Submissive Angel: A BDSM Romance Novella

by Joey W. Hill

  The sub held onto handles on the floor, his arms stretched out, hoarse grunts coming from him.

  Two couples were dancing to heavy metal rock, the bass thumping a gritty contrast to the Christmas music in the other room. The couples were so close together they were obviously a foursome, at least right now. The Doms were indulging in a lot of touching, gripping and stroking of their two gyrating and grinding subs, who wore nothing at all. A jeweled plug between the buttocks of one of them caught the spotlights.

  A trio of Doms sat together on black vinyl lounge furniture. The middle one had his arms stretched out behind the other two. All three looked toward their spread knees, where subs were kneeling, enthusiastically sucking dick. One of them bore an ass plug that had been embellished with a horse’s tail. It went with the hoof boots covering his feet and calves, and a partial head mask that had pointed ears. The forelock sewn into it became a mane that followed the back of his skull and trailed down the valley of his spine, stopping at his shoulder blades. A bold black tattoo of angel wings, one on either side of the mane, made Ange think of Pegasus.

  The sexual energy hit Ange like a wave, fed by those scenes as he took in the details, but they were passing impressions. Like Chase had said, a sub really only saw his Master. That was the only thing that mattered. Ange kept his eyes moving, looking for what he wanted and needed the most.

  He didn’t find Robert on the first couple sweeps of the area. Maybe he was still in the Dom changing room. Ange wasn’t sure what to do with himself, though. There were men clustered along the walls and other appropriate viewing areas who had noticed him standing there. While none had approached yet, he was considering what spot looked the most removed from everything, a clear message that he was waiting for a particular Master.

  His attention passed over the room again. A non-alcoholic bar offered refreshments. It was also a display area, two subs locked in tall narrow cages at either end. Their cocks were chained and held out between the bars, on display for whatever play their nearby and watchful Doms would allow.

  Several men leaned against the bar, watching the scenes. Ange saw Charlie standing next to a tall, intimidating Dom. The man was staring at Ange like the pull of a chain wrapping itself around his throat.

  Ange knew those dark eyes.

  Holy Tom from Finland fuck. It was Robert.

  Only not as Ange had ever seen him—except maybe in some very deep-in-the-night wet dream fantasies.

  His Master was turned out in full leather. Tight as sin pants and a broad collared jacket, with metal studded shoulders and lapels. The jacket was open to the waist to display the fitted leather shirt beneath. A cop-style hat was pulled low over his Master’s stern brow. He was leaning against the bar, jack boots crossed one over the other, a short whip of some sort stuck in the top of one and strapped to his calf.

  Now he knew why Robert, normally so meticulous in his personal grooming, hadn’t shaved this morning. The stubble added to the dangerous look.

  Ange’s cock, which he hadn’t believed could get harder, bucked against its restraints. His stomach flopped in delighted terror. All the teasing Robert had done to him came together in one big surge of need. His Master was in the mood to bust his ass, and Ange wouldn’t stop him. He wanted the ass kicking. Wanted to be used, fucked, completely broken down into a mindless cock and ass for Robert to take however he wanted it.

  He lowered his gaze so he wasn’t disrespectfully looking right into Robert’s glittering eyes, but he couldn’t take his hungry gaze lower than the stern, straight lips. Only one man here could demand anything of him, and he could demand everything.

  When a fully gloved hand—oh fuck, could he get any hotter?—rose and beckoned, Ange was already on his way to him. At the toes of those boots, he dropped to his knees.

  Robert caught his collar on the way down, so when Ange landed on his knees, his chin was jerked up, the strap biting into the back of his neck. Robert twisted the gloved fingers in the strap, briefly constricting it before he eased that hold and gripped Ange’s shoulder. Ange moved his jaw and cheek against all that leather, strength and heat.

  Robert dropped to one knee, curved over Ange as Ange curled beneath him in submission, dipped his head, his shoulders. His Master closed the leather-clad hand over Ange’s jutting cock.

  He knew how to control himself, he did, but not with all this stimulus. The second Robert gripped him, he lost it. With a strangled cry, Ange bucked forward, forehead bumping Robert’s shoulder as his cock convulsed, pumped shamelessly into the black condom.

  Desperation strangled him. His garbled apology was one step above gibberish. Robert moved his other hand down around to his ass, worked him against his grip as Ange humped air. Whistles and catcalls came from around him, egging Robert on. It was visceral, male, a dark lustful hunger pushing in on all sides. Ange imagined dancing for the demons in hell as they commanded him to keep going, keep going…

  He had experienced overwhelming climaxes before, but this one almost pulled groin muscles. He knew he hadn’t had permission, so though he was still having little spurts into the condom, his hips twitching, he struggled to sit back on his heels, assume a proper submissive stance. Robert put an end to that, making a reproving noise that kept Ange still and in place. He ran his gloved hand over the bare curve of Ange’s faintly perspiring back, the protrusion of his spine, his other hand still milking his cock with easy squeezes. “Good boy,” he murmured. “That’s my good boy.”

  He tilted his head, a motion Ange felt rather than saw, since he had his face pressed down, his crown to his Master’s chest as Robert continued to fondle his hair, his nape. He had his other hand wrapped over Ange’s back, keeping him in place, curled beneath him and in his arms.

  “You love your art history, Charlie,” Robert said. Despite a rough edge to his tone, the words were deliberately casual. He’d raised his volume to be heard over the music and fans, so the deep power of it stroked over Ange’s flesh. “Tell me what that reminded you of.”

  “The Rape of Proserpina.” Charlie offered a sharp, sensual chuckle. “Pluto taking Proserpina to Hell. Or Hades taking Persephone, if you prefer.”

  Charlie spoke the way Ange thought he would have when teaching students. It fit in this place, where Masters like him and Robert held total authority over the subs attending them.

  “The title of the sculpture is unsettling in its translation, but the original Latin, raptus, simply meant to seize, or a taking,” Charlie continued. “Which fits what I just saw. With him wearing those lovely tights, your strong fingers, biting into his ass, looked remarkably like Pluto’s fingers pressing into Proserpina’s marble flesh.”

  Seized and taken. Ange agreed.

  Robert fondled Ange’s hair, then let him go, rising in front of him. Ange’s eyes couldn’t help but follow the track of those leather encased thighs, the prominent bulge of his cock triangulated between them.

  “Want to suck my dick, do you, boy?” Robert’s voice became a growl again, mean as Ange had ever heard it. It sent chills through him, raised gooseflesh.

  Ange nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir. Yes, Master.”

  “Gotta earn that with some pain.”

  “Anything, Master.”

  “Follow me.”

  Ange scrambled up, too fast. But Robert’s hands were on him, making sure he was good on his feet before striding away, leading Ange across the room. Past the flogging, the cock sucking, all the ways subs could serve their Masters. Robert brought him to a spot on the scaffolding where a padded mat had been strapped against the metal pipes, like a canvas waiting for an artist.

  Charlie had followed, and he carried skeins of red rope. Another sub had joined them; Chase, the Marine in the locker room.

  Robert put a hand on Ange’s shoulder, a firm leather grip that commanded his attention. “I want you to warm up, like you would before you plan to dance.”

  An unexpected request, but looking at the scaffolding and the rope, maybe not.


  Ange started most days with some stretches to accommodate his random and spontaneous desire to dance, leap or twirl as the mood took him. But since he expected Robert was about to demand a lot of his body—a thought that sent an eager surge of need through him—Ange did a couple basic stretches and then some of the more extreme ones to ensure he’d be ready.

  He did a standing modified spine stretch, then sank into a split, reaching forward and back. The moves verified that his muscles were already pretty loose, in good shape. He wouldn’t have to keep his Master waiting long. He rose and executed a standing second position stretch, his hand on the scaffolding while he lifted his leg up to his side, toe pointed straight toward the ceiling while he clasped the sole of his foot.

  Since he was doing all this in the jock strap and with a full erection, Ange was glad the leather at least was reasonably flexible. Shifting his grip on the scaffolding, he leaned forward, extending his leg behind him and up, as close to ninety degrees above his head as possible. Then he changed legs and did the process again.

  “Holy fuck,” Charlie muttered. “My tongue just rolled out and hit the floor, Robert.”

  “Roll it back in or I’ll stomp on it,” Robert advised.

  As Ange held the position, his Master ran his hands along the deep dip of Ange’s back to his hip bone. His other hand moved beneath the point of Ange’s extended rib cage. For a second, Ange imagined Robert lifting him. His Master had more than enough strength to do it.

  He and Leo had lifted one another at the apartment to practice form, build the arm strength required to raise their lighter female partners.

  God, Leo.

  Fortunately, he was distracted from that lower belly wrench of grief by Robert’s next question.

  “What’s this called?”

  Ange managed a slight, nervous smile. “An attitude stretch.”

  The handsome lines around Robert’s eyes creased. Ange lowered the leg, squatted, straightened, rolled his shoulders and head on his neck. “I’m ready, Master.”

  “Good.” Robert looked toward the vertical mat. “We’re going to lift you off your feet. Once we do, I want your front leg bent and the back leg stretched out. A stag leap.”

  One of the moves that brought that floating feeling, which could take him toward euphoria or darkness, depending on the situation. Nerves shimmered through Ange.

  “Charlie is going to tie you to the scaffolding in that position,” Robert continued, eyes locked on him. “There should be no painful pressure on your joints, or damaging strain on your muscles. You’ll tell me if you feel any.”

  Robert cupped Ange’s face in a strong hand, the look in his eyes tolerating no evasion. “I want to hold you in the air, Ange. In that suspended moment, only this moment is going to be entirely different. It’s going to take over all the other moments like that, good and bad. That’s my intent. When bad things come, you can go back to this moment. You understand?”

  His words plowed up the sediment of his nightmares, but reminded him of what Robert had told him, in so many ways. Ange wasn’t alone with them. It made him respond the only way he could. “Yes, sir.”

  “But if it gets to be too much, you’ll tell me. I’m not trying to push you into a repeat of the other night.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good, then. Put your arms above your head, and then tell us where to put our hands to lift you the right way.”

  Ange did. Robert took the upper torso, his palms curved along Ange’s hip and side. Chase handled his legs. As they lifted him, Ange felt that ascension inside as well as out. He bent the knee in front and extended his back leg.

  Robert and Chase put him against the vertical mat, and Charlie moved in with the red rope. He began to secure Ange, using an overhang of scaffolding to hold Ange’s arms above his head, and the frame pipes extending past the edges of the mat to maintain the leap form.

  Charlie was experienced at this, not hesitating except to consider his choices for each wrap or knot, how to hold the position Robert was wanting for his sub. Robert and Chase followed his direction, adjusting their grips as needed.

  Though Charlie had Ange make slight adjustments to protect and support him properly, the Dom was able to keep the spirit of the leap. As Ange was bound in that position, the yearning feeling, complicated and simple at once, built into a tempest. It spiraled wildly inside a tight frame, drilling down into his heart and soul, bringing so many memories with it.

  They’d attracted an audience, men drawing closer to watch. But Ange was less and less aware of them as he locked onto Robert’s attention, a lifeline for everything happening in that storm. His Master was registering everything; if Ange was aroused, uncomfortable. If he was getting agitated by what was going on in his head. When Charlie tightened bindings between thigh and ankle, holding that bent knee in place, Ange’s cock flexed in its straps, and Robert caught that, too.

  The position was about freedom, soaring. The contrast messed with him, his balls aching, his cock hard, his heart thundering as his gaze clung to Robert’s face, his ruthless looking mouth. Ange’s eyes swept over the resilient body in leather. He wanted him so badly. Every inch, and he wasn’t just talking about his Master’s thick cock, or the strength of his body surrounding him, subduing him, inside and out.

  “Such starved eyes,” Robert purred. Charlie stepped back, done. A generous several strides of space separated Robert and Ange from their audience. Any conversation happening among them was muffled by the roar of industrial fans and the head banging music. The mix was background static as far as Ange was concerned. The only sound that could hold him would come from his Dom.

  Robert leaned an elbow against the mat as he stroked Ange’s hair back from his face, played his fingers over his lips. Ange wanted to taste him, but everything about Robert said Ange better ask for permission for anything, even the right to breathe or exist. And Robert wasn’t in a permission-giving mood. So he waited, but when Robert finally pushed one of his fingers in his mouth, Ange moaned with relief and greedily sucked, making his Master’s eyes darken.

  “Look at you, ready to do anything your Master demands.”

  “Yes, sir. Anything.”

  “Good.” Robert backed off to look at him from stem to stern, lingering on all the places in between. The audience took his cue and melted back even further. Some re-settled at the bar, or straddled one of the metal chairs scattered about, the legs making harsh scraping noises against the concrete floor.

  Robert drew the whip from his boot, released a tie on the handle and shook out an attached tassel of slender strips. The tips of them glittered.

  “I have another jock like what you’re wearing, only it doesn’t have a hole in front.” Robert dropped his attention to Ange’s groin. “It has a front panel lined with tiny spikes, so when it’s buckled up, your cock is pushed against them. When I tease you so much even those spikes can’t make you behave, I get to watch you squirm. Hope for mercy.”

  He threaded the tassel through his fingers and studied Ange thoughtfully. “I have a strong urge to do something, Ange. You know what it is?”

  “No, Master.” Ange didn’t know how he was even forming words, except his Master was expecting an answer and some part of Ange would figure out how to respond, even if he had no voice or functioning brain cells at all.

  “Punish you,” Robert said, with a fierce, dark-browed look. “Thank me for that.”

  “Thank you, Master.” Ange stared at those strips, sliding over Robert’s knuckles. The glitter came from flat metal pieces. Ange’s lower belly contracted.

  “Punishment is a reminder. From here forward, your main job is caring for yourself, keeping yourself healthy and well for your Master. Serving his interests, because you belong to me.”

  Robert’s brown eyes were tinged with flame. “You’re the toy I value the most. I’d give up all the others to keep you.”

  Ange swallowed. “Even if I’m broken?”

  He didn’t know why he
said it, except everything was coming to the surface, every fear and feeling. Fuck, he wished Robert had gagged him.

  Robert’s expression flashed dark and dangerous. Yet his words came out thick, almost tender.

  “We’re all broken. It’s how love gets a foot in the door and comes home to stay.”

  Ange couldn’t move much, but his body strained. “Please…” he said, not really sure what he was asking for. But his Master knew.

  Robert closed the distance and brought the whip down on Ange’s hip. The faint sting made him jump, but Robert was already moving onward, playing the tassels over Ange’s body. The next targets were his abdomen and nipples, making him wiggle some more.

  “Please, what, Ange?” His eyes were hooded, shadowed. Ange wanted to bite the cruel mouth, feel Robert’s hand on the back of his neck, shoving him to the ground at his feet. Holding him there. He wanted Robert to allow him to kiss his thighs, his knees, his boots. The handle of the whip. Worship him until mindless bliss took over.

  “Please…punish me, Master. Teach me what I need. I want to serve you.”

  Robert cupped his face, rubbing a thumb along his cheek. Then he gave Ange’s collar a quick tug before he let his fingers trail over his chest, his nipples, his abdomen. In between those caresses, he snapped the tassels along his inner thighs, his side, over his dick.

  He kept going until Ange was panting, shuddering in his bonds. Then Robert tucked the whip under his arm and unstrapped Ange’s cock. He removed the used condom, disposed of it. He pulled another wrapped one out of an inside pocket of his jacket, but before he rolled it on, he dipped and closed his hot mouth completely over Ange’s organ, taking it all the way to the root.

  “Oh…” Ange jerked hard against his bonds. He really was soaring, arms reaching up for the heavens, body swaying away from the mat, trying to take as much of Robert’s mouth as he’d give him. Robert sucked on his cock with just the right amount of uncomfortable force and eye crossing pleasure.

  He was helpless, entirely at his Master’s mercy, but Robert wasn’t offering any. He kept alternating fast and slow on Ange’s cock, tongue lashing and flicking. He’d change rhythm or force if Ange was on the cusp, knocking it back down a couple notches again.