Wednesday, February 26, 2014

Wednesday Briefs: Sealed in Stone #26

Welcome to Wednesday Briefs, where authors post free fiction of 1000 words or less each week.

After wrapping up Uncool” in two posts over Valentine's Day, I’m picking up again with Sealed in Stone, M/M science fiction about Torrey and Willem, two human youths who love each other but must fight to stay together when Torrey becomes the Chosen of the alien Queen who rules over their people.

In this chapter, the Queen has entered her nuptial phase… a sensual, dangerous time.

From this week’s numerous prompts, I chose “Watch me.” Though I fudged by making it internal monologue.  


Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sealed in Stone #26


When Cyrrhi’s warriors came for them, Torrey wrapped Willem in his arms to prevent him from fighting. There was no escape. A nom Queen’s phase was the most dangerous three days on the planet. Her pheromones filled the air, not just in her chamber but throughout her nom. Every nomari that inhaled her scent became aggressive and hypersensitive. Warriors, especially, attacked anything—anyone—perceived to be a threat to their Queen.

A combative human male mindless with sexual urges would be considered a threat.

Stay with me. Torrey spoke to Willem through kisses and the urgent press of their bodies. Watch me. Stay with me. Don’t fight.

He was thankful now for the training he’d undertaken. Deep meditative techniques gave him more command of his mind than poor Willem possessed. His friend’s wild aggression scared him a little because he had never seen Willem this way. The way Willem looked at him, wanting only to touch, mouth, and fuck, bore little resemblance to the passionate but thoughtful boy he’d fallen in love with. And yet that boy was there inside, afflicted and vulnerable, and it was up to Torrey now to protect him.

A swarm of workers and warriors carried them. Naked, Torrey and Willem remained in each other’s arms as alien hands and bodies bore them to Cyrrhi’s nuptial chamber. Red light glowed from the walls, like through the flesh of a hand held to a midday sun. Warm. And the bed was wide, writhing with slick, naked flesh. In the midst of it was Cyrrhi, golden from the hair spread beneath her to the paint on her toes. She beckoned with open, ruby lips.

“My Chosen!” she announced, whereupon Hari looked at them from beneath thick lashes, his mouth upon her breast. Like the others—Aktu attending her other breast and Nak using his mouth between her legs—Hari was glazed with desire. He curled his tongue over Cyrrhi’s nipple, displaying his access to her and lifted his hips so they could see the queen’s hand gripping his erection. “Join us.”

They had no choice. The nomari holding them dumped their prizes on the bed.

Cyrrhi reached to stroke Willem's face.  “I understand now why you favor him.” With one finger she traced the scar on his cheek. “But for this, he is flawless. Not pretty as you are, yet he is a fine example of your kind.” Her hand trailed down Willem’s body, gold-painted nails following the trail of hair to the dense curls around the base of his erect cock.

At the first tightening of Willem's muscles, Torrey pulled his friend’s head down so he could kiss him hard and deep. To his relief, Willem responded by pulling him closer, extending the kiss. Cyrrhi’s hand between them, caressing Willem’s cock and teasing his, did not ask for permission. Her touch bestowed an essence that made both of them moan.

“Beautiful. He is as gifted as any favorite.” With that pronouncement, Cyrrhi withdrew her hand, though not her attention. “Show me, Chosen. Show me why you dream of this one and not me.”

Her words held subtle menace. Torrey shot her a look, peering at her above Willem’s thick hair. Willem had ceased to notice anything around him and was laying hot kisses on Torrey’s throat and neck. Cyrrhi’s eyes met his with heat but no trace of cruelty. Not yet. She was also engaged, her lush golden body grappled at the waist by Hari. The yellow haired slave thrust his slick and ready cock against her thigh while he murmured a plea for release.

“Torrey.” Willem groaned aloud, the name vibrating with need.

Aware of Cyrrhi’s hungry gaze, Torrey surrendered to Willem’s hot mouth and hands. What the Queen knew or hoped to prove barely mattered. None of them could deny their urges. That Willem did not seem to notice or care that they were not alone, Torrey counted as a blessing. He gave himself over with an audible moan of relief and longing.

Once he allowed lust to rule his mind there would be no return to sanity. He filled his senses with Willem, the taste of his mouth, his skin, his sex and all the hunger that swelled between them. Sometimes he felt Nak’s hands join them, sometimes Aktu’s, teasing them both, their nipples and arms and bellies. But it was Willem who surged between Torrey legs, and Willem who teased him open with tongue and fingers and then entered him without words. There were no words for the need that left him open and begging and wanting each urgent stab of Willem’s cock, the slap slap of their flesh colliding to create one thrusting, grunting, mindless being consumed by lust and pleasure.

Cyrrhi’s scent enveloped both of them. Some deep corner of Torrey’s mind registered that the Queen touched his lips, then kissed them, contributing her nuptial essences to his helpless lust, and that She was probably doing the same to Willem. He sensed her approval and that the sight of him entwined with Willem both excited and pleased her. He came for her, the first time, because his body could take no more and She took up that essence, tasting it and rubbing it upon her lips. But he did not soften. No male in Her presence did. Willem had come more than once inside him and was still hard and driven to rut for as long as his muscles could move.

It was not just a story to scare kumbh children that servicing a queen in estrous could kill a man.

Only a successful fertilization of Cyrrhi’s eggs would quickly end the frenzy, and for that human males were useless. She used them for ease only until the time her true mate had fully manifested his fertile state. A day, perhaps two. She would then dismiss them all so She might complete her nuptial with the drone.

Torrey began to pray for that.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading! If you’re looking for more fun, free fiction use the links below to visit the blogs of the other Wednesday Briefers.



Wednesday, February 19, 2014

The Boy Who Loved Rainbow Brite

There has recently been a lot of internet buzz and a great outpouring of sympathy for Michael Morones, an 11 year old bullied for watching, and actively enjoying, My Little Pony on TV. The bullying drove young Michael to attempt suicide. One aspect of the bullying was to call the program, and Michael by association, gay. They should have called him creative.

Every child is unique. I’m amazed by children’s minds, how smart they are. I also believe with all my heart that kids gravitate toward their strengths.


The youngest of my three sons had a favorite TV show as a child. That show was Rainbow Brite. He also liked Transformers and Sesame Street and all the other shows kids loved, but Rainbow Brite was his favorite. He wanted a Rainbow Brite doll and he got one. He also had a My Little Pony. After all, his mother had enjoyed an exceedingly active fantasy life as a child, so why shouldn’t her son? For the record, the kid also wore a pork-pie hat and ran around the yard pretending he was Buster Keaton in The General, one of the great silent films. In my boy I saw a kindred spirit, a fellow creative soul.


This child loved colors, shapes, movement, and fantasy. He was, and probably still is, the most imaginative of the three brothers. His two older brothers used to watch him with fascination, not quite able to figure out the Rainbow Brite thing. He was fierce in his love for her, and took her to his school for show and tell. He came home angry because some boys taunted him for having a “girl” toy. We and his brothers had a talk about that. Are toys boy or girl? Are cars? Are computers? It was a great discussion, considering the people I was talking with had an average age of 8. They too had stories for their Star Wars figures, Big Bird dolls, and spaceships. Transformers or Rainbow Brite, toys are just toys. “Boy” and “girl” were the people playing with them.


The boy who loved Rainbow Brite and Buster Keaton eventually moved on to other things. He never stopped loving color, movement, and song, though. As a teen he discovered art and I have framed paintings of his from that era. He and his friends began a band. After high school he went to a college for the arts where he earned a degree in Illustration. Since then he’s written screenplays, done special effects for horror films, and designed cover art for CDs. He has a great job creating interactive graphics for CNN. Now when I bring up Rainbow Brite he laughs, rolls his eyes, and looks around to see if any of his friends might have overheard.

He’d just as soon not talk about it. Still I smile when I think of him with that pretty, brightly colored doll. It’s part of who he was and is. My son isn’t creative because he loved Rainbow Brite. He loved Rainbow Brite because he was creative.   

All the more reason why what happened to Michael Morones breaks my heart. He is just a boy. And he loves his little pony.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Valentine's Blog Hop Winner

Thanks so much to everyone who stopped by to read my Valentine’s post and giveaway. This morning my poodle and I consulted the stars and random.org and drew a winner from the comments.

Without further ado, the winner is:

H.B.

I’ve already sent an email informing H.B. of the win and look forward to mailing the book.


A special thank you to the organizers of this blog hop, too, because there were so many wonderful prizes!

Monday, February 17, 2014

Guest Author: Kim Fielding Tells Pilgrimage's Origin Story

During my recovery from surgery, a few author friends helped lift my spirits by sending galleys and other books to read. One of my favorites was this one from Kim Fielding. I so loved Pilgrimage I asked… okay, I begged… Kim to write something about this amazing and heartwarming fantasy for my blog so I could share it with you. 

Next item on my list: pester her for more Mike and Goran!

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks so much, Tali, for letting me visit today!

Every book is a voyage of sorts, I think. You begin with an idea—a character, a theme, a scene, a bit of conversation—and you add to it, expand it, change it. Sometimes you get lost along the way. Sometimes you have to backtrack. Sometimes you end up somewhere totally different from where you were originally headed.

My newest novel, Pilgrimage, began here:



I attended a travel writing workshop during the Iowa Summer Writing Festival. We talked about pilgrims’ narratives such as Canterbury Tales, which were among the earliest travel writing. That got me thinking… a dangerous thing, as Lefou said. The narratives often included romantic or even bawdy elements. Wouldn’t an m/m version be interesting?

Then my muse wandered to Ancient Greece, wherein the gods and goddesses feuded and seemed sometimes more like spoiled children than deities. Hmm. I watched my darling daughters squabble for the umpteenth time and thus were born Agata and Alina, sister goddesses who rarely get along.



After that, my muse came back home to California’s Central Valley, which—to me, at least—seems the very opposite of exotic. And what would happen if a guy from around here, a guy with not much imagination and with a mundane job, got suddenly zapped to another world by one of those goddesses?


The other world was influenced by my own travels. The names are vaguely Balkan, the locations inspired by places in Croatia, Italy, and Austria.
And our other main character? Take an old-school Harlequin romance cover model, throw in a little of the Groosalugg (from Angel), and stir with my long-abiding love of gentle giants.

That’s how Pilgrimage came to be. And in the story, Mike and Goran set off on their own journey, visiting a death god’s shrines to lift a terrible curse. That’s a long way from Iowa, isn’t it?



Fiscal analyst Mike Carlson is good with spreadsheets and baseball stats. He doesn’t believe in fate, true love, or fantasy. But then a fertility goddess whisks him away to another world. A promise has been broken, and if Mike is ever to return to California—and his comfortable if lonely life—he must complete a pilgrimage to the shrines of a death goddess.

A humiliating event convinces Mike to hire a guard to accompany him, and hunky Goran is handy enough with a sword, if a little too liberal with his ale. A man with no home and no family, Goran is deeper than he first appears. As Mike learns more about Goran, his disbelief wavers and his goals become less clear. Contending with feuding gods, the challenges of the journey, and his growing attraction to Goran, Mike faces a puzzle far harder to solve than simple rows of numbers.

Pilgrimage is available in print and e-book versions from Dreamspinner Press, Amazon, and all major booksellers.

Kim Fielding can be found at her blog: http://kfieldingwrites.blogspot.com
On Twitter: @KFieldingWrites

Saturday, February 15, 2014

Uncool #11: Final

Ive decided to wrap this story up for now. I think youll be happy with where I leave it. Theres some pretty heavy duty bondage in this extended chapter because, frankly, bondage is where this has been headed all along. Let me know what you think about, well... just about anything! 

If you've just now come across this story and want to read from the beginning, start HERE.

This finishes out this storys run as a Wednesday Brief.  Its been fun!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Add caption

Uncool #11


Bradley didn’t waste any time. I’d told Stewart all about my morning at the Steelyard and he’d listened without a word. I could tell he was disappointed Bradley hadn’t paid any attention at all to his warning. That was probably the only thing that made him angry. He seemed happy enough that I’d handled the meeting well.

“And you’re certain you would be all right with seeing him again?”

“Yes.” In fact, I wanted to see Sir again. I’d resumed thinking of him that way right after our meeting. Everything about him, from the first time I heard his voice and felt his touch on Christmas Eve, to my last sight of him at the Steelyard that morning, beckoned me to find out more.  

“Good, because if there’s one thing for sure in this world it’s that Bradley will follow up.”

Which he did that evening by inviting all three of us—Stewart, Jase and me—to his shore home for New Year’s Eve.

Stewart recapped the invitation while I unwrapped the last of the gifts I’d run out on a few days before. A sleek compact portable charger for my electronic devices. An artisan coffee mug from the lady next door, for whom I sometimes ran errands. Mistress Libby from The Club gave me novelty smiley face nipple jewelry that sent Jase into a gale of giggles. Mistress sometimes used me for bondage demonstrations because, unlike straight male subs, I didn’t entertain fantasies about her and my cock. I liked her.

“Bradley’s party is invitation only. I doubt there will be more than ten people, and most won’t be Club members.” Stewart and Jase didn’t appear to think this was a problem, so neither did I. “What he’s asking for is a joint bondage session for the entertainment of his guests.”

“Really?” Jase slanted a smile my way.

“You and Jase,” I reasoned out loud, “and him and—me?”

“That’s right,” Stewart said evenly. “I know you said you were willing to meet with him. But it’s quite a step from that to submitting to him at a party.”

It’s true I’d been envisioning something more along the line of grabbing coffee at Federal Donuts, or maybe trying that new pizza place in Fairmount. What had I been thinking, teasing a man like Bradley with visions of putting me in ropes again? Maybe because deep down that was exactly what I wanted him to do?

“I can do that,” I told Stewart.

“You want to?” Stewart was good about nailing down what I was really agreeing to do.

I nodded. “Yes.”

“It might be intense.”

“So was Christmas Eve.”

“You can change your mind at any time, even after we get there. I talked with Reed and… he wants to do the right thing, if he or you can ever figure out what that is.”

Maybe submission was that thing. It was something I wanted, needed, and maybe what he wanted from me. If whatever happened at this party didn’t work, if we couldn’t make it happen again, both of us would know better than to waste more time. And Stewart would be on hand to make sure nothing went down that I didn’t consent to.

* * * *

On the day of New Year’s Eve, Jase and I prepared each other for the scene. Even though I wasn’t sure if I would be getting fucked, I prepared for that too. By the time we were done, both of us were squeaky clean inside and out. Stewart surprised me by not having me wear a butt plug, but he said I was going to be Sir’s for the night and that would be for him to say once we got there.

Figuring I might as well show off my assets, I put on a pair of tight jeans and a gray slut boy tank top with strategically placed nipple tear to show a discreet gold nipple ring, then covered it all with a hoodie because it was winter after all. Just before the car arrived, Jase taunted me by wiggling his tight twink butt to let me know he was sporting a large plug in his ass for the ride. Stewart sat between us in the town car and I caught glimpses of Jase’s face from time to time, little smiles of surprise and pleasure at whatever Stewart was doing to him.

Bradley’s place turned out to be somewhere in Ocean County. When I got out of the car, I could smell the sea and hear waves crashing past the moonlit, grassy dunes. The house sat far off the road and away from any neighbors. Jase minced a bit as we walked past a few other cars, none of them flashy but for a mammoth, exceedingly well-preserved Crown Victoria. My grandfather had driven one of those.

Stewart appeared to know the man who opened the door. They exchanged pleasantries until Bradley walked over. My heart nearly stopped. Damn! Sir looked good in black. A black button down shirt and black jeans with studs on the oversized fly gave him a sleek, predatory look made perfect by supple black leather boots. He spoke politely to Stewart and acknowledged Jase, but his gaze devoured me the whole while. He led us through the house to a big room with a stage at the center and oversize leather chaises and chairs all around. The stage held a bondage frame, a low platform placed within its struts, and two tables off to the side holding paraphernalia. The set up resembled an intimate, cozy arena.

There were only three other couples: an older gay man and his naked—and entirely hairless—slave from New York; a middle-aged couple dressed head to toe in leather; and Mistress Libby with Charles, her dom husband. After respectful introductions, which came with encouraging smiles from Libby and Charles, Stewart handed me off to Sir with a quiet, “You’re in good hands.” Sir then led me aside to a book lined alcove away from everyone else.

“Nervous?”

“A little,” I admitted.

“I want to be sure of your safeword. Has it changed?”

“Mississippi.”


“And your limits?”

“Same as on Christmas Eve.”

He appeared pleased that I trusted him to remember. “We’re good then.”

I gathered my nerve. “Sir?” He lifted an eyebrow, and I could tell by the way his eyelids crinkled he was glad I’d called him that. “You can do anything… with me, I mean. I trust you.”

“Stewart warned me you trust dominants too much, too soon. Don’t you know that can get you in trouble?”

“Yes, but it also got me some red hot bondage sex on Christmas Eve.”

“Liked that, did you?” Sir cocked his head to study me more closely.

“It’s why I’m here. I don’t know if I can trust you with much of anything else—but I do trust you as a dom, and so does Stewart. Maybe bondage can be another way for us to know each other.”

He lifted his right hand toward my face and I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation as the backs of his fingers stroked my cheek. How much could he tell? Could he see how even the hint of dominance awakened my need to please? His simple touch had caused my cock to fill and strain against the zipper of my jeans. There was no missing the way my breath quickened with arousal. 

“You’re mine for the night, so—” he hooked a finger into my jeans and my eyes opened with a blink, “—what’s under these?”

“Thong.”

“Sexy?”

I nodded. At least I thought it was.

“Take the jeans off, and the shirt too.”

Though he’d seen me naked before, I felt like I was unveiling myself for the first time. I’m not sure how, but I felt Sir’s gaze on my skin. He stood with his arms crossed, like some patron at the museum admiring a work of art. One by one I removed the tank top, then the jeans. I had a nice body. Youth is a great advantage for that and I worked on it, mostly walking and tennis, to give definition to my muscles. A dusting of light hair covered my chest, with a neat trail leading down into the leather thong cupping my half-erect cock. I’d gone for a bondage look.

I quivered when Sir pressed a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing down on the nipple ring while he assessed my response. Of course both nipples hardened to begging peaks.

“Nice,” he said, “but far too plain. Let me fix that.” He reached into his pocket to pull out a small velvet pouch, tipping it to pour two bits of gold into his palm. Not just ordinary nipple bars, these were custom: each had a beautifully wrought R on the left and a just as beautiful B on the right. 

With the expertise of a man accustomed to working with nipple jewelry, Sir removed the little ring in my right nipple, replaced it with one of the bars, and expertly capped it. He did the same to my left nipple.When he was done, his initials adorned my chest. He might as well have stamped me ‘Property of Reed Bradley’.

“Do you like them?”

“Yes, Sir.” I did. A lot.

“Maybe I’ll let you keep them after tonight.”

My damn cock liked that prospect so much I was rock hard now. My outflanked brain screamed at me to slow down, that this was just a scene and Sir was, at this point, just another dom Stewart had agreed could use me. Trouble was, he was also a dom I wanted to use me.

He cupped my face with his hand and ran his thumb across my lower lip, quirking a smile when I opened my mouth to caress his skin with my tongue.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” he murmured, raking his gaze over my face. “Being who you are, what you are… submissive souls are strong as steel, but they have to be because their need exposes them to people who don’t have the first clue how to do anything but have a kinky fuck.”

So he knew about Asshole Jerk Boyfriends I-IV, then. Shamefaced, I looked up into his eyes. All I saw was sympathy and heat.

“I’m a selfish sonofabitch, Carson. I want everything you have to give. By the time this night is over, I want you to be incapable of seeing anyone else in the room, none of them. You’ll see only me. And you’ll feel only what I am doing to you.”

Would it have made a difference to tell him I already did?

For the next hour, Sir kept me at his side. I sat on the floor while he held court in one of the chairs, talking to his guests. He cradled my head against his knee, fingers lightly combing my hair, and I let the conversation flow around me until it became a pleasant drone. Even seeing Stewart draw a mostly naked Jase into his arms for a kiss didn’t make me feel excluded, as it so often did. It was hard to define what I felt with Sir—not owned, exactly, despite the initials he’d placed on my nipples—but my insecurity just sort of trickled away as I sensed how much my good behavior pleased him.


I’ve never been a bratty sub. Some doms like that, but I was never able to pull it off. All I wanted to do was please. For most of my life, that got me into trouble, at least before I sorted it out and realized pleasing someone is different from being responsible for their happiness or success. I met far too many people who wanted access to what I had and never really wanted what I had to give.  

Sometime later Sir touched my arm and when I looked up he told me to stand. Stewart and Jase were standing already. 

It was time. I stood and followed Sir’s instruction to remove my thong. The only reason I wasn’t fully erect, like Jase, whose slender cock was at full attention, was because I was unexpectedly self-conscious. But then Sir resolved that lapse by standing behind me and closing his fingers around my cock, which hardened in his hand with an eagerness that rendered me weak. 

“Shall we continue?” He put his lips beside my ear and his voice caused me to quiver in his grasp.

“Please, Sir.”

The hand that had revived my cock released and moved to my back, guiding me to the open space in the center of the room. Sir’s hand reminded me, and everyone, who was in control. I kept my attention on Jase’s relaxed body as we approached the heavy duty frame and intricate leather covered platform where the scene would be played out. While Stewart placed a set of his favorite stainless steel cock and ball clamps on Jase’s genitals, Sir began working lengths of rope over my body, fashioning a harness for my chest and upper arms. Above my pecs, then below, he efficiently pulled and tugged the heavy strands over my muscles and skin, keeping it all in place with knots behind my back. I breathed deeply and steadily, my excitement growing as I felt each knot, each loop, tighten into a secure web. When done he guided me to the platform and directed me onto it, spreading my knees so he could bind my lower legs and ankles to the supporting rests.

Though there was barely any room left, Stewart had Jase mount the platform also. A wide stainless steel ring clamped just behind the pretty twink’s rosy and swollen glans. The gleaming circle held in place one of the wicked sounds Stewart loved to insert into his sub’s urethra. Jase adored cock torture, and ball and nipple torture too, meaning Stewart was sure to be applying pinchers and clamps to those tender areas. I wasn’t sure how, though, because Jase and I were face to face, so close our bodies bumped and his caged erection nudged against my naked one. As I wobbled against Jase, Sir pulled my arms behind my back and bound them. 

He then secured the rope attached to my chest harness to the bondage frame overhead.

I locked eyes with Jase as I realized what both doms were doing. Jase winked and mouthed ‘Fun’ before Stewart did something to make him gasp.

“You know what you want to do, pet,” Stewart growled into Jase’s ear. Stewart had removed his shirt and his broad hairy chest looked demonic in the reddish light that flooded the staging area. “Now do it.”

Jase’s pupils widened until his green irises were mere rings and he leaned in, his bare body pressing against my roped chest. Because he was shorter, my nipples bumped above his. I looked down and noticed he was no longer wearing nipple jewelry. Then I gasped when he closed his mouth over mine.

Not fair! We’d kissed in public scenes before, as part of a show and because kissing Jase was smoking hot. Sir’s watching guests murmured and clearly thought so too. The way Jase’s lips worked at my mouth, begging me to join in, made my heart race. I was a total slut when it came to sex and Jase knew it.

Sir’s hand found the back of my neck and pressed there for a moment, calming me and telling me he approved by gently pushing me toward Jase. He wanted me to do this. That permission overcame all else and I kissed Jase back, our mouths warring. We knelt so close to each other our cocks vied between our trapped bodies. Jase wasn’t bound, but I was... tied, helpless… what could I do? Knowing Sir was watching, enjoying my arousal and humiliation, only made me want it more.

“You’re a pig, Stewart, not letting us see them like this more often.” That was Libby, always vocal about what she liked.

“Apologies, ma’am, just making the world safe for submission two subs at a time.”

Jase’s kisses ceased as he gasped again. He groaned just a little and I knew Stewart was at work. And so was Sir. 
“You’re doing so well,” he murmured in my ear. I felt him checking the harness, satisfying himself that everything was secure. “Only thing is, I’m not done yet.”

I quivered, unable to do anything but submit as he reached between my spread legs and worked a length of thinner rope around the base of my genitals. He carefully wrapped the strand twice around my balls, forcing them just a little away from my body, then used one more turn to bind the root of my cock before tying it against my belly with a few expert loops around my waist.

Cock bondage. Fuck… my shaft was so swollen and hard.

Sir started stroking me, running his hands over my body in ways that told me he understood how bondage affected me. It was more than helplessness. The constant caress of rope on my skin made me sensitive. Ripples of pleasure turned into waves as I resumed kissing Jase, harder this time. I worried his lips and thrust my tongue into his open mouth. The cascade of need Sir awakened in me found an outlet through Jase, whose wriggles and moans of pleasure were driving me wild. Both of us were helpless, hungry, and obeying our masters. 

“Good boy,” Sir said. His words only succeeded in sending more blood straight to my trapped cock and balls. He traced the rope work, admiring either his expertise or my cock. Oh God. Nothing on Earth could be harder than my cock was now, tied against my belly, hot and aching and leaking precome, slicking Sir’s hand. 

His fingers teased my cock head, circling the glans and tracing the ridge, finding that spot that made me squirm. He was the devil behind me, taking control of my cock. Now it was Jase’s mouth savaging mine as I gasped on the edge. We were part a show, but I didn’t care. Kissing Jase while being fondled by Sir was so fucking hot I had no other thought in my head. The need to come trumped everything, but that wasn’t going to happen. Sir took hold of my balls and gently pulled them away from my body.

“You want more, don’t you?” Sir thumbed my aching balls, causing me to buck in the ropes. He wasn’t really asking. “Well, I want more, too.”

I had long since reached the tipping point where so much sensation flooded my nerves what I was feeling could have been either pleasure or pain. I could barely tell the difference. All I knew was I wanted more, something Sir understood. He released my balls and began rubbing my ass, not lightly, but hard, owning my exposed flesh. And then he hit me.

I yelped and despite the ropes my body leaped forward, into Jase and away from the blow. The ropes prevented me from crashing too hard.

My reaction wasn’t protest, but surprise. I had no limit, hard or soft, against discipline. Sir’s palm smacking my ass wasn’t a spanking, but an escalation. The sting shot through my nerves, pulling focus off my cock as pain spread across my ass like fire. The next blow possessed enough force to drive my body forward, slamming me into Jase again. Both of us thrashed, cocks slick and grinding, the steel cuff of his cock device traveling my overstimulated shaft. Jase kissed my neck as I quivered in the harness and gasped with each hit. After every blow Sir rubbed the mark lovingly until it settled into a warm burn. Every blow brought my bottom closer to being a hot coal… round, red, with an eager, aching core. 

The room faded away. Even Jase faded away. I sank into sensation, a body held fast by rope and being used by a man who knew exactly how to break me down. When Sir’s fingers, slick with lubricant—when had he done that?—slid between my buttocks and across my hole, I pushed back, craving them inside me, needing it like I needed air. But he just skated on past.

“I think you’re ready to give yourself over.” Sir rubbed my abused, sensitive buttocks with one hand while he teased my hole with the other. If assholes fluttered, mine was doing a dance trying to entice him to enter.

“Please, oh please.” My damn ass was begging, completely without shame. I tried to shove my buttocks back at him, but my upper body bumped against Jase’s. The only thing between our sweating bodies were strands of Jase’s long blond hair.

And then, surreally, Jase was moving away. How could that be? I looked down to see about a foot of space between our kneeling bodies. Oh fuck… the platform we were on had two parts that moved on rails.

“Bend over,” Sir directed. “The ropes will support you.” I obeyed and the harness snugged as I trusted my upper torso to the ropes, also pushing back my ass, craving whatever he would ask from me next. The movement placed my face practically in Jase’s groin. “See that nice cock in front of you? Lick it.”

“Aw, fuck,” Jase said. It was more of a whimper. Stewart was doing a number on him, pulling out all the stops. Little clothespins decorated the Jase’s scrotum and I didn’t doubt for a moment he was now wearing alligator clamps on his nips. And Sir had just ordered me to tease the tortured twink’s clamped and swollen cock.

There was no way I could suck Jase’s cock because the clamp on the outside and the sound on the inside made a blow job risky. All I could do was flick out my tongue and lick at the smooth surface and flared rim of exposed glans and keep doing it no matter how much he begged. The lube from the sound didnt taste particularly good, but Sir wanted this and Stewart clearly approved and, strangely, I wanted it too. I was so damn hot and into the scene I would have gone down on just about anything for more of Sir’s hand on my ass.

“You want this, dont you, Carson?” What vibrated in Sir’s voice sounded more like accomplishment than scorn. “You so fucking want this.”

He pressed a finger slippery with lubricant against my hole and I was so ready for it I barely felt any burn when he pushed inside. He circled lazily, enjoying my tightness or trying to loosen me, I no longer knew. My mind was tatters, a few threads of reason held captive by physical sensations that had long since ceased to resemble thought. I had no freedom, none, and was responsible for nothing, not even my own pleasure. My only responsibility was the one Sir had laid on me, to lick Jase’s cock while Stewart played out his sadistic scene.

I swiped my tongue obediently over the swollen caged cock head already wet with my saliva and was rewarded when it bobbed and the man attached to it moaned.

And then Sir shoved more fingers and lube into my ass, pushed them deep, and I was the one who moaned as he lightly bumped my prostate.


“Oh God—

“That’s it, sexy,” he murmured, “hand over the keys—”

The rope harness held my shoulders and chest, supporting what my bound arms and hands could not, and I pushed my buttocks back again, then again, signaling what I wanted. God, I needed to be fucked… so why wasn’t he doing it? I wanted it so much I stopped licking Jase, ceased everything but feeling the sensations Sir was awakening. Every time he turned his fingers just so, I thought I would explode. My cock ached and at the same time threatened to erupt.

“God, Sir… God, please…”

I was dissolving under his hand. His deep voice caressed my ear. He was saying something but I couldn’t understand any of it. All I could do was ride his fingers and utter incoherent pleas.

I heard sounds, felt movement. Some vague intelligence told me Jase had gone and Stewart, too. Only Sir was left. I practically wailed when he removed his fingers from my ass, but then he grabbed me by the hips and pulled me back so that the weight of my upper body rested solely in the harness and my buttocks opened wider. I was so filled with need I didn’t even care who fucked me…

“I will never fuck you in front of others,” he said. I heard the tearing open of a condom and the distinctive sound of one being rolled onto a cock. “I’m the only one who gets to see you like this!”

Even if I’d wanted to I couldn’t have stopped him. My begging ass accepted Sir’s cock with so little resistance his invasion of my body was more elegant than brutal. His ropes bit into my pecs and arms, tamed all my strength and gave me to him. If his first thrust was hard, the second was harder, and then he pounded my ass with all the force of a man settling the matter once and for all. I cried out in surrender and in the same breath I begged him for more.

God, I liked it rough—I liked that my body was totally, completely his to fuck in any way he saw fit. I was floating, flying… everywhere and nowhere except for Sir’s cock pushing into me and dictating the shape of the universe. And then he wrapped one arm around my waist and pulled my body hard to his. My cock jerked and spilled. No spurting, because the restraint and Sir’s hand saw to that, but I leaked thick drops of semen in abject submission.

“Is this for me, baby? Is it?” My come filled his hand. “You’re mine, mine to take.”

With a strangled roar he finished, his pelvis slamming my ass with each stroke.

As I hung limp in the ropes, Sir leaned forward, grabbed me by the hair at the back of my head and turned my face so his mouth could seize mine. I opened to his kiss, letting him in. Yes, God… yes… his cock was still hard inside me, staking his claim, and I was so completely his I was willing to die on the spot if that would please him. When he thrust his tongue deep, I sucked it fervently, savoring his taste and granting permissions he hadn’t even asked for yet. The man fucking owned me. We separated only for air.

And with that kiss he was done, and I was done, and I don’t remember what happened next. Somehow he got me out of the rope harness and off the platform. I vaguely recall him fumbling with the come soaked ropes around my genitals, of my weight sagging into strong arms. When I opened my eyes again I was tucked against Sir’s side in one of the oversize leather chairs. Explosions from somewhere outside the room boomed dimly through the walls.

“Happy New Year,” Sir said. He tightened his arm around my shoulders and pressed a kiss to my head.

I smiled and turned so my face burrowed into his unbuttoned shirt. Sir smelled good, even after a scene. My head felt light, filled with disconnected thoughts. His arms around me created a haven. “Happy New Year, Sir,” I mumbled back.

“You all right?”

“Better… complete.”

“So am I.” He nuzzled my hair. “Thank you. That was the most amazing gift. You... are the most amazing gift.”

“I think you did all the work.”

“Hardly.” Sir traced something, perhaps a residual pattern from the ropes, on my right shoulder. His finger drifted down my chest to touch one of the nipple bars with his initials, sending a shiver through me. “You want to keep these for now?”

I nodded sleepily.

He smiled and brushed a bit of stray hair away from my eyes. He looked like he was about to say something, but then he reached across my chest and tugged a nearby throw across my naked body as voices approached and a door somewhere opened.

I closed my eyes and snuggled closer. The downside of an intense scene is that it’s like coming down from a killer high. There was no way I’d be stringing two coherent thoughts together for a few hours and I was surprised Sir could do it. Cradled by Sir’s arm, I faded pleasantly in and out, barely noticing when people entered and spoke quietly to Sir, telling him how hot the scene had been and how much they enjoyed it. After speaking they retreated to other chairs or maybe they left the room, because they didnt say anythingto him beyond that. None of it mattered, though I did open my eyes at the sound of Stewart’s voice and looked up to see him looking quite pleased with himself. I didn’t see Jase, but I knew Stewart was taking care of him.

“Is there a chance we can stay for the night?” Stewart asked.

“Carson’s going nowhere.” Sir sounded definite about that. I wasn’t sure what I would do if pressed to choose between them.

Stewart held my heavy-lidded gaze for a moment. His face softened. “I see that,” he said. “Good thing I packed overnight bags.”

* * * *

I must have dropped out from exhaustion because I awoke the next morning with sore nipples and an even sorer ass in one of Sir’s guest rooms. Jase sat in his pajama bottoms on the other twin bed and regarded me with a bemused smile on his face. As was usual after an intense scene, his remarkably flawless pale skin showed distinctive bruises.

“You look good,” he said, “no worse for wear.”

“Can’t say the same about you.” I touched my chest, noting someone had removed the posts from my nipples. They felt naked. “How did I get here?”

“Damned if I know. At the moment all I care about is finding a blow dryer.” He combed fingers through his wet hair. “There’s a bathroom worthy of one of your fancy magazines through that door over there.”

His way of suggesting I use it. All I really wanted to do was find Sir. The moment I moved aside the bed sheet and got a whiff of myself, I decided the shower was a good idea. Jase was right about the bathroom being beautiful, all creamy tile and shore blue details. By the time I came out from the shower, Jase was already dressed and brandishing a blow dryer at his hair. Stewart stood beside our duffle bags and his black case of toys.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Good.” No need to mention I was a little sore. Soreness was to be expected from the kind of scene I’d just gone through.

“The housekeeper is making breakfast for us downstairs. That’s very accommodating. Our host had to leave early this morning for a business meeting in New York.”

Something inside me crumbled. Sir was gone? “It’s New Year’s Day! Who does business on New Year’s Day?”

“You really expect me to answer that? However”—Stewart handed me a sealed envelope with my name scrawled on it in brash cursive letters—“he left this for you.” He nodded for me to open it. Inside I found a business card. Reed Bradley of Bradley Properties. I turned the card over.

Let’s meet for lunch. Friday at Rybread?

I looked up at Stewart and defied him to disapprove. “He wants to meet me. I’m going to do it.”

“Are you?”

“Don’t try to stop me. Besides, what can go wrong? It’s a sandwich shop.”

Stewart pursed his lips. “All right.”

Had I heard him correctly? “All right,” I confirmed. I dressed in fresh clothes and put the card in the pocket of my jeans. When I’d done so, Stewart handed me a small velvet bag. I opened it and poured out two nipple ornaments.

“He said they’re yours.”

They weren’t mine. They were his. R—B. I already knew I’d wear them come Friday. After all, we’d tried bondage and hot sex and that wasn’t enough—both of us knew it. There was still a lot I needed to learn about Reed Bradley.

I fingered the card in my pocket and smiled. 

Sir and I had a date.

(the End... maybe) 

Copyright © 2014 Tali Spencer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope youve enjoyed this little story. Its been a blast to write and, well, it got me through a rough time leading up to my surgery. Thats right... I wrote all of Uncool, every word, knowing I was facing an operation. It was my escape, a way of not thinking about those things, but thinking about these two guys instead. 

For the record, it worked. So now you know that about mehand Tali a major medical problem, she writes a novella. 

I like Carson and Reed and think I might extend their story into a book. Its pretty hot the way it is, but these guys are telling me theres more to their story. Like lots more. Like a whole romance. And I kind of what to find out how that might turn out. 

Thanks for reading!