Stuff My Stocking: M-M Romance Stories that are Nice and Naughty (19 page)

Why in the name of sweet baby Jesus was he still talking?

Yeah, I’d lived for him to look at me just once like I was the center of his world, but...He’d stopped fucking me and sorry, he couldn’t eat me up with his eyes and not fuck me. There was a federal statute written about it somewhere. I was sure of it: No mind-fucking Brian Arthur Harte unless legitimate ass-plowing is involved. And if there wasn’t a damn law, there should be. So I writhed beneath him, riding his cock from below. I needed. Just a little more. “Please, Leland. Please.”

“Never going to leave me again. Say it.”

I would’ve tried. I was pretty sure I couldn’t manage more than pleading gibberish, but I genuinely would’ve tried. Except his lips slanted over mine again, hard. Punishing. “Say it.”

He reared back and pushed his cock back into me.

I shuddered. Violently.

Close. So close.

His eyebrow rose in a cruel arc. “Brian?”

“N-no,” I gasped, lapping in wild abandon at his unsmiling mouth. “Never leave you, never, ne--”

He retreated and when he spiked the rigid length of his cock back into my ass this time, he nailed my sweet spot.

I shrieked.

His mouth twisted to a feral grin. “You love me, Brian. I know you do.”

Finally! Something I could hold onto. Something basic, perfect and true. “Yes.”

He snorted. “Then say it. Tell me you love me, Brian.”

My head bobbed up and down in a feverish, urgent nod. “I love you Brian.”

He snickered. “Asshole.”

But he liked my ass--a lot--and praise God, he set to fucking it in earnest.

Already wound tight, I came within heartbeats. Spurting thick and wet between us, I painted his chest and my belly with hot strings. He must’ve been as turned on as I was because when I lowered my legs and wrapped them around his pistoning hips, whispering dirty encouragement in his ear as he pumped into me? He threw back his head and roared, his dick like iron in my ass as he pulsed and shot.

He collapsed against me, his body too heavy, but he’d fucked me into a boneless puddle so it didn’t matter. Instead of objecting, I threaded my fingers into his sweat-damp hair. I kissed his temple.

He grunted. “Mom’s real estate firm handles sales for the units in this building. She says she can get us a deal on the condo and she’ll do the closing, gratis, as our Christmas present. If we want it.”

His Mom was twenty miles of Scary so my mind immediately leapfrogged to the living space I vaguely recalled Leland dragging me through on the way to the mattress I prayed to God that he rather than his mother had tossed down on the floor for us. For tonight. Our long weekend together.

Hell, I would’ve bedded down with Leland in a Sears shed, would’ve followed him anywhere. But his family hadn’t rejected their hell-raising gay son, hadn’t turned their collective backs on us. All those nights I wasted hoping Leland hadn’t been feeding me a line when he’d promised he’d tell his family about me once he was sure it wouldn’t cost me my job. The weeks I’d agonized over what his parents would think of me. Gold-digger. Office slut sleeping my way to the top. None of it was true, but one horrible scenario after another had played over and over in my head for so long, it’d paralyzed me.

Why is it always so easy to believe the bad stuff? Easier to believe Leland had been using me and was covering his bases in the office. Easier to believe what we had was a figment of my desperately hopeful imagination and completely impossible in the real world of corporate policy and parental disapproval.

So when Bess had called me into personnel...

Not one of my finer moments, but yeah, I’d run.

There was no running from him now. He’d made sure of that. Naked, still shaking from the twin orgasms he’d given me and impaled on his dick, I wasn’t going anywhere Leland didn’t want me to go.

But maybe the bad stuff wasn’t easier to believe, after all. With his weight pressing into me, his arms around me and his fingers skimming the sex sweat from my shoulder, I believed in him. More importantly, I could finally believe in us. He’d gift-wrapped my most secret, fertile fantasy--Leland and I, living together and loving each other--and presented it to me, mine for the taking.

I could have this every night.

When I shivered in anticipation, Leland must’ve mistaken it for something else because he cursed under his breath. “Sorry. I ordered dinner from Giussepi’s for later. I brought candles, downloaded some Toby Keith on my iPod, wine and flowers, the works. I wanted to make up for the past couple of months, soften you up before asking you to move in, but...You melted me.”

I chuckled. “You seduced me,” I reminded him, playfully tugging on his hair.

His mouth thinned. “So what’s your point?”

I rolled my eyes. “You melted me, Leland. That's the point. It’s not supposed to be the other way around.”

He snorted. “You melted me from the first time you strutted into my office, before I ever laid a finger on you, and you’ve melted me ever since. All you have to do is breathe and bam! Game over.”

Delight stirred my heart. Charmed and seduced all over again, I grinned. “Really?”

He shifted to stare at me with one dark eye. “Really.”

“Okay.” I yawned, hoping he wouldn’t notice the pleased blush I felt heating my cheeks. “I’ll move in.”

His lips, still swollen from my kisses, curved to a sinful bow. “My parents expect us for Sunday supper. We can tell Mom to start the paperwork then.”

My nose wrinkled. The family thing still made me nervous. What if they thought I was a troublemaker and a slut? It didn’t help that they were right on both counts. I’d certainly caused Leland nothing but trouble and I was so far gone for him, I made rent boys look like angels. Even so, his terrifying mother had offered us a home and his father hadn’t fired me, either.

I sighed.

“Okay,” I repeated.

“Good.” His smile lit up his eyes like a freaking Christmas tree. “Tell me?”

I elbowed him because why did I have to be the first to say it? When we both knew he’d owned me from the very first night? “You are such a girl, Whitacre.”

He laughed. He kissed me. “I love you, too.”

THE END

Copyright ©2010 Kari Gregg

Also from Kari Gregg:

Spoils of War

Lovely Wicked

Upcoming releases:

Blood Oath: What Rough Beast
[Jan 2011]

Email: [email protected]

Website: http://www.KariGregg.com

A BUGGER TO PACK by Kim Dare

Dear Santa,

I would love to get a good Master/Slave book, without humiliation (sorry Santa... I hate humiliation, like eat garbage or stuff like that), and with a lot of hot scenes. Maybe a sexy Master/Slave celebration of Xmas?

Is it ask too much to ask for a description of some hot slave like a picture I saw in this amazing discussion on my book group discussion?

(please Santa, help me)

{PHOTO INSERT:  An extremely muscular man stands with his back to the camera. He is naked except for a thick leather belt around his waist chained to a matching set of cuffs around his wrists.}

***************************

(Part 1)

“How the hell did you talk me into this?” Aaron Clark asked his best friend, not for the first time that night.

Ben turned around and smiled up at him. If Aaron hadn’t known the club’s regular bartender better, he might have believed the sweet, innocent little look in the smaller man’s eyes. As it was, Aaron merely turned his attention heavenward and wished like hell he wasn’t such a soft touch when someone approached him for a favour.

“It’s for charity,” Ben reminded him, absentmindedly, already turning away.

The fact that his humiliation was going to raise money for a good cause failed to make Aaron feel the least bit better about the world. It also failed to make the minuscule thong that Ben had cajoled him into, any bigger. Aaron shuffled his bare feet against the bare floorboards as he glanced along the increasingly short line of men between him and the gap in the curtains leading to the back of the makeshift stage.

“How big a donation would I need to make, right now, if I wanted to get out of this?” Aaron asked. He was pretty sure he’d happily bankrupt himself to be able to run away and scramble back into the clothes he usually wore when he worked on the door of the club.

“It’ll be fine,” Ben soothed vaguely, patting Aaron’s arm as he stood on tiptoe in an effort to get a better view.

Aaron was tall enough to have a perfectly good line of sight without moving a muscle. Another man had disappeared from the queue between him and the worse moment of his life.

“Ben—” he began again.

“It’s Christmas,” Ben cut in. He actually fluttered his eyelashes up at him as he said it. “It’s traditional to give to charity, to help those who are less fortunate than yourself, and stuff.”

“Yeah, well, there must be other ways to—”

A cheer went up on the other side of the curtain. Aaron’s mouth went dry. He promptly forgot how to speak.

Behind his back, Aaron’s hands tightened into fists and tugged at the cuffs Ben had somehow managed to convince him would be the perfect addition to his damn near non-existent outfit.

All Aaron’s squirming succeeded in doing, was to pull at the thick leather belt around his waist. Dropping his gaze to the floor in front of him, he tried to take a deep breath to settle his nerves, but his eyes went straight to that silly little thong.

“Ben—”

“Ben Chambers!” someone called from the stage.

With one last grin over his shoulder, Ben disappeared through the gap in the curtains. Aaron watched, growing paler by the second, as Ben’s light footsteps carried him forward to stand next to the auctioneer for the evening.

The crowd whooped with delight at the sight of him. Aaron couldn’t bring himself to be surprised. He was pretty sure Ben was exactly what every dominant fantasised about every time he took his cock in hand.

Big blue eyes, floppy blond hair and a cute little arse—when a perfect smile and grade-A flirting talent was thrown into the mix, it was only natural that he should be one of the most popular men in the club.

Ben bowed to his delighted audience. The leather harness and cuffs he was wearing only made his skin look paler and the light lines of muscle that graced his limbs more elegant.

Someone shouted something from the crowd. Ben cheerfully changed his bow to a low, theatrical curtsey and pretended to fan himself as he smiled coyly over the top of the imaginary prop.

Watching his performance through the gap in the curtains, Aaron did his best not to hyperventilate. It wasn’t as easy as it should have been. By the time Ben practically leapt off the stage into the arms of his winning bidder, Aaron’s lungs had completely given up on their assigned task. His head was spinning from lack of oxygen.

There was no way in hell he was going out there. Aaron shook his head at the very possibility.

“Aaron Clark!”

Someone behind Aaron elbowed him in the back, as if they thought there really was some possibility he hadn’t heard his name being called. “You’re up!”

Actually, he wasn’t. Walking onto the stage sporting a flourishing erection was one of the few problems he didn’t have. His feet remained rooted to the spot.

“Aaron Clark?” the auctioneer called again.

The elbow-er standing behind Aaron gave him a push toward the gap in the curtains. He stumbled forward. His shoulders brushed against the rich red velvet. The spotlight blinded him. He tried to lift his hands to shield his eyes, but the cuffs stopped him short. Instinct led him to the auctioneer’s side, but even after his eyes adjusted to the stage lighting, he found it impossible to make out any detail of the dominants in the crowd past it.

That was something to be grateful for. Next time he worked on the door, he wouldn’t have to know which doms he allowed into the club had seen him up there making a complete pillock out of himself. And he couldn’t tell if Mr. Patterson, the owner of the club, was out there either.

From somewhere far, far away, Aaron heard the auctioneer read out his stats, but his mind easily converted the numbers into the reality they represented.

Height—A damn sight taller than the vast majority of the doms there.

Weight—Too much. And the fact it was all muscle didn’t magically make him light enough to sit on a master’s knee the way Ben was so fond of doing.

Age—Did it really matter? It wasn’t as if anyone would still be listening at that point.

“He’s bloody huge!”

Only one man in the crowd shouted it, but Aaron knew that most of the others would be thinking the same thing. A moment later another cat-call emerged from the crowd, ready to prove all of Aaron’s fears true. Swallowing rapidly, he tried like hell not to blush and completely failed.

Keeping his gaze lowered, all he could do was stand very still and pray for it to be over.

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be nice to lay a whip to someone who won’t break at the first blow!” someone shouted.

“Built like an ox—and I’ve got a new bull whip to test out,” someone else said.

It took Aaron more than a few seconds to realise the tone of the comments had changed. The serious dominants might have lost interest when they saw the size of him, but Aaron had allowed hardcore sadists into the club often enough to be able to recognise most of their voices.

Belonging to any of them for four hours might hurt like hell, but right then, Aaron was willing to take that over the abject humiliation of not receiving a single bid.

To Aaron’s side, the auctioneer opened the bidding. The values weren’t as high as those being offered up for Ben’s time, but there were numbers—and they were going up rather than down.

*

(Story continues in next message)

“They’ll skin the poor sod…”

Luke Patterson heard the man sitting next to him at the bar say the words, but he’d be damned if he was just going to sit back and watch his neighbour's prediction come true. Catching the auctioneer’s eye, Patterson nodded once and raised the bidding a little further.

Keeping his bids subtle enough that he didn’t attract any extra interest in paying for Aaron’s time, Patterson quietly raised the stakes until each and every sadist who’d considered using the bouncer as his new whipping boy fell by the wayside.

It was only when the gavel fell, that Patterson turned his gaze away from the auctioneer and back to Aaron. The submissive stood near the edge of the stage, peering out into the crowd, but he obviously had no idea who’d won the bidding war on him. Neither did any of the other doms—not until Patterson left his barstool and made his way up to the edge of the stage to collect his prize.

A few whispers started up as he reached the bottom of the little flight of stairs that led up to Aaron. Patterson had a fair idea what they would be saying. He might have been happy for the auction to take place in his club and raise money for the worthy cause of the year, but he has never gone so far as to support it by actually placing a bid on any of the ‘slaves’ who put themselves under the hammer.

The bouncer blinked down at him, as if he still didn’t understand what was going on.

“Come along,” Patterson said, with a jerk of his head. His tone of voice seemed to break through whatever was holding Aaron frozen in place.

The boy took a step forward, then another, until he’d come down the steps and stood at Patterson’s side.

“Follow me.”

Patterson turned his back on the submissive and lead him back through the crowd, not to where he’d been sitting by the bar, but to the private booth that he’d taken to using as a makeshift office during club hours.

Holding the door open, he stood back and let Aaron walk in first, knowing there was no way the submissive would be able to close the door behind them while his hands were bound as they were. Damn, but he looked as good in bondage as Patterson had always thought he would.

It wasn’t a completely private location, and it wasn’t exactly silent either. The noise of the club seeped through the rich wooden panelling, but as they faced each other , the rest of the world became increasingly irrelevant.

Patterson ran his eyes over the submissive, from the close cropped hair, along lines of heavy, well-defined muscle, past the bondage and all the way down to his bare feet. For a completely stunning man, he seemed incredibly nervous about showing off his fantastic build.

Patterson finally took pity on the boy and nodded toward the bench on the left hand side of the table. “Sit down, Aaron.”

The submissive did as he was told. Even while sitting down, he seemed to be consciously trying to make himself appear smaller and take up as little room as possible. Or maybe he just wanted to hide as much of himself as he could behind the dark oak table.

Patterson lowered himself into the seat opposite him. “You’ve never struck me as the kind of man who likes being the centre of attention.”

Aaron met his eyes for a moment.

“I’m guessing Ben talked you into taking part?”

Aaron nodded.

Patterson considered his next move very carefully. He’d always known there was a bloody fantastic body hidden behind the thick coat Aaron wore when he worked on the door but having it displayed for his appreciation was something very different, and more than a little distracting.

“What was the final bid in the auction?” Aaron asked, suddenly.

“Does it matter?” Patterson asked.

Aaron cleared his throat. He seemed to have difficulty forcing the words out. “I probably can’t pay you back straight away, but, maybe I could do it a bit at a time. You could dock my wages or something?”

Patterson raised an eyebrow at him.

“It’s not that I’m ungrateful that you stepped in and rescued me, sir, but it shouldn’t put you out of pocket and…” Aaron’s words trailed off as their eyes met.

He was right, of course. It was rescuing Aaron that had been uppermost in his mind when he offered his first bid. Save him from having every scrap of skin whipped off his back, and send him on his way without actually making him go through with the rest of the bloody stupid auction game. That had been the plan

But, as the heat rushed to Aaron’s cheeks, there was no way in hell Patterson could bring the appropriate words to his lips. “You agreed to play the game,” he reminded the younger man instead.

Aaron squirmed slight in his seat.

“You offered the bidders four hours of your submission,” Patterson reminded him.

“Maybe—”

“There are no maybes,” Patterson cut in, briskly. “You don’t owe me any money, Aaron. You owe me four hours.”

“I…” Aaron turned his head and looked everywhere but at Patterson.

Running his eyes over those parts of Aaron’s body that were visible past the table, Patterson could think of so many wonderful things to do with those four hours. “State your limits.”

The submissive blinked at him, as if he had no idea what he was talking about. “I…what the guys out there said—I can take a whipping. I don’t mind.”

“I asked what you won’t do,” Patterson reminded him. “Not what you will do.”

Aaron stared at him, looking more helpless than any man his size should rightly be able to.

“Do you have a master? A dominant you’re answerable to?” Patterson asked.

Aaron shook his head.

“A boyfriend, a lover?” Patterson pushed, hoping like hell he was right in thinking he already knew the answer to that question too.

Aaron’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed rapidly. He shook his head once more.

Patterson smiled. “In that case, I’m still waiting to hear your limits,” he reminded the younger man.

Aaron opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out.

Patterson’s eyes narrowed. “Have you ever negotiated a scene with a dominant?”

“Like I said, I can pay you back—” Aaron fell silent as Patterson lifted a hand.

“You’ll be given a safe word at the start of the scene. We’ll play it by ear.”

The submissive simply stared at him, as if he’d lost his mind.

“You’re scheduled to be working on the door next Friday—Christmas Eve through to the early hours of Christmas Day, correct?”

Aaron nodded.

“Change of plans. You can start your shift as usual, but you’ll belong to me for four hours, starting at ten o’clock.”

“I…” That was all he managed to say.

Patterson smiled slightly, the instinct to want to rescue Aaron wasn’t exactly new, but now it was stronger than ever. He couldn’t even allow him to struggle for the appropriate answer. “I think you’ll find the appropriate answer is ‘yes, sir’.”