Tagging Mackenzie

by L. M. Somerton

  “Steele, please.” He wiggled his ass, the motion enticing Steele to touch.

  “Behave.” Steele took a deep breath. “Stand up. Fetch me the jar of Vaseline from the bench.”

  “This is a huge jar, Sir.” Kenzie grinned as he brought it over and handed it to Steele.

  Steele raised an eyebrow. “We use it to soften stiff saddles and to prevent paint from sticking in places it’s not wanted, among other things.” He unscrewed the lid. “Brace yourself on the crossbeam and bend over.”

  Steele dipped two fingers into the jar and made sure they got a liberal coating of the greasy substance. He held Kenzie in place and fingered his hole.

  “Such a sweet, tiny entrance.” He thrust his fingers into Kenzie’s channel, attempting to remain detached. It was difficult with Kenzie’s inner muscles gripping him.

  He twisted his fingers, spreading the makeshift lube, then withdrew and repeated the process two more times. He wanted Kenzie as slick as possible.

  “Good. Turn around and stand against the central upright.”

  Kenzie’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes bright. Steele wiped his hands on a piece of paper towel from a large roll. He extracted the chain around his neck from beneath his T-shirt and lifted it over his head. On the end was the key to Kenzie’s chastity device. Kenzie drew a quick, sharp breath.

  Steele smirked and dangled the key in front of him. “You won’t come until I say you can. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir.” The pout was back.

  Carefully, Steele removed the tiny padlock holding the metal tube to Kenzie’s cock ring. He took both devices off and put them to one side. Kenzie’s relieved sigh made him smile. Steele cut a length of narrow cord from a reel. He made a loop around the base of Kenzie’s balls and pulled it closed. The fit was snug but not tight. He passed the two ends of the cord over Kenzie’s hips, then behind the pillar he stood against. He tied the ends firmly. There was very little play but if Kenzie pulled forward, the loop around his balls would tighten. He could slide up and down but he couldn’t move away from the upright.

  Steele put two five-liter paint tins next to Kenzie’s feet, one on either side. He tapped his ankle. Kenzie lifted a foot and Steele positioned it on the tin. He repeated the process with the other foot until Kenzie stood about ten inches higher. Steele moved each tin until Kenzie’s legs were spread wide. Next he looped two chains over the top crossbeam of the frame and connected Kenzie’s wrists cuffs so that his arms were pulled high and wide.

  “Christ, you are stunning.”

  Kenzie was already hard, his slender cock jutting, the gleam of pre-cum glinting at his slit. Steele could hardly tear his gaze away from Kenzie, spread and exposed for his pleasure.

  In his elevated position, Kenzie and Steele were now eye-to-eye.

  Steele hadn’t noticed just how beautiful Kenzie’s dark-brown eyes were, and now he could see the tiny flecks of amber around his pupils. “Your eyes are hypnotic.”

  “Touch me, Sir? Please.” Kenzie’s pleading broke the spell.

  Steele shook his head. “Not yet.” He went to a drawer under the bench and pulled out his project. He held it up for Kenzie to see. “What do you think this is for?”

  The short length of iron had a fat dildo fixed at one end and holes drilled in the other.

  Kenzie gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “I can’t imagine, Sir.”

  “Oh, I think you can. I think you have a very active imagination.”

  A couple of bolts and a spanner were all Steele needed to fix the toy in place on the frame. When he was done, the tip of the dildo stood scant inches beneath Kenzie’s defenseless hole.

  “Are you getting the picture?” Steele asked.

  “Oh God,” Kenzie whispered.

  Steele applied a thick coating of Vaseline to the rubber phallus. He rubbed some more into his hand and took a firm hold of Kenzie’s dick. “I want you to stay hard for me. Do you think you can do that?”

  Kenzie’s response was an incoherent mumble. He jerked his hips and the cord around his balls pulled tighter. That drew a half scream that made Steele’s erection twitch happily. He massaged Kenzie’s cock, tugging and kneading until it was slick and shiny with grease, then he stepped back. He moved each of the paint tins an inch to the side, forcing Kenzie to spread his legs farther. The tip of the dildo touched his hole.

  “It will be interesting to see how long you can hold this position,” Steele said.

  Kenzie panted, his skin sheened with perspiration. “Sir, please…please don’t do this.”

  “You beg very prettily, but I don’t hear your safeword. And this”—Steele flicked the end of Kenzie’s rigid shaft—“tells me that you are enjoying yourself.”

  “No. No, I’m not. You can’t do this.”

  “Hmm.” Steele tapped a finger against his lips. “Actually, I think I can.”

  He went to the workbench drawer and pulled out the miniature flogger he kept there. The handle fit perfectly in his palm. The leather strips delivered quite a sting.

  He flicked it against his thigh, testing the swing. “Time to make things more interesting.”

  The moment the strands of the flogger hit his nipple, Kenzie screamed. It wasn’t the pain, because though it stung, it didn’t hurt that much. The scream came as the dam of his pent-up emotions burst. He had never given himself so entirely to another man. Steele controlled every aspect of his being. It was all he’d ever wanted since he was old enough to recognize his needs. As the flogger connected with Kenzie’s tender skin, his dick, his belly, his thighs, Steele smiled. Kenzie was the cause of that smile and that kept him warm inside. It also prevented him from coming. He hovered on the edge, but it wasn’t in him to disappoint Steele.

  “Enough.” Steele pulled off his shirt, exposing his chest. Heat radiated from him. He held Kenzie with his gaze and nudged the paint cans from beneath his feet.

  “Fuck!” If he stood on the tips of his toes, only the first inch or so of the dildo penetrated his hole.

  He tried to pull himself up, but he couldn’t sustain it, his weight was too much with his arms spread so wide. The slender cord around his hips, which had seemed so insignificant in terms of bondage, prevented him from moving away from the toy. With a gasp of despair, Kenzie gave way to the inevitable and let his weight rest on the balls of his feet. The phallus pushed deep into his body, pressing against his prostate.

  “Sir, please…get it out, I can’t…” Kenzie didn’t have breath to spare for full sentences. He heaved himself up again, arm muscles straining, but could only drop even further.

  “Put your feet flat on the floor,” Steele ordered.

  “No! No, I can’t.” Kenzie couldn’t take any more.

  Steele grabbed Kenzie’s cock and squeezed. “Do as you’re told!”

  Kenzie’s muscles gave up. His calves and thighs refused to cooperate. He slumped and the full length of the dildo invaded his channel.

  “Come.” Steele snapped out the command and Kenzie could only obey.

  He screamed again, his throat raw, then came in a violent gush over Steele’s hand.

  The physical release brought with it some kind of catharsis. Kenzie sobbed out every pent-up desire, every wish. He was vaguely aware of Steele releasing him from bondage, lifting him gently from the impalement.

  He couldn’t stop babbling even when Steele scooped him into his arms and carried him back to the apartment. Kenzie clung to him, never wanting to let go. But he had to. He sprawled, boneless and exhausted, on Steele’s bed.

  Steele loomed over him, naked. Kenzie held his breath. His greatest fantasy was about to be realized. He hardly dared to move in case it broke the spell that must be bewitching Steele. Kenzie had enough time to admire the planes of Steele’s muscles, to acknowledge the possessive glint in his eyes. Then his legs were on Steele’s shoulders and
Steele’s dick was in his ass. The world became a safer place.

  “Soon, we’ll do this without condoms,” Steele grunted, thrusting forward.

  “We will?” Kenzie’s tone was an octave higher than it should have been.

  “We will. We’ll both get tested on the same day we get you tattooed. I intend to tag your ass just like you tagged my wall.” Steele withdrew slowly until just the head of his cock breached Kenzie’s hole. He slammed forward anew. “And your neck will never be bare again.”

  “It won’t?” Kenzie’s vision blurred with tears.

  “No, because it will be wrapped in my collar.”

  Tears flooded from Kenzie’s eyes. “But I was bad. You have to punish me. You said twenty-four hours…”

  “Fuck, Kenzie, if you can still talk I’m doing something wrong.” Steele pounded into him over and over.

  Kenzie’s thoughts blurred, his anxiety replaced by dazed contentment. Steele came with a triumphant bellow, then slumped over Kenzie’s body. Kenzie unfolded and allowed himself a moment to enjoy Steele’s weight. He’d never felt safer or more confident that someone would take care of him.

  Steele got rid of the condom. He rolled onto his back and pulled Kenzie onto his chest. Kenzie purred and snuggled as close as he could get.

  “So, you think you can deal with a Dom who can’t even resist his sub’s charms for twenty-four hours?” Steele asked.

  “Am I going to wake up and discover this was just a dream, like in one of those terrible soap operas?”

  Steele chuckled. “No, you get to wake up to a new life. One without compromise. With pleasure and pain. With the knowledge that you are safe and loved. A life with me.”

  “I need to put that on a wall somewhere,” Kenzie said dreamily. “Did you know that there’s a paint technique called domming? It’s when you spray one color over another while it is still wet then rub the two together. Two become one.”

  “Sounds just like us.” Steele lifted Kenzie’s chin then kissed him.

  Kenzie’s universe became that kiss. Steele would be there to decide when the real world should be allowed back into their lives.

  Chemical Bonds

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Max Allenby pedaled like the hounds of hell were after him. He was late for work. Again. Sharp-fanged puppies from Hades had nothing on his boss—the woman was the devil in disguise and her pitchfork was always firmly aimed at Max’s behind. It was an absolute certainty that she was going to rip him a new one. He cursed the nail that had speared his front tire. He had no idea how long his temporary patch would hold but at least he had enough common sense to carry a repair kit. He gave himself a mental pat on the back. His mom always fondly accused him of being ‘all brains and no common sense’ and now he’d proved her wrong. The victory didn’t make up for the fact that his ass was grass if he didn’t speed up.

  He flew round corners with scant regard for his safety, bent low over the handlebars. Plymouth, New Hampshire was not the busiest town in the world but it was still reckless to ride so fast in bad weather. Rain stung his face and the wind whipped his collar-length hair into his eyes. Somehow the stuff always managed to escape his helmet however much he attempted to confine it. The leather pack that contained his work clothes banged against his spine as he hurtled over the ridges in the road. They were designed to slow down drivers on the approach to Armacom’s security gates, but Max didn’t have time to reduce his speed. Through strands of wet hair, he could just make out Zeb the security guard sheltering in the gatehouse. Max applied his unreliable breaks and skidded to a dramatic halt about an inch from the barrier, back wheel sliding to the side.

  “Hey, Zeb!” Max pulled the lanyard from beneath his T-shirt and waved his pass at the bemused guard. “Wet enough for you? Could be time for that move to Florida.”

  Zeb grunted. “Late again, Max? Dr. Preston’s gonna have your hide this time.”

  “Make that every time. I got a stupid puncture. Had to stop and repair it.” Max panted his explanation and waited for the barrier to rise. “Don’t tell Justin, okay?”

  “He might be your big brother, but he’s my boss and I like a quiet life. Your secret is safe with me.” Zeb grinned and raised a hand as Max accelerated away toward the low, white building in the distance.

  Fortunately for Max the bike racks were a lot closer to the building than the staff parking lot at Armacom. It was one of the very few advantages of using an environmentally friendly mode of transport. On a day like today, when he was wet, tired and miserable, convenient parking wasn’t much compensation. He was entirely focused on calculating just how late he was going to be by the time he had locked up his bike, run to the changing rooms, made himself respectable instead of the soggy, sweating mess he was at that moment, and reached the lab. Too long. Way, way too long. I am gonna be in shit so deep I may never resurface. His boss had a number of subtle and creative ways of making him suffer and he wasn’t looking forward to facing her one little bit.

  He didn’t bother to dismount and wheel his bike toward the racks—he kept cycling and aimed his front wheel for the metal channel that would hold it in place. It wasn’t the safest approach but it might shave a few more seconds from his tardiness. The next thing he knew he was sailing through the air while his bike, the laws of momentum in full swing, crashed into the racks. So man can fly, after all. This could be my big scientific discovery. Why has nobody else identified this latest step in the evolutionary tale yet? He hit the ground hard and rolled to a halt with a pained moan. Because being airborne didn’t last, that was why, and landing was painful.

  Max remained on the floor while he tried to make sense of what had happened. The ground was a mass of puddles but as his clothes were already sodden he dismissed it as irrelevant. He detected the low purr of an engine idling nearby. A car door opened, then closed with an expensive-sounding thunk. Footsteps approached, then two feet clad in inordinately shiny shoes stopped next to his head. Max couldn’t help but compare them to his own scuffed sneakers. It was about time he invested in a new pair but he was allergic to the mall and there were much more stimulating activities to get involved with online than shopping. He must have banged his head—it was full of nonsense.

  “You’re making the pavement very messy. Get up, boy.”

  The voice issuing the order was hard and commanding. Max’s heart beat faster. Deep growly voices never failed to get him interested.

  “Not a boy,” he grumbled. He executed a clumsy roll onto his back and squinted at the owner of the shiny shoes and the sexy voice. When he realized who they belonged to his stomach flipped over and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation. His day couldn’t get any worse. Then he realized it was a possibility—he could still get fired. The command to get up was one he could live with. Concrete was not a comfortable surface to lie on. In a series of uncoordinated movements, he managed to get to a kneeling position. Apparently nothing was broken because movement didn’t elicit shrieks of pain. His left arm had taken the brunt of the impact and was grazed from shoulder to elbow, his T-shirt torn and dirty.

  “Much as I enjoy your deference, it would be better for both of us if you stood up.”

  The delicious voice was beginning to sound impatient so Max hauled himself to his feet, clutching his wounded arm. He glanced up, then immediately cast his gaze down again. It was much easier to examine the paving than it was to meet those cold, stormy eyes. Blake Winters, CEO of Armacom, was an intimidating man at the best of times. Max ran through what he knew about him in his head. He was only thirty and had built the organization from scratch. In nine years it had gone from a back-room operation to a multi-million pound global success story. Max, as well as every other Armacom employee, was fully aware of his back story and his reputation as an unrelenting hardass.

  Buy Now

  More books

  by L.M. Somerton


  Lucien Thorne likes to be in control, but the boy he wants to own may take some convincing.

  See More

  Photography, like love, should have no limits.

  See More

  Love forged in fire is unassailable.

  See More

  Sometimes the only way to spring a trap is to use live bait.

  See More

  About the Author

  Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

  She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She’s fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.

  L.M. Somerton loves to hear from readers. You can find contact information, website details and an author profile page at https://www.pride-publishing.com/