by M. Q. Barber
He forced himself to turn and deposit the bag on the table. Slow and easy.
“You’ve set a lovely table.” He told himself navy wasn’t Jay’s color, despite the good sense he’d shown to pair his suit with a solid white shirt and a pale blue tie with a diagonal thin-stripe in white. “I trust your wait has been a pleasant one?”
“Yes, Master Henry.” Jay stood straight and tall, a slender vision of grace. “Mistress Emma showed me what to do.”
“It’s just Emma, my boy. No title. She’s a submissive here, as you are.” He unpacked the tote. Salads first, the light containers atop the others.
“But she’s in charge of things.” Jay tilted his head. He started to roll his shoulders before stopping himself.
Warm foil container deposited on the table, Henry paused in his work to study his submissive with more care. “Yes, she handles some functions at the club.” The neat half-Windsor had to be Emma’s doing. “She also submits to her husband.” Likewise, the white rose boutonniere pinned with Jay’s red ribbon, the symbol of his ownership. The younger man’s purity and innocence bound under his protection and control.
Pinned. Of course.
“Tell me, how many pins did it take until Emma was satisfied with the drape of your jacket?”
“I’m not sure, Master Henry.” Jay half-smiled, his eyes shining. “She made me stand still for a long time, though. Do you like it?”
With such an enticing invitation, he smoothed the fabric from the lapel to the right shoulder.
Jay caught his breath and rocked his hips.
“Quite handsome,” he murmured. Such promising responses his pupil gave, eager physicality impossible to miss. “But you cannot relax, can you? Afraid you’ll disrupt her handiwork if you so much as breathe too deeply.”
“I don’t mind, Master Henry.” If you like it, he didn’t say, though the worship in his gaze made the words unnecessary.
Humming, he traced the edge of the lapel downward and unfastened the button holding the jacket closed. “I mind.” Hanging the jacket on the chair back wouldn’t do any harm. “Your comfort is my responsibility during our time together.”
He pushed the coat from the boy’s shoulders. He’d remove his own to ensure his dinner partner felt no awkwardness.
“No, no, please.” Jay clutched at the fabric, fighting the motion, his voice rising. “Master Henry, please.”
What the devil was he—
“Please don’t take my ribbon, I’m your good boy, I’m yours—”
Henry kissed him.
He knew the instant their lips touched he ought not have done it.
Soft and pliant, the younger man opened his mouth with a throaty little whimper.
Irresistible. A possessive haze descended, snarling heat pushing out from his center. He ground his cock against his submissive and claimed his mouth.
Pulling himself away demanded his best effort.
His precocious scholar begged for a reprise with parted lips and an intent stare.
“Hush now.” He turned Jay and pulled the jacket free. “I’m not taking your ribbon from you.” Hiding the trembling in his hands required deep focus. “Nor your lovely boutonniere.” Desire and fear of that desire. Taking this boy would be so easy. “We’ll pin them to your shirt.”
Jay made no more fuss, though he tracked the ribbon’s every move.
“Did Emma find you the flower?”
“She said it suited me.” The sweet tenor wavered.
Innocence. Purity. Youth and humility. “It does.”
He hung the jacket on the chair and freed the rose and ribbon, repinning them to the shirt high and left. “There we are. Still mine, aren’t you, Jay?”
Not Jay. The boy. Slip of the tongue. For his own sanity and the boy’s, he had to keep his attraction well clear of these lessons. The boy belonged to him temporarily. Jay belonged to no one but himself.
“All yours, Master Henry.” Red, kiss-swollen lips enhanced the beauty of his smile.
“Wonderful. Let’s plate the meal before it gets cold, then.” He ran his fingers through his companion’s close-cropped dark hair. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving, Master Henry.” Catlike, Jay leaned into his touch. “I got so excited about tonight I forgot about dinner.”
All impulse and no supervision. This novice would need a careful minder. One who might tend to his emotional needs as well as the physical ones, and outside the club as well as in. Young Mr. Kress might only attend a few hours a week, but a lighthouse beacon dimmed beside his craving for more. Finding a play partner to meet such a steep commitment would prove difficult.
Issuing instructions, Henry took his seat. He allowed his submissive to fill the salad plates, transfer the filets and sides, and pour water from the elegant carafe from the club’s kitchen. A biting almond Madeira Sercial would have enhanced the filet’s flavor, but the club’s prohibition against alcohol existed as a reasonable precaution. Intoxicated players were careless players, and careless players injured themselves and their partners.
Perhaps he ought to play matchmaker instead. Find Jay a full-time relationship. The young man’s preference for women would make that, too, a difficult task. Not many mistresses wanted a man-child to care for. A biddable slave to see to their needs for a few hours a week, certainly. A solid half-dozen colleagues would take the boy off his hands without question for that sort of arrangement.
But to take on a twenty-something like Jay, she’d have to be in the market for a submissive husband or pseudo-son, and the boy had already been wounded by the psychology of the games he’d been playing. He needed clear rules and a better understanding of himself. Perhaps two months wouldn’t be enough time. Foisting a half-trained sub on someone else wouldn’t be fair to Jay or his new dominant.
Or to yourself. Self-interest. A snide insinuation, difficult to dislodge when it carried a grain of truth. Young Mr. Kress was vulnerable—and burdened with a temporary master rationalizing reasons to keep his own cock happy. Stop.
The filled plates awaited his attention, as did the young man standing beside the table.
“Thank you, my boy. Take your seat, please.” He’d left the chair with its back to the screen for his submissive. A protected space. The only eyes to gaze upon the boy would be his. The screen’s angles provided his own position with sightlines down two walls. Emma’s awareness of the dominant need to survey his surroundings, no doubt. “We’ll treat dinner a bit casually this evening, shall we?”
Jay knew his own appetites in one area, at least. Starving proved an apt description. Oh, he paced himself as he ate, watching his master’s fork and participating in conversation when prompted as an attentive sub ought, but his slender frame bespoke an elevated metabolism.
Henry sliced a quarter of his filet and deposited it on his companion’s plate along with a portion of his roasted red potatoes and broccoli with blue cheese.
Jay paused with his fork in mid-air but said nothing.
“You have a question, my boy?”
“That’s yours.” His student gazed at the plates in turn, his eyebrows drawn together.
“So it is. And what’s mine is yours, when I choose to share it, isn’t that so?”
Jay fell silent. The pinched lines on his face deepened as if the thought consumed him.
Henry allowed the conversation to lapse and returned to eating his own meal. The more naturally he fostered Jay’s thought process, the better the training would be for him.
“Master Henry?” With slow rotations, Jay twisted his fork on the edge of his plate.
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
He refrained from the obvious answer. Too much teasing might discourage Jay’s innate curiosity, and bringing it forth already took effort. “You may.”
“Do you do that a lot?”
“Do I do what often?” Clarity worked both ways. Jay would have to learn to articulate his thoughts if he wanted to conduct successf
ul negotiations. He might as well learn in a low-stakes situation.
“Share. With, you know”—the boy dared a quick glance at him—“people like me.”
Troubling, that the young man couldn’t even name his position.
“People like you, Jay?” If he’d been playing games of degradation and humiliation, perhaps he thought such names would offend. “Do you mean my chosen submissives?” Or perhaps he didn’t wish to be called by them at all. “The ones whose service and value are immeasurable to me?”
Jay stared with wide eyes. His sweet mouth cried out for kisses.
Shaking off the urge, Henry cleared his throat. “Are you asking why I would share my meal with you, or are you asking if I routinely do so?”
“Both?”
“I do not routinely dine with my submissives these days, no.” In years past, before Victor and Emma had their son, he’d dined at their home weekly, attended by their submissives in training. Happy weekends, long remembered. “I made an exception in your case.”
His student dropped his head. “Because I showed up so early.”
“In part, yes.” In truth, Jay’s focus and desire, his sincere submission, reminded him of those days, a welcome gift deserving respect. “But it’s a pleasure to have such a thoughtful, well-behaved dinner companion.”
“I’m sorry, Master Henry.” Jay curled inward with tight, hunched shoulders.
He’d intended to show his new submissive his special place, not deliver a blow to his self-esteem. Jay thought his own value so negligible that a compliment seemed a complaint. Just as he’d thought the crime of being uncomfortable in a dinner jacket made him eligible for dismissal.
“Had I told you to leave the club, find your dinner elsewhere, and return at nine o’clock, you would have obeyed me, wouldn’t you?”
“Yes, sir.” The boy started to stand.
“Sit.” He pointed, rude though it was, to emphasize the command.
Jay sat.
“I had the option to brush you aside this evening, and I chose not to. What this decision should tell you is that you occupy an elevated status I do not often grant. You deserve to have your needs met. Do you understand?”
The pink tip of a tongue peeked out between Jay’s lips. He stared into the distance. “You’re sharing with me because you want to?”
Well. Progress. Jay recognized the enjoyment his master took, even if he didn’t yet feel himself worthy of causing it.
“Precisely, my dear boy. Dining with you pleases me, and seeing you well-fed pleases me.” He gestured with his fork. “Eat your fill. We’ve dessert to follow. Did you have lunch today?”
“Working lunch, Master Henry.” Jay speared a potato. “Schmoozing with clients, so I didn’t really get to enjoy it.”
Henry questioned his companion about his job selling financial instruments while they finished their meal. Not a single word about fetishes or sex passed his lips. Hardly the standard negotiation technique. He brushed aside the nagging voice warning him not to become too personally involved in the boy’s life. One dinner wouldn’t hurt. They’d have time enough to discuss other things when he took Jay upstairs and could gauge his reactions for himself.
If events upstairs elicited as much joy and gushing thanks as the unveiling of a slice of flourless chocolate cake for dessert did, his student would be fine. Swimming in an endorphin coma, perhaps, but healthy and happy.
Henry left the chocolate to his dark-haired devotee and took a judicious bite of his own sliver of key lime pie. A giddy, glowing boy. Yes, he could be content with that.
He accompanied Jay to the auxiliary reception desk on the second floor after dinner. The boy retrieved a battered duffel bag.
After selecting an available changing room, he gestured Jay inside. “Time to change into your play clothes.”
To watch or not to watch? Both options offered benefits. The trade-off lay between privacy and desirability.
Jay needed a firmer grasp of boundaries, true. Granting him privacy here, opting not to force his presence upon his submissive in a nude, vulnerable state, could demonstrate the sort of negotiations young Mr. Kress ought to be making for himself.
But abandoning his submissive in a delicate moment might be interpreted as discrediting his desirability. As if his appeal waned. Given Jay’s tendency toward self-doubt, the latter might be a more dangerous outcome. Though if he played the mother hen, his student wouldn’t learn.
“If you wish me to wait outside, you need only say your safeword.” Henry stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Your body is yours to show or not, as you choose. I will respect your choices.”
“You’ll stay if I want, though, won’t you, Master Henry?” Jay clutched the duffel strap in both hands.
A hint of anxiety, its origins impossible to determine. Self-doubt, or nerves at the thought of using his safeword, or a basic fear of being left alone, or perhaps even a desire for his master’s continued company.
“A beautiful boy undressing for my pleasure?” He offered a direct gaze and a slow smile. “I assure you, I’ll stay most happily.”
Jay smiled in return, white teeth flashing. “Okay. Stay. I mean, please stay, Master Henry.”
Claiming a seat on one of the room’s two benches, he leaned against the wall and clasped his hands across his stomach. The picture of a patient audience, so long as the arousal thrumming beneath his skin remained undetected.
The duffel unzipped with a singing whirr, and Jay laid his suit coat beside it on the second bench. His fingers lingered on the ribbon wound round the rose on his shirt.
“Shall I hold that for you while you change?” He kept his voice low and gentle, lest his submissive think the question a threat to withhold his attentions. “I’ll return it to you directly after, hmm?”
He extended his hand, palm up, and waited. Jay cradled the bundle with the same overzealous care Henry had shown his godson the first time he’d held the child. Their fingers brushed as the boy made his delivery.
Henry hummed with quiet approval. The submissive’s shy smile called for praise.
“Good boy,” he murmured. “I promise to take special care of you—of your ribbon.”
“I like that,” Jay whispered. He sped through the top three buttons on his shirt.
Too much to take in at once, beauty arrived faster than his eyes could consume it. As eager as Jay seemed to shed his clothes, Henry ached to extend the experience. “Did you enjoy your homework this past week?”
Abandoning work on the buttons, Jay lifted his head and showcased a brilliant smile. “Yes, Master Henry.” He pressed his lips together.
“Go on, my boy. Finish your thought.”
The tentative twinkle in Jay’s eyes presaged the joke. “It was loads of fun.”
He chuckled. “As it ought to be.” Heaven knew he’d spilled a few loads of his own this week with thoughts of his new submissive. “Don’t let me stop you from undressing while we talk.”
Jay hurried back to the buttons and peeled off his shirt. Slim but strong, with narrow shoulders and narrower hips, he offered a delightful feast. Black hair, sparse and swirling, coiled toward his waist. To mark him would be sacrilege.
“Turn, sweet boy, and let me see how you’re healing.”
Hands at his belt, Jay obeyed as he unbuckled. The faded bruises on his back formed a patchwork of pale greens and yellows.
“Do you have any lingering soreness?”
Thin lines remained where the skin had split, but those, too, would fade in time. Tonight they’d see the extent of the invisible scars.
“Only if I press too hard, Master Henry.” Dress pants and boxers dropped to the floor in a bunch. “But I can play.”
The cleft between round, tight cheeks stirred his cock.
Turning, Jay revealed his own heightened interest. “I’m all systems go.”
Henry took a slow, deep breath. Pacing his own arousal would be the only way to survive the night. “Yes, I see y
ou’re firing on all cylinders this evening.”
He’d seen the younger man nude two weeks before, after Cal’s attention, but this was different. This was Jay’s choice, and a safe one. His submissive’s pubic hair was as coal black and close-cropped as the hair on his scalp. Trimming must be a regular part of his preparation for play. His cock stood tall and slender as Jay himself. Circumcised and flush with color.
A scant five feet from where he sat. Such a beautiful view. “Did you think on what you’d like to play while you were finishing your homework?”
His student nodded. Play clothes waited in the duffel, but he had yet to reach for them.
“Tell me.” A low command.
Left hand straying toward his cock, Jay stepped forward. He stopped short of touching—either his cock or his master.
“I could show you, Master Henry.” He sank to his knees. Parting his lips, he took shallow half-breaths, his intention clear as the light in his eyes.
Delicate handling, to be sure. Direct rejection could crush the boy’s spirit. Although his cock voted a fervent yes, his head vetoed the idea. This was neither the time nor the place for action.
He cupped Jay’s face and tipped his chin up.
“Much as I’d love to allow it, and delighted as I am to know you thought of my pleasure while you sought your own, I must decline.” He traced his submissive’s lips with a fingertip, seeking to erase the crestfallen expression.
“The prohibition against play on this floor is in place for the safety and comfort of everyone in the club.” Could I disregard the rules and have no one know of it? Certainly. The door is closed. The boy is mine.
Minute changes in Jay’s face—a slight squint, a tightening of his lips—showed dawning understanding.
“But I would know. Better for all concerned that I resist temptation and treat you with the courtesy and respect owed for the gift you offer.”
He kissed his forehead, inhaling the faint earthy, woody scent of his scalp. “Put your play clothes on, my dear boy.” Cock thudding with his urge to grip Jay’s hair and accept his offer, he forced himself to let go. “Your nudity is entirely too enticing.”
Jay rose and stepped back. He pulled shorts from his duffel. The same pair he’d worn last week, if Henry wasn’t mistaken. A favorite, or perhaps his only set of play clothes.