Rough Canvas (18 page)

Marcus was overwhelmed by the picture of it, both before his eyes and in his mind.

Thomas on his knees before him, naked. Long, muscular lean body bare in all ways except for the cock harness straps, the probe up his ass, the collar on his throat telling 90

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everyone he belonged to someone. At least in here, Marcus didn’t have to pretend it was true—or wonder how true it was.

Another couple had come in, another slave stripping, and the energy in the

proportionally small area was hot, pounding, pulsing. All of them were sucked into this tableau in the center however, and many of the men had moved closer. There was a circle of aroused, tense males within five feet of them on all sides. Marcus knew it was Thomas who held them riveted.

A new, relatively inexperienced sub on his knees and working his Master’s cock in his mouth, his own organ stiff and straight above his thighs like a sun dial, needing release, restrained by the collar cinched around it.

Trying to retain his sanity, Marcus slid a hand into his loose pocket, amazed that he didn’t fumble. He removed the remote, held it up so others could see, and pressed it to highest setting, where he knew the probe would do a staccato dance against Thomas’

prostate.

The reaction was instant, and gratifying. Thomas jerked, his buttocks squeezing together in a way that caused several groans from their audience. Even Marcus had to suppress a reaction as muscles rippled along Thomas’ curved back, his broad shoulders bunching.

“You keep working me, pet. Don’t you let go.”

Thomas made an inarticulate sound against his cock, part plea, part growl. His

hand tightened on the base of Marcus’ cock, the other dropping to grip his thigh through the trousers, fingers pushing into hard muscle. Marcus’ hips were jerking, cock so stiff it barely moved, but Marcus knew it was ready to explode. Thomas’ breath was a harsh rasp, hot friction against him, working him the way only a man knew to do.

Ruthless, relentless, fucking fantastic.

“Keep going,” Marcus said sharply. Thomas clumsily obliged, trying to keep his

mouth moving in a rhythm over him as the probe turned him mindless. Responding to his Master on instinct alone and filling Marcus with an even more ravenous desire to push him, to make him give it all.

Just when Thomas was sure he was going to come, cock harness or not, Marcus

eased the vibration to a slow hum and forcibly pulled his head back, taking Thomas’

mouth from his cock, leaving him staring at the broad head, licking his lips from the salty taste of what had come into his mouth, collected on the tip.

He was forced to sit back, despite wanting to feel it deep in his ass, even if it meant turning around and putting his hind end in the air like an eager hound. But Marcus rearranged his clothes over his enormous erection and brought him to his feet with his hand on his elbow. “Come with me.”

“That’s where I thought we were headed,” Thomas rasped. Marcus’ fingers bit into his arm and he subsided, though he was pretty certain he saw his Master’s lips curve before Thomas lowered his gaze back to his feet as he’d been ordered to do.

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Marcus took him down a dimly lit hall strung with lights to show murals on the

wall depicting explosions, red and orange streaks of fire. Long strips of cloth hung from the ceiling in a staggered pattern, some translucent, some solid, so the different textures brushed the skin and occluded vision. It was easy to brush against the bodies of those passing in the opposite direction, smell the scents of different men. Thomas kept his gaze glued on Marcus’ feet with effort, his Master’s grip on his arm firm.

They emerged into the dizzying lights and noise of the main club area. Though he’d been able to mostly forget about the watching crowd from the intensity of going down on Marcus, Thomas was relieved he was no longer the center of attention. Here the music was loud, throbbing. There was a crowded dance floor, darkness and strobe lights giving brief images of all the things going on.

Men in cages suspended over the dance floor. A couple of them dancing while a

handler stood on the platform outside, ready with a hot stick or cattle prod if they didn’t obey their Master’s mandate to perform for the crowd. One of the men had tears on his cheeks, perhaps as new to this as Thomas, but like Thomas his cock was hard. He was dancing with a riveting fury, his hands in clenched fists against the struggle going on within him.

On another two raised platforms, men were bound spread eagle to spinning wheels.

People could come by and spin their naked bodies, or… Thomas watched as a man,

obviously a total stranger to the bound slave, pulled the wheel around so its occupant was upside down. Then he jammed his cock into the slave’s mouth, which was wrested open with a gag ring. The Dom leisurely fucked his mouth while sipping a cocktail and talking to another Dom.

It was hedonistic, like one of the fascinating upper layers of Hell. Dark and

shadows. Thomas felt sick and excited at once.

“Your eyes aren’t on my feet.” Marcus’ voice brought him back and he obeyed, but he noticed Marcus had given him time to study his surroundings before he’d reminded him. “I’m letting go, pet. You stay two steps behind me at all times. You forget and look up again, I’ll make you do it on your hands and knees like a dog so you can’t see anything
but
my feet.”

There was something hard in Marcus’ voice that hadn’t been there in the foyer. The tone suggested he might do the humiliating thing he described. Thomas followed, wondering at the feelings swirling in his stomach. It was like being offered candy, but the wrong kind. He couldn’t put a name to it, but some shadowy apprehension was moving low in his belly, the deeper they moved into the club. He wasn’t sure…

Before he could complete the thought, they moved out of the dance area into a new space. This was one large room divided by a wall of clear glass. The glass was

partitioned into rectangular sections by Ionic columns. Between each set of columns was a carved wooden chair that looked as though it might have graced the judgment hall of a Roman governor.

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Metal pieces formed artistic diamond-shaped divided lights in the glass, but they were functional, for there were protrusions bolted onto those metal frame pieces.

Because Thomas only dared a quick glimpse, he couldn’t tell what they were. He wasn’t going to risk Marcus doing exactly what he’d said he’d do, and dealing with how that might turn him on. But not knowing the whole picture, having to rely on Marcus’

guidance, was creating all sorts of tangled reactions within him, apprehensive and lustful at once.

Marcus stopped by one of the chairs. He effectively banished Thomas’ thought

process by opening his slacks again and taking a seat. Almost absently, he fondled Thomas’ bare thigh. “Come here, pet. Keep your eyes down.”

Because of that, he had to let Marcus guide him. Marcus nudged him so Thomas

stood in front of his Master, facing away from him. “There are two handles in front of you. Bend over and take hold of them.”

They were at mid-body level, anchored into the metal frame pieces of the glass wall.

Now he could see there were people on the other side. A man bent toward him, a

mirror image of how Marcus wanted him. His long cock was hanging down between

spread, trembling thighs as someone took him from behind. He had his mouth pressed on the glass, stretched open by the rubber phallus mounted there. A duplicate of the one in front of Thomas’ face now, sheathed in an unlubricated new condom.

Thomas’ own body started trembling as he realized what Marcus intended to do.

“You’re making me wait.”

As Thomas grasped the handles, Marcus continued in an implacable voice. “Take

the dildo in your mouth, all the way, until your lips are against the glass. It’s sterile. The attendants clean the glass and replace the condom between every use. Once you get it all the way in, you’ll lift your eyes. You keep them open and staring straight ahead.”

Thomas obeyed slowly, reluctant and self-conscious. When he took his lips down

the length of the hard rubber cock, he and the man being fucked on the other side were essentially in a kiss, separated by thick double-plated glass. The way the handles were anchored in the steel framework their knuckles would have touched.

The wild drumbeat of the music on the dance floor could be felt through his bare heels. Where the glass was hinged to the Ionic column, there was a slender line of space, so he could hear the grunts of the other slave, as rhythmic and primal as those drums.

His eyes were a pale green, his hair red and long. He had a pale, muscular body, with a tattoo of a dragon over the left pec that undulated as he reacted to the thrusts of whoever was fucking him.

Thomas didn’t want to keep his eyes open, feeling far too exposed to this man and his submission, but his Master had ordered it, so he did.

I am Slave Sixty-Eight. I obey my Master and that’s all. I’m not responsible for anything
but giving him pleasure. I don’t think about who I am beyond this moment, or what others
would think. It’s all about this moment…

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Joey W. Hill

To hold onto the handles and lean forward the way Marcus wished, Thomas had to

bend his knees. The significance of that uncomfortable pose struck when Marcus slid his chair up behind Thomas, removed the lubricated probe, put his hands on Thomas’

hips and brought him down on his cock.

Holy fuck.
Truer words never spoken. After all the stimulation from the coffee house to this moment, Marcus’ cock sinking into him had the searing pleasure of fire racing through his blood. Thomas bit down on the rubber cock savagely. The panic in the other man’s eyes reflected his realization that Thomas had just been penetrated, and it propelled him closer to a release Thomas was sure his Master had forbidden him.

Both of them were sucking frantically on the phalluses, a way of goading or

controlling themselves, Thomas didn’t know. He just had to do it.

Perhaps Thomas was just imagining it, torqued as he was, but he thought he could feel the pressure of the other man’s lips, their texture, even as he imagined it was Marcus’ cock he was deep-throating, almost choking on it as Marcus thrust deep, withdrew and thrust deep again, full penetration and withdrawal each time. It left a trail of clawing need all up and down the passageway, to the root of him. He heard Marcus’ grunt of approval like a gift. God, he’d gone beyond
wanting
to come. He
had
to come or he’d just die.

Thomas couldn’t beg with his mouth so occupied, so he begged with his body, his arm muscles banded steel as he held onto the handles with tight fists, hips lifting up and slamming down. Marcus’ hands slid down either thigh where Thomas sat on his lap, caressed muscles, then one hand reached between his legs, released the harness a notch.

“Come, pet.”

Despite his overwhelming desire to do so, Thomas managed to hold back. Not until he’d brought his Master pleasure. He gripped him with his strong inner muscles, sliding up and down Marcus’ delectable length. He longed to feel that hot jetting pulse of his climax, the spasmodic clutch of his hands. Marcus’ hands were powerful enough to bruise and they often did. Thomas loved it.

It was submission and yet an exercise of power at once. The desire to serve his Master’s pleasure but prove he could make
him
do something, no matter how many times he’d had slaves within walls like these do
his
bidding.

“Stubborn,” Marcus said, but his voice was hoarse. Thomas renewed his efforts, so on each slow withdrawal Marcus was pulling against resistance from muscles oiled with lubricant, that knew just how to stroke and hold him…

Thomas grunted as Marcus abruptly slammed into him, slick and slow gone hot

and fast. He hung onto the handles, providing the counterpoint even as need burst into undeniable release. “Oh God…” his voice was garbled against the gag of the phallus.

“Let it go,” Marcus growled.

You first, damn it.
Thomas’ nerve endings had never felt so sensitive. If Marcus touched him anywhere—his elbow, an earlobe—he would go off like a rocket. Though 94

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the fire of it was all consuming, Thomas hung on, thinking he could hold on just another second…

Marcus groaned, his hands clutching his hips, shoving up into him so Thomas’

body rocked forward, chest to the glass. “Fuck…”

That guttural curse and the spasmodic vibrations of Marcus’ body gave Thomas

what he needed. He let go, crying out against the phallus deep in his mouth. The man before him ejaculated, no doubt spurred by his reaction. It was like a video screen though, for everything living and real to Thomas was all Marcus. His semen filling him, the press of his thighs and open slacks against the back of his legs and ass. That hard, undeniable cock impaling him.

He was pumped relentlessly. He kept up, his hands slick on the handles, his body rocking even past the point when his release was done, like a dog humping air because it felt too damn good to stop. Only Marcus’ hands sliding down to grip his ass and bring him to a stop returned Thomas somewhat to himself.

He rested his forehead against the glass, mouth still full of the dildo even though his chest was expanding fast to get air around the gag. Marcus’ hands moved over his back. Reaching forward, he removed the now full condom, a cosseting that moved

something in Thomas, creating a lump in his throat. Marcus had been demanding, even a little mean, but at the end, there was this reminder of tenderness, of care.

If his intention was to keep Thomas off balance, it was succeeding.

Marcus took several of the wipes that were provided in a discreet and decorative wooden box mounted on the column and cleaned Thomas, keeping pressure with one

hand on his back to tell him he wanted him to stay in that position. Thomas watched, amazed as the man who’d been fucking the redhead got up and turned over his chair to another.