Tagging Mackenzie

by L. M. Somerton

  He shoved on his helmet, not bothering to do up the chinstrap, and straddled the powerful machine. The thrum of the 2000cc engine between his legs did little to dispel his frustration. The lure of the club was strong. He wanted nothing more than to strap a willing, needy sub to the St. Andrew’s cross and deliver a memorable flogging. Instead he turned his bike toward home, displaying the same strength of will that gave him the reputation of a strict, unforgiving Dom.

  By the time he pulled up in front of his premises, Steele felt calmer. He switched off the ignition but sat astride his bike for a while, contemplating the unprepossessing frontage. The two-story brick building occupied one side of a dead-end backstreet. Metal shutters covered the front vehicle access, above which hung a brightly painted sign. He’d come up with the name, Design Rebellion, over beers with Chord one evening five years earlier. A small legacy from his grandfather had provided the seed money to start up his business doing unique, custom paint jobs on high-end motorcycles. The business had taken off in a big way and he now had three employees and more work than he could handle.

  Steele grimaced. It was frustrating to lose his night out, but he still loved his job. He could accept that it wasn’t that much of a hardship to spend the night painting. He wheeled his bike across to the forecourt of the shop and kicked down the stand. Once he’d unlocked and opened the roller door, he moved his baby inside.

  He turned on the lights, set the coffee maker going and collected his gear. The parts he needed to paint were set out on a bench. The epoxy primer had already been applied, sanded and wiped down with a rag wetted with thinner. The surfaces were perfectly smooth and ready.

  Steele used a low, wheeled stool to move around the bench while he was painting. A trolley containing his paints, brushes and templates—also on wheels—came with him. He’d bought a few from a hairdressing salon that was closing down.

  He made sure the oscillating fan was going, to disperse any fumes, then tuned the radio to a rock station. He switched on the monitor linked to the security cameras outside—that way he could see if anyone came calling. He flexed his fingers, popping his knuckles. He was all set to turn the ugly duckling of a machine into a fire-breathing dragon.

  Chapter Two

  Kenzie stuck to the shadows, hood up, a dark scarf wrapped around his lower face. He’d exchanged his red PVC pants for soft black sweatpants. His boots, he’d swapped for sneakers. He was as equipped as he could be for a quick getaway if it was needed. His cans of paint were stashed in the nylon backpack currently slung over his shoulder. For the design he had in mind he only needed red, black and silver. The wall that would become his canvas was a fair size, so he’d brought two cans of each color.

  Adrenaline coursed through his veins. There was something special about being in the streets after midnight. It was a whole different world from that which existed in the light. Kenzie shivered, not from the cold but from excitement. He was about to take a huge risk but he’d decided it was the only way to make an impression on a certain Dom.

  Kenzie turned a corner. He tucked himself into a recess between two gateposts and examined the street. Design Rebellion was at the far end, the wall he intended to paint at right angles to the frontage. Normally he’d never choose such an exposed spot. He placed his art in ‘heaven spots’ where only the most determined would find it. Indeed, the local press hounds had taken it upon themselves to seek out his pieces as a matter of pride, competing with each other to find the latest display. His tag, stylized silver handcuffs, had given him the moniker Cuffs and a certain amount of infamy. Kenzie painted for the illicit thrill, the rush. For him it compared only to the release of subspace. That airy sense of absolute freedom was something he craved—an addiction.

  A careful survey of his surroundings gave Kenzie no cause for concern. Apart from a tomcat perched atop a dumpster, and a tumbling chip wrapper, nothing stirred. A faint glow of illumination issued from inside Design Rebellion, but Kenzie guessed that some lights had been left on for security. There was no way anyone could be working at close to one a.m.

  He kept still and quiet for a few minutes, then, confident that he was alone, he edged down the road, hugging the wall so closely he grazed his knuckles on the rough brick. He bit back a curse and brought the abraded flesh to his lips, sucking away the hurt. Perhaps the edge of pain would add something to his art.

  Kenzie stashed his bag in a corner and lined up his cans. He couldn’t wait to dress up the plain brick. It was a treat to have such a great, untouched surface to work on. The image he’d planned was firmly fixed in his head. He’d sketched it over and over, not knowing at the time where he would put it. He reckoned he could complete the design, deep fills and all, in fifteen minutes. It was long enough to be risky in such an exposed spot, but there was no going back. Kenzie shook up a can, aimed and started to spray.

  Steele peeled away a strip of masking tape and examined his composition with a critical eye. The first layers of the image were coming together. Inspiration for it had come from a TV commercial where pounding surf morphed into galloping horses. Fire-breathing dragons evolving from clouds had been his interpretation of the powerful scene. He needed to wait for the paint layer to dry before he added the next, so he stood and stretched, easing the kinks from his back. A flicker of movement on the security monitor caught his eye. Curiosity drew him across the room, where he stared into the screen.

  “What the fuck?”

  Steele couldn’t believe his eyes. Some kid in a hoodie was daubing Steele’s wall with graffiti in full view of the security cameras. Steele’s first instinct was to charge outside and grab the vandal, but something made him pause. He took a closer look into the monitor. His jaw dropped. The image taking shape on the brick canvas outside was totally unexpected. Drawn in red, black and silver, a stylized rendition of a motorbike was coming together. Bent low, straddling the bike, was a leather-clad rider who seemed to be bound to the machine at his wrists and ankles. His butt stuck up in the air—an open invitation to be spanked or fucked. Even though there were no naked body parts on display, the image was erotic as hell. Steele licked his lips.

  As Steele looked on, the artist took a pace back. He nodded, then sprayed a final symbol toward the bottom corner of the image.

  “Cuffs,” Steele muttered. “He’s the artist all the local papers cover. Well, fuck me, that image can’t be a coincidence. He has to know I’m into the scene and he must be too.”

  At that moment, the hooded man swiveled around. He glanced briefly but directly at the security camera, his expression anxious. Then he began to stash his spray cans into a bag at his feet.

  “Holy fuck, that’s Kenzie!” Steele would recognize that pretty face anywhere, even with the mop of chestnut hair covered.

  He dashed for the door and pressed the button that raised the roller shutter. It had barely gotten two feet off the ground when Steele ducked under it. Kenzie was already sprinting down the road. Steele shot after him. He hadn’t been a wide receiver in high school for nothing.

  Steele rapidly gained on Kenzie, who was hampered by his clanging bag. He had to reach him before Kenzie made it to the corner. Steele made a grab for Kenzie’s hood and caught it. He yanked him to a halt. Kenzie lost his balance and would have fallen but Steele swung him around and pinned him against the wall.

  “Stand still,” Steele growled.

  Kenzie wriggled and squirmed, desperate to escape.

  “Be still, or I will take you over my knee here and now, Kenzie.” Steele put as much command as he could into his voice.

  Kenzie stopped struggling and hung limp in his grasp. “You know who I am?” he whispered.

  “In both your personas apparently. Should I call you Kenzie or Cuffs, you vandalizing little brat?”

  “But how?” Kenzie peeked up from beneath thick lashes. “I mean, I know you must have spotted me on your security camera, but how do you know my rea
l name?”

  “From Chain of Thorns, obviously.” Steele twisted Kenzie’s arm up behind his back and began to march him back toward Design Rebellion. “We will continue this conversation inside rather than out here on the street.”

  Steele retraced the path of Kenzie’s attempted escape, keeping a tight grip the whole way. Kenzie didn’t attempt to resist. He bent his head to get under the roller shutter, then stood quietly while Steele closed it and locked them both inside his shop. He kept his head bowed and his hands clasped behind his back.

  Steele faced him. He towered over Kenzie by around eight inches, which was good. He wanted Kenzie to feel intimidated. “So, is there any explanation you can provide for your actions that might convince me not to call the cops?”

  Kenzie scuffed his toe against the concrete floor but didn’t speak. He shook his head.

  “I need actual words, boy,” Steele snapped.

  “I… I should be punished, Sir.” The words came out as a stutter.

  “That’s a given. So you want me to report you? Criminal damage carries a hefty fine.”

  “No! That’s not… I mean… Oh God, this is not going as I planned.”

  “You planned this? Now we’re getting to the truth. I suspected as much. That particular image outside my premises couldn’t be a coincidence.” Steele chuckled. “So you were trying to get my attention. Well, you succeeded. The question is, are you prepared to accept the consequences?”

  “I wasn’t trying to… You never noticed me. At the club, I mean,” Kenzie muttered.

  “I noticed. I chose not to act on it,” Steele said. “You aren’t ready for me.”

  Kenzie frowned. “How do you know? You’ve never given me a chance…” Kenzie trailed off as if his boldness scared the hell out of him.

  “So there is some fight in you?” Steele pulled over his stool and sat down. He rested his elbows on his thighs, steepled his fingers and contemplated Kenzie lazily.

  Kenzie examined the ground as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

  “I am prepared to forgive you for daubing kinky artwork over my wall on one condition.” Steele paused, happy to let Kenzie stew in the silence.

  “What’s the condition, Sir?” Kenzie chewed on his lower lip. That would have to stop. The only damage to Kenzie’s plump lips should come from Steele’s kisses.

  “Twenty-four hours.”

  “I don’t understand, Sir.” Kenzie blinked.

  “Twenty-four hours of absolute submission. That’s my price. In exchange for me not handing you over to the authorities.”

  Kenzie shivered. Steele fancied the reaction wasn’t one of fear.

  “You can’t ask that!”

  “Oh, I think I can, Kenzie. You’re a submissive. You’re an active member of a BDSM club, not an innocent. You’ve acted out in order to get my attention, which makes you a brat in need of punishment. Perhaps you’ll learn something about yourself at the same time.”

  “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” Kenzie’s pout was adorable.

  “None whatsoever.”

  “And what are the boundaries of this arrangement?”

  “None.”

  “What?” Kenzie squeaked.

  “Do you not like the idea of being subjected to sexual slavery for twenty-four hours?” Steele raised an eyebrow.

  From the way Kenzie was shifting from foot to foot, Steele guessed his erection was causing him some trouble.

  “You want me to be your sex slave?” Kenzie swallowed.

  Steele wanted to lick that slender throat, then fasten a collar around it. A nice stiff leather one. With a padlock. “Submissive sex slave. Just to be absolutely clear.”

  “Clarity is good.” Kenzie’s deep-brown eyes were huge.

  Steele took pity on him. “You have a safeword, I presume?”

  Kenzie nodded, head bobbing hard. “Uh-huh.”

  “Then you’ll use it if you need to. What is it?”

  “Huh?” Kenzie seemed a little spaced out.

  “Kenzie, in order for me to stop doing whatever I’m doing to you—and believe me I intend to do quite a bit—I need to know your safeword. You can’t keep it a secret.”

  “Flapjack. It’s flapjack. I hate them with a vengeance.”

  “There, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Steele shook his head. “I can see I’m going to have trouble with you, but for now”—he gestured at the half-painted bike parts on the bench behind him—“I have to work. So, you can get a few hours of sleep. I’ll want you alert in the morning.”

  Relief flickered in Kenzie’s eyes.

  “I live upstairs—there’s an apartment over the shop. Come on.”

  Steele led the way toward the backstairs. Kenzie followed.

  It wasn’t the most luxurious accommodation, but Steele was a self-declared neat freak so the place was clean and tidy. He took Kenzie into the master bedroom, standing him next to the bed.

  “Strip.” Steele didn’t want to give Kenzie a moment to think about what he’d gotten himself into.

  If his instincts were correct, Kenzie needed firm direction. There was only a split second’s hesitation before Kenzie started to undress.

  “Fold your clothes and give them to me.” Steele’s arms were soon full of a neat pile of clothes topped by a pair of paint-spattered sneakers.

  He put them to one side and stole a moment to admire the young man before him.

  “Present yourself correctly,” Steele commanded.

  Kenzie spread his legs and put his hands, fingers laced together, behind his neck. Steele walked around him, adjusting his position until it was to his satisfaction. Kenzie had flawless skin that Steele couldn’t wait to decorate with his marks.

  “Stunning.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Kenzie’s cheeks pinkened.

  “We’ll see if you’re still thanking me twenty-four hours from now.” Steele went to his closet and extracted his sizeable toy box. He shoved back the lid and rooted around inside. “Keep still.”

  Steele guessed Kenzie would be trying to get a look at the contents of the box. It would do him good to believe his new Dom had eyes in the back of his head. He caught Kenzie’s whimper and grinned.

  Steele found the items he wanted—a chastity tube, still sealed in its packaging, a thick rubber plug and a set of lined wrist and ankle cuffs. He laid the items out on the bed and went to the bathroom to fetch a fresh bottle of lube. He had plenty of the stuff in the bedroom but he wanted to give Kenzie the opportunity to sneak a glance at the objects on the bed.

  Steele took his own sweet time returning to the bedroom. Kenzie had been unable to resist his curiosity. The settling of his rigid cock and the fresh gleam of moisture on his lips betrayed him. His eyes glistened.

  “Hold out your hand,” Steele commanded.

  Kenzie did as he was ordered.

  Steele pumped a dollop of lube onto Kenzie’s silver-stained palm. “Jack yourself off.”

  “Sir?” Kenzie blinked his confusion.

  “A good submissive does not question a simple order,” Steele snapped.

  Kenzie flushed. He rubbed the slick to spread it and took a firm grip of his shaft.

  Steele watched with detached interest as Kenzie worked his dick with a steady rhythm.

  “This is the last time you’ll get to come. I want you soft to get the tube on you and you’ve not earned my hand or my mouth.”

  Kenzie gasped. “Your mouth, Sir?”

  “What, you think a Dom can’t give good head?”

  “No, Sir. It’s just…”

  “A Dom doesn’t drop to his knees?” Steele detected a slight quiver in Kenzie’s thigh muscles. His orgasm was close. “Imagine yourself in bondage, restrained so tightly you’re unable to move. You’re so hard it hurts. Think of the t
orment as I bring you to the brink again and again with lips, teeth, tongue.”

  “Oh God!” Kenzie spilled. The scent of his cum filled the air. Steele handed him some tissues.

  “Clean yourself up.”

  While Kenzie dealt with the mess, Steele extracted the shiny metal chastity device from its packaging. He put the tiny padlock and key to one side.

  “Hands behind your back.” Steele positioned the cock ring first, settling the thick metal at the base of Kenzie’s sac.

  His softened dick fit easily into the metal tube. Steele connected one part of the device to the other with the padlock and checked that everything was secure. He put the key on a chain and fastened it around his neck.

  “Your cock is mine. Your release is mine to grant or deny. You can shower or pee with this on, so it stays in place until I choose. Do you understand?”

  Kenzie nodded, the movement jerky.

  “Turn around and bend over. Brace yourself on the bed.” Steele allowed himself a moment to admire Kenzie’s smooth, compact ass. The temptation to give him a fucking he’d never forget was strong.

  At Chain of Thorns, Steele had seen Kenzie’s pretty rear wrapped in leather and latex but he’d never witnessed him bare. It was a sight he’d be more than happy to experience every day. If Kenzie were his, clothes would be required by exception only. He contented himself with thrusting a well-lubed finger into Kenzie’s grasping passage. Kenzie pushed back, wiggling, making needy noises that had a direct connection with Steele’s cock.

  “Be still.” The order was as much for Steele’s benefit as anything.

  He had work to do. He had to leave Kenzie alone for a few hours while he got the bike finished. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by an erection. He completed his cursory preparation and pressed the plug against Kenzie’s hole.

  Kenzie moaned.

  “Relax. Let it in.”

  Kenzie shivered from head to toe. Steele eased the plug past his guardian muscle and slid it home. He resisted the urge to play with the toy and left it seated. Kenzie began to rise.