FINDING SANCTUARY

DC Juris

* * * *

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Copyright © 2010 by DC Juris

ISBN: 978-1-60381-487-4 (Paper)

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* * * * * *

Thursday

Chatter surrounded him, indistinct but overpowering at the same time. Plates clattering,

silverware clinking, people talking, an overly happy woman three booths over with a laugh that

grated on his nerves, the tinkling of the wind chimes as the front door opened and closed, street

noise filtering in. He thought his ears might bleed with it, and he wanted to block it all out—press

his hands to his ears and scream until he went hoarse.

“Vin?”

With a start, Vincent became aware of the man across from him. Sounds rushed away from

him, no longer loud and glaring, but safely in the background where they belonged. “Huh?”

“Have you heard a single word I’ve said?”

“Um ...” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Eric. I don’t mean to ignore you,

honestly.” Eric had asked him to drinks after work to discuss “something important,” and Vincent

had no idea what his friend had been saying.

Eric sat back and studied him; those chocolate brown eyes bored into Vincent’s soul.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Vincent shrugged. “Just tired I guess.” He had grown up with Eric—loved him

like a brother. He owed Eric his attention. “You were saying?”

“I know you better than that.” Eric’s voice dropped to an intimate level.

Eric did know him better than that. Knew him well. And sometimes, Vincent wished ... He

shook off the thoughts. “You ever feel like you don’t belong?”

Eric quirked an eyebrow at him and chuckled. “You’re asking your gay friend if he’s felt

like he didn’t belong?”

“Yeah, I guess you have.” Why did his heart pound when Eric said gay?

Eric leaned forward and stretched his hand across the worn tabletop, not touching, but not

avoiding either. “Talk to me. You’ve been acting funny for weeks now. People are worried.”

“People?”

“I’m worried.”

“I just ...” Vincent heaved a deep sigh. He just ... what? How did he explain to someone else

what he didn’t even understand himself? “Lately, I feel like ... shit.”

“You feel like shit?”

“No.” Vincent shook his head. “Or yes. I don’t know. I don’t know how to describe it.

Something’s missing, Eric. Something inside me. I have no right to feel this way, do I?”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got nothing to complain about. I’ve got a good job, a nice house. I’ve got Jenny. I’ve

got a fucking picket fence and a dog for God’s sake.”

“You know those are all material things, right? Things can’t make you happy. That’s

something you find within.”

“Thank you, Zen Master Eric.” Vincent grinned and put his palms together in front of him,

gave a little mocking half-bow, as much as he could in the confines of the booth.

Eric rolled his eyes. “What I mean is, maybe you do have a right to feel the way you do.

Just because you’re well off doesn’t mean you’re happy. What do you think is missing?”

“That’s just it.” Vincent shrugged. “I have no idea. I’ve been ...” He glanced around the

cafe, uncertain if this was the most appropriate place for such a conversation.

“We can go back to my place and talk, if you want.”

Eric’s place. Just around the corner. That’s why he had suggested it. Nothing to do with

anything else, so why did Vincent’s cock twitch at the thought? What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

Eric signaled the waitress and paid the tab. “Ready?”

They left the café, Vincent exiting first. As he stepped out onto the sidewalk, he felt the

briefest brush of Eric’s hand against his back. Eric did these things—little touches here and there

—without thinking, Vincent knew. Didn’t mean anything. Nothing. Vincent took a deep breath to

settle his nerves and followed Eric down the block to his apartment.

Eric’s nosey neighbor, Betty—that little old woman with the crooked nose and the gray hair

that reminded Vincent of Don King—stood on the stoop, looking them up and down as they

walked inside. What did she think? That they were going inside to fuck? Well, let her. Maybe he

wanted that, and so what if he did? Maybe. Vincent stopped in his tracks, a sudden throbbing in

his temples, a faint buzzing in his ears. Great. He had worked himself up, and now ...

“Vin?” Eric had stopped as well. He turned, looked at him with concern, and moved back

toward him. “Are you okay?”

“ Just my head.” Vincent felt his cheeks flush, knew they would soon be bright red. Damn

his stupid inability to control his emotions.

“Come on, come inside. I’ll get you some water.” Eric took his hand. God, that didn’t help

at all. Nevertheless, Vincent wrapped his fingers around Eric’s, clutching, clinging. The hallway

spun at a crazy angle and he moaned, lightheaded.

“Vin?” Eric grabbed for him.

Vincent looked up, dazed, trying to force his body to work to no avail. The last thing he

heard before consciousness slipped away was Eric’s soft voice.

“’S okay, baby. I’ve got you.”

****

Hands. Vincent felt them everywhere. Touching his body—stroking, petting, pulling,

tugging, clawing. Gentle, some of them, but others ... Oh, others were not gentle at all. And he

liked it. Teeth. Scraping his cock, biting and nibbling his thighs. He spread his legs, wanting

more. No, wanting was not the right word. Craving. Needing. Yes, needing. He needed this. He

heard a whimper escape his throat; hadn’t known he could make such a small, pleading, helpless

noise, but it sounded good. Sounded right. He wanted to beg, wanted to grovel. Anything to keep

this feeling going.

He had no idea whose hands he felt but that didn’t matter. Could have been anyone’s.

Men’s hands, though—large and rough, calloused in all the right places—and he liked that even

more. One of those hands took hold of his cock while others pressed on his shoulders, holding

him down, pinning him hard. No use to struggle. Couldn’t escape this even if he tried, and god,

he didn’t want to try. The hand on his cock wrapped around, squeezing him tight. So very tight.

Too tight, but he welcomed it, and it no longer occurred to him to wonder why he did. Right.

Pure. He arched into the touch and finally found his voice. “Yes … Please ...”

“Vin? Wake up.”

Eric’s voice floated down to him. Eric. Vincent opened his eyes with a groan. A dream.

Only a dream? But how was that possible? The sensations had been so real. He glanced down at

his crotch, his cock standing tall and proud beneath his trousers. And Eric’s gaze had followed

his.

“That must’ve been one helluva dream.”

Vincent sat up, red heat of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Eric told him, handing him a bottle of soda. “You scared

the shit out of me in the hallway. I haven’t seen you crash like that in a long time. Forgot what it

was like.”

Vincent took the soda and unscrewed the cap, relieved that Eric hadn’t wanted to talk about

his raging erection, or the details of his dream. He downed several gulps of soda before

responding. “Hasn’t happened in a while. I’ve gotten a lot better at dealing.”

Or had he? Don’t you cry, the memory of his father’s voice lingered in his head, even now,

years after the man had died. He had suffered badly at his father’s hands—hadn’t realized that

until he had grown up and moved out, found a therapist. Until then, he’d thought it had all been a

part of a normal childhood. Boys didn’t cry, and good people never got angry. Vincent was a

good person—good people never had unclean thoughts, and if he happened to, well, thankfully

his father had been around to beat them out of him. Fucking psychopath.

Which only served to further confuse him. He had hated his father—hated what the man

had done to him, what he’d been put through, made to endure. So, why in god’s name did he

crave pain now? Didn’t make any sense. He didn’t want to hurt like he had back then, but a part

of him whispered that it wouldn’t be the same. The beating would be done with love this time.

With love?

“Vincent?”

Vincent looked up, caught Eric’s once-again-worried gaze. “Sorry.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Yeah. I guess I don’t know what else to say.”

“What happened in the hallway?”

“What always happens.” He’d felt. For one stolen moment, he had allowed himself to feel

—to think about what lay in his heart, his desires, his needs—and his fucked up brain had

responded like it always did, with a panic attack and a blackout. What he wouldn’t give to be

normal.

“I know what happened, physically. What were you thinking? What caused it?”

“You.” The word slipped out, unbidden, before Vincent could stop it. Like he needed

anything to further cement his lunacy.

“Me?”

“I should go.” Vincent stood abruptly, blinking away the dizziness, and looked around for a

moment. He’d had a coat on at the café. Eric had taken it off him. Vincent reached up, touched

his collar. Eric had removed his tie, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt. Small gestures,

but so very, very meaningful to him. Why?

Eric stood, reached out, and laid a hand on Vincent’s arm. “Don’t go. Talk to me. Help me

understand what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t understand it,” Vincent whispered. That touch. Electric.

“Maybe I can help.” Eric’s hand moved, traveled up and down his arm. “Please. Let me

help.”

Let me help. Vincent’s stomach knotted, tears stung his eyes. He was falling quite

thoroughly apart.

“Easy,” Eric stepped closer, no hesitation in his movement. “I’m not trying to upset you.

Please know that.”

“I know.”

Eric gazed at him, eyes big and round, full of sorrow and compassion. “Tell me what to do.”

“Help.” He didn’t know why he said it. Just that he hurt inside, and he wanted it to stop.

Wanted something to fill up the hollow void in his chest that throbbed and pulsed.

“Come here.” Eric’s arms slid around his waist, pulled him close. Vincent leaned in. Eric’s

body felt warm and strong. For a moment, Vincent panicked. Being in another man’s arms was

not right, no matter how good it felt. His father had taught him that, taught him well. Ingrained

childhood lessons forced him to struggle, though it was only a token effort.

“Shhh.” Eric didn’t let go and Vincent was grateful for that. So grateful. More than he could

express.

Vincent shuddered, feeling like a wounded animal—knowing the hand that offered help

would heal him, but terrified to take it. Terrified to let it get close. And he realized with clarity

that he did not fear Eric, only what Eric represented. The unknown. New territory. Frighteningly

intense territory. Vincent didn’t know if he had the strength for it.

“Sit down with me.” Eric maneuvered them both back to the couch and pulled Vincent next

to him, urging Vincent’s head down into his lap. Keeping one arm around Vincent’s chest, Eric

stroked Vincent’s hair with his other hand.

“I’m going insane,” Vincent mumbled.

Eric laughed softly. “No, you’re not. You’re just going through some changes. Trying to

figure some things out.”

They sat in silence, Eric petting Vincent and Vincent letting himself be soothed by the

action and the notion that Eric wanted to help him. “I want to be beaten.”

Eric’s body stilled beneath him. “Beaten? What do you mean?”

Vincent sat up and pushed Eric away; the tenseness in his friend’s body told him he had

been wrong to speak. “It doesn’t matter.”

Eric’s arms slid around him again quickly. “Don’t pull away,” he murmured.

Something inside Vincent responded to that gentle command and he moved closer to Eric.

Guided by an instinct he didn’t understand, Vincent lowered his head and tilted it to the side,

bearing his neck in submission.

Eric leaned in to nuzzle his neck then pulled back slowly, smiling. “When you say you want

to be beaten, do you mean something like BDSM, where someone whips you?”

Vincent nodded. “I think so.” He didn’t know very much about BDSM, beyond what he had

read in books and seen in porn movies. The idea of such things had always captivated him,

though; in the past few months, he had snuck on the Internet late at night, Googling pictures of

bondage and whippings.

Eric nodded. “I know how to help you.”

“You do?”

“I do. Do you have any plans for this weekend?”

Plans. Yes, he had plans. Jenny and her parents’ house—stupid weekly dinner he hated—

sitting around that fake oak table, listening to her father tell the same stories he’d told last week,

trying to come up with new responses. Jenny would be furious if he skipped her weekly dinner.

But maybe whatever Eric had in mind would be good enough to outweigh her anger. Vincent

shook his head. “Nothing important.”

“Good. I want you to come with me on a little trip. You remember my friend Anton?”

“Yeah.” Anton the Nordic God, with his pale skin and his long, platinum hair, and his

piercing, ice blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires. Yes, he remembered Anton.

“He owns an estate out in the country. It’s a playhouse.”

“What do you mean, ‘playhouse’?”

“A BDSM playhouse.”

Vincent’s eyes went wide and his breath shuddered to a stop. “What goes on there?”

“Everything you can imagine. There are dozens of rooms, each devoted to a different kink.

Whipping rooms, bondage rooms, blood play rooms—you name it, there’s a room for it. I want to

take you there this weekend.”

Vincent’s cock trembled, as if begging him to accept, not refuse. Nevertheless, his stomach

knotted in response to his cock, reminding him of how he had been raised. That conservative

voice whispered in the back of his head. Wrong. “I … I don’t know.”

“You don’t have to participate in anything, and nothing will happen unless you want it to.

You could at least see what the lifestyle is like. You might find it’s more than you bargained for,

but then again you might not.”

The realization of what Eric’s invitation really meant hit Vincent full force. “You go there?”

Eric nodded. “At least once a month.”

“You like that kind of thing?”

“I don’t just like it, I love it. I need it.”

Need. The weight of Vincent’s shame lifted a tiny fraction. Eric shared his interests, and

there was nothing wrong with Eric. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. Was that even possible?

“You’ll be there the whole weekend?”

“I will. I’ll stay right by your side the entire time, if you’d like.”

That statement did nothing to deflate Vincent’s cock. To have Eric with him, in a place like

that. Almost more than he could have ever dreamed of. “And you’re sure nothing happens unless

I say?”

“Absolutely. The Doms there are all very professional. They’re loving, caring men who

would never do anything without your consent.”

“Dom? That means Dominate, right?”

“It does.”

“That makes me a submissive? That I want to be whipped?”

“Probably. You could be a switch, someone who goes both ways. Likes to be whipped and

to whip. Likes to take control and lose it.”

“Lose control.” Vincent rolled the words around in his mouth, considering them. Was that

what he wanted? To lose control? He closed his eyes, trying to summon the dream from earlier—

how he had felt under those restraining hands. No, he didn’t want to lose control. He wanted

control to be taken from him. Ripped away. Stolen. God, his cock was so hard it hurt. He opened

his eyes then and found Eric looking at him.

Eric’s gazed flicked to Vincent’s crotch then back to his face. “What were you dreaming

of?”

Vincent shivered. Such a private thing to ask about, but he would answer because Eric had

asked. Anyone else, Vincent might have refused or lied. Not Eric. Eric stirred him, made him

want to answer any question, grant any request, agree to anything, even if it damned him. “Hands.

I dreamt of hands. Lots of hands. Touching me. Holding me down.”

“And those images made you hard?”

No reproach in Eric’s voice, just a gentle curiosity, just a seeking of common ground. “Yes,

they did. I …”

“Were they women’s hands or men’s hands?”

“Men’s.”

Eric sucked in a startled breath and leaned back, eyes wide. “Whose?”

Vincent shook his head. “No one’s. At least no one specific. No one I recognized.” But I

wanted them to be yours. The thought rose in his mind, floated up from somewhere Vincent had

long prayed would cease to exist. But there it was. He wanted Eric. Badly. Vincent swallowed

hard, reached out a shaking hand to touch Eric’s knee.

“Eric … I …”

Eric nodded and took Vincent’s face in his hands. Their lips met gently, barely. Just the

light brush of skin against skin, just a hover, and then he pulled back. “Only today and tomorrow

until the weekend.”

Vincent groaned. Two days. Two days to wait. Two days of hell. He didn’t want to wait,

didn’t want to go home to Jenny and his picket fence and his dog. He wanted to stay here, with

Eric, in Eric’s tidy but less-than-fabulous apartment.

Eric dipped his head again, lips claiming Vincent’s, but this time in a real kiss. Deep and

penetrating, with lips and teeth and tongue. Vincent leaned in, gave in. He’d never had another

man’s tongue in his mouth, and although part of him knew that a tongue was just a tongue,

another part whispered that a man’s tongue felt better. Right. Perfect.

He leaned back, dragging Eric down on top of him, wrapping his legs around Eric’s waist.

Eric’s hips thrust down against his, grinding their cocks together. Their hard cocks. Eric wanted

him. The knowledge burned in Vincent’s heart, blossoming out to fill his chest with a heavy,

urgent need. Eric wanted him.

Eric broke the kiss and leaned up on his elbows, keeping his weight there, but only just.

“Do you have any idea how many years I’ve wanted to do that?”

Vincent shook his head.

“Since high school. You got that spot on the football team, and you came over to my house

after school in that damned jersey. God, I can’t remember a single thing that ever looked better

than your ass in those pants.”

Vincent moaned and tightened his legs as Eric’s words went straight to his cock.

“I remember sitting there on the couch, praying I didn’t have to get up so you wouldn’t see

the boner you’d caused. That’s why I started coming to your practices. I couldn’t get enough of

you in that uniform. I’ve been in love with you forever, Vin.”

“I … didn’t know you felt that way.” And I didn’t know I felt this way. “You never said

anything.”

“What was I supposed to say? You weren’t my gay friend, or even my bi friend. You were

my straight friend. It wouldn’t have been fair of me. And besides, I didn’t want to strain our

relationship. You were a good friend, and you were going through so much at home. You didn’t

need me adding to it.”

But what if he had? What would life have been like if he’d had Eric’s love all those years

ago. Or known he’d had it, anyhow. How much easier would the nights have been, if he had

known Eric’s arms waited for him, somehow, somewhere? “I guess I’m a little more crooked than

either of us knew.”

“I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

Vincent smiled. “Me either.” But Eric could’ve had any guy he wanted, even back in high

school. With his alabaster skin and dark eyes, Eric had owned the attention of all the girls, and a

good portion of the boys, though none of them would have admitted it back then. “Why me,

though?”

“You really have to ask that? You have more courage than anyone I know.”

“That’s not true. I never stood up to my father.”

“Maybe not when you were a kid, but you stood up to him once you became an adult.

Maybe not in a conventional way, like everyone thinks of, but you got therapy. You tried to better

yourself. A lot of people would’ve just played the victim card. But not you. Whatever issues you

have, you own them. You admit them. Takes a lot of balls to do that.”

Vincent shrugged. “I guess.” As much as he hated to admit it—and he couldn’t fathom why

he did—he agreed with Eric. Living with his father, growing up the way he had, had taken a lot

of strength, and Vincent was proud that he had lived through it.

“And you never gave up, no matter what. The stress you were under, the bullshit you put up

with, you could have easily turned to drugs or alcohol, started cutting yourself or something like

that, and even I wouldn’t have blamed you. Hell, Vin, I don’t know if I could’ve coped with all

that. Being gay was hard enough, but my parents loved and supported me. I don’t know what I

would have done if I couldn’t have gone home to a sanctuary.”

Sanctuary. Such a beautiful word, but nothing more. Held no meaning for Vincent, because

he had never known such a place. “No one’s ever said anything like that to me.”

Eric smiled. “I wish I’d said it a long time ago. First things first.” Eric rose and went to a

bookshelf. Almost shocking, having him so suddenly near and then not, but Vincent thought he

understood Eric’s need for a little distance. Too fast, too soon would be a waste.

After pulling out several books, flipping through them and putting them back, Eric finally

presented one to Vincent. “You should read this. It’s sort of a beginner’s guide.”

Vincent stared at the cover—a muscular, toned man in leather restraints—thinking to

himself how erotic it looked. But the book was thick, probably two inches. He read fast, but not

that fast. “I won’t have time to get through all of it.”

“Sure you will. Two days, remember?”

“I can’t take it home. Jenny will see it.”

“You’re not planning to tell her?”

Vincent shook his head. “I doubt she’ll understand.”

“You might be surprised. A lot of women are into BDSM.”

Whether Jenny liked to be kinky or not wasn’t his concern. He didn’t even care, he realized.

No, what she would never understand was who he wanted this with, and why he wanted it with

him. Which made him sound like a complete douche, even to himself. “I’m such an ass,” he

groaned.

“You’re not an ass.”

“I am, though. How can I sit here and not even care about Jenny? I just …” Vincent sighed.

Almost a year since he had even tried to be intimate with her. She kept accepting his excuses—

and he was very good at coming up with them—but who were they kidding?

“I know things aren’t great with you two.” Eric trailed off with a shrug. “Honestly, I’m

surprised it’s taken you this long to start looking for fulfillment elsewhere.”

“It hasn’t taken me this long to start thinking about finding it elsewhere,” Vincent admitted.

“I feel like I have an obligation to her, you know?” These days, his relationship with Jenny was

more of a burden than anything else. God, he didn’t want to say that. Not out loud, where it

couldn’t be taken back. Where it meant something.

Jenny had been young when they had first met, just out of college with a four-year degree

and a mind set on changing the world. He had encouraged her charitable work, and why not? His

job at the accounting firm brought in plenty of money, so it wasn’t as though he needed her extra

income to supplement his.

Things had been good in the beginning. Jenny had spent her weekends off on world-saving

adventures—really no more than peace rallies and tree plantings, but they’d made her feel good

about herself, and Vincent had enjoyed her happiness. He had enjoyed the shine in her eyes when

she would come home on Sunday nights and fill him in on everything that had happened. The rest

of her time, Jenny had devoted to planning and plotting, reaching out to businesses and people in

the community, running campaigns to save this or that other thing. Vincent had divided his time

between working and social functions with Eric.

“You and Jenny are engaged, not married. You don’t have kids together; you don’t own the

house together. Just because you proposed to her doesn’t mean things can’t go south. If a change

is what you need, then you should seek that, and I’m happy to help. Listen, I’m not trying to tell

you what to do, honestly. How you handle this weekend with regard to Jenny is up to you, of

course. I’ll respect your wishes. But think about telling her. It might be something you could

share with her.”

“I don’t want to share it with her. I want this to be between you and me. For you and me.

Something special between us.” Vincent shrugged. “Silly, huh?”

“No, not at all. I won’t bring her up again unless you do.” Eric smiled at him, and that smile

warmed Vincent’s entire body. “Stay here tonight. You can read.”

Vincent nodded. “I’ll call her.” He headed to the kitchen to use the phone. Even as he dialed

the number, he formulated his story in his head. “Hey, it’s me. Yeah. Listen, I’m gonna stay here

with Eric this weekend. He ran into an old boyfriend and it’s got him freaked. I want to keep an

eye on him. Uh-huh. I will. Okay. ’Bye.” Clever, even if he did say so himself, but vicious, too.

Jenny’s last serious boyfriend had abused her; she had a soft spot for anyone who had walked in

her shoes, and using that to manipulate her was wrong of him. Really, really wrong. But lying to

her had become second nature. He barely even had to put any thought into it anymore. What was

one more lie? Like this whole weekend wouldn’t be a lie?

****

“Ready to call it a night?”

Vincent jumped at Eric’s voice. He had been so engrossed in the book that he’d lost all

track of anything else. He nodded as he glanced at the clock. Two a.m. Fuck. He folded down the

corner of the page and laid the book on the coffee table reverently, then gathered up the remnants

of their Chinese takeout dinner and took them to the kitchen. He stuck the cartons of pork fried

rice and sweet and sour chicken in the fridge, but tossed the bag of Crab Rangoon, remembering

with a scowl the last time he’d eaten them as leftovers.

Vincent strolled back to the living room and sat down on the couch, where he stretched out

his legs and leaned back. The weather was chilly and damp outside, but Eric’s apartment had

stayed nice and cozy warm and the leather couch held body heat surprisingly well; he wouldn’t

even need a blanket. He rearranged the pillows as Eric watched.

“What’re you doing?”

Vincent frowned. “Getting ready for bed.”

“On the couch?”

“Where else?”

Eric angled his head in the direction of the bedroom. “With me.”

“Oh.” Oh, please God give me the strength to say yes.

“Only if you want to. I won’t be offended if you don’t, I swear.” Eric lingered for a

moment, smiling. “The offer is there.”

Eric turned and walked away, leaving Vincent suddenly—irrationally—terrified that he

might never come back. Somehow he would disappear once he was out of Vincent’s view, and

Vincent would lose his chance forever. Vincent wanted to call out after him. Wanted to beg Eric

to come back and take him to bed. Make him go. Otherwise, he might not. Wasn’t sure if he had

the courage.

Vincent gasped. His temples were starting to throb. Made no sense at all. Only hours ago

he’d made out with Eric. Well, kissed him at least. Nothing more, but still, not long ago the

thought of it would’ve scandalized him, no matter how much he might’ve wanted it.

But they had crossed that line. Eric had chipped at his walls and defenses. No, that wasn’t

right. Eric hadn’t needed to work at it—Vincent had let him in. Surrendered. Submitted. And God

help him, he wanted to again.

Vincent got to his feet, head pounding in time with his heart. His vision had already started

to dim, and he silently cursed the day his father had been born. He walked slowly to Eric’s

bedroom.

Eric didn’t speak, just opened his eyes and smiled. He pulled the covers back and waited.

Vincent’s knees went weak. He toed off his sneakers but kept the rest of his clothes, his

jeans and T-shirt—even his socks—on. He crawled under the covers, his back to Eric, and Eric’s

arms slid around him and pulled him close. Eric slept naked—Vincent had forgotten that tidbit.

He found that he rather liked the feel of a strong, solid naked man behind him.

“How’s the book so far?” Eric asked.

“So much of it makes sense. So much of it is what I’m feeling.”

“What are you feeling?”

“Honestly?”

“Always.”

“I don’t really know. It’s hard to explain. I feel … when I read those first few chapters

where the author talked about the appeal of BDSM, I identified with what he said. About how he

had been searching for something, how things in his life were okay but not terrific. How he felt

like something was missing. He said that BDSM didn’t make his world, but it made his world

better. More perfect.”

“I would tend to agree with that.”

“Is that what it does for you?”

Vincent felt Eric nod. “It completes me. Fills me up.”

“That sounds nice.” Vincent pondered that concept for a moment: feeling complete, filled

up. He had never felt either of those before. What would that be like? Pain streaked through his

head and he jerked with it, his body rigid.

“Easy.” Eric began to rub Vincent’s temples. He threw one leg over Vincent’s hip, keeping

him pressed tightly against him.

“I don’t want to black out.”

“Remember after your mom died?”

Vincent nodded. Even in grief, his father had not allowed him tears. Vincent had run away

from the funeral home, hidden out in a culvert down in a valley near the school. Eric had found

him—how Vincent still didn’t know—and had helped him battle the blackness that had

threatened to engulf him.

“Close your eyes and breathe. Don’t think about anything, just breathe, and listen to the

sound of my voice.”

Eric’s voice. Vincent smiled as Eric broke into a chorus of “Joy to the World” by Three

Dog Night. Vincent’s favorite song as a child, and the same one Eric had sung when Vincent’s

mother died, although admittedly he held the tune better now, and he knew all the words.

Vincent reached up and took one of Eric’s hands, brought it hesitantly to his lips. He turned

Eric’s hand over and pressed several small kisses to his wrist. Eric shivered in response, but

nothing more. Eric kept rubbing Vincent’s temple with his other hand, singing softly to him.

Vincent kept kissing Eric’s wrist.

Friday

Vincent awoke the next morning, and for the first time ever, he didn’t feel hung over. Not

that he had been hung over all that many times, but he keenly remembered what that had been

like, and he could liken his every waking breath for the last couple years to that sensation. How

much of his life had he spent sluggish and fatigued, stuck in a perpetual fog of confusion, unable

to focus on anything for any serious length of time? He wondered now how he had ever gotten

anything done, but he knew that what horrified him now had been commonplace and normal for

so long he had just forced himself to function that way. He stretched, languishing for a moment in

the decadent comfort of Eric’s flannel sheets and down comforter before rolling over to look at

the clock.

Ten a.m.? Seriously? Shit! Vincent bolted from the bed, heading quickly to the bathroom

across the hall. Nearly two hours late for work. He wondered briefly why the office hadn’t called

him, and then he realized they would have no idea where he was. But Jenny knew, and if work

had called home, then why hadn’t Jenny told them to call his cellphone?

Vincent paused on his way to the toilet, spying a piece of paper taped to the medicine

cabinet mirror. Eric’s handwriting. Freeze. Stop freaking out, you’re not late. I called in for you.

Told them you had food poisoning. Spend the day reading. See you tonight. E.

Vincent grinned, running a finger over the note, over Eric’s handwriting, and marveling at

how seeing those simple marks on paper made him happy. He stripped his clothes off and turned

on the shower, waiting for the telltale steam. He stepped into the shower, slid the curtain closed

behind him, and splashed water over his face, pondering yesterday’s events and the fact that he

was in love with his best friend.

In love. Vincent closed his eyes and leaned his head back into the water flow. He loved

Eric, of course. They had grown up together, shared most of their lives. He had always known

that the feelings he carried for Eric went far beyond the fondness of simple friendship. More like

brothers.

The past year, though, Vincent had begun to re-examine a lot of things in his life, including

those feelings. He had started paying attention to Eric when they had been in public together—

Eric’s reactions to other men, their reactions to him, and his own reactions to both. He had

realized, as shocking as it seemed, that he felt more jealous in those situations than he did in

similar ones with Jenny. Vincent had equated it to simply being overprotective of Eric, wanting to

see Eric succeed and have the best of everything because he deserved it.

Now, though, he knew that wasn’t the case. He had loved Eric his entire life, and though he

had no idea when the exact moment had been that he’d fallen in love with Eric, he knew with

clarity that he had. The only question left was what to do about it.

Eric wanted him. Last night had proven that. He thought that they could definitely have a

good casual relationship, but Eric deserved more, and Vincent wanted more as well. Jenny,

though. Jenny his fiancée.

He pondered her, asked himself how he felt when he thought about her. He closed his eyes

and imagined her there with him, naked in the shower. Touching him. Kissing him. Nice, but

there came a point in the fantasy when—just as in real life—her attentions went from pleasant to

something Vincent felt he had to endure. Not anything he wanted to explore and experience more

of. It had been that way since early on in their relationship.

He used to think the fault was his. Some sort of defect inside him that made him not want

sex or intimacy. He still thought the fault was his, knew it was, actually, but not in the same way.

He didn’t stay interested in Jenny because he wasn’t interested in Jenny. Vincent sighed and

cleared his mind, this time imagining Eric with him. Eric doing all those things Jenny had done.

A shudder coursed through him and his cock hardened instantly, with an intensity and eagerness

he’d never experienced.

Vincent shook his head. Who the hell was he kidding? He turned off the shower, toweled

off, and went to find something to wear. He put on his own jeans, but went to Eric’s closet for a

shirt. Eric’s scent wafted out at him and he breathed in deeply, loving that reminder. He pulled

one of Eric’s shirts off a hanger and slid it over his head, feeling as though Eric himself touched

him.

Vincent sighed happily and went to find breakfast and begin reading.

****

Vincent smiled, inhaling the delicious aroma of his homemade chili as he puttered around in

Eric’s kitchen. Hopefully he had timed dinner right. Eric didn’t often have to work overtime, but

Vincent doubted he would call if that were the case. Vincent pulled bowls down from one of the

cabinets over the sink and arranged them on Eric’s small Formica table, shaking his head at how

ancient the thing looked. Eric had a love for antiques, but a nicked fifties table was a bit much in

Vincent’s opinion. Still, the table fit in with the rest of the apartment, so he guessed that was

enough.

He went back for spoons and napkins, placing them beside the bowls, then laid a folded

kitchen towel in the middle of the table to put the chili pot on, since it didn’t appear that Eric

owned anything resembling a trivet. Vincent chuckled at himself. All he needed was a frilly

apron! Though he had cooked for both himself and his roommates in college, he hadn’t taken

much interest in cooking, even with Jenny, beyond the taste of the finished product; however, he

found he rather enjoyed preparing a meal for Eric.

Was it possible that what he had been missing all these years was simply the right person?

Vincent shook his head, wondering how he had failed to identify such an obvious need in his life.

If he thought about it, if he really delved deep and analyzed his life—his time and how he liked

spending it—he realized he had always tried to spend it with Eric. Made extraordinary efforts to

do so, in fact.

There had been the time he’d skipped a cousin’s wedding to attend a concert with Eric,

nearly causing a family feud. There had been his Uncle Arthur’s funeral that he’d brushed off so

he and Eric could take a road trip out to the coast for some business thing Eric had been roped

into. Vincent had never, however, made such sacrifices to do anything with anyone else,

including Jenny. He shook his head again, thinking of what an idiot he must be.

He had been dating Eric all along without realizing it. He had spent more of his relationship

with Jenny around Eric than he had around her. And he had liked it that way. Things had started

to fall apart last spring, though, when Jenny had found herself with less to do, and Vincent had

found himself questioning his world and everyone in it.

“Honey, I’m home!” Eric’s voice called from the front door. Vincent’s chest swelled and

his breathing sped up.

By the time Eric entered the kitchen, nose twitching and lips smacking, Vincent could no

longer contain his excitement. He rushed forward and fell to his knees, fingers just touching

Eric’s thighs. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.”

Eric’s hand settled on the top of Vincent’s head, rubbing back and forth as though petting a

puppy. Vincent thought that to anyone else he must look ridiculous. Made no sense, wanting to

crawl on your knees and worship another human being. “Why do I want this?”

“What do you want?”

“To lick your feet. I’m so happy to see you. I feel complete now and I just want to show

you.”

Eric’s hand stilled and he chuckled softly. “Why don’t you come help me with my shoes?”

Yes, yes he wanted to do that. Wanted it badly. Vincent followed Eric to the couch, where

he knelt and began unlacing Eric’s black dress shoes.

“Thank you very much.” Eric wiggled his toes, and Vincent wanted nothing more than to

kiss and lick them. “Now, I’ll go wash up quick and then I’ll let you serve me dinner.”

I’ll let you. God, but those words filled Vincent with a sense of importance and worth. A

sense of rightness. He went back to the kitchen and tried to wait patiently for Eric, but that

seemed to be a lost cause. Not having Eric near, even with the knowledge that he was just a few

feet away in another room, was a physical pain. How the hell would Vincent get through life like

this? He had never felt so drawn to another person, never felt such a connection, and though his

heart apparently embraced the concept, his mind still had reservations. His heart ruled him on this

one though, having totally and completely declared its superiority over his brain.

At length Eric returned from the bathroom, clad in a pair of shorts and a loose fitting T-

shirt, smiling crookedly at Vincent’s all-too-audible sigh of relief. “Really that happy to see me,

eh?”

Vincent nodded. “Really. Is it strange?”

“I don’t know about strange.” Eric slid into a chair at the kitchen table.

Vincent moved the chili pot to the table and ladled dinner into their bowls. He sat down

across from Eric, watching intently for Eric’s reactions.

“Wow. I’d forgotten how much I love your chili.” Eric gave an appreciative grunt that

Vincent felt in his heart.

“I haven’t made it in a long time,” Vincent admitted. “I don’t cook much anymore.”

“I know. I’ve always thought that was a shame. You’re so good at it.”

Vincent smiled. “You only think that because you suck at it.”

“Touché.”

They ate the rest of the meal in comfortable silence—a first for Vincent. With Jenny, he had

always felt compelled to speak, to keep the conversation going. If he didn’t, she would start to

think something was wrong between them and badger him for answers. But Eric just kept eating

and Vincent didn’t sense any urgent need for words between them. Every now and then Eric

caught his gaze and smiled or winked, causing Vincent to giggle in a most unmanly fashion that

made him blush. Eric seemed to like it though, because he kept smiling and winking.

Vincent insisted on cleaning up by himself after dinner, and to his delight, Eric let him. He

busied himself with the dishes and poured the remaining chili into a plastic container. He stuck it

in the freezer, not wanting it to spoil while they were gone over the weekend. Not that it would

have gone bad in such a short amount of time, but Vincent had dealt with food poisoning far too

often to take chances. He joined Eric on the couch in the living room once he had finished.

“What’re you watching?”

“Dinoshark. It’s The Syfy Channel movie of the night. That guy’s some kind of boat

captain or something, and he’s trying to prove that there’s some kind of dinosaur shark thing on

the loose.”

“Ah. Who’s the chick?”

“Some teacher. I think they’re the token couple.” Eric shrugged. “It’s not bad, for Syfy.”

“You ever see Mansquito?”

Eric rolled his eyes and laughed. “Oh, my god. I loved that movie. Loved it. When they’re

in the hospital and the mansquito is trying to get inside to mate with the one chick?”

“That was classic.”

“It was!” Eric stretched and let his right arm drape across Vincent’s shoulders.

Vincent roared with laughter. “Did you just do the stretch and snuggle on me?”

“Yeah … I did.” Eric hung his head, though his body shook with laughter of his own.

“Lame, huh? Here, how’s this?” Eric pulled Vincent down and settled him on the couch with his

head in his lap like he had the day before. “Lame or suave?”

“I’d have to say that was pretty suave.” Vincent felt something nudge him, then realized

with a twinge of shock that the something was Eric’s cock.

“Just ignore him. He’s got a mind of his own.”

“He seems to want some attention.”

Eric chuckled. “He always wants attention, but he doesn’t need it, especially if you don’t

feel like giving it. I know you think you want to do anything and everything for me, like you want

to live at my beck and call, but you have to consider your own needs and wants too, Vin. Don’t

get so lost in me that you forget yourself, okay?”

Vincent closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Eric’s arousal. Forget himself, eh? That

sounded like a wonderful idea. He had come so far in life to get to this point, but he still hated so

much of who he was. Still too controlled by his past, his father, expectations and imagined

obligations. “What if I want to forget?” he asked softly.

“Adjust, not forget, baby. There’s a difference. You can’t make changes if you forget where

you’ve come from.”

“I’ve never forgotten that.”

“I know.” Eric ran his hand up Vincent’s arm to his shoulder, massaging the bunched

muscles there and pulling a groan from Vincent’s lips. “You should let me do this more often,”

Eric advised. “Wouldn’t be so painful then.”

“Mmm. This guy’s going to get eaten,” Vincent mumbled, watching the movie.

“Nah, he’ll live. They’ve showed him too much, and besides, he brought the big guns.

See?”

Vincent raised an eyebrow at the rocket launcher the character held on his shoulder. “I

guess so.” He snuggled into Eric’s lap, watching the movie as they both laughed and joked. The

character in question soon became a snack for the Dinoshark, and Vincent slapped Eric’s knee. “I

told you he was going to die!”

“Hah! You were right!”

Vincent squeezed Eric’s thigh and felt an answering twitch against him.

“Mind of his own,” Eric repeated.

“Maybe I should help him out. What do you think?” He felt Eric tremble.

“Only if you want to. He’d … I’d like that.”

Vincent reached up and tugged down the waistband of Eric’s shorts, exposing his cock.

Thick and veiny, it had a bit of a right curve and a bright red-purple head. Vincent ran his fingers

over the shaft. He had never touched another man’s penis, had barely touched his own, and never

outside of the shower. Just that once, in his youth, but his father had found him and made him pay

dearly. Since then the mere thought of masturbating made him nauseated with remembered fear.

Now insatiably curious, Vincent wrapped his hand around Eric’s cock and gave it an

experimental pump, earning him a gasp.

“That feels good,” Eric murmured. He scooted his ass closer to the edge of the couch,

rocking his hips forward just a bit to allow Vincent better access.

“Feels good to touch you.” Too good, Vincent thought, but he pushed the whisper of that

old voice aside and concentrated on the feel of Eric’s cock in his hand as it grew in length and

thickness, responding to his touch. Eric thrust his hips up as Vincent squeezed and pumped,

loving the way Eric’s body moved and little sounds he made.

“Vin … I can’t …” Eric’s head fell back and he panted. “I can’t hold back.”

Seized by an excitement and a courage he had never known, Vincent leaned down and took

Eric’s cock into this mouth. The effect was instantaneous; ready or not, Eric’s cum filled his

throat. Vincent gagged a bit, but he managed to swallow down every drop, milking Eric’s cock

with his lips and tongue, coaxing shudders from Eric’s entire body.

Eric dropped his hand down to tangle his fingers in Vincent’s hair. “Jesus Christ … You

shoulda warned me.”

“You don’t like that?” Vincent asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and

watching with fascination as Eric’s cock slowly deflated and went limp.

“No. I mean, yeah … Yes, I like it. I just … I woulda made it a little better for you, yanno?”

“It was good for me.”

Eric cupped Vincent’s cheek in his hand. “I can make it even better, if you want me to.”

“Better?” Vincent frowned but then his eyes widened as realization dawned. “Oh.” Eric was

offering to return the favor. He wasn’t sure if letting another man touch him there was something

he was ready for. “I … I don’t know.” Vincent shrugged. “I …” He sighed. I was taught this is

wrong.

“Just … it’s my father talking, not me. I know that. I just … can’t hear my own voice over his,

sometimes.”

Eric leaned in a nuzzled Vincent’s neck. “It’s okay, really. This is all new territory for you.”

“It’s not that I don’t want your touch. I do.” Vincent closed his eyes, feeling that years-old

ache deep inside that no one had ever been able to ease. Eric could, and Vincent didn’t know how

he knew that, just that he did.

“I remember what your father did to you. You don’t have to defend and explain.”

“I feel like I should. Like I owe that to you.”

“You don’t.” Eric stroked Vincent’s hair. “Let’s just talk. You finished the book today,

hmm? I saw it back on the bookshelf.”

Vincent nodded. “I did. I think I’m a masochist.”

“You might be. But then again, you might not. A lot of things sound like fun until you try

them, then you find you don’t care for them. That’s the point of the playhouse. It’s a safe place

where you can learn and experiment. You get into a scene, find you don’t like it, you give your

safe word and leave. No harm, no foul. Everyone there understands boundaries and limits and no

one will press them. Anton chooses his participants very, very carefully. There isn’t anyone at the

playhouse that we both don’t know. We’ve all spent time together in our ‘real lives.’ Gone to

church, weddings, funerals, barbecues. We know and trust each other, and that’s the bottom line.”

“It’s all about that, isn’t it? Trusting, I mean.”

Eric smiled. “It is. If you wouldn’t take a man into a fight with you, you shouldn’t let him

tie you up. You’ve got to know he has your best interest at heart; it’s that simple. Especially with

a Dom. He’s there to bring you pleasure and pain, but he’s not there to hurt you or let you get

hurt.”

“Has that ever happened to you?”

Eric shook his head. “Fortunately not. I’ve always played with Anton. Although I’ve seen it

happen. He and I went to a club years ago, in our early twenties. There was a Dom there named

Peter; he did performances for everyone to watch, and he had a nasty reputation for letting his

subs get hurt. I mean, seriously hurt. Scarred without their consent. He hospitalized a couple of

them.

“The night we were there, things got very brutal. He bound and gagged this sub, and

everything was fine for a while. But something … I don’t know. He said or did something, and

the sub gave his word, but Peter didn’t stop. By the time a few of us had managed to get Peter

away and untie his sub, the man was choking on his own vomit, and he’d nearly broken his arms

trying to get free. He dislocated one of his shoulders. Cops were called, paramedics. It really

terrified me, and it took a while before I’d let Anton take me out to another club.”

Eric paused and kissed Vincent’s forehead. “But nothing like that will ever happen at the

playhouse. That night is part of why the playhouse exists, because Anton was just as freaked out

as I was.”

“What happened to Peter?” Vincent asked, shivering. What if he crossed paths with

someone like that? What in God’s name would he do?

“He’s still around, although I doubt anyone lets him into their scenes once they know who

he is. The BDSM community is pretty tight around here.”

Vincent chuckled. BDSM community. Almost like Eric was speaking a foreign language,

but somehow Vincent understood him. Something Eric had said came back to Vincent. “You said

scarred without their consent. A man can ask to be scarred?”

Eric nodded. “Sure. I know one guy who’s into knife play; he has his wife draw designs on

him.”

Wife. Wife equaled female, as far as Vincent knew, and he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of

women at the playhouse. “Will there be women there this weekend?”

“No. Anton’s playhouse is strictly male. Some of the guys identify as straight, but they’re

all into other men on some level. No women allowed. A lot of the men who go there are …

forgive me for saying this … are like you—a little wounded on the inside—and a lot of them are

uncomfortable around women for a lot of different reasons.”

“You think I’m wounded?” Felt a little insulting, and Vincent tried hard to keep that from

showing in his voice. He had worked hard on himself, after all, and he thought he’d at least made

some progress, however small.

“Baby, you can’t go through what you went through in your childhood and not be wounded.

I may not have witnessed your dad beating you, but I saw the bruises. I know what he did to

you.”

“Yeah … I know you do.” Eric had been the first to figure out what Vincent dealt with at

home. He had wanted to tell the cops, or the school nurse, or anyone, and Vincent had very nearly

let him. In the end, Vincent’s own shame at letting it happen, and on a larger scale, his very real

belief that he did deserve it, had won out, and he had sworn Eric to secrecy. “You carried a heavy

burden for me,” Vincent murmured. “I know that, too.”

Eric shrugged. “I worried about you a lot. I wondered if I did the right thing by staying

quiet. I still wonder that.”

“I don’t know. I think sometimes, what life would’ve been like with a normal family, but I

… I can’t even comprehend that idea. So much of what my father believed is wrapped up in my

head. Sometimes I don’t know if my thoughts are my own, or his.”

But he did know, and they were his father’s, mostly. His father’s concepts about right and

wrong, moral and immoral. Even though Vincent recognized that they were skewed and wrong,

and he fought against them, they were always there, lingering like a raging infection in his mind.

Always his father’s voice whispering in the back of his head. Always the memory of the sting of

his father’s belt.

His father had never left any marks—not any lingering ones—no scars, and Vincent

pondered that now. Why hadn’t he? Safety, for one thing, surely. Bumps and bruises on a boy

could easily be explained away, especially one as active and clumsy as everyone had thought

Vincent to be.

But did the lack of any permanent mark have a deeper meaning? People marked themselves

all the time—tattoos, piercings—to symbolize their beliefs, things they wanted to remember

forever. Things they loved. Farmers branded cattle to display ownership. Vincent’s father had

certainly never loved him—not by any definition of the word Vincent knew or understood.

Hadn’t wanted to own Vincent either. Hadn’t left that mark.

The realization should have brought him relief, Vincent thought, but in some dark and

twisted way, it didn’t. It depressed him. His own father hadn’t wanted to claim him, hadn’t

wanted to leave a mark for Vincent to remember him by.

Vincent wanted to be marked. Claimed. Owned. Seemed so perverse, but there it was. He

had never really belonged to anyone, not even Jenny. His father had never said, this is my son

Vincent. Jenny never said, this is my fiancé, Vincent. Always just, this is Vincent.

No one in the world claimed him as theirs. No. That wasn’t true. Eric did. Eric had always

claimed him. My friend Vincent. Vincent, my good friend. My best friend Vin. No one else even

had a nickname for him. No Vinnie. No stupid mobsteresque Vincenzo crap. But he was Eric’s

Vin.

He wanted Eric to mark him. Needed him to. Some small mark, somewhere on his body,

somewhere hidden and private, where only he would know, but where he could touch any time he

wanted. Maybe the back of his neck, just under his hair. To have something tangible. A reminder

of Eric’s love, and that he was Eric’s. “Are you into knife play?”

Eric started and looked at him, tearing his gaze from the television. “I’ve seen it done,

though I’ve never done it. I don’t know that I like it for myself, so much, if I’m subbing. But if

I’m Doming and someone wants it, I’ll arrange for it and I might even participate, depending on

who they are. I’d learn to do it, if it was something my sub wanted frequently. Wouldn’t bother

me to do it. I don’t have very many boundaries, and most of them have a little wiggle room, if

I’m honest. Why?”

“I want you to scar me.”

The corner of Eric’s mouth twitched up into a grin. “Why?”

Because I’m yours. Or at least I want to be. “I want …” His voice trembled and cracked. “I

want …”

“Those are the hardest two words for you, aren’t they? I want.”

Vincent nodded. “Sometimes.” Most of the time. Always, actually. Hadn’t ever mattered

what he wanted. He felt suddenly small and fragile, as if the slightest touch, the slightest breath of

wind, might shatter him. Uncomfortable feeling, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“You okay?”

No possible answer beyond a shrug, so that was all Vincent gave. Who the fuck knew if he

was okay or not. He certainly didn’t know. The pressure of tears built up inside his eyes and he

stood, not wanting Eric to see them. Not wanting to face them himself. Just walk around for a

moment, think of something nice, that would fix him. Nice. Nice … Vincent chuckled. The only

nice thing that he could bring to mind was Eric.

He paced into the kitchen, his head threatening to start throbbing any minute. Damn, but he

hated this. Hated his father for doing it to him. Hated himself for clinging to that cop-out. In his

heart, in the back of his mind, Vincent knew his father wasn’t to blame. At least not anymore. A

man reached a certain point in his life, a certain age, and his problems began to revolve more

around his own lack of action than anything else. His fault then, how twisted up he was.

Vincent shook his head. Rage surged up inside him. No, not his fault. He’d taken action.

Spent two thousand fucking dollars on therapists and prescriptions. And he wasn’t twisted, either.

Nothing twisted about loving Eric, goddamn it. His vision blurred, and not from tears. How the

hell was he supposed to pursue any kind of relationship with Eric when the mere thought of it

sent him into a fit?

What did he think would happen at the playhouse, anyway? That he’d get there,

miraculously find some way to get over all his fears and reservations, and not make an ass of

himself by blacking out? Hardly.

Pointless, he realized. All of it. The reading, the weekend, hoping for anything between

himself and Eric. Might as well call an end to all of this right now, before he embarrassed

himself. Before he hurt Eric. Or hurt Eric any more than he already had. He turned, intending to

march back into the living room and put an end to everything, but Eric stood in his path.

“You okay?” he asked again.

Vincent shook his head. “No. This … we shouldn’t do this. Or I shouldn’t. I should go

home.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been really psyched about the playhouse ever since I mentioned it.”

“It’s not going to work, and you know it. I’m not like you or everyone else. You know what

will happen. I’ll be in the middle of something, and I’ll black out and everyone will call me a

freak.”

“No one at a BDSM playhouse will call you a freak. First off, they’re all far more

enlightened than that, and secondly, they’ve all been called freaks themselves. None of them

would ever use that word against anyone else. Trust me.”

Vincent shook his head. “I’m not worth the hassle for you.”

Eric made a little noise and moved toward him, head tilted and an incredibly sympathetic

look on his face. He placed his hands on either side of Vincent’s face and pressed their foreheads

together. “You are not a hassle for me, Vincent. You’ve never been a hassle for me.”

Vincent felt tears slip down his cheeks, hadn’t realized he had lost the battle against them.

He blinked past their blurry effect and let Eric pull him close and wrap him in the warmth of his

arms. Vincent returned the embrace, wrapping his arms tight around Eric’s waist and fisting his

hands into the fabric of Eric’s shirt. He fought the emotions on instinct, knowing they would tug

him under into oblivion, and not wanting to go there anymore, especially not when he was in

Eric’s arms. The thought of missing even a second of awareness while Eric held him made

Vincent want to cry even harder.

“It’s going to be okay, I promise,” Eric told him. “This weekend will be great, you’ll see.

You just have to trust me, okay? Can you do that? Can you trust me on this?”

Vincent nodded. Though his brain objected, his heart obeyed readily.

Saturday

“Hey, sleepy head.”

“Hmm? What time is it?”

“Four thirty. We should get moving,” Eric murmured in his ear. “The drive is pretty long.”

“Mmmm … ’kay.” Vincent sighed and snuggled against Eric’s chest, breathing in Eric’s

scent. He turned his head to the side and swiped his tongue across Eric’s left nipple

experimentally.

Eric sucked in a startled breath and a deep, throaty chuckle escaped him. “Don’t start

something you’re not willing to finish,” he warned, but his tone was playful and light.

“Who says I’m not willing to finish you?”

Eric rolled Vincent over onto his back, straddling his lap. “Sex with me is a two-way street.

If you won’t let me reciprocate, then I don’t want to receive. At least not until you’re more

comfortable with it. I want to give you pleasure, too, not just take it.”

Vincent smiled, wondering just exactly how many other men would have rebuffed his

affections based on that logic. Probably not a lot. One more reason to be in love with Eric.

Eric slid off him and got to his feet, heading for the bathroom.

Vincent took a deep breath. “I love you,” he called out.

There was the sound of Eric’s toothbrush clattering in the sink, the water shutting off, then

the plat, plat of Eric’s bare feet as he came to stand in the doorway. “What did you say?”

“I said I love you.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“What … um … what do you—” No time to finish speaking, barely time to finish the

thought. Eric was atop him again, lips and hands seeking, roaming Vincent’s body, and Vincent

gave in to it, gave up. He wrapped his arms around Eric and held tight as Eric’s mouth kissed and

sucked at his neck and Eric’s fingers teased the skin of his chest and sides.

Eric pulled back, panting, eyes bright and wide, cheeks flushed a vibrant shade of red. “Say

it again.”

Vincent threaded his fingers in and out of Eric’s hair. “I love you.”

****

Eric hadn’t been exaggerating when he had called the ride to the playhouse long. Vincent

stretched out his legs as much as he could and shifted his weight again. “Are we there yet?”

Eric chuckled. “Not yet. About another hour.”

Another hour. They’d been driving for nearly two already. Vincent groaned and scrubbed a

hand over his face. He didn’t mind travelling, but with its noisy cloth top, Eric’s rusty old ’91

Jeep Wrangler—a restoration work in progress, Eric lovingly called it—was little more than a

box on wheels when it came to comfort. Definitely a far cry from the luxury company cars

Vincent used when he took trips.

“There’s a store a mile or so up ahead where I usually get gas. We can stop for a while, if

you want.”

“That’d be good. I’m starting to cramp up.”

“I didn’t even think about that. I guess I’m just so used to racing out here on my own.”

“How long have you been going?”

“Must be eight years now,” Eric answered as he sped up to pass a slower driver.

“Wow.” Longer than Vincent’s relationship with Jenny.

Eric glanced at him, frowning. “I know the book kind of covered places like this, clubs and

whatnot, but we should talk about what’s going to go on.”

“Okay.” He toyed absently with one of the zippers of his window.

“I think you’d be better off if Anton handled you this weekend.”

“Handled me? What does that mean?”

“Conducted your sessions, whichever ones you choose. It’s not that I don’t want to,” Eric

added quickly. “I do. I was prepared to. But I thought about it this morning, after you said you

loved me, and it’s just, with what’s happened between us, I’m …” He sighed. “I’m afraid I’ll be

too eager.”

“Too eager?”

“I’m afraid you’ll ask for something that you’re not ready for, and I’ll give in and you’ll get

hurt.”

Vincent couldn’t imagine himself having the courage to ask for anything. “I promise I

won’t—”

“You say that, but you don’t know what it’ll be like once you get in there. People go in with

preconceived notions, and it’s not always what it seems to be. You might get caught up in

everything, in the sights and sounds and sensations

and—”

“Eric?” Vincent reached across to him and squeezed his thigh. “It’s okay. You’re scared. I

get it.”

Eric grinned. “Yeah. I’m scared. I just want things to go good for you this weekend. I want

you to enjoy the playhouse, and I’d hate to be the reason you didn’t.”

“Will you … will we …?” Vincent stammered. He wanted to experience everything he

could with Eric.

“Yes.” Eric nodded. “Absolutely. You and I will do everything you want, just not the first

time.”

“Fair enough. So, how does this work?”

“Anton will give you a tour when you arrive, show you all the different rooms and explain

to you what takes place inside them. Did you find anything in the book that interested you?”

God, did he. “A couple things.”

“Only a couple?”

Vincent grinned and fidgeted with his own hair. “Maybe more than that. There were

pictures of a man being whipped. That … that’s something I want to try.”

“What else?”

“There was a chapter on something called sounding?” Vincent recalled the illustration of a

long, thin steel rod being inserted into a man’s urethra.

Eric nodded. “I’m familiar with that. Any interest to you?”

“I don’t think so. You?”

“Not particularly,” Eric answered with a frown. “I can’t be convinced it’s safe. I don’t care

what assurances I’m given, it’s still a foreign object where it’s not meant to be, yanno?”

“The pictures were hot. There were drawn illustrations and actual photos. I mean, it was fun

to look at but …” Vincent shrugged.

“If you want to try it, there’s a room for that.” Eric chuckled. “I sound like an iPhone

commercial. There’s an app for that.”

They stopped at the store Eric had mentioned, and Vincent couldn’t keep from grinning at

how quaint it looked with its old-fashioned signage and wrap-around porch. There was even a

little old man sitting in a rocking chair. “I’m gonna grab breakfast,” he called to Eric. “You want

anything?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“How much’re you putting in? I’ll get it.”

“Thirty.”

Vincent nodded and crossed the pitted parking lot. Inside the store, his grin grew even

wider. A menagerie of pickled foods—pigs’ feet and eggs the only ones he could readily identify

—floated in large jars on the front counter. The wall behind sported an impressive array of

taxidermy, including the head of a boar and what was possibly the largest fish Vincent had ever

seen.

He grabbed a package of cheddar and peanut butter crackers, handed over cash to the

noncommittal old woman behind the counter, and made a hasty retreat. Vincent stood beside the

car, stretching his muscles while Eric pumped gas. God, but Eric was handsome. Vincent took

time then to really look at him—tall and well built with tanned skin and shoulder-length dark

hair. Eric’s eyes, though, were the most captivating thing about him. Big, round, and the color of

Hershey’s Chocolate, they were capable of either hiding or showing every emotion Eric felt, and

he controlled them well. Those he trusted saw everything, those he didn’t saw nothing.

Once back in the car and on their way, Vincent munched on his crackers as Eric explained

more about the playhouse and what to expect.

“Anton operates the place on a traffic light concept.”

“Traffic light?”

“Just like a traffic light has three colors with meanings, so does the warning system,” Eric

explained. “If someone says red during a scene, that signals to the Dom that he has to stop

everything immediately. Blue means stop doing that specific thing but don’t stop totally. Yellow

means you need to slow down. You might like what the Dom is doing, but for whatever reason

the pace is too fast. Maybe the feeling is too intense, or you want to prolong it so you can savor

it.”

“That’s pretty clever, actually.”

“You should still have a safe word; something unusual that you’d never say during sex. No

and stop aren’t enough because some subs get off on saying things like that, and some Doms get

off on hearing it. You should make your word something totally oddball.”

“What’s yours?”

“Vomit.”

Vincent nearly choked on his cracker with laughter. “That’s odd, all right! Definite mood

killer.”

“Yeah, well … that’s the idea.”

Vincent sighed and tossed the cracker wrapper into the trash bag Eric kept in the car. So

neat and tidy. And so full of surprises.

“I’m glad you decided to come,” Eric told him. “Even if nothing happens, if you don’t do

anything at all. I’m still glad.”

Vincent nodded. “Me, too.”

****

The playhouse resembled a giant, sprawling hotel more than anything else. Neatly trimmed

hedges and bright flowers surrounded the courtyard, which sported a fountain in its middle.

“Very pretty,” Vincent remarked, gazing up at the pale green shutters flanking stained glass

windows.

“Anton spared no expense.” Eric took his hand, giving his keys to the valet.

The valet. Vincent chuckled, wondering what the man must think of his employer’s guests.

If the rest were like Vincent and Eric, there would be no knowing what lurked on the inside.

Eric pushed a button on a panel near the door. “It’s Eric.”

The panel buzzed loudly and Vincent heard the door locks release. Inside was just as

impressive, lavishly decorated with Victorian couches and chairs, crystal chandeliers and fur

rugs. Easily the most opulent place he had ever stepped foot in.

“We’ll be staying on the third floor,” Eric told him.

Vincent nodded, pausing for a moment to take in his surroundings and get his bearings. His

grip on his bag tightened as a wave of apprehension washed over him.

“Eric!” Anton appeared in a doorway to their left, striding toward them. “And you brought

Vincent.” Anton embraced Eric fondly but only nodded at Vincent.

“He’s here to explore,” Eric told Anton. “Under your guidance.”

“Mine?” Anton quirked an eyebrow and looked back and forth between them. “Ah. So be

it,” he said, having apparently read something in those glances.

Eric squeezed Vincent’s hand. “There’s a bit of paperwork to do.”

“Paperwork?”

“Just a standard consent and history form.” Anton led them over to what would have been

the check-in desk, had the place been a functioning hotel, and gestured to the man behind it.

“This is Frank. He’ll take care of the formalities. I’ll be right back.”

“Hi, Eric,” Frank greeted.

“Hi, Frank. This is Vincent. He’s new to all this.”

“All righty then.” Frank pulled a piece of paper from somewhere underneath the desk and

slid it and a pen to Vincent. “Fill this out to the best of your ability, then sign the treatment

consent on the back.”

“Treatment consent?”

“In case something goes wrong, it gives Anton permission to take you to a hospital.”

Vincent glanced at Eric. “I thought you said this place was safe.”

“It is.” Frank spoke up, and the indignant tone of his voice and his narrowed eyes said he

was more than a little insulted. “And these forms are part of why. Though we’ve never had to use

one.”

Eric slid his arm around Vincent’s waist. “You are safe here. I promise you that.”

Vincent nodded and turned his attention to the form. Medical history, and most of his

answers were no: no surgery, no broken bones, no drug use—legal or otherwise. Hell, Vincent

didn’t even drink alcohol. “What’s all this for?” he asked.

“Certain medical issues will complicate or even negate what you’re able to do here,” Frank

explained. “A lot of men don’t think about the ramifications they could have to deal with. For

instance if you’ve ever had a ruptured disc you probably can’t be tied up for very long, no matter

how much you might want to. Your Dom needs to know that, because if you’re lost in the

moment and you’re hurt he needs to be able to call a stop to things before it goes further.

Understand?”

“I do.” Vincent finished the form, laughing inside at how boring and basic all the negative

answers seemed to him. He wondered what kinds of answers Frank had seen during his time here,

and if anyone had ever said yes to all the questions.

“All our Doms are trained in CPR. Most subs too,” Frank continued, tone authoritative and

not the least bit prideful. “If you’re not, you should be. Everyone who engages in any kind of

intercourse with someone other than their real-world partner gets an HIV test every three months.

And all the lube used here contains nonoxynol-9, which kills the nasties that cause AIDS, herpes,

syphilis, gonorrhea, and a bunch of other things you’d rather not think about.”

“Um … Wow. Okay. That’s um … that’s good to know. Thanks.” Vincent wondered if he

should shake Frank’s hand, or tip him. Felt like he had just attended a seminar for heaven’s sake.

“How’s it going?” Anton had returned and was standing off to the side near Eric.

“Good,” Eric told him. “He’s done with all the paperwork.”

“Here’s your map.” Frank handed over another piece of paper. Vincent read over the room

descriptions—erotic torture and bondage, knife play, electric play, water sports (what a silly

euphemism—skiing was a water sport; peeing on someone was just peeing on someone), fisting

(his ass muscles twitched at that word), voyeurism, masturbation, and coprophilia. That one was

new. “What’s coprophilia?”

“The opposite of water sports,” Anton supplied.

Vincent frowned. “The opp … Oh.” He screwed his face up into a scowl. “Oh.”

“You’re free to try it, of course,” Eric said. “But that’s one of my limits. I won’t participate

or watch.”

Vincent shook his head. “To each his own, but no. Water sports, though …” Not a little

uncertain, Vincent glanced at Anton. He didn’t quite know how all this worked, but he certainly

didn’t want to ask for anything Anton wasn’t willing to give him.

“You needn’t worry. I have no limits,” Anton told him with a chuckle.

“None?”

Anton shook his head. “I’ve done it all and I’d do it all again. Nothing’s unpleasant with the

right person.”

Eric stuck out his tongue and shook his head with a wink at Vincent.

“I read about sounding,” Vincent put in quickly, suddenly concerned about Anton’s lack of

boundaries. “I don’t think I want to try that.”

“I’m sure Eric told you this is a place of willingness first. Nothing happens to you that you

don’t ask for, and I will never do anything to you that I haven’t tried on myself.”

Vincent nodded. Felt reassuring to hear those words from Anton, though. Movement in the

periphery of his vision caught his eye, and he glanced over to see a man carrying a saddle. “Um

…”

“It’s not what you think. The saddle is for the role-playing room. Some men like to play at

being animals. Some are horses. He’s a rider.”

“Although,” Anton put in with a chuckle. “There is a room for what you were thinking.”

Vincent glanced at the map. Sure enough, near the bottom he found the bestiality room.

“It’s in the basement. There’s direct access to outside, so it’s easier to clean up and move

things in and out.”

“Wonder what PETA would say,” Vincent mused.

“Considering one of their accountants is a guest here, I doubt they’d raise much of a fuss.”

Vincent laughed out loud. “Wow. Didn’t realize I was in such esteemed company.”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you will be shocked at who you find roaming these halls.”

Not you would be, but you will be. Will. Promise of times to come, and it made Vincent

grin like a fool. “How do you afford the upkeep on this place?” He knew Anton was a successful

lawyer, but the grand scale of the playhouse seemed beyond even his income.

“The only actual paid employees are the kitchen crew, two of the cleaners, and Frank.”

“Kitchen crew?” Vincent asked.

“You can work up quite an appetite doing this sort of thing,” Eric assured him, rubbing a

hand over his own belly.

“All the Doms and the rest of the cleaners volunteer their time. Our guests make donations

when they can, some large, some small, but they all add up. What’s left I pay out of pocket,

which isn’t actually much. We have guests from all professions, so if there’s work to be done,

like plumbing or electric or things of that nature, I rarely have to pay very much, if anything. We

have an on-call doctor who works for us because his lover is a guest, and we can provide him

with something he needs, which doctor-man can’t. If he can’t fix you, then a hospital is ten

minutes away in the next town over.”

“So you’re only open on weekends?” Vincent made quote fingers around the word, open.

“Most of the time, yes. For holidays like Valentine’s Day or Easter, I keep the place open

all week long, and seven days a week from November 1

st

to January 1

st

. Those special times of

year are pretty emotionally brutal for some of my guests. I like to be available. It’s a skeleton

crew, of course, but all my Doms understand the need for it, and they’re very flexible. And I’ll

take requests. I’ve done weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, and post-funeral things for those left

behind. That sort of thing.”

“Seems like such a huge undertaking.”

Anton nodded. “It is. But it’s necessary, and fulfilling. For some of my guests, this is the

only place they feel accepted and loved. The only place they find any peace. That’s immensely

rewarding. I win cases in court all the time, but to see freedom and gratitude in another man’s

eyes is something special. Takes my breath away every time.” He met Vincent’s gaze. “If you’d

like, Frank can have your baggage taken to your room, and we can begin your tour.”

Vincent glanced quickly at Eric for … what? Permission? Encouragement? He didn’t know.

Eric twined their fingers together and squeezed.

“Sure.” Vincent nodded. Eric handed over their bags to Frank, and for Vincent, the action

became a symbol. No backing out now, no matter how many times Eric told him he could. He

would see this through—he would try as much as he could to experience everything this place

had to offer him. And maybe he would be a better man for it. Hopefully.

Anton led them down the hall; he and Eric greeted and introduced Vincent to everyone as

they passed other men. Vincent noticed that Anton touched some of the men, but some he only

spoke to.

“There’s a twenty-minute time between sessions to allow the Doms to settle down and the

cleaners to tidy up,” Anton told him as they walked along. “We use a cleaner called Parvosol. I

get it from a veterinarian. Kills just as much as bleach, but smells better. And some of our guests

are allergic to bleach. It’s a nice alternative.” Anton drew Vincent’s attention to lights above each

door. “When the light is red, a scene is in session, and no one can enter. When the light turns

green, that means the Doms are ready for the next session.”

“Why not just lock the door?”

“Safety,” Anton explained. “If something goes wrong and they require help, we need to be

able to get in.”

Vincent nodded. Made sense. “Sounds like you’ve thought of everything.”

“I’ve certainly tried to.”

They entered the erotic torture room, and Vincent’s throat went dry and his palms began to

sweat. A large leather-padded table stood on a platform in the middle of the room, cranks on

either end of it, presumably to adjust height and angle. Chains, ropes, and leather cuffs hung off

the table. Vincent moved toward it, drawn like a moth to a flame. He ran his hand over the

surface, expecting to feel chilled, but instead was met by a comfortable warmth.

“The tables are heated.” Anton flitted his fingers over the edge of the table. “It’s a variant

on a heated spa table, but specially made for us here by one of my guests.”

Eric squeezed Vincent’s hand, and Vincent followed his gaze to the wall on their right. His

breathing grew ragged and fast as he fought down the instant arousal that jolted through him. A

large variety of items hung there: single and multi-tailed whips, canes, belts, and something

Vincent recognized from the book as a pounder—a large ball on a flexible strip of metal

protruding from a wooden handle.

A narrow wooden table near the wall displayed several different types of clamps—

clothespins, alligator clamps, hemostats, and even those black binder clips he used at the office.

Arrayed with these were blindfolds, ball gags, ear plugs, hoods, handcuffs, tape, and candles, as

well as a few things that Vincent hadn’t expected, such as sandpaper, emery boards, nail files,

toothpicks, wooden spoons, toothpaste, a hairdryer, an ice bucket, and even plastic wrap. There

was also something that looked like a pizza cutter, though Vincent doubted its purpose was that

innocuous. Off to the side were the sex toys: dildos, vibrators, anal beads, and butt plugs of all

shapes, colors, and sizes. A breast pump had been included—Vincent knew what it was because

he had accidentally seen a coworker using one when she’d come back from maternity leave—and

he shivered, wondering if it could be used on his balls.

“Does anything interest you?” Anton asked.

Vincent nodded. He felt Eric close behind him, drew strength from that nearness.

“What?”

“Chains on the table,” Vincent blurted. “The crop. The whip. The clamps.”

“In what way do they interest you? Are you curious about using them on someone, or

having them used on you?”

“On me,” Vincent forced the whispered words past his lips. Eric’s hands settled on his hips,

the solid mass of Eric’s body rubbed up against him from behind.

“You want to be bound by those chains?” Anton asked. “Feel the sting of the crop and the

clamps on your flesh?”

A shudder coursed through him, and Vincent worried that his knees would buckle. “Yes.”

“I would like very much to show you the pleasures of this room, if you’d let me.”

Vincent nodded, pressing back against Eric, seeking reassurance. Eric’s hands gripped his

hips tighter.

“You can say no, if you want to,” Eric told him. “Anton won’t be offended.”

“Not at all,” Anton assured. “This place is about pleasure, and nothing else.”

“I … I do want it.” Vincent took a deep breath, hoping to expel his unease with it.

“I have a session starting now. Would you like to watch one before you participate in one?

To get a feel for what goes on?”

“I can do that?” No time like the present, and nothing like jumping in feet first. Baptism by

fire, Vincent thought, and thank God for it. He had wondered if things would begin right away, or

if there would be some sort of … he didn’t know … class, maybe. Concern had filled him as

Frank had presented paperwork; Vincent didn’t want any delays. No chance to turn back, no

chance to back out. Please, God, he begged silently, no chance. Because if he could, he would,

for the simple fact that he should.

“Of course.”

“I’d like that.” Eric’s arms came around him and Vincent moaned. He wasn’t normally into

such public displays of affection. He didn’t even like to hold hands with Jenny when they went

shopping. Something had come over him since he had set foot in this place, though. Something

that made him want to stake his claim, or rather let Eric stake his claim. He thought briefly of the

pictures he’d seen in the BDSM book. Collared men on their knees, connected to their masters by

chains. Maybe Eric would collar him one day. Seemed too much to hope for, a thing he’d never

be good enough to deserve.

Anton left the room and Eric turned Vincent around to face him, eyes searching his face.

“Are you all right?”

Vincent nodded.

“You should choose your safe word now.”

“Penguin.” Strangest thing he could think of.

Eric chuckled. “Penguin it is then.”

Vincent shook his head, trying to clear the fog. He felt as if the room itself had a

personality, as if the walls and ceiling and floor were indeed watching him, smiling seductively.

As if the room knew all his secrets, and couldn’t wait to drag them out into the light of day and

show him just what lurked inside his soul. “This place …”

“Gets under your skin, doesn’t it?”

Yes, exactly. Like there’s an electricity here. I can feel it crawling over me.” Vincent

shivered, gooseflesh rising on his arms.

“It’s exhilarating for me. That’s why I come here.” Eric led Vincent over to a recliner near

the back of the room. “You can watch from here.” He gestured to the chair.

“Are you going to stay?”

“If you want me to.”

“I …” All about pleasure, but what if Eric wanted to find his pleasure elsewhere? “If you

want to.”

Eric grinned. “I like to watch just as much as I like to play, and if it would make you feel

better, then I’d like that even more. I did say I’d stay by you, after all.”

“I would feel better.” The worry of being left alone in one of these rooms had gnawed at

him since they’d pulled up. Or not the worry of being alone, maybe, as much as the worry of how

far he’d let himself go. Nothing without his consent, but Vincent knew he’d consent to just about

anything now that he’d felt the alluring power of the torture room.

“Then I’ll stay. Have a seat.”

Vincent hadn’t realized until that moment that he had ignored the chair. He sat down,

running his hands over the plush velvet.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes.” Eric stood behind him, hands light on his shoulders. The door on the far side of the

room opened and Anton walked in, accompanied by a shorter, dark-skinned, naked man.

“That’s Dominic,” Eric explained. “He’s one of Anton’s favorites.”

“He won’t mind that I’m here?”

Eric shook his head. “Dominic likes to be watched. Gets off on it.”

Anton helped Dominic onto the table, where he lay on his back, and took great care

restraining him, making sure the padding of the wrist shackles fit correctly, asking if the bonds

were too tight, if Dominic was comfortable and ready. Dominic nodded and Anton stepped back.

He turned the crank until the table tilted upright. Dominic might as well have been standing.

“Do you see the curtains hanging around the room?” Eric asked Vincent.

He hadn’t seen them; the fabric color melded perfectly with that of the walls. “I do now,

yes.”

“They conceal mirrors. Subs can watch themselves be tortured or not, as they prefer.”

Anton moved to the wall and pulled a cord. The curtains parted, revealing floor to ceiling

mirrors, and Vincent heard Dominic’s deep moan.

Anton chose his tools, seeming to ponder over each before finally selecting one. The tails of

the flogger he picked up ended in metal tabs, which sported tiny spikes. Vincent at once cringed

and hungered, fearing such a thing but yearning for it all the same.

He watched as Anton began Dominic’s torture, though judging by the way Dominic’s cock

jutted out from his body, torture hardly seemed the right word. Dominic cried out each time the

flogger touched his chest, his voice thick and lusty, arousal fairly radiating from his body.

Vincent felt the heat of those feelings reach out to him, felt himself being pulled into the

moment. He squirmed in his seat, his cock throbbing in time with the strokes of the flogger as he

imagined that sensuous weapon coming down on his own body. He wanted to be where Dominic

was—chained to the table, laid bare, vulnerable and defenseless. Wanted Anton to force him to

give up everything. He would beg for that before they would finish, Vincent realized.

What would it be like to have Dominic watch as Anton worked his magic on him? Or to

have Eric watch? Vincent pictured the scene: Eric sitting in the chair and himself on the table. He

nearly came with the thought of it.

“Do you like what you see?” Eric asked, lips close to Vincent’s ear.

“I do.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Not enough.”

“You want to see more?”

“Feel it. I want … I want to feel it.” Vincent rocked his hips forward, desperate to ease the

ache in his slacks. Eric’s hands slid down the front of him, rubbed up and down his chest in lazy

strokes, and Vincent suddenly wished he had taken off his shirt. Eric’s touch turned his blood to

lava and set him on fire.

“What do you feel, Vincent?”

“Hot … feels like I’m on fire. Your touch feels good.” He leaned his head back, trying to

get more of that touch and still watch Anton and Dominic. Something caught his eye then—a

flash of bright color, no larger than a pencil eraser, but so vibrant and bright. A gleaming drop of

red. Blood. Vincent gasped as his cock tightened and twitched at the sight. He didn’t understand

why Dominic’s blood turned him on, but it did. “He’s bleeding,” he murmured.

“Does the blood bother you?”

“No …” And he was certain that was wrong. Very, very wrong. But he wanted to bleed,

too; a surge of jealousy slipped up his spine and he shuddered with it.

“Would you like Anton to make you bleed?”

Vincent moaned, unable to form a reply. He shifted his weight again, still uncomfortable.

Dominic’s moans and cries echoed off the walls; Vincent imagined he could feel them vibrating

in his bones and along the shaft of his cock. Anton murmured to Dominic now and again, and

although Vincent couldn’t hear the words, he knew the meaning behind them as Dominic nodded

and sobbed. Begged.

“Is your cock hard?” Eric whispered.

Vincent nodded almost absently, eyes glued to the scene before him. Anton had moved

back to the table, and now held a ball gag in his hand. He waved it back and forth in front of

Dominic; Dominic’s eyes followed the gag wherever it went as he nodded and pleaded for it.

Anton inclined his head slightly and walked back to Dominic, deftly securing the gag around his

head. Vincent gasped as Dominic’s body went limp for a fraction of a second, head hanging so

that his chin touched his chest.

Dominic raised his head, locked his gaze with Vincent’s, and smiled. The air left Vincent’s

lungs, his pulse pounded wildly in his throat, his chest heaved and mouth began to water. That

look. God, that look. Such rampant lust and desire, such gratitude—almost as if Dominic were

thanking him for being a part of this. And. Such. Happiness.

“Take your cock out,” Eric purred. “Touch it. Stroke yourself while you watch them.”

“I …” Vincent started, reality slamming into him. He couldn’t masturbate. Not here, not

anywhere else. No matter how much he wanted to. Oh, he wanted to. “I can’t.”

Eric nuzzled Vincent’s neck. “It’s all right that you’re hard. It’s all right that you’re

enjoying this. I’m hard, too. You can touch yourself here—you can do anything here. No one will

reproach you, no one will judge you.”

Vincent’s breathing started again, staccato, hitching in his chest. The room became

suddenly too small, too hot, too stuffy. His cock hurt. He wanted badly to touch himself but that

was so wrong. More than that, he wanted Eric to touch him more. Wanted to feel Eric’s warm

hands on him, stroking his cock. Wanted Eric to make him come. Wrong. So very, very wrong.

He should leave, but he didn’t want to. Wanted to be here, to watch, to listen. The sounds of

the strikes, Dominic’s cries that had gradually become muffled screams. Too much. All too

much. Damn Eric for suggesting such a vile thing, in the middle of this beauty. And for that

matter, damn Eric for bringing him here. But, no. Couldn’t blame Eric. Vincent had wanted this;

had agreed, hadn’t he? He had wanted to come, wanted to be here. Still wanted to. Shouldn’t. His

mind caught in a maelstrom, Vincent panicked. “Penguin.”

Eric moved immediately, taking Vincent’s hand and leading him out of the room, into the

hallway and out to a back balcony. Several people were lounging in chairs out there, but Eric

made a curt motion with his hand and they scattered, leaving him and Vincent alone.

Vincent felt Eric’s hands on either side of his face. “Vincent? Look at me. It’s all right.

You’re safe. Look at me.”

Vincent fought to control his breathing, feeling like a hysterical idiot. And a coward. “I

didn’t want to say it,” he fairly sobbed the words. “I didn’t want to say it. I just … I thought I

should. I thought I couldn’t … I shouldn’t …”

“It’s all right.” Eric pulled him close and wrapped him in a warm embrace. “Shhh,” he

cooed, petting Vincent’s hair. “That’s the point of the safe word. When you are scared or

overwhelmed, or you just have a bad feeling, you say it. You can always go back into that room

later.”

Vincent groaned. “Anton will think I’m an idiot.”

“No,” Eric told him firmly. “No, he won’t. Anton is a professional at this. He’s dealt with a

lot more skittish guys than you, trust me.” He rubbed Vincent’s shoulders. “Take deep breaths

and try to relax.”

Vincent clung to him, attempting to make sense of everything in his head.

“What scared you?”

“I … I don’t know. All of it, maybe. Maybe what was happening, or maybe that I liked it. I

was doing okay for a while.”

“Do you know what happened to change that? Can you remember the moment you started

to feel different?”

Vincent pushed away, at once bothered and pleased that Eric let him go easily. He’d never

told Eric about the first, last, and only time he’d tried to masturbate, and he wasn’t sure he could

make Eric understand if he didn’t. “I don’t … I don’t … I can’t … I don’t touch myself.”

“You don’t masturbate?”

“No.” His cheeks grew warm with a blush of embarrassment.

“Why not?” Nothing but care and curiosity in Eric’s voice. “What happened?”

“My father … caught me once …” Vincent heaved a sigh and motioned for Eric to hold

whatever words he’d been about to offer. “I was thirteen. You remember Mark Donahue?”

Eric nodded silently.

“Well, he had these pictures of naked women and he was showing them around in school. I

don’t remember where he got the stupid things, or even how I got included. I mean, he didn’t

even like me. But anyhow, I ended up holding some of them. One of them was fairly small, and

there was a guy in it as well. He was standing against a wall, and the woman was on her knees

between his legs, giving him a blowjob. I remember thinking that was really, really hot, so when I

gave the pictures back, I managed to keep that one without Mark noticing. So I went home, all

excited, yanno?”

Another nod from Eric.

“Wednesday evening. If I remember nothing else, I remember that fact. Wednesday

evenings dad went to church services, and he usually dragged me with him. But that night I

pretended I was sick. I got a bunch of Mom’s dusty old books down from the shelves and sniffed

them like crazy, just so I could get the dust in my nose and make myself start sneezing.”

“You really wanted to stay home, huh?”

“I really did. And you know how Dad was about always looking your best in public and

whatever. No way he was taking a sick, snotty kid to church. So he left, and I settled in on my

bed with my picture. I’ve always told myself that it was the woman that got me turned on, but I

think I have to admit now that it was the guy.”

“I’m guessing your dad came home earlier than you expected?”

“You remember the fire at the church?”

Eric groaned. “That night? Oh, damn. So he was already off his rocker when he got home.

And then he found you.”

“Yeah. He beat me pretty badly. Made me stand at the end of the bed with my hands out.

He slapped them with a wire coat hanger.”

“That’s what those black and blue lines were from? Jesus, Vin.”

“So … in the room just now. When you said … when you suggested that I … you know …

It just, I don’t know. Made me think that I shouldn’t like these things. Reminded me of what my

dad said that night, about me being screwed up in the head.” Vincent shuddered. He’d been called

a lot of names in his life, picked on for one thing or another, but the words that still stung the

most were those. Screwed up in the head.

“God, baby, I’m so sorry.” Eric pulled him close again and hugged him tightly. “I wouldn’t

have said it if I’d known. You have to believe me on that. I’d never do anything to intentionally

hurt you.”

“I know. It’s not your fault. It’s not like I ever told you.”

“Yeah, well, maybe not, but I should’ve figured as much.” Eric guided him to a table and

they sat, Eric keeping a hand on Vincent. “Your father was a fucking piece of work, wasn’t he?”

Vincent chuckled. “He was something.”

“Do you still think you’re wrong?”

“I don’t know.” He looked away, gazed out over the back grounds of the playhouse, at the

field of grass beyond. Someone had set up a volleyball net, and several men had started a game.

So normal. So typical. So opposite to what went on inside. But maybe that was the lesson. Maybe

it wasn’t so opposite after all. Maybe what went on inside was more normal and typical than

volleyball.

“Do you think there’s anything wrong with me?” Eric asked.

Vincent’s head snapped around on instinct. The need to comfort and reassure Eric rose up

inside him. “No, of course not. You know I’ve never thought that. Ever.”

“Then why must there be something wrong with you?”

Vincent took a deep breath. In truth, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with him.

Nothing major, in any event. But he knew he should think that. Wasn’t possible for him to feel

these feelings, want these things, and still be normal. Was it? But Eric was normal. Vincent

pressed the heel of his hand to his head as his guts tied themselves up.

“Everything okay?” Anton appeared behind them. “Vincent?” Anton laid a hand on Eric’s

shoulder, and Vincent bristled at the touch, could not suppress a surge of jealousy. He wasn’t sure

what bothered him more—that Anton had touched Eric, or that Anton hadn’t touched him.

Anton must have noticed his unease, because he pulled his hand away from Eric and smiled

that warm, disarming smile. “I don’t mean to offend you or leave you out. I have an unspoken

sort of rule that I live by—I don’t touch anyone without their consent. It’s not polite. Some Doms

are fussy about being touched and some subs will only allow the touch of their Dom. It can be

hard to tell who’s who at first, and very easy to insult and offend. I always wait for permission.”

“Oh.” Relief flooded through Vincent; the knot of tension in his belly eased a bit. He smiled

shyly. “You have my permission to touch me.”

“Thank you, Vincent. Are you all right?”

“I’m okay.” An odd pressure built up inside him; being this close to Anton made him want

to go back into that room. Made him want things. Things he had only dreamt of. “I want to go

back in. I … I want a turn.”

“May I suggest a simple bound spanking to start with?” Eric offered.

Vincent’s ass muscles tensed and trembled. “Yes.”

Anton reached for his hand. “I love spanking. In fact, I’m free right now, if you’d like.”

Vincent glanced at Eric.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

****

“I’ll only bind your wrists for your first session.”

Vincent shook his head. “You can do more than that.”

“Not the first time.”

“I want more than that.” Vincent bit his tongue, remembering what he’d read about some

subs being ‘pushy bottoms.’ “Sorry.”

Anton chuckled. “No need to apologize. I know you want more. I can see it in your eyes—

that longing to be taken apart piece by piece. But not the first time. Sometimes men come here

seeking but don’t find what they’re looking for. You might be one of them, or you might not. But

overloading your senses won’t tell us anything.”

Vincent nodded. Anton’s words made sense, but he still had no desire to go slowly. Going

slowly meant he would have ample opportunity to back out, and Vincent barely trusted himself

not to. He glanced at Eric, who nodded, adding his agreement to Anton’s plans.

“For your first time,” Anton began, “I’ll bind your wrists behind your back.”

Vincent shivered. “That sounds nice.”

“It does, doesn’t it? Would you prefer these?” Anton held out a pair of metal handcuffs. “Or

these?” In his other hand were two padded leather cuffs.

“Those,” Vincent replied, pointing to the fabric cuffs. While the metal ones might have

hurt, and that did intrigue him, he had to admit to himself that the sight and smell of the leather

excited him.

“Good choice. You may leave your clothes on or take them off.”

“Off.” He wanted to feel the full force of this, didn’t want anything softening the

experience.

“Go ahead and strip while I get ready.”

Vincent undressed quickly, hands shaking, wanting to just get that part over with. Seemed

foolish to be so shy and self-conscious about his body, considering what he was about to do, but

he couldn’t help it. Anton approached him.

“For your spanking, you may have either my hand, or this paddle.”

Vincent reached out and ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the paddle, beautifully

made of some kind of shiny, rich, dark wood. He glanced at Anton’s hand, though, and his cock

leapt. The thought of Anton’s hand on him made his knees weak. “Your hand.”

“Another good choice.” Anton smiled at him wickedly. “Shall I leave the curtains up?”

Vincent shuddered, and not in a good way. “I … I don’t know …” Somehow seeing himself

seemed erotic, but terrifying.

“Down it is, then. Eric, would you mind?” Anton brushed a hand across Vincent’s cheek as

Eric moved to close the curtains. “Remember, you never have to do anything you don’t want

when you’re here. Understand?”

“Yes. Thank you.” And he truly meant those words, had never been so thankful for

anything in his entire life. Just the thought that this place existed—that he had found a place

where he could learn to be himself—meant more to Vincent than he could ever express.

“I’m going to bind your hands now.” Anton moved around behind him and pulled his arms

behind his back, securing his wrists together with the leather cuffs.

Vincent’s chest tightened, the telltale prickle of fear ran up his spine. Tremors started in his

belly and threatened to spread out to the rest of his body. He looked around for Eric.

Anton turned his head to follow Vincent’s gaze. “Eric, would you please stand where

Vincent can see you?”

“Of course.” Eric moved to the center of the room, directly in front of Vincent.

“We’ll begin when you’re ready,” Anton murmured.

Vincent took a deep breath. Eric’s nearness settled him somewhat, and he nodded. “I’m

ready.”

“I’ll start lightly, and go harder. I’ll pause after each hit, and I’ll wait for you to nod that

you’re ready for the next. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“I trust Eric told you about our safety levels?”

Vincent nodded. “Yellow means back off, blue means don’t do that but keep going. Red

means stop.”

“And what is your safe word?”

“Penguin.”

“Very good. Nod your readiness.”

Vincent nodded.

Anton’s first hit was light—not pleasant, but certainly not painful either. Made the skin on

Vincent’s ass itch. He became aware of an even deeper itch—that of his soul. He nodded his

readiness.

Another hit, this time slightly harder. More. The word whispered in Vincent’s mind, arising

unbidden. He nodded.

Third hit. Hard this time, drawing a gasp from Vincent. Now that was more like it. He

nodded twice, eager.

After the fourth hit, Vincent didn’t stop to pause before nodding. Just kept on, accepting hit

after hit, loving the sharp sting of Anton’s hand on him. Anton’s flesh. The thought made Vincent

shiver.

This. Vincent had been made for this. The thought that he had finally found his purpose

blossomed in Vincent’s mind, filling him with a sense of completeness, a sense of calm and

serenity. Finally. He had finally found what made him whole, and it didn’t matter to him that

some people might find it odd or disgusting. The feel of Anton’s hand, the pain—the mere sound

of those hits—combined in a symphony of blissful rightness.

“Tell me your safe word,” Anton commanded between smacks.

“Penguin.” Vincent cried out as another hit landed, his knees trembling. Eric stood in front

of him, watching with wide, rapt eyes. He palmed the bulge of his cock through his pants and

Vincent groaned. His own dick throbbed, impossibly hard—harder than it had ever been, even

when Jenny had rented that porno and masturbated for him. He recalled that night, the memory

deflating his erection. He’d never found her particularly arousing, had always pictured someone

else in his mind when he’d fucked her. Usually another man … but mostly Eric.

Anton changed the force of his hits, lightening up now.

Vincent frowned. He didn’t want to stop. Had Anton seen him lose his erection and

misinterpreted? Maybe it didn’t matter. The room seemed to fade away, becoming even dimmer.

Maybe Anton had turned the lights down. Well, that was nice.

Vincent sighed. He felt warm, as though his entire body glowed, and he wondered if it

really did, and if Anton and Eric could see it. He was glad that he had done this—that he had

found the courage to accept Eric’s offer.

Eric was moving toward him now, speaking, but Vincent could not make out the words. He

stumbled, dizzy and light-headed. Peaceful. Sated. As though he had been given some magic

elixir that had solved all his problems.

“He’s definitely a sub,” Vincent heard Anton say. “No doubt about it. For him to go this far

under off a simple spanking.”

Eric nodded. “I should’ve expected him to. Vin? Can you hear me?”

Vincent blinked rapidly, trying to force his mind to work. His knees collided with

something hard, and that seemed to upset Eric a great deal, for Eric pulled him close and petted

him while Anton removed the cuffs.

Vincent smiled. He wanted to respond to Eric’s touches, wanted to wrap his arms around

his neck and pull him down like he had that night on the couch. Only this time, he would let Eric

touch him. He tried to raise his arms, but they just fell limply back to his sides, as if he no longer

controlled them. Vincent frowned, a little frustrated, but not nearly enough to care.

Arms slid under him and lifted him up into the air. Anton. God, but Anton was strong.

Vincent melted into that strength, relaxing against Anton’s chest, laying his head on Anton’s

shoulder. Felt good to be held and carried like this. Made Vincent feel small and insignificant, but

important at the same time.

He heard the ding of the elevator, the slide of the doors as they opened and closed, and he

stared at the ceiling, mildly curious as to what would happen next. The elevator came to a stop

and they exited. Anton walked quickly; Vincent thought that should signal some sort of alarm on

his part, but all he could really muster was a yawn.

They entered a room, presumably the one he and Eric would be staying in, and Anton

deposited him on a bed—on his side, thankfully. His ass wasn’t sore just yet—at least he wasn’t

aware of soreness—but he knew the soreness would come. He felt Eric slide into bed and curl up

behind him.

“Vincent, talk to me.”

“Hmmm …” Not much to talk about, Vincent thought. Nothing in his head, anyway. No, he

realized, there really wasn’t anything in his head. No thoughts, other than Eric’s presence and the

memory of the extraordinary feel of Anton’s hand on him. He couldn’t even recall where he was,

or why he was there. Or where he’d come from. Didn’t matter anyway. He had Eric, and that

wondrous pleasure, and those were the only things in the world he needed. Vincent closed his

eyes.

****

The throbbing woke him. Not his cock this time, but the bruised flesh of his ass. Jesus. He

had known the spanking would smart, but this bordered on ridiculous. And his head hurt. What

the hell?

Vincent stretched, tried to, at least. Eric’s arms were tight around him, not allowing him

much movement. Not that he wanted to do much moving. His shoulders and upper arms were

sore as well.

“Vin?”

“Yeah?”

“Holy shit. Are you all right?” Eric sat up and leaned over him, staring down with wide,

concerned eyes.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You zoned out on us. Totally. I mean … that’s the

idea … the whole point of BDSM for a submissive … but …” Eric ran a hand through his own

hair and shook his head. “You scared me.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t remember that.”

“What do you remember?”

Vincent smiled. “I felt wonderful. I felt … Eric, I felt complete. Like I had a purpose. Like

… nothing else mattered. I knew what I needed to be happy, and that was all I needed. I didn’t

need anything material, or any money or wealth. Just two things. Just the feeling I got from the

spanking … and …” Vincent meet his gaze with Eric’s. “And you.”

Eric grinned and pressed a kiss to Vincent’s forehead. “You can have that feeling anytime

you want. And you’ve always had me.”

Vincent shook his head and took a deep breath. What he was about to say could damn him

or save him, and he supposed it made no difference, because—either way—everything had

changed. He had changed. “I want you. I want to be with you. I don’t want anything casual. I

want …”

Eric leaned in, nibbling Vincent’s neck just below his ear. “What do you want, Vincent?”

Oh, now that was just unfair. How did Eric expect him to think when he did that? Delicate

shivers coursed through his body and his toes curled. No one had ever made him feel this way.

No one had ever made him want to fuck them fast and hard but slow and sensuous at the same

time. A confusing tangle, but he welcomed it. Definitely better than how he had been living his

life. “I want to be with you. To be yours. In all ways. I want a life with you, Eric. Have you ever

done this before? Has anyone ever …”

“Subbed for me? Yeah. Not twenty-four-seven, though. Only in a scene.”

Vincent looked up and met Eric’s eyes. “I want twenty-four-seven.” And he had not

realized until just that moment how very much he wanted twenty-four-seven, and how this whole

thing was about to fuck up his life royally. Worth it, though.

“I know you do. I’ll be honest; it’s a little overwhelming, but I do like it. I could get used to

it.”

“Could you?”

“I think so. I know you want to do this, and I’ll let you, but I want you to be careful. Part of

serving me, or anyone else, is taking care of yourself. You’re no good to your Dom otherwise.

Understand?”

“Yes.”

Eric sat back and looked at him, and for the first time in their long friendship, Vincent

couldn’t read him, had no idea what he was thinking. Eric’s eyes had gone from wide to squinted,

his forehead wrinkled, his bottom lip slightly pouted. Eric had said he wanted Vincent, but the

look on his face—skepticism and not a bit of fear—didn’t reinforce those words. “You don’t look

thrilled about this.”

That earned him a grin. “I know. It’s a lot, you know? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I want

this. I want you. But I want you to think, too. Think about what you’d be giving up.”

Vincent scoffed. “What I’d be giving up? You mean misery? I can live without that, trust

me.”

Eric nodded. “Just give it some real thought, okay? We both have separate lives and

lifestyles. One of us would have to move, and we both like where we live. We both have jobs and

families. You have Jenny to consider … I have Anton.”

Those last three words hit Vincent as hard as any physical blow would have. His guts

clenched and pain shot out from his heart to shimmer through his veins. Why that disturbed him

more than the fact that he was at this very moment cheating on Jenny made no sense. “You and

Anton … the two of you are—”

“No,” Eric answered quickly. “Not in the way you’re thinking. We’re not a couple. But he

is my Dom. I usually spend my weekends at his mercy, here in the playhouse. It’s something that

I do need.”

“Oh …” Well, that was a lame thing to say. Still, Vincent didn’t know what to add, didn’t

know how to work around this roadblock.

“I’m not saying we can’t make it work. We can. We will. I want this with you. I want to

come home to you like I did this week. When I opened the door and I saw you there … when you

rushed to me and fell to your knees … God, Vincent. I can’t explain to you how that felt. I really,

really get off on that sort of thing. On being adored like that.”

“But you sub for Anton?” Vincent wracked his brain; they had talked about people like that.

What were they called again? “Switching. Right?”

Eric nodded. “I’m a switch. I can Dom, but I can sub, and I like both equally. I need both.

It’s just how I’m wired. Would you be open to having someone else Dom you when we both need

to sub?”

Someone else? As in not Eric or Anton? No. No, that wasn’t even a consideration. He’d

been meant for Eric, made for him. And he could not deny that Anton turned him on and had

some kind of magnetic attraction that Vincent couldn’t resist. But … no one else. Only the two of

them. For the sake of argument, he tried to imagine another man spanking him, whipping him,

and—god forbid—fucking him. Panic surged through Vincent; his heart began to pound. “No.”

Vincent pushed the sound out, barely a whispered word.

Eric tugged him up into a sitting position and held him close. “Anton, baby. I meant Anton.

Not someone you didn’t know. We can take turns with Anton, just when I need it. Otherwise, I’m

all yours.”

Didn’t sound ideal. Vincent didn’t want to share Eric with anyone, even Anton. But

considering the fact he had only had Eric as a friend a mere week ago, perhaps he ought to be

more flexible. Especially if Eric needed to submit. How could he deny Eric what he needed? He

couldn’t. Still didn’t make Vincent completely comfortable with the idea. He supposed, though,

that this was what true love was all about: compromise and willingness to bend. He had never

bent for anyone, but he would do so for Eric. Bend until he broke, and love every minute of it. “I

want to do that again. Be whipped. With a crop.”

Eric smiled. “You have an insatiable appetite, my dear.”

Vincent nodded. He had realized as much himself, feared there would not be enough to

satisfy that appetite. “I want it all.”

Eric grinned widely, a wicked glint in his eyes. “And you’ll have it.”

“Today?” he asked, hopeful, earning him a chuckle.

“Tonight. I booked you another slot with Anton while you were asleep.”

“Not sooner?”

Eric shook his head. “Relax and pace yourself, baby. Trust me, it’ll be better if you do. And

besides, you haven’t seen the dining room. The cook is amazing. I hear he’s serving homemade

beef stroganoff with big, juicy chunks of Angus beef.”

Vincent grinned. “You do know the way to a man’s heart, don’t you?”

****

“Would you like my hand again, or an instrument?”

Vincent had spent the last few hours in nervous anticipation of this moment, trying to do as

Eric suggested and relax. He’d been barely able to enjoy his lunch, although Eric had been right

about the cook’s skill, and the walk around the grounds hadn’t settled him either. Now night had

fallen, and he stood once again in the erotic torture room. Vincent pointed to the crop. “I want

that.”

“Ah, the crop. My favorite.” Anton cast a wink at Eric and went to retrieve the crop from

the wall.

Already trembling, Vincent gazed with longing at the table. “Can I try the table this time?”

Anton shook his head. “Like every other new sub, you think you’re ready for the whole

shebang, but you’re not. In fact, I would prefer not to bind your wrists for this session. Not for

your first time with the crop.”

Vincent frowned, struggling with his own frustration. He wanted to be bound, gagged,

spanked, and whipped. Like Dominic.

“You will get to that point, I assure you. You’re a pleasure to play with, and I definitely

want to see you trussed up on that table. To watch you writhe on it. But not this time.” Anton

gestured to a mat. “I would prefer if you stood on the mat. I’ve had subs bloody their noses when

they’ve lost their balance or their knees gave out. It’s a most unsettling thing.”

Vincent nodded and moved to the center of the mat.

“And your safe word is?”

“Penguin.”

“Good. There is one other thing we should discuss. I would very much like to end our

session by making you come. Will you permit that?”

Vincent understood now what he had read in Eric’s book about the submissive ultimately

being the one in control. Anton could do whatever he wanted—as long as he asked for permission

first. “Yes.”

“Excellent.” Anton stood in front of him, holding the crop. He smacked it against his hand

several times. Vincent’s heart lurched at the sound of each of those hits. Much louder than the

sound of Anton’s hand on his ass had been.

Anton moved closer and slowly, lightly traced the tip of the crop along Vincent’s chest

between his pecs. He stepped even closer to rub the flat part of the crop and its shaft over

Vincent’s left nipple, then along his upper arm to his shoulder. Vincent shivered, knees already

weak. Suddenly the mat beneath his feet made a massive amount of sense.

Anton slid the crop up the side of Vincent’s neck, using it to lightly caress his cheek and

forehead. Down the other side then, cheek to neck, neck to shoulder, shoulder to upper arm, upper

arm back to chest and across Vincent’s right nipple. Slowly, he raised the crop to Vincent’s lips.

Vincent opened his mouth on instinct. The tip of the crop hovered just beyond his bottom

lip, just inside his mouth. He flicked his tongue out, licked the crop just barely, and saw Anton

smile and nod. Bolstered by the knowledge that he had done the right thing, Vincent continued to

lick the crop, even going so far as to suck on it. Imagining it to be one of Eric’s nipples, Vincent

lost himself in the fantasy—kissing, licking, and sucking, until Anton pulled the crop away.

“Good,” Anton murmured. He slid the now-wet tip of the crop down Vincent’s neck, back

down between his pecs, down below his belly to his cock and balls. Anton caressed Vincent’s

balls with the crop, moving it around in a circular motion, drawing a deep, throaty moan from

Vincent. Anton tapped the crop lightly against Vincent’s balls before he let it move up the rise of

Vincent’s hips, following it around behind Vincent.

Anton stood on Vincent’s left and laid his hand on the front of Vincent’s left hip. Vincent

felt the tip of the crop just above the center of his right ass cheek, then felt the shaft of the crop

beyond that. The crop moved slowly up the top of his cheeks then down to just above the backs

of his knees, and he realized that Anton had just marked his territory, so to speak.

The crop stroked up and down for several minutes, gradually working back up to the lower

half of his ass, slowing until it stilled. “Are you all right?” Anton asked him.

Vincent nodded.

“More than a nod. Speak to me, Vincent. Are you all right?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll start now. Can you tell me your safe word?”

“Penguin.”

“Very good.”

The first stroke hit, softer than soft, followed by another about two seconds later, just the

same. It continued at that pace and force for a few minutes, and Vincent settled into it, his cock

beginning to wake, stiffening just a bit. The slightest throbbing started. The hits stung, but only a

tiny bit, leaving Vincent with a warm tingling in his muscles.

Anton paused to run his hand over Vincent’s flesh, rubbing and massaging, kneading. A

moment later he began again, doubling the force now, a little faster. Vincent gasped, more from

the reaction of his cock than from any pain. Anton moved the hits down to Vincent’s thighs and

Vincent’s cock began to leak. He moaned, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Anton stopped then. Disappointment surged through Vincent until he felt Anton’s hands

and mouth on his ass, fingers caressing, tongue licking over the areas where he had used the crop.

Vincent shuddered with it, felt his body swaying without his control.

Anton stood up and slid his arms around Vincent from behind. “You’re doing very well,” he

murmured against Vincent’s ear. “I’m very pleased. Are you all right?”

“Yes.” Vincent remembered to voice his response that time, pride at Anton’s words

tightening his throat.

“Would you like to continue?”

“Yes, please.” Despite his panting, Vincent felt calm and relaxed, a change from the urgent

longing that had controlled him when Anton had spanked him. Somehow, the knowledge that he

could have this whenever he wanted it lent a sense of peace.

Anton returned to his position behind Vincent. He began softly tapping again with the crop,

two taps a second, if Vincent’s count was correct. He tapped Vincent’s ass and thighs, then

moved up to his back. Slowly and softly, Anton worked his way up to Vincent’s shoulder blades

and back down, ending with two sudden, sharp strokes to Vincent’s ass that made him gasp and

groan. The quick tapping started again, alternating with soothing caresses of Anton’s hand.

Anton walked around to stand in front of Vincent, dragging the crop along his side as he

moved. He tapped Vincent’s chest lightly then moved the strokes to Vincent’s nipples, giving

them each several direct strokes with the tip of the crop. Vincent arched toward the hits, loving

the sting of the crop on such a sensitive area.

Anton slid the crop down then and tapped Vincent’s cock every so lightly. Vincent thought

his knees would give as the pain blossomed out along his shaft and settled in, reverberating in the

head of his cock. Never in his life had he felt something so wonderful. He cried out as Anton

tapped his cock a second time, then very, very lightly tapped his balls.

Anton shifted position again, back around behind him, and Vincent felt the taps on his

thighs and up to his ass. The sensation still hadn’t died away from his cock and balls, yet feeling

the crop hit him elsewhere now created a whole different realm of pleasure. Two sharp, hard

strokes fell on each of his ass cheeks, and then Anton was in front of him.

Anton pressed their bodies together, hugging Vincent close, and though Anton was fully

dressed, Vincent could still feel the warmth of his body. He held a hand to the back of Vincent’s

neck and urged the man’s head down onto his shoulder. Anton kissed Vincent’s neck as his hands

slipped down between them and began to work Vincent’s cock and balls.

Vincent sighed and his legs wobbled the slightest bit. He felt arms around him again,

recognizing them as Eric’s. Eric pressed up against him and Vincent could feel the wetness of

Eric’s orgasm.

“That was beautiful to watch,” Eric whispered. “I came when you cried out.”

Vincent kept his head on Anton’s shoulder, and from behind, he felt Eric thrust against him,

in turn thrusting him against Anton’s hands. His body felt warm and light; being between these

two amazing men filled him with such joy. Vincent sobbed as his cum coated Anton’s hands.

Anton smiled and lifted his hands to Vincent’s lips. “Lick them clean.”

Oh, so deviously wonderful. Vincent licked his own cum from Anton’s fingers, palms,

backs of his hands, and his wrists. He finished by catching a long drop that had slid nearly to

Anton’s elbow. He trembled then, knees finally giving out, but Eric kept him on his feet and

walked him over to the chair.

“Sit down, baby.”

Vincent sat, but he reached for Anton. He had no idea how to express the gratitude he felt in

his heart. “Thank … thank you, Anton. Thank you.”

Anton touched his cheek. “You’re welcome. And thank you in turn. I enjoy your

submission very much.”

“Do you have another session next?”

Anton nodded. “I do. But I would very much like to play with you tomorrow if you will let

me.”

“Yes.” Vincent tried to keep the hunger from his voice. His body began to tremble again,

despite his best efforts to control it.

“Here.” Eric slid a blanket around Vincent’s shoulders. “Let me take you back to our

room.”

Vincent nodded and let Eric help him up, arm around his waist. They walked to the door

and Vincent turned, feeling suddenly as though it had all been a dream—a beautiful one, if it had

been. If he woke, he would treasure that dream for the rest of his life.

“Are you all right?” Eric asked.

“I’m wonderful.”

Sunday

Sunday morning found Vincent at breakfast with Eric at a little diner a town over. He sat

back in his side of the booth, both calmed and unsettled by such normalcy. He had almost been

able to forget the outside world existed.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Eric spoke up.

Vincent grinned. “Just feels a little odd.”

“Being back in the real world?”

“Yeah. Feels like the playhouse was reality, and this is just a dream.” Everything had been

so much clearer in the playhouse. Emotions and thoughts were so much crisper and easier to

process, even though he had done so with difficulty.

“Can’t wait to go back, can you?”

“I really can’t. I feel it pulling at me. Is that weird?”

Eric shook his head. “Not at all. I feel the same way. But do you see why I suggested we eat

outside the playhouse this morning?”

“Yeah, I guess I do.”

“Like I’ve said before, everything seems all wonderful and fun, and so many subs want to

just dive right in without really understanding what they’re getting into. And there are a lot of

Doms who will let them do just that, but it’s really irresponsible. If I’m going to be your Dom,

it’s my obligation to teach you everything I can about the downs as well as the ups. It’s hard to go

back and forth between everyday life and the playhouse. There’ll be times when you hate that you

have to.” Eric’s voice held a warning tone. “It’ll be easier though, since there’s the two of us.”

Vincent’s chest grew heavy with emotions—panic foremost among them. Not from Eric’s

words, though. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he felt suddenly very out of

place, exposed.

Eric reached across the table and took his hand. “We can go if you want.”

Vincent nodded. “How did you get used to it? The going back and forth?”

“I just did. You will too, I promise.” Eric signaled the waitress. “Any thoughts on what

you’d like to do when we get back?”

“A few.” Vincent hadn’t been able to think about anything else since he had first gotten up

that morning. “Water sports.”

“Does that interest you?”

“I think it does?”

“You sound uncertain.”

Vincent laughed heartily. “I’m uncertain about this whole weekend. But, I want to try it.

Can I?”

“Of course.”

“Something else, too.” Vincent plucked at his napkin, wondering if he was about to go too

far. He felt he was ready, though. He wanted Anton and Eric to respect that and give him credit

for knowing his own body.

“Go on.”

“First, I want another time in the torture room. With a flogger. And I want the table this

time. Seriously.”

Eric simply watched him for a minute, then nodded. “All right.”

The waitress arrived with their check and Vincent handed her a wad of money, eager to

leave.

****

Vincent walked out into the torture room, stark naked and exhilarated as he eyed the table

with barely controlled hunger. Anton and Eric helped him up onto it. Vincent chose to lie face

down and Eric guided his cock into one of a series of holes Vincent hadn’t realized was there.

Now it hung down under him. Vincent started at that and nearly pulled away, but Eric kept the

touch light, almost clinical.

“Spread your arms and legs, Vincent,” Anton commanded.

Vincent shivered at the way his name sounded in that thick, deep voice.

“I’m going to strap you down now.” Anton moved around the table, fitting the straps around

Vincent’s wrists and ankles. From the corner of his eye, Vincent could see Eric hovering near the

table.

Eric moved closer then, ran a hand through Vincent’s hair. “Doing okay?”

Vincent nodded. “Stay close.”

“I will. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

“Are the straps too tight?” Anton asked.

“No …” Vincent flexed his arms. “Maybe a little tighter?”

Anton tightened the straps and grinned at Eric over Vincent’s shoulder. “Oh, you are fun to

play with.” He picked up one of the floggers, let the tips dangle down and tickle Vincent’s back

between his shoulder blades.

Vincent gasped and shuddered violently. He felt his cock begin to leak. He writhed as

Anton moved the flogger down, sliding it back and forth across his skin.

“The flogger isn’t like my hand or the crop. It’s a different feeling. I’ll start softly and leave

it to you to tell me how much more you want. Just say ‘harder.’ When you stop saying ‘harder,’ I

will not give any more force. Understand?”

“Yes.” Vincent tried to glance back at Anton.

Anton pulled the flogger away. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes.” Vincent looked up at Eric, hoping to see approval in his eyes, and he wasn’t

disappointed. He barely noticed the first hit. Gentle, like a dozen playful taps from a lover’s hand.

“Harder.”

The second hit stung a bit. Vincent concentrated on the points of pain, as they became that

odd sort of tingling itch. “Harder.”

He hissed in a breath with the third hit. That one hurt—really hurt. Pain burned at the points

of impact, but only momentarily, before it spread out into the surrounding skin. Made him feel

warm and content. “Harder.”

Eric squatted down in front of the table, their gazes meeting as Anton brought the flogger

down another time.

Vincent arched and cried out. Pain seared through his skin, all the way down to the muscle.

God, this was what he had wanted. And he wanted more of it. “Harder!”

Vincent lost track of how many times he said that word. Every time he said it, though,

Anton rewarded him. Eric circled the table, running his hands over Vincent’s body, and Vincent

thought those touches were strategically placed. Somehow Eric anchored him. But Vincent didn’t

want to be anchored. Not anymore. He had waited long enough. He wanted to be stripped bare,

flayed, heart and emotions ripped from him. Wanted to be beaten until he came. “Please,” he

heard himself whimper.

Anton paused. “Please what, Vincent? Tell me.”

“Take … take it … please …” Vincent shook his head, tears forming at the corners of his

eyes. He had no idea how to voice what he wanted. No idea how to tell them.

Eric was back at the head of the table now, kneeling down before him. “Vincent, look at

me. I need to see your eyes.”

Vincent looked into Eric’s eyes. “Please … I … I want … I need …” He clenched his fists,

frustrated. “I can’t …

please … make me…”

Eric reached up and laced his fingers with Vincent’s, holding tightly before nodding at

Anton. Eric stood, and Vincent saw that underneath his pants his cock was hard, jutting out

toward Vincent. If he stretched his tongue out, he just might be able to lick it. Wanted to lick it.

“Are you ready?” Anton’s asked. Anton ran a hand down Vincent’s back, let his fingers

trail ever so lightly into the crack of Vincent’s ass.

“I …” The image of a butt plug sprang to Vincent’s mind at the touch. How sweet would it

be to feel something inside him during this? Part of him wasn’t sure he was ready for that; he

wanted to save that for Eric. Vincent recalled, though, Eric having said something about men who

liked to say things like no and don’t during their sessions. He found the thought extremely

arousing, and maybe it would be a boon to the part of him that wanted him to resist. “May I …”

“What do you need?” Eric asked him. “You don’t have to explain why. Just tell us, and

we’ll try to give it to you.”

“Want …”

Eric leaned down close to him, his hair falling around Vincent’s face. Shielding him. “Tell

me. Whisper to me what you want, baby. I want you to have everything you need.”

“I want to say no.”

“Clarify that for me. Do you want to give your word and stop, or pretend to beg Anton to

stop?”

“Pretend to beg. I … I want to say no … I need …”

“You need to feel like he’s really taking it from you, don’t you?”

“Yes. Is that … is that okay?”

Eric licked his lips. “More than okay, baby. Damn. I can’t wait to have you all to myself.”

“You like that?” Vincent felt giddy, knowing he could do something Eric liked.

“Few things get me higher.” Eric kissed his ear. “And Anton likes it, too.” Eric

straightened. “He wants to beg you for mercy while you flog him.”

“That would please me very much. Are you ready, Vincent?”

“Please … don’t do this.” Vincent heard Anton moan softly before the flogger came down.

He arched under the pain, muscles spasming. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Another stroke of the flogger.

“Don’t whip me. Please.”

“You like this. You want it.” Anton massaged Vincent’s ass with one hand, brought the

flogger down with the other. “Admit it.”

“No!” Oh, god, but he did, and Vincent didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the

act. “I don’t. I don’t like it. Don’t want it. Please.”

“Then I will make you like it. I will make you want it. I will make you need it.” Anton dug

his nails into the flesh of Vincent’s ass. “I will make you beg me for it.”

Vincent cried out, thrashed as much as the restraints would allow, as Anton brought the

flogger down again and again. Pain and heat spiked and receded, blossomed and flowed,

spreading out from his back and ass to his entire body. Pain and pleasure mingled and mixed,

twirling around each other and setting his body aflame. Something trickled down his skin. Maybe

sweat. Maybe blood. Didn’t matter. Not long before he gave up his cries for mercy. Not long until

he sobbed and begged for more, pleading with Anton to never stop. Every muscle in his body

tensed and tightened, straining, reaching.

And then his mind went blank. Dimly he felt his cock jerk and sputter, knew he had found

his release. Nice, but it didn’t matter. Even orgasm couldn’t compare to the senseless,

bonelessness of his mind and body. He felt Eric’s hands on him, petting his back, heard Anton

releasing the cuffs. Vincent tried to rise, tried to push himself up, but his arms and legs wouldn’t

work.

“Be still,” Eric murmured. “Take a minute and let your body adjust.” He ran his hands

through Vincent’s hair.

Vincent gasped, feeling something warm and wet, soothing draped on his back.

Eric kissed his forehead and cheeks, and in a moment of sheer madness, Vincent forced his

arms to work and clutched at Eric. Their mouths came together. He kissed Eric hungrily, greedily,

wanting to ride the waves of this newfound bravery before it fled and left him feeling like a freak.

Eric returned the kiss, twining his fingers in Vincent’s hair, closing his eyes, and moaning

into Vincent’s mouth. Eric tasted faintly of the breakfast they had shared and something more,

something specifically him. Vincent couldn’t get enough.

“We should get him into a bath,” Anton advised.

Eric pulled back with a soft grunt, eyes wide and fevered. He nodded several times, as if

trying to bring the world back into focus. “Right.”

Vincent let them help him to sit up, then slid off the table, leaning on Eric. Were it not for

Eric’s arm around his waist, he would have crumpled to the ground.

“How do you feel?” Eric asked.

Feel? Vincent didn’t even know what that word meant.

“Think we went too far?” Anton asked. “You know him better than me.”

Eric shook his head. “No. I think he’s okay.”

They headed down the hall to the elevator, past doors—some open, some closed. Vincent

peered inside every one he could, suddenly feeling an obsessive need to see and feel more. “All

of it,” he whispered.

“Vincent?” Eric stopped in the hallway, peering at him.

“Want to try all of it. Everything.” He turned his gaze to Anton. “I want to feel that good

again.”

Anton smiled and kissed Vincent’s forehead. “You will, sweet. You will. A bath first. I

wasn’t kind to your back.”

“Loved it,” Vincent admitted, as much to himself as to them.

“I know you did.”

Vincent let his mind wander, gave up trying to focus on anything as he walked between

them. Elevator. Third floor. Room door. Bathroom. All of it passed by him in blurry flashes. Eric

held onto him as Anton prepared the water. They each held one of his hands as he stepped in and

sat down.

Vincent hissed and arched, the heat of the water stinging his back, but even that felt good to

a certain extent. He would feel this session for hours, maybe even days, and he liked the thought

of it. One day he would walk around with Eric’s marks on him, Eric’s pain under his skin. Made

him almost giddy.

Eric left his side for a moment and returned with a loofah sponge and a bottle of shower gel

that smelled faintly of aloe. Eric and Anton exchanged a long look that ended in a nod from

Anton and his departure.

Vincent closed his eyes as Eric bathed him, starting with his toes. He carefully washed

between each one, then moved on to his feet, paying special attention to the bottoms and pressing

his knuckles into the arches and heels. Up Vincent’s calves, to his knees, tickling the backs until

Vincent squirmed.

Along Vincent’s thighs and in between, swathing his hardening cock, encircling his balls

with the sponge as he gasped. Around to his backside, sliding soap-slicked fingers into the cleft

of his ass. Up his back gently to swipe with feather-light touches at the blood now drying there.

Vincent knew now that it was indeed blood—could see the swirl of red in the water sloshing

around him. Eric squeezed the sponge out so that the water trickled down Vincent’s flesh. Back

around to the front, over his belly, up his chest, across his nipples. Up his neck and finally to his

face, washing his cheeks and chin, his lips and forehead.

Eric sat back. “There. All clean. And now …” He got to his feet and held a hand out to

Vincent, helping him out of the tub. Eric’s process began again, this time with a dry towel, and he

smiled as the slightly rougher material passed over Vincent’s cock and balls, making him groan.

At length Vincent sat, dry but shivering.

“Cold?”

“A bit.” He wasn’t certain if he really did feel cold, or if his body was just belatedly

reacting in the aftermath of his session.

“I have a cure for that.” Eric quickly shed his own clothing and then scooped Vincent up

into his arms.

“What’re you doing?”

“I told you. I’m curing you.” Eric carried Vincent to the bed, laid him beneath the covers,

and crawled in himself, spooning behind him. “I’ll have you warmed up in no time.”

Vincent sighed, soaking up the warmth of Eric’s body, reveling in Eric’s nearness, Eric’s

scent. He pressed his back against Eric’s chest, the tiny hairs there tickling his tender flesh. If

there existed a more magical thing in the world, a more perfect situation, Vincent didn’t know

what it might be.

But this was more than just simple calm and peace; lust and desire raged through him,

making him desperate. Vincent sucked in a determined breath. He would do this. He would claim

what he wanted, or let Eric claim him, or … something. Anything. He turned in Eric’s arms and

pressed his lips to Eric’s, a little more urgent and demanding than he had meant to be.

Eric took Vincent’s face in his hands. “Easy, baby.”

“Want you,” Vincent whimpered.

“I know, and you’ll have me. But I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s go slowly, hmm?” Eric

trailed kisses along Vincent’s shoulders, and Vincent instinctively arched in response as he began

to tremble again, his breath coming in small, sharp gasps.

“Please, Eric …”

“Shhh … It’s all right. Slowly, baby, remember?”

Slowly. No … no. Not now. Vincent tugged at Eric’s hair, nearly crazed. “Need this. Need

you.”

Eric pushed him gently onto his back. Tiny bursts of pain exploded where the sheets made

contact with his wounds. He gasped and lay back harder, wanting that vivid reminder. Maybe he

would ask Eric to scratch his back later, just to stir up the feeling again. Eric moved to straddle

him, rubbing their bodies together as he slid down. He pressed his hands flat against the backs of

Vincent’s thighs, parting Vincent’s ass cheeks. Eric bent his head and flicked the tip of his tongue

along the rim of Vincent’s anus.

“Fuck!” Vincent arched off the bed like a bowstring, taut, ready to fire at any moment. “Oh

my … God …”

Eric slipped his tongue inside Vincent and then out, pausing to suckle before repeating the

process. Vincent writhed and moaned, unable to believe he could experience such exquisite

pleasure. He had heard of this before, read about it, seen pictures on the Internet, but never tried

it, not even with Jenny. Glad he hadn’t now, because he couldn’t imagine doing it with anyone

but Eric. Eric’s thick, wet tongue wiggled in and out of him, leaving a slippery trail of fire along

Vincent’s skin. He squirmed against Eric’s mouth, wanting more. “More!” he begged.

Eric pulled away and Vincent let out a high-pitched whine of unhappiness that startled even

him. Eric returned to him, though, this time lavishing his attention on Vincent’s cock. Vincent

moaned and cried, tears spilling down his cheeks as Eric puckered his lips and slid them gently

up and down Vincent’s cock, swirling his tongue around the head and somehow working it into

every crevice.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck … Yes!” Vincent groaned and writhed, his sounds reaching his ears more

wild than a human’s. He moaned weakly and thrust against Eric’s mouth. “Please!”

Just as Vincent’s pace quickened, Eric abandoned his cock with an audible ‘plop’ and

moved his head down to Vincent’s balls. Cupping them in his hands, he tapped them lightly with

his tongue before taking one, then both, into the hot wetness of his mouth.

Vincent’s head began to thrash, as the last vestiges of control ripped away. His entire body

pulsed and hummed; blood pounding hard through his veins, stretching his already over-sensitive

skin. He growled in frustration and dug his heels into Eric’s back. “Need …”

Eric sat up on his knees. He reached out and wiped the moisture from Vincent’s cheeks,

licking his fingers clean. “Are you sure?”

“Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Eric leaned down, covering Vincent with his body. His mouth descended gently on

Vincent’s lips. “I love you,” he murmured between kisses.

“Love you, too.” Vincent captured Eric’s head in his hands. “Make love to me?”

Eric shuddered violently. “Let me get stuff.”

Vincent watched him closely as he moved from the bed and went to dig in his suitcase.

Watched the ripple and slide of Eric’s muscles beneath his skin, the graceful way he walked.

Watched him take a deep breath and draw his bottom lip up between his teeth in a gesture

Vincent recognized as Eric trying to calm himself. Watched him reach into the suitcase and pull

out a small travel bag, watched him grab out a bottle of lube and a condom. A condom? No. No

boundaries belonged between them. Not tonight. Not ever. “Eric?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“No condom.”

Eric raised an eyebrow as if uncertain, but his fingers released the condom to fall back into

the bag in what seemed an automatic movement.

Vincent held his arms out as Eric came back to the bed, pulled him down into a tight

embrace and held on for the space of several minutes, simply breathing him in. Eric moved in

small increments, inching away but keeping in contact, until Vincent felt the press of Eric’s slick

fingers against his hole. He sucked in a sharp breath and stilled.

“You okay?”

“Mmmm.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

Vincent wiggled his hips, pressing his ass against those seeking fingers. “Yes, we do. I’m

tired of aching all the time. Tired of needing. Tired of feeling empty and not knowing how to fill

myself up.”

Eric grinned. “I can certainly help you with that.”

A single finger penetrated; Vincent fought to relax and accept the intrusion. Eric bent his

head and captured Vincent’s lips in a long, slow, tantalizing kiss that tasted of joy, if that were

possible. The kiss had been a tactic, Vincent realized, for another finger had slipped in and now

they both brushed against something.

Fire. Unholy, ungodly, consuming fire ripped through Vincent’s veins as he dug his nails

into Eric’s arms, crying out at the pleasure.

“Easy, baby.”

“What … the … fuck …”

“Vincent, meet your prostate.” Eric chuckled. Those long fingers stroked again, and

Vincent was certain he would have fallen to his knees if he’d been standing.

“Holy god …”

“Useful little thing, isn’t it?”

“Eric … God …”

“Is it too intense?”

“No.” He fairly shouted the word. “Please … don’t stop.”

“Only to give you more, baby.” Eric nibbled at Vincent’s neck and craned his head down to

suck Vincent’s left nipple into his mouth.

Vincent arched to him, wrapping one hand around the back of Eric’s head to keep him

there. Pleasure spiraled out through him just as the pain had earlier, and he found himself craving

an edge to balance it out. “Bite … I think.” He moaned in bliss as Eric’s teeth came together

gently. “Harder … tug …”

Eric bit down just that much harder, tugged at Vincent’s nipple. Vincent felt Eric’s breath

against his skin, hot and fast, knew Eric was as enthralled as he was. The need to connect with

Eric swelled in him. He skimmed his hands down over Eric’s body. Every inch of Eric was

beauty and perfection. He caressed down Eric’s chest, across his flat belly, and over the rise and

fall of his hip. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured. “Touching you is like nothing I can

describe.”

He moved his hands back up; Eric gasped as Vincent’s palm grazed over his nipple. He

circled with his palm, and Eric’s flesh hardened and peaked beneath it. “Do you like that?”

Eric raised his head and nodded. “Very much so. I like it rough, like you do. You can pinch

… twist … pull … the harder, the better.”

Vincent did just that—pinched, twisted, and pulled. Eric’s head fell back as he moaned

deeply. Eric wrapped his hand around Vincent’s wrist, showing him just how much more force he

could use. Rough indeed. Eric writhed against him, barely keeping his fingers busy as he cried

out over and over. Vincent reached down between them, seeking Eric’s cock, but Eric pulled his

lower body away quickly.

Eric’s grip on him tightened. “If you touch my cock, that’ll be the end. I want this to be

good for you, but I’m barely hanging on here, baby.”

Vincent thrust his hips back against Eric’s hand as Eric’s fingers moved in and out, sliding

over that spot again and again. “Make love to me.”

Eric groaned. “Don’t talk anymore. Makes my cock hurt.”

Vincent let Eric push him down onto the bed, let Eric pin his hands beside his head and

cover him for a moment. Eric pressed their foreheads together. “Last chance to back out,” he

whispered. “I won’t be hurt or angry, I swear.”

Vincent smiled and wrapped his legs around Eric’s waist, grinding their cocks against each

other. “Please.”

Eric captured his lips in a torrid, hard, hot kiss and then pulled away, panting. “I need you,”

he gasped. “God, Vin, how I’ve dreamt of this. I’ve wanted you for so long. So badly. “

“I wish I could make it all up to you.” Vincent traced the line of Eric’s jaw with his fingers.

“Say you’re mine. That’s all I want. Say it, Vincent. Tell me you’re mine. I need to hear it.”

“I’m yours, completely. Forgive me for not seeing what was between us. It’s you, Eric. It’s

always been you. I’ve always belonged to you.”

“Don’t close your eyes.” Eric entered him slowly, pushing and retracting, and how he

managed to keep control Vincent didn’t know. The strain was obvious on Eric’s face; his brow

tightly knit together, bottom lip caught between his teeth again, teeth making indents into the soft

flesh there. Vincent surrendered with a shudder, his muscles clenching around Eric in blissfully

instinctual reaction as he pulled Eric’s cock in completely. Eric began thrusting in and out, in and

out; the friction and the burn sent ripples of pleasure through Vincent.

“So good … Your cock … Harder,” Vincent gasped.

Eric threw his head back and slammed into him; over and over he plunged, balls smacking

against Vincent’s ass. Every thrust of Eric’s cock went straight to Vincent’s core, leaving him

breathless, and ripped involuntary sounds from his throat. One of Eric’s hands found Vincent’s

cock, twisting up and down the length of his shaft with every stroke. Vincent bucked, cried out,

and heard Eric call out as well, their voices chiming together in a perfect symphony of ecstasy.

Eric’s passionate cries threatened to rip Vincent’s control away. Utterly amazing to see Eric

like this, so passionate, so wild, so lost, thoroughly caught up in the pleasure of the moment. Eric

tensed, close to the precipice. Thankfully close, for Vincent wasn’t sure how much longer he

could hold out himself. Eric reared back, and with a primal roar, emptied into Vincent; hand

spasming tight around Vincent’s cock. With one final stroke Vincent’s reality spun away as his

release founted up over Eric’s hand.

Eric licked his hand clean and then collapsed beside Vincent, pulling him into his arms and

kissing him deeply. Vincent smoothed Eric’s sweat-soaked hair back from his face. “Love,” he

murmured, unable to form complete thoughts, let along complete sentences.

“I know.” Eric pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I know.”

Vincent snuggled close, secure in the knowledge that this was good, right, and perfect. And

Eric knew.

****

Anton knocked three times on the door to the water sports room and it opened, revealing a

tall, slender, blond man. Anton gestured to Vincent. “He’d like to try.” Anton grinned at Eric.

“And we’d like to watch.”

Vincent reached out on impulse and touched Anton’s hand; Anton’s fingers curled around

his in response. He still didn’t understand why something he had been told was so wrong felt so

very, very right to him. Eric brushed up against him from behind, and Vincent thrust back against

him instinctively.

“Come in.” The blond stepped back into the room and gestured them inside. “Would you

like the toilet, the tub, or the shower stall?”

Vincent looked around the room, chewing on his lower lip. A row of toilets lined one wall,

shower stalls the other. In the middle of the room were several bathtubs. The floor of the entire

room was tiled in a mosaic pattern of blues and greens, with silver drains here and there. His gaze

finally fell on Eric and he raised his eyebrows in question, seeking guidance. The book hadn’t

gone into quite this much depth.

“It all depends on whether you want to sit in the urine, or if you want it to just flow over

you and drain down. If you think you would like to sit in it, then chose the tub. But if that idea

bothers you, you might try any of the others.”

Vincent considered his options. He had no frame of reference for this completely uncharted

territory. He stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed for a moment, trying to feel out his

reactions as he thought of each option. He chose the tub, and he couldn’t say specifically why—

the thought of being safely enclosed, or that of sitting in a pool of urine. “The tub, maybe. I can

always switch, right?” he asked the blond.

“Of course. Which one would you like?” he gestured to a row of men standing along the

side of the room.

“Choose whose urine you want,” Eric advised. He gestured to the far end of the room,

where several refrigerators sat on a counter Vincent hadn’t noticed before. Alongside them were

dozens of crystal decanters containing yellow liquid. A line of utility carts stood under the

counter. “It’s all from this weekend,” Eric assured him.

“Oh …” Vincent looked at all of the men in turn, a startling realization making its way into

his head: he wanted Eric’s. None of the men resembled Eric in any way. He turned then, pressing

his face against Eric’s shoulder.

Eric slid an arm around his waist. “There’s no need to be ashamed, baby. If you’ve changed

your mind, we can just leave the room. It’s as simple as that.”

“I haven’t changed my mind. I just …” He broke off, not wanting to discuss such things in

front of strangers.

Eric pulled Vincent aside and guided his head up with a finger. “Talk to me. Trust in me.”

“You. I want you to do it.”

“Pee on you?”

“Everything, I want to try all of these things, but with you. I want you to do them with me,

watch me do them, I want to watch you do them.”

“I’m right here, baby.” Eric held him close, running a hand up and down his back. “I

promised you I’d be by your side all weekend, and I meant that. We’ll do everything together, I

promise you.” He stepped back. “But, um … I don’t really have any ammunition at the moment.

We can come back, if you want.”

Vincent shook his head, afraid that if he left the room he would leave his courage inside it.

“I need to do this now.” He looked at the men again, frowning. “Who would you pick?” he asked.

“Which one turns you on?”

Eric grinned and pointed to a tall, overly muscular man near the corner. “Andrew.”

“Him?” Vincent felt a pang of jealousy. He and Andrew looked nothing alike as far as he

could see. Was that the kind of man Eric liked?

“He has your eyes.”

Those four words stole Vincent’s heart and made his stomach flutter. “Andrew, then. I

should get naked, right?”

“Only if you want. Some prefer to keep their clothing on so they can keep the smell with

them,” Anton explained.

Vincent wrinkled his nose. “I’ll strip.” He took off his clothes quickly and handed them to

Andrew, who neatly folded them and laid them on a nearby table. Vincent stepped into the tub

and sat. He swallowed hard, watching Andrew move to the counter and pull out a utility cart.

Andrew loaded four pitchers onto the cart, pulled four out of the refrigerator to replace them, and

came back to Vincent to stand by the side of the tub.

“He’s waiting for your command,” Eric told Vincent.

Vincent’s command. He was about to command another man to pour urine on him. Should

revolt him, he thought. Should make him want to run away, flee, screaming about the freakish

insanity of it all. Should. Didn’t. Vincent leaned back in the tub but didn’t close his eyes, found

he didn’t want to. Wanted to see this. He nodded to Andrew. “I’m ready.”

Andrew moved forward and held the pitcher above Vincent’s head, tipping it slightly.

The first splash startled him, almost made him jump from the tub. But he fought down that

initial reaction, concentrating on the feel of the liquid as it dribbled down his skin. He ran his

hands through his hair, letting the urine flow against his skull, rubbing his wet hands across his

forehead and down his cheeks. Without even thinking, he moved his right hand down toward his

cock but stopped and shook his head. Vincent heaved a sigh.

“Are you enjoying this?” Anton asked, squatting down next to the tub.

Vincent nodded.

“Don’t think about anything but the moment, then. Focus on the details of what’s

happening. Dwell on the joy inside you.”

Joy? Yes. Exactly that. He nodded to Andrew and closed his eyes, trying to focus on only

the things he experienced, only the sensations. Small splash and trickle on his face, warmth

flowing over his skin, beading and running in rivulets. Familiar smell, with a slightly fruity

undertone. Made him want to taste.

Vincent licked his lips; heard an answering groan from his left. Anton. Vincent’s cock

hardened, from the urine or the sound of Anton’s arousal he didn’t know. Soft rustle of clothing

and another, deeper groan. Anton must have reached into his pants, must be touching his cock.

Unable to resist the pull of such a powerful image, Vincent opened his eyes.

Anton had indeed pulled out his cock. He stood next to the tub pumping it in his left hand.

His swiped up a drop of urine from Vincent’s chin with his other hand and licked his fingers.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Vincent admitted, licking his lips again. He turned his gaze to Andrew. “More,” he

beckoned, but this time he kept his mouth open. At first Vincent struggled not to choke and gag,

unaccustomed to having anything poured down his throat. But even that—the prickles of fear that

stung him—he found erotic.

“Goddamn, that’s hot,” Anton murmured. He glanced at Eric. “Don’t you think?”

Eric nodded, running his fingers up and down the front of his trousers. “Very hot.”

“Shall we give him something else to rub on that pretty face?”

Vincent glanced between the two of them, eyebrow arched, following Eric’s gaze to

Anton’s crotch, and suddenly Anton’s words became clear. Anton meant they should come on

him. “Yes,” Vincent gasped. “Yes, do it.”

Anton grinned. “Eager beaver, aren’t you?” He moved to the other side of the tub, allowing

Eric closer. They stood next to Vincent’s head, both of them now with their cocks out, pumping

and squeezing.

Andrew held up another pitcher, eyes wide in question, but held it still until Vincent

nodded. Vincent closed his eyes once again, leaned his head back against the rim of the tub as

Andrew upended the pitcher. Focus on the sensations, Vincent told himself.

He focused on the fruity, acrid scent of the urine that surrounded him, but he could smell

Eric and Anton too, their arousal, their precum as it leaked from their cocks like he knew it must

be doing now. Focused on the sounds of flesh against flesh as Anton and Eric’s cocks passed

through their hands, on the gasps and moans that came from their throats. Focused on the heat

radiating from their bodies so near his own.

Vincent had never felt such lust, such desire, and he had no idea which of them he felt it for.

Maybe both. He opened his eyes and reached out then, stroking Eric’s and Anton’s balls as he

looked back and forth at them in turn.

“Squeeze. Hard,” Anton commanded, and the rush of that command went straight to

Vincent’s cock. He squeezed Anton’s balls, dug his nails in for good measure.

Eric let go a little mewling noise and thrust against Vincent’s hand. Unspoken message

there, Vincent knew. Look at me. Although he kept his hand on Anton, kept squeezing and raking

his nails, Vincent turned his full attention to Eric. Their gazes met and held and Vincent found his

release from nothing more than the look in Eric’s eyes.

Eric followed him, and then Anton, their cum coating Vincent’s face and hair. Driven by a

fire deep in his belly, Vincent sat up on his knees and reached for Eric, pulling him close by his

hips. He licked Eric’s cock clean, taking great care to swallow every drop of Eric’s cum, loving

the salty taste and the thick, slippery feel of it on his tongue.

“Vin …” Eric’s fingers tangled in his hair, held his head immobile there, Eric’s cock just

resting in his mouth. “Love you.”

Vincent sucked gently in response, dug his fingers hard into the soft flesh of Eric’s ass.

Movement around them distracted him and he nearly panicked, having somehow forgotten where

they were and who else was with them. But Eric’s presence calmed him; Eric’s touch grounded

and steadied him. He pulled away reluctantly and stood.

Eric backed away, eyes gleaming with something Vincent had never seen in them,

something he recognized from his own mirror every morning. “Eric?”

“I … I need to spend some time with Anton. Alone. I’m sorry, Vin … Really, I am. I just

…” Eric looked past Vincent to Anton. “I need you.”

The air left Vincent’s chest in a whuff and he stumbled backward, catching his balance

before he fell in the tub.

“It’s not you, Vin. I swear to you, it’s nothing you did or didn’t do.”

“I understand.” And he did. Truly. He felt that need every day; to have someone take from

him what he could not freely give. But god, it hurt to see it coming from Eric.

“Baby …” Eric moved to him, took his hands. “Please tell me you’re okay. I need your

permission to do this.”

“My permission?” He wasn’t enough for Eric, that fact had become crystal clear. But give

him permission to need someone else? Vincent didn’t have any idea how to do that, and he

wasn’t sure he wanted to.

Anton stepped up to them and laid his hands on both of their arms. “You know he can’t give

permission, Eric. Vin’s a sub, not a switch.”

Eric blinked and shook his head several times. “I … I know that. I didn’t mean …” He took

a deep breath. “I love you, Vincent. I hope you understand how much and how deeply. But this

… just now … was very intense for me. I don’t know why, but it’s left me needing to submit. I

don’t know how to explain it to you.”

“I said I understood.”

“Your lips said you understood. Your eyes said I’d hurt you.” Eric squeezed his hands. “I

never, ever want to hurt you, baby.”

Vincent sighed. “You did and you didn’t. I understand, I really do. How could I not? But,

yeah, it stung. It’s okay though.” He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Go with

Anton. I’ll go back to our room and clean up. I need a shower anyhow.”

“Are you sure?”

He nodded. “I’m sure.” Vincent watched Anton take Eric by the arm and lead him out the

door, already an air of submission falling over Eric. Vincent watched. And tried hard—so very,

very hard—not to let his heart break with it.

****

Vincent glanced at the clock again. Nearly two hours had passed. His own sessions hadn’t

taken this long, but he wasn’t seasoned like Eric. He wondered briefly if this was what happened

—if after time it took more and more to get to that place of bliss. What if there came a point

where he could no longer reach it? What then?

He heard a knock and opened the door, revealing Anton and Eric. Eric was on his feet—that

made Vincent feel better—but he leaned heavily on Anton as they walked to the bed.

Anton helped him lay down on his side, and Eric pressed a kiss to Anton’s hand. “Thank

you.”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure, as always.” Anton pulled away and reached for the blanket,

his movement giving Vincent a full view of Eric’s back. Eric’s bloody back. Vincent stared at the

sight, horrified. His guts twisted and a heavy weight fell and settled in the pit of his stomach.

“He’s bleeding.”

“Yes,” Anton said.

“Why is he bleeding?” Vincent frowned at the edge of high-pitched panic in his voice, but

there was nothing for it. Dominic had bled, and that had made Vincent hard. He himself had

bleed, and he had reveled in it. Wanted more. Eric’s blood was wrong. Eric bleeding was wrong,

and Vincent wanted suddenly to kill Anton for it.

“Vincent, look at me.” Anton took Vincent’s chin in his hand. “He’s not hurt. Eric is

bleeding because he wanted to.”

“But … why?”

“For the same reasons you did. He enjoys bleeding for me, the same as you.”

No. Not the same. Eric could not be the same. Eric was better than that. “He should never

bleed. Not for anyone.”

“This is what he likes when he subs. Remember how much you liked it when I made you

bleed?”

Vincent nodded. “But not him. He shouldn’t submit to anyone.”

“Why not?” Anton’s voice remained even and calm, and although he stood between

Vincent and the bed, his posture was relaxed and he didn’t block Vincent’s view.

“He’s too good for that. He’s pure and perfect.”

Anton smiled, a tiny crook of the left corner of his mouth. “We do agree on those last two

points.”

“I’m not enough for him.”

“Eric’s a switch, sweetheart. No one man will ever be enough for him, unless he’s also a

switch.” Anton laid his hands gently on Vincent’s shoulders. “But here’s what else I know: Eric

loves you. Has since you were children. He may sub to me, but he has eyes for only one man, and

that’s you.” He glanced back at the bed. “Sometimes, when we’ve been in a session, he’s

pretended I was you.”

“I could never hit him.” Vincent would give everything of himself to Eric; let Eric do

anything to him. But he would never raise a hand to Eric, even in passion. Even if Eric begged

him to. Just didn’t have it in him.

“I wasn’t hitting him at the time.”

“Are you a switch, too?”

“No, I’m a Dom. I only sub for Eric.”

What would make a man like Anton submit? Only one thing Vincent could think of. “You

love him, don’t you?”

Anton nodded.

“You’re in love with him.”

“For years. But he loves you.”

Vincent shook his head. Eric cared for Anton, and if he needed Anton, he should have

Anton. “You could be with us. Live with us. My house is big enough. He could have us both.”

“He already has that.”

“But if you love him, you should be with him. You could Dom him, and I could sub for

him.”

“Do I get a say in this?” Eric was sitting on the edge of the bed, watching them.

Vincent moved toward him instinctively, but Anton caught his arm and held it tight.

“This is the kind of Dom I am, Vincent. Nothing happens without my permission. Could

you stand that for yourself? For Eric?”

Vincent struggled, gaze locked on Eric. He didn’t give a damn about Doms or subs or

switches. Just wanted to get to Eric, and he would fight anyone who stood in his way. Even

Anton.

“Let him go, Anton.”

Vincent glanced up at Anton—saw the annoyance and anger flash in his eyes. Anton let go,

and Vincent launched himself at Eric, falling to his knees and burying his face in Eric’s lap. Just

to touch Eric, reassure himself that Eric was real and whole, lifted Vincent’s spirits. “You were

bleeding.”

Eric stroked Vincent’s hair. “I know, baby. I asked to bleed. It’s okay. I’m not hurt.”

Vincent clung to him with shaking hands.

“Did Anton hurt you at all today? Do anything you didn’t like?”

Vincent shook his head.

“And he didn’t hurt me either. It’s okay. I’m all right. I promise.”

Not all right. Not okay. Vincent wanted to scream. His body shook with pent up emotion or

energy or … something. He didn’t know what, but it made him want to run in circles until he

couldn’t any more. “I want to help you. I need … please, give me something to do. I need to do

something for you.”

“Draw me a bath, then?”

Vincent nodded and got to his feet, turning immediately toward the bathroom.

“He had murder in his eyes when I brought you back like that,” he heard Anton tell Eric.

The sound of running water muffled the rest of the words, and Vincent was glad for that. He

didn’t want to hear Anton’s voice, or Eric’s in that solicitous tone.

A few minutes later Vincent helped Eric into the tub and picked up a washcloth. As Eric

had done with him, he started with Eric’s feet.

“That feels nice, Vincent. Thank you.”

Vincent nodded and settled into his task, taking pleasure from the simple act of cleaning

Eric’s body. The movements and actions came automatically to him. Nice to have something he

didn’t need to think about.

“We need to talk about Anton.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I just … when I saw the blood I panicked.”

“It’s all right. The sight of it can be hard to deal with, especially if it’s not your own. But

you have to know that I wanted that from him. It’s all right to be freaked out, confused, or scared.

Really. Take a deep breath. I don’t want you to black out in the water, baby.”

Vincent nodded and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes as he doubled over at the

waist, clutching his head.

“Vin? Anton! I need help!”

****

Vincent forced his eyes open slowly, feeling as though he’d been drugged. Thoughts fuzzy,

he tried to recall why he’d ended up in bed, why he’d blacked out. Eric and Anton were both with

him—Eric stretched out on the bed next to him and Anton a few feet away in a chair.

“How’re you feeling?” Eric asked.

“Okay. What happened?”

“You freaked out a little over my back.”

Eric’s back? Oh … God. The blood. The bath … Vincent had started Eric a bath and then

blacked out. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Anton spoke up. He moved to sit on Vincent’s other side and laid a hand

on Vincent’s thigh. “From what Eric tells me, you can’t control it.”

Vincent shook his head. “Not very well. I wish I could do better. I’ve tried.”

“What is it about me subbing that you don’t like?” Eric asked him gently.

“You’re too good for that. You don’t belong on your knees. No one deserves to be your

better. Anton should be licking your boots, not the other way round.”

Eric smiled. “I don’t lick Anton’s boots, baby.” Eric shared another meaningful gaze with

Anton, and Vincent wanted to claw Anton’s eyes out for it. “About this whole Anton living with

us thing,” Eric began. “This place is all Anton and I have. We don’t take our relationship beyond

these walls. Anton can’t be a part of our lives outside of the playhouse. He and I aren’t the same

kind of Dom. Anton wants total, complete submission. But that’s something I can’t give him.

There’s too much Dom in me.

“Anton is a Master, and he has slaves. Men who do as they’re told, when they’re told. Men

who obey him. He doesn’t want to see a spark of fire in their eyes—he wants to see abject

worship. Which isn’t wrong at all. And he’s very good to his full-time slaves. They’re both very

happy. But I don’t want that. I want a submissive partner. I don’t want to tell you to cook me a

tilapia dinner and then have you run all over town trying to find tilapia, worrying about what’ll

happen if you can’t find it. I want to tell you to cook me a tilapia dinner and have you go to one

store, not find it, but find filet mignon instead and get that because you know I like it just as well.

I want you to serve, not to slave. I don’t want mindless obedience, I want thoughtful submission.

Do you understand the difference?”

“I do.”

“Is that enough for you?”

Was it? But there was no question, really. Vincent would take whatever he could get. “For

me but … Anton … He’s in love with you. You must know that by now.”

Eric glanced at Anton again. “I know. I love Anton, but I’m not in love with him. Someone

else has had my heart for far too long for there to be room for anyone else in it.”

“But you …” Vincent shook his head, confused. How could Eric submit to a man he wasn’t

in love with? Yet hadn’t he, himself, done so? Submitted to Anton? He wasn’t in love with

Anton. But the rules were different for Eric. “I can’t get my head around you subbing. You’re

worth more than that.”

“Is that what subbing is for you? A thing of worth?”

“Is that wrong?”

“There’s no right or wrong, Vin. But it’s not the same for me. For me, subbing is all about

pleasure. I’m not doing a penance for anything.”

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“Is it?”

Vincent closed his eyes briefly, thinking. Was he doing penance? And if so, for what? He

truly didn’t believe that to be the case. Felt more like he was paying honor to Eric—and Anton, to

a lesser degree—than making up for any kind of crime or lacking on his part. But he couldn’t be

sure and he wondered if it mattered that he couldn’t.

“It’s okay if you are.”

“I don’t know. I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve experienced here, but I don’t know completely

why. If it’s all just sexual, or if it’s about feeling like I deserve it.”

“Here’s a thought to ponder,” Anton offered. “What if it’s both, and more? Deserving it can

mean more than just not being worth anything. Maybe you like it, and you feel you deserve it

because you’ve earned it. BDSM makes you happy, and you deserve to be happy.”

It had never occurred to Vincent that he had earned anything in life like happiness. He had

never pushed the boundaries, never wondered if there was more until recently.

Eric took his hand. “What you offer me is a gift, Vincent. A sub is a privilege for a Dom,

not a right. You are a privilege. And I don’t take your submission lightly.”

Anton cleared his throat. “What do you think about me Domming both of you at once when

you’re here? I could whip you both, spank you both. You get the idea. This way it wouldn’t be

about you or Eric, but about both of you, and sharing the experience with each other. And you

could see how much Eric truly likes it.”

Vincent shifted his weight, thinking. He could share a whipping session with Eric. He

shivered, imagining the burn of pain while he watched Eric take the same. “That sounds

possible.”

“Why don’t we try a little exercise,” Anton began. “Dominance and submission don’t

always have to be about giving physical pain. It can be about simply wielding control. Since I

don’t think either of you is in a place for a whip or anything else, let’s do something different.”

Vincent eyed Anton warily. “What did you have in mind?”

“How do you feel about being degraded?”

“Degraded?”

“Called names, told you’re worthless, being made to crawl on the floor, lick someone’s

feet.” Anton quirked an eyebrow and smirked at Eric.

“Eric’s feet?” Vincent couldn’t keep the eagerness from his voice, couldn’t suppress the

sizzle of excitement that coursed through him, hardening his cock.

“Eric’s, yes, but under my control. You haven’t truly experienced me yet—the way I am

with my real life slaves, but I’d like to see how you react to me in that fashion. Are you

interested?” Vincent’s gaze shifted to Eric and Anton let out a bellowing laugh. “He’s absolutely

yours, Eric. He waits for your approval even in the face of something he obviously wants.” Anton

gestured to Vincent’s tented trousers. “Took me months to get my first slave to respond like that

to the idea of licking my feet, and I still don’t have the second trained so well. Makes me wonder

what I’m doing wrong.”

“Maybe I have cuter feet.” Eric chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think you’ve done

anything wrong, my dear. Vincent is a special kind of creature.” He stood and tugged Vincent

along with him. “C’mon, let’s play with Anton for a bit, hmm? Where do you want us?”

“Middle of the room.” Anton moved a chair and ottoman out of the way, then pointed to the

floor. “Vincent, on your knees there. Eric, stand in front of him over here.”

They took their places, Vincent keeping his eyes trained on Anton. He wasn’t quite sure

why—certainly he trusted Anton—but he found himself yet again in completely uncharted

waters. Waters he knew Anton and Eric had traveled so many times before. A little disheartening,

a little unsettling, their past together. Vincent was certain they knew things about each other that

no one else knew. Anton knew how to make Eric bleed, probably how to make him beg as well.

Vincent shook it off, though. He didn’t want to make Eric do either of those things himself. Best

that Anton could and did, and would continue to do so.

How he would deal with their first submission together, Vincent didn’t know. He hoped that

he would become so caught up in his own pleasure that he would overlook his feelings about Eric

being someone’s sub. Or at least be able to push them to the back, away from his focus. He

wasn’t sure, but he would try. Anything for Eric. Anything at all.

Anton went into the bathroom and returned naked, holding a robe, which he handed to Eric.

“Since you’re new to this, I’ll give you a little more explanation than I usually would,” Anton

told Vincent as Eric slid the robe on. “You’re going to watch as I play with Eric. Maybe I’ll touch

him, maybe I’ll suck him off, maybe I’ll even fuck him. But you’re to stay right where you are.

No moving unless you’re told to. No speaking unless you’re spoken to. If you’re a good boy, if

you’re obedient and do as you’re told, you’ll earn a reward.”

Vincent trembled at the words good boy. “May I ask what the reward is?”

Anton grinned. “Eric, of course.”

In that case, he would be good. Oh, he would be very, very good.

“But you must prove your worth. Because frankly, you don’t deserve Eric’s attention, do

you?”

So the game had started. Vincent thought quickly; no sounds, yet he had been spoken to.

“No,” he answered, wondering if he should elaborate or make his answers as quick as possible.

“Of course you don’t. Because you’re nothing but a piece of trash. Just a filthy whore.”

Anton spat on the floor in front of Vincent. “Look what you made me do. Lick that up.”

Vincent leaned forward and licked up the wad of spit, carpet rough on his tongue. He had

no idea why this made his cock hard, but it did, and he loved it. He ought to be disgusted with

this, with himself. But he wasn’t.

“That’s right, lick the floor you little bitch.” Anton gestured to Eric. “Do you want him,

Vincent?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it. Crawl to him. Lick his feet. Worship him.”

Vincent crawled toward Eric and pressed his face to Eric’s feet, licking the tops, the action

swelling his cock impossibly. He heard a soft moan and looked up. Eric’s brown eyes stared

down at him hotly, as though possessed. Ah. So, he had found Eric’s weakness. He kept the eye

contact with Eric as he plunged his tongue in between each toe.

“Enough. Undress him for me. Use your teeth,” Anton commanded, reaching a hand down

to stroke his own cock. “Do it good, whore. Make me get hard watching you.”

Vincent rose up on his knees and worked the knot of Eric’s robe loose with his teeth,

pulling and tugging on it until it gave.

“Very good, very good. Maybe you’re useful for something after all. Do you think you

are?”

“No,” Vincent whispered, shocked by how much he actually meant it.

“Good answer.” Anton moved to stand behind Eric, pulled the robe off his shoulders

slowly. “We’re going to play. If you’re good, maybe we’ll let you join.” Anton slid his hands

down Eric’s back and Eric arched to the touch, his gaze never leaving Vincent’s. One of Anton’s

hands came around to stroke Eric’s cock, the other Vincent couldn’t see.

“Tell him where my other hand is, Eric. Tell him what I’m doing with it.”

Eric smiled lazily. “He’s finger fucking my ass, Vincent.”

Vincent gasped, cock leaking. He licked his lips, gazing at Eric’s rock hard cock as it

bounced in Anton’s hand.

“You want to suck his cock, don’t you?” Anton asked.

“Yes.” Vincent nodded quickly.

“Do you think you deserve to put your filthy whore lips on his cock?”

“No …”

“No, you don’t. They’re much too dirty to touch him. Eric’s too good for you. You are

nothing but a pathetic, whiny little cocksucker. Just a bitch. Nothing more. Just a piece of shit,

aren’t you?”

“Yes …” Vincent shuddered with excitement. Didn’t make sense that those words aroused

him, but they did, and he reveled in it. He had come to realize that he shouldn’t question what

turned him on in this place.

“Run your hands up and down your chest, Eric.”

Eric stared at Vincent, did as he was told, sliding his hands up and down his own body.

“Play with your nipples. Enjoy it. Let him know you enjoy it.”

Eric pinched his nipples and gasped.

“Now reach down, rub your balls. Mmmm … Just like that … I know you like that.”

Vincent’s balls tightened and a moan slipped past his lips. He swallowed hard, hoping that

wouldn’t count against the no-talking rule.

“You like to watch him touch himself, don’t you, Vincent?”

“Yes.”

“He’s quite sexy like this, isn’t he? Is your cock hard, Vincent?”

“Yes.” Vincent answered, breathless, cock throbbing. His gaze stayed riveted to Eric’s

groin as Anton kept working his cock with one hand, the other still not visible.

“What do you think, Eric? Do you want him? Do you want those dirty, nasty lips on your

cock? Even though he’s not worthy of you?”

“Mmmm, yes. I want him.” Eric thrust his hips forward, fucking Anton’s hand.

Anton stopped stroking, just held Eric’s cock in his hand. “Beg me, Vincent. Beg me to let

you suck Eric’s cock.”

Vincent cringed, but he was so hard, aching with need, and Eric was so beautifully aroused.

He could see a gleaming dribble of precum hanging from the tip of Eric’s cock. “Please, please. I

need him. Anton please, let me.”

“Let you what? I want to hear you say it. I want to hear the words on your lips.”

Say the words? Vincent wasn’t sure he could. He had never asked for anything sexual in his

life. He hung his head, trying to muster the courage.

“Vincent?”

“Please … Anton … let me suck Eric’s cock.”

Eric’s head fell back with a moan. Anton pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You

may suck his cock, but don’t make him come.”

Vincent craned his neck at what he hoped was the right angle for complete success,

humming happily when he was indeed able to take the entire length of Eric’s cock. He fought

down that initial gag reflex as he felt it brush against the back of his throat. Slowly, he managed

to set a rhythm and Eric responded, thrusting against him. Vincent glanced up. Anton’s eyes were

intent on the scene before him, one hand now massaging his own cock, the other holding Eric’s

steady.

“Good boy, Vincent,” Anton murmured.

Vincent groaned around Eric’s cock, the sensation of it causing Eric to thrust his hips

forward even harder. Anton moved and laid his hand on the back of Vincent’s neck, holding him

immobile. “Fuck his mouth,” Anton commanded Eric. “Fuck his mouth hard.”

Vincent thought to struggle, but only for a fleeting moment. Anton’s stood behind him, legs

against his back. He imagined that Anton’s cock must be nudging his head. The man might come

in his hair, and the thought of it robbed Vincent of any resistance.

He settled back against Anton’s legs and let Eric fuck his mouth. Eric’s thrusts became

quick and urgent; Vincent knew he was close. And then Anton pulled him away. Vincent heard

Eric’s soft cry of abandonment. The same emotion welled up inside himself.

“My slaves don’t come before I do, Vincent. My slaves provide my pleasure first.” Anton

moved to the bed and lay down, beckoning them both to him with a crook of his finger. “Please

me, slaves, and then you may please each other.”

Vincent turned to Eric, startled to see a look of almost feral excitement blazing in his brown

eyes. Eric took his hand and pulled him to the bed, urged him down on Anton’s right while he

took Anton’s left.

“Eric will pleasure my cock and balls, Vincent will pleasure my nipples.” Anton took

Vincent’s chin in his hand. “Pain pleases me, Vincent. Understand?”

“Yes.” Pain. Vincent, who had barely gotten comfortable with the concept of receiving pain

for himself, wasn’t sure if he could inflict it on another person. True, he had done so with Eric,

but that had been different. That had been done with love. He knew instinctively that the pain

Anton wanted was much more intense.

Vincent glanced at Eric, already between Anton’s legs with Anton’s cock in his mouth. He

watched for a moment as Eric pulled his lips back and used his teeth, raking them up and down

Anton’s cock. Anton’s hands fisted in the sheets, twisting them tightly.

“Vincent!” Anton’s tone was sharp, demanding, with just a tiny, tiny twinge of desperation,

and Vincent thought he understood now. Anton couldn’t get there without pain. While Vincent

himself needed the pain to drag out his emotions, Anton needed it to orgasm.

Vincent leaned in, caught Anton’s left nipple between his teeth and bit down hard. Anton

bucked beneath him, hissing and nodding.

“Good boy. More.”

Those two words again: good boy. The tone Anton said them in—that appreciative, proud

tone—made them sound like genuine praise, and Vincent discovered he really, really liked it. He

bit down again on Anton’s nipple, grating his teeth back and forth, practically chewing.

“Mmmm … yes … yes … like that … that’s good.”

Vincent found Anton’s words strangely erotic, found himself wanting to please Anton so he

would keep talking.

Anton jerked and thrust against Eric’s mouth. “Bite me, Eric ... Like that. God … your

mouth is so good …”

Vincent could hardly stand it, the jealousy and outrage broke against him like waves, but he

could not move away. So sensual, so erotic. And the sounds Anton made!

Anton writhed and moaned, bucking and thrashing. “I’m going to come,” he warned. “I’m

going to come. Suck it out of me, Eric. Swallow it. Drink me. Yeeesss!”

Vincent shifted his gaze so he could watch Eric swallowing Anton’s cum.

“Good … very … very good,” Anton panted. “I’d like to watch you enjoy each other now.”

Vincent barely had time to register the words before Eric knocked him onto his back and

pinned him to the bed, kissing him savagely. Eric spun around, thrusting his cock into Vincent’s

face while he dove his mouth onto Vincent’s. Vincent sighed happily and returned Eric’s

attention. No sooner had he started, though, than Anton pulled Eric off him. Vincent nearly

snarled this time. God damn Anton anyway. He had done what Anton had wanted; he had earned

his reward!

“Sorry, boys, but I want a little bit of a better show than this.” Anton leaned over and

rummaged in the drawer of the nightstand, withdrawing a dildo that made Vincent gasp and Eric

drool. He handed a bottle of lube to Eric. “Get him ready for you, and this ready for him.”

Frowning, Vincent watched Eric pour a generous amount of lube onto his hands. He slicked

up the dildo first, then Vincent’s cock.

“Hands and knees in the middle of the bed,” Anton instructed Eric, then smiled at Vincent.

“You’re going to fuck him while I fuck you with this.” He held up the shining dildo.

“That’s …” Vincent’s mouth had gone suddenly dry. “That’s rather large.” Bigger around

than Eric’s cock.

“Are you asking me to stop?”

Vincent glanced at Eric, who had somehow managed to compose himself. Though Eric

faced away from him, Vincent could see Eric’s hands glistening with lube. His cock hung down

between his legs, swaying gently, hard and thick, wet with a combination of his own precum and

Vincent’s spit. Insane pleasure to have the dildo inside him with his cock inside Eric. No. No way

in hell Vincent wanted to stop now. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“Good.” Anton grinned widely. “Now assume the position.”

Eric reached back and parted his ass cheeks with one hand. Vincent settled on his knees

behind Eric, and Anton nodded to him. “Don’t be gentle. He doesn’t like gentle, do you, Eric?”

Eric shook his head.

Vincent filled Eric’s ass with his cock in one swift movement, burying himself to the root,

fully flush with Eric’s body. Eric cried out and bucked back against him; clawed at the sheets

frantically.

“Fuck me!” Eric shouted.

Vincent felt the dildo slide into him and nearly lost control. So thick, so long, it burned and

stretched him wonderfully. He felt as though it might rip him in two, but he welcomed it. He

began to thrust into Eric faster.

“Yeesss …” Eric groaned. “Oh … god, yes, Vincent!”

“You like being fucked while you fuck him, don’t you?” Anton’s breath hot against

Vincent’s ear.

“Ahhh … yes … Yes I do …”

“How do you want it?” Anton slid the dildo in and out of Vincent’s ass. “Hard or soft? Fast

or slow?”

“Harder … Faster …”

“What if I do this?” He twisted the dildo around in a corkscrew fashion.

“Fuck!” Vincent screamed the word. Unable to form thoughts, he simply yelled: “Again!

Again! Do it again! Do it again!”

Anton kept at it, alternately thrusting and twisting the dildo.

Vincent continued to thrust himself into Eric wildly, blindly. He was lost, completely and

utterly unaware of anything that was happening beyond the thrilling, burning, searing pleasure

rolling through his body. He heard Eric call out his name, knew Eric had found his own climax.

But Vincent wasn’t done. He held off as long as he could, loving the feeling of Eric’s ass and the

dildo, needing them both to go on and on. He had never known such pleasure in his life.

Unspeakably deplorable, but it felt unspeakably wonderful.

He was sobbing by the time his own climax finally came, bringing with it white-hot, painful

pleasure. His cum filled Eric so powerfully that it spilled out. “Don’t stop!” he begged Anton,

wanting the pleasure in his ass to go on while he rode the pleasure of his cock. “Don’t stop!” He

sobbed the words repeatedly. He was barely cognizant of the fact that he was no longer inside

Eric, and that Eric had in fact moved out from underneath him.

Eric knelt in front of him. “Vin?”

“Don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

Eric reached out to him, placed his hands on Vincent’s face. “Baby, take a breath. Calm

down.”

“No! No! Don’t stop! Please! Eric, don’t let him stop! Don’t let him stop! I don’t want him

to stop! Please!”

“Shhh …” Eric looked back at Anton, who was still twisting and thrusting. “Easy Vin,” Eric

cooed.

“Don’t stop! Please! Please! Please!” Vincent was crying in earnest now, tears spilling

down his face. He had lost all sense of anything, anything but the blinding pleasure in his ass. He

never wanted it to end. He could feel his cock stiffening up again; all he wanted was to come,

again and again, and to feel the pleasure and pain Anton was giving him. He didn’t even care

where it came from, only that it continued. “Please!”

“It’s all right, I won’t stop.” Anton urged him down to lie on his belly on the bed, trapping

his cock beneath him. Vincent fucked his hips into the bed.

“I want to come again,” he sobbed. “I need to come again. Help me, Eric. Please. Help me.

Touch me. Make me come!”

“Shhh … It’s all right. Lift up a little bit. I’ll help you.” Eric reached under him and took

Vincent’s cock in hand. He stroked slowly, running his fingers up and down, teasing the little slit

at the back of his head. His other hand rubbed Vincent’s balls, rolling them back and forth and

squeezing. Eric made a loose fist around Vincent’s cock. “Fuck my hand, baby. Pretend it’s my

ass and fuck it.”

Wild with pleasure, Vincent matched the thrusting of his hips to the thrusting of the dildo,

so that he met Anton’s every inward stroke. Eric’s hand gradually tightened, and if Vincent

closed his eyes, he could imagine that it wasn’t Eric’s hand but his splendidly tight ass. “Yes!

Yes! Ohhhh …”

Vincent collapsed. He groaned and grunted for several more minutes, riding the waves of

ecstasy as they rolled through his body. “Yes … Yes … God ... ohhh … god … yes …”

Vincent opened his eyes just in time to see Eric and Anton as they climaxed at the same

time, spilling their semen on each other’s thighs. Anton raised the dildo to his lips and licked it.

“Mmmm …” he purred. “Your ass tastes wonderful, Vin.”

Exhausted as he was, the words still managed to send a shiver of pleasure up Vincent’s

spine.

“Have you tasted his ass yet, Eric?”

“I have. He’s delicious.” Eric stretched out beside Vincent and pulled him close. “Every

inch of you is delicious.”

“What do you think, Vincent? Is this something we can do again?”

Vincent nodded. “Maybe … you could whip us next time, too.”

Anton grinned widely and chuckled. “I would certainly enjoy that.” He lay down on

Vincent’s other side and stroked a hand up and down Vincent’s chest. “I enjoyed you very much

tonight. Next time, I would like you to suck me.

And …” He raked his nails down the side of Vincent’s thigh. “Next time, it’ll be my cock up your

ass while you fuck Eric, not a toy. Does that sound good?”

“It does,” Vincent answered with a shiver.

“You enjoyed yourself then?” Eric asked, pressing a kiss to Vincent’s forehead.

“Yeah … I think this can work.”

“You liked it when Anton called you a good boy,” Eric observed.

Vincent cast a glance at Anton. “I did. I liked that a lot.”

“That’ll be your pet name then. My good boy,” Anton whispered it against Vincent’s ear. If

velvet had a sound, Vincent was certain it sounded like Anton’s voice.

Vincent looked back and forth between them. “Thank you. Thank you both for all of this.”

“It’s not over yet.” Eric propped himself up on an elbow. “There’s one more room I want

you to try out tonight, but you’ll have to trust me. Okay?”

Vincent nodded again. He trusted Eric with his very life; he would trust him with this. With

all things. “Lead the way.”

Eric chuckled. “I said tonight. For now, I’m exhausted. I don’t know about Anton, but I’m

due for a nice little cuddle and a nap.”

Anton smiled sweetly and laid his head down on Vincent’s shoulder. “I’m not going

anywhere.”

Vincent sighed happily as Eric and Anton settled in next to him, relaxed and sated. Yes, this

would work very, very well.

****

“Remember, you can give the word. You have all the power, Vincent.”

“I don’t want to say it.” But he should. God, he should. This—this above all else—was

wrong. He’d been whipped until he came, until he’d bled. He’d let other men touch him, fuck

him, blow him. He’d let someone pour piss on him, for God’s sake. Why not this?

He wanted it just as much as he had wanted the other acts. Such a simple thing. Reach

down, take his cock in his hand, and stroke. Masturbate. His stomach lurched, though, tightening

into a knot of nausea at the thought.

“You don’t have to do this,” Eric whispered.

Eric. Sweet, kind, patient Eric. Eric always gave him a way out. But he did have to do this.

If he could not, then he knew deep down inside that his healing, for that’s what this surely was,

would never be complete.

Vincent sighed. He had been safe all his life. Never gone for broke, never all or nothing.

Always stopped just shy of the top. He realized it had happened that way with everything. His job

—not CEO like he could be, like he should be, but number two. His house—not the big, lavish,

expensive one he had wanted, could have afforded, but the next biggest one. His relationships—

not men, but women, and even that he couldn’t go full circle. He’d been stringing Jenny along for

years now, even after the marriage proposal that he knew he hadn’t really meant.

Always almost. Never quite. But good enough. No. He shook his head. Not good enough.

He wanted five things right now, in one specific order: he wanted to jerk off, he wanted to

propose to Eric, he wanted to sell his house—buy the one he’d wanted, or one just as nice, and he

wanted to leave Jenny.

There. He had said it. Or at least thought it, and that was something. Had to be something.

All he had. He turned his face to Eric’s, kissed those sweet, frowning lips. “I think I need some

help.”

So much meaning behind those words, so many things he wanted to convey. Eric’s eyes

widened and he stared at Vincent with an almost childlike awe and wonder. He knew. He

understood. Eric nodded. “I’m here.”

Again, the words meant so much more. Vincent closed his eyes with a sigh and settled his

body back against Eric’s, hunkering into the warmth of Eric’s arms. He let Eric take his hand and

guide it down to his own crotch. Vincent tensed at that first touch, years of instinct screaming at

him. Perversely wrong instinct.

“Breathe,” Eric whispered. Eric’s lips sucked at his earlobe, teeth scraping. His hand stayed

on top of Vincent’s, fingers just brushing Vincent’s cock.

The smallest of touches, but Vincent felt it bolster him. He wrapped his fingers around his

cock, slid his hand up, then down. Slowly at first, feeling every inch of himself. Feeling his

width, his length. Feeling how the ridges and veins bumped under his fingers, how the shaft felt

solid and hard, but the head felt spongy and soft, almost like velvet.

“Can you look down?” Eric asked.

He didn’t know if he could or not. Or if he wanted to. Might break the spell. Eric wanted

him to, and he had already discovered that he wanted to give Eric anything the man asked for. At

least try to. Vincent opened his eyes, lifted his head away from the precious safety of Eric’s

shoulder, and looked down. The movement of his hand faltered and he felt Eric’s entire body

squeeze him tight.

“Just look at how beautiful you are,” Eric whispered.

“Beautiful?”

“Mmhmm. Lovely. And very, very sexy, Vincent. Makes me hard watching you like this.”

Eric ground his hips against Vincent’s ass. “Makes me want to feel your hands on me.”

“Want you …”

“And I want you. So much I want to do with you when you’re ready.”

Eric’s voice was low and soft, filled with lust, and Vincent felt it slide through his veins.

“Tell me what you’d do to me.”

Eric sighed and pressed his lips to Vincent’s cheek. “I have these red satin sheets at home.

I’d love to see you naked on them, spread before me, with your cock hard and your wrists tied to

the bed posts.”

Vincent moaned and thrust his hips, gripping his cock harder. Eric’s fingers tightened

around his.

“I’d take my time with you, drive you crazy with my tongue first. I would lick you

everywhere—your thighs, your nipples—flick my tongue across them and watch them turn hard

like our cocks. I’d suck them and bite them, and then I’d move down to your ass.”

Vincent sped up his hand, the imagery of Eric’s words making him burn.

“I’m imagining that now: us in a sixty-nine position, my tongue licking at your hole and

yours licking at mine. I can feel it if I close my eyes—your tongue so warm and wet and thick

inside my ass. Oh, god, Vincent.” Eric rocked his hips.

Vincent whimpered and trembled. So close … so goddamn close. He worked his cock

faster, pumping and pumping, even as that little voice nagged at him. He tried to shut it out, but

with Eric quiet he could hear nothing else. “Talk,” he begged. “Talk to me. Say anything. Recite

the fucking alphabet, I don’t care. Just talk. I need to hear you.”

“Feels good to be with you like this, Vincent,” Eric began again. “To have your body

writhing on top of mine, to feel the sweet curve of your ass cradling my cock, rubbing against me.

I’ve wanted this for so long, dreamed of it. When I touch myself, I think of you. I imagine your

hands on me, and I imagine my cock is yours—that I’m stroking you. And you’re so beautiful in

those fantasies. Just as beautiful as you are now. I love the way you look right now, your skin all

damp and shiny, your hair sticking to your forehead, and your face flushed. Makes me want to

touch myself. Would you like to see that?”

“Yes,” Vincent nearly blurted the answer. The erection he had struggled to maintain burst

back to life in his hand, cock heavy and thick; full. “Please.”

Eric scooted out from under him and moved to straddle his legs.

Vincent sucked in a breath at the feeling of almost having Eric’s weight on him. “Can you

pin my legs somehow?”

Eric shifted, settling his full weight on Vincent’s thighs. “How’s that?”

“Oh, god,” Vincent moaned. “Eric …”

Eric reached down and began to stroke his own cock with one hand, the other he slid

between Vincent’s legs. Eric gently touched Vincent’s balls, rubbing in a circular motion.

“Mmmm … I love to touch you, Vincent.”

Vincent closed his eyes for a moment, tried to find that place of bliss in his head. Eric’s

touch sent fire spiraling through him and it felt so damned good. But his head began to throb and

tears stung his eyes. “No,” he sobbed the word brokenly. “Not now, please!”

“Easy, Vin.” Eric stilled his hand but didn’t pull it away. “You don’t have to do this all in

one weekend.”

“I want this!” Vincent snarled. The warmth of shame spread over his cheeks and down his

neck. “Please … I … I just want to be normal.”

“Baby, there’s no such thing as normal.” Eric leaned down over him and brushed a kiss to

his lips.

“I’m such a freak,” he whispered.

“No, you’re not.”

But he was. Nothing but a broken, worthless freak, and Eric would be better off without

him. As much as it broke his heart to do so, he said the words anyhow. “You … you should find

someone else. I’m not … you deserve better than this. Than some loser who can’t even jerk off.”

Eric sat back on his heels. “You’re not a loser, Vin.

This …” He gestured to their cocks, and then to the room. “This doesn’t matter to me. There are

plenty of other things we can do; things we have already done. Whether or not you can

masturbate means nothing to me.”

Nothing. That word cut so deep. Too deep. Vincent wiggled his legs. “Let me up.” Eric

moved and Vincent got to his feet, pacing. “It means something to me. It’s a basic human thing

and I can’t do it. You can’t understand.”

“Can’t I? Growing up not wanting to play sports like I should. Not liking girls like I should.

Not wanting to get married, father a child, and spend the rest of my life pandering to should?”

Eric rose and stood in front of him, blocking his path. “You know what I’ve realized? There is no

should. There is no rulebook, baby. There is no referee, no scorecard. There isn’t even a game

plan. We all just muddle through, making the best choices we can for ourselves. There’s no

normal or abnormal. There’s only life and what we make of it. We can spend it trying and failing

at something we were never meant for, or we can embrace who we are.”

“If that’s true …” Vincent paused, needing to take a breath around the stifling pain in his

heart. “Then why do I hurt so goddamn much inside?”

Eric blinked rapidly; tears sparkling in his eyes. “Because you’re human, baby. We are

hardwired to try to please everyone. We’re also hardwired to think it’s all our fault when we

can’t. Think back to your childhood, to your dad. Why wouldn’t you let me tell anyone about

that?”

Vincent shrugged. “Because … I thought I deserved it.”

“Why?”

“I couldn’t do anything right.” He had been through all this in therapy. What difference did

it make now?

“Who decided what was right?”

“My dad did. You know that.”

“But he was wrong back then, wasn’t he?”

Vincent nodded. “Of course he was.”

“And who’s deciding what’s right now?”

“I am.”

Eric frowned. “Really? Is that what you think? Or are you letting him decide for you?”

“I …”

“Do you, Vincent, really think masturbation is wrong? Am I wrong because I do it?”

“No, you—”

“Would you leave me if I couldn’t, or didn’t want to?”

“Of course not. That’s ridiculous. It’s not your fault if—” Vincent trailed off, realization

dawning.

“Then why is it your fault?”

“I guess it’s not.”

Eric stepped closer and slid his arms around Vincent’s waist, pressing their naked bodies

together. “Say it.”

“It’s not my fault.” Vincent’s eyes widened, surprised at how four simple words made the

pain in his heart fade a little. He took a deep breath, felt for the first time as if he was actually

breathing in life.

“Say it again.”

“It’s not my fault.” All that time and money spent in therapy, and this was what worked.

Eric nuzzled Vincent’s neck, ran his hands up and down Vincent’s back. “I love you.” He

shifted, kissing the other side of Vincent’s neck, his collarbone, and shoulder. “And I want you

more than anyone I’ve ever known. All that matters to me is that you feel the same. The rest we

can work out as we go. Okay?”

Vincent nodded. Maybe Eric’s words had sunk in, or maybe it was just the feel of Eric’s

lips on his skin, but he believed. For the first time in his life, he actually believed in something. “I

love you. I want this to work.”

“I know, baby.” Eric hugged him hard, then took a step back. “Listen, we’ve got about three

hours before we really, really have to leave. Why don’t we spend them in our room?”

“I don’t know how far I can go. I know that’s stupid, considering.”

Eric shook his head. “It’s not stupid. We don’t have to do anything at all. Let’s just spend

some quiet time with each other. What do you say?”

Quiet time. Time to lay with Eric, in his arms, and just be. “Sounds wonderful.”

****

“Care to join me for a shower first?” Eric asked once they got back to their room.

Vincent nodded. He followed Eric into the bathroom, put the lid down on the toilet and sat

while Eric ran the water.

“Ah. Nice and hot.” Eric slid his clothes off and got in. He held the curtain back and peered

at Vincent through the already thick steam.

Vincent quickly shed his own clothing, feeling a little overwhelmed and nervous. He

chuckled, stepping in. “I feel like I’ve never been intimate with anyone before. I don’t know what

to do.”

“Trust your instincts, baby. If they say pull away, then pull away. If they say touch me, then

touch me. If they say do nothing, then do nothing. There are no expectations here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He touched Vincent’s cheek. “Sometimes a shower is just a shower.”

Just a shower. Right.

Eric poured out some shower gel onto his hands and gave the bottle to Vincent. “I’ll wash

your back if you wash mine.”

Vincent smiled and turned his back to Eric. Eric’s hands glided over his back, pressing and

massaging. He remembered wanting Eric to scratch him. “Scratch a little?”

“Isn’t your back still sore?”

“Yeah.” Vincent glanced at Eric over his shoulder. “Scratch?”

Eric grinned. “Turn around.”

Vincent turned and Eric’s arms came around him. He felt Eric’s nails rake lightly down his

back and he gasped, pressing his chest against Eric’s. He managed to get some shower gel onto

one of his hands so he could soap Eric’s back while they cuddled. He scratched his fingernails

over Eric’s back, felt Eric’s body go rigid. “I’m sorry. You don’t like that.”

“Yeah … I do. Felt … Wow. Yeah, I like that. I’ve had sand paper used on my back, but

never nails.” Eric chuckled. “It’s the simple things.”

So that’s what the sand paper in the torture room had been for. Interesting idea, and

thinking of it reminded Vincent of the clamps. “Do you ever use clamps?”

“Quite often. I really like alligator clamps; the ones with the little saw teeth? But I can’t

wear them for as long as I want. I use them on my nipples, mostly, but I like clothespins on my

nuts, too. I’ve tried having my cock clamped, but the pain was too much.”

Vincent hissed in a breath as Eric’s nails touched a particularly sore spot. “Seems like it

would be the opposite. Like your balls would be more tender.”

“You’d be surprised what your nuts can take.”

“Apparently. I’d like to try having my nipples clamped.”

“I think we can work that in. Anton probably won’t let you do it this weekend, though. He’s

very cautious with beginners—likes to introduce them slowly—and he won’t mix types of pain.

That’s why I wanted him to handle you for your first experience. I know it seems frustrating, but

it’s really for your own good.”

“You’d give it all to me at once, wouldn’t you?”

Eric grinned. “Baby, as beautifully as you cry out and as sweetly as you beg, I wouldn’t be

able to control myself. I’d give you everything and more.”

“I want everything and more.”

“Patience, grasshoppa.”

Vincent laughed and relaxed into Eric’s arms. They scratched each other’s backs for a few

minutes, until Vincent felt that ache rise up inside him, and the touch was no longer enough.

Vincent closed his eyes and let his instincts guide him. He took one of Eric’s hands, brought it to

his mouth like he had that first night they had shared a bed. He kissed and licked up and down

Eric’s wrist, felt Eric’s fingers curl around his own, heard Eric’s soft intake of breath. Vincent

nibbled a little over Eric’s pulse and Eric moaned. Smiling, he nibbled harder, using his teeth to

tent up a little bit of skin and bite down. That earned him a groan and a shiver, and he smiled,

thrilled to know that he could elicit such responses from Eric.

“I really like that,” Eric murmured.

Vincent turned his attention to Eric’s palm, circling the tip of his tongue around and around.

Tiny tremors shook Eric’s hand, but he didn’t pull it away. Vincent parted Eric’s fingers gently,

slid his index finger into his mouth and sucked lightly.

“Damn …”

He glanced up, uncertain until he saw the look of lust and hunger in Eric’s eyes. Eric kept

his gaze locked on Vincent, not on his hand as Vincent had expected. Really, it was all about the

connection between them, rather than the physicality. And what about the physicality? Vincent

felt the beginnings of his own erection and sucked harder on Eric’s finger, as if the action could

somehow encourage his cock.

Eric’s other hand rested on Vincent’s hip, fingers sliding back and forth over the skin there,

making a warm spot that Vincent could feel all the way through. Vincent moved closer, brushed

his body against Eric’s and gasped, unprepared for the new shock of pleasure that coursed

through him.

“I’ve got that ammunition now, if you’re still interested.”

Ammunition? What on earth … oh. Oh! “Pee?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve been saving it up for you, but I’m gonna burst. Only if you still want me to,

of course.”

Vincent’s heart began to pound and he went down on his knees. “Yes.”

Eric chuckled softly, cock in hand. He let go a little sigh as the stream of piss started.

Vincent opened his mouth, letting the hot liquid flow in. He swallowed a little, felt the rest

run down his chin and neck. He caught some in his hand and rubbed it all over his face, threaded

it through his hair, and ran his hands down his chest, coating his nipples.

“Wow.” Eric’s voice was husky and raw. “That is fucking hot.”

Vincent caught the last few drops in his mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” Eric commanded. He offered a hand to Vincent and pulled him to his feet.

“Give me a taste.”

Vincent opened his mouth, let Eric thrust his tongue inside and swirl it around. And then

Eric completely surprised him: Eric covered his mouth with his, sucked some of the urine away,

stood back, and swallowed. “Delicious. Maybe one day you can piss on me.”

Vincent thrust himself bodily at Eric, desperate and more aroused than he’d ever been. He

let the remainder of the urine dribble from his lips onto Eric’s chest. “Touch me.”

Eric’s lips turned up into a sweet, happy smile and his hands began to roam. Vincent sighed

and shuddered as Eric’s fingers danced over his skin, palms grazing his nipples. His chest arched

of its own accord as Eric tweaked his nipples, rolling them around between his fingers and

pinching hard. “Yes …”

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Yes … please …” Vincent need not have begged, though he would have.

“Lower?”

Vincent nodded quickly, not wanting to waste this moment, this bravery. He gasped as

Eric’s hand found his cock, fingers wrapping around. He thrust his hips forward on instinct,

craving Eric’s touch.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck my hand. Feels so good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes … god … Eric…” Eric’s other hand moved back to Vincent’s chest, tweaking and

flicking Vincent’s nipples. Eric lost himself in the feel of Eric, in the terrible, sweet pressure

steadily building inside him. Felt like he was going to split in two. He came with a strangled cry,

nearly falling forward onto his knees. Eric caught him around the waist and pressed him close,

murmuring in his ear. He suddenly became aware of how drastically the water temperature had

changed. They had used up all the hot water and now stood under a nearly freezing torrent.

“Come on.” Eric guided him out of the shower and over to the towel bar that hung above a

heat vent in the floor. “Stand over this.” He flipped a switch on the wall, activating the heat.

Vincent cuddled into the soft towels, warm air blowing up his body. Eric stood behind him,

pressed tight against his back. Violent shivers raced up and down his spine. “Easy, baby. It’s all

right. You’ll be warm in a minute.”

“Was good. Wonderful.” Vincent clenched his jaw against the chattering of his teeth that no

longer had anything to do with cold. “Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me, baby.”

“I want … to return the favor. I want to m-make you come.”

Eric chuckled and kissed the back of Vincent’s neck. “You already did. I came just a few

seconds after you did. You were so beautiful when you came, I couldn’t hold back.”

How utterly humbling, that he could bring Eric to that place without even touching his cock.

How powerful, too, though he knew he never wanted to wield that kind of power over anyone,

especially not Eric. Vincent turned in Eric’s arms, burying his head against his shoulder and

clutching at his chest.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Eric petted Vincent’s hair. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Scared,” he admitted. “Scared that if I let go, you’ll disappear. I’ll lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Vincent nodded. “I know.” At least, he knew rationally. His brain knew. His heart, on the

other hand, felt only terror and uncertainty. Eric was his lifeline in all of this, and if he somehow

lost his grip on Eric, or made Eric leave, he would be lost and he knew it. “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t. Warm enough yet?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s move this to the bed. What do you say?”

Wouldn’t be much longer before his legs gave out on him anyhow, so he nodded and let

Eric lead him to the bed. They crawled under the covers together, Vincent never taking his hands

off Eric, and Eric never breaking eye contact with Vincent. Eric pulled him close, rocked him

gently in his arms.

“May I touch you?”

Eric nodded. “Of course you can, baby. Anywhere you want.”

Vincent trailed his hands down Eric’s chest, feeling the flat planes there, then lower to his

belly—flat as well, but in a different way, harder. More muscle and less bone. Down over Eric’s

hip, side of his thigh and then around to grip his left ass cheek.

Eric sighed and wiggled his ass with a little giggle.

“Will you turn over on your side?” Vincent felt desire flame to life again. He wanted to

touch every inch of Eric, see every inch, taste every inch. A thing of lust, but also of need.

Eric turned, keeping his body close to Vincent’s.

Vincent slid down so that his face was inches away from Eric’s ass. He parted those cheeks

then, pressed his nose against Eric’s skin and breathed deeply, fascinated by how different he

smelled here, and how, even fresh from a shower, Eric’s skin still retained his own personal

scent. He traced a finger around the rim of Eric’s puckered opening. Not what he had expected it

would feel like. He had thought it would feel rough, but instead it felt quite smooth and soft.

Eric moaned and pressed back against his finger. “You can go inside if you want to.”

“Shouldn’t I use some lube?”

“A little spit will do for now, as long as it’s just a finger or two.”

Vincent brought his finger to his mouth and licked it, leaving a generous amount of spit

before he returned it to Eric’s ass. He pressed against Eric’s opening gently, not really knowing

how hard or how soft he should do this. Giving was definitely different than receiving.

“Little more pressure, baby. It’s not quite like you’re used to doing with women. Takes a

little more oomph.”

Vincent pressed, felt his finger slide in up to the first knuckle. Eric’s muscles twitched

around him. Felt … odd. Squidgy, if that was a word, but good. Comforting, somehow. And hot.

Not just warm, but downright hot. He pressed in more, and Eric’s body contracted around him,

squeezing tight, pulling his finger in the rest of the way until there was no more to pull.

“Mmmm … feels good, baby. Really good.”

Vincent wiggled his finger around, turning it this way and that, until he encountered that

little bump. He ran the tip of his finger over it and Eric cried out inarticulately.

“You can add … another finger,” Eric told him once he caught his breath.

Vincent slowly added a second finger, and then at Eric’s urging, a third. He slid them in and

out, curled them up and down, pressed, flicked, and rubbed that little spot. Eric writhed and thrust

his ass back, impaling himself each time Vincent’s fingers reentered him.

“Vin … I need to come, baby. Cock … hurts. You … want to? Or … me?”

Vincent grinned. “I want to watch you do it. I missed out on that earlier.”

Eric tossed a smile over his shoulder.

Vincent leaned over and watched as Eric reached down, took his own cock into his hand,

and began to stroke and pump it. Eric’s hips rocked in time with Vincent’s fingers, and somehow

Eric managed to match the movement of his hand to that timing as well. Eric gasped and sighed,

panted and moaned, his head thrown back, eyes closed and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

Vincent suddenly understood what Eric had said earlier about beauty. Eric was the most

beautiful thing he had ever seen. Vincent slid his free hand down to his own cock almost

absently. Seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. His turn to gasp then. He

squeezed and tugged on his cock, mimicking Eric’s rhythm.

Eric raised his head and opened his eyes, his attention likely drawn by the movement of

Vincent’s hips. “Vin … god, baby, you’re gorgeous. Come with me, baby.”

“Yes …” Vincent barely remembered to keep finger-fucking Eric. As it was, Eric did most

of the work with Vincent just holding his hand steady. Vincent felt his entire body tense up,

muscles straining against his skin, veins throbbing. So good … so close …

“I love you, Vin,” Eric murmured. “I love to touch myself while you touch yourself. And I

love the feel of your fingers in my ass, baby. You’re so fucking hot, and your body feels so

fucking good against mine. I just want to watch you stroke that hard, hot cock of yours all night

long, baby.”

Vincent nodded, teetering on the edge of control. Almost there. “Talk to me!”

“And then later, do you know what I want, Vin? I want to feel that hard cock of yours up

my ass. I want you to fuck me … I’ll imagine it now … I’ll imagine that your fingers are really

your cock … Oh, god, Vin … fuck me … fuck me hard … yeah, baby … just like that …”

“Eric!” Vincent’s vision blacked, and for a frantic moment, he feared the worst. He heard

Eric cry out his name. And then he felt it. A glorious orgasm ripped through his body as his

release ripped through his cock. “Yes! God! Yes!”

He continued to thrust and pump, milking every drop he could, riding the waves of bliss as

his mind and body raced up a mountain and jumped off, gliding down, down, down into

nothingness.

Eric was atop him then and he wrapped his arms around Eric’s neck and sobbed.

“It’s okay, baby. Let it out. Let go of it.” Eric held him close, rubbing their bodies together,

petting him, kissing his hair, his cheeks, his eyes, everywhere. “I’m so proud of you, Vincent,” he

whispered. “So proud.”

“Eric …” Vincent wanted to speak, wanted to find coherent thought to put these feelings

into words, but he couldn’t. All he could do was cling and cry. And he cried for so many things,

cried like he had never, ever cried before. Cried for the abuse his father had doled out, cried for

his mother’s death, cried for the insults and taunts Eric had endured as they’d grown up, cried for

the lost years with Eric—years they could’ve spent together, had Vincent only known, only

admitted—cried for Jenny, for the lie that was his relationship with her and the horrible thing he

had to do when he got home. And he felt. And his vision stayed clear, except for the blur of tears.

His head didn’t hurt, and he didn’t black out.

Sunday Evening

“You okay over there?”

Vincent shifted his weight nervously. “Yeah.”

“Worried?”

“Yeah.”

Eric took one hand off the wheel and laid it on Vincent’s thigh. “It’s gonna be okay, baby.

Do you want me to come in with you when you talk to Jenny?”

Want? Yes. Think it would be appropriate? No. Not at all. Eric’s presence would only put

Jenny even more on the defensive than she would already be. After all, the words ‘we need to

talk’ never preceded anything fun. No one ever said we need to talk, I won the lottery or we need

to talk, I found the cure for cancer. No, those four words spelled disaster for anyone who heard

them, and quite often the poor soul who uttered them. Him, in this case.

“Vin?”

“Sorry. I want you there, yes. But you can’t be. I’ve got to be fair to Jenny.” They had come

up with the plan as they had dozed in bed last night. Eric would drop Vincent off at home, and

Vincent would break the news to Jenny. He would pack his things, call Eric, and Eric would pick

him up, since he didn’t have a car of his own. He would stay with Eric until Jenny found

somewhere else to live; then he and Eric would move into his house. At least until he bought the

bigger one he wanted. Or not. Vincent had realized last night that none of his other goals, at least

the material ones, mattered to him as long as he had Eric. Maybe the house wouldn’t even seem

all that bad with Eric sharing it.

“How do you think she’ll react?”

Vincent shrugged. “How would you?”

“She gonna start screaming and throwing things at you?”

“I doubt it. The angrier Jenny gets, the quieter she gets. It probably won’t be much of a

conversation. More like me lowering the bomb and her getting crushed by it.”

“You can change your mind.” Eric offered the words, but Vincent saw him glance out of the

corner of his eye, saw Eric’s bottom lip curl up into his teeth’s grip.

“No, I can’t. Even if I wanted to—and I’ll be honest, a part of me does want to. Not because

I don’t want to be with you, but because I don’t want to hurt Jenny. I never did.”

“I know.”

“But it’s not fair to her, either, you know? Living like we have been living. I don’t hate her;

I just don’t love her.” Vincent felt a stab of pain in his chest at those words. Though he had

admitted it to himself already, he had not spoken the words aloud. Doing so seemed like he had

made some sort of a pact with himself.

“You don’t have to convince me, baby. I’ve thought you two were all wrong for each other

for years. I just never said anything.”

“Why not?”

Eric shrugged. “Wasn’t my place, was it? And anyway, you weren’t ready to hear it.”

Vincent hadn’t been ready for many things until this past Thursday, he realized. He felt

better for his time at the playhouse, though. Felt more human, if that were possible, able to take

on the world and, even if not conquer it, at least bend it to his will. He wondered if anyone else

would be able to sense the change in him. Would Jenny know, when he walked in the door?

Would his coworkers realize he had changed? Eventually, certainly. But none of them would

know why, or how, and that gave Vincent a sort of pride. The knowledge that he alone would

understand his transformation and what had brought it about, made him smile.

“What’re you grinning about over there?” Eric asked with a chuckle.

“Nothing. Just … I’m happy. For the first time in a long time.”

“Forgot what it felt like?”

“I don’t know if I ever really knew, to tell you the truth.” Had he known? He had known

what he thought was happy. Known what he thought was supposed to have made him happy,

anyhow, and he had assumed that he was. He remembered that movie, Interview with the

Vampire, where one of the vampires—he couldn’t remember which—saw the world with his

vampire eyes for the first time and was amazed at the brilliance and beauty. Vincent felt that way

now; everything seemed clearer. Prettier. Less bland and boring.

Even the smallest tasks excited him, because now he could share them with Eric. Cooking,

cleaning. Living. All to be shared with someone he loved, who loved him. Vincent shook his

head. Well, Jenny loved him, though, didn’t she? He guessed she did. Like all the other things in

his life, he questioned her reasons for being with him.

Eric nudged him and Vincent looked up to find that they had arrived at his street. Eric

pulled the car into the driveway and turned to him. “Sure you don’t want me to come in with

you?”

“No. I owe her this.” I owe her your absence, even if it’s only physical.

“You’ll call me after you’ve packed, yes?”

“Uh-huh.” Vincent stared out the window blankly, trying hard not to let the situation get the

better of him. He didn’t need to black out now.

“Vin?”

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

Vincent turned his head and saw tears standing in Eric’s eyes.

“I’m worried about you.” Eric swiped at his cheeks and laughed a self-depreciating laugh.

“Sorry. It’s stupid.”

“No.” And Vincent thought to himself that he doubted anyone other than Eric had ever shed

a tear over him. “I’ll be all right, I promise.”

“What if you black out? Has she seen you do that? Does she know what to do?”

Silly questions, and ones that Eric knew the answers to, but Vincent indulged him anyhow.

“Yeah, she knows.”

“Right. Of course she does.” Eric nodded several times, looked away to gaze out the

windshield. “I guess I’m just … You’re mine now, yanno? You belong to me, and I feel like I

should be there. I shouldn’t be so selfish, but there it is.”

Vincent laid a hand on his arm. “Think of it as an ownership surrender, or a divorce. She’s

gotta dot the i’s and cross the t’s before you can truly have me.”

Eric smiled. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for your call.”

Vincent knew the truth of that statement, the literal truth—that Eric would sit with his

phone in his hand waiting, would refuse to answer it for anyone else. He knew as well that if he

didn’t call, Eric would come after him, would break down the door to get to him. “I’ll call as soon

as I’m ready. Shouldn’t take long.”

Vincent leaned across to kiss Eric’s cheek. He got out of the car slowly, turned, and

watched as Eric drove away, fighting down the urge to run after the car screaming for Eric to

come back. He took a deep breath and walked up the brick driveway. He and Jenny had laid the

driveway together two years ago, and already it showed wear. Cracked, split bricks and gaps in

seams that he hadn’t noticed before now stood out boldly, mocking him. He stood for a moment

at the door, gathering his strength and his courage, and then turned the knob.

Shedding his coat and hanging it on the hook by the door, he walked slowly through the

house, past the lavender and pale blue flowered couch Jenny had brought with her—the couch he

hated—past Jenny’s grandmother’s bible and bible stand—ouch—and he had second thoughts

about how well this was going to go.

In the kitchen, Jenny sat perched on a stool at the bar, a half-eaten plateful of spaghetti in

front of her, gazing up at the television mounted in the corner. She glanced at him and nodded but

didn’t speak, attention glued to whatever she was watching.

“Jen?”

“Huh?”

Vincent took another deep breath, let it out slowly. “We need to talk.”

Epilogue

It was dark by the time Vincent finally called Eric. He kept the conversation quick and

brisk, not wanting to wait any longer for Eric’s arrival than he absolutely had to. He needed to be

away from here, and soon. And he was definitely, absolutely, one-hundred-percent buying a new

house. Period.

He stood waiting at the end of the driveway when Eric pulled up, didn’t even let Eric come

to a full stop before he opened the door and shoved his suitcase into the back. He slid into the seat

and slammed the door for good measure, just as he had slammed the front door of the house when

he’d walked out.

“You okay?”

“Please just go.”

Eric looked over at Vincent as they pulled away from the curb, eyes going wide. “Is that

blood on your shirt?”

“Huh? Oh … No.” Vincent wiped at the red stain. “Spaghetti sauce.”

“How—”

“Please. Not yet.” Vincent watched the familiar scenery of his neighborhood pass by, trying

desperately to calm his raging emotions and continuing to fend off the blackout. He clenched his

fists against the swell of anger in his heart.

Things hadn’t gone well. He’d expected as much, but the rage Jenny had unleashed on him

had surpassed even what he’d imagined. Eric had been right. She had not only started screaming

and throwing things—her dinner among them—but she’d physically threatened him as well,

going so far as to pull a knife out of the block on the counter and wave it at him. Right before

she’d called him a bloodthirsty, unfeeling monster. Vincent shuddered at the memory.

He’d tried to reason with her, tried to explain. That had been his ultimate undoing, though.

Jenny had some rather passionate opinions about BDSM and those who practiced it, and she’d

aired every last one of them. Loudly. She had ranted about his past, his childhood and the

blackouts, but it hadn’t been until she had started in on Eric that Vincent had had enough. But too

late. He had let her words worm under his skin, into his heart. Let them touch his soul. And now

he felt bad inside—putrid and rotten. Filthy.

“Vin? Talk to me, baby.”

Vincent shook his head. Everything was still so raw, so fresh. He had no idea how to

process what had happened into words, no idea how to convey what he felt. He couldn’t force his

throat to work, even if he’d wanted to, and he certainly didn’t want to.

Eric touched his knee, but Vincent jumped and pulled his leg away, swatted at Eric’s hand

with irritation. He couldn’t be placated, not now. Not over this.

“Easy.” There was command and authority in Eric’s voice, and a part of Vincent responded

to it, thrilled to it.

They rode in silence to Eric’s apartment, indeed didn’t speak to each other until well after

Vincent had unpacked his clothes. Eric took Vincent gently by the arm and led him to the living

room. He sat down on the couch and motioned to the floor by his feet. “Sit.”

Vincent sat, glad that Eric had taken control for them both.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I’d rather you flayed me open with a belt.”

Eric stroked a hand through Vincent’s hair. “I know. This is part of being my sub, baby. I

get to make the rules; I get to make the demands.”

“What happened to the sub has ultimate control?” Vincent smirked. Anger surged up in him

once again. He didn’t want to repeat Jenny’s words. Didn’t want to relive the last two hours.

“Then you know where the door is.”

“No,” Vincent gasped, clutching at Eric’s leg. “I don’t want to go. Please.”

“You can stay. But you have to tell me what happened.”

Heaving a sigh, Vincent got to his knees so that he could lay his head on Eric’s thigh.

“Start at the beginning. What happened when you walked in the door?”

He swallowed hard several times before he could clear the lump from his throat. Eric’s hand

stayed in his hair, petting him slowly, and Vincent closed his eyes, using the touch to calm and

center himself. “Jenny was in the kitchen, watching television when I got there. Jerry Springer of

all things.” Vincent chuckled. He couldn’t think of a better topic for that show at the moment.

“Go on.”

“I told her we needed to talk. She just looked at me for a minute, and then she said she

knew I was seeing someone, because there was no way I spent the entire weekend with you. I

said that I had spent the entire weekend with you, but not in the way she thought. I told her.”

“Told her what?” Eric asked softly.

Vincent shrugged. “Everything. I didn’t give her details because she didn’t deserve them,

but I gave her the highlights. Told her what I’d learned about myself, about what I wanted out of

life. Told her I’d figured out what had been missing and why I hadn’t been happy. She asked me

what I wanted to do … and I thought …” He trailed off, that sick feeling overtaking him again.

“Thought what?”

“I thought it was a good sign. Like … a sign that she understood, yanno? So I told her. I

said I wanted to be with you, that I didn’t feel for her what I had thought I felt for her. I tried to

explain about my father and how he’d beaten me. I mean, she knew about that. She knew.” He

clenched his hands in the fabric of Eric’s pants.

“Easy.” Eric massaged his shoulders for a few minutes, then nodded. “Go on.”

“I knew she would be angry. I’m not stupid. I didn’t expect her to be all oh, Vincent, I

completely understand and accept everything and I’m not angry at all. It’s not like I think that I

don’t deserve her being angry at me. I mean … we were together for so long, and she thought …

she expected … But I can’t give her that, and I tried to tell her. I really tried to explain it. But she

just didn’t want to listen. She called me names, told me I was a monster, that I was a pervert and

that I was sick and needed help. Then she accused me of being with you all these years. Said she

knew now what I’d really been doing all the times I spent with you.

“I asked her what she thought this was—some kind of Brokeback Mountain thing? And she

completely lost it. I mean, she was already screaming at me, but then she just let me have it.

Talking about how I’d ruined her life and her reputation, how no one would look at her the same

anymore. Asking me what I intended to tell her family because she wasn’t going to take the

blame for this. But then …”

“Then what?”

Vincent shook his head. “I can’t.”

“You can and you will, because I’m telling you to. What else happened?”

His guts knotted and he tasted bile in his throat. “She started yelling about you,” he

whispered.

“Me?”

“Said you were a home wrecker, a disgusting freak of nature. That people like you didn’t

deserve to live. That you were … an … an … abomin … abomination of God.” Vincent started to

shake. “I … I tried to make her understand what you’d done for me. Not just now, but always.

When we were kids. I tried … I tried to tell her, but then she just turned my words around,

blamed everything on you. Said it was all your fault, that you’d poisoned me. I knew she was

religious, I did.” Vincent looked up at him. “I knew that, but I never thought … She said …”

“What did she say?”

His breathing stuttered to a stop, his heart pounded. “She said she hoped you died and rotted

in hell.”

“Was that when you called me?”

Vincent nodded. “I couldn’t … I … She … She couldn’t be reasoned with. And I was just

so … god I was so angry. I’ve never wanted to hit anyone in my life but I just wanted to beat the

living shit out of her. I didn’t,” he added quickly.

“I know. You’d never do anything like that.”

“I wanted to. I really, really did. She said that … and I just …” Vincent fell silent,

remembering how he had curled his hands into fists to keep from wrapping them around Jenny’s

throat. Remembering how he’d taken a step toward her without even realizing he’d done it.

Remembering how she had thrown oven mitts and dishtowels at him until, apparently

unimpressed with their ineffectiveness, she had graduated to cookbooks. Remembered how …

“She grabbed a knife.”

Eric tensed and his hand stilled. “She did what?”

“She grabbed a knife. A carving knife. Waved it at me.”

“Jenny threatened you with a knife?” Eric’s voice had an edge that Vincent had never heard,

and it at once excited and frightened him. He was used to Eric the nurturer. Eric the helper. Eric

the giver and the provider. But here was Eric the warrior. Eric the fighter. Eric the Dominant.

Vincent shivered and pressed closer to him.

“She didn’t mean it, I don’t think.” He wanted to believe that, but he couldn’t be certain.

There had been a look in her eyes that he still could not quite describe. Maniacal, maybe. Crazed,

certainly.

“She’s lucky I didn’t go with you. No one threatens mine.” Eric curled his fingers in

Vincent’s hair and tugged, forcing Vincent to look up at him. “No one threatens you.

Understand?”

“Yes.” He shivered more, but not from fear. Not from anything but sheer, pure lust. That

one gesture—Eric pulling his hair—focused Vincent’s attention, all his energy. And it swelled his

cock to a painful throbbing. He pawed at Eric’s crotch without thinking, singularly intent on

pleasing his master.

“Vin.” New edge to Eric’s voice now. Unbridled need and lust. Apparently, Vincent’s run-

in with Jenny had shaken Eric nearly as much as it had Vincent.

“May I? Please?”

“Yes.” Breathless answer. Eric watched him intently, and Vincent understood that he should

go slow, make a show of his movements, perhaps. Without standing up, he moved around in front

of Eric, gently parted his legs and scooted in between them. Vincent unbuttoned Eric’s jeans,

took hold of the zipper with his teeth and lowered it inch by inch.

He heard Eric’s sharp intake of breath and looked up, keeping his gaze locked with Eric’s as

he tugged down the waistband of Eric’s briefs and reached inside. Eric let out a moan as Vincent

wrapped a hand around his cock and pulled it free. He gave it a few long, languid strokes, loving

the way it grew and swelled in his hand.

Vincent smiled and snaked his tongue out, still keeping his eyes on Eric’s. He licked up and

down the shaft of Eric’s cock. When he felt a drop of precum dribble down to him, he lapped it

up before placing his lips against the head and sucking gently.

“Vincent.” The word was a hiss, clipped and quick. Eric was close. He threaded his fingers

into Vincent’s hair and thrust his hips up against Vincent’s mouth.

Vincent parted his lips just slightly and stilled, letting Eric’s cock slide into his mouth, past

his teeth, deep. As deep as it would go, brushing the back of his throat. He made no move, just

provided a sweet, sensuous sucking as Eric fucked his mouth.

Didn’t take long. Seven strokes. Vincent counted every one of them, loving this, adoring

Eric for using him, for understanding that he needed to be dominated now. Needed proof that this

wasn’t wrong, that this was good and right, and it worked for them.

“Vincent!”

Vincent hummed happily, swallowing Eric’s cum as it squirted down his throat. He worked

his throat and tongue, milking as much more as he could.

“Vin …” Eric stroked his cheek. “Have something else for you. Get up. Follow me.”

Vincent swallowed the last drops and stood, immediately offering Eric a helping hand. Eric

stood shakily and, with a chuckle, took Vincent’s hand and led him to the bathroom. “Strip and

get in the shower,” he commanded, and turned to walk away.

Vincent felt tears of joy spring to his eyes. They’d done this already, but at the playhouse.

Not in real life. This was different. Better. More important, somehow. Meant more to him. He

stripped quickly, barely able to control the excited shaking of his hands as he fumbled with

buttons. He was still kicking off a sock when he stepped into the shower stall.

He heard movement then, Eric’s feet shuffling in the other room. There was the sound of a

bottle cap popping and a squirt—lube? Vincent wondered. And then just faintly he heard a slick,

squishing sound.

Eric returned to the bathroom, naked, a large, black butt plug in his hand. “Turn away from

me and bend over.”

Vincent complied eagerly. He felt Eric’s hands on him, parting the cheeks of his ass with a

touch that hovered between gentle and rough. Brisk, maybe, was the word. He felt the pressure of

the plug against his hole. He remembered Eric saying he got off on begging. If Eric could give

him a sweet surprise, he could certainly return the favor. “No,” he gasped. “Please, don’t.”

Eric’s hand stilled for a second, maybe waiting to see if Vincent would fight him. Vincent

reached around and pulled his cheeks further apart, thrust his ass back in an attempt to explain.

“Mmmm … Such beautiful resistance,” Eric murmured. He pressed the plug in deeper.

“Please … please stop,” Vincent panted the words, so high on his own lust and arousal that

he almost didn’t know what he said. Felt like the room was spinning, or his head was. Dizziness

washed over him as the plug went deeper still. Vincent gave a breathless, choked cry as it hit that

spot.

Eric kept a hand on the butt plug, pressed on it, moved it in and out, twisted it, every time

making contact with that exquisitely wonderful lump, sending shocks of delight up Vincent’s

spine.

“On your knees.” Eric stepped into the shower, half erect cock in his hand.

Vincent went down on his knees and waited, breath coming in great panting gasps. God,

how he wanted this. “What are you going to do to me?” he asked, trying to add a note of panic to

his voice and failing.

Eric grinned. “I’m going to give you what you deserve.” Eric’s urine cascaded down on

him, splattering in the middle of his scalp and pouring down over his face and shoulders. Vincent

moaned. To hell with feigned resistance.

“Touch yourself. Masturbate for me.”

He felt the briefest split second of panic, wondering if he could, and then he simply did.

Vincent took his own cock in his hand and stroked while Eric’s urine continued to flow over him.

He thrust his hips, fucking his hand, leaning his head back so he could lap at the stream of urine

with his tongue.

Eric groaned and shifted, angling his body so that the urine fell onto Vincent’s cock.

That did him in. Vincent growled and surged his hips, pumping furiously, rubbing Eric’s

urine all over his cock and balls with his free hand in a frenzy. He came with a half-strangled

scream, shooting his cum onto Eric’s feet.

“Lick them clean.”

Jesus Christ on a pancake. Life didn’t get much better than this. Vincent happily licked up

the mess, smacking his lips and making appreciative sounds of delight. Once Eric’s feet were

clean, Vincent looked up, waiting.

“Now my cock. Clean it.”

He rose up eagerly, sucking every drop of urine and cum off Eric’s cock and balls, out of

the fine, tiny pubic hairs that covered them. Finished, he wiped his mouth, licked his hand, and

looked up, again waiting.

Eric smiled warmly. “Stand up, baby.”

Vincent stood and Eric pulled him into a fierce embrace. “I take Jenny’s actions today very,

very seriously. You will not see her unless I’m with you. You are to tell me at once if she tries to

contact you in any way. You will not speak to her on the phone. If she calls your work, you will

refuse the call. If she calls here, you will either not answer or give the phone to me. You will not

answer your cellphone if she calls. You will not listen to her voicemails, you will not read any

text messages or emails from her. You will tell me that they are there, and I will deal with her. If

she wants to meet with you, I will set it up, and she will come nowhere near you. If she comes

here, you will not let her in unless I’m home, you will stay in another room while I speak to her,

and you will not come out of that room until she has driven away. Once she moves out, the locks

will be changed, and you will have no contact with her whatsoever.” Eric took Vincent by the

shoulders and held him at arms’ length. “You are mine now. No one threatens mine. Do you

understand me?”

“Yes, Eric. Yes, I understand.” Vincent felt light, as though Eric had lifted an immense

weight off his shoulders. So glad he wouldn’t have to make any decisions about Jenny, wouldn’t

have to face her without Eric at his side. God, he loved being owned.

“Good. Now, let’s go cuddle in bed. I want to feel you beside me.”

Vincent glanced down at his own chest. “I smell.”

Eric nodded. “You smell like me. Remember that.” Vincent felt his knees go weak. Eric

took his hand, laced their fingers together. “I love you.” He kissed Vincent’s ear. “Come.”

“Yes, Eric.”

They were halfway to the bedroom when Eric stopped and turned to face him. He traced his

fingers lightly over Vincent’s throat. “Tomorrow evening, we’ll go and pick out a collar for you.

Would you like that?”

“I would. May I have a leash as well?”

Eric grinned widely, closed his eyes for a second and licked his lips. “You may have a

leash.”

“Thank you, Eric.” Vincent smiled at the rightness of this, at the joy in his heart, and at the

knowledge that he had finally found his happily ever after. He had found his sanctuary.