by Jaime Samms
“Of course.”
Once more, he was kissed until he had no air left in his lungs and spots swam before his eyes. And this time, at the end of it, Stanley stepped away from him and let him fall.
He landed hard on his hands and knees, gasping, but he stayed there as Stanley’s feet disappeared to his left. He didn’t move to follow them or keep him in sight. Maybe the fear was part of the adrenaline rush. Maybe it was part of his test for himself. If Stanley wanted to see how brave he was, then he’d endure.
“Do you need those rules spelled out, boy?”
Damian glanced up at Stanley at that, confused. How could he know the rules if Stanley didn’t tell him what they were?
“Should I explain what happens when you leave my side for another man?”
“I—imagine th-that would be unacceptable,” Damian said.
“More than unacceptable, Damian. It won’t be tolerated again.”
Again? Damian frowned, remembered the bear in the bar, and heat flooded his face. His eyes widened.
“I understand, Sir,” he said even more quietly than his previous whisper. “Of course I understand.” He fixed his gaze on the floor between his splayed hands and waited.
A sharp whack blistered across his ass and he cried out. He let his head drop and waited for the next blow. It was hard enough to send him skidding forward onto his elbows. It only took two more blows before he was sniffling. God, let it stop. This was not what he’d had in mind. It was horrible.
“Who makes the ultimatums around here?” Stanley asked. Had his voice changed? The roughness was there, but he sounded different. Not so angry and cold anymore.
“You do, Sir.” He didn’t dare look up, but he sensed Stanley was in front of him again. He knew he was right a moment later when hands caressed Damian’s head, stroking, soothing.
“And who keeps you?” he asked, soft now, still gruff and choked, but definitely no longer fueled by that frightening coldness.
“You do, Sir.”
“Sit up.”
He did, gingerly resting on his sore bottom.
“Do you remember me telling you when I punished, you’d know it?”
Damian nodded, still sniffling back the whimpers and gazing at Stanley’s chest.
“Look at me, Damian.”
Taking a breath, Damian did as he was told, bracing himself for the condemnation and anger he’d see in Stanley’s eyes. What he saw was completely different. “It was very brave of you to stand up to me today. And right for you to do it.”
Damian nodded.
“If I ever catch you with another man’s hands on you, Damian, you had better hope it’s because he kidnapped you. Do you understand?”
Damian hadn’t spared a thought for the man from the bar once he’d stepped out of his grasp. Obviously the indiscretion had more importance than he’d given it. “I understand, Sir. I’m sorry.”
“Good.” Stanley drew him close and held him tight. “Because I don’t ever want to have to do that again, love.”
Damian threw both arms around Stanley and held on, letting the tears fall as his Master soothed him and rocked him. They stayed that way until he’d wound down and Stanley helped him to his feet.
“You should go have a proper shower and then come to bed.”
Damian nodded, stopped at the bathroom door and looked back. “I have no new pajamas to wear.” He hoped, but he wouldn’t presume anything at this point.
Stanley picked up the box from the coffee table and carried it to the bedroom with him. “I know,” he said as he passed. “Be quick, now.”
STANLEY NEEDED the space and time Damian was in the shower to regroup and still his shaking. That had been the worst ten minutes of his life. Worse even than the hours leading up to it, waiting, knowing what he’d decided meant he had to do it all. The good and the bad.
It was the first and last time he would ever raise his hand to Damian, but he’d done it for a reason. Damian knew what being hit out of fear and anger felt like. Some people might think what Stanley had just done was a beating and as wrong as what Len had done. People would be wrong.
Damian understood some things at his core. His submission went soul deep. It was primal to his being and that’s where Stanley had to reach him. Up to now, Damian’s surface obedience had been acceptable, but it had been just that: surface. If Stanley was going to claim him the way he truly needed to be claimed, they both had to accept the element of the beast it brought out. In both of them.
Stanley had to accept it. Damian had known it about himself long ago. Now he needed a Master unafraid to meet Damian on that level and control all of him. Even the ugly and the scary and the wild parts. Now that he had his obedience and his attention, he could do this right.
DAMIAN MADE the shower as hot as he could stand and still he shivered. He could feel the sting of Stanley’s hand on his ass. What made him shiver though was the knowledge—after the fact—that he’d walked right to the edge of this thing with Stan and without realizing it, had almost walked out of his own life. It was the closest he’d ever come to the very edge of his world, to dropping into nothingness. Maybe he should have realized what would happen when Stan found out. Maybe, on some level, he’d known and had been tempting fate to finally crush him. He couldn’t contain his shaking.
After nearly ten minutes in the shower, he gave up. He didn’t dare keep Stan waiting. Whatever was wrong with him, Stan could, and would, help. He knew the rules now. It would be easier.
He left the bathroom once he was dry, to stand in the doorway to Stan’s bedroom.
“Come in.”
Damian searched for the cold control in Stan’s voice, but it was gone. All he heard now was calm, assertive command and he obeyed.
“No towel, even?” Stan asked.
Damian shook his head. “I always wear what you bring me to wear on my first night home.” He couldn’t stop his gaze flicking to the box sitting on Stanley’s dresser. “You haven’t given me anything to put on, Sir.” His teeth chattered and he clamped them together.
“Cold?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Damian lifted a shoulder and let it fall.
“Come here.”
Damian moved forward, stopping within Stanley’s reach, and fixed his gaze on his Master’s lips.
“It’s over,” Stanley said, drawing him into an embrace and holding him tight. He relaxed against the big man, not even caring that his clothing was uncomfortable against his skin. He wanted the nearness. The reassurance he hadn’t actually nosedived off that cliff.
“You learned your lesson?” Stanley asked.
“Yes!” Damian grappled his arms around Stanley and held on. “I did, I swear.”
“Shh. Then there’s nothing left to talk about.” He pressed warm lips to the side of Damian’s neck and Damian released a sigh.
“Kiss me like that again?”
Stanley moved back enough to grip Damian’s head in both hands, and the containment dissipated the last of his trembling. The kiss, though, was nothing like before. Yes. It was all-consuming and it made his knees weak. It was strong, demanding, and Stanley’s tongue barged inside him without hesitation. But it was also the gentlest of kisses Damian could ever remember receiving, and this time, when he collapsed into Stanley, it wasn’t because he was desperate for air and surcease. In that moment, Stan was the world, and it was enough.
Then this kiss ended and Stanley set him back on his feet. “Like that?”
Damian grinned. “Something like, yeah.”
Stan’s smile was worth every painful swat, the agony of knowing he’d made such a near-disastrous mistake. Hadn’t he always wanted someone to stop him falling off the edge? Lenny had only ever pushed him closer. Not on purpose, but the results had been the same. Now he knew Stan was there, and suddenly, the draw of the dangerous drop didn’t hold any appeal.
Stan nodded, as though he’d read every thought racing through Damian’s
mind.
“Okay. I know how you like your rituals. Follow me.” Stan picked up the wooden box and left the room.
Damian followed, out to the main room and then the front hall. A table that had once stood in the living room by the window was now resting near the wall beside the door. Stan placed the box on it. The table was small, bare except for the box, and yet it reminded Damian of a shrine. He looked to Stan, unsure what he was supposed to do.
Stan picked up the leather collar and held it across his palm. “This belongs to me.”
Damian nodded.
“I put it on you when I want and you wear it where I say.”
“Of course.”
He set it down and picked up the smaller, lighter collar. “You’ll have this for everyday. It’s nylon. Washable. There’s not a lot of bling to it—”
“What does it say?” Damian reached for the silver heart dangling from the front of the collar and squinted at the engraving. “PROPERTY OF” was etched on one side and he was smiling even before he read the words “STANLEY KRANE” on the other. He let the pendant fall and found himself gazing at Stan. “It’s more than enough, just the way it is.”
“Yes, well.” Stan motioned for him to come closer and turn around. “I expect you’ll want one to coordinate with every outfit, but for now, this will have to do.” He fastened it in place.
“Good thing my wardrobe is 90 percent black.”
Unexpectedly, the heavy leather collar settled around his throat over the small one, and he closed his mouth. “When you’re wearing anything at all,” Stanley agreed.
The clank of the industrial buckle sounded loud as Stanley did it up. He laid a hand on Damian’s shoulder and Damian didn’t need to be told to kneel.
“You’ll check that box every time you walk in the door,” Stanley told him, walking around to appraise him from the front. “If it’s open, I expect you to coordinate your outfit to suit my collar.”
Damian nodded.
“There’s a shelf under the table. You can undress right here, fold your things, and wait for me.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Stanley smiled. “It suits you.”
That tiny bit of praise flushed a wave of heat through Damian. He could be onstage in front of tens of thousands of people, dressed as outrageously as he could manage, and all that adulation didn’t mean anything next to Stanley’s approval of his naked, sore-assed self, kneeling on the welcome mat with a collar round his neck.
DAMIAN, PALE and softly damp from the shower, had been one beautiful sight. His boy, collared and flushed pink, freshly kissed, was kneeling at his feet, and Stan was definitely ready to leave chaste behind for good.
Damian had better get used to walking around in the buff for the foreseeable future, because Stan was more than ready to take what he’d been given and use it.
“Up,” he said, well aware the caveman was coming out.
Damian didn’t hesitate. He glided to his feet and followed Stan back to the bedroom without a word. Once there, Stan made quick work of unfastening his shirt buttons and his trousers. Damian turned to watch, but it was already done, and Stan literally tossed him onto the bed.
“If you expect romance, better hold off on that for the second round.” He rolled Damian onto his back and peered down at him. “I pretty much want your ass in the air and my cock in you.”
Damian gaped at him a moment.
“That a problem?”
“No! No, Sir. Just… I’m used to….” He touched his fingers to the collar at his neck and his expression changed. Mellowed. Relaxed, and then he was rolling over, lifting up on his hands and knees and presenting his ass.
There were the faint beginnings of bruises. Stan winced, but he would not apologize. The lesson was learned and in the past. He smoothed a hand over the offered bottom and listened to the soft, contented moan Damian let out.
“Used to what?” he asked, wanting and not wanting to know how that sentence ended.
“I was going to say I was used to it,” Damian replied. His voice was soft, quiet. Stan couldn’t decide if he was ashamed of the confession or not.
“Used to what?”
He shifted, wagging his exposed bottom at Stan. “This. Anything. Everything.” His head dropped, and there was a telltale flush of pink over the back of his neck. That was definitely shame. “There’s pretty much nothing you could suggest I haven’t done at least once. Not much I wouldn’t do again.”
“You’re talking about ball gags and restraints?”
Damian nodded. “And whips and paddles and Saint Andrew’s crosses. I’ve pretty much done it all.”
Stanley had retrieved the lube and condoms from the bedside table, and he tossed them onto the mattress at Damian’s knee. He took a handful of his boy’s hair in his fist and lifted his head. “I don’t really need to hear this now,” he growled.
Damian blinked at him. There were unshed tears glittering in his eyes, but he met Stan’s gaze and held it. “Yes, you do. It’s not too late to—mfuph.”
Stan kissed him to shut him up. Too late to what? Never mind that kind of talk. Stan wasn’t an idiot. Of course Damian had been around a dungeon a time or two. That wasn’t a surprise. And it wasn’t a reason to cut him loose now.
“You done?” he asked when Damian was squirming for air.
His boy gasped and gulped in a lungful as he nodded.
“Good.” He looked Damian over with a critical eye. His cock was hard. Stan would have to remember that trick. Seemed taking the man’s breath away got his attention.
Dropping his pants, he got on the bed behind Damian and picked up the lube. He squirted some on his fingers and ran a hand, tailbone to collar along Damian’s spine. Pressing when he got near his shoulders.
Damian lowered to his elbows obediently.
“How much prep do you need?”
“Not much.”
Stan smiled. “Good.” He went slow, but started with two fingers and Damian hissed.
“Too much?”
In answer, Damian shoved back onto his fingers, taking them in one long, slow thrust, and proceeded to fuck himself on them. Stan added a third without breaking his rhythm and then a fourth, searching for limits, if there were any.
Damian whimpered and shuddered. “Not deep enough.”
“Hm.” Stan pulled back and held Damian still. Then he thrust shallowly and fast and watched Damian begin to shake.
“Oh God. Please.”
It was a pleasure to watch him fall to pieces, beg and fight against his hold, not to resist the intrusion, but to get more. Always more. If Stan’s dick hadn’t been ragingly, painfully hard, he could have really enjoyed the way Damian wanted, needed. It was a challenge to see how long he could make his desperate boy hold out to get it. But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted it just as badly, and once he’d had his fill, well, then he could play with this new toy.
Removing his fingers and wiping them on the sheets, he opened a condom, rolled it on, and pushed himself inside Damian’s willing body.
He didn’t warn him first. It was too good to see his body jerk, hear his long, quiet string of pleas, and the way he said Stan’s name, over and over, like some sort of litany. His voice had gotten to Stan first, and it sang in his ears now to hear it like this. And not a single stutter.
“You’ve got a lot to say,” he said, scraping his fingers down Damian’s back, using his nails enough to be felt.
Damian keened, and the sound nearly drove Stan insane. He did it again, one hard stroke in with his cock, countered by a long, slow withdrawal and the scrape of his nails over Damian’s skin.
Damian’s back arched away from the touch, but rounded again if Stan let up.
“Doesn’t it hurt?” Stan asked, smoothing the pads of his fingers over the red lines.
“Do it again?”
Stan had always been content to be in charge of his life and the professional lives of his musicians. He’d never understood why Vance needed this in b
ed. He slammed into Damian again, closing his eyes to better hear the huff of his lover’s breath, the nearly impossible to hear please he whispered as he arched his back. He savored the way Damian shivered in anticipation as he dug his fingernails against his skin hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents as he thrust again.
Unbidden, and definitely unwelcome, the image of Damian like this, face hidden, ass in the air for some faceless stranger, flashed through Stan. He banished it, but it left such a feeling behind. The desperate need to claim.
“Hands,” he barked, and instantly, Damian’s body language changed. He complied immediately, reaching back, palms up, resting his hands as close to the small of his back as he could reach. He stilled, his muscles tensing, as though he sensed Stan’s thoughts and wanted to change their direction.
“You need cuffs,” Stan growled, practically seeing them there around Damian’s wrists.
“Yes,” Damian agreed.
Gripping Damian’s wrists tightly in one hand, Stan braced him with the other and fucked. Hard. Fast, until all of Damian’s cries had dwindled to soft grunts and whispers Stan couldn’t hear. Then finally, he gave. His body sagged and he whimpered. The tension left his arms and a wave of shudders ran through him, head to toe.
That final capitulation was the thing Stan hadn’t known he’d been looking for. It sent a rush through him and tightened his balls, shooting him into orgasm without warning. Beneath him, Damian shook as much as he did as he came down, and he realized his lover had finished as well, silently.
“Hey,” Stan whispered, leaning over him and pressing a kiss to his sweaty cheek. He was still shaking and shuddering, as though he couldn’t get warm, the same as he had earlier. “Talk to me.”
He carefully rolled them both until they were lying on their sides and pulled out, gently releasing Damian and flopping him onto his back as he tossed the condom.
Damian shifted, wiggling closer until Stan wrapped both arms around him and held him tight.
“Are you all right?”
Turning so his cheek was pressed to Stan’s chest, Damian nodded slightly. “I think, yeah.”