousness. He was glad Eric hadn’t told him to strip. He was wearing black denim shorts and a sleeveless red T-shirt. The room was still warm from the earlier sun, though the night air wafting through the open windows was reasonably cool.

  Bending in front of Steve, Johnny gripped the black cotton bikini briefs at his narrow hips and pulled them down past thickly muscled thighs. Steve’s cock popped out, rapidly rising as they watched. Johnny noted with fascinated horror how the shaft was pierced up and down its length with thick-gauged steel rings, including the head. He felt his own pierced nipples respond sympathetically, tingling and engorging at the thought of the needles drawn through Steve’s delicate flesh over and over.

  “Those rings are handy for tying Steve down during a whipping. If he jerks too hard, his cock gets quite a workout.” Eric said. “Isn’t that right, slut?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Steve answered, his eyes still downcast, his smallish cock now fully erect.

  “Kneel down, head on the floor, ass up,” Eric commanded. “Keep your hands behind your head.” Steve dropped at once to the floor. Eric said, “Johnny, get the whip. Not the heavy flogger, get the purple one.” Johnny moved to the sideboard to retrieve their medium-sized whip. It didn’t have as many tresses as his favorite flogger and the leather wasn’t as soft. It was more stingy than thuddy, at least as Johnny had experienced it.

  Johnny came back, feeling at once nervous and excited. He could feel his own cock swelling at the thought of whipping the ass of this naked slave boy. Knowing the pain and pleasure he would cause, the delicious blending of sensation, gave him a powerful thrill. He moved behind Steve, completely taken aback by what he saw.

  Unlike the fading marks on Steve’s front, his ass, back and thighs were heavily marked, the lines black, purple and red, evidence of severe and constant beating. Johnny felt his stomach lurch with horror—this was no sexy whipping at the hands of a loving Dom. Steve had been brutally whipped, his skin abraded and probably permanently scarred.

  Johnny turned helplessly to Eric, his face no doubt registering his dismay. Eric moved quickly to him. “Johnny. What is it?” He too saw the marks. Did he have to ask? Eric took the whip from Johnny’s hands. Turning to Steve, he placed the whip lengthwise on Steve’s bowed back. “Don’t move. We have to step out for just a moment. You wait in that position and make sure the whip doesn’t fall. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir!” Steve barked, as if answering a drill sergeant.

  Johnny and Eric stepped out into the hallway. “What is it, Johnny? You look sick.”

  “Eric! His cock—Jesus, all those piercings! But even worse, his ass and back! He’s been really beaten. I mean, that goes way beyond what we do. That isn’t sexy—that’s abuse.”

  Eric put his arms around Johnny and kissed his cheek. Gently he pushed Johnny’s shoulder, his cue for Johnny to kneel. As Johnny obeyed, instantly feeling submissive as a result of his position, Eric continued. “Johnny, sweetheart. I’m sorry. I keep forgetting how new you are. How innocent. Yes, Steve is used roughly. I thought I told you that, but I guess I didn’t make it clear. Nothing that is done to Steve is done without his express consent. He’s the one who pushed for the piercings. He did most of them himself. I told you—he’s a pain slut. He doesn’t experience pain the same way you or I do, at least from what I can gather.”

  Eric stroked Johnny’s cheek and brushed his hair from his forehead. “You know how it hurts for you at first? How it stings and bites, and even though it’s hot and sexy, it really does hurt?” As Johnny nodded, Eric continued. “It’s only when you sink into that submissive headspace, only when you truly surrender yourself to it and let go, that’s when the pain transmutes to something even more intense than pleasure. Am I right?”

  “Yes,” Johnny said, looking up at his master with adoration. He loved how Eric could always calm him and make him feel safe and sexy all at the same time.

  “Well, for Steve it’s different. I’ve talked to him and others like him about what they experience. He still feels pain of course, but his nerve endings interpret it differently, I guess you’d say. He craves the intensity, he needs the severity in order to achieve what you can get from a light, sensual whipping. I sometimes think it must be like the difference between addicts and non-addicts. You, as a ‘non-addict’ for the sake of this argument, only need a light, sensual whipping to get to that delicious, sensual place submissives can fly to, while he, the ‘addict’, needs a much more intense beating to get to the same place—he needs the whole bottle of vodka where you would just have a drink or two.” Johnny nodded. It made a kind of sense. “So when we go back in there, Johnny, and I tell you to whip him, you don’t worry about hurting him. You don’t worry about his marked ass or the welts fading on his back. You whip him because I tell you to, and you do it as hard as I like. Got it? When you do that, you’ll be
serving me and him as well. You’ll be his Dom, but my sub.”

  Eric touched Johnny’s shoulder, indicating he should rise. As they reentered the room, Johnny saw Steve was still in the same position, the whip perfectly balanced, his ass pointing toward them, his balls dangling between his legs, the picture of vulnerability. “Take off your shirt,” Eric told Johnny, who obeyed, careful not to pull on his nipple rings as he did so. Unlike the neat military pile in front of Steve, Johnny tossed his shirt into a crumpled heap. Eric tossed his own shirt onto Johnny’s.

  He pointed to the whip and Johnny picked it up from Steve’s back. The sub didn’t move a muscle—he could have been made of stone. Eric had showed Johnny some basic wrist moves. “It’s like hitting a tennis ball,” he had explained. “Just follow through the movement.” He had demonstrated and Johnny had tried to imitate him, feeling a little foolish.

  Now he would put that bit of practice into action. “Give him twenty lashes, as hard as you like. Steve, you count.” Johnny moved behind Steve, willing himself to be calm and cool. He could do this!

  “One! Two!” Steve called out the numbers, sounding almost bored. Perhaps he wasn’t doing it hard enough? Johnny hit him a little harder but still got no reaction other than the flat-toned counting. Determined to pull something more from the sub, at fifteen Johnny pulled his arm back and swung hard, aiming so just the tips of the leather caught Steve’s skin. Steve flinched slightly, his counting suddenly just a little breathy. Johnny felt his cock swell as he realized he’d elicited this reaction in the sub boy kneeling at his feet.

  The last four lashes were delivered just as hard, with the tips catching the same tender flesh each time, darkening it to an angry red. At the call of “twenty” Johnny dropped his arm, though in fact he wanted to continue, to make Steve move out of position, to make him cry out for mercy. Eric was watching him. “Take off your shorts, slave,” he said in a low, sexy voice. Johnny obeyed, his erection clearly outlined in his underwear.

  Eric moved to him. “Do you want to whip him more? You’ve barely marked him. James won’t be satisfied with that at all.” As Eric spoke, he put his hand over Johnny’s hard cock through the soft cotton, squeezing lightly as his hand moved down to cup and squeeze his balls. Johnny stood still, his breathing rapid as he licked his lips. Eric let go and stepped back. “Answer, boy.”

  “Yes, Sir. I want to whip him more.”

  “You pick the whip. Something that will mark him properly.”

  Johnny returned to the sideboard, selecting the flicker whip, a single tail with a thin, braided nylon tassel at the end. Johnny had felt its tickle and its sting. He knew it was a potentially vicious whip when wielded with force, capable of cutting the skin.

  “Stand up, Steve,” Eric commanded. “Johnny’s going to mark you now. Hold your arms up over your head and stay perfectly still.”

  Steven complied instantly and Johnny saw his cock was rigid with anticipation. Eric held out his hand and said to Johnny, “A quick demonstration. You want to flick it, like this.” Johnny heard the whistle of the lash the split second before it made contact with Steven’s back. A thin line of white appeared, turning dark pink and finally red as a welt appeared. Eric had used this same whip on Johnny and his body now tingled with the recollection of its sting. “You try it.”

  Johnny took the lash and flicked it against Steve’s ass. A mark appeared though much paler than the one Eric had created. “Don’t be afraid. Remember, he needs this.” Johnny hit him harder, this time creating the whistling sound Eric had created as the lash kissed Steve’s flesh.

  “Good,” Eric said. “Now do it all over his body. Ass, back, thighs, chest, belly, cock. Mark him. Make him sweat. Make him moan. Remember, you do this for me. I own you. Your body, your arm, is just an extension of mine. You exist to please me and it pleases me to see you whip this pain slut, this slave, this toy we’ve borrowed for the evening.”

  Johnny began to whip the slave, his cock responding to each cut of the flesh with a pulsing of desire. At the same time he felt the rush of power, he felt a pang of sympathy, aware he was hurting Steve, aware those angry red lines crisscrossing his flesh were caused by Johnny’s own hand. Yet he didn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. Lust, power, desire, the knowledge he was pleasing Eric, the witnessing of Steve’s very hard cock, the rings shining along its shaft—all of this combined inside of him, finally lifting him out of himself.

  At one with the lash, he began to whip Steve in earnest, methodically covering his body from shoulder to knee, front to back. Except for his cock and balls. Johnny could not bring himself to strike that tender flesh. Eric, watching from the side said, “Johnny. You’re forgetting his cock and balls. I said everywhere.”

  Johnny raised his arm, trying not to wince as he forced himself to obey. At the last moment his will failed, his arm flailing as he completely missed the mark, catching Steve on the hip instead. “I can’t,” he whispered to Eric.

  Eric held out his hand and Johnny dropped the whip into it, his heart squeezing as his body prepared to feel the flicker’s sting. Instead Eric turned to Steve, who was sweating, his arms still high overhead, his chest heaving, his body covered in fine red welts. “What do you need, boy? What have we missed?”

  “My cock, Sir!” Steve shouted in military style. Without hesitating, as Johnny watched, Eric flicked his wrist, the whip catching Steve across the balls and shaft in one well-aimed stroke. He delivered three more, finally drawing a cry from the pain slut, who sank to his knees, bowing his head. Eric stood in front of him, patting and smoothing his sweat-matted hair. Steve dropped his head so his forehead again rested on the floor.

  “Thank you, Sir,” he whispered, the strident tone gone, his voice cracking with gratitude.

  “Don’t thank me, slut. Thank Johnny. But thank him properly.” Turning to Johnny Eric commanded, “Take off your underwear. Steve’s going to thank you.” Johnny felt as if he were in a dream, his heart pounding as Steve’s lips slid over his member, taking Johnny deep into his throat without hesitation. Steve didn’t have the skill Eric did—he was a little too hurried, a little too rough, but Johnny knew this might be a result of the endorphins sure to be racing through his system from the beating. He knew when he was feeling that rush, he had to restrain himself from trying to swallow Eric whole.

  As Steve sucked his cock, Eric, shirtless in black jeans, moved just behind Steve so he was facing Johnny. With the slave sandwiched between them, Eric took Johnny’s head in his hands, pulling him down for a long lingering kiss, his tongue claiming Johnny’s mouth as Steve was ignored at their feet. Johnny was awash in sensation, aroused as much by the actual physical pleasure of Steve’s attentions as by the whole scene. He’d whipped a man, really whipped him, while his master watched, his dark eyes sparkling with lust. Eric’s kiss consumed him as the slave knelt naked and marked at their feet, serving Johnny. He closed his eyes, feeling his cock swell and stiffen, his ball tightening in the moments before ejaculation.

  “Oh,” he moaned into Eric’s mouth. Just as he began to orgasm, Steve grabbed his balls, squeezing tight—too tight so Johnny gasped, the pain of his grip fighting with the shuddering pleasure of his climax. Eric stepped back as Steve knelt back, releasing Johnny’s spent cock. Johnny looked down at the man as he gingerly cupped his bruised balls. Steve looked up at him, a sly grin on his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Get dressed, slave,” Eric said to Steve, unaware of what he had done. “James is waiting in the other room to take you home for your punishment. He mentioned something about a violet wand.”

  Eric turned to Johnny. “Fill the tub. I’ll be in after I see our guests to the door.” A few minutes later Eric joined Johnny in the bathroom, quickly stripping before stepping into the hot water with a contented sigh. He eased himself down, leaning into Johnny.

  “Did you have fun?” Eric asked as Johnny’s arms encircled him.

  “It was wild! Very intense. I couldn’t
help but wonder how Steve felt. I mean, we totally used him. When he was at our feet, my cock in his mouth and you leaned over him and kissed me, he was like this total object. Just there to service us.”

  “That’s the point,” Eric said. “That’s what he wants. That’s what gets him off. Now he’ll go home with James and be the subject, not the object.” Eric twisted in the tub so he was facing Johnny. “Did you want more, Johnny? Did you want to have sex with him?”

  Johnny frowned, the image of Albert sliding unbidden into his head. For a moment it was Albert standing naked, Johnny at his feet, Albert’s dark strong fingers buried in his blond hair… “Johnny?”

  “No,” Johnny said firmly. “It was hot. It was exciting to whip him and have him submit to me. To us. But you’re the one I want to make love with. I belong to you, Eric.”

  “Don’t forget it,” Eric said, smiling, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

  Chapter 9

  “It’s going to be fine.” Eric patted Johnny’s hand as they sat side by side on the subway, their train speeding along the underground tunnel toward Brooklyn. Billy and Sandy had invited them, the two of them, for dinner. Despite his joy that at least his brother and sister-in-law seemed to be accepting him and now his partner into their lives, Johnny couldn’t help but be nervous. He realized the various girls he’d brought home over the years had simply never meant that much to him. He didn’t care about them enough to worry what impression they made on his family. Back then he’d been more worried about what kind of impression the family would make on the girl!

  Eric knew all about the Wilsons and seemed to have no expectations, either positive or negative. “Relax,” he had said when Johnny began to worry aloud about how Eric would like his brother and if they would all get along. “I’m not planning on marrying him or even dating him. We’re just paying a visit, the same as we did when you met some of my family.”