Becoming His Master

by M. Q. Barber

  No, exhaustion seemed the primary cause of Jay’s sluggishness. The lack of sleep overtook youthful energy. Bundling Jay into a cab and calling it a night himself would be the best thing he might do for both of them.

  He turned toward the second-floor desk to fetch the bags. Halfway into his third step, he stopped. Body awareness told him his submissive hadn’t kept up. A swivel showed his companion standing at a full stop in the midst of traffic flowing to and from the stairs. Tugging Jay’s wrist, he guided the stumbling submissive to the wall.

  “Not long now.” He lowered his voice as much to ease his own headache as for Jay’s sake. “Just a change of clothes and home to bed with new sheets, hmm?”

  Jay’s dull nod failed to hide his longing glance. Not toward the changing rooms but the salon.

  “Unless you’d rather something else?” Tipping Jay’s chin up exposed raw need and resignation in deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry, my boy. I haven’t attended to you properly at all tonight, have I? You deserve better from me. Would you like to sit and talk for a while?”

  “Snuggle?” A squirming shrug accompanied Jay’s quiet plea.

  “Of course, my boy. As you like.” For once, he hadn’t relished the idea of continued conversation either. Peace and quiet, and the opportunity for comforting contact, would suit them both.

  Jay’s hand clasped in his, he meandered past the players chatting just inside the salon’s open doors. A quick scan of the room showed him what he sought: one oversize chaise with a long back and a single high armrest.

  Settling himself and Jay took but a few moments once he’d draped his suit coat over the side. His left leg lay stretched out on the chaise, his back in the corner and his right foot resting on the floor. Jay lay fully on the sofa, body in a fetal curl, his back to the rest of the room and his head tucked under his master’s chin.

  Jay’s chest expanded as he yawned. He wiggled as he settled again. Low-grade arousal pulsed through Henry’s veins, unhelpful and ignored. Jay needed stability. Security. And, yes, two or three orgasms a day when he wasn’t battling a crippling need for sleep.

  Threading his fingers through Jay’s hair, he soothed with slow strokes that grew into a light massage. The silence breathed between them, calm and natural, no more worrisome than a gentle rain.

  Twenty minutes, and his submissive no longer nudged his chest with his yawns. Despite the ambient noise and the light in the salon, Jay had dropped off to sleep as if they’d been in the womblike age-play reading room. Surrounded by strangers, Jay trusted him to guard his slumber.

  As he had then, Henry held his tongue. Let him sleep. What harm would it do? His weight comforting, his steady breaths reassuring, his warmth a soporific of its own. Jay needed the rest. They needed this time together. Ease and relaxation drained the headache from his skull.

  More than an hour passed before Jay stirred. A small, urgent whine. A kicking foot. The barest plea, head shaking, eyes closed. “Please don’t make me.”

  Henry huddled close, arms wrapped around him, mouth at his ear. “I have you, Jay. You’re safe, my brave boy. No one may touch you without your permission.”

  No, not without Jay’s and not without his own if Jay failed to protect himself.

  A hitching sob and another quiet whine had him holding his breath until his partner relaxed. He let the air out in a silent, mindful exhalation, paying attention to the steady current passing through his pursed lips.

  The crowd around them thinned and changed. The eager mood of players preparing to go upstairs no longer dominated. Most either lingered in whatever scene they’d found on the upper floors or had returned, sated or dejected, to relax and decompress before heading elsewhere. Scanning the room with lazy disinterest, he paused.

  Will raised a glass in a toast.

  Well. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t thoroughly given himself away with his behavior upstairs. Cradling Jay as he slept wouldn’t tell Will anything he didn’t already realize. And perhaps....

  Better to let his boy sleep as long as he could manage. He extricated his hand from their embrace with care and beckoned to Will.

  “You rang, Henry?” His voice low and rolling, Will stopped beside the back of the chaise and peered with interest at the slumbering submissive. “Good to see he’s finally getting what he needs.”

  Accepting the chide without comment, he stroked Jay’s spine. “A favor, please, Will. For the boy, if not for me. I pushed too hard tonight.”

  “For you and for the boy. I’ve had your back since we were eleven years old. Tell me it involves an unpleasant accident for a safeword-violating fuckwit, and you’ll make me a happy man.” He spread his hands, palms up, and brought them back together in a gesture of prayer.

  “You ought to consult with Emma and Victor on the vengeance fantasies, Will.” Though the image made him smile more than it ought. If his simmering anger toward Jay’s attacker and his constant, nagging fear for Jay’s welfare continued, he’d be arranging the counseling sessions he thought the younger man needed for himself instead. “I’d settle for knowing the boy will possess the will to stand up and say ‘no’ when the suspension ends and he sees his tormentor in these halls.”

  “You think he’d play with him again?” Concern, but not surprise, colored Will’s voice.

  “I’m afraid he won’t be able to help himself.” He twined his fingers in the short hair at the nape of Jay’s neck. Coal-black strands, soft and slender. “He’s fragile. And my protection is inadequate. I’ve let him down more than once now, I suspect.”

  “I don’t think your boy sees it that way.”

  “No, he wouldn’t say so, would he?” He shook his head. “But that’s not what I intended to ask, Will.”

  “So ask. Whatever it is, you know I’ll say yes, Henry. You’re the closest thing to a brother I’ve got.”

  “Nothing so onerous. The desk has my bag. Would you bring it here? There’s something in it I want.”

  “If by so doing I’ll prevent you from displacing that beautiful boy from your lap, I will accept your charge with the humble servitude of the lowest page in your command, o king.” Bowing with a teasing smile, Will backed away several steps before turning and striding from the room.

  A boyhood nickname, King Henry, for his mantle of quiet authority. He’d named Will the Conqueror in return, for his prowess in the boxing ring, invading his opponents’ space and driving them to the ropes. God, they’d been arrogant boys playing at chivalry and knighthood.

  Now he had a vassal who depended on his protection. He listened to Jay breathe until Will returned.

  “The central pocket. There’s a set of sheets on top. Just one will do, if you would.”

  Will unzipped the bag and shook out the top sheet. Running it through his fingers, he raised an eyebrow.

  “Your own, eh? How long’s that been going on?” He draped the sheet over Jay without waiting for an answer.

  Henry tucked the fabric around Jay’s body, bunching some over the younger man’s hand on his chest. Jay snuffled forward, sighed in his sleep, and whispered his master’s name.

  Will repeated the name with somewhat less love. His sharp smile held the wolfish edge Victor favored. “I’m so goddamn jealous of you right now that I can’t even tell you how much,” he whispered, low and seething. “You’ve seen the mess I’ve made of my own life. If you let this boy go, I’ll still be reminding you of it ten years from now.”

  “I know, Will. I’m a stubborn idiot.” He’d deserve the reminder. That and more. “I’ll find another way. The one I envisioned—”

  Jay’s sleeping face, half-hidden in the sheet, roused deeper passions. Possession. Protection.

  “It simply isn’t possible anymore. I’m not ready to let him go.”

  Chapter 8

  “How have you slept this week, my boy?”

  Hardly a proper greeting, but he’d wondered all week, and the sight of his smartly dressed submissive standing beside their table had made ask
ing an urgent demand.

  “Much better, Master Henry.” Jay lifted his head and offered a smile that held all the temptation of a pure, flowing spring in the desert. “Not as good as last Friday, though.”

  Mmm. No, not as good. His own sleep this week hadn’t satisfied him half as well as lying awake and listening to Jay breathe, safe in his arms the whole night through.

  “You prefer your scent straight from the source, do you?” He nuzzled the younger man’s cheek and brushed his lips.

  Jay whimpered and breathed deep. “You bet I do.”

  Henry gave in to desire and delivered a proper kiss, luxurious and soft. He’d debated taking his almost, wish-it-were-so lover to breakfast last week and settled instead for juice and fresh fruit from the club’s kitchen.

  Tonight, as he seated himself and Jay plated their dinner, he allowed himself to hope for more. For good or ill, their agreement would change tonight.

  Giving his submissive permission to eat, he tucked in as well. Jay ate with quiet enthusiasm and not a few worshipful glances across the table. Henry permitted himself an extension of the fantasy.

  He’d made the dinner—chicken in a sauce of bacon and apple cider—himself this evening, disguising the result with plain takeout containers. Jay devoured food he’d made for him with his own hands. How pleasant would it be to spend every weeknight thus?

  He envisioned quiet nights at home, sharing meals and assigning suitable household tasks afterward. Enjoying Jay’s homework performance, with a reward for good behavior, perhaps. A bit of aftercare before bed, snuggling Jay close in his sheets.

  A wave of contentment washed over him.

  Jay scraped his plate. He stopped, fork half-loaded, and stared at his master.

  “Something the matter?”

  “No, Master Henry, nothing.” Jay smiled. “I’m just happy. You look happy.”

  “You make me happy indeed.”

  Jay danced in his seat. His breathing picked up. “Thank you, Master Henry.”

  It seemed a shame to steal Jay’s happiness, but they had a schedule to keep tonight. Putting off the discussion wouldn’t do Jay any favors. “However, we’ve an unpleasant topic to consider, my dear boy.”

  Jay’s smile slipped.

  He reached across the table and clasped Jay’s hand. If fear made his boy bolt, he wanted to know before it happened.

  “Calvin Gardner’s suspension will end in four days.”

  Jay shuddered at the name and flinched back against his seat.

  He tightened his fingers, an attempt to press reassurance into the younger man’s skin. “By this time next week, he’ll have returned to prowling these halls. You may encounter him here.”

  Silent terror greeted him. Jay’s face grew vacant, his eyes the grimy panes of an abandoned house. “I don’t, I don’t wanna—”

  He waited, rubbing the back of Jay’s hand and holding his gaze.

  “I don’t wanna be that boy again, Master Henry.”

  Relief burst in his chest with all the fervor of a fireworks display.

  “We’ll work together to be certain that doesn’t happen.” Even if Jay lacked the strength to enforce such a declaration to his abuser’s face, he’d taken an important step by stating it out loud. “But doing so may mean confronting some unpleasantness.”

  With widening eyes and paling skin, Jay shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

  Henry pushed back his chair and stood, keeping hold of Jay’s hand as he rounded the table.

  Jay clenched his fingers.

  Even had Henry wanted to, he wouldn’t have been able to let go.

  “Shh, it’s all right, my brave boy.” Extending his other hand, he tipped Jay’s face up. “If you’re not ready to talk about what happened, then you’re not ready.”

  He pulled Jay to his chest, feeling the tension in the slender body, and braced for impact.

  Jay swung sideways and flung his free arm around Henry’s waist with a whimper.

  He smoothed the dark hair, holding the silence until Jay’s trembling subsided.

  “But some things we must know. We must know how you’ll react to events around you.” Healing would take time, and theirs had almost run out. Jay’s behavior tonight would be the deciding factor. “What if he approaches you? What if you see him approaching another vulnerable boy? How will you feel? What response will you have?”

  He hugged Jay to him, cradling his back and head. “If I’m to continue as your master, Jay, I must know these things—and so must you.”

  Jay’s slow nod rasped against his shirt. “I trust you, Master Henry. I wanna stay with you. Whatever I hafta do to do that, that’s what I wanna do.”

  The very attitude that most frightened him.

  “At the moment, I want you to finish your dessert and clear the table.”

  After that, they’d see which way Jay would jump.

  Tension hummed in him, an unresolved minor chord crawling under his skin.

  Unpredictability. Therein lay the problem. Jay had shown flashes of understanding, of assertiveness, in their weeks together, but he retreated to greater submission when pushed. The true limit of his tolerance remained unknown. Would he recognize the point when his discomfort warranted the use of his safeword?

  Leading the younger man, now dressed for play, down the familiar third-floor hall, Henry fought the urge to say too much. The club would never change to accommodate individual players’ fears or triggers. If Jay wanted to keep their games here—and given the secrecy and shame Jay seemed to attach to the lifestyle, it seemed unlikely he would do otherwise—desensitizing him to certain stimuli would be imperative.

  He needed Jay’s baseline reaction, to know if they had progressed at all since that second night. Whether Jay could watch without inserting his own emotions in the scene. He doubted it possible. Jay was too sensitive for that. Empathy spilled from his deep brown eyes.

  Even if Jay couldn’t separate emotionally, he might yet recognize the danger. Protect himself with a word.

  Henry stopped before a closed door with a red card. Drawn blinds made the interior impenetrable. “Jay.”

  “Yes, Master Henry?”

  The eager, trusting response bespoke Jay’s faith in him. He only hoped he proved worthy of it. “Tell me your safeword.”

  “Tilt-A-Whirl.” Jay stood with level shoulders and spoke in a bold tone.

  “And when are you to use your safeword?”

  “When I feel sick. When I want the ride to stop.”

  “Good boy.” He took firm hold of his submissive’s chin. “Look me in the eyes, Jay.”

  He waited for Jay to obey and allowed a bit of heat to slip the leash. “Will not using your safeword impress me?”

  Jay blinked. His mouth moved in silence. “No, Master Henry. I’m not—it’s not—”

  Biting his lip, Jay grew distant. His smile emerged beautiful to behold.

  “I have to tell the truth so my master can care for me properly. Even, even if I don’t respect myself, I have to respect my master’s property. If I try to hide my limits, my master’s property might get hurt.”

  “My brilliant, brilliant boy.” Cupping Jay’s face in both hands, he pressed hard to keep from revealing his tremor. “You’ve given me the most exquisite answer to fall from your lips yet. You make me very proud.”

  Proud and aroused. From concerned and flaccid to lusty and straining at his fly in three sentences. The growling hunger in his chest urged him to bend Jay over the nearest bench and fuck him until he couldn’t stand.

  He settled for a bruising kiss.

  Jay’s whimper of surrender exacerbated the thumping rush of testosterone between his legs. Forcing himself to step back, he studied Jay’s glazed eyes.

  Arousal and obedience shone forth like a beacon.

  “Remember your word, my brave boy.”

  He rapped at the door four times. Paused. Grasping the knob, he opened the door and ushered Jay inside.

>   Victor had shed his suit coat and rolled his shirtsleeves to the elbow. Ready to work. He ignored their arrival, seemingly standing alone at the far corner of the room. Until one glimpsed the bare, creamy legs not quite hidden by his trousers and the slim fingers flexing above his own as he cuffed thin wrists to a spreader bar attached to the ceiling.

  Jay’s steps faltered with barely enough space for Henry to close the door behind them. He had no idea of the honor he’d been granted. That Victor had agreed to play on the third floor at all was a concession to Jay’s comfort for Henry’s sake.

  Making him face the fourth floor, to walk the hall that held his own hell, would be unconscionable. Trying to bring him to the sixth floor, to the private suite Victor and Emma maintained for their games, might stoke more fears.

  When he’d gone to Victor with the request, he’d expected a flat no. Expected to fall back to a lesser plan. But no example would do so much for Jay as Victor and Emma’s. Victor’s impeccable control and skill. Emma’s love for the sting of the whip, her vocal enjoyment. Their loving communication in a scene.

  He’d provide the best for his boy, and they were unquestionably the best for this test. Their public demonstrations were rare these days, an annual event he suspected marked a personal anniversary, though neither had said such in so many words.

  Personal invitations to their private games went out perhaps twice or thrice a year, and only to those they considered family. To the doms Victor had personally mentored. Henry. William. To the submissives they’d welcomed into their household for training, and the masters to whom those girls had gifted their service. Scattered across the country, they tried to gather at least once each year to share their happiness.

  He suspected Emma had played a large part in Victor’s willingness to agree to this. If she’d shown the slightest hesitation, Victor would have denied the request. But she’d seen Jay as Henry’s chance for happiness even before he himself had. With Will’s happiness impossible to accomplish so long as he remained chained to a woman who despised him, Henry bore the full weight of Emma’s maternal need for matchmaking. Woe betide young Thomas when he reached adolescence and began courting romance. His mother’s meddling was like to frustrate the boy to no end.