Becoming His Master Read online

  The attitude wasn’t uncommon in male subs, though in many it covered a challenge. Topping from the bottom, the demand for a dominant to prove himself, or more often herself, by delivering what the sub wanted without knowledge of the desire. A sweetly delivered “whatever pleases you, mistress” meant a “if you’re so fucking powerful and better than me, you’ll figure it out” lurked beneath. Not likely in this one. A true need burned under his skin.

  The too-eager approach and lack of defined desires won him little favor with the fem-doms on the third floor. The mistresses would have turned him away even without Emma’s warning. Physically, emotionally, and mentally unprepared for play. Unfit.

  Polite, though. He thanked each before moving to the next, despite the growing droop of his neck and the faltering grace in his steps. Twelve in all, a round dozen unaccompanied dominants, and only once did the situation call for dissuasion. One man’s eyes gleamed as he beheld the boy’s bruises. One hand descended.

  Henry coughed before the hand could touch. With a cold stare for the predator, he jerked his head. My boy. Hands off.

  The man made his excuses, a rejection of the submissive’s suitability, and backed away.

  A cracked whimper escaped the boy. The sound throbbed its echo in Henry’s chest.

  More observation would wait for another night. He’d take him around next week and hope a neutral demeanor would serve well enough to prevent Mr. Kress from imprinting on his own desires. Distress demanded immediate action.

  He approached with good cheer, a cultivated jocularity, speaking louder than he would otherwise. The submissive’s self-worth cried out for bolstering. “Jay, my good boy.”

  A shudder wracked the slender frame. God in heaven, let it be pleasure and not terror at the sound of his voice.

  “The very model of submission I’ve been seeking.” As his quarry turned, a quick check at the sleek black leather in a tight bike short cut confirmed the contents nudged at the tear-open front flap. Pleasure, then. Excellent. “Are you available? I’ll require your attentiveness all evening, I’m afraid, and it must be exclusive. Will you be my boy, Jay?”

  “Yes.” His fervent whisper arrived with an extended sibilant, the sigh of an answered prayer on plump cherry-blossom lips in a tanned face. “Yes, please, sir, Master Henry, anything you want.”

  Anything intruded on his calm. Anything suggested this dark-haired beauty crying his name with delight, naked and bucking to take his master deeper and loving every moment.

  He bit his tongue before trusting himself to open his mouth. “And some things you want as well, one hopes. For now, I want you to follow me.”

  Mr. Kress fell in a half step behind, his excited breaths a repeating wash of awareness across Henry’s ear. His responsibility, now. The challenge demanded his best effort. The boy deserved no less.

  Behind the front desk, Emma smoothly steered other waiting players to her subordinates. Him, she greeted herself, with knowing eyes and demure posture. “Master Henry.” Her smoky blue gaze flicked to his companion and back. “How may I assist you, sir?”

  “Step up to the desk, my boy.” He kept his voice low. His new submissive’s level of comfort with public attention had yet to be determined, and the vivid purple bruising on his back had already drawn glances. “Turn in the green.”

  He handed over the ribbon without complaint, though his fingers lingered until Emma plucked it from his grasp. An attachment to what the scrap of fabric represented, perhaps. Young Mr. Kress might be dependent upon outward signs of his submission, craving public attention and acknowledgment. Well. That would be easy enough to test.

  “Is he to receive a replacement, sir?” Smooth and cool, she betrayed nothing to his companion. Emma was too well trained for that.

  He, however, had heard the range of her voice in far too many contexts to be deceived. A note of smug eagerness clung to her lips.

  “He’s to have red.” He leaned forward, splaying his hand on the counter, and raised his voice to cut through the drone of arrivals, requests, and chitchat. “Only red from now on. The boy is mine for the foreseeable future, and I won’t have his loveliness sullied by unwanted attentions.”

  With trembling fingers, Jay accepted his new ribbon and fastened it. His breathing quickened. The motion highlighted his slender abdomen and firm chest, qualities that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the submissives behind the desk. Their admiring, envious glances might have been for his attractiveness or his luck in receiving a coveted exclusive arrangement.

  Emma, naturally, appeared rather more maternal and appraising. “Privileges, sir?”

  Dangerous. Jay couldn’t be trusted alone. He lacked judgment and the appropriate level of awareness for his own safety.

  “None.” If he meant to teach him properly, he couldn’t leave anything to chance. “If I’m present when he arrives, he’s to be sent to me. If I am not, he’s to be detained at the desk and I’m to be called immediately at the number on file.”

  “Jay.” Calling his name in a gentle undertone, Emma tipped her head. Mahogany spirals cascaded from her upswept bun. “Do you agree to Master Henry’s terms, Jay?”

  Good. Jay ought to understand he had the right to refuse. He wouldn’t, of course. His sharp nod came as no surprise.

  “Wonderful.” Emma moved her fingers over the keyboard. “He’s all yours, Master Henry.”

  All his. A quivering, abused pup who deserved gentleness but required firmness. Strict control.

  If all went well, he’d be able to show him he needn’t accept humiliation and degradation from any master or mistress who would have him. He would teach him to recognize and respect the gift he offered. To be selective in his choices.

  “Thank you, Emma.” He turned to his newest acquisition.

  Head bowed, Jay revealed exquisite bone structure. His high cheekbones and steep, narrow nose acquired a glow from the lighting. Angelic and sweet to all appearances, a sculpture finished with delicate tools. But inside lay the raw, unformed nature pushing its way out.

  “Come along, my dear boy. We’ve much to do.”

  The limitations on sexual contact in the second-floor salon served his purpose. Those who wanted to indulge in more than teasing or foreplay—or watch others indulge—would take themselves off to the third floor or above.

  He scouted for a suitable seating arrangement. Something private, a bit distant from its neighbors, to encourage his new submissive to give him his full attention and eliminate self-conscious behaviors. Two seats only, to discourage others from joining them. Out of the main flow of traffic. Perhaps most important, something with an obstruction, a table or statuary or plant, to encourage him to keep his hands off his companion. Tracing the faint tan lines circling his neck and biceps would wait for another night.

  A pair of Queen Anne wingbacks upholstered in pale blue with a round cherry side table beckoned, far to the right. Jay fell in behind without prompting as he navigated the room.

  Seating himself in the left-hand chair, he gestured toward the other. “Sit, please.”

  Jay sank to the floor at his feet.

  Urgent heat pulsed at the base of his spine. His cock pressed against his slacks. Unintended and too soon. Tonight would be for discussion, not play.

  He needed his partner on equal footing. As equal as the misguided man would accept. Questioning and negotiation before submission and play. Curtailing his youthful eagerness in favor of his safety was first on the agenda.

  Jay prostrated himself, folding until his head approached his knees. The vivid coloration across the otherwise sleek back spurred an ache in his chest.

  “We aren’t in a scene, my boy. You needn’t abase yourself.”

  Tentative and slow, his companion lifted his head.

  Explicit instructions would be a must, it seemed. Retraining without room for misunderstanding, because Mr. Kress would tend toward greater submission if allowed to run unchecked. “The chair will do, thank you.”

  “I�
�m sorry, sir.” A mad scramble of flailing limbs and repeated apologies ended with the lithe young man seated in the facing chair, breathing hard and trembling. “I’m sorry.”

  “Shhh, it’s fine, my boy. I neglected to tell you precisely where I wished you to sit. The fault is not yours.” He leaned back, attempting to convey calm relaxation. His submissive might learn by example. “Tell me, did your previous masters demand you remain on the floor at all times?”

  “Yes, Master Henry.”

  “Did they ask your preference in the matter?”

  Eyebrows dipping, Jay shook his head.

  “How long have you been playing as a submissive?”

  “Almost four months, sir.” Pride colored his tone, but a thin tremor lay underneath. The fear of rejection, most probably.

  Henry fought to keep dismay off his face. Four months, and the young man had been participating in the sort of scenes the likes of Calvin Gardner found pleasing. Bound to a St. Andrew’s cross and coach-whipped.

  “I see.” Had no one given this novice even the most cursory, rudimentary safeguards? The guide who’d brought him here ought to have taken more care. “How many masters and mistresses have you served?”

  “Eleven, Master Henry.” His beautifully dark brown eyes widened. “I mean, twelve, counting you, sir.”

  Playing dominant-of-the-week. No wonder he’d learned nothing of negotiation and safe play. Likely he’d been picked up by dominants who desired to direct a specific scene. Any submissive who’d play the role would do. The young man’s desire to please and need to abase himself would have attracted the edgier players. Ones who wouldn’t consider it their duty to educate him. Who wouldn’t inquire about his history at all beyond his health status.

  “Jay, I’m feeling a bit thirsty.” He needed a moment to process this anger. Alone, else the boy would think himself in the wrong. “Are you familiar with the kitchen off the salon here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Trembling, his companion leaned forward. “Can I get you something, Master Henry?”

  “You may. Please bring me a bottle of pineapple-orange juice. You’re to choose a bottle for yourself, as well, of whichever flavor juice you find most pleasing. Go directly to the kitchen, make the selections, and return directly to me. Do you understand your instructions ?”

  “Yes, Master Henry.”

  He nodded and waved. “Run along, then.”

  Watching him depart deepened his rage. The slender, athletic submissive trotted away with such eagerness, such pride in serving a master, that any man ought to appreciate having this biddable boy at his beck and call. What need was there to mar innocent perfection?

  Believing Jay had requested such intense games was impossible. He hadn’t even the self-confidence to instigate pre-play negotiation. He’d agreed to sub tonight without a single question asked.

  Henry reached for calm with deep breaths. He had two months to undo four months of misconceptions and instill caution and confidence. If he failed to do so before Cal’s suspension ended, he might as well steel himself now for the sight of Jay Kress broken and bleeding again. The boy didn’t know how to say no.

  He’d have to find a way to begin that training tonight. Before the night was over, he would hear his submissive say no and mean it. Introducing the importance of honest communication would make an excellent start.

  Jay returned at a fast clip, dodging other players with natural grace and a beaming smile. He placed the drinks on the table and took his seat as directed.

  Henry made a show of opening his beverage and sipping. Patience was a virtue he might cultivate in this partner.

  “Delicious. The exact thing I needed at this moment. Thank you.” He set the drink on the side table, his submissive watching his every movement. “Tell me, are you comfortable this evening?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Not even a pause to think. With this boy, the instinctive answer would always be yes.

  “When you tell me ‘yes,’ do you know what question you are answering? I note you neglected to ask for clarification. In what way are you comfortable?”

  “I don’t—” He bowed his head and worried at the chair seat alongside his thighs. “I’m—whatever way you want me to be comfortable, Master Henry. Or uncomfortable. I can be uncomfortable if you want.”

  “What I want is for you to be honest, my dear boy. If you lie to me, we cannot play together, and that would greatly disappoint me.” He kept his tone gentle but firm to avoid flustering his companion when he wished to encourage self-expression. “Would you like to revise your answer?”

  Black hair bobbed above a shamefaced nod.

  “All right, then. Try again, please.”

  “I don’t understand the question, Master Henry.” Speaking in a thin whisper, Jay curled his fingers around the seat.

  “Good boy.” He ignored the shocked expression. Better the young man learn to accept praise as a routine joy. “A proper submissive will seek assistance when he doesn’t understand what’s been asked of him. He serves his master’s desires more fully in that way. Would you like me to explain the question for you?”

  “Yes, please, sir.”

  “Very well.” He settled back in his seat. “First, tell me of your physical comfort this evening. Were the butterfly closures effective in treating your injuries? Did you seek professional medical attention this week? Have you suffered significant bleeding? Are you in any pain from your injuries, and, if so, have you taken medication to ease that pain? Are you clearheaded tonight?”

  Young Mr. Kress rattled off answers with no trouble. A quick mind lay behind those deep brown eyes. His tendency toward agreement marked neither lesser intellect or ability but a misunderstanding of the proper role of the submissive. A belief that to be submissive one must be open and accepting of any kink performed on one’s body, perhaps, whether a shared desire or not. Training could redirect his energy into discovering his own sources of satisfaction.

  The pressure at Henry’s groin refused to ebb no matter how he shifted his legs. The more he learned of his partner, the more attractive he became. Not only beautiful and sweet but quick-witted. Temptation burned.

  “I’m pleased your injuries haven’t caused you overmuch discomfort this week.” Either Jay had a high threshold for pain or he bruised easily. The lack of significant rectal bleeding, however, was a relief. No permanent damage done, not from a physical perspective. “Tell me, is bondage your preferred play style? What manner of impact play do you enjoy?”

  “I’ve been tied up a lot, Master Henry. I know how to take pain.” Jay flexed and tapped his feet in a pair of thin house sandals, the sort available in the locker rooms for those who would otherwise go barefoot. “Last week was—” His gaze skipped away to the table, the rug. “I’m sorry you saw me like that, sir. It wasn’t my best performance, and I promise it won’t happen again. I can behave. I can.”

  Henry gritted his teeth behind a tight smile. He didn’t consider himself a violent man. The submissives he’d spanked, flogged, or whipped in the last fifteen years had been thoroughly interrogated about their desires before he’d lifted the first toy. Even as a child, he’d avoided fistfights. At this particular moment, facing this particular young man, had Cal’s smirking face appeared, the impulse to break his knuckles on the sadist’s teeth would have been too powerful to ignore.

  “Your behavior tonight has pleased me thus far, my boy.” Fixing his partner’s shame, teaching him to see Cal’s responsibility in last week’s fiasco, would take more than a single night of praise. “I’ve no doubt you’re quite capable of excellent behavior.”

  Telling Jay he’d yet again avoided answering the question asked would simply upset him. Asking the boy what he enjoyed wouldn’t deliver the answers he sought if the boy didn’t know them.

  “Have all of the masters and mistresses you’ve served struck you for pleasure?”

  Better. His companion cast his gaze toward the ceiling in distant thought rather than spitting ou
t an automatic yes. “All but one, Master Henry.”

  “Tell me what that one did instead.”

  “She tied me down and used me for her pleasure. She said she liked my tongue.” Jay’s eyes gleamed, and his words came faster. “When I got too tired for her, she made me hold a vibrator in my lips. It kinda gave me a headache, but she really liked it. And when she was done, she freed one of my hands and let me jerk off.”

  Henry nodded encouragement. If Jay could be open about this, so much the better. Power exchanges went hand-in-hand with his submissive attitude. No surprise there.

  “Not everybody does.” The young man’s excitement faded. If he’d meant to attempt a casual tone, he’d fallen far short. “Some of them only wanted someone for the beating and then there wasn’t any sex.” He sagged, a hunch in his shoulders and a droop in his lips. “Or they had sex with someone else after they beat me, and I just left when they untied me.”

  Given the boy’s unquestioning acceptance, no doubt he hadn’t thought to ask or impose limits while negotiating with dominants. He might have assumed all scenes involved sexual contact, when in truth public play more often indulged kinks and fetishes without completion or allowed submissives to finish themselves off afterward.

  He’d done it himself often enough, but he’d damn well made certain the submissives understood who’d be doing the finishing before the games started. Some preferred to be worked into a state of fetishistic excitement and left alone to finish or not as they chose. Jay’s partners might not have recognized his desire for inclusion or understood how damaging their rejection had been. They’d taught him he was suitable for beating but not tenderness.

  Since Jay’s introduction to the kink arena, it seemed, his own desires had never come first. “Before these last four months, had you been having intercourse with partners?”

  “I wasn’t a virgin.” Eyes scrunched tight, mouth open, his submissive sat tall.

  So he did have a backbone. He simply wasn’t accustomed to showing it to prospective dominants.