Chapter 19 #2
The Dr. Who fan raised a brow. “Sorry, mate. The color of the ink indicates your status. There’s a suggestion box if you want to offer it for future events.”
“Great. Where would that be?”
Without cracking a smile, he pointed to the trash can on the other side of the door. Roy bit back a laugh as DJ sent him a narrow look.
“Word to the wise,” the bald man said. “This is a place that knows exactly how to handle smart asses.”
He pressed the stamp to the top of DJ’s hand. The ink showed Ts in glow-in-the-dark orange.
“Have a good time, gentlemen.”
He opened the door for them. Roy and DJ stepped into a stairwell, tinted by the red light of the exit sign. The music from the fourth floor vibrated through the walls.
DJ lifted his hand. “What does Ts mean?”
Roy gripped it, stroking the skin around the wet ink. DJ liked the look on his face. Especially when he heard what it meant. “Taken sub,” he said. “Keeps anyone from bugging you. Then I don’t have to remove someone’s spleen.”
“Ooh. A lover who will cause bodily harm and risk prison to stake his claim on me. I like it.” DJ batted his lashes and ducked the open palmed swat at his head.
Roy tugged him closer with a finger under the studded belt and bumped their hips together. “On the first two floors, there’s a variety of scenes. Fire and whip play are on the third floor because of their space needs. We’ll cruise through all levels. Stop at any scene you want to watch.”
It sounded good to DJ. When Roy opened the steel door to the first floor, a wash of heat hit him.
Light came from naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling.
They swayed from the air movement caused by fans, while human movement created a flickering dance of shadows.
Dozens of people in various stages of dress, including nothing but collar and/or cuffs, were engaged in power exchange play from end to end of the warehouse floor.
There were raised platforms and walkways, as well as a few cubicles for those who wanted a more private space while remaining within the miasma of sensual input.
A bar set up against the wall served sodas, water and snacks. It was identified with a large neon sign and an arrow. Restrooms were marked in a similar way.
DJ smelled sweat, sex, perfume and cologne, but the fans kept it from being overwhelming.
Roy let DJ choose the direction, staying at a relaxed stroll at his side.
With his close presence and his hand brushing DJ’s hip or back, the nervous edge to DJ’s feelings settled into a better kind of adrenaline fuel.
In this intriguing environment, he could pretend that the world outside didn’t exist, or think about what he’d lost.
He saw a woman with a tattoo of butterfly wings on her back.
She was rotating in a slow circle, suspended with a harness created by red rope.
It was tied around her upper body, legs and arms. As her Master turned her, he caressed her flesh between the diamond-shaped openings.
Her eyes were half closed, her lips parted.
The ends of her long black hair nearly swept the floor as her head dropped back.
Suspended and restrained in your world
I finally can fly.
The pen and notebook were in his jeans pocket, but he didn’t reach for it. He had too much to see.
Nearby two men stood beside another one, lying upon a table.
They were decorating him with colored hot wax.
It was more casual than the suspension scene, the three of them bantering with the watchers.
As they drew closer, DJ realized the men were teaching those watching how to do wax play, while dripping the wax along their subject’s shoulders, chest and his upper thighs.
While it had an “all in good fun” feeling, the way the man shivered when the wax fell, the erection evident under his clingy shorts, said more was going on.
The next play space was occupied by a Mistress sitting on a padded square footstool.
The bottom was enclosed in vinyl like a box, except for the side that allowed a man lying on his back to have his head and neck inside of it.
His wrists were cuffed to hooks on the outside of the box, and a spreader bar kept his legs shoulder width apart.
While he obviously had been put to work pleasuring the Mistress with his mouth through an opening in the seat of the footstool, another man was swatting his cock and balls with a cane, short, repetitive motions that had him groaning and jerking.
The Mistress’s eyes were glazed with pleasure, her lips parted.
The man with the cane paused, dropping to his heels. He stroked the bound man’s cock and spoke. “Tell me how you’re doing, Cord,” he said.
A shaking hand formed a thumbs up. The Mistress gave the man holding the cane an approving nod, and he resumed. A little harder now.
Roy had spanked him, used his belt on him, but this was different.
DJ wasn’t sure if this level of torment was his kink, but watching it, seeing how involved all three of them were in it, made every part of him tight.
When Roy’s hand slid into his waist band, palm against the upper curve of his buttock, he swayed and put out a hand, gripping Roy’s shirt.
Two men passed on their right. One was being led by the other on a leash connected to a collar around his throat. His hands were cuffed to either side of a cage around his cock.
When DJ turned to watch his shuffling progress, he realized there was a plug in his ass, held there by the same straps that held the cage.
While the Master tugged on the leash to remind him to keep up, to make him move a little faster, he wasn’t so far ahead that he couldn’t steady him.
The male was so overstimulated he obviously needed it.
Suffering and pleasure. There was no line between them.
The two men were headed toward a raised platform where a woman in her forties, with childbirth stretch marks, lay upon a cushioned mat.
She stared up at the man standing over her, and she was covered in flower petals.
He knelt between her legs, sliding his arms under them to lift her ass onto his folded thighs.
Bending, he kissed her breasts, suckled each in turn as she arched and cried out.
When he lifted his head, he looked at her with an expression that was territorial and adoring. “Your first time should be filled with pleasure and wonder. I couldn’t be there then, but I’m here now. Going forward, this will forever be your first time. Do you agree?”
“Yes, Master.” Her eyes were wet, mouth soft, breath fast.
As DJ drew closer, the words captivated him, as did the male’s tenderness with her. “I think of this as my first time as well. With the woman I want to share forever with.”
He removed his jeans without self-consciousness. He had what might be called a “dad body,” but he looked strong and confident. His hair was neatly cut, his eyes a vivid blue.
He stroked her body, arousing her even further before he guided himself into her. Her lips parted, and she sighed and moaned, tears trickling down her temples.
Those closest to the platform seemed to be people who knew the couple, who understood the significance of this for her.
When he entered her, her body was slick and willing, though he took his time and spoke to her as if she were a virgin.
The tears that continued to increase, the way she clutched him to her, the whispers that only he could hear, reinforced how much the moment meant to her.
He was laying claim not just to her body, but to her memories. Replacing the ones he didn’t deem worthy of her, the woman he loved. Giving her better memories.
It was an act of love, tangled up with the sexual stimulation and surroundings of kink.
DJ thought of the times Roy had taken him where he’d felt something so similar.
The first time he’d allowed himself that level of trust, and how strong the craving to surrender had been. Not just to any Dom. To Roy.
He tilted his head toward his bodyguard.
Gripped by a shyness and need too raw to explain, DJ couldn’t lift his eyes to look at him.
Roy cupped the side of his head and kissed his forehead, then his jaw and lips, teasing the fringe of the mask against his skin.
He gave him a slow, lingering kiss that raised DJ’s face by degrees until they were looking into one another’s eyes.
He pushed his hand further beneath DJ’s waist band and kneaded his bare buttock. DJ had chosen not to wear underwear for this. The presence of Roy’s hand tightened the front of the jeans, creating friction over a cock already contained in too small a space.
Then Roy eased back and turned DJ, so he was looking at the couple again.
The male started to do long, powerful strokes inside her.
He closed his hand on her throat to hold her still, his gaze sliding over the movement of her breasts, the arch of her body, her parted lips, the way his cock and her cunt were joined, the wetness dampening her tight curls and his.
“My beauty,” he said. “Always mine.”
They moved onward toward a cupping scene, fire and glass arousing heated skin, then doused with ice for the contrast. DJ saw laughter, sexual intensity, roughness. He fed on all of it, lost in it, his only tether the touch of the man at his side.
Was it possible to go into subspace just by watching? Maybe it was his mental exhaustion from grief, but he thought that might be happening to him. Though he was choosing the direction, Roy was steadying him on his path.
When they’d made a circuit of the first level, they headed for the second. The first thing DJ saw was a station with a trio of X frames. Two were occupied, one by a man, the other by a woman. Both were naked. The man was being whipped by a Mistress with a long flogger, the ends tipped with knots.