“That’s what I was afraid of.” Lukas groaned. “I told myself that Randy’d never be your cup of tea. Shylor, on the other hand….”
“What is their relationship, Lukas? Do you know? You sound like you know them, right?” Wyatt didn’t realize he clutched the glass too tightly until Lukas peeled it from his fingers and set it down on the table.
“I know too much.” He sighed. “Yes, I know them. I’ve known them for years. I remember when Randy first moved in. That must be twenty years ago, something like that.”
“Is he a friend?”
Lukas snorted. “Hardly. The only friend that man has is himself.”
“So you’ve known Shy for a long time too?”
Lukas groaned again. “Shy, is it? And just how did you become acquainted with him? I bet that couldn’t have been easy.”
“Well, I saw him washing the car one day, and I just walked across the street and said hello.”
“I bet Randy just loved that.”
Wyatt noticed Lukas never asked if Randy knew, as if that was a given. “Not really.”
“Not surprised.” He inched forward on the sofa, looked earnestly into Wyatt’s eyes. “Is he the reason you called me?”
“Yeah.” Wyatt licked his suddenly dry lips, visions of Shy filling his head. His heart ached inexplicably, and he attempted to drown it, pouring more of the cut-rate brew.
“Wyatt,” Lukas began slowly, as if measuring his words carefully. “You have no idea what’s going on there, and I don’t think you want to know.”
“Yes, I do,” Wyatt whispered. “Please, Lukas.”
A long moment of silence. Lukas sighed. “Very well.”
Lukas didn’t speak immediately. He poured himself more wine and drained the glass, then replaced it on the coffee table. He repositioned himself in the corner of the sofa, one leg crooked across the cushions, the other maintaining a position on the floor.
Wyatt held his tongue, half dreading the words he might hear. A sour anticipation held sway in the pit of his stomach. He was afraid to add to it with any more wine. He watched Lukas’s left hand carefully. That was the tell to what he was thinking or feeling. He rubbed his thumb against each of the digits in turn in a constant motion.
That movement was an indicator of uncertainty on Lukas’ part. The feeling grew stronger as Wyatt rose and paced across the room, pulling back the blinds to gaze across the street. The sedan was there now. He dropped the curtains into place, returned to the sofa, and fell heavily onto it, his attention riveted on Lukas.
“I’m just not sure where to begin,” Lukas confessed. “This isn’t a conversation I ever thought we’d need to have, to be honest.”
“How about starting with Randy and Shy? What’s their relationship?” Wyatt leaned toward his mentor, as if proximity would ease the severity of whatever needed to be said. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he’d read something into them that didn’t exist. “Is Randy his father?” That would explain the Sir, but not the kiss.
At the look in Lukas’s eyes, Wyatt’s heart sank.
“Hardly.”
Another long pause. Wyatt reached for the wine bottle, upended the remains into his glass, then chugged them. Damn his stomach anyway.
“Shylor and Doreen moved in when Shy was just a little kid. Maybe fifteen years ago. Something like that. She was Randy’s housekeeper.”
Wyatt tapped an impatient foot into the carpet. There had to be more than that.
“About five years ago, Doreen left and Shy stayed.”
“Why did she leave? Why did Shy stay? That doesn’t answer my question, Lukas. What’s their relationship?”
“I think you already have some idea about that.” Lukas looked him square in the eyes. Wyatt found he couldn’t pretend any more.
“They’re a couple?”
“I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use,” Lukas cautiously replied.
“But they’re together, right? That old goat is fucking a kid young enough to be his son?” Wyatt felt incensed on Shy’s behalf. And frustrated. And thoroughly disgusted.
Lukas held up one hand. “Just putting this out there, but that ‘old goat’ is my age, Wyatt. You want to rephrase that?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything, you know that….” Wyatt forced himself to take a deep, calming breath. “But he’s still a hell of a lot older than Shy. And five years ago? What was Shy then? Fifteen? Sixteen? That has to be illegal.”
“Probably, but who’s going to press charges? Shy’s mother’s not here. Shy? Hardly.”
“But… but… but….” Wyatt sputtered ineffectually, trying to grasp the concept that Randy Grant had taken a young boy into his bed… an undoubtedly innocent young boy… and was holding him hostage there to this very day.
He replayed the scene in the grocery store for the millionth time in his head.
“He called him Sir.” Wyatt’s voice was barely audible.
“What?”
“When we were together, he called him Sir. On the phone.”
“Shit, Wyatt.”
“I know, that’s creepy, right?”
“No, not shit for that. Shit because you and him… you were together? Where? How?”
“He met me at Shop for Less. Today. Then the Keeper called and he said he had to go. Called him Sir.”
“The what?”
“The Keeper. That’s what I call Randy.”
Lukas rolled his eyes. “Can’t say I’m surprised, though. Did he know about you?”
“Grant? No, I don’t think so.”
“Good. Nothing else matters.” Lukas breathed a sigh of obvious relief. “Tell you what, Wy, go into the liquor cabinet and bring out a bottle of something stronger. We’re going to need it, I think. I’ll square it with John later. That won’t be a problem.”
“Like what?”
“Some of his expensive bourbon. The black label.”
Wyatt wasted no time in doing as Lukas asked, going into the private stock of liquor in the study. He brought back the nearly full bottle of Masterson’s finest bourbon and two clean glasses. He pushed the empty wine bottle and fluted glasses to the side. He’d pick them up later.
“Here, let me.” Lukas took the bottle from him. Wyatt hadn’t realized until that moment that his hands were shaking. Lukas poured three good fingers in each glass, handed one to Wyatt.
“Sip it,” he advised. “Slowly.”
Though Wyatt wanted to bolt it as fast as he could, he obeyed.
“Okay, now listen to me, Wyatt. Are you listening?”
Wyatt nodded, not trusting his voice.
“There’s a whole lot more to this than just them sleeping together.”
“Do you think… Grant loves him?”
Lukas groaned. “Damn, Wyatt, that’s such a tough call to make.”
“Is it? You said you know them. You’ve seen them together. What do you think?”
“I think it’s complicated. But just between us, no, not in any normal sense of the word. Keep sipping.” He indicated the smoky liquid in Wyatt’s glass. “It’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
I can do this. I can. If Shy can live through this… whatever this is… surely I can just listen to whatever it is….
“When I was very young, I met a man named Bobby Demaris. He took a liking to me, and he became my mentor.”
Wyatt wrinkled his brow in perplexity. “I don’t know any artist by that name.”
“No, he’s not an artist. At least not in the sense that you mean.”
“Then how did he mentor you?”
“Bobby has a club, a very special club. It’s a private club, in West County. Bobby D’s Sweet Majesty is the full name, but most of the members just call it Sweet Majesty for short.”
“Okay, so he has a club.” Wyatt was still confused, but at a look from Lukas, he stilled his tongue.
“This has nothing to do with art, and everything to do with obedience. With pleasure and pain. With domination and submis
sion.”
Wyatt couldn’t seem to help himself, the words just rolled off his tongue. “What are you telling me? You’re a disciple of the Marquis de Sade?” He snorted his amusement, even if the joke was ill-timed and in questionable taste. But when Lukas didn’t laugh, Wyatt quieted immediately. “Oh fuck….”
“Very eloquent, even if oversimplified. Just rid yourself of any lurid images that are flashing through your mind. And forget about all those B movies with whips and chains and torture chambers….”
Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. “So none of that exists?”
“Oh yes, it does. Very much so. But the reality isn’t what you think it is. And you’d be surprised at who all practices it.”
A pulse point at Wyatt’s temple began to pound.
“Keep sipping,” Lukas advised.
He raised the glass to his lips, allowing the amber liquid to burn its way down his throat.
“B-D-S-M.” Lukas checked each letter off on a finger. “B is for bondage, d is for discipline. It’s also for dominance. S is for submission, and m masochism. But there’s variations. Bondage and discipline. Dominance and submission. Sadism and masochism. BDSM has become sort of catchall phrase for a lot of activities under one umbrella. But however you spell it, or whatever letters or words you use, what it comes down to is a way of life. One that many people take very seriously.”
Wyatt’s head was spinning with the overabundance of information. “How do you know so much about this….” His words trailed off as his brain caught up with the conversation. “So you… you’re into this? And this club you’re talking about…?”
“Yes, I am, and Sweet Majesty is where I go to meet with like-minded individuals. People with the same sorts of… interests.”
That was a whole lot to take in at one time. “What goes on there?” He was almost afraid to know. “People walking around in leather? Or nude? Orgies? Spankings, beatings… what? And what do you do? I mean, what do you call yourself? I mean….” He noticed a slight tinge of red color Lukas’s cheeks.
“I call myself your friend is what I call myself.” He took a deep breath and regained his normal coloring. “I know this is a lot,” he agreed, “but you wanted to know. I’m what you would refer to as a Dom. A Dominant. But it’s a lot more than just telling someone what to do. It’s developing a level of trust with your submissive, and it’s learning about his needs and understanding them and taking care of them and him.”
A terrible suspicion grew in Wyatt’s breast, one he was afraid to put voice to. And yet, how could he do otherwise?
He took a long sip of the bourbon, desperately seeking answers in its warmth. But none was forthcoming from that source. Lukas was the only one who had those. “What has this got to do with…. I mean, all this stuff about that club. And about BDSM. Where does Shy come into this? Shy and Randy, I guess? I’m not following.” If he understood correctly, these things happened years ago, long before Shy was even born.
Did he really want to know the truth?
Wyatt drew a deep breath, tightened his grip on the glass, and forced himself to listen.
“I knew Randy before he moved into the neighborhood,” Lukas confessed. “I was the one who told him the house was for sale. Even though he was young, he was already a successful businessman. Plus his family had some money. Enough for him to buy the house.”
“Did you meet him at— Is he a member of… your club?”
Lukas nodded. “He is.”
“And… is he a Dom, did you say? Like you?”
There was a long pause. So long that Wyatt thought Lukas didn’t intend to answer. But finally, Lukas shifted his position on the couch again and replied. “He considers himself a Dom, but from what I’ve seen of them, I think it’s more of a Master/slave relationship. He… he has no idea of what it really means to be a Dom. It’s men like him that give the lifestyle a bad name. All he wants is control, that’s all. He gives no real thought to Shy’s well-being.”
“Oh dear God.” Wyatt was appalled. His hand shook so badly he had to set the glass onto the coffee table. “Does he… does he take Shy… there?”
Lukas nodded. “Sometimes. Sometimes he comes alone. Wyatt, are you sure you want to hear more?”
A tight band had formed about Wyatt’s heart, squeezing mercilessly. “Yes,” he replied, his voice almost a growl. “I need to know, Lukas. Tell me.”
Lukas swallowed hard, his eyes meeting Wyatt’s. “He parades Shy in front of the others as his possession. Sometimes naked. Often naked. Often at the end of a chain. He does it to show off his virility. It’s an ego thing.” Lukas’s voice held a measure of disgust that he couldn’t hide. “He… he tells him what to do, and Shy does it. No matter what.”
“Such as?” Wyatt clenched his fists, a rage such as he’d never felt before growing inside his chest, threatening to tear him apart if he heard any more.
“Such as servicing anyone Randy tells him to. Oral only,” Lukas hastily added. “No one is allowed… that is, he doesn’t have to….”
“So the great Randy doesn’t allow anyone to fuck Shy? How kind of him.”
“Kindness has nothing to do with it, I’m afraid,” Lukas said. “No one touches what’s Randy’s without his permission. No one.”
SHY SHIVERED, although the night was far from cold. Cloyingly humid even after the sun had gone down, there was a thick type of St. Louis heat that made breathing difficult. Still, Shy shivered, clutching his coat tighter about him as he climbed into Randy’s sedan.
The first time Randy had taken Shy to Sweet Majesty, Shy had been deep in the throes of what he thought was love. Excited to be going out and proud to be seen with Randy. He’d been too young and too naïve to know enough to be scared of what might happen. This was before he’d learned that love did not exist, not for guys like him. Now he knew the truth, and he numbed himself to everything around him.
At least that’s what he told himself, in order to get through another night at the club.
The cock ring was painful, but it was endurable. What Shy hated most was leaving the house in a long black coat, wearing nothing underneath. He felt entirely exposed, although he realized no one who saw him could possibly know his shame. Randy dressed to the nines for such occasions, more than happy to show off his designer wardrobe. He’d undress once they arrived, and only if it suited his fancy. Shy didn’t have the same luxury.
At least Randy waited until they were inside the club to add his final touch in the form of a black studded collar, attached to a long black leather leash.
The club sat in isolated splendor on top of a large hill. Apparently the owner possessed a lot of acreage. There were no near neighbors. Probably just as well. Cut down on complaints to the police department. Although from what Shy had observed, some of the club’s clientele belonged to the legal profession and would probably quash any trouble should it arise.
Large fluted columns supported the two-story building. Shy had heard Randy refer to it as being antebellum, once belonging to a man who owned slaves. Fitting. It still held slaves, just a different kind.
An impenetrable perimeter of trees ringed the grounds nearest the house, making unwanted observation impossible. Sometimes, in the right weather, scenes were played outside. There was an intricately maintained maze that saw more than its share of action. And small, secluded cabins for the use of privileged guests who wished to stay longer.
Apparently Randy did not rate access to the cabins for, to his knowledge, Randy had never stayed in one of them. He was sure Randy would have bragged about the experience, if he had.
Randy had not gone back to work after his celebratory fuck, but neither had he spent the time idly. He’d stayed in his home office, conducting business—at least that was Shy’s assumption—freeing Shy to attend to his daily chores in peace. He’d even taken his dinner there, saving Shy the trouble of shielding his thoughts from him across the dinner table. Although that also made Shy wonder what he intended to do at t
he club if he didn’t plan to eat, since a night at Sweet Majesty generally involved a meal. Obviously not tonight.
Shy had barely eaten, his appetite having deserted him. After Randy had finished and come out of his office, Shy attended him in the shower and then laid out his clothes for him—a pearl-gray pinstripe suit, white button-down shirt with silver threads running through it, a gray-green textured tie. Shy handed him each article of clothing as it was required.
They were met at the door of the club by the most discreet of men. His name was Mel and he was the butler, the valet, the soul of discretion, and so much more. Garbed in crisp black tails and immaculate white gloves, he was tall and thin and balding, and wore his own innate arrogance, that was reflected in the manner in which he distinguished between his treatment of the guests and that of their companions. When Randy removed Shy’s sheltering coat, Mel took it and wished Randy a good evening, leaving them to wander through the house as they would.
Shy stood perfectly still as Randy attached the collar and leash. Randy was in unusually high spirits, his face flush with excitement. Shy couldn’t help but notice the very visible outline of Randy’s cock in his tightly cut trousers. He wondered if Randy planned to use that tonight. Perhaps it would serve to keep himself from the limelight, which he hated.
Or it could bring him directly into it. Not like he had a choice.
Whenever Randy chose to bring Shy with him, they seemed to draw a small crowd of admirers. Most of them were relegated to the category of do-not-touch-the-merchandise. But there were a favored few who were allowed small favors, beneath Randy’s watchful eye. They fondled Shy’s cock and pinched his nipples and congratulated Randy on having such a fine specimen, as if Shy were a horse they were interested in purchasing for breeding purposes. In this case, though, Shy played the part of the dam, and not the sire. It was a twisted comparison at best.
First came the obligatory parade through the various rooms of the club. The public ones, that was. The private ones were not to be troubled by anyone, and remained closed to view. But there was more than enough activity in the rooms that were accessible to make up for that. It seemed that most of Sweet Majesty’s members were very willing to be seen, as well as to see.
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