Part Eleven Fragile – Handle with Care #2
“Sh-should I?” Scott pointed to the spanking bench.
“No, we’re not stopping here. If I get you on a spanking bench now, we’ll never finish the tour.” Rather than offer Scott his hand again, he tapped Scott on the arse, quite firmly, with the crop.
Scott lurched forward, more in surprise than pain, making Joe laugh.
Scott smiled back at him. The crop had looked both odd and intimidating when it was in the cupboard.
It had looked unwieldy while Scott held it.
But, it looked very different in Joe’s hand.
Once Joe was in control of it, it became something that looked natural and comfortable.
Scott was sure it would provide far more pleasure than pain.
For better or worse, Scott couldn’t say the same for some of the equipment they walked past. Bloody hell, most of it would have been rejected by the Inquisition as too extreme.
“Try it out for size.”
Scott turned around very slow, his mind racing with guesses as to what Joe was pointing out behind him.
A cage.
Scott stared down at it for several seconds. It looked like a mini version of the kind of cages used by old fashioned circuses, except it was way too small for a lion—maybe more the size for a largish dog—or a man on his hands and knees.
A shiver of anticipation ran up Scott’s spine, mixed with relief at Joe having picked something that Scott was reasonably sure he could cope with.
Scott lowered himself to his knees and set his hands on the floor in front of him. The cock cage pulled in a slightly different direction now. It took him a few seconds of shuffling awkwardly on his knees before he could pick up the pace and crawl past Joe toward the cage door.
Joe helpfully opened it for him.
“In you go.” He gave Scott a couple of taps with the crop to encourage him forward. The impact still wasn’t enough to hurt, just enough to sting pleasantly, and to make Scott wonder what it would feel like when Joe finally decided he was willing to use it in earnest.
The cage door clanged when Joe closed it. Something that small should never have been able to make that much noise. Scott squirmed, attempting poses that would challenge most yoga instructors, in his desperation to face the door—to face Joe.
“I’ve seen a lot of guys locked in this cage over the years,” Joe said, crouching down so they were closer to eye level with each other.
“You c-come here a lot, s-sir?”
“I’ve worked here off and on for a few years.”
“Is there anywhere in the c-city to d-d-do with sex that you haven’t w-w-worked?” Scott blurted out.
Joe laughed. “Well, there’s one lesbian pub on the outskirts of the city which, for some reason, has never offered me a job.
Apart from that, not really. The phrase sex sells exists for a reason.
Places like this pay well. Even in a recession, people still want to get laid, and they want to get whipped. Some even want to be put in cages.”
Scott tried to sit back on his heels and straighten up, but there wasn’t enough head height. He had to keep his hands on the floor in front of him and his body bent forward.
“What usually h-h-happens to guys when they’re in the c-c-cage?” Scott asked carefully.
“Depends what they’re into?”
“You,” Scott replied.
“I’m your fetish?” Joe asked, with obvious amusement.
But Scott wasn’t joking. He nodded, perfectly seriously.
“Some guys blow whoever sticks their cock through the bars of the cage. Others get teased.” Joe seemed to think for a while.
“If I put you in there, it would be so you could feel safe while you had a rest between rounds. I’d pull up a chair and rest my feet on top of the cage—have a chat to some old friends while you have a nap—or at least get your breath back—you’d probably be too frustrated to actually sleep. ”
Long before Joe had finished the first sentence, Scott’s cock was straining against his cage. The image expanded to fill his whole mind.
“Then, when I thought you’d rested for long enough, I’d release you.” Joe picked up something from a container alongside the cage. “But, if the club was actually open, I wouldn’t be letting you wander around on your own. I’d want to keep you close at heel, wouldn’t I, Scottie?”
He reached through the bars of the cage and slipped a chain link collar around Scott’s neck. “Of course, this is just a practical bit of bondage, it isn’t a real collar. A real collar would have a tag on it saying Property of Joe, and it wouldn’t ever leave your neck.”
Property of Joe.
It was all Scott could do to hold back a whimper. He had no idea how a man went about earning a “real” collar, or a tag like that, but gaining one shot to the top of his list of Joe flavoured fantasies.
While Scott was lost in his thoughts, Joe retrieved another item from alongside the cage. A black leather lead. He clipped it onto Scott’s collar. Another practical bit of bondage.
When Joe opened the door, Scott crawled out of the cage. He automatically started to stand up, but stopped short, not sure if that was something he had to have permission to do now. He looked at the lead, then up at Joe, who raised an eyebrow at him in silent query.
“D-do I s-stand up, s-sir? Or do you w-want me to stay l-like this?”
“If it was full here, you wouldn’t be allowed to move around on your hands and knees—I’ve seen far too many crawling subs get stepped on in crowds, but, since we’re the only ones here…” He smiled.
Scott nodded. Putting his hands on the floor in front of him, he crawled forward a few feet before looking up at his surroundings.
A whimper rose up inside him. If the equipment in the club had looked intimidating when Scott was standing upright, from his new point of view, it was terrifying.
* * * * *
Joe stared down at Scott’s back. If his new posture made it more difficult for Joe to see Scott’s cock or his face, then at least it gave him a fantastic view of Scott’s arse.
Joe slowed down to let Scott move a little way ahead of him, so he could properly admire how his buttocks clenched and released as he shuffled forward.
Scott, however, ignored all the slack on his lead and kept close to Joe’s side. If Joe had been interested in Scott’s ability to play the part of a good puppy rather than the joy of being able to perv on Scott’s arse, it would have been perfect.
He gave Scott a gentle tap with the crop to encourage him on ahead. Scott shot forward as if there’d been a hot ember on the crop tip.
He looked over his shoulder, obviously startled, but as soon as their eyes met, Scott smiled and ducked his head; a blush tinted his cheeks.
And Scott being slightly ahead of him provided a bonus completely separate from the view.
Unable to follow Joe’s lead, Scott had to pick which piece of equipment to head towards next.
Joe strolled along behind him, fascinated to see where Scott might crawl and what that might tell him about any kinks that lay undiscovered within him.
Water sports.
Scott headed straight for that part of the club as if there was a lighthouse, a homing beacon, and a SatNav all guiding his way.
Scott stopped at the archway that separated the wet rooms from the drier parts of the club.
A two-foot wide metal grate extended from one side of the arch to the other.
It probably wasn’t a comfortable thing to crawl across, but Joe had seen plenty of guys do it without coming to any harm.
If Scott was as into water sports as his internal GPS implied, the grating wouldn’t stop him.
Joe stepped forward and leaned against the arch so he could study Scott’s profile more easily. He’d expected fascination, or perhaps uncertainty, because he didn’t know if Joe would share that particular kink.
Scott just looked bemused.
As Joe watched, Scott’s attention moved from the grating to the various parts of the tiled wet room. Pure confusion. He had no idea what he was looking at. Joe grinned.
As if sensing his amusement, Scott looked up at him.
“Want to guess what guys do in there?” Joe asked, confident that playing in there wouldn’t be high on Scott’s list of kinks if he didn’t even recognise the possibilities in the set-ups.
“W-w-water torture?”
“Close,” Joe said with a chuckle. “Water sports.”
He waited a few moments to see if Scott would recognise the term. He saw the moment when the penny dropped. “You m-mean when guys p-p-pee on each other?”
“That’s the basic idea.”
“You…” Scott trailed off.
“It’s not my thing, but there aren’t that many things I haven’t tried at one time or another.”
Scott glanced through the archway again. He still didn’t look enthusiastic.
Joe laughed. “Come on. I’m sure there are some other parts of the club that will fit your kinks better.”
Rather than let Scott pick the direction again, Joe resumed control.
He led Scott, who still hadn’t complained about crawling at his feet, toward a high-backed metal bondage chair on the western edge of the club.
There were trays of equipment on each side of the chair, and a frame that could hinge down over someone as they sat in the chair.
Scott was too low down to see most of the things on the trays.
“Guess what it’s set up for,” Joe ordered.
“I th-th-think I’m too focused on the w-w-word torture. I c-can’t think of anything else,” Scott admitted.
“Well, I’d call it nipple play, but some people do call it nipple torture—depends what sort of games you like to play, I suppose.”
Scott pulled back. From observing just that one reaction, it would have been easy to think that Scott hated the idea. But as Joe kept watching him, Scott shifted his weight and swayed toward the bondage chair.
Joe smiled to himself. He’d seen the way Scott had reacted to having his nipples toyed with on their previous dates and his instincts hadn’t been wrong. Scott wasn’t so much retreating from the bondage chair as he was squirming at the possibilities it held.