Avery shuddered, his thrusts more insistent as he groaned with pleasure. His hands fell away when Hank gripped the base of his shaft again. Hank reached with his other hand between Avery’s legs, drawing his fingers along the sensitive skin of his perineum and pressing a digit into his tight asshole, all the while sucking and licking Avery’s bone-hard shaft.
“Ah!” Avery cried, his body suddenly stiffening. He gripped Hank’s shoulders to steady himself as he came in a series of convulsive thrusts. Hank sucked him in deep, milking the sweet, hot jism from Avery’s cock until there was nothing left.
Avery pulled back and sank slowly to his knees in front of Hank. Hank brought his arms around him and rested his head against Avery’s shoulder. Though his own cock still throbbed with need, he didn’t care. All that mattered at that moment was Avery. Hank’s heart surged with happiness.
This, he thought with a sense of pure wonder, must be what love feels like.
Chapter 12
“Are you kidding me? People really wear this shit on purpose?” Hank said out loud, though he was alone.
He looked at himself in the three-way mirror in his walk-in closet. The one-piece coverall he was expected to wear was hideous, ill-fitting, disgusting polyester. He’d been given a second identical uniform so he’d always have a clean one at the ready. He really needed to figure out how to use the washer and dryer, now that he’d been forced to cancel the maid service.
He pinned the cheap plastic name tag they’d given him during training onto his breast pocket. It read: Hi, I’m Hank. Somehow, that name tag was even more humiliating than the coveralls.
He heard the sound of a whistle, the text sound he’d chosen especially for Avery. Rushing from the closet, he picked up the phone and looked at the screen. “Good luck today, kiddo.”
Hank smiled. Reese and he had never used endearments. A sudden thought entered his head: why did he keep thinking about Reese? Reese was the past. He needed to put Reese behind him. He texted back, “Thanks! I’m going to need it.”
He’d spent the previous day in training at the Snappy Lube, and today was his first day of actual work. He had thought he’d have a hard time waking up when the five thirty alarm sounded, but in fact, he was already awake, restless with nervous anticipation. He was actually kind of excited about the idea of starting a job, even if it was a piece of crap job at minimum wage. He tried to think of it as an adventure, hopefully a very short-lived one, before he returned to his proper life.
Avery had offered to stay the night to make sure Hank woke up on time, but Hank had declined, not wanting Avery to see how anxious he was. Though he’d downplayed it for Avery, the training had been kind of overwhelming.
Hank had taken an instant dislike to Patrick Sullivan, the pit supervisor who would be his immediate boss. He was a short, swarthy man with greasy black hair and a permanent scowl on his face.
After Hank finished filling out a bunch of paperwork, Patrick had lectured him on cleanliness, showing up to work on time, respecting customer property and about thirty other “quality check points.” His new boss had exhaustively reviewed the specifics of the job and the safety procedures, ending many of his sentences with, “Got that, bonehead?”
It was all Hank could do not to punch the guy in the nose. By the end of the day, his jaw was aching from clenching his teeth.
The good news was he’d be paid for the training, which he hadn’t expected. And he was reasonably sure he could handle the job. It didn’t seem especially difficult, though the work was very hands-on and messy. Hank did like that he had his own bay, or pit, as Patrick referred to it, so he could work without someone else breathing down his neck.
This particular Snappy Lube was a franchise, he’d come to learn, and the franchise owner spent the bare minimum on updated tools and technology. Also, there were no formal breaks permitted. “As long as there are cars lined up for servicing, you stay in your pit and get the job done,” Patrick had said, glowering as if Hank had already fucked up. “And don’t do a half-assed job. We don’t tolerate that here at Snappy Lube. A lot of new techs get fired because they don’t torque drain plugs, caliper bracket bolts or lug nuts properly. That’s sloppy work. Don’t let me catch you at it.”
Several dozen times during Patrick’s condescending rants Hank had had to bite his tongue. Who the hell did that little piece of shit think he was? Hank was not used to being talked to in such a manner. He’d wanted to scream, “Don’t you know who I am?”
But who was he, now? Without his money, what was left?
“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” he whispered, a tear rolling down his cheek.
Angrily, he wiped it away. He was a grown man. He could totally do this thing. Avery had invited him over that evening, and Hank would focus on that. He glanced at the time. “Better get going, bonehead,” he said aloud, channeling his obnoxious new boss. “You don’t want to be late on your first day.”
By the end of his first six-hour shift, Hank was sure he had died and been sent straight to hell.
His back ached and his neck was killing him from working at an odd angle. He hadn’t yet figured out how to keep the oil from splashing him each time he opened the drain plug. One car’s oil gasket had been literally falling apart at the seams. Another had been dried up and bonded to the engine block.
He hadn’t thought to bring any food with him, and he’d watched hungrily as various guys opened their lunch boxes and pulled out sandwiches and packets of chips and cookies. He did manage to get out of his pit long enough to buy a couple of candy bars and a Coke from the vending machine, but the snacks had just left him feeling queasy and on edge.
The tools he’d been provided with were old and difficult to use, especially the strap wrench that was used to remove the oil filter. He found himself spending far too much time battling with the damn thing, but when he asked if there were newer tools available, Patrick had snapped that he’d have to bring his own if he wasn’t happy with what they provided.
“We all bring our own,” Billy, the guy in the pit next to his, told him once Patrick had walked away.
Patrick had been on his case from the second he’d arrived, cutting him zero slack for being new. “Hurry it up already, bonehead. Billy and Eduardo are twice as fast as you are. If you want to make the grade, you need to speed it up. Fast turnover, that’s the name of the game, pal.”
Hank very nearly spat out that Patrick-fucking-Sullivan was no pal of his, but he’d managed to hold his tongue. After Patrick had stomped away, Billy had grinned and shaken his head. “Just ignore him. He’s an asshole. You’re doing fine, especially for your first day.”
“Thanks,” Hank replied, startled at how incredibly grateful he felt for just those few words of encouragement. He’d never worked so hard in his life. As he clocked out and peeled off the now oil-splotched and sweat-soaked coverall, he couldn’t deny his rising sense of accomplishment and pride. He’d done it! He’d worked the whole day, and he’d held his own, if barely.
He couldn’t wait to tell Avery.
Once back home and in the shower, he thought of something Reese had said to him when he was in the process of changing careers from construction to sales. “I want a job where I take my shower before work, instead of after.”
Hank, never having had to hold down a job before, hadn’t really appreciated what Reese was saying to him. But now, as he tried to scrub away the oil that had accumulated under his fingernails and lather away the day’s sweat, he understood what he had been talking about. It was hard to believe people actually went out every single day and did a job like this, while getting paid a pittance to do it. Surely, his father would get things sorted out soon, and life could go back to normal.
Except, what if he didn’t?
Don’t think about it.
While he was drying off, his cell phone, which he’d left on the marble counter by the sinks, buzzed. It was a phone call from a number he didn’t recognize. He almost let it go to voicemail, bu
t decided to take it, just in case it was from work.
“Hello?”
“Hi there. Is this Hank Seeley?” a woman chirped.
“Yes,” Hank said hesitantly, already regretting his decision to answer.
“This is Sue Antonio. I’m the listing agent for the house. I already have a few showings lined up for next week. I’ll want to come out first and just get a sense of the space, maybe do a little staging if necessary. It’s in an excellent location so there shouldn’t be any problem selling. We’ll definitely get the asking price. There might even be a bidding war. We’ll need to coordinate our schedules so you can be out of the house during the showings.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Hank sputtered, trying to process whatever the hell this woman was saying. “What house are you talking about? My house? My house isn’t for sale.”
“Oh, dear. Sounds like there’s a bit of a communication mix-up. Maybe you want to call your father for some clarification? Then please give me a call back and we’ll get something scheduled. Talk to you soon.” She clicked off before he could vent his fury.
Hank stared at his cell in disbelief. Was his father actually selling the house right out from under him? And he hadn’t even had the courtesy to call and let Hank know? And what was Hank supposed to do now? Move back home? He’d rather eat dirt. Move into a homeless shelter? Because no fucking way was he going to be able to afford even a shitty little apartment, not on what he was making. How the hell did people live? What was he going to do now?
He sank slowly to the floor and dropped his head into his hands.
~*~
“You could stay with me.”
It seemed like such an obvious solution, but Hank’s mouth fell open as Avery suggested it, his eyes going wide. “Really?” he breathed. “You’d let me do that?”
Avery chuckled. “We’re basically spending every spare moment together as it is, right? As you know, I have pretty erratic hours, but I think it would be kind of nice to have you waiting and on your knees when I come home, hmm?” he teased, though as he said it, he realized he wasn’t entirely teasing.
“Ha. You wish,” Hank retorted with a grin.
“I do wish,” Avery said, dropping the bantering tone. “There’s a deeply submissive streak in you that I’ve enjoyed tapping into. I think you’re ready to go to the next level.”
“The next level? What—you think I want to be a 24/7 sex slave? No fucking way.” Hank barked a laugh, but Avery had seen the sudden longing in his eyes.
“Maybe not a slave—not yet,” Avery offered, smiling as Hank widened his eyes again. “But so far all we’ve really done is scratch the surface of your submissive potential. I think you could find the happiness and peace that’s been eluding you if you embraced your true nature. I’d like to help you achieve that. There’s no question, your training could go a lot more quickly if we lived together, even if just temporarily.”
Hank was quiet for a long time. Then he rose from the table where they’d just finished their dinner and dropped with surprising grace to his knees beside Avery. He met Avery’s gaze with his dark, fathomless eyes. “As crazy as it sounds, I think I’d like that, Sir. At least, I’d like to try.”
Avery’s heart skipped a beat. He pushed back from the table and stood. Reaching out his hands, he pulled Hank to his feet. “That pleases me, Hank.” He wrapped the sexy man in his arms and kissed him, claiming him with his lips and tongue as he slid his hands beneath Hank’s soft sweater and stroked his back. He could feel Hank’s erection rising between them, along with his own.
Letting him go, he led him to the bedroom. When Avery sat on the bed, Hank started to join him, but Avery held out a hand to stop him. “No. Stay where you are. I want you to take off your clothes and then kneel in front of me, hands behind your back, knees spread, posture tall. This is what we’ll call your presentation mode. When I ask you to present, that’s your signal that we’re entering Dom/sub headspace together. When that happens, you will immediately strip and get on your knees.”
Hank bit his lower lip, clearly nervous, though the bulge in his jeans remained.
Avery waited a beat for Hank to obey. When nothing happened, he lifted his eyebrows. “Well? I’ve given you a specific task. Why are you still standing there? Present yourself.” Avery held Hank in his gaze, silently willing him to obey. He wanted Hank’s submission, but only freely given.
A look of resolve came into Hank’s face and he stood a little taller. With a minute nod, he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor. At a look from Avery, he picked up the shirt and draped it over the back of the chair. He kicked off his shoes and removed his jeans and underwear.
God, he was gorgeous, with his smooth skin and muscular build, his cock already fully erect—a good sign.
On an impulse, Avery reached behind his neck and undid the clasp to his triskelion medallion necklace. Getting to his feet, he moved behind Hank and placed the gold chain around Hank’s neck.
“Oh, wow,” Hank began. “But that’s your special—”
Avery placed a finger over Hank’s lips. “First rule of this new dynamic between us. When you’re in sub mode, you don’t speak unless spoken to, unless given direct permission. Do you understand?”
Swallowing again, Hank nodded.
“Second, you will answer with words, not a nod or a gesture. And you’ll address me as Sir. Got it?”
Hank’s eyes widened, a sudden look of defiance moving over his handsome face. But he seemed to reconsider, because the snarky expression fell away, and he said softly, “Yes, Sir.”
“Good,” Avery said, pleased. “Now, it’s easy to assume, given the dynamics of a power exchange, that training is a one-way street, with the Dom giving the sub his marching orders and the sub obeying without question. And maybe that works for some folks. But for me, training is a continuum where instruction and learning flow back and forth between us. It’s a two-way process. What that means is, especially as we’re getting started, I want feedback—honest feedback—from you.
“Together, we’ll formulate specific goals, plans and strategies for training that work for both of us and make us both happy. Because that’s what BDSM is ultimately about, at least in my book—fulfillment of our deepest needs.”
He reached out and touched the medallion he’d worn for so long and had always dreamed of one day giving to another. “BDSM is like this circle—like a beautiful, erotic dance of give and take. I want you to know I’m honored by your trust as we go on this path together.”
He let go of the medallion and got to his feet. “Now, let’s try an exercise that will require some discipline and control on your part. You will stand at attention, hands behind your head. I’m going to blindfold you and plug your ears. Then I’m going to do various things to your body, some pleasurable, some erotically painful. Your job is to stand completely still and submit to whatever I do to you. Think you can handle that?”
“Yes, Sir,” Hank said, though he looked nervous.
Avery pulled him into his arms and kissed his lips lightly. “It’s okay to be nervous,” he said gently. “Sensory deprivation can make you feel very vulnerable, because you don’t know what’s coming. If you weren’t already familiar and comfortable with erotic pain and some degree of submission, we wouldn’t do this particular exercise right off the bat. But I think you’re up to the task.” He gripped Hank’s erection, adding with a grin, “In more ways than one.”
Hank flashed an answering grin, some of the nervousness leaving his expression. To his credit, he didn’t speak, though Avery could almost hear a sassy retort instantly leap into Hank’s brain.
Avery let go of Hank’s thick, hard cock and took a step back. “That’s where the trust comes in. If you trust your Dom—truly trust him—then the rest is easy. Just stand still and accept what I give you, trusting that I will keep you safe. Okay?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. Assume the position—h
ands behind your head, feet shoulder-width apart. Your whole job is to stay still. I don’t mind if you make noise. If you need to speak during this exercise, you have my advance permission. And yes,” he added, remembering Hank’s earlier concerns, “I remember your safeword. If you need to use it, you may do so. But you can also just tell me if something is scary or too much.” He paused, letting that sink in. “Ready?”
“Yes, Sir.”
While Hank put his hands behind his head and adjusted his standing position as directed, Avery went over to the bureau and opened the toy drawer. He took out a black satin sleep mask and a fresh pair of orange noise-canceling earplugs.
He placed the mask over Hank’s eyes and then slipped the plugs into his ears. “Can you hear me?” he murmured in an undertone. Hank didn’t respond. Good.
Avery stripped off his own clothing, letting his erection spring free. He was super excited about Hank’s willingness, even eagerness, to embark on this D/s journey together. He selected a single tail whip from the drawer and laid it on the bed nearby.
Moving behind Hank, he started by reaching around Hank’s body and running his hands over Hank’s smooth chest and rippled abs. As he moved his hands lower and took Hank’s hard cock in his grip, Hank moaned softly and moved in a way to get more friction on his shaft.
Avery dropped Hank’s cock at once and pulled one of the plugs from Hank’s ear. “Stay still,” he reminded him. “You do not control this process. Stay perfectly still and keep your fingers laced behind your head. That’s all I’m asking of you right now.”
“Sorry.”
“Sorry, Sir,” Avery reminded him, suppressing a smile.
“Sorry, Sir,” Hank parroted.
Avery replaced the plug and returned to his task. He massaged Hank’s shoulders until Hank relaxed. Stepping back, he smacked Hank’s ass, putting a little force into it.
Turning the Tables Page 15