The Mormon and the Dom

by Nix Knox

  Maybe that’s my problem. I’m just not normal.

  Noah had feared that was the truth ever since he was seven. It seemed to him his brothers lived for breaking things, while Noah was quite happy to sit and read. While they played video games, he would become lost in Narnia or Hogwarts. He liked his room to be tidy, while their rooms looked like a tornado had a fight with a shark. They ate like wild beasts, while Noah enjoyed savoring his food.

  Thankfully, Noah had no idea what they liked sexually. He wasn’t that close with anyone, let alone his siblings. All he knew was what he craved. Noah had suffered with his twisted fantasies for a long time. He just assumed it was further evidence of his inherent wrongness. Of course, that was before he’d gone onto the Internet. Oh, he’d been using the amazing tool for years, but he never looked at those sites. He made a point of not looking because of church teachings. Somehow, if he didn’t look, he thought the yearning would go away. It didn’t. Noah craved submission the way others craved alcohol. The fantasies consumed him. It wasn’t like his occasional craving for chocolate. That he could have a bite of and feel satisfied with, but sex was like an addictive drug. Noah believed that if he ever gave in to his sick needs even once, he would never be able to get out of that hole. He would need darker fantasies to find release. The church cautioned about the dangers of porn and the harrowing reality of porn addiction. Noah envisioned a downward spiral of depravity that would end with his death by a kinky fetish gone wrong.

  Believing that he had an addiction despite the fact he’d never actually done anything, he struggled to find ways to treat himself. There was nothing. The more he tried not to look, the more his brain filled in with epic dreams that were remarkably detailed. Something as simple as seeing a movie character in a leather jacket sparked wicked dreams filled with dark demands.

  After trying so diligently to stay away from what he wanted and being woefully unsuccessful, Noah decided to go the other direction. Noah would wallow in perversion. He gorged on BDSM websites and books, and then he discovered the chat rooms. Realizing he wasn’t alone was initially empowering but then frightening. The fact that there were others who would be more than happy to give him what he wanted meant that Noah no longer had any excuse not to act. Oh, he’d told himself it was too dangerous. Strangers off the Internet simply couldn’t be trusted. God only knew what they would do to him. But he’d learned enough to know how to be safe. He grasped that they didn’t just meet and beat one another up. It was a dance with clearly defined limits and negotiated surrender. Safe, sane, and consensual. Once he realized it wasn’t a free-for-all, he felt marginally better. Still, he had debated the issue for months, and then he’d finally chatted online with another submissive who raved about a Dom named Ronan.

  In short order, Ronan the Dom became an obsession.

  Noah read everything the sub wrote about Ronan with envy and longing. When another submissive mentioned the same Dom, Noah quickly pumped his new source dry of information. Using the search feature on the chat room logs, Noah found nothing but gushing compliments about Master Ronan. As far as Noah could tell, he’d never left a submissive unsatisfied. Excitement had coiled through Noah, sparking new fantasies that were so intense he often came in his sleep.

  After much agonizing, Noah finally contacted one of the subs privately, hoping to be connected with Master Ronan. Sadly, he said Ronan wasn’t around anymore. Crushed, Noah thought he’d waited too long. He was furious with himself for his hesitation. If only he’d acted rather than agonized. But then he’d met Tony. Noah had been chatting with a fellow sub about outfits when Tony popped in to talk about leather, which was his specialty. Tony made custom-fitted leather outfits for motorcycle riders and BDSM enthusiasts. After a long night of sharing secrets, Noah won Tony’s confidence, and Tony admitted that he knew Ronan personally.

  Noah had been so excited he could barely contain himself. He had to meet Tony and get Ronan’s information from him. To that end, Noah said he wanted to buy custom leathers. As a professional, Tony was happy to meet with him. For the three days before their get-together, Noah had been nothing but raw nerves. He couldn’t sleep and couldn’t eat. About all he could think about was that he was going to meet a pervert in real life. This was no casual Internet chat where Noah could hide behind the name Blue-Eyed Surrender. What if Tony tried to molest him right out in public? Sure, he’d read about negotiating a scene, but that didn’t mean everyone followed the rules. Noah had purchased a can of pepper spray and kept it ready in his suit pocket.

  Determined to be as safe as he could, Noah had arranged to meet Tony in a local sport-themed restaurant and bar. The suggestion had been to protect him from Tony touching him during the meeting or following him once he left. The place was on the other side of town from where Noah worked as an accountant. Also, the place was the type of establishment he never frequented. No one would recognize him there, and the place would be filled with lunch-hour people and therefore safe.

  Noah had gotten to the bar an hour early so he could order a drink and try to calm down. He ended up feel horribly nauseated and almost barfed up his banana daiquiri. Girl drinks were supposed to taste like candy, but that didn’t mean they stayed down once they were down. When Tony came in wearing the leather hat he said he’d be sporting, Noah realized he wasn’t a drooling pervert slouching around in a trench coat. Tony was just an average, everyday kind of man. He appeared to be somewhere in his forties. He had a rotund tummy, a balding head under his leather hat, and oddly intense green eyes. Tony was friendly, professional, and never once made an inappropriate comment. It was obvious within minutes that Tony wasn’t even remotely interested in hitting on him.

  Feeling safe in his presence, Noah had happily moved their meeting to a corner booth. After the lunch rush was over, he felt they had a surprising amount of privacy. Noah picked Tony’s brain about BDSM in general and how people hooked up in specific. After another round of drinks, this time a much less sweet margarita went down easy and made him feel marginally relaxed, and Noah finally summoned the courage to ask about Ronan.

  “Ronan?” Tony’s smile had widened. “Aim high, Blue-Eyed Surrender.”

  Tony had been using Noah’s screen name because he was still a little leery about giving out his real name. Noah wasn’t that common a first name. Not like Tony. Not that Noah believed that was even his real name. Then again, he did have a business. He’d even given Noah a card so he could come in and get measured for his gear.

  “He wouldn’t want someone like me?” Noah wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t special. He was the typical boy-next-door with his light blond hair and big blue eyes. In the white-bread, corn-fed world of Utah, Noah didn’t stand out at all.

  “He’d fucking love someone like you.” Tony laughed and then ate another buffalo wing.

  “I don’t understand.” Noah had to twiddle his thumbs as he waited for Tony to finish dipping the appetizer into a small bowl of blue-cheese dressing.

  “You look like innocence personified.” During the shift change, they got a new server, who promptly asked for Noah’s ID. He’d had to show his driver’s license a second time because the woman simply didn’t believe he was older than eighteen. Noah was twenty-two, but no matter how he dressed or styled his hair, he always looked painfully young. “Definitely Ronan’s type.”

  “But?” Noah sat in agonizing frustration as Tony ate another hot wing.

  “But he’s not into the scene anymore.”

  Noah thought he might burst into tears. Setting his sights on Ronan, a man he’d never met, was ridiculous. So what if every sub he’d ever been with rated him eleven stars out of ten and swore they’d give the man a kidney if he needed it? Obviously, it wasn’t meant to be. If it was, it simply wouldn’t be this difficult to place himself in Ronan’s hands.

  “Look, kid, you’re new to all this, right?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “To some.”

  Noah waited for Tony to go on. He was lea
rning there were a lot of pauses in the man’s communication style. It was frustrating, but there wasn’t anything Noah could do but wait.

  Eventually, Tony explained. “Some Doms don’t like to train a newbie. It’s time-consuming.”

  “So Ronan wants someone who looks innocent but knows everything?” It was totally perverse yet made sense somehow. Noah considered going to another Dom to get some experience, but he knew he wouldn’t. There was something about Ronan. Noah wasn’t foolish. He recognized that he might have deliberately set his sights on an unobtainable Dom to prevent himself from ever having to take a risk and do what he most wanted to do. But that didn’t mean he was going to be able to drop his idea overnight. Maybe with some time, he could find another and try again.

  “Well, yeah, that sounds kinda stupid when you say it that way.” Tony picked up another wing and coated it liberally with dressing. “Why him?”

  “He’s the best.”

  “And you deserve that?”

  “I do.” Noah straightened his spine.

  “I like you, kid.”

  “Then please stop calling me kid.” Swallowing down his inner mother who warned him of all dangers real or imaginary, Noah said, “Please call me Noah.”

  “Noah.” Tony nodded. “Good for you.”

  Noah didn’t think Tony was commending him for his given name but for the fact he’d finally gotten brave enough to give it out.

  “You aren’t arrogant, and you aren’t a doormat. That’s good. I think Ronan would really like you, but like I said, he’s been pulling back out of the lifestyle.”

  “He lives day in and day out as a Dom?” Noah had heard there were different levels of saturation. Some dabbled, while others wallowed. Noah wasn’t certain which end of the spectrum he’d like. For now, all he wanted was a taste. He wouldn’t know if he liked the flavor until he tried.

  “Far as I know.” Tony shrugged. “I don’t know him like that. I just know that he used to take on clients that I met in my line of work.”

  “He does it for money?”

  “Don’t look so shocked.” Tony wiped his hands and face off with a napkin he dipped in his water glass. “Lots of people do things for money. It’s not like he’s a whore. He’s not selling sex.”

  “But—” Noah cut himself off. It wasn’t any of his concern. If both parties were consenting adults, who was he to say it was wrong? From what he’d read, some Doms didn’t engage in sexual intercourse with their subs. Each pairing agreed to terms before they got started. If he was lucky enough to meet Ronan, Noah would have to tell him exactly what he wanted.

  Never in a million years would Noah have anticipated the next words tumbling out of his mouth. “What if I offered to pay him?”

  Tony had looked as stunned as Noah felt. What was wrong with him? He must be crazy. His twisted desire had pushed him to consider hiring a man to act out his fantasies. After some more back-and-forth, Tony had left with the promise that he would contact Ronan. In the meantime, Noah contented himself with gathering supplies. Each day that passed without word from Tony made Noah think he either didn’t know Ronan or Ronan simply wasn’t interested. Still, Noah was building his confidence by building his collection of fetish items. The leather gear Tony constructed had been expensive, but when Noah pulled on the leather pants, he thought they were worth every cent.

  Not only was the smell of the leather intoxicating, but the feel of his cock and balls being cupped tight and forcibly put on display felt as good as it looked. Somehow, in the clinging black pants, Noah didn’t look scrawny, but slender and strong. Tony had also fashioned him manacles, a collar, and his very own set of collapsible spreader bars. Noah practically climaxed just looking at the items. When he’d gotten home and put everything on, he’d stood in his bedroom admiring himself.

  But then he had a momentary stumble. He couldn’t decide if he looked silly or sexy. Possibly both. But his opinion didn’t matter so much as that of his master. And he still wanted Ronan. After a lot of pestering, Tony had told Noah to be on the corner of Ninth and Ninth at noon. So here he was. The only reason he’d brought the pie was so that he’d have something to offer. Tony said if Ronan found him acceptable, he would tell him what to do.

  “If he’s not into you, he’ll just drive on by.”

  That had seemed unfair to Noah. How could Ronan make a true assessment without meeting him? Was the man so shallow he only cared about looks? In the end, Noah again recognized he had no control over the situation. The only thing he could do was present the best possible image.

  Noah had dressed with care in his best suit. He had all his gear with him in his satchel, slung over his shoulder. He kept his head down as if he was checking on his phone, but he was riveted to the traffic. Would he be able to tell a Dom just by the way he looked or what he drove? The longer he stood there with the sun beating down on him, the woozier he became. What if he wasn’t good-looking enough? How long should he wait before he gave up? What would he do if he wasn’t acceptable?

  When a large motorcycle pulled up near him, Noah frowned. Apparently, his little trick wasn’t working and someone thought he wanted to cross the street. He lifted his head to tell the person to move on when his gaze collided with dark brown eyes. Had they not been under the shield of a helmet, Noah was certain the man’s gaze would have been powerful enough to yank him out of his shoes.

  “Get on.”

  Chapter Three

  Ronan passed through the intersection twice, convinced he was seeing things. There was a man waiting at the corner of Ninth and Ninth, but he couldn’t be the one. His appearance was so innocent he practically oozed naivety. Hadn’t Tony said at one point during the string of phone calls that he had a stunning twenty-two-year-old sub? No way was that man twenty-two. Ronan drove on. He made it three blocks before he flipped a U-turn and went back.

  Blond hair gleamed in the sunlight as he stood peering down at his phone. His suit was well tailored but not excessively expensive. Even though he wasn’t close, Ronan knew the dark navy color would highlight his blue eyes. He most certainly had blue eyes. Ronan would bet his life on that fact. No way could he have the corn-silk hair without the corresponding cornflower-blue eyes. The universe had a warped sense of humor, but there were certain things that were simply destined. But more than his surety about the man’s coloring, there was no way Ronan could leave him standing on that street corner.

  After going the other direction, he flipped another U-turn and went back. Anticipation did a little dance in his belly, making him keenly aware of everything around him. Pulling up to the side of the corner, tucked out of traffic in a parking spot, Ronan waited for the sub to look over. When he finally lifted his head, their gazes seemed to smack into one another. Ronan had never felt overwhelmed the way he did in that moment. This man was going to be stunning in his submission. Twisting his innocent features into an expression of passion would possibly be the most satisfying achievement of his life. Hearing his voice, which Ronan already knew would be quiet and sweet, beg for his cock would probably make him climax.

  “Get on.” The order was out before Ronan realized the guy was holding a pink box. After he pulled off his helmet, he pointed and asked, “What’s that?”

  “Pie.”

  “You brought me a pie?” Ronan couldn’t help himself. He grinned. He’d just been thinking about the Zen of Pizza but maybe it was really the Zen of Pie. Many of life’s best things came in pie form. “Let me guess. Apple?”

  He nodded and blushed.

  Oh. Fuck. It was the wash of red on his cheeks that practically made Ronan drool. Of course, his all-American boy would pick the all-American pie. Ronan wanted him, and he wanted him now. He’d never had a partner who was almost totally innocent. Even Jeremy hadn’t been as naïve as— “What’s your name?”

  “Noah.”

  A biblical name? Not all parents chose such names because of their religious connotations, but in this case, it just might be true. “I’m R
onan.”

  “Should I call you that?”

  “It’s my name.” Ronan extended the kickstand, then swung his leg off the bike. “What else would you call me?”

  Noah swallowed hard as he looked left and right. There weren’t many people around, but by the way Noah was acting, he clearly expected people to listen in. Leaning close, looking up at Ronan with those big, blue eyes, he asked, “Shouldn’t I call you master?”

  Ronan’s cock twitched. It wasn’t just the word, which was one of his favorites, but it was the way Noah asked. He was so concerned about not upsetting Ronan that it was almost funny. Almost. When Ronan flashed back on what he’d been thinking about right before coming here, he realized that Noah was very much the same way Jeremy had been all those years ago. Noah was young, confused, and eager to please so he could be pleased in turn. If Ronan laughed at him, he might permanently break something inside this man. Noah’s fragile sexuality seemed battered. He was almost painfully young, yet he seemed deeply scarred.

  “You’ve never acted out a scene?”

  Noah shook his head. His shoulders were so tense they were practically touching his earlobes.

  “First of all, calm down. Take a slow, deep breath.” Ronan took the pie box from him and put it in the trunk on the back of the bike. The pink box fit inside perfectly once he removed the helmet. “I’m not going to do anything to you without your consent.”

  “But you do want me?” Noah sounded stunned.

  “I want to get to know you.”

  Noah frowned.

  “What?” Ronan wanted it clear right away that Noah should speak up when he had an issue.

  “Just that from the way Tony set this up, I thought it was all about how I look.”