Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (39 page)

“I said he would be. He’s clearly a domestic pet, but there was no harm in asking.” Ian licked his lips, glancing towards Jak, who was limbering up (and showing off) with some impressive body stretches and back bends in a leather ensemble that left little to the imagination. He looked hot and he knew it. “I wouldn’t mind some one on one sport with the circus boy. Who owns his collar, Leo or Mike?”

“Joint, but not exclusive. Ask them. There might not be an opportunity today, but I’m sure something can be arranged for a later date. Jak enjoys new challenges and Mike and Leo encourage it. The boy’s a stayer, not a passer through. The more experience he gets, the better for him.”

“I can certainly help in his education.” Ian grinned and then flicked a finger at me. “He’s definitely off limits though?”

“This little one is not for loan to anyone.”

“Trina had her heart set on tormenting the boy. She’ll be disappointed.”

“Trina will get over it.”

“She’ll be mean to poor Sean.”

“From what I’ve heard, he’ll enjoy that.”

Ian gave a sadistic chuckle. “I’m not. Wait until you see what we have planned. It will test him, and give people something to remember.”

“I look forward to it.”

Ian walked off. I gave rein to my curiosity. “Who’s Sean?”

I let out a pained grunt of shock, as the purpleheart paddle Shane had hooked to his belt was unhooked and used to land a searing blow to my bottom.

“Your memory is short.” Gripping my arm, he leaned towards me, growling. “You were told not to speak until spoken to. Keep your lip buttoned, boy.”

I blushed, feeling horribly chastised and embarrassed. The party was barely underway and already I’d let him down Why did I never manage to gauge it right where he was concerned? We were never on the same page. I looked to Dick, more from habit than expectation and was heartened to receive the faintest ghost of a wink by way of sympathy.

From then on I followed my brief to be silent and speak only when spoken to, trailing a respectful step or two behind Shane while reminding myself that it was Dick’s day and I was just extra window dressing.

It would take another book in itself to describe the party in detail, but alas, dear diary, I’m dragging my heels in Christmas past as it is. Suffice to say there was plenty to observe, from what might be termed traditional play to the weird and wonderful. Kink is a fetish rainbow, a thing of many colours. Not all the colours are to my personal taste. I don’t much care for fisting, medical, blood or wax play for example.

Was I not turned on at all then, I hear you ask? Oh, but you are so nosey! And the answer is yes, of course I was. It’s hard not to be aroused in such an intense and erotically charged atmosphere, where every sound, every sight and every scent is infused with the musky savour of pain, danger and sex. The boxer pup did his share of straining the zip.

My sense of arousal took a sharp dive during Ian and Trina’s set. Their reputation for hard play ensured a crowd gathered to watch them. The action took place in a large cage with a naked sub trussed and tied to a chair, or at least a chair frame. There was no seat in it. He was presumably the aforementioned Sean. There was a palpable buzz among the onlookers as Trina and Ian began to work him over like a pair of KGB pros.

I soon recognised the picture they were painting. It was a variation of the interrogation scene from the Bond novel ‘Casino Royale’ where a naked and powerless Bond gets his privates pounded to pulp with a carpet beater. I’d hated the scene when I read the book. Its brutal sadism sickened me. Torture like that happens in real life to real people and one suspects the author might have based the scene on such an event. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to re-enact it. Interrogation and torture held no erotic connotations for me. It wasn’t the kind of control and domination that flicked my switch. It was more the stuff of nightmares than sexual fantasy.

I was in the minority it seemed. Some people in the audience were actually holding their breath with exhilaration as they craned to get a better view of the scene. Not me though. I couldn’t watch. I lowered my head and closed my eyes, resisting an urge to put my fingers in my ears to shut out the sounds of the sweat-drenched sub’s agonised grunts and groans. He sounded like he was struggling. I fancied I could hear his safe word trying to break out of his mouth, or maybe I was just projecting my own desire for the ugly scene to end.

A hand gripped my upper arm, manoeuvring me through the throng surrounding the cage, out of the ‘torture’ room and away from the annexe. I was escorted to the lounge, which, thanks to Pat’s diligent patrolling was devoid of people. Shane closed the door and led me over to the couch by the hearth. He pushed me down onto a cushion and sat down next to me. He got straight to the point, his tone impatient.

“Nothing you witnessed in there was being done against anyone’s will. No one was in danger, or being hurt in ways they didn’t want to be. If I thought otherwise, I would have stopped it at once, and so would Leo and Mike and a dozen others. Trina and Ian are both expert at what they do and they’re experts at creating an authentic scene.” He confirmed the identity of their victim. “Sean is one of their regular subs. By all accounts he’s a tough little nut with a penchant for heavy action. If he wanted, he could stop the scene at any time. Understand?”

“Yes.” I examined my knees, holding back a comment about Sean being a nutcase. I knew better than to pass judgement on the kinks of others - different strokes for different folks and all that jizz. If he liked having his bollocks consensually bashed by a couple of psychos it was his business. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Dragging you away before the scene ended.”

“You didn’t drag me anywhere. You don’t have that much influence over me. Don’t court attention via bogus apology.”

Stung by his words, all gratitude for his ‘rescue’ vanished, replaced by indignation. “Is that what you think I was doing, courting attention?”

“You court attention automatically. You can’t help yourself.”

“I admit I hated what was going on in there, but I didn’t ask you to bring me out.”

His brow creased. “Enough, Gilli. I brought you out because it was clear you needed to be brought out.”

“You could have just ignored me, it isn’t usually a problem for you. Was I showing you up with my pathetic sensitivity?”

“Don’t push me, boy.” He rose to his feet. “It was a hard scene, not to everyone’s taste, and that’s fine.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Take time out. You’ve earned it.”

Time out, my arse! More like an excuse to be free of me so he could concentrate on Dick. I kept the thought to myself.

“Socialise. You have my permission to talk freely. Have something to eat and drink. No hoofing off upstairs. Participate.”

“Just not with you, eh.” I wish I’d kept those sour words to myself too. They were a cheeky push too far.

The hand on my shoulder moved to my wrist, yanking me to my feet and whisking me round before landing several smacks to the seat of my pants. I had no cause for complaint. I’d more or less asked for them.

He abandoned me in the conservatory with a rough kiss and a quiet instruction to be good. I watched him stride from the room before taking a paper plate and picking in desultory fashion at the foodstuffs on offer.

There were a number people in the room, some standing, and some sitting, taking a break from activity and in some cases whatever roles engaged them in the playrooms. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, sipping faux fizz and chatting about what they’d seen or done or were looking forward to seeing and doing, or simply talking about the weather and what they’d gotten for Christmas. Kinksters are much like other folk, prick the skin beneath the leather and it will bleed. The only difference is that most kinksters will enjoy the experience of being pricked, in the right circumstances of course. It’s all about wiring and timing.

I was smiled and ‘hi’d’ at by several people, some of whom I recognised from previous parties and some of who were new faces, new to me at least, the friends of friends kind of people.

Taking my plate of nibbles, I walked over to the windows and looked outside. It was already dark, so the view was limited, but pretty nonetheless. Frosty haloes were forming around the garden lights as the mercury dropped. It was going to be a bitter cold evening.

I popped a caramelised square of belly pork in my mouth. It was good, reviving my appetite. I ate another one and then blinked as a light flashed in the windowpane. It wasn’t outside, though. It was in the room behind me. I recognised the source, a mobile phone camera. Photos and videos are taboo at most BDSM parties, along with invasive questions about a person’s everyday identity. Privacy is sacrosanct.

The light flashed again and I turned around, frowning in the direction of the man responsible, a thick-necked individual wearing bondage gear reminiscent of a Tom of Finland character. The ensemble did nothing to flatter, or contain, his middle age spread. His trousers were obviously refugees from a more lithe era of his life, one he was loath to let go. He must have just come into the room, or been hiding in a corner. I hadn’t noticed him before. He saw me looking. Tucking his phone into his pocket and sucking in his belly he walked over.

“You okay?” He smiled, showing tobacco-stained teeth.

“Yeah, fine.” I looked at him suspiciously. “What were you doing? You’re not supposed to take photos. It’s Leo’s number one house rule.”

The smile vanished. “Grandmother and eggs, boy. I know the drill, no photos and no phones, and there’s the problem, a new one for Christmas. I was figuring out how to turn the thing off. I triggered the camera flash by accident. It’s sorted now.”

It was a credible enough excuse.

He bared his nicotine teeth again, eyeing me up and down. I took an involuntary step back, as he took an unexpected and unwelcome liberty by reaching out to finger my collar.

“Shane’s a lucky man, owning this pretty little thing.”

I didn’t know the man from Adam, but here he was claiming to know me, or at least
of
me. “How do you know Shane, or that I’m with him?”

“I saw him taking you into the lounge. He looked like he meant business. Thought I heard a slap or two. Playing a private little scene in there, were you?”

“No.”

He laughed. “Don’t look so affronted, boy. I was just asking. I’ve been moving in Leo’s circle for years, even if I haven’t been around for a while. I know most people and what they’re up to. You’re no secret. Everyone knows Shane and Dick reeled themselves a little toyboy. I’m looking forward to catching up with them. Haven’t seen them play in ages. They always did a good scene.” He stroked the top of the riding crop he had tucked into the side of one of his boots. “I wouldn’t mind seeing them work you over, now that would be a holiday treat.”

“I’m not playing today.” I said shortly, not liking the way his eyes were raking my body.

“Pity.” He slid the crop out of his boot and tapped it against his leg. “Boys shouldn’t be left unattended for too long. It makes them misbehave. Maybe Shane will grant me some playtime with you, if I ask him nicely.”

“He won’t.” I bristled, repulsed by the very thought.

“Not your place to speak for him, boy, but I’ll take your word on this occasion. He always was possessive of his property. Couldn’t bear to share Dick once he owned his collar. Never mind. I’m sure I’ll find some other cute boy in need of a Daddy’s firm hand.”

“I’m sure you will. Excuse me. I have to be somewhere.” I put my plate of food down on the window ledge. Walking briskly across the room, I was conscious of him watching me. I was also aware he knew and had enjoyed the fact he had made me uncomfortable.

I went to the kitchen, which was out of bounds to general partygoers, and put the kettle on, making myself a mug of coffee. I lurked there for half an hour before slipping out and returning to the conservatory, furtively opening the door and scanning for any sign of baccy mouth before going in. I didn’t fancy another encounter with him. He gave me the creeps. I did catch sight of him again later, in one of the playrooms, lashing his crop into the naked, meaty backside of a man tied over a spanking bench. I didn’t hang around to watch. From then on I avoided the annexe altogether, opting out of watching the men folk play. I could watch them play at home and without a host of others enjoying their show.

I stuck to the conservatory, keeping an eye on the door in case I needed to beat a retreat. Pat popped in and out in his capacity as a monitor, dividing his time between the social and play areas, as well as checking the rest of the house to ensure no one was sneakily using undesignated rooms for private assignations. I exchanged chitchat with him and others.

The party wound down. People left, including Ian and Trina, who decided to head for home, apparently taking their tortured sub with them. Poor bugger.

I had no expectations for the evening ahead. I knew from experience it would likely be a solitary one for me. Dick, exhausted and still spacey, would curl up with Shane, in need of close attention in the wake of intense play. It would be a re-grounding for both of them, a way of helping body and mind readjust and re-balance after the rush of endorphins. The same applied to Leo, Mike and the bondage twins. Coming down properly from play is an important process.