Hmmm, WordPress isn’t showing titles on posts. I need a guru.
The name of my next story is “The Sexual Network – Severin’s Revenge.” The title will probably change since I’ll need hotter keywords in it to show up on Amazon searches, but that’s my working title. I saw “The Social Network” again recently and couldn’t help but feel like there was this almost sexual tension in the deposition scenes, like it was more a divorce hearing than anything else. Add to that my major boner for Andrew Garfield, and this image I got in my head of him in full leather as a dom top, and I could not do anything but write it out! Since “50 Shades” there’s been a lot of billionaire erotica, but this may well be the first ever billionaire-on-billionaire action…
Severin’s mouth curled as he drained the last of his beer. His thoughts must have been drifting for a while, because the last sip was warm and rank. Of course, he realized, it wouldn’t take long for beer to get warm in here. The body heat radiating off of this many men in this small a space would have done that in any bar. But add to that the full leather most of the patrons were wearing, and the low, deep sexual thrum of male energy pulsing around the room, revving up testosterone levels and core body temperatures, and no wonder the liquid hadn’t stayed cold. Severin had on his blue jeans, black Docs, a tight black T and his biker jacket, but he never cracked a sweat in here – at least not when he was just sitting down.
He approached the bar, the crowd of patrons waiting for the bartender’s attention making way for him. The regulars deferred automatically to the alpha male in the room, and not just because he was the owner. The non-regulars eventually caught on because the silence around them, the sudden unfamiliar free space, made them turn around to see what was going on.
Severin was everything you’d expect or desire in a Master: tall, ripped physique, Heathcliffian dark good looks, his beautiful foxy features hard to read in the bar’s dim light. His thick shock of dark hair was unusual in here, where most men’s hair was #2 buzzcut at the longest. His dark eyes rarely connected with other men’s. They passed over you, or, if you were lucky, through you, penetrating and enthralling. Vampire eyes, that could bend you to their will without his even touching you.
“Bel,” he said to the barman, who with a good bartender’s, and a good bottom’s, instinct dropped what he was doing and hurried to Severin at the bar. “We need to adjust the fridges. A couple degrees colder.”
“Yes, sir, sorry, sir.”
Severin waved away the apology. “It was fine, before. But we’re getting busier these days, and the beer gets warmer faster now.”
Belial grinned, the dim track light casting shadows beneath the horny implants in his forehead. He bowed gracefully, a little devilish affectation but also a gesture of real respect. “Yes, sir, I’ll make the change.” He admired his boss more every day, and not just because he was the most ruthless top Bel had ever seen working over a sub. Bel had never made so much in tips in his life – in a few months, this place had become the destination for pigs in this town.
Severin took the beer that was offered without asking and made his rounds, nodding to customers who were starting to look familiar and stopping to chat with his regulars, asking about all the details of their personal lives that he’d memorized as well as any politician. He took pride in his work here, took pride in what a great success the bar had become, even though the money it brought in was pocket change compared to his other incomes.
His eye always caught something out of the ordinary, and in this case it was a bright spot by the door. A young man in faded jeans and a white t-shirt was like a sore thumb in here, and his white sneakers alone would disqualify him from meeting the bar’s dress code. He was flushed with embarrassment.
“No sneakers, sir. Sunday afternoons only.”
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to …” The young man felt Severin’s eyes on him as the owner approached the door.
Severin nearly froze in his tracks, only his self-command keeping him in motion. It was him! He felt transported back in time…back to a dorm room, back to a different person he had been. Back before he had his one tattoo emblazoned across his chest.
But it wasn’t him, after all. The same gangly body, the same nerdy glasses. The same physique that looked skinny and frail in those baggy clothes, but was actually tight and fit, the biceps’ definition and their ropy veins betraying his clothing’s desire to make him look out of shape. The face, though…the same features, the same curly blond hair and blue eyes, but no…not Zack’s self-assured sneer, this was just a little lost puppy.
But still. His groin stirred, as it did so rarely any more. “He 21?”
“Let him in.”
The doorman nodded, and the young man passed through the portal. “Do you know what kind of bar this is?” Severin asked him.
“Y…yeah. I do. I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to…that I wasn’t…”
“It’s fine. I’m the owner, so I decide who has to do what.” He turned and walked away, knowing his guest would follow. Again the clouds parted at the bar and he ordered shots and a beer.
He handed a shot of Jager to his guest and clicked his own against it. “To your health.”
They drank, the new guy wincing at the burn. “Thanks. I’m Adam.”
Adam’s eyes widened. “You’re the guy!”
Severin felt a pang. So innocent, so adoring. So…so unlike Zack. But he would do. “I am the guy.” He headed for the back of the bar, where he unlocked a door to which only he had the key. He turned on a light and extended his hand to show Adam that he should go first.
Adam looked down the steps. “Is this…”
Adam swallowed hard. He couldn’t believe that this was happening so fast, that he had made the decision to go to an S&M leather bar after thinking about it for so long, and that within minutes he was about to go into the most notorious dungeon in town with Severin fucking Edwards!
The room was dark, but for a moment Adam thought the dungeon must be further back. There were none of the usual things he was expecting to see – no St. Andrew’s Cross, no sling, nothing here but a pool table…
A push sent him sprawling across it, and then Severin was astride him, holding him down. “This what you came for?”
“Fuck yeah!” Adam hissed.
Severin reached into the left corner pocket and pulled out a handcuff attached to a wire. He cuffed Adam tightly and did the same on the other wrist with the cuff from the right corner pocket. Then he got up, reached inside the table and pushed a button. Adam heard the whir of a crank as the cuffs retracted, pulling his arms straight. Adam found himself wriggling more of his body forward onto the table to keep up with the strain. When he was stretched out just to where his ass was perfectly bent over the other end of the table, Severin let go of the button.
The bite of the cuffs was adrenalizing. Adam twisted around to try and see what Severin was doing. Now his new master was reaching under the side of the table, pulling out a strap with a hook on it. Severin put his right knee up on the table and, with balletic grace, swung his body up and around, throwing his left leg over Adam and pressing his crotch into Adam’s ass to pin him down. He transferred the hook from right to left hand and reached down to the other side of the table to hook it in place. Then he tightened it and Adam found himself bound fast to the table by the thick leather strap.
Severin was off him now, and Adam could hear him doing something, but what? He turned his head but, unable to get his hips off the table, his field of vision was small. Then with a start he felt leather-gloved hands reaching under him, undoing his belt, the button of his jeans, the zipper, then roughly pulling his pants and drawers halfway down, exposing his ass to the cool basement air.
Adam heard a cabinet open, and close again, then a swishing sound, as if a sword was being tested for balance. He arched his ass and pressed his face into the felt, ready for the blow.
When it came, he yelped. The paddle had sharp rubber cleats on it that dug into the flesh of his ass, doubling the pain of the smack it delivered. He’d felt paddles with holes that enhanced the sting, paddles with treads that left boot marks on your ass, but this…Severin must have made it himself! “Thank you sir, another please sir!” he shouted, reveling in the pain.
Severin froze, but only for a moment. The last time he had heard that… He brought the paddle down again, and again. Adam’s shouts became sobs as the pain became – almost – too much to endure, but he asked for it again and again and Severin administered it again and again. It was a good thing Adam wanted it, because Severin’s mind was traveling far away now, back into the past…