Golden Boy Two-Volume Set

by Claire Thompson

  “But to become my sub, to truly submit, as opposed to simply going through the motions as part of some game, you will have to break that down. To give up your private sense of self. To give yourself completely to me and allow me to rebuild you, in a sense.

  “If the process is done with love and respect, not out of a desire to exploit you, but from a realization you were born for this and I was born to teach you, the result is the most powerful and sensual union you can imagine.”

  Eric, who had pulled on his suit pants as he spoke, now sat on the bed, reaching out to touch Johnny’s arm. “I’ve never gotten there, Johnny. I came close with one man. We were in love, but he was not a true submissive. He was sexy and he was willing, but his heart wasn’t in it.

  “Submission is different from just having masochistic leanings. What I mean is, it’s one thing to get turned on from being whipped. That can simply be a matter of sensation. The stimulation of nerve endings and the erotic appeal of having a strong man take control of you. But submission, what I think of as true submission, is a total giving of oneself to another. It’s a romantic concept. I know you’ve said you want it, you’ve said that several times over these past two days.”

  As Johnny nodded, starting to speak, Eric silenced him with a finger to his lips. “No, I don’t expect an answer right now. I don’t want one, because you don’t know yet what it means. You were aroused, in the throes of passion when you whispered those sweet promises, and I don’t hold you to them. Not at all. On the contrary, I wouldn’t allow it. Not so early in the game. You have plenty of time to figure out what you truly are. What you truly want.

  “And the cool thing is, if you find out you are not submissive, I’m okay with that too. You’ll still be my golden boy.” Johnny smiled. Eric added, “So now. Step one of your training. Tell me what you’re to buy. Tell me about the items that will be used on you to help break you down before I build you up again.”

  Johnny took a breath and then recited, “Rope. Half an inch thick and easy to tie and untie. A ruler. Let’s see, oh yes, a woman’s scarf. Um…” Johnny paused, trying to think if he’d forgotten anything.

  Apparently, he had because Eric prodded, “And…?”

  In a flood of embarrassment Johnny remembered. The most important thing, or at least the most embarrassing thing! “You weren’t serious when you said…”

  Eric raised his eyebrows. “Lesson number two. I’m always serious when I’m talking about your training. Dead serious. And you’d better be serious as well, or you’ll be punished.”

  Punished.

  It sounded almost ridiculous—Johnny was a grown man who could easily overpower Eric in a physical contest. Yet he couldn’t deny the sudden swelling of his cock just at the word. Eric exuded a kind of power Johnny didn’t yet understand but definitely responded to.

  Slowly, feeling the blood in his cheeks, he said, “A dildo. A small one.”

  “That’s right. A small one, because why?”

  “Because, um, you’re going to use it on me.”

  “Use it how? Lesson number three. I want you to be direct. I don’t like euphemisms. Your cute, shy way of talking—things like, ‘touching yourself’ and ‘pleasuring yourself’—those are gone. From now on, you say what you mean. You are direct and honest about your feelings, and you use real words to describe those feelings. If you’re jerking off, and I ask you what you are doing, you tell me that. I told you to buy a dildo and I told you why. Now you remind me. Explicitly.”

  Johnny bit his lower lip. Softly he said, “You want me to buy one that isn’t too big because you’re going to use it on my ass.”

  “Yes. That’s a start. Use it how?”

  A deep breath and then, “You’re going to stick it up my ass.”

  “Correct. And do you remember why I’m going to do that?”

  “Yes,” Johnny said in a whisper.

  “Tell me.”

  “To get me ready for your cock.”

  Eric grinned. “That’s right. And that’s not the only reason. Do you remember why else?”

  “Please,” Johnny’s voice was imploring. Why was this so difficult?

  Reading his mind, Eric said, “This is hard for you because you aren’t ready to submit yet. If you were, you’d be able to obey this very simple request to answer me plainly. Because this is so new for you, I’m going to cut you some slack.” He smiled, again the cruel curve apparent as he said, “It’s to teach you that you are, or will become, my object. It’s not only what you want, but I want as well. Ultimately, I’m the one who decides. Get it?”

  When Johnny didn’t answer, Eric frowned but then his expression eased into a gentle smile. “No, I can see you don’t. That’s okay. We have time, baby. I’m in no rush. In fact, the process is as much fun as the result, I assure you.” He patted Johnny on the head in a paternal gesture. “Now get up, lazy bones! I have to go to work.”

  ~*~

  Johnny walked through the aisles of the store, picking up the items Eric had told him to get. He glanced nervously around from time to time, but told himself not to be an idiot. Who could assign any mysterious value to his purchase of such basic household items? Eric hadn’t said why he wanted these things but Johnny’s imagination had been running wild ever since they’d parted on the street in front of Eric’s apartment.

  His purchases tucked into a shopping bag, Johnny left the store and walked to the subway station that would take him to the Village where he knew there were several sex boutiques. He was to buy a dildo. Okay, what was the big deal? He knew gay men had anal sex all the time.

  When they’d been making love that weekend, Eric had done something which had at once shocked and thrilled Johnny. Johnny had been lying on his belly, his muscles eased from the long, full-body massage Eric had given him. When the deep pressure of strong fingers had given way to a lighter touch Johnny had only sighed, unable to move or speak, utterly relaxed.

  Perhaps because he was so spent from hours of sweet, hot kisses and then the deep massage, he did not protest or even move when Eric’s sure fingers gently spread his ass cheeks. When Eric bent forward and lightly rimmed the little puckered opening with his tongue, Johnny shifted slightly but otherwise stayed still.

  Could he do this? Let this man touch him in this most intimate of ways? His heart began a tattoo against the soft sheets as Eric’s tongue lightly licked down between his legs, as light as butterfly kisses. It was over in a moment and Johnny found himself curiously disappointed and wanting more.

  Was this how a woman felt, he wondered? A virgin longing for the feel of a man inside of her? When Eric’s tongue had tickled his nether entrance, Johnny almost arched up to better experience the sensation. Almost, but not quite, his sexual shyness winning out.

  Of course he knew gay men had anal sex—this was their most intimate exchange, their sexual intercourse. But a lifetime of being taught this was perverted, nasty and even dangerous would take some time to get past.

  He’d had a girlfriend who had whispered in his ear during sex, telling him she liked it in the ass, but he’d felt unable to respond, even feeling slightly disgusted she’d dared to ask for such a thing. At the time he’d pretended he hadn’t heard and he was relieved when she hadn’t brought it up again. They’d broken up soon afterwards.

  Yet Eric’s tongue made Johnny wonder what it would be like if it was replaced with a cock. Eric’s thick, hard cock, pressing its way past his virgin sphincter, claiming him in this most intimate of ways…

  Johnny shook his head, clearing his thoughts as the subway pulled into the Washington Square station. He climbed up the stairs and came out into the crisp, cool air of early October. The city looked brighter and more filled with promise than he’d ever remembered. He didn’t get to Manhattan often, having carved out a dull and deeply grooved pattern in his prior life, as he now thought of it, his “pre-Eric life”, that included the car garage, his efficiency apartment, the corner sports bar, his parents’ house and the few
stores he frequented to buy his daily necessities.

  What a boring, empty life he had led. The only real pleasure before had been the library, and more recently, his friendship with Amanda. He felt a pang of guilt as he thought of his dear friend. He had spoken to her only once since they’d parted company at Moe’s. She’d left a message on his cell phone early Sunday morning, calling to check in on how he’d fared on his big date.

  When Eric had left the apartment briefly, going down to the foyer to get his mail from the day before, Johnny had returned the call. Amanda hadn’t picked up but he’d left a quick message assuring her all was well. He told her he was with Eric and would call her later in the week. He knew she’d be seething with curiosity and he’d better call her back as she’d left two more messages on his cell, first asking and then demanding, “Details, J! Details!”

  He’d call her later that evening, he assured himself. He and Eric had agreed to meet back at Eric’s place by six o’clock, but they’d further agreed Johnny would spend the rest of the week at his own place, giving them both time to absorb what they’d experienced together. Johnny had wanted to protest, to say he wanted to spend every second with Eric. But he knew this was a saner course. After all, this might be merely an infatuation, one that would burn brightly but too quickly if they let it. Johnny knew he didn’t want whatever was developing between them to end.

  So he’d pretended to a sober maturity he didn’t feel, nodding his agreement that, yes, they should spend the rest of the week apart, going to their respective jobs and focusing on their daily lives. They would meet again on Friday.

  Hey, he consoled himself, that’s only four days away. He would work extra hours at the garage to make up for missing today and he’d hang with Amanda, and before he knew it, the week would have flown by. And anyway, there was still this evening to look forward to.

  Now he came onto Fourth Street and wandered a bit, looking for the right place. Just before Seventh Avenue, looking furtively to his left and right, Johnny stepped down to a basement-level sex boutique that sported the sign “Betty’s Sex Toys—For the Discriminating Pervert”.

  At least they have a sense of humor. Johnny pushed open the door to the place, his entrance into the store marked by the tinkling of a bell. He surveyed the crowded tiny store with wide eyes. There were shelves in the center of the store crammed with adult videos of every possible variety. Along one wall, long hooks held dozens of dildos and vibrators packaged in sanitary plastic with promises of great satisfaction printed on the wrappers. On another wall bustiers, feather boas and outfits of leather and latex hung on racks.

  The back wall was most intriguing, the merchandise hung behind the register. There were whips, crops, masks, gags, cuffs and chains. Single lashes, riding crops, leather floggers, plastic whips in bright colors, quirts, canes and all sorts of other dangerous-looking implements Johnny couldn’t even name, were side by side with ball gags, and gags shaped like penises in black, dark purple and bright red.

  He must have been staring because the large, heavily made-up woman behind the counter drawled, “Better close your mouth, kiddo, before the bugs fly in. Not from around here, huh?”

  Embarrassed, Johnny snapped his jaw shut, glaring at the woman. “I’m from Brooklyn,” he said. “Williamsburg. Born and raised.” The pride in his voice was measurable.

  Instead of being impressed, the woman threw back her head and laughed. “Like I said, not from around here. Well, are you gonna gawk all day, or are you gonna buy something? Not that I mind. You’re a nice piece of eye candy, I must say.” She gave him a lascivious once-over, licking her lips in an exaggerated gesture as her eyes lingered on his crotch.

  Johnny turned away from her, muttering, “Uh, thanks.” She had recalled him to his mission. He had come in to buy something, and now he moved back toward the dildo section. He stood for a long moment, his eyes moving over the huge penises molded in hot pink and neon green plastic, to the more realistically sized and textured pink dildos, to the battery-operated vibrators in silver, black and gold.

  Finally he found what he might be looking for. “For the Discriminating Man”, the package said. There was a picture of a man bent over, waggling his well-shaped ass for the camera. This dildo was small enough not to be too threatening, and was evidently designed for anal penetration.

  Gingerly Johnny removed the package from its hook. He felt hot, the sweat prickling under his arms, though the air in the basement store was cool. Swallowing, he took the package to the register and put it on the counter, blushing as the woman eyed the package and then stared at him.

  “Figures,” she said, as she rang up the purchase. “The hotties are always gay.”

  Chapter 7

  “Okay, we’ll try it again.” Eric’s voice was patient but firm. Johnny stood naked in Eric’s bathroom. The dildo, greased with lubrication, propped upright on the tiled counter, reflected in the mirror that lined the wall over the sink. Johnny had come back to Eric’s apartment that Monday evening, as agreed. He’d expected one last romantic interlude in the bedroom, but Eric had had something else in mind.

  Johnny bit his lip. Twice now Eric had told him to bend over and spread his own ass cheeks. Twice Johnny had complied, but when the tip of the gooey rubber cock had touched his virgin entrance, he had jumped and pulled away.

  The third time Johnny jerked away Eric dropped the dildo in the sink and turned on the hot water. “Get dressed, Johnny.”

  “No, please. I’m sorry. I can do this. I know I can.”

  Eric focused on the phallus, soaping it up before a final rinse. His mouth was set in a firm line and he knew the rising irritation he felt shouldn’t be directed toward Johnny. It wasn’t his fault—it was rarely the sub’s fault, Eric had found. It was the Dom, the teacher, trying to take the sub somewhere he wasn’t yet ready to go. The guy had potential, no question, but Eric was pushing him too fast.

  Eric reminded himself Johnny was not his usual choice. He could have his pick of the hottest gay men in the BDSM scene. He usually chose those with at least some experience, men who knew what they were and what they wanted. Eric knew he held a sort of cult hero status as a trainer, and while it made it easier to have his choice of play partners, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with it.

  The gay scene, at least in the circles in which he moved—the glittering Manhattan scene—lent itself to extravagance and overt displays of sadomasochistic behavior. When he attended the parties held at the more exclusive gay BDSM clubs, he was expected to behave a certain way, dressed in black leather, wielding whips with a graceful expertise, allowing the adoring submissives gathered around him to pay court.

  He enjoyed it, up to a point. After all, it was such a different persona from the sober, dignified image he projected as a therapist during the day. He had fun taking the flamboyant, wild masochists and training them into obedient sex toys. Not that he sought to create automatons who would simply and blindly obey his every command. Far from it. Eric truly appreciated the grace of submission. To him it was the ultimate romance.

  As a Dom he derived enormous satisfaction from watching his chosen slave submit to the whip, to a caning, to the sexual use by whomever Eric chose for him. It wasn’t about humiliation or debasement, not for Eric. Though sometimes his slaves needed that sort of treatment to be fulfilled. More than most female submissives he’d known, male subs were more likely to be pain and humiliation sluts. They got off sexually in a very intense way by allowing, even begging for, the most debasing and degrading of acts.

  He’d witnessed male subs being urinated on, defecated on, even forced to eat their own excrement. He’d seen a man shaved from head to toe, dressed like a female whore in bustier and high heels and paraded about with a pig mask on his face. Sometimes at play parties these humiliation sluts would be forced to crawl on hands and knees, a whip tail shoved into their ass, with someone riding them like an animal, using a crop to spur them on till they fell.

  This sort of treatmen
t and behavior held no allure for Eric. On the contrary, he didn’t think it had much to do with submission. It was a game, a game that turned on some people, but not Eric Méndez. He didn’t condemn it, having learned long ago that what deeply excited and moved one person could be a total turnoff to another.

  He recognized he was hardly in a position to judge the peculiar predilections of others. Not when he took the deepest satisfaction from training a sub to stand perfectly still, never moving out of position while he caned their offered ass until it was welted with a crisscross of fiery red lines. Not when he felt the furious, delicious rush of power that resulted from being in total control of someone bound and naked at his feet, utterly at his mercy.

  Eric fancied himself a romantic Dom, having found the combination of love and submission infinitely more powerful than the mere act of submission. Anyone could perform a submissive act, but to do it for your lover, out of that love, and to receive it from your lover in the same spirit—to Eric this approached the sublime.

  He knew better than to espouse these lofty views in the circles in which he played. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to join in the fray, as it were, simply whipping and fucking whoever crossed his path and might tickle his fancy. Since he didn’t like to hold forth on his philosophies of D/s love, he kept his thoughts to himself, thus earning a reputation of aloofness and self-containment that wasn’t entirely justified.

  In fact, with the right person, Eric could talk for hours, sharing his dreams and hopes, learning with delight about the person hidden behind the façade presented to the world. Yet Eric rarely found such a person. The last man he’d felt actual love for had disappeared from his life four years ago. Mark Cunningham was a handsome Irishman with a shock of red hair and creamy white skin, freckled on the nose and shoulders.