Golden Boy Two-Volume Set

by Claire Thompson

  “He suffers the consequences,” Eric said shortly. He selected a riding crop and moved behind Eric, smacking his ass, the slap of leather a rhythmic staccato of sound behind Johnny’s breathy moans.

  “Take off the codpiece. Show us what he’s got in there!” someone shouted from the crowd. Johnny was just this side of flying, barely cognizant of the words, his being fully focused on the tension in his nipples and the little heated square of leather against his flesh.

  He became aware after a moment the cropping had stopped. He felt the sweat trickling down his sides, between his ass cheeks, on his forehead and on the back of his neck. His jaw was tired and his nipples ached. His back and ass burned from the flogger and crop.

  He sensed his lover in front of him, smelled his singular luscious scent and opened his eyes. Eric took the chain gently and whispered, “Drop it, sweetheart.” As Johnny gratefully obeyed, swallowing and licking his dry lips, Eric kissed his cheek. “Are you ready for more, slave? Are you ready for the cane?”

  Johnny couldn’t help the shudder that slid through his body at the mention of the cane. While he loved the place the cane invariably took him, the path was hard. There was no sweet overlay of soft sensual leather, only the cutting sting of bamboo against tender flesh and the fiery trail of pain left in its wake.

  Yet the transcendent high he achieved once he truly surrendered himself to it was more intense, more sublime than any other form of sexual torture he had yet to experience at Eric’s loving hand. Slowly he nodded. Eric kissed his lips and said softly, “Shall I remove the codpiece? Shall I show off my gorgeous, hot boy to this crowd behind me?”

  Johnny looked past Eric at the twenty or so men filling the room. He felt a rush of embarrassment at the thought of being completely naked, mixed with a thrill of exhibitionistic excitement. As he’d carefully shaved his balls that evening in the shower he’d pictured a scene very like this one—himself bound and chained, naked and offered up to the crowd like some kind of erotic sacrifice. Though he was innately modest, the endorphins caused by the whipping, along with the excitement of this strange, sexy situation, made his cock leap to full erection at Eric’s suggestion.

  Albert moved into his line of sight, his tongue sliding sensually along his upper lip as he gazed with dark, hooded eyes at Johnny. “It’s for you to decide, Sir,” Johnny said, in a way relieved the decision was taken from him, as he didn’t want to seem overly bold.

  “It is. But I asked you. Answer me directly. Would you like to be exposed in front of these men who lust after you?”

  Unable to control the blush of color in his cheeks, Johnny bit his lower lip and nodded. Eric grinned and said, “Good. I want to show them what belongs to me and me alone.” Reaching behind Johnny, he unsnapped the strap that held the codpiece in place and pulled the leather sheath away. Johnny’s cock sprang from his body, his nude balls swaying sexily beneath it. An audible wave of appreciation rolled through the room.

  “My God,” Albert said. “He’s built like a bull. Eric, you lucky, lucky man. I would give anything to taste that gorgeous cock.”

  Eric turned to him. “Would you? How about now? While I use the cane on his ass, you can distract him with your mouth. He might jerk a bit, but I’ll instruct him to remain as still as he can.”

  Johnny stared wide-eyed at Eric, not sure he was hearing correctly. So many fantasies were falling together into one intense moment—bound and erotically tortured in a room full of likeminded men, his perfect lover controlling his pleasure and pain, and now even Albert, the forbidden fruit, being presented to him like a gift.

  “In front of all these people?” Albert asked, turning slowly to survey the now hushed crowd.

  “I can ask them to leave.”

  Albert laughed. “No, no! You don’t know me so well yet, Eric, though I do hope we remedy that as time goes by. I’m an artist! I love to show my work.” He laughed again. “Painting, sculpture, my talent at driving young men wild with my tongue and cock! It’s all creating something—whether it’s art or sensual pleasure. You and Johnny are so modest, almost unaware it seems, of your enormous sexual appeal. Not me! I know I’m good-looking. I know I’m talented and I revel in it!” He turned to the men behind him.

  “Would you like a show, gentlemen? Some performing art, if you will?” The men laughed and clapped, calling out their approval. Albert bowed toward them and turned back grinning to Johnny and Eric. “Now let me at this boy. I’m going to eat him alive.”

  The room was packed, more and more men squeezing into the small room, crowding in a circle around the three men in the middle. Johnny had said he wanted witnesses to his developing grace. Well, he certainly had them tonight!

  Eric felt a small conflict of emotion as he watched the very handsome black man kneel in front of his naked lover, taking his soft, heavy balls into his long, dark fingers as he lightly licked along Johnny’s shaft. He reminded himself of the words he had told Johnny so many times before. This was just an extension of their lovemaking. Albert did not exist at that moment as a separate person—he was just an instrument of their mutual pleasure, serving Eric by serving his hot slave boy.

  Eric, sure of Johnny’s love and aware of the crowd’s eagerness to see the caning, stepped around behind Johnny, picking up the long thin bamboo cane with its dark brown leather handle, handmade for him by a man in the scene who traveled to Asia in his pursuit for the perfect rattan and bamboo for his canes, known throughout the country for their supple, functional beauty.

  Several men who had been standing very close to the cross stepped respectfully back as Eric moved into position to the left of Johnny’s spread-eagle body. His backside was already red, the skin no doubt tender from the flogger and the crop. All that had been a warm-up for Johnny’s real test. Eric knew Johnny’s fear and love of the cane. When he’d first begun to use the cane on Johnny it had been too intense. Eric learned Johnny could only tolerate the fiery sting after a steady, lengthy buildup with soft leather. It was only recently Eric would even dare to secure Johnny for a caning. He wanted him free to move away if need be as he didn’t want Johnny to panic by being constrained.

  Many a time in the early training Johnny had jumped away after only a few well-aimed lashes of the cane, grabbing his ass and jumping around the room, crying, “Ouch, ouch, ouch! I can’t do it, Eric! I can’t do it!” Eric had to suppress a grin when Johnny did this as he was endearingly disobedient. Before Eric had fallen in love, he wouldn’t have had the patience to train someone like Johnny. He realized now his reputation as a masterful slave trainer was not deserved, at least not back then. He’d only accepted already trained men, submissive and deeply masochistic men who were so in awe of Eric they’d do anything to please him.

  Johnny had been much more of a challenge but love had given Eric the patience to go slowly and keep Johnny feeling safe while taking him to new levels of erotic suffering and pleasure. Now Johnny could withstand a lengthy caning session, flying easily after just a few strokes. But that was in the privacy of their own home, without a crowd of jostling, whispering men staring at the spectacle of the slave boy bound to the cross, another man kneeling with his cock down his throat.

  Could Johnny withstand the multiple distraction from both Albert and the crowd? Could he focus on the cane sufficiently to fly? Eric knew this was a test of them both. Whatever happened, Johnny had already impressed this jaded crowd. This would be merely the icing on the cake of his public submission.

  Speaking softly into Johnny’s ear, Eric said, “I’m going to cane you now, Johnny. I want you to concentrate on the cane, not on what’s happening to your cock and balls. I want you to fly. Surrender yourself to me with the grace I know you possess. Show them all what you’re made of. I already know.”

  Johnny, breathing heavily from Albert’s expert attentions, opened his green-gold eyes and fixed them on Eric. “Yes, Sir. I won’t let you down. I love you.”

  “I love you,” Eric answered. Johnny was as ready a
s he would ever be.

  Johnny’s gasp of pain echoed through the silent room a split second after the whistle of the cane. The men behind Johnny murmured as a welt appeared in a horizontal line across his buttocks, perfectly straight as if Eric had used a ruler to measure the blow. He struck again, feeling the rush of sexual power course through his veins and zing into his cock. Johnny looked so hot, so sexy with his hard, perfect body covered in a sheen of sweat, bound to the cross for all to admire. For a moment Eric wished it was he at Johnny’s feet, giving him pleasure at the same time he inflicted pain.

  Being only one person, he decided to concentrate on the task at hand. With an expert flick of his wrist, he delivered another perfectly placed line just below the first one. As the crowd watched in utter silence Eric left three more lines, perfectly parallel over Johnny’s ass.

  As the cane met his flesh the sixth time Johnny’s head fell back in slow motion, his eyes closed, his mouth slack, his breathing deepening and slowing. Albert, unaware of the transformation, continued to eagerly bob his head over Johnny’s cock. Eric knew Johnny was completely his at that moment.

  “Johnny, can you hear me?”

  Johnny barely moved his head in a tiny nod but it was sufficient. Eric knew he was in the zone, floating somewhere over them all, pain no longer differentiated from pleasure, fear utterly consumed by submissive grace. “I’m going to cane you ten more times. You stay where you are, continue to breathe and remember I’m here to catch you if you fall. When I’m done, I’m going to give you a command and you will obey it. Understood?” Again the slight inclination of the head.

  There were murmurs now in the crowd. It was Peter who finally spoke up. “You’ll draw blood with ten more. You can’t possibly aim the strokes on that little ass to avoid the welts already there. A more experienced Dom would know that.”

  Ignoring him completely, Eric moved again into position. The cane sliced through the air and a long thin line of white appeared between two of the dark red lines already marking Johnny’s flesh. In a few seconds it turned to pink and then to red, taking its place as a mark of courage on Johnny’s ass. He struck again, several times in succession, each new welt perfectly aligned with the others, none overlapping.

  The men crowding around them had begun to count, whispering in unison as each stroke fell. Each one landed with precision, none of them crisscrossing the other, which could have resulted in cutting the skin, as Peter had said. When the men chanted, “ten”, Eric stood back, noting with dominant pride the welts covering his slave boy’s gorgeous ass, some of them curling around into the indentations beneath each narrow hip. Johnny would have trouble sitting down tomorrow but that was all right. He could rest all day on fresh sheets while Eric served him his meals and massaged soothing salves into his tortured flesh.

  Johnny hadn’t moved during the entire caning, staying perfectly still except for the deep rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deep and slow, firmly in the grip of his sensual trance. Albert moved steadily, licking, sucking, stroking. Eric knew Johnny couldn’t hold out much longer given Albert’s skilled attention, especially as pain no longer balanced the pleasure.

  “Johnny,” he said aloud. “Come for me.”

  Johnny did, executing his master’s last command with perfect precision as the group around them broke into uproarious applause.

  ~*~

  Johnny woke up to find two little dark blue velvet boxes balanced on his bare chest. Sunlight was streaming through the window, belying a slight autumnal chill in the air on this twenty-fifth day of September. “What’s this?” he said sleepily, reaching for one of the boxes.

  “Open it,” Eric said, sitting on the bed beside him. He’d been waiting for Johnny to wake up but his impatience had gotten the better of him as the hour moved to nine o’clock on this Sunday morning.

  Johnny sat up against his pillows, his blond hair ruffled and mussed, falling into his eyes. He pushed it back and flashed a curious smile as he took one of the small boxes and lifted its lid. “Oh Eric. It’s beautiful.”

  “Happy anniversary.” It had been one year to the day since they’d first seen one another across a crowded courtyard, their eyes locking in one sizzling moment of lust before Johnny had disappeared, stealing Eric’s heart in the process.

  Eric had been planning this gift for the last several months, certain in his heart Johnny was the man he wanted to spend his life with. Eric Méndez, the man no one could claim, the man with the heart of ice as they used to say, had utterly and completely succumbed to the love of this golden man sitting beside him holding a ring wrought from three separate strands of gold woven together in a braid.

  As Johnny turned his shining green eyes to Eric, Eric said, “Let me put it on for you.” Johnny held out his hand, the band slipping easily past the knuckle of his left ring finger. Johnny admired it for several moments. Finally he picked up the other box. “And what’s in this one?”

  “Look and see,” Eric said, grinning. Johnny opened it. Nestled in velvet was a second, identical ring. Wordlessly Johnny took it from its box and slipped it onto Eric’s ring finger.

  “I love you,” they said at exactly the same time.

  Did you enjoy the story? Please take a moment to leave a quick review!

  And here’s a sneak peek at chapter 1 of The Contract, the first book in the Serving his Master Series

  The Contract - Chapter 1

  Sweat glistened on the man’s muscular back, which was marked with a stippling of small welts left by the whip. He gripped the chains attached to thick wrist cuffs that lifted his strong arms taut overhead. The man grunted and jerked with each sonic crack of leather. Jace winced, his skin tingling with sympathy and longing.

  “Beg me.” The whip curled like a snake in Brandon’s hands. Watching from the crowd clustered around the raised platform, Jace could feel Brandon’s dominance. As if sensing him, Brandon’s gaze flickered over the group, coming to rest on Jace. It should be you up here, he seemed to say with his eyes.

  Jace’s heart picked up its tempo. Maybe tonight he would go up there. He’d been an observer often enough. What did he have to lose?

  Brandon released Jace’s gaze as he focused once more on the naked, tethered man he’d chosen for the scene. “Please, Sir,” the bound sub moaned, twisting his head back toward his tormentor. “I deserve to be punished. Whip me. Make me bleed.”

  The words sent a ripple of something through Jace he couldn’t quite identify—fear, desire, both? Brandon stepped back, his upper lip lifting in a cruel smile, white teeth glinting in the spotlight illuminating the platform. He snapped the bullwhip and once again Jace winced as the tip struck the sub’s back, this time leaving a shiny trail of blood in its wake. Jace drew in a sharp, involuntary breath, his eyes riveted to the scene.

  “The ultimate submission,” a voice murmured close to his ear, the accent Spanish. “Complete surrender of the body to another to do with as he will.”

  Jace turned toward the voice to see a man with dark wavy hair brushed back and silvering at the temples, his dark eyes boring into Jace's. “The scene moves you, even as it frightens you.”

  “Yes,” Jace admitted, surprised at the man’s observation.

  The man nodded, as if confirming something for himself. They both turned back to watch the action unfolding in front of them. Brandon whipped the chosen sub until his back was covered with welts, many of them trickling lines of bright red blood. The man cried out with each cut of the whip, but his cock stood at attention, bobbing in time to the strokes.

  Finally Brandon lowered the whip and nodded toward a tall blond man who stood waiting just behind the platform. The man jumped onto the stage and together he and Brandon released the bleeding sub from his chains. The man took the sub’s face in his hands. They smiled at one another and shared a quick kiss on the lips. “You’ll have your lover back in a moment,” Brandon said as he gestured for the blond guy to step aside, which he did.

  Turning his attent
ion back to the sub, Brandon said, “Thank me properly.”

  The man sank to his knees and lowered his head to kiss the tops of Brandon’s shiny black boots. Without a glance at the waiting partner, Brandon ordered, “Stand up and keep your eyes on my face while you jerk off. You have thirty seconds.”

  With a glance at his lover, who smiled and nodded, the sub rose to his feet, his cock still fully erect. He fisted his shaft in his large hand, the other hand cradling his balls, seemingly oblivious of the gawking crowd. Brandon glanced down at his watch. “Go.”

  The sub’s mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on Brandon’s face as he tugged frenziedly on his shaft. Stoked by the whipping, he almost immediately began to spurt. Long white ribbons of come erupted from the purple head that appeared and disappeared from the circle of his thumb and index finger.

  Brandon’s smile was cruel. “Good boy,” he said. “Now get on your knees and lick it up.” The sub promptly dropped to all fours and lowered his head to the floor of the platform, lapping at his jism like a cat licking cream. He lifted his head and turned toward his lover, who held up a thumb of approval. He then turned toward the gathered onlookers, a broad, triumphant smile breaking over his rather plain face. The crowd broke into raucous applause and hoots of approval.

  The blond lover helped the sub from the platform and led him toward the recovery room for aftercare while two staff members jumped up to clean and tidy the space for the next public scene. The man beside Jace spoke again. “I’ve seen you here several times before. I have watched you in a few scenes in the playroom over the months. You’re a natural. Born to submit, born for erotic suffering.”

  Jace turned to stare at the Latino, still very handsome despite his age, which Jace estimated at about forty-five. Was he trying to pick Jace up? But the man’s expression wasn’t that of someone on the make. Instead he merely looked interested, and his eyes were kind.