OK guys and gals, this one is going to take some time. I’m at 7000 words and I think it’s only about 1/3 finished! So bear with me for a few weeks. This one is going to be E P I C. I found another great pic of “my Sam” for the cover, too! Here’s a taste to hold you for a while; more to come!
Even though Sam was blindfolded, he could feel Derek’s rage surging, using all the skills in his well-honed repertoire. He could hear the change in Derek’s breathing, as he held it in, trying to quash his anger by depriving it of oxygen. He could feel the heat of Derek’s body standing next to him, inches away from the table to which Sam was bound.
“Have you really run out of ideas, Derek? So soon?”
This hadn’t been the tone of their time in Derek’s dungeon until now. Derek had been learning how to be a S/M master at the same time that Sam had been learning to be a sub. If they had been any other men, going into this, with both of them being novices, could have been a recipe for disaster. But both men were fast learners, and both had learned long ago how to control themselves in high-stress situations – Derek in the South African Armoured Corps, and then that nation’s Intelligence service, and Sam as a Special Forces soldier in hot spots around the world.
The flip side to that advantage was that both men also knew how to push other men’s buttons, how to get the other side to lose control. It was a dangerous game to play…but as Sam was saying to himself more and more often these days, life was risk – and when it wasn’t, it wasn’t any fun.
Sam’s balls ached from the flat-headed riding crop Derek had used on them; his wrists and ankles chafed against the leather straps strapping him to the table. He could feel them loosening as he struggled – it had been a month since Derek had traded the old table in for this new one, and Sam was getting the feel of the restraints, testing their strength, subtly wriggling them looser and looser from their bolts under the table. One day, he thought, I’ll bust out of them, and give Derek the shock of a lifetime. One day I’ll jump off this table and while he’s still in shock I’ll push him down to his knees and…
Sam’s hardon returned, thinking about it. If they had reached the limit of what Derek could think of to torture him, to excite him, if the toybox was already empty, then what was left but for Sam to take control? He had gotten in touch with his top side playing with his friends Jake and Eddie, with Eddie being a more than willing subject for his experiments. Sam had tasted both sides of that power now, and was ready for more of the other side than he was getting with Derek.
Derek tore the blindfold off Sam. The room was dim, the low, pulsing electronic music they had introduced a few weeks ago still inciting the primal urge to dance, to fuck. Sam met Derek’s eyes, and blinked. Derek wasn’t mad at all – he was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Dammit, Sam thought, he fooled me. Pretended to be angry to raise his body temp, held his breath to trick me.
“You think I’m fresh out?” Derek smiled with a wicked grin. His Mediterranean good looks were ideal for a master – tall, dark and handsome, with that Andrew Garfield hair, thick and dark and well-kept, an eye-to-eye match for Sam at six foot three. Derek weighed slightly less than Sam these days, but he had been strong enough during their first encounter, strong enough to jump him in the woods and tie him down, and thus win the bet they’d made and force Sam to take a cock for the first time.
Sam grinned, pleased to have been wrong. “It’s my nips, isn’t it?”
Derek’s smile broke, and Sam felt a surge of triumph.
“I knew it. You haven’t fucked with my nipples for a week. So what is it, Derek? Some new kind of nipple clamp?”
Derek shook his head. “You are one sassy fucking bottom.”
Sam’s lips parted as he drew in a breath, knowing what was coming. Derek slapped him, once, hard.
The shock was pain and pleasure at once. It was like fighting, in a way – the way that being hit for the first time in a fight could wake you up, focus you, force your brain to trigger a release of endorphins, adrenaline…it was like a drug, only better. Derek rarely smacked him, never let it become a garden-variety part of their sexual combat. He saved it, for special times, when Sam had gone too far. And Sam never knew when “too far” had come until Derek slapped him. They were both learning their limits even as they expanded them.
“You got any more guesses?”
Sam nodded. “Electro play. A violet wand or an electrostim box.”
Derek shook his head and walked away. “Sam, Sam, Sam. Close your eyes.”
Sam did as he was told, and heard Derek wheeling something across the floor. A cart of some kind. He was glad his eyes were closed when a bright light came on. Derek angled it and said, “Now open your eyes.”
Sam looked to his right. The drafter’s lamp was attached to a cart with a stainless steel tray on it, with some kind of medical implements laid out, and a box of blue latex disposable gloves.
“Jesus Christ, Derek,” Sam said. “What the fuck?”
Derek looked at him, his eyes hot with excitement. “Do…you…trust…me.”
That was the question, wasn’t it? That was what Derek wanted, not…whatever he was going to do to draw blood from Sam’s body. Sam had no idea what was on that tray, the bits of gleaming metal in sterile wrappers, why Derek needed the gloves. Derek could slice him with a scalpel, could do something terrible to him, with Sam bound as he was, still far short of his goal of unmooring the straps.
Did he trust Derek? This much? Wasn’t that the whole purpose of…all this, really? The dynamic of their young relationship was settling into a pattern – each time Sam let Derek do something painful, or something that would have embarrassed him to let anyone else know about, each time he had opened himself further to Derek, Derek had responded in kind by giving up something painful to himself, something embarrassing.
One day, Sam had stayed immobile, on his knees, hands bound behind him, while Derek had pissed in his mouth, on his chest, and Sam hadn’t gagged, or turned away, as badly as he’d wanted to. And the next day, when they went to lunch, Derek opened the door for him and put a hand on the small of Sam’s back as he passed, the first public display of affection Derek had ever given him. Sam had let Derek collar him like a dog and walk him around the dungeon on all fours, had forced him to drink from a dog bowl and lick Derek’s hand…and the next night Derek had casually thrown an arm around him at the movies, daring anyone to say something. Sam had snuggled into him, reveled in the affection, the trust that Derek was putting in him – that this was real, that this was going somewhere, that the pain, the effort it took for Derek to be emotionally available, to be seen and known as gay, would not be betrayed.
Sam looked Derek in the eye. “Yes. I trust you.”
Derek nodded. He reached under the table and pushed a button to raise Sam’s torso up to a sitting position. “I’ve been training in a new profession,” Derek said as he pulled on the gloves with a snap. He smiled. “I’ve been an apprentice to a master myself, you see.”
Derek swung the drafter’s lamp over to cast its light on Sam’s chest. He uncapped a Sharpie, and leaned over to get close to Sam’s nipples. He adjusted his stance so he didn’t block the light, and made two small marks on each side of Sam’s right nip, then his left.
He stood back and admired his work, and Sam could see Derek’s hardon pushing out of the top of his jockstrap. Sam was still bound to the table, his hands pulled back and his chest thrust out now, powerless to resist…only not powerless, he thought. All he had to do was say no, and it would be over. That was trust, too, knowing Derek would stop even at the very last moment, self control being so important to both men.
Derek opened one of the sterile packages and withdrew a needle, holding it in one hand while the other picked up a small pair of forceps. Sam knew what was about to happen now, and his balls clenched in nauseous anticipation. He’d seen this done on other guys and thought, what the fuck? Who would submit to that kind of pain willingly? What a long time ago that seemed now.
“Deep breath, in and out,” Derek said. Sam did as he was told. “Then deep breath, hold it.”
Sam held his breath. Derek clamped the end of his right tit with the forceps and slid the needle through beneath it, a straight line in through one dot and out the other.
The pain was…surprising. All Sam’s military training had taught him to withstand pain, to resist its power, to ignore it. Now, his experiences with Derek made him welcome it. Pain was a sensation like pleasure, and when delivered to the same areas that provided pleasure, it was pleasure. His endorphins and adrenaline had been jacked up at the sight of the tray full of sharp, shiny objects, and they dulled some of the pain now.
And, he realized, Derek had been engineering this all along. All the time Sam had thought, come on, Derek, you’re slipping. Not that it hadn’t felt good, having Derek work his nipples more and more, gradually raising them up, making the ends stand up taller, stretched out and up and away. But sometimes he’d thought, geez, Derek, can’t you work somewhere else for a while? Now he saw the plan, now he saw that Derek had been rewiring his brain, rerouting its attention, its capacity for pleasure, right there, where he now slid a straight barbell through and screwed the ball tight on the end.
“You bastard,” Sam smiled, and Derek smirked, not looking away from his work. “All this time.” No more need be said between the two men.
The other nipple was lanced, and Sam reveled in the small sharp agony. Then the post was inserted, the ball tightened. Derek wiped away the trickle of blood and pulled a mirror out from underneath the cart, holding it in front of Sam.
“Fuck,” Sam whispered. It was more than the pain that had happened here, Sam realized. This was the kind of thing that marked him out as a perv in public. Any time he took his shirt off at the gym, or anywhere else, there they’d be, making the ordinaries, the dulls, look twice and blink and maybe even freak out.
A wave of emotion came over him as he looked at Derek. Admiration, for the discipline it took to fit a piercing apprenticeship into his schedule, for the patience he’d shown in playing a long game getting Sam, and his tits, ready for this moment. Lust, thinking about how his man had spent so much time and energy on him, on his present and future pleasure, thinking about what Derek could do to his pierced nipples, yeah, my pierced nipples, Sam thought!
He wanted to say it, opened his mouth to say it. But that was when Derek looked away, broke their mutual smile, their warm eye contact. As if knowing it was coming. As if deflecting it. Asking Sam not to say the words Derek couldn’t yet say in return.
Sam recovered quickly. “Thanks, man. That’s fucking hot.”
Derek came back to him, nodded. “Yeah it is.”
“You’ve been working me all this time. Getting me ready for this.”
Derek nodded, putting everything back on the tray, sorting the disposable supplies from the others. Sam wanted to ask, what price will you pay tonight, will it be a kiss in public? Will it be something else, something more? But that was part of the relationship, part of the game, and Sam accepted it. Derek would surprise him again; he didn’t need to be asked or reminded to give Sam something in return…something it pained him to give as much as it had pained Sam to be stabbed through the nipple.
“Maybe one day I’ll put a ring in your dick, too.”
Sam’s groin tightened at the thought. He felt a little sick at the idea of that lance going through the head of his cock. He’d seen pictures of guys with PA’s – a Prince Albert, they called it, the legend being that Queen Victoria’s husband had one. But just by talking about it, wasn’t Derek blocking that off, ruining the surprise? Or was that part of the preparation, by introducing the unthinkable idea, so that by the time Sam had thought about it long enough, he’d be ready?
Sam smiled at Derek. “Maybe one day you’ll suck me off, too.”
Derek laughed, a bright shiny laugh. They both knew how likely that was.