by Alexa Silver
Punishment or reward... Tomorrow, you’re going to be killer on the mound. You’re gonna get out there and do me proud. Okay?
“Okay,” he muttered.
A batter strutted to home plate, every line of his body radiating confidence. Chase recognized him. Janson Thorpe had been Rookie of the Year last season with a batting average of .325.
Chase wound up and threw a perfect slider. Thorpe fanned at the ball.
“Stee-rike one!” the ump shouted.
Thorpe, looking disgruntled, stepped out of the box and swung his bat experimentally. He gestured to a batboy, who rushed forward with one of Thorpe’s bats, a fancy Marucci Pro.
Chase’s lip curled. He had no patience for the affectations of youngsters, Rookie of the Year or not. A bat was a fuckin’ bat.
Thorpe returned to the plate as the home plate coach murmured something to Sam, who dropped two fingers. A curve ball.
Chase breathed deeply. His curve ball had never been his best. He wound up and threw a pitch that curved out of the strike zone. Thorpe spotted it on time and let it go by, shooting Chase a contemptuous glare like he was saying, I can take you, asshole.
Sam gave the same signal, and Chase gritted his teeth. Focus. Focus, or you’re gonna be in big trouble.
He shrugged his shoulders and tossed the ball three times between his mitt and his hand, then threw a curve ball that went out and then into the strike zone. Thorpe also let that one go by.
“Stee-rike two!”
Sam’s one finger meant a fast ball. Predictable, but Chase wasn’t worried. His fast ball had consistently been clocked at 90. Not a record-breaker, but damn good.
He eyed Thorpe, shrugged his shoulders, tossed the ball from hand to glove three times, then threw a fast ball that had Thorpe popping it high over the plate.
Sam caught it with ease and Coach’s whistle blasted. “Okay, McCall, take a breather. Next on the mound is...” He consulted a list. “Stevenson.”
Terri caught up with Chase as he jogged into the dugout. “Nice career move, babe,” she told him.
“Whaddaya mean?”
“You just struck out the rookie of the year. Odds are that you’re gonna be our closer, big guy.” She punched him in the shoulder just hard enough to let him know who’s boss.
*****
“You did well today.”
He was standing in Terri’s room, naked, bound, blindfolded, and gagged at about ten p.m. After he’d struck out Janson Thorpe, the rest of the day had been uneventful. Chase’s team had won the practice game. Then they’d worked out, showered and returned to the hotel.
Everyone had eaten in the hotel’s dining room, Terri with the coaches and trainers in a private room where, Chase was certain, discussion had ensued.
He wasn’t sweating and shaking because he doubted the result of the discussions. He was sweating and shaking because he didn’t know what would happen next.
His cock was so hard it was vertical, rubbing his belly, drops of pre-come already leaking from the tip. His hands were bound behind his back.
“Yes, you did very well today, sweetheart.”
Something warm, soft and damp trailed along the back of his neck. Her lips. He shuddered, aching to touch her, have her, know her.
“So I have a special treat for you. Do you know what CBT is?”
He shook his head.
“Cock and ball torture.”
Fire snarled through his body and he came, his cock spewing onto his belly, chest...even his chin.
She gasped, her surprise unfeigned, he thought. He felt he knew her well enough to sense that. Hell, he’d just shocked himself.
He whimpered. Cock and ball torture. He whimpered again, the sound piteous behind the gag.
“Oh, my God.” Laughter in her voice. “You’ll have a lot to clean up when I’m done with you.” Her voice dropped to a whisper and she tongued his earlobe. “And that won’t be for quite a while.”
She nipped the lobe, and the unexpected pain snapped every muscle into unbearable tightness, followed by a wave of equally unbearable pleasure.
“You bad, bad boy.” She walked around him, her high heels scraping subtly along the carpet. Something—he didn’t know what—trailed along his skin, leaving shivers in its wake. Her fingernails? No, it felt...odd, larger, softer but not soft. Some toy with which she’d torture him. His skin prickled in anticipation, the tiny hairs lifting.
What could the mystery toy be? She’d shown him a riding crop, floggers, plus leather and wooden paddles. But this didn’t feel like any of them.
“Yes, you did well today.” Her voice sharpened. “Until just now.”
He closed his eyes behind his blindfold. Knees weakening, he wondered how he’d stay on his feet.
Her body heat warmed his back before something bobbed between his thighs close to his clenched asscheeks. Fuck. What was it? It wasn’t hard, precisely, but had a texture that confused him.
Fingernails scratched up his ass, over his low back, then to his shoulders, gently scoring the healing wounds. The frightening caress went over his shoulders then down, down, down, over his pecs, his belly and down to his swelling cock.
She squeezed his balls and he thought he’d go out of his mind.
“You need to shave here,” she said with disapproval. “This calls for a change in plans.” She pressed on his upper back, between his shoulder blades. “Bend over, baby.”
He obeyed, his chest now resting on the bed. His dick stiffened.
“Spread ’em.” She kicked out one of his feet.
Tears slid from his eyes. He got harder. The touch of the sheet on his rod sent bolts of desire snapping through him.
She stroked down his back, then delivered a stinging slap to one tight buttcheek. He jolted. One—two—three—four... His ass burned. He grunted behind the gag.
She stroked the cheek, digging in her fingers, massaging the muscle beneath. He groaned. Drool oozed from behind the gag onto the sheets.
She spanked the other buttock, following the punishment with a caress. Then...nothing. Nothing but the snap of rubber or latex or something. He didn’t know. He sweated even more, smelling his fear and desire.
She spread him apart, her touch different. Gloves. She’d put on gloves.
A lubed finger circled his pucker. He clenched.
“Open for me. It’s harder if you don’t relax.”
He whimpered. He wanted to obey, but it was hard, very hard. Didn’t she understand that? He was screaming inside, shaking from desire, fear, pain.
“Breathe. Long breaths.”
He did, and gradually the panting slowed and evened.
“You can’t stop what’s going to happen,” she murmured. “And you don’t want to. So just accept it.”
His clenched asshole loosened and opened to her. Her gloved, lubed finger slipped inside. The bump of her first knuckle passed through the muscular, tight ring...and then the second knuckle entered him. Exquisite, better than his dreams.
She pumped. He breathed deeply and loosened more.
Another finger. It hurt a little and he was reminded of a line from an old rock song. Hurts so good... Waves of pleasure, desire, need swamped him.
The mysterious something bumped against him again, sticking slightly, and he realized what it was.
A dildo. A strap-on dildo. Silicone, he guessed, judging by the way it didn’t slide smoothly but stuck here and there. It slid where he was sweaty and stuck in the dry spots.
She was going to peg him, take him with that silicone dildo, fuck him with her cock. His knees weakened, and rather than drop to the floor, he crawled onto the bed. Her finger popped out of his hole.
She grabbed his hips. “Now, don’t you go anywhere.”
He stopped scooting away, aware of the picture he presented. Kneeling on the bed, face planted in the sheets, knees apart, ass thrust back and available.
She again spanked his ass hard, several heavy swipes of her gloved hands. She squeeze
d his cheeks, pulled them apart.
Something bounced against his rosette. The dildo? It pressed against him, nesting in the depression atop his pucker. One hand left his butt and chill liquid dripped down his crack. Lube.
Oh, God, she was really going to do it. She was going to fuck him in the ass.
The dildo pushed harder against his asshole. Was she guiding it? Maybe. One hand caressed his butt, then held his hip firmly.
The dildo’s head thrust inside and fire ringed his hole. He screamed behind the gag. Now she had both hands on his hips and though he squirmed and thrashed, he couldn’t stop what was happening.
She was right. He couldn’t stop her, didn’t want to stop her, so he let whatever was going to happen...just happen. He breathed and ordered his back hole to relax.
The muscles loosened and she plunged in deeper. Jesus fuck. Pain hazed his thinking... How do gays do this?
The heat on his back intensified as he sensed her closeness. She nipped his shoulder and when his attention had been diverted to that little bite, she jerked back his hips. The pain... It was as though she was branding him with a hot poker from the inside out. He screamed again, panting and slobbering, squirming to get away, squirming to take more of her in. He wanted all of her and hated that the dildo wasn’t really her but...but...but... That was all there was to have, dammit.
A hand snaked around his hip and grasped his hard cock. She pumped, pre-come easing her way. He focused on his rod, wrenching his mind away from the searing pain in his butt.
Desire, intense and wicked as twenty hells, enveloped him and he came and came and came. He collapsed on the bed and the dildo popped out of him.
First the gag came off, then the blindfold. He blinked and saw her hand shielding his eyes from the light in the room. “Thank you, Mistress,” he managed to mumble through the waves of afterglow that swept his limp body.
“You’re welcome.” A smile in her voice.
He relaxed more as she took off the rest of his restraints and curled her luscious body against his back, cuddling.
She kissed his shoulder. “Good boy.”
Chase didn’t lose his grin for days.
Epilogue
October
Yankee Stadium, New York
Ninth inning, seventh game of the World Series
Chase shrugged his shoulders, tossed the ball into his mitt three times and squinted at Sam, crouched behind home plate.
Two batters out, bottom of the ninth, and the Scamps were about to take it all for the first time in their team history. Savoring the moment, he let his gaze trail over to his team’s dugout. Everyone was leaning forward, tense, trembling, expectant. Waiting.
Now elevated to assistant coach, Terri stood at the dugout entrance, leaning against a stanchion. Despite the casual pose, he now knew her so well that he saw the signs of stress: pursed lips, slightly hunched shoulders, tapping fingers. Her arms were folded across her chest as though she were hugging herself.
By this time everyone knew about their relationship. Not the details, of course—they often laughed in bed about the fact that everyone thought that big, bad Chase had swept sweet little Terri off her feet when the opposite was true.
He was her thrall and loved it. Enduring what she dished out, no matter how hard or painful, gave him a strength and certainty he had never known.
They were an established couple as far as the world was concerned. Everyone loved it, and, apparently, them. A cynical part of him said that as long as the team won, their relationship was okay. If they lost—
Well, they could both kiss their careers goodbye. But that wasn’t going to happen.
He caught her eye and nodded. She managed a tight, tense little grin. In return, he allowed a calm smile to spread across this face. I got this, babe. Okay?
Her grin became real and she gave him a thumbs-up.
Chase rolled his shoulders, threw a strikeout, and won the World Series.
About the Author
Suz deMello
Best-selling, award-winning author Suz deMello, a.k.a Sue Swift, has written nineteen books in several genres, including nonfiction, romance, erotica, comedy, historical, paranormal, mystery and suspense, plus a number of short stories and non-fiction articles on writing. Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publishers Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, won a contest or two, attained the finals of the RITA and hit several bestseller lists.
A former trial attorney, her passion is world travel. She’s left the US over a dozen times, including lengthy stints working overseas. She’s now writing a vampire tale and planning her next trip.
Find her books at http://www.suzdemello.com
For editing services, email her at [email protected]
Befriend her on Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/SuzDeMello
She tweets @Suzdemello
Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/suzdemello/
Goodreads: http://bit.ly/SuzATGoodreads
Her current blog is http://www.TheVelvetLair.com
Blue Plate Special
Terry Rissen
Chapter 1
Will took the last puff from his cigarette then dropped it on the sidewalk, the music he’d been playing with the guys still running through his head. He usually had his own internal soundtrack, but sometimes it was stronger than others. He and the guys were talking of forming a real band, but he wasn’t sure about it. Will crushed the smoldering butt under his shoe, wondering again if he should quit. The news was full of talk about the dangers of tobacco. They were even talking about banning cigarette commercials. He didn’t know if he believed it or not, but Will put more faith in magic than science anyway. After what he’d been through in his twenty-two years of life, he knew he could heal anything smoking could do to him.
Still, money was tight and what he spent on smokes could just as easily be spent on food. He’d quit school and get a second job, but Mom wouldn’t hear of it. Billy, you’re a smart boy, don’t let anything keep you from going to college. Or maybe the band idea was a good one after all. The four of them were all getting fairly regular work in clubs around Boston, but they’d never gigged together.
Will jingled the change in his pocket, knowing to the penny how much was there. Too bad there was no magic he knew of that would let him create money. Even if there was, he knew better. Outside of healing, magic for purely personal gain never ended well. Still, he didn’t like seeing his mom struggling to keep a roof over their heads, and most of the money he made ended up being spent on school. He didn’t like lying to her about whether he’d eaten or not that day.
There weren’t many perks in being what he was. Power and responsibility, but no real, tangible benefits. Not even a guarantee of three squares a day. He and the others like him had to make their own way in the mundane world and there was no relationship between their status there and their status in their own, magical society. It hadn’t always been that way, but in modern times, they couldn’t afford to draw undue attention.
Will’s stomach rumbled as he sat heavily on the park bench under a streetlight. Warm light spilled out of the diner across the street. He’d been in there dozens of times before. Sometimes just to drink coffee and study during these long dark nights. Sometimes with his mom on the rare occasions they felt they could afford to eat out. It wasn’t the greatest food in the world, but it was cheap and the jukebox had a better-than-average collection.
He had enough in his pocket to pay subway and bus fare for him and his mom in the morning. He wouldn’t have to walk his mom home from her cleaning job at Fenway, but even coffee would be a stretch tonight. Mom fussed that he didn’t need to escort her back and forth to work, but he didn’t like the idea of her making the trip on her own in the dark. They’d had to walk before, just as he’d walked back and forth to his classes at Berklee, but if he could pay for her to ride the bus, he would.
Will was perfectly capable of hoofing it out to South Boston. She shouldn’t have to at her age, especially
not after a night of backbreaking work.
He picked up the newspaper someone had left on the bench and glanced at the headlines. The dampness of the rising fog made the paper limp. He carefully avoided smudging the newsprint too much. Apollo 10’s first color photo of the Earth from space dominated the front page. Will sat stunned by the beauty and symbolism of the image. This was what he and his people fought to protect, not just any one nation, but the whole of it. Soon the astronauts would orbit the moon again. A twinge of jealousy flared up before he could tamp it down. With all the things he could do, he would never be allowed to do that. He and his grandfather had often talked about the fledgling space program and its potential.
Will missed those talks.
The rest of the front page was about Vietnam. Will, frowned. Reading about the war would just make him angry. He’d been born right after the end of World War II. Sometimes Will felt as if the world had never known anything but war. When he caught the news on TV, he ended up growling before they got to the nightly body counts. Luminis were always the first to charge into danger and the first to throw themselves on a grenade. It was deeply carved in their souls to protect and his people were losing too many of their own in Vietnam. Tonight he needed to not think about it. He unfolded the newspaper to find the rest of the Apollo 10 story and several bits of paper fell out. Will instinctively reached out and caught one, grinning when he saw what it was.
A crumpled five dollar bill.
He glanced around, and saw more. Four ones lay at his feet. He picked them up, shoved them in his pocket, then carefully folded the newspaper and tucked it under his arm as he stood up. By rights he should save his windfall. Mother’s Day was coming and he could take his mom out for a decent lunch on nine dollars, but his stomach was complaining now. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and he and the guys had been practicing all day. Decision made, he started across the street, pausing only to let a taxi go by.
