He ignored them as he stowed the guitar back in the truck, giving the college kids a chance to wander off. Everybody did, except for one couple, the first couple. They looked very young. Freshmen, I thought. Nobody I knew.
Brayden looked at them, and I guessed he was thinking the same. They might talk, but they wouldn't know who they were talking about.
He slapped my butt. “In.”
I shrugged and more or less lifted myself into the passenger seat without the use of my hands.
“Oh my God, what's that about?” The girl's squeal told me she'd spotted the cuffs.
Unable to stop myself, I grinned from ear to ear, although it was a confession about how much I enjoyed Brayden's kinky game. In that moment, I didn't give a fuck who did and didn't know. Even if they did recognize me, I don't think I would have cared. Let it become part of campus legend.
Brayden bent over to adjust my shoulder strap and my seat belt. “Show's over,” he said to the couple. “No encores, no autographs.”
They laughed and walked off.
He drove a short distance and then pulled over in a little pool of darkness.
“You OK with that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I'm OK.”
“They'll probably figure out one day it was the music theory teacher they saw, but they'll never figure out who you were.”
“Yeah, they weren't exactly focused on my face. You had all their attention. It's an eerie song, especially sung outdoors and near a road.”
“It's hard to pull out a guitar without attracting an audience.”
“I know that. I'm fine with it. I trust you.” And I did.
I waited for him for grab the hood, but he pulled back onto the road and started moving forward again.
So. No hood.
Then I expected him to turn to me and say something about how I could never, ever reveal the location of filthy town, but he didn't do that either. He took it for granted that I wasn't a fucking idiot. At least not anymore.
He trusted me.
I smiled. He trusted me the way I trusted him. We'd been through some fire, but we were going to be OK.
I looked out the window. There were dark and bright stripes until we got out of town, and then it was just the dark. From time to time, the headlights lit up the red or yellow eyes of forest creatures.
We didn't talk, and we didn't need to talk. We'd said what could be said in words.
Into the mountains. Around and around. Even when I wasn't wearing the hood, I'd be in for a challenge if I tried to find the place again. Not that finding it would be any good if I wasn't being taken there. I didn't want to find it. I wanted to be taken.
A logging road and then a second logging road. Around and up and around. Once we came to a place where deer had gathered on the path, and they turned to us, eyes glowing, and then they took the hint to split in two, some to the left, some to the right.
“What do they think we are?” I asked. “Why don't they know we're dangerous?”
“We're not dangerous,” Brayden said. “It isn't hunting season, and anyway we wouldn't shoot from a truck.”
“Rednecks would.”
“Rednecks don't come back here. Nobody comes back here who doesn't know about it.”
It. Filthy town.
We were starting to pass a lot of signs and fences.
No trespassing. Shooting range.
US. Dept. of Defense. Former Army Munitions Dump. Unexploded Ordnance. Do Not Enter.
Peligro. Municiones No Detonadas. Prohibida A Entrada.
Damn. You better hope you never ran off the road around here.
The headlights lit up the signs, and they flicked by, one after another. Some of them had been shot full of holes.
“Interesting signage,” I said. “A shooting range and a munitions dump?”
“One of the members works for DOD.” Department of Defense. “He may have had access to some military surplus.”
Ah. So the signs had been placed without the knowledge of our federal friends. There weren't unexploded bombs in the weeds. It was just a bluff to keep out strangers.
“Could you find this place again?” Brayden asked.
“If I had to,” I said. “Probably. Well, I guess it's fifty-fifty.”
There was a clatter of a metal bridge beneath us over a weak spot in the road where spring snowmelt would make a temporary creek. In July, it was already shrunk to little more than a mud puddle.
We went around one last corner, and there it was. An old western town from a time before streetlights. Dark, and dark, and utterly dark.
Engine off, headlights off. Brayden came around to help me out of the truck. My knees bent a little when I jumped down. I let myself sink, and he pushed me on the shoulders, and then I was kneeling, my face shoved hard into his bulge. My lips puckered tight to grasp the zipper tag, and he let me yank down the zipper. His fly gaped, but he wrapped his fingers in my still-too-shaggy hair and pulled my face back to make me look at him.
“I set the pace here.”
“Yes, sir.”
It's difficult to get back up from the kneeling position with your hands cuffed behind your back, but somehow I managed it. He pushed me toward a building I hadn't entered the first time. Like all the others, there was no sign, but the facade suggested it was the hotel.
There was a hidden electric eye somewhere. The glass doors swung open as we approached—not terribly old west, but it cut down on the need for a doorman. “There's a generator,” Brayden said.
“I figured.”
The interior wasn't old west either. I blinked in the sudden explosion of spotlights that lit up the place like a hospital surgical suite or a CIA interrogation room. There was a wall of lockers opposite a line of showers.
He didn't remind me about the safewords. We both knew I knew the fucking safewords.
He unlocked my wrists and pulled off the cuffs, and I shook out my hands.
“Strip, get prepped, and shower. That's your locker.”
“Yes, sir.”
I felt more naked than naked. He put my phone and wallet on top of my clothes, then padlocked the door with a combination lock. He didn't tell me the combination, and I knew better than to ask.
The harsh green soap smelled like turpentine. I rinsed and dried off with the only towel available, a cheap gray-white scrap of microfiber roughly the size of a dish towel.
Brayden, entertained by watching, had taken off his shirt and shoes but left on his jeans. I kept stealing glances at the cut ridges of his sculpted eight-pack. There was a smudge on his bicep near the dragon's burst of fire—a fading bruise from some sparring match. Another smudge near his tight belly button.
When I lifted my arms to towel off my hair, his eyes felt like a visible weight touching all over me. I was completely exposed to him. Open. Hard. He could see from the way I leaked how bad I wanted him.
“Do I need to tie you down for this?” That smile of his was infuriating. He was so sure of me. And you know what? He was right.
“You don't need to,” I said. “But I would like it very much if you did. Sir.”
He gestured toward a door leading deeper into the building.
More tests. I had to walk into submission of my own free will. I couldn't come back later and pretend he'd somehow forced surrender on me. I wanted it, I needed it, and I was damn well doing it. I'd denied my own desires for far too long.
To think of how I'd sublimated my needs in silly things like ice bath...
Into the dark.
There was a time lag of a second or two while the electric eye responded. Then lights flickered on all around us. I stopped cold in the center of what was once a ballroom floor and then slowly turned to take in the wide assortment of kinky crosses, whipping benches, auction platforms, and more.
“This is some set-up,” I said. “You've made quite an investment in these toys.”
“Do they intimidate you, Nicky?”
I didn't like to adm
it it, but I didn't want to lie. “A little.”
He glanced down at my bulge which was getting bulgier by the moment. “But they arouse you, too.”
“Yes, sir. This is a very unique opportunity for me, sir.” There was a kneeling bench, and I knelt on it, a spontaneous gesture of submission. “Thank you, sir.”
“I like that.” He walked right up to me, and I tilted my face up. The bench put me only a little lower than his crotch.
“Please, sir,” I said as I lifted my lips to his fly. “Let me, sir.”
Chapter Twenty
The blowjob was only the warm-up, a little something sweet meant to take the edge off. I wanted to ache, but I didn't want my master to ache. The more roughly he fucked to the back of my throat, the better I liked it. To suffer for his pleasure was the best test of manhood ever devised.
“Did I give you permission to swallow that?” His voice boomed with authority miles above me.
“No, sir. I took it on myself, sir.”
“Your enthusiasm is appreciated, but you need to learn more about restraint.”
“Yes, sir. I'm sure I do, sir.”
He jerked a thumb in the direction of a wide leather bench, the kind fitted with a multitude of leather straps attached to the stout legs with sturdy chain. I arranged myself face-down and let him secure the cuffs to position me in a classic spread-eagle.
“Tell me.” He leaned close now to whisper the words into my ear. His hot breath was a kind of kiss. “Say it. I don't give anything away for nothing.”
That was for damn sure. Despite the intensity of the blowjob, he still hadn't taken bothered to take off his jeans. His cock, only temporarily relaxed, was hanging out of his open fly. It was almost nastier than if he'd been stripped naked. When I eyed the purplish shaft, it began to stiffen anew, as if I'd touched it with a hand instead of a look.
“Tell me,” he repeated. “You have to say it.”
It was hard for me to beg, and it would always be hard for me to beg, and so he was making me beg. I felt shy again after the break in our relationship, and I needed to move beyond that shyness.
And yet I started to visualize the chilly-ass polar bear before I stopped myself. This wasn't the time or place for chilly. This was the place to let go and surrender to the heat. “Please. Please. I need it. Fuck me.”
A beat. Then: “I need more.” So calm, so in control, even as he selected a bottle of lube from a long table set up with a variety of toys and supplies.
I stared, fascinated, as he began to grease his own cock with huge gobs of thick ointment. He'd squatted, the better to put that shiny, shiny shaft at eye level.
“Did you hear what I just said.” It wasn't a question.
It was so hard for me to say more, so here was me stalling, and there was him calling me on it. “More? I, um, I'm not sure what you mean.”
He snorted to let me know he knew better. A greased finger began to dab some of the lube between my cheeks and then into my hole. “Don't even pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. More. More details. More words. More explicit. You have to tell me. You have to beg.” Even as he spoke, he tossed the lube off to the side somewhere, where it rolled off with the rattle of a bottle hitting a hardwood floor.
“Please, sir. Um, you know what to do. That fat leaky pipe... it's ready. Push it in. Rub it around. Hammer on my gland. Please, I need it so bad.” I gasped in delight as he lay down on top of me and let me feel his good strong weight covering me from top to bottom. “Yes, please, you know what to do, you know everything...”
“Sure, I know what to do. I still like hearing you say it. I like how flustered you get.” His cock poked between my cheeks but it didn't actually thrust at the right angle to enter my hole.
Damn tease. “Flustered” was one word—a weak one—for what I was feeling. There was no more chill-as-fuck polar bear inside of me. I was all raw heat and desperation.
I swallowed and told myself my mouth was too dry, and then I heard the words coming out. “Feel me bloom for you. Feel me open.”
He leaned in and in. So much weight. So much heat. His thighs flexed hot and sweaty against the back of my thighs.
“Take me, pound me, fuck me.”
He thrust and skewered. All the long tissues of my tight tunnel stretched under the force of his well-aimed cock. This was real, this was deep. I pumped the cheeks of my ass hard into his belly in an effort to get every millimeter inside of me where he belonged.
“Come,” I begged. “Come.”
His voice a warm chuckle against my ear. “I decide when I come.”
I crunched down with every internal muscle I knew how to control. If he thought my mouth could suck, now he was finding out about my ass.
He groaned and thrashed. I felt a big hand playing down there—a hand big enough to grasp all four of our balls together.
“We're not coming just yet.” He squeezed, not too hard, but hard enough.
Tease and denial. An edge game. Of course. If I'd learned anything by now, I'd learned Brayden Brent was not a man who liked to rush his moment.
His big hand went away, and the focus went back to the place where his well-aimed cockhead connected with my gland. I thought I'd spew instantly, but somehow I didn't. My body had never felt anything so overwhelming. I'd always come long before I'd reached this peak of yearning.
Not this time. Yes, an edge game. The edge of delirium.
He no longer had to order me to beg. I did it spontaneously, without knowing or caring what I was saying. Sometimes I groaned wordlessly. Other times, I promised him the world, my whole fortune and my father's too, if only he would let me come right this minute.
Thanks to the way the weight of his body on top of mine pressed my hard cock between the bench and my belly, I felt like I was fucking the leather almost as hard as I was being fucked. I had no sense of the passage of time. All I felt was sensation.
“Now.” He breathed the word into my ear. “You have my permission. You may come.”
My body burned as I obeyed. The spunk pouring out of me felt like liquid flame. It wouldn't have surprised me if the bench itself had caught on fire.
Shockingly, his own cock was still stiff and thrusting, the pace of its strokes speeding up but not yet losing all rhythm. How could he not come when I was exploding so hard beneath him? When my long tunnel kept squeezing around him tighter and tighter from the force of the contractions?
This was a form of dominance I hadn't considered—that he could hold back even in this moment, the better to let me focus on what I was feeling.
There was another timeless interval of time, which probably doesn't make any sense, but I'm not sure anything I was feeling makes any rational sense. What we were experiencing was far beyond normal human logic.
“Come,” I said. “Please come.”
To my surprise, he pulled out still hard in a single long stroke, and then I was grunting from the shock of his spew raining down all over my bare back. He'd built up a lot of cream during our endless fuck, and now it was pouring down all over me. I've never felt porn-star down and dirty before. I was somebody else. Not Nicholas Pembroke Kensington the Third or James's roommate or Dr. Morrison's student or my father's son. I was a sexual animal. A lust object. A possession.
And now I was being claimed by my rightful master. I loved the feel of it, all that mess raining down on me, even though it stung like a whip against my flushed skin. I must have said something to that effect because Brayden started laughing.
“My spunk does not hit like a whip, that just isn't possible. But in case you've forgotten what the whip feels like...”
He removed the cuffs from my wrists and ankles, but I didn't move so much as a muscle until he told me to stand. He pointed with his thumb again, this time in the direction of the X-shaped cross. “There,” he said. “That looks like a good place for you to stand. My messy boy.” He put both hands on my stomach to get his own goo on my fingers, then touched them to my face.
I flicked my tongue out to lick.
He didn't rub in the cream he'd spilled on my back. He left it there, thick and creamy and running down the back of my legs. It tickled sometimes, but it was a sexy kind of tickling.
“You're mine,” he said.
“I like being yours. I want to be yours. It's all I want.” I put out my arms and legs, the better to make it easier for him to secure me. Three minutes later, I stood face out, my arms and legs manacled to the X-shaped cross. These cuffs, oddly enough, were lined in fur. Or maybe that wasn't so odd by this point. He didn't want to let me go, but he didn't want to risk chafing my wrists. My mid-back hit the crossing point, and the wood felt strangely glossy against my soaking wet flesh. Shellac, I thought, but it felt almost like plastic. For a moment, everything seemed suddenly unreal.
Could this be happening? This couldn't be happening.
We were face to face. Brayden had finally taken off his jeans, although I hadn't seen him do it. Naked and animal, he was greasing up his swollen cock with a fresh layer of lube. The lights on the lube made everything look so shiny.
How could he be hard again so fast? How could I?
The intensity of this scene...
“I'm going to fuck you like that,” he said. “A standing fuck.”
“Not possible.” My toes curled to dig into the floor beneath the cross. The wood was waxed and felt as slippery as the wood against my back. I wouldn't fall, though. I couldn't fall. The manacles made it impossible for me to fall.
“Oh, yes, it's very possible.” He wanted me face-to-face, and that's what I wanted too. When he kissed me on the mouth and then on the left nipple, I shivered inside with anticipation, although I probably should have been all used up.
I wasn't though. My rock-hard cock pointed straight toward the ceiling. As he kissed me, Brayden stood right up close to me, again trapping our cocks together between our bellies. He rubbed himself into me like that for a few moments, allowing me to feel the friction.
That'll work, I told myself. He can grind me off like that. The velvet skin on our cocks was flushed and probably a little tender, but he seemed to understand how to use just the right amount of pressure.
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