by M. Q. Barber
“It’s just been tough this last year since I finished my MBA, and I’m working all the time, and—” The slouch returned, a subtle softening as if each word weighed on its owner. “Then this guy I work with said there’d be girls at this hotel party, and then—I saw—I wanted—and then I came here.”
A delicate subject, to be sure. He’d no desire to scare his half-formed partner off at this early juncture. The lure of willing women at a hotel party, the sort of event with no rules, would have been a powerful one for a sex-starved college graduate adjusting to the working world.
But an inkling of trouble dripped into his veins. “The encounters you had before visiting this club, were they with men or women?”
“Just women, Master.”
Wonderful. He’d developed an attraction for a straight boy who accepted homosexual interaction only in the guise of kink. He might have misread his companion’s disappointment earlier. Perhaps Jay desired servitude without sexual experiences from male dominants and preferred to reserve sexual submission for female dominants. If he hadn’t known how to convey his desires, he might’ve been coerced into receiving more than unwanted whippings.
“But I—” Jay swayed sideways. “I like serving men, Master Henry. I didn’t know until I saw it, but I,” he whispered to the floor, “I wanted it.”
More shame. Marvelous. Young Mr. Kress had discovered an unknown predilection for kink and homosexual desires simultaneously, and his initial explorations led to his degradation and abuse for attempting to sate his needs.
The first throb of a burgeoning headache flashed deep behind his eyes. Professional counseling might be necessary if Jay couldn’t separate his needs, the right and proper expressions of his sexuality, from the poor introduction he’d been given to fulfilling them. Like a child beaten for masturbating, he might develop an aversion to his own pleasure.
He slowed his questioning, picking through the minefield of emotions and approaching from oblique angles to find a place to begin. He needed more answers before playing with this submissive would be safe, no matter how desirable the prospect.
Hours passed, as throats grew dry and Jay fetched more drinks. A check of his watch—his grandfather’s watch, an old-fashioned, classic timepiece—showed they’d gone past two in the morning. He’d done little more than scratch the surface of his conversation partner’s psyche.
Well. One night had been an optimistic presumption. Mr. Kress’s troubles lay buried far deeper. In truth, he wouldn’t begrudge the boy the time spent unraveling them. The younger man made for a beautiful, stimulating companion. One he ought to send home now. Not without a test.
“It’s late.” He brushed idly at his slacks. “You’ll go and get your street clothes on, and I’ll take you home.”
His submissive bobbed agreeably. “Yes, Master Henry.”
“No.”
Lifting his head, Jay turned wide eyes on him. “Sir?”
“You won’t allow me to drive you home.” Though his heart hammered, he contained the pain building in his chest. Nothing but luck, perhaps, that no other dominant had made the same offer. That Jay hadn’t fallen afoul of worse than Cal’s abuse. Such a sweet boy, and so very, very vulnerable. “You know nothing of me beyond my first name and my penchant for talk over action, hmm?”
Jay’s lips twitched. His desire for action had been obvious all night. Being forced to converse undoubtedly tested his patience. Not quite comfortable enough to smile at his dominant’s self-deprecating expense yet, but it was only their first night. An encouraging sign. Cal hadn’t fully beaten the spirit out of him.
“You’ve no way of knowing my intentions, dear boy.” He hardened his tone, forcing his words into the lower register his play partners always deemed most appealing. “So no, you won’t allow me to drive you home, to learn where you live, to potentially take you elsewhere in my car and treat you poorly while you’re in my power. You will not allow me to drive you home. Say it, please.”
“I—” Jay flushed a fetching shade of rose. “I won’t allow you to drive me home.”
“Because your personal safety is more important than impressing me with your submission,” he prompted.
The boy frowned, his lips tight and uncertain, his brow furrowed. He nodded with obvious reluctance. “I’m sorry, Master Henry, but my safety is important to me. I can’t allow you to drive me home.”
“Excellent. Well done, my boy.” Yes, that had perked him up, straightened his shoulders and won back his smile. Verbal reinforcement would be crucial for this student. “I’m going to reward your good behavior with an assignment.”
Jay tilted his head, question and confusion in his eyes. A submissive puppy learning a new word.
“Have none of your play partners given you take-home work before ?”
“No, Master Henry.”
One more thing his pupil had yet to learn. He’d need to tally the lot and set a schedule to be certain he covered the most crucial aspects before Cal’s return. “I’d like to give you a task and have you report back to me on the outcome when we meet here next Friday.”
There came the response he’d been seeking—the widening eyes, the parted lips, the squirming hips and the fervent nod.
Young Mr. Kress craved attention, good or ill. The opportunity to serve and to be noticed. Degradation was the opposite of what he needed. Telling him he’d been bad likely shamed him without exciting him. He’d accepted such attention from dominants only because he lacked understanding of their games and his own desires.
Well, they’d see next week. Punishment scenes were certain to be under way at any given time, and his submissive’s reaction to witnessing them would tell him more than the man himself could.
“Good boy,” he murmured. “Tell me, do you shower in the morning or at night?”
“In the morning before work, sir.” The note of discomfort in the sweet tenor suggested dissatisfaction with his employment. A sore spot?
“Sometimes at night if I get home early enough to go biking after work.” There, that was a happier tone. A favorite hobby, perhaps.
Biking explained his submissive’s fine physique and the delightful tan lines. Sloping curves and crisp edges outlined exquisite musculature. A body he ached to pin to the floor and fuck until his partner’s sweet face relaxed with post-coital bliss. He’d capture the moment in pencils first, the hazy, half-lidded eyes and the arc of satiation in his smile. Jay cried out for smiles and laughter.
Not mine.
He cleared his throat. “When you touch yourself, which is your preferred hand?”
“I always use my right hand, Master Henry.” He half-raised it as he spoke, glanced down, and dropped his arm as if it burned him.
Excess energy gave Jay a natural desire for motion. Previous partners might have tried to beat that out of him as well. Did no one truly look at him and assess his nature and his needs?
“Then you’ll use your left for your homework. I want you to masturbate to climax for me twice daily.”
Not an onerous task. Giving the young man permission to indulge on a strict regimen would accomplish two things. On one level, it would make his normal behavior an activity with added spice as it was now being performed as an act of submission. On a second level, he hoped, the homework would provide a strong enough outlet for Jay’s desires that he wouldn’t be inclined to seek out dangerous play elsewhere.
“Your morning session will be in the shower. If that means you need to set your alarm ten minutes early to give yourself time, then you will do so.”
Gaze fixed on his face, Jay hung on his every word. A full-body vibration suggested he might perform his first session in his shorts with no stimulation. No harm if he did, though convincing him of that might make for a difficult end to the evening.
“Your evening session will be in the shower if you’ve gone biking. If not, you’re to lie in bed with your eyes closed and think about what you would like to be doing for me.” He raised a warning hand, i
ndex finger extended.
His submissive snapped to attention.
“Not what you think I wish you to do, you understand, but what you wish to do for me. When we meet next week, you’ll report to me on your sessions.”
Crinkles gathered at the corners of Jay’s eyes. Despite the slight pursing of his lips, he held his silence.
“If you’ve a question, you’re to ask it now.”
“I don’t understand, Master Henry. Report what?”
“Whatever I ask, my boy, so I’ll ask you to pay attention to yourself and your desires while you play. That time is my time, and you’ll be serving me best by giving it your full attention.”
Jay gave a determined nod. “I won’t mess up, sir, I promise.”
He allowed the smile tugging at his lips to show through. His partner ought to see dominance could be fun, too. “A bit of a mess is to be expected. I won’t fault you for that.”
The younger man broke into a brilliant smile. One instantly hidden by a bowed head, but a smile nonetheless.
“Don’t hide from me, Jay,” he murmured. “I want to see your feelings on your face. Will you do that for me, my brave boy?”
The dark head lifted. Earnest brown eyes met his gaze. “I will, Master Henry.” His lips moved soundlessly. “Thank you, Master Henry. I want—” He conquered his twitching shoulders and sat still and tall. “I want to make you proud of me.”
Thank God for the side table between them. Without it, he’d have pulled the boy to his chest and wrapped his arms too tightly around a still-healing back. As it was, he fought the urge.
Jay had been touched with too much violence and lack of permission to make initiating contact so soon a viable option. He needed to learn such boundaries were desirable and enjoyable. Words would have to do, for tonight.
“You’re a good boy, Jay, and your red ribbon tells everyone here that you’re my good boy.” He leaned forward and held his gaze. “I want you to take good care of my property this week. Treat it well. If you do that, you will have pleased me very much.”
Chapter 2
Henry’s phone rang at half past six on Friday night. Knife laid aside, he abandoned the mushrooms on the cutting board and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. “Hello?”
“Good evening, sir,” Emma replied, her voice crisp and professional if unexpected. “We’re holding a package for you at the front desk.”
A package—the boy. At half past six? With the time he’d spent observing last week, he hadn’t engaged his new submissive until nine o’clock. They’d agreed to meet at a similar time tonight.
“Describe this package, Em.” He’d planned to arrive an hour early in case the younger man’s eagerness got the better of him. Clearly he’d misjudged how eager he would be. “No need for formalities on my end.”
The front desk’s nondescript greetings could be a godsend for married players whose spouses picked up their phones or white-collar professionals taking calls at work, but he had no such concerns.
“A wriggly puppy stuffed into an ill-fitting business suit, sir.” She dropped her voice to a teasing drawl on the final word.
“Straight from work?”
“That would be my guess.”
“Em, could you spare one of the house girls to show him how to set a proper table in the salon?” The bacon-wrapped filet with sautéed mushrooms would have to wait until tomorrow’s dinner. The boy’s needs would come first. “One who’ll be gentle with him. I don’t want his behavior criticized.”
“I’ll take care of assisting him myself, Henry. A pillow or two chairs?”
“Two chairs for tonight, thank you. I’m confident he’ll receive an excellent education in etiquette under your tutelage.” He swept the mushrooms into a container and replaced them in the refrigerator. “But if I suspect you’re pushing him for the benefit of your wager, be assured I’ll have a word with Victor about your behavior.”
“If your word with Victor earns me a spanking, I’ll have to thank you for it.”
He strode down the hall to his bedroom. “I rather think it would lose you a spanking.”
Emma topped his chuckle with a laugh. “I might enjoy that, as well.”
He grunted to acknowledge the point. “I’m serious now, Em. He’s fragile and confused. I won’t pull him from the arms of one bully only to push him into the arms of the next.”
Suits lined his closet. A basic black would match the boy’s coloration. Too formal?
“Only you would put yourself in the same breath as that safeword-violating bastard. The boy’s half in love with you already. You ought to have seen the bounce in his step, Henry. He’s eager today, but he isn’t anxious. He charmed the girls to pieces with his smile and his check-in declaration. ‘I belong to Master Henry,’ he says, sweet as maple sugar melting on your tongue.”
Mmm, confident submission, an elixir stirring heat in—he paused his reach for a suit from the rack. “Please tell me he isn’t listening to you right now, Emma.”
“Of course not. I ducked into Victor’s office to call you. If you want to project a neutral image with him, that’s your business, Henry. You know I’d never interfere with your training.”
“Directly, no. But a nudge here, a word there? You well know the influence you carry.”
“He’s a sweet boy, Henry. I just”—her sigh floated, featherlight—“want to see you happy. For you to find what Victor and I share. I realize it isn’t my place to play matchmaker. And perhaps this boy isn’t the right one. If you want me to send one of the other girls upstairs with him, I will.”
“No, he’ll be safest in your hands.” He tossed the chosen suit to the bed. “Will you transfer the call to the front so I may speak with him? I’ll need to issue instructions.”
He selected shoes and a tie while he waited on hold. If his submissive had gone straight to the club from work, he’d need to be fed. They’d be observing rather than playing again tonight in any case, so a full stomach wouldn’t be troublesome. Better to teach Jay he expected his submissives to be in good health. Caring for his body with proper food and rest wasn’t to be overlooked.
“Master Henry?”
Savoring the sound of his name in the light tenor, he closed his eyes at the tentative hope in his student’s voice. “My dear boy. I understand you’ve arrived early for our playtime.”
He counted a short pause, long enough to make the young man reconsider such behavior in the future but not so long as to discourage his enthusiasm. “That’s fine. I have a few errands to run before I join you, however. I want you to listen carefully to the instructions I give you, and then I want you to let Emma help you carry them out. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes, Master Henry. I’m sorry I interrupted your evening. I know we weren’t supposed to meet until later. I just”—Jay’s rapid flow stuttered—“I was so. . . .”
“All’s well, my boy. We’ll have dinner together when I arrive. You’re not to change into your play clothes yet. Emma will show you how to prepare a table for us in the salon. Do you have any food allergies I need to be aware of ?”
“No, Master Henry.” A thread of excitement wormed its way into Jay’s voice. “We’re really having dinner together?”
“We are. Be a good boy and wait for me at the table. You’re not to leave the second floor. Can you follow these instructions for me?”
“I can, Master Henry. I promise.”
With a final reassurance for the boy, he said his goodbyes and ended the call. Now to arrange for carryout from somewhere suitable nearby, shower and dress, and meet his companion for dinner. Training Jay added to his workload. Interrupted his routine.
And yet. The boy’s need spoke to him. Having someone to look after fulfilled him in a way short-term liaisons did not.
“Two months.” He dialed a satisfactory steakhouse a block from the club. No need to deny himself a filet simply because he wouldn’t be handling the cooking. “Two months, and then I’ll give him up to some
one who’ll appreciate him.”
Henry’s watch showed quarter to eight as he mounted the stairs toting carryout meals for himself and his submissive. The hour found the second floor a modest hive of activity as players donned their preferred personas and headed upstairs to the sandbox. Eventually, he too would join the procession, with Jay in tow. For now, he turned right and stepped through the wide double doors into the salon.
The area set aside for himself and young Mr. Kress showed Emma’s unmistakable influence. Tucked into the farthest corner of the room, a three-panel screen of wood and fabric created a private dining nook. Best pray the younger man didn’t recognize the scenes depicted, though the intent shouted for all and sundry to pay heed.
A pair of yellow-ribboned women cast admiring glances his way. Muting his growl, he stepped past them with a curt headshake. Won’t interfere, my ass.
A paean to Greek mythology and literature graced each panel. Achilles and Patroclus circled each other with shields and spears, their sandaled feet the only flesh not on view. Apollo strummed his lyre while a boy—Hyacinth, given the field of flowers—lay at his feet. Beautiful Ganymede proffered a cup beneath the sheltering wings of Zeus-as-eagle.
Stalking across the room, he considered the ready excuses sure to be on Emma’s lips. A shield to keep the boy from prying eyes, lest his table manners prove less than impeccable. Hadn’t he himself insisted on protecting Jay from possible criticism? No, of course the scenes hadn’t been deliberate. Convenience had dictated the choice. In no way had she meant to imply Jay Kress was his eromenos.
His beloved boy. His to mentor and protect. His sweet lips to kiss, his beautiful thighs to fuck.
Cock pressing at his fly, he swore in silence. Was there no mercy to be found?
He rounded the screen.
Jay sprang to his feet.
No. No mercy at all.
Despite Emma’s claim, his student wore a suit as well as he wore leather shorts. Temptation beat at him, an unrelenting pressure, the image of his submissive on his knees with the same earnest delight on his face.