Golden Boy Two-Volume Set

by Claire Thompson

  “I love you, Sir,” Johnny whispered.

  “And I love you, my golden boy.”

  Golden Man - Chapter 1

  Johnny Wilson fiddled nervously with his napkin, glancing repeatedly toward the door. He was sitting at a small table near the window of one of their favorite neighborhood bistros. The waiter approached again. “Would you like to order while you wait?”

  “No, no thanks. You could bring me another beer though.” Johnny touched his earlobe, feeling the diamond stud Eric had bought for him when they’d decided on a whim in a shopping mall to get Johnny’s ear pierced. “Next are your nipples, you know,” Eric had said, his eyes dancing.

  Now Johnny’s fingers went to his chest, feeling the small gold rings through the thick cotton of his black T-shirt. Since the piercing, he’d become hyper-aware of his nipples as an erogenous zone. Sensations were heightened, not only the pleasure but the pain, all of it sending signals directly to his cock.

  Johnny’s mind drifted back to the night Eric had produced the shrink-wrapped packet of sterile needles—long, thin, dangerous-looking bits of shiny steel ready to press through tender buds. Along with the needles was a small box of blue velvet, inside of which nestled a pair of tiny gold hoops, each with a little silver ball that would be unscrewed when it was time to slide the rings in place.

  Far worse than the actual piercing had been the anticipation. They’d discussed it for over a month, though if Johnny had had his way, they would have done it sooner. After Eric’s single remark at the mall that his nipples would be next, Johnny found the idea growing in his head like a seed planted in fertile soil. He began to research what it would involve, reading several testimonials from other guys online, many of whom described it as “the worst pain they’d ever experienced”. Though Johnny was a submissive masochist who got off on being tied down and whipped and spanked, he knew a needle piercing his nipple would not be the kind of pain he was seeking! In fact, just the thought made him break into a light sweat, his stomach roiling with nervous anticipation.

  “I could never do that,” he flatly announced to Eric a few mornings after the mall conversation.

  “Never do what?” Eric asked, not having been privy to the thoughts swirling in Johnny’s head.

  “Never get my nipples pierced. Forget it. Can’t do it. Hate needles. End of discussion.”

  Eric, who had been reading the news over his second cup of coffee, folded the paper and put it down by his plate, looking at Johnny with a small smile at his lips. “Okay.”

  Johnny stared back at him, waiting for more. Finally he said, “Okay? That’s it? Just okay?”

  “That’s it. That kind of decision isn’t one I would ever make for you, Johnny.”

  “But at the mall you said—”

  “I should have chosen my words better, I guess. I meant I think it would be hot if you had them pierced. I think nipple rings look extremely sexy on a hard, well-developed chest like yours. And they’re very handy for securing a slave for some particularly devious sexual torture.” He grinned but then sobered. “But I would never impose that on you, Johnny. Though I may ‘own’ you in a romantic submissive sense, we both know it’s a voluntary exchange of power.”

  Johnny pressed his lips together, confused. His nipples seemed to want to be involved in the conversation, perking up, tingling as if expecting at any moment the sharp sting of pointed steel. “Well. Okay then. Right.” He stood abruptly from the table, clearing his plate, not aware of Eric’s appraising look as he headed toward the kitchen.

  Several days later, after still more research, Johnny again brought up the subject. They were lying in bed, snuggling close after a long night of hot lovemaking. Though Eric sometimes playfully said he should make Johnny sleep bound at his feet, so far, he had always wanted Johnny in his arms instead. Johnny had never felt so cherished or so at home as when he lay peacefully with his arms around his lover.

  “Hey, Eric.” Johnny shifted to look at him in the half-light of the streetlights outside their bedroom window.

  “Yeah?” Eric murmured sleepily, his eyes closed, his dark hair obscuring his face.

  Gently Johnny smoothed back Eric’s hair. “I’ve been thinking about the nipple piercing thing.”

  Eric, his eyes still closed, said, “Have you?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been reading more about it. It really is pretty hot-looking. Remember that guy Jake at DeSoto’s?”

  “Sure.”

  Jake was the “slave” of Master Brian, a big player in the gay BDSM scene. He had brought Jake out to the trendy gay bar one night when Eric and Johnny had been there. They’d come to their table and Brian had told Jake to open his shirt. Johnny had had to force his mouth closed as it had fallen open as he took in the nipples, pierced with thick horseshoe hoops. A thin silver chain had been attached to each hoop and linked in between. Another chain linked them at his sternum, hanging down into his jeans. “You should see the third piercing,” Brian had said, grinning wickedly as he lightly tugged the chains, making Jake wince.

  “Well, I can’t stop thinking about it. I found this pair of sexy hoops we might want to get.”

  Eric’s eyes were open now and he laughed. “Just what are you saying, young man? What happened to your aversion to needles? Your ‘end of discussion’?”

  Johnny grinned sheepishly in the semi-dark. “Well. I don’t know. I’m still scared. But I can’t stop thinking about it. To be marked that way by your lover. It’s, I don’t know, there’s something very sexy about that. Something dangerous, I guess, that turns me on.”

  “Well, let’s sleep on it. If you want, we can go to a body jewelry store tomorrow and look at some piercing kits.” His hands moved over Johnny’s chest, finding the small nipples, his fingers pinching them, twisting them as he kissed Johnny’s mouth. When he let him go, Johnny’s cock was hard as a rock, his mind whirling, his nipples tingling with anticipation.

  A week later Johnny was ready. With no prompting and indeed even some reservations offered by Eric, who said he wanted Johnny to be absolutely comfortable with his decision, Johnny had come full circle, almost desperately eager to be pierced. He wanted Eric to do it and Eric had agreed, having done it before to other sub boys ready to suffer for him.

  How Johnny’s heart had pounded as he lay on Eric’s large four-poster bed, his wrists bound to the iron posts. Eric had teased and aroused him first, licking and suckling his hard, thick cock and shaved balls before securing them in a black leather harness. Eric had lightly whipped Johnny’s strong, tan body with a riding crop, the leather slapping against supple flesh, mingling with the sounds of Johnny’s aroused moans and little whimpers.

  “Are you ready?” Eric whispered, leaning close to Johnny’s ear. “Are you ready to suffer for me, brave boy? To feel the needles pierce your flesh, to wear the jewelry we have chosen as a symbol of my ownership?”

  “Yes,” Johnny breathed, his cock straining lewdly in its constraints as he gripped the ropes clipped to the leather cuffs at his wrists. He was so turned on at that point, so aroused by his sexy lover, he felt he could withstand anything Eric chose to do to him. How much better this must be than the cold, sterile backroom of some tattoo parlor, with a fat man named Bob indifferently marking, clamping and poking at his chest.

  Eric marked the entry and exit points on each nipple with a marker. He tugged at Johnny’s left nipple, pulling it taut, the needle poised in his other hand. “Take a deep breath and think about who you belong to and why you were born.” He waited a moment, letting the small nipple stretch. “Yes, now let it out slowly. Breathe in and let it out. One…two…three.” At the count of three he’d pressed the needle through Johnny’s nipple.

  Pain exploded through his nerve endings like a flash of fire subsuming his brain. If he hadn’t already been lying down, he thought he would have fainted. Yet because Johnny had been so aroused prior to the piercing, he found himself able to tolerate the pain, almost eager to feel the second sting.


  “One…two…three.” In a moment it was over, Eric screwing the little balls on each hoop to hold them in place.

  What Johnny hadn’t expected, but probably should have, given the similar feeling he experienced toward the end of an especially rough whipping, was the euphoria that now coursed through his veins like a drug. He strained at his bonds, his cock near to exploding, his chest heaving. Eric released his wrists and the leather harness at his cock, replacing it with his hot, perfect mouth until Johnny arched in pleasure with just a few kisses, releasing his seed into his master’s throat, his fingers entwined in the dark, soft hair.

  “Hey, stranger, mind if I join you?” Johnny’s heart thrilled to the smooth, sexy voice, the slightest trace of a Puerto Rican accent evident in his rich tone. He looked up at his handsome Latino lover, unable to stop the wide grin that spread over his face.

  They’d spent the last two nights apart, the longest they’d been separated since they’d come back together after that ill-fated night in November when Eric had pushed Johnny too far too fast in a public scene. This time it wasn’t a falling out however. They’d both agreed to spend some time alone to think over their big decision. “So did you miss me?” Eric asked lightly.

  “I counted the seconds,” Johnny responded, just as lightly. The waiter returned with his beer and two menus. Eric ordered a martini and they began to read the menus, putting off the moment a while longer.

  Once they had placed their orders and were sipping their drinks, Eric finally said, “Okay. So we’ve had a couple of days. How are you feeling now? Do you still want to go through with this?”

  “You make it sound like a prison sentence. Would it really be so horrible to have me living with you? I haven’t changed my mind. I still think it’s a good idea. So I guess I should be the one asking you, Dr. Méndez. Do you want to ‘go through with this’?

  Eric glanced up at Johnny, his expression inscrutable. He let out a deep breath and said softly, “I do. I want you more fully in my life.”

  “But?” Johnny said just as softly. He’d learned a thing or two about drawing information from a reluctant subject from watching Eric in action, using his psychological skills to tease an answer from someone, usually from Johnny himself.

  Eric grinned. “Hey, cut it out. That’s my line.” They both laughed, the tension easing a little. Johnny continued to look at him, waiting. Eric was always telling him patience was a virtue every sub had to cultivate so now he waited—patiently. Eric took a drink of his martini and ate the green olive from its toothpick. “Here’s the thing. I’m…” he paused. Johnny waited.

  “Okay. The thing is I’m afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  “You know, the same old thing. That you’ll grow tired of me and hit the road. That a sexier, more dominant, more whatever guy will come along and sweep you off your feet.” He paused, looking down into his drink. Quietly he said, “I betrayed you, Johnny. I don’t know if we can ever move past that.”

  “Eric, I’ve moved past it. You’re the one hanging on to it, picking at it like a scab, not letting it heal. I admit, I still have stuff to deal with regarding my family but that isn’t about you.” He paused, forming his thoughts. “What is it you said to me once? You said love that expects perfection, with no past and no mistakes, is only hunger.”

  Eric smiled a little as Johnny continued. “Are we going to demand perfection of each other? Do you demand perfection when you give me some new submissive task to perform? When you press my sensual envelope, as you call it?” As Eric shook his head, Johnny continued. “I don’t want perfection from you either, Eric. I just want you! I’m not just hungry for you, I love you.”

  Eric didn’t reply. Johnny persisted. “Tell me this. How does me keeping my own place across town make the chance of our breaking up less likely? I’m never there. I hate being there. It reminds me of—” He broke off, not wanting to discuss his family right then, not wanting to dwell on his father, who’d told his brothers all about the “perverted filthy pictures” he found of his “faggot bastard son” in Johnny’s apartment the night his parents had let themselves in to retrieve his mother’s casserole dish.

  When his brother Billy had called him the first time, Johnny hadn’t picked up. Guilt had made him connect eventually, but he hadn’t been willing to talk about anything real. To his credit, Billy hadn’t completely shut him out. He’d said he was confused by what was going on and had wanted to hear Johnny’s side of things. “I know how twisted Dad can get, Johnny. Your staying away isn’t helping matters. Hank and Dad think it just proves whatever they say is true.”

  “Hank and Dad can go fuck themselves,” Johnny had retorted. In the silence that followed he added, “Listen. I’m okay, Billy. Really. Just give me some time here. Some space.” The days had turned to weeks and then months. He knew he needed to reconnect but he hadn’t yet found the courage.

  He tried again, focusing on the issue at hand. “Eric, if I want to leave you, I will leave you. If you want to leave me, you will leave me. Where we keep our clothing and our pots and pans doesn’t affect that surely.” He paused, trying to see past Eric’s dark, beautiful eyes to his soul. “Would we really want it any other way?”

  Eric shook his head. “No. You’re right. I know you are. I don’t know what’s going on in my head really. You’re the young one, the inexperienced boy, yet here I am, acting the fool while you spout wisdom at me.” He grinned at last, a big, open grin that made Johnny’s heart flip-flop with affection. “Yes, yes, I want you to live with me! I want to wake up every day next to you and know your stuff is mixed in with mine in the drawer, your toothbrush next to mine, your shoes and ties—”

  “My ties?” Johnny laughed. He owned maybe one tie, though he didn’t know offhand where it might be, probably crumpled into the pocket of his one formal suit, used for family weddings and funerals, to which he’d probably never be invited again…

  “You know what I mean.” Eric laughed. “Your stuff, my stuff, our stuff. It’s a step. To let go of your apartment is symbolically important. It’s saying we’re taking that next step, you and me, in our relationship.”

  “And don’t you want that, Eric?” Johnny asked, unconsciously holding his breath.

  “More than anything,” Eric answered, his dark eyes shining with tenderness.

  Chapter 2

  Billy Wilson’s cell phone rang in his jeans pocket beneath his grease-stained overalls. He was just finishing a difficult job on an engine, too focused to stop his work. Finally done, he let the hood of the car slam and wiped his hands on an old rag he had stuck in the back pocket of his overalls. On days like this he really missed his little brother Johnny. Johnny was much better at the more delicate engine jobs than Billy, their older brother Hank or their dad. Yet now, though the old sign Johnny had painted while he was in high school still read Wilson & Sons, only two sons continued to work in their father’s garage in Brooklyn.

  Since that horrible night back in November when his mom had called in tears and his dad had grabbed the phone and screamed that Johnny was a fucking pervert who had betrayed the family, Billy hadn’t seen his little brother. They’d spoken only once on the phone, Billy at the time still unsure of his own reaction, Johnny withdrawn and defensive.

  As the days had turned into weeks, Billy had been by Johnny’s place several times, even using the key his mom had lent him to let himself in, concerned Johnny might be in trouble. But Johnny was never around. He would see evidence Johnny had been there recently—new junk mail left on the table or a glass in the kitchen sink, but clearly Johnny was not sleeping there. He must be sleeping with—Billy found it difficult even to imagine in his head—his male lover.

  As the weeks turned into months, Billy stopped going by. Probably it was for the best if Johnny just faded away. His father had ranted and raved for weeks, threatening to kill the “pansy queer bastard” if he ever laid eyes on him again. Hank would echo the sentiment, stating he’d “always known” John
ny was a “fucking homo”. Billy didn’t like how his father and brother were trashing Johnny but as he usually did, Billy kept his own counsel. If it weren’t for Sandy and the kids, who really missed Uncle Johnny coming by on weekends, Billy might have let Johnny just slip away.

  Now he looked at his cell, surprised to see Johnny’s number showing as a missed call. His heart leapt up as the image of his little brother with his bright blond hair falling into his eyes and his big open smile slipped into Billy’s mind like a beacon of hope.

  “What’re you grinning about, bro?” Hank had stepped up next to him, craning to see what Billy was holding. Billy started, slamming the little phone closed and slipping it into his pocket.

  “Oh. Nothing. Just a nice message from Sandy.”

  Hank grunted. “The little lovebirds.” His tone was sarcastic. “Don’t you know the rules? You’ve been married, what, eight years now? That’s way too long to still be mooning over your girl. Shit. You give the rest of us men a bad name. My wife calls your wife and complains about what a sorry motherfucker I am while Sandy just gushes about what an angel you are. I can always tell when Marla’s been talking to Sandy. I usually end up on the couch on those nights.”

  Billy and Sandy had not been given good odds to succeed in their marriage, being forced by their parents into matrimony upon the discovery seventeen-year-old Sandy was pregnant with nineteen-year-old Billy’s child. They had married willingly enough, having planned to do so anyway once they were older. When Sandy had miscarried at five months, everyone had expected the two to go their separate ways. Ann and Frank had wanted the marriage annulled, but Sandy and Billy didn’t want to part. They were as in love as they ever were—more so, as the tragedy of losing their child brought them closer together.