Once this ritual had been performed, Randy clapped his hands one time. That was Shy’s cue to look up. Randy held out his arms, and Shy helped him off with his jacket first, followed by every other article of clothing he wore. Each piece was carefully laid aside, out of harm’s way. A single wrinkle could send Randy into a screaming tizzy.
Shy was surprised to find Randy at half-mast already. And without his Viagra, too. The little blue pill sat by the champagne. Randy had been taking the pill for the past couple of years, to enhance his performance. Especially in the club. Shy suspected neither the trainer nor the dietician knew he partook. He wasn’t even sure Randy’s physician knew. Surely he was too young to need it. It was more of an ego thing. To hold his own against the younger studs and lord it over the older men.
Shy took the fact that Randy was halfway to hard as another sign that things had gone very well today. Probably the client he’d been talking about, the local beverage company. Shy hoped there would be many clients who produced such a pleasant effect on Randy.
Randy scooped up one of the burgers and bit into it. Juices flowed from the meat as he savored each bite, licking his fingers. When he was done, he demolished the second sandwich with ease. Shy’s face was impassive. If he’d expected to receive one of the two hamburgers, he didn’t show it, waiting for Randy to be done. He handed him the pill and a glass of the champagne.
Apparently this was to be a celebration for one.
Holding the fluted glass in one hand, Randy popped the pill, washing it down with the expensive vintage. Shy could fairly feel the energy that poured from him, the excitement. No doubt a new client had turned him on so much.
Sure wasn’t Shy.
Randy laid the empty glass on the table and swiped at his mouth. “He never knew what hit him!” he crowed. “I stole the Big V right out from under Ken Leiland’s nose. Wait till he finds out the account he thought was in the bag went to me!”
Shy watched Randy’s excitement growing along with his cock, as the Viagra took hold. He’d looked up how it worked once, curious to know the mechanics. Apparently it had to do with specific arteries that weren’t working properly, and the pill, which was targeted to them, opened them up. Uninhibited blood flow led to a hard-on. Also a warning about an erection lasting more than four hours. Though people joked about it, there was a medical reason why that was dangerous, and not a very funny one. Luckily, Randy had never been in that situation.
Shy suspected if he were, he’d blame Shy for his dysfunction.
He was under no illusion that Randy was sharing this particular triumph with him. This wasn’t the first time he’d come home for a nooner following a particularly satisfying coup at the office. Randy was in love with the sound of his own voice. He enjoyed bragging, and Shy just happened to be in the room. Nothing more.
He couldn’t help but think Wyatt would be more considerate.
Lost in his own thoughts, it took a second for Shy to realize Randy’s gloating had stopped. He glanced and found Randy’s eyes trained on him, and he fought the rising panic that threatened to overtake him, forcing his face into its usual passivity.
Randy tapped one finger against his closed lips, thoughtfully. Shy had no idea what, if anything, he was thinking. He seldom did.
“Stroke yourself hard,” Randy commanded, and Shy instantly obeyed. He palmed his soft cock and brought it to an erect state with practiced ease.
“Put on the cock ring,” Randy instructed.
Shy hastened to obey. “Yes, Sir.” To an outside observer, Randy’s calm face was no cause for alarm. But Shy could see the gray eyes beginning to darken, and his skin crawled at the knowledge. What did he know, or what did he think he knew? He fought to keep his breath even. Reveal nothing, give nothing away.
The cock ring resembled a dog’s collar, black leather and studded. It was adjustable. At its loosest it was not too bad, but on some settings it could be brutal. It all depended on Randy’s mood. Normally Shy was allowed to keep it looser than not.
He left it in that particular position, awaiting more orders.
“Tighter,” Randy instructed.
Shy adjusted it a notch.
“Again.”
Shy pulled it as far as it would go, trapping his erection in the viselike grip. It was painful now, but he didn’t let on. It wouldn’t be forever, just until they were done here.
Randy’s expression was inscrutable. Shy had regained control once more. He presented his usual compliant face to the man who considered himself his Master, his Dominant. Dom, for short. Randy had rules, and Shy obeyed them. Randy had begun to instill his rules into Shy at the age of fifteen. After he bought Shy from Shy’s mother, Doreen.
Shy knew nothing else. He had been too young to remember a life before Randy. If he’d had a father, he didn’t know him, and the man was never spoken of.
Shy waited patiently for Randy’s next command. He assumed Randy would wish to be lubed, and would want Shy to prepare himself for his entrance. Although Randy had requested the paddle, Shy didn’t anticipate he would use it. That was generally for discipline purposes and seldom used. There were different types of paddles. This one was wooden, and it hurt. But this was the one Randy had specified.
Shy had been paddled a lot in the beginning, when he was just a child. He’d confused the strokes with love. He knew differently now. There was no love between them, only obedience. Love was not real, it was a myth. The subject of sappy books and stupid fairy tales.
Love did not exist.
Randy poured himself another glass of champagne and sipped at it, regarding Shy over the rim. “Have a good day?”
Shy nodded, not trusting his voice. Where had that question come from?
“Anything… special… happen?”
“I got what you asked for.” As if catering to Randy’s every whim were the only special occasions in Shy’s life.
The eyes seemed darker, unblinking. Shy fought against the need to run.
Fuck me and go. Please.
“Anything you want to tell me?”
Shy shook his head.
Randy surprised Shy by taking a seat on the edge of the bed, close to the table. Closer to the lube, perhaps?
Randy patted his bare thighs. “Bend over.”
Wh-what?
“Now.”
Oh Jesus, why hadn’t he moved fast enough, when the words first left Randy’s lips? Not stopping to think, Shy did as he was told, stretching out across Randy’s lap.
Please, don’t let him be mad, don’t let him be mad, don’t let—
The first stroke took Shy by surprise. He released an inadvertent gasp. Randy didn’t seem to notice or care. The hard wood bit into Shy’s tender flesh. It stung. The next one felt a little harder. So were the third and fourth.
Pain flamed through his body like wildfire, a liquid warmth that stole through his veins. He gritted his teeth, knowing Randy couldn’t see, not with his head bent as it was.
When Randy paused, Shy prayed that he was done. That he’d order him onto the bed and then fuck him. The bottle of champagne clunked on the table. Must have wanted another drink.
The cold, wet liquid shocked Shy. It burned into his bruised cheeks and stung like the very devil. This time he couldn’t help the moan. It was wrung from him, against his will.
He felt Randy’s tongue lap at his wet skin. It didn’t ameliorate the pain in any way.
Tears stung his eyes.
“You’re mine, Shylor. No one else’s,” Randy hissed.
Oh fuck….
The sting of the alcohol permeated Shy’s skin, sending sharp sensations cascading through him. Just as those started to blessedly dull, Randy brought the paddle down again… and again…. Fresh waves assaulted Shy. His nether cheeks flamed, seared with a heat that refused to quit.
When he was younger and Randy had spanked him, Shy used to squirm on Randy’s lap, trying to escape the pain. He’d learned quickly enough not to do that. It only made things wor
se. He lay still now.
“Who do you belong to?” Randy demanded to know, striking a fresh blow.
“You,” Shy mumbled automatically, his response muffled against Randy’s thigh.
“I can’t hear you!”
Shy lifted his head slightly, just enough to make himself heard. “You. Only you, Sir.” No need to think, just spit it out. Nothing less would do.
When Randy made no immediate reply, Shy thought the worst was over. Until he felt Randy’s teeth press against his inflamed skin. Oh please no, not now, please not now…. Shy’s inner plea a mantra of protection against what he feared Randy might do.
But it didn’t help. He could feel Randy’s teeth pierce his flesh, and a searing pain went through him. This was not the first time Randy had bitten him, whether in anger or lust. Sitting would be a bitch tomorrow, and Shy knew it.
At times like these, Shy absented himself, separated his mind from his body and did his best to not feel the pain. Nonsense phrases and silly songs played themselves in his mind. Monkeys and weasels raced one another round and round the mulberry bush. London Bridge fell down and dreams flew over the rainbow.
The paddle fell once, twice more, before Randy mercifully stopped what he was doing. At least that aspect of it.
“You will not… ruin… my mood. D’you hear me?”
“Yes, Sir.” Shy made sure to make himself heard this time, trying to focus on anything but the throbbing in his ass.
“So red,” Randy crooned, as if he’d actually accomplished something he was proud of. “Like a cherry. Like the cherry I took. Remember?”
How could Shy forget?
Shy’s cheeks were pulled apart, and then Randy jammed something inside without warning. Felt like his thumb, maybe. Shy gasped at the intrusion.
“So fucking tight. Perfect fit for me, and no one else.”
Shy’s protesting muscles opened, forced to relax at the intrusion.
“Damn straight I’m gonna fuck you.”
Suddenly, Shy felt empty. Randy had withdrawn his thumb. He slapped Shy’s ass, producing a wince.
“Get on the bed,” he commanded. “Quickly. I can’t stay here all day. Have to get back to work.”
“Yes, Sir.” Shy scrambled to obey, although his rubbery legs protested. For a moment, he worried he’d fall to the floor, incurring Randy’s further wrath. But they held, just long enough for him to flop on the bed and assume the position, ass invitingly in the air. No matter that it hurt like a son of a bitch.
Please just let this end….
He couldn’t see what was happening, but the bed quivered as Randy put his weight on it. Shy tried to return to the other place, the safe place, but his mind wouldn’t cooperate, filled with images he could not shake loose. He didn’t want to think about what was going to happen, but he couldn’t stop, and he tensed up, his arms stiffening, his body clenching, as if to prevent Randy’s entrance.
No, no. It’ll hurt more….
Randy came in behind him, moving into position for the kill. He wished he knew how to pray, but his mother had never taken him to church. Told him there were cocksucking perverts there.
Watch out for the cocksuckers, boy….
Somewhere along the line, she’d managed to change her mind about those, at least when it came to Randy Grant. Didn’t stop her from selling her only child to one of the alleged perverts. Obviously money talked, and it talked loudly. Loud enough to cover a multitude of sins.
“Is something wrong?”
Wyatt’s words came tumbling into Shy’s mind. He could see Wyatt standing there, his shadow falling over Randy’s expensive sedan, a white knight minus the steed.
Shy knew better, but he couldn’t help himself. Wyatt filled his brain to the exclusion of all else, as if Shy’d lapsed into a dreamlike state from which he might never emerge. He pictured Wyatt behind him, imagined his beautiful cock sliding in and out of Shy, filling him with the greatest pleasure. Wyatt wasn’t too big and he wasn’t too little—he was just right. And he knew just what to do, the right way to move, drawing his own pleasure from Shy’s eager body.
Take me, Wyatt, I’m yours….
He relaxed into Wyatt’s masterful touch, which overrode the pain, even as Shy rose above it, floating on the strength of his own dreams. Never mind that his cock was swollen and angry, leaking precome but unable to find release because of the leather ring. Never mind any of it, just keep on dreaming….
He was shaken from his torpor by the grunts of Randy’s orgasm. Randy pulled out just before he collapsed onto the bed, one arm flung over his eyes as he worked at catching his breath.
Shy’s eyes widened as he realized what he’d just done, and he was barely able to keep himself from trembling. He watched Randy, fearful of what he’d do if he realized, if he sensed Shy’s illicit fantasy. Maybe this time he’d go over the edge and… he couldn’t complete the thought even to himself.
“Shylor….” Randy panted, and Shy held his breath. This was it. “Go get a washcloth and clean me up. Make sure it’s warm.” And that was all. Apparently Randy hadn’t noticed.
Shy almost peed himself in his gratitude at not being caught.
He hurried to the bathroom, ignoring the pain that radiated through his limbs, especially his ass where Randy had bitten him, wet the cloth, and brought it back to cleanse Randy. When he was done, Randy got up and dressed, his usual smirk fixed firmly in place.
“Don’t take that off.” He pointed to the cock ring. “And clean yourself up.”
What did this portend?
“We’re going to the club tonight, my little slave.”
Chapter Five
WYATT LINGERED for a few minutes after Shy had gone, in the vain hope that he’d return. That maybe they’d pick up the pieces of their shattered time together… and maybe Wyatt could help put the pieces in place, help make Shy whole.
But he was fooling himself and he knew it. The little he’d heard of Shy’s conversation told him a different story. Shy’s eerie “Yes, Sir” still echoed in his head…. He knew there was no coming back.
Lukas didn’t ask unnecessary questions, luckily. He agreed to meet Wyatt at the house in about an hour and told Wyatt to chill until he arrived. That would give time for Wyatt to put his thoughts in order. What was he going to say? That he thought it was creepy that Shy called Randy Sir?
And when asked, what reason could he give for even caring?
When he pulled Masterson’s big luxury car into the drive, he glanced across the street. No sign of Randy. He parked and went inside, still debating what he was going to say. By the time Lukas showed up, approximately an hour after they’d spoken, he’d yet to think of anything.
He opened the door to his mentor, forcing a cheerfulness into his voice that he was far from feeling. “Enter at your own risk,” he intoned in the accents of an Eastern European bloodsucker. Rather than laughing, Lukas cocked an eyebrow at him and handed him the paper bag he held.
“What’s that?” Wyatt stared at it as if he’d never seen one before.
“Cheap wine. Sometimes you just have to do it.” Lukas brushed past him, more familiar with the house than Wyatt. “I’ll grab the glasses and meet you in the living room.” His voice brooked no argument, and Wyatt had none to give.
Tossing the bag into a trash can, Wyatt set the bottle on the glass-topped coffee table, slumping onto the white brocade sofa. Lukas joined him moments later, stemware in his hand. He set it down and poured. Neither spoke as Wyatt studied his mentor, still debating what he would say now that he was there.
Lukas Callahan was a respected artist in his own right. Wyatt had been lucky to catch his eye at the university, at a student art show. Lukas had taken Wyatt under his wing—he was his mentor as well as his friend. In his early forties, Lukas took good care of himself. His hair was pure black, without a trace of gray. His brown eyes were warm cups of coffee against his tan skin. A well-manicured goatee surrounded pale red lips.
And r
ight now, his eyes seemed to bore into Wyatt’s very soul, which didn’t help.
Lukas handed him a glass of wine. He took the other and seated himself beside Wyatt, leaning back, one arm across the back of the couch as he sipped, staring at Wyatt over the rim.
“How’s your art coming?”
“Fine, just fine.” Wyatt twiddled with the stem of the glass, looking away from Lukas. Somehow he knew that wouldn’t fly.
“So, let me guess. If it’s not your work, then it’s a man that’s troubling you?”
Damn, Lukas knew him too well, didn’t he?
Wyatt nodded.
“You going to tell me or make me play Twenty Questions?”
Wyatt looked up. Of course he wanted to talk, but somehow the words weren’t coming.
“What do you know about that guy across the street?” he blurted out.
Lukas paused, glass halfway to his lips. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Since the Talbots aren’t there, I assume you’re talking about Randy Grant?”
Wyatt nodded again.
Lukas stared for another moment, his eyes piercing and far too intuitive for Wyatt’s own good. “Oh shit,” he mumbled, draining the glass and reaching for the bottle. “Wyatt, what have you done?”
Wyatt frowned. “I haven’t done anything, what do you mean?”
“When I suggested you watch John’s house, I didn’t think you’d run out and try to make friends with the neighbors. What have you been doing?”
“I met them. That’s all,” Wyatt replied defensively.
“Them? Oh double shit.”
Wyatt felt a flush rise up his cheeks. He hid his discomfort by drinking more of the cheap wine. The taste was growing on him as its warmth stole through his veins.
“If I thought for even one minute you’d want anything to do with Grant—”
“I don’t want anything to do with him,” Wyatt interrupted.
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