If It Fornicates (A Market Garden Tale)

by Aleksandr Voinov

  Spencer himself was kneeling at the foot of the bed, on the fluffy white rug there, fully naked, hands folded in front of his groin, eyes closed. He looked relaxed and peaceful, collected, quite possibly halfway to subspace already. Spencer could anticipate in the most beautiful ways. Unlike some subs, he didn’t get pushy or squirmy or demanding or restless. He just was and fully embraced waiting. And what a buzz that he was waiting for Nick.

  Nick walked up to Spencer, studied the twitch of muscle that betrayed Spencer’s keen awareness of his steps, his movements. Then, in passing, he reached out and traced his fingernails along Spencer’s shoulders. Full-body shiver. Nick walked around Spencer and ran his nails along his front too, just below the collar bones.

  He didn’t say a word. Didn’t make a sound. Just let Spencer take in the long, contemplative silence. Nick couldn’t help but think of clients who’d consider that much waiting a drain on their expensive time. And especially expensive time with Nick.

  “You obeyed perfectly.” Nick ran fingertips along the side of Spencer’s face. “Thank you.” He meant it. That was something he rarely said, but it seemed like Spencer needed to hear it, and besides, this was now their game, rather than one for money. No more real, but a whole lot more personal.

  “Turn around. Hands on the bed. Lean forward.”

  Spencer obeyed, displaying his whole upper body and arms, sightless gaze on the floor. Nick traced a tense muscle with a fingernail, hard enough to leave a scratch mark on Spencer’s beautiful dark skin, and enjoyed the shudder and the slight groan when he returned to the sensitive area between Spencer’s shoulder blades and traced it again. It was idle, felt a little like finger-painting, playful and yet not. Before long, Spencer would be aware of every square inch of skin, every muscle in his back, and that awareness would serve as a first course for the crop. He’d be aware of and appreciative of Nick’s precision, tuned in completely to every harsh slap and gentle pat.

  Spencer held his position, hands pressed flat against the wood of the bedframe. He sucked in a sharp breath, goose bumps springing up all around a lazy circle Nick drew on the back of his shoulder.

  “Tell me, Spencer,” Nick said quietly, moving his finger along the underside of Spencer’s arm. “Do you trust me?”

  “Yes.” The word came out quickly, sharply, almost like he’d coughed. “I do. Yes.”

  Nick smiled. His finger reached the inside of Spencer’s forearm, which was trembling now. Hell, most of his body was. As Nick wrapped his fingers around—most of the way around, since they were only so long—Spencer’s wrist, he leaned closer. He kissed the back of Spencer’s shoulder, lips curving into a grin as Spencer groaned like Nick had struck him.

  Nick let go of Spencer’s wrist and stood. He looked the man’s exposed back up and down, his mind superimposing all the welts he intended to leave across Spencer’s skin.

  The scenes he’d done earlier today seemed far away, existing on the other side of some huge expanse of time, but as he debated the crop versus the flogger versus those evil sticks Spencer loved to hate so much, fatigue crept into his muscles. Not unpleasant, just a reminder that he only had so much left tonight. Pity; if there was one sub he’d gladly reserve all his energy for, regardless of the monetary cost, it was Spencer. Sweet, gorgeous Spencer, kneeling at the foot of his bed and waiting, waiting, waiting for anything Nick saw fit to give him.

  Which meant Nick owed him one hundred percent. Not a half-arsed flogging. Don’t swing the cat-o’-nine-tails if the muscles are too tired to follow through and make it count.

  At his feet, Spencer shifted on his knees. He grasped the top of the footboard, and loosened-tightened-loosened his grip. Not impatience. Just getting comfortable. Anticipating, perhaps. Nick had never had much trouble making this man squirm.

  In the end, he went for the crop from the basic assortment he kept at Spencer’s, exactly for the precision. The first impact released some of the tension that had been building, and that first shock pushed Spencer physically forward as if he’d been punched.

  Nick amused himself with placing the next one on the exact same spot before the burn had had any chance to bleed away into the tissue. Spencer squirmed, and for that, he received a third one so close to the others that the pain must’ve bled together into one spot.

  And just as Spencer was clearly expecting a fourth, all Nick did was slide the tip down between Spencer’s shoulders to the small of his back. His fingertips itched to touch Spencer’s back, but there would be touching later, at leisure, and hitting him was just about as good.

  Spencer was breathing heavily, panting a little, as the tension built again. Anticipation. Nick stepped to the side and hit him low on the chest, just under the ribs. Spencer sucked in a breath and tensed, adjusted his position by opening his legs a bit. Broadening for more stability. That was why Nick didn’t want to tie him up—it would dilute the little messages he got from Spencer’s responses.

  He trailed the crop up Spencer’s side to his armpit, smooth and caressing, then up along the curve of muscle along the shoulder, to the neck, which caused Spencer to pull his shoulders up as if to protect his face. Nick merely adjusted the angle on the handle and traced the edge of the leather tip along Spencer’s temple.

  “I can touch you anywhere I want,” he said softly. “I could even hit you on the balls. CBT is one of those things I’m definitely into.”

  Spencer swallowed audibly. “Yes,” he said, a verbal blank check. And he’d felt nothing yet. Some ball-squeezing and dick-slapping had only prepared him mentally, but in practice, there was so much more they could do.

  “What else, Spencer? Want to add anything to the list?”

  “Yeah.” Spencer drew in a slow breath. “Since we’re . . . since we’re in a relationship. I only want you, Nick.”

  “What? Barebacking?”

  “That. Eventually. But also . . .”

  Nick leaned closer. “I’m not going to beat this out of you. This is too important.”

  “Like . . . lock me in. I mean, I’d still have to go to work, I just don’t want to be able to get off.”

  Chastity play. Nick reached out to touch Spencer’s head. “I’ll absolutely lock your cock away. No problem.”

  Spencer leaned into the touch. “Not weird?”

  “Not at all.” Nick leaned in and breathed in his ear. “Actually, it’s extremely hot.”

  Spencer shivered. From his words, breath, or touch? Hard to say. “Is it?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Nick put a hand on Spencer’s side and slowly reached around, exhaling as Spencer’s abs contracted beneath his touch. “It’s incredibly hot, Spencer. Knowing no one, not even you, can get you off except me.” He trailed his fingertips further down. If Spencer’s erection had flagged while Nick had been using the crop, he had regained it, and he groaned as Nick closed his hand around his hard cock. “You’re giving me complete control.” He kissed the side of Spencer’s neck. “You know that turns me on.” Another kiss, and he growled, “You know it pleases me.”

  Spencer whimpered, and a shudder pushed his cock into Nick’s grasp.

  “I could beat you some more tonight,” Nick went on. “Add some more welts.” He eased his hand into motion, stroking Spencer and gripping him a little tighter. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  “I would.” Spencer shivered, then quickly added, “If it’s what you want.”

  “Very good.” Nick gently bit the base of Spencer’s neck, right where it connected to his shoulder. “God, I could go all night with you.” A dull ache in his forearm and elbow reminded him that no, he really couldn’t, but that didn’t stop him from imagining it. “Tonight, though, I want to fuck you.” His hand stopped abruptly as he finished the sentence, and Spencer shuddered again, biting back what was probably a string of curses.

  Nick straightened. “Condom. Lube.”

  Spencer rose more slowly than Nick had. Nick didn’t rush him; he’d been on his knees long enough, and he’d dipped
into the advanced stages of subspace, so Nick gave him a moment to safely get himself upright.

  While Spencer steadied himself, Nick unbuckled his belt. Spencer looked at him, lips parting as he watched Nick remove his boots and leather trousers. He made a subtle gesture of moistening his lips. All Nick would have to do was say the word, and Spencer would drop to his knees again and suck him off with a degree of enthusiasm Nick himself would have paid for. When Spencer met his eyes, Nick winked. He was probably waiting for that command. Perhaps telepathically pleading for it.

  Please, let me please you.

  Nick tilted his head towards the nightstand. Spencer didn’t argue. He went to the drawer and quickly produced a condom and bottle of lube.

  One of the greatest challenges Nick always encountered as a Dom was masking his own hunger. The arousal, the white hot need, that would make him look as if he wasn’t in control, and he couldn’t let that show. No matter how much it turned him on to watch Spencer do what he was told.

  He gestured to the floor at his feet. “Put it on.”

  Spencer went to his knees so quickly his legs might as well have buckled. He tore the condom wrapper, and somehow his hands were steady—sheer willpower, no doubt—as he removed the condom from its wrapper and reached for Nick. Nick held his breath, determined to stay calm and focused even as Spencer’s hands touched his very erect cock and stroked the tight condom down. Then Spencer put the lube on, and he kept stroking, smoothing it onto the condom as he looked up at Nick, eyebrows raised in an unspoken Tell me what to do next.

  Nick licked his lips. “Over the bed.”

  Spencer nodded. He stood faster this time—he’d only been kneeling a moment—and faced the side of the bed. He bent over it, placing his feet far enough apart to bring his hips down to a more accessible level for Nick.

  Nick pulled in a breath as he approached his waiting sub. He loved this position with Spencer more than with most men. The power of it, the fact that even standing, he loomed over this taller, larger man.

  This taller, larger man who was bent over, legs spread, ready and waiting.

  He dug his fingernails into one arsecheek, making Spencer give just a small start, focusing his mind on the here and now, and only then pushed closer and positioned himself. Deliberately going slowly so as not to betray how much he needed Spencer—not just any guy, this one was much more—he pushed against the tight ring, easing it open enough to push deeper.

  Spencer gulped down a breath that sounded suspiciously like “Thank God,” and Nick grinned, then raked his nails down Spencer’s other arsecheek as he pushed in. Spencer’s knees shook; the man always got unsteady when pleasure and pain mixed, as if he were being physically jerked between those two poles. In Spencer’s mind, both extremes hadn’t come quite together yet, but that was fine.

  He pushed further, just enough to tease Spencer, then moved a little, thrusts so shallow he was most definitely nailing Spencer’s sweet spot. Spencer moaned and dug his hands into the mattress, pushing back, offering himself completely, as if Nick couldn’t already have him any way he wanted right now. But Spencer had that beautiful way to remind him, to express it, offering absolutely everything without demanding that Nick follow his lead.

  Gradually, Nick’s thrusts went deeper, never breaking his rhythm. Nick stayed in control throughout, despite his own need clawing at him like a wild animal. When he got too much into the physical pleasure, he pulled out and then pushed all the way in, and repeated that a dozen or so times until Spencer was tonelessly begging. All Nick could really hear was a “ck” sound clicking deep in Spencer’s throat on every pant.

  He thrust all the way in, buried himself to the hilt, gritting his teeth because it very nearly set him off. Feeling Spencer all around him, skin glowing in the light from the LED candles, was pretty fucking special.

  “Tell me, Spencer.”

  “Please.” Spencer’s voice was rough as if he’d spent the last twenty minutes screaming. “I . . . Do anything you want with me.” Nick heard the other thing Spencer had almost said. I need you.

  Being needed, wanted, surrendered to, was the best drug on the planet. Nick pulled away, then slammed forward, every thrust now hard and fast, brutal, which meant really tender, demanding, wanting, generous. He fucked Spencer like he was the last man on the planet, and then felt him tighten and come, and fucked harder into that tautness, hard enough to hurt, until his senses simply overloaded and he came inside Spencer.

  “Good boy, well done,” he murmured near Spencer’s ear. “Imagine, soon I’ll come in you without a condom, and then I’ll plug you up and keep it inside you as long as I damn well please.”

  Spencer gave a violent shudder.

  “And you’ll try to get hard but you won’t be able to, because I’ll keep you locked up. All day, you’ll try, and it won’t work because I won’t let you. Your pleasure now belongs to me. Your hole, your cock, all mine until I’m done with you.”

  He thrust into Spencer just to punctuate, then pulled free.

  Three days. Two nights. All with Spencer. The weekend plus Monday. Wouldn’t that be a switch?

  Nick still had to go in on Friday night, though. He was one of the in-demand rentboys; like Jared and Tristan, he had his own little fan club. Regular customers, some who’d paid enough over time that they could’ve bought themselves luxury cars in cash instead of blowing their wads on, well, blowing their wads.

  And since Tristan and Jared were off tonight, there was no way Nick could also be gone. Couldn’t disappoint the clientele, of course. So here he was.

  He leaned against one of the chest-high tables, a Coke beside him that was watered down from the melting ice cubes. Like all the other unoccupied rentboys, he watched the door. The rentboys were like grizzlies in a river tonight, watching and waiting for a salmon to jump right into their mouths. If someone came in who was worth Nick’s time and energy, he’d have to move in fast.

  Nothing had piqued his interest yet, though. Earlier, one of those smarmy business types had strolled in here like he owned the place, and Nick had sauntered up to him because he’d liked the idea of being paid to fuck that smirk right off his face. Guys like that inevitably turned out to be Nick’s favourite kind of bottom: the kind who started out cocky but ultimately begged and practically cried for more.

  This one? Not so much. He wanted Nick to bend over and take it, for one thing. He wanted him to take it in the wallet too: only one hundred fifty quid? Fuck off, numb nuts.

  So Nick was still here, and hadn’t yet earned his keep for the evening. He was patient, though. Biding his time until a thick enough wallet came in attached to a submissive enough guy willing to suck Nick’s cock and pay for the privilege.

  “You look bored.”

  Nick turned just as Tim, one of the not-so-kinky rentboys, appeared next to him. Nick shrugged. “Just haven’t seen anything I like yet.”

  Tim set his glass beside Nick’s. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

  “I don’t consider myself a beggar.”

  Tim laughed. Nick managed a quiet chuckle, but didn’t say much. He liked Tim, but wasn’t really in the mood to socialize. Especially since socializing was sometimes indistinguishable from flirting. Even with the black leather trousers every rentboy in the room wore, a client might think they were otherwise occupied and go give his money to someone else.

  Right then, the club door opened. Every man-for-hire’s head turned, even some of the ones already occupied with clients. A well-appointed businessman strolled in, looking every bit the rich, fuckable bastard. God, his cufflinks alone probably cost more than most men’s cars, because those were emphatically not Swarovski crystals.

  Tim gasped and put a hand to his chest. “Oh, hello.” He elbowed Nick. “Do you see that?”

  “Yes, I do.” Nick took a quick drink to cool and moisten his mouth as he sized up the man from a distance.

  “Bloody hell.” Tim shook his head. “I would fuck that man so hard, whoever p
ulled me out would be the new King of England.”

  Nick laughed. “You wish.” And he started towards his chosen prey. On the way, he tried to get more of a bead on the man. Flashy as he was, he wasn’t a lawyer. Lawyers wore more subdued suits, for one, at least in Nick’s experience. Early, maybe mid-forties. Red tie. So maybe a CEO? A vice president at one of the big investment banks? The red tie was a stereotype—somebody must have invented the “Alpha males wear red ties” thing twenty years ago in GQ or Esquire. And ever since then, the herd had followed, which in itself was just fucking ironic.

  Nick pushed up against the man’s table, regarded him from the side, noticed the man looking at him, gaze trailing over his skin.

  The man’s lips quirked into a smile. “And who are you?”

  “Nick.” Nick turned and faced him fully.

  “Just Nick.” Red Tie’s eyes flashed with interest and his gaze drifted to Nick’s bare chest. “Nice piercings.”

  Nick didn’t follow the man’s gaze downward. That would have subtly shifted the power balance out of his favour. “You got any?”

  “No. I was considering it though.”

  Don’t tell me you don’t like the pain.

  “But I travel a lot to the States. They have those X-rays now.” Red Tie smiled. “You’re never sure if you’re flying into a state where perverts get thrown into jail.”

  Nick nodded. “You gotta wonder though what they’d do to you in jail.” He bared teeth. “From the corner office to everybody’s bitch, I’d guess.” Said under his breath, more offer than threat.

  Red Tie’s hand went up to his collar and tugged at the knot. “You think?”

  “I do. I think you’d get fed a lot of cock, until you like it, and then because you like it.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Obviously, I’m the safe option there, but I can give you a taste of that.”