Becoming His Master

by M. Q. Barber

  Impatient to assess his boy, he quickened his steps, threading around the clutches of players chatting. The hastily bowed head deepened the shadows under Jay’s eyes.

  “You look tired, my sweet boy.” Cupping Jay’s chin, he nudged upward until their gazes leveled. “Have you been ill this week?”

  “No, Master Henry.” Listless. Lethargic. “I feel fine.” Faded, Jay resembled a painting left hanging in direct sunlight year after year. “I’m ready to play.”

  He let his hand fall. “I don’t believe you are.”

  “Please, Master Henry, I want to play.” Jay leaned forward, a full-body motion matching the quiet desperation in his tone.

  “Then you’ll tell me why you appear so exhausted.”

  “I just didn’t sleep good. I’ll do better next week, I promise.” Wide, hopeful eyes watched him.

  Jay hadn’t appeared so sleepless in previous weeks. Some catalyst had caused his insomnia.

  “Have there been more difficulties at work?” If Jay’s insufferable co-worker had harassed him again, stronger action would be required.

  “Diffi—oh.” Jay shook his head. “He hasn’t spoken to me in a couple weeks. It’s nice, I guess. I mean, I still hate the work, but I don’t hafta avoid the bathroom anymore.”

  Excellent. At least he’d managed to do one good thing for young Mr. Kress. “What has kept you awake so late this week?”

  Jay shrugged. “I dunno. Stuff.” He scuffed one sandal on the rug. “Are we going to play a new game tonight, Master Henry?”

  He’d never need worry about Jay becoming a scheming, demanding submissive. Jay hadn’t the skill for guile or deception. Any topic he wished to deflect, however, was one worth pursuing.

  “Perhaps we won’t play anything at all if you cannot provide straightforward answers to my questions.” Pleased with Jay’s small gasp, he hardened his tone. “What has kept you from sleeping?”

  Silence. He waited. His patience more than matched any stubbornness or embarrassment his submissive could conjure.

  “I have nightmares,” Jay mumbled. “Since . . . the thing.”

  Cal’s assault. Not unexpected, but Jay had never mentioned nightmares, and he’d arrived well-rested on previous nights. Henry opened his mouth to speak.

  Jay hung his head. “I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I didn’t feel safe.”

  A tiny whisper followed, so soft he couldn’t be certain he’d heard correctly.

  “My sheets didn’t smell right.”

  Understanding came close to buckling his knees.

  Not wanting to share his sheets with another partner, he hadn’t brought a set for their game last week. He knew Jay considered them a reward, perhaps even a tangible reminder of his ownership. He hadn’t considered how much emotion his student had invested in the fabric. How soothing his scent would be for Jay. How distressing a change in the routine would be.

  Idiot.

  His oversight had left Jay frightened and alone in his bed each night. Waking in a sweaty panic without the comfort he’d grown to rely upon.

  Opening his arms, he reached for his submissive. “Come here, my boy.”

  He cradled Jay in a strong embrace, his arms wound tight around Jay’s back. Still Jay pressed closer, nuzzling at his throat and trying to sink into him.

  “The fault is mine, dear boy. I’m so sorry to have overlooked your need.”

  God help him if he left Jay now. He’d created the very dependency he’d sworn not to. A breach of ethics. He’d failed to control his own damnable desire to have some claim on Jay outside these walls. What options had he left open to the boy?

  A casual, part-time dominant might accept Jay’s kink for sleeping on another man’s sheets, but Jay needed a more stable, caring relationship than the occasional play date could provide. Explaining the sheet situation to a vanilla partner, if the younger man found one, would be impossible.

  “I’ve sheets for you in my bag tonight. If I neglect to pass them over before the end of the night, you’re to remind me, hmm?” He berated himself in silence, a wave of regret washing through him. “We want you well-rested, safe and sound in your bed each night.”

  He rubbed circles across Jay’s back.

  “Master Henry?”

  “Yes?” He laid his cheek against dark hair. The warmth of Jay’s breath on his neck recalled pleasant thoughts.

  “Have you ever collared anyone?”

  He squeezed his submissive, his fingers moving without input from his brain. Jay meant to give him a coronary. In the months the younger man had spent at the club, it hadn’t seemed he’d acquired much knowledge of tradition and protocol.

  Henry forced blandness into his voice. “I didn’t realize you were familiar with the custom.”

  “I told Mistress Emma her necklace was nice when she took me shopping for my suit.”

  Weeks ago. Weeks and weeks ago.

  “She explained how it wasn’t just a necklace and how proud she was to wear it. To belong.”

  More of Emma’s meddling. If she hadn’t been so accurate in her assessment of Jay’s suitability for him, he’d ask Victor to let him discipline her himself. As it was, he might yet. Had Jay wondered and worried all this time?

  “No, I have never collared a submissive of my own.” Though imagination provided an image of one now, Jay with collar and cuffs and cock ring monogrammed with his master’s initials, a magnificent sight. “I find the aesthetic often displeases me.”

  He slipped in a teasing tone and nipped at Jay’s ear. “And I prefer free access to my boy’s neck.”

  Squirming in his arms, Jay giggled like a child. Better. Not whole, but on the path to recovery. Just as well his plans for the night didn’t involve a lengthy sexual scene. An orgasm might put Jay to sleep on his feet.

  He’d made arrangements in advance with four colleagues to ease his submissive into the dynamics of negotiating a scene with a new partner. Two women, two men. A fair sampling of attitudes and styles. The lessons would be useful, even if Jay didn’t end up needing the skills immediately.

  He pressed a final kiss to Jay’s hair. “Are you ready to play?”

  “I’m ready, Master Henry.” Jay gained warmth and liveliness.

  “Wonderful.” He slipped his hands down Jay’s toned arms and interlaced their fingers. “We’ll be starting the night by speaking to other dominants. I want you to practice your negotiation skills.”

  “You want me to negotiate with you for more things?” Jay cocked his head to the side, eyebrows drawn together. “Is this because of the sheets, Master Henry?”

  He squeezed Jay’s hands. “Negotiation is a valuable safety skill for a submissive to cultivate for any situation. You’ll be negotiating—but not concluding—deals with other dominants this evening. I want to see what you’ve learned from our time together.”

  Jay flinched. Disappointment rolled down his face. His gaze dropped. “Yes, Master Henry.”

  “Come along, then.” He tried to interject a chipper note, but success eluded him.

  The mood suffocated him as he led his submissive by the hand to the third floor. They made a somber, funereal procession amid the levity, and the more astute players gave them a wide berth.

  He owed Jay this, whether the boy wanted it or not. This was the training he’d promised. The safety skills Jay needed. He would reward Jay at the end of the night, though in truth he’d lost all such appetite since he’d raised his fork over a decadent pecan tart. He’d never taken that first bite.

  Bypassing the themed rooms, he guided Jay straight to the demonstration hall where players mingled. The central platform sat unused, the spotlights off for the moment. Less extraneous stimuli to distract his companion, he hoped.

  He cast his gaze around the room and spied a familiar face speaking to another player. She looked up, and he nodded. After a brief touch to the other player’s shoulder, she started toward them.

  “I’ll make the introductions, my boy, but then I wan
t you to conduct the negotiation. I’ll stay right here beside you, but the words will be your own.”

  “Yes, Master Henry.” Jay bore the petulant attitude of a teenager vacationing with his parents. No time now to correct him.

  “Gretchen.” He spread his hands in welcome. “It’s lovely to see you. The corset design is quite fetching. One of yours?”

  Gretchen ran a hand down the side of the fabric, black lacey pockets between creamy leather straps and antiqued rivets. The full black skirt beneath no doubt hid a fine pair of boots. She’d always had a steampunk flair, and the style suited her curvaceous form.

  “Lara’s, but I’ll tell her you said so. She worked weeks on this one, Henry.” Her gaze drifting, she widened her smile. Tight curls in an unnatural deep vermilion bobbed against her cheeks as she tipped her head. “What a delicious-looking friend you have today.”

  “Gretchen, this is my very good boy, Jay.” He laid a hand against Jay’s back in a reassuring sweep, but the submissive’s posture remained stiff. He’d angered his boy. If the practice protected Jay, he’d accept this sullen distance a thousand times over. “Jay, say hello to Mistress Gretchen, please.”

  “Hello, Mistress Gretchen.” The bare minimum of parroting courtesy escaped his mouth.

  Henry offered Gretchen a tight smile. He’d expected this exercise would be difficult for Jay for other reasons, but the younger man had never displayed discourtesy before. Sleep deprivation and anger mixed about as well as a blend of purple and orange. Muddy and unusable.

  Gretchen laughed like a champ. “Oh, lift your head, sugar. I want to see those eyes when I talk to you.”

  Jay graced him with every truculent teen’s do-I-have-to expression.

  A glare and a nod set him straight.

  “Mmm, look at you, like melty chocolate drops. Will you do a little turn for me, Jay?” She twirled her finger in unnecessary example. “Slow, all the way around?”

  She’d unquestionably delivered on the marker he’d called in. Bubbly, eager to engage, working hard to draw Jay into the game.

  Jay gave a perfunctory turn.

  His master held back a sigh.

  “You are just a scrumptious little cupcake. I could eat you up. Are you free to play with me, Jay?”

  Jay flinched and withdrew a half step.

  Henry quelled the urge to reach for him. If Jay meant to play at the club, he’d have to handle such questions with grace unless he expected to wear a red ribbon on every visit for the rest of his life. A pushy dominant, friendly or not, demanded an assertive response from an uninterested sub.

  “I, I, I don’t know.” Jay tossed a glance in his direction. “No. I don’t think so. I’m, I’m Master Henry’s boy.”

  Holding a neutral expression in the face of Jay’s uncertainty challenged him more than capturing the younger man’s sleek lines to perfection in his sketchbook. The rejected attempts littered his studio. He’d held out hope Jay would offer a proper “no” without hesitation.

  Gretchen matched Jay’s movement to maintain the closer distance. “What you need is a babysitter for the night, sugar.”

  “I’m too old for a babysitter.” Disdain dripped from Jay’s mouth.

  Rude, but acceptable. At least his submissive hadn’t agreed.

  She advanced with a predatory, sweeping gaze. “Mm-hmm, yes—you—are. That’s the point, cupcake. You must’ve played this game before.”

  “No I haven’t.” Jay retreated.

  Henry stood with tense muscles. Any more of this, and he’d have to clear a path behind his submissive to allow their dance to continue. Gretchen had obeyed his request that she not touch the boy, but he hadn’t issued a moratorium on pursuit.

  “Then you’re a fast learner, aren’t you, Jay?” Sashaying forward, Gretchen flashed a coy smile over her shoulder and mouthed, relax, Henry. “Why don’t we give your master a night out on his own? You can stay in with your sitter. Maybe he’ll come home and find you with her.”

  Jay gaped at her, eyes and mouth wide. “No, never. I’m Master Henry’s good boy.”

  “Even good boys can be naughty sometimes, sugar.” She dropped her voice to a low tease. “Maybe you need a little discipline.”

  He held his breath waiting for Jay’s response. Here was the true test. A nice, firm no and a thank you for your time, Mistress and Gretchen would politely take her leave so he might heap lavish praise on his partner.

  Jay studied the floor in lingering silence.

  “Would you like that, Jay?” Gretchen gave a gentle push, a direct inquiry a submissive couldn’t ignore. “An illicit affair with your sitter after she disciplines you for being such a sassy boy?”

  Jay shrugged. “I guess so, Mistress.” He directed his words to his shuffling feet. “I must’ve been bad or Master Henry wouldn’t go out and leave me for the night. I should be punished.”

  Failure thrust into his chest like a railroad spike taking its final drive into the track. He shook his head even before Gretchen looked back for his direction. Pushing further would be cruel and irrelevant if Jay couldn’t deliver the answer he needed to. Fear for Jay’s safety sparked rising anger that the younger man would use their arrangement as an excuse to accept a game Henry knew damn well he didn’t want to play.

  “Well, you keep thinking about what you want, cupcake.” Gretchen left off the predatory edge in her voice, all sweet understanding and kindness now. “If you decide on something fun, and your master says it’s okay, you come look me up and we’ll give this another try.”

  Jay stood still and silent, his head bowed.

  Gretchen touched Henry’s elbow as she passed, pausing at his side. “Sorry, Henry,” she murmured. “Good luck with your boy.”

  “Thank you, Gretchen.” He equaled her quiet tone, though Jay seemed oblivious to his surroundings in any case. “Your patience was much appreciated.”

  She squeezed his arm, and then she was gone.

  “Jay.” He called the name with quiet steel. “Come here and explain to me why you aren’t treating this exercise seriously.”

  Jay jerked his neck and slunk over with dragging feet.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t wanna play with her. I wanna play with you. Why don’t you wanna play with me, Master Henry?” Childish insecurity thinned his submissive’s tenor.

  Anger draining away, Henry cupped Jay’s cheeks. Petulance borne of fear, not adolescent rebellion, drove his gentle partner. That, at least, he might do something about.

  “I very much enjoy playing with you. But I cannot show others how proud I am of you if your behavior makes you unsafe in their company, now can I?” He shook his head in slow motion and mirrored the movement with Jay’s head in his hands. “This exercise is about your personal safety. Nothing is more important to me than that, do you understand?”

  “If you care so much, why do you want me to play with other people ?” Jay’s wide, soft, pleading eyes peeked from deep-set shadows. “I don’t need them. I just need you, Master Henry.”

  “I know you feel that way today, my boy. We’ve bonded quite well in these last few weeks.” Stroking his thumbs over Jay’s cheeks, he memorized the soft skin above the scruff against his palms, tracing the edge where rough gave way to smooth.

  “I will always be here to advise you.” He’d abandoned the idea of cutting ties next week. He couldn’t do it. The relationship would come to its natural end when Jay was ready, even if the break left Henry bereft. “But surely there are others here you’d enjoy playing with equally well. Women, perhaps? If we’re ever to loosen the restrictions on your attendance, you must learn these skills.”

  “You want me to play with other people.” Jay repeated the words with the sting of rejection attached.

  “Not necessarily.” No, he didn’t truly want that in the slightest. But Jay would, eventually, and he’d never ask if he thought the request would displease his master. Better openness now than resentment later.

  He’d seen
the pattern in countless relationships around him, in infinite variation. One couldn’t play in the same club for a dozen years and fail to recognize it. The initial wariness of strangers gave way to trust after the first good scene. The trust grew into dependence and a hint of worship as the submissive entered a honeymoon phase of euphoria in which the dominant could do no wrong.

  The cracks emerged. Disaffection and dissatisfaction dominated when a soul-deep connection failed to materialize. An off night and over-high expectations conspired to spill resentment and unhappiness. Three months, perhaps six, and the tide turned. Matches like Victor and Emma’s were rare here, where players ever sought something new and different. Fresh faces to manipulate. Unexplored kinks to plumb.

  Jay’s rush of relief at finding a dominant to guide him enhanced his euphoria, but the need would diminish as it often did. The blinders would come off, and he’d see his master as a man beyond this role. The demands of a full relationship would make certain of it. Authority figures—parents, teachers, the idols of youth—crumbled. He would fare no better.

  Striving always to leave his play partners better off than he’d found them, he’d never stayed long enough for those cracks to harm them. He’d never been attached to one the way he’d become attached to Jay.

  Could Jay be seeking the same long-term, bone-deep love he himself did? Would their compatibility withstand the test of time and the mundanity of everyday life?

  A fanciful, unlikely notion. He owed Jay this training in either case. He cleared his throat, an unnecessary tactic, as Jay’s attention hadn’t wandered during his overlong silence.

  “I want you to assert yourself in negotiations, my boy.”

  “You want me to ask for what I want?”

  “Yes. Respect and courtesy are excellent tools to cultivate for such sensitive topics, but your voice must carry equal weight. This holds true for any initial discussion of desires, no matter how submissive you choose to be afterward. Your submission is a choice, and you honor your chosen dominant by making it, but your safety comes first.”

  Jay fingered the red ribbon on his right bicep. “I understand, Master Henry.” His expression slid into a frown and an adorable pinch of concentration between his brows. “I’ll try harder to show you what I want.”