But, oh, getting called gay or thinking about being forced to do gay shit, yeah, that got him off. That wasn’t gay, it was just twisted. A twisted part of him he’d been fighting for years to bottle up and put a lid on, so no wonder the top of his head was blowing off now.
Okay, the tops of both heads.
What was that thing Dylan had said?
“You’re repressed, and you’re unhappy, so you’re lashing out at Bobby because he’s brave enough to do what you can’t.”
If that was true, if Austin really was being such a dick to Bobby because he was repressed, then would fixing his repression fix the way he was acting, too? Would he stop being so disgusted and frustrated by Bobby and so angry?
He stared down at the stack of DVD cases on the counter. Slowly sorted through them until he found the one he was looking for. The only one that turned him on: Master Puck and Mistress Titania’s STRAIGHT SUB SETUP 4.
The cover was black and white with bold red lettering. On it, a buff guy in black leather pants and some kind of chest harness thing—Master Puck, Austin figured—was standing facing the camera, his legs spread dominantly, with a naked guy kneeling in front of him, looking up at him in fear and awe. Austin’s throat thickened. So did his dick.
Not because of the men—naked or half-naked—but because of the positioning. Because of the expression on the STRAIGHT SUB’s face. Afraid and sick to his stomach and helplessly turned on. And Austin, in turn, felt exactly the same. Turned on by the image. Sick with himself for liking it so much. Afraid of what it all meant and where it would take him.
He flipped the case over.
OhthankGod. On the flip side was a picture of a woman in some kind of skintight red vinyl thing that hugged every feminine curve. Her tits practically spilled out of the top of her dress, and in her hands, she held what looked like a riding crop. And she was smirking. At Austin. Dangerous, that was what she looked like. Man-eater. He bit his lip, his eyes sliding over to the text.
Mistress Titania is back to her old tricks, and this time well-hung str8 frat boy Danny Domino is her prey!
The setup: After answering an online ad for a straight submissive willing to do absolutely anything for a sexy and demanding mistress, unwitting Danny arrives at the Mischievous Pictures studio for a classic bait and switch. He thinks he’s gonna be licking Mistress Titania’s stiletto heels and begging for her pristine pussy, but he’s going to get a mouth and ass full of cock instead!
What Mistress Titania wants, Mistress Titania gets, and after Danny signs a contract promising to obey her every command (and letting us film, of course), she brings out her best friend and partner in crime, brutal Master Puck, who never gets (or hits) harder than when he’s with a virgin str8 boy. Now, to please his mistress and fulfil his contract, Danny must perform the ultimate act of submission: swallowing his str8 pride in order to swallow gay cum, all while Mistress Titania watches. But after taking Master Puck’s monster pierced cock, will Danny ever give her—or any other woman—a second glance again?
Austin could watch this. He could. There was even a woman and a straight guy in it, so it wasn’t even really gay porn. It was porn for sick fucks like him. Straight sick fucks.
He could take it home without renting it—no paper trail—and put his headphones on, and watch it. Tonight, in the middle of the night. He could watch it, and if he got a boner, he could jerk off to it. Return it to the store tomorrow before anyone noticed it missing. Steam let off. Repression fixed. And then he’d have no reason to be so angry at Bobby anymore, and he wouldn’t say douche bag things without meaning to. Eventually Bobby would have to forgive him, and once Bobby forgave him, the other guys—Noah, specifically—would too. He wouldn’t be kicked out of his house. He wouldn’t lose his job. Maybe his problem would even stop “popping up” at inopportune moments (like with his team, specifically) if he had an actual outlet.
And it would all be a secret, and Austin would still be straight. He’d have hockey and his team.
Yeah.
This could totally work.
He wheeled his chair back to the filing cabinets where the rental discs were stored, found the one he was looking for (and discs one, two, and three of the same series!), took both DVD and case, wrapped them in his workout T-shirt from this morning, and stuffed them into the bottom of his bag.
Oh, there was one more emotion that he’d seen on Danny Domino’s face but been unable to identify before now: anticipation.
The longer his shift went on, the more the anticipation built. It was a shifting thing, moving from arousal to anxiety to disgust and back again. His stomach roiled. It felt a little like the hours before a big game, excitement and fear and grim determination all warring inside him. And just like before a game, he felt the need to stand, jump up and down on the balls of his feet, clap his hands, and do jumping jacks; anything to get that energy out. At least having a plan and a desired outcome took a little of the pressure off him. In one way, he was a mess of emotions, but in another, he felt better—freer—than he had in years.
When a middle-aged gay couple came in partway through the night, he barely blinked, even when he overheard them describing, in detail, what they planned to do later that night after watching the DVD they were currently in the process of selecting. And if he could handle gay Mr. Clean telling gay Jackie Chan that he was gonna pound his cute ass until he couldn’t walk straight—as if either of those dudes could do anything straight—then maybe, given some time and, um, release, he could handle Bobby too. And Bobby’s bras. And Bobby’s girly hair. And Bobby’s big butch boyfriend.
Damn, this porn was gonna have to blow his socks off to make up for all that.
Well, he thought as he locked the door and turned off the OPEN sign, I’ll know for sure by the end of tonight. And if this particular volume of the series didn’t work, there were three more to serve as backups.
It was sick how much the thought of them excited him.
No. If this video worked, that would be it. He wouldn’t watch the others. It was meant to be a treatment. A medicine like his mom’s prescription pain pills: use them past the point where you were cured, and they became an addiction.
In fact, he should take the other DVDs in the series off the table completely. If this didn’t work tonight, then more of the same wouldn’t, either. He couldn’t be simultaneously looking for a way to fix himself and looking for an excuse to watch as much gay porn as possible.
One porno. One viewing.
Hands trembling with building excitement, he counted out the till.
Three times, because he could never quite get his numbers right.
Doubt hit right after Austin put the DVD in his computer’s disc drive.
His headphones were jacked into the computer, but he wasn’t wearing them yet. He could hear some kind of tinny music coming out of them, overlaid by a sound that, even at low volume, was definitely moaning.
The disc menu was the same black and white and red kind of thing as the case, but now the black and white images were moving, and that made them even more obscene. Two men kissing, one of them grasping the other by the jaw. A gob of spit dropping out of frame onto the fat head of a pierced dick, then a big masculine hand rubbing the wetness around. An asshole that was opening and closing on its own, like it was fucking winking, and holy shit, was Austin’s hole clenching along in time?
Jesus. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t. He could not sit here and watch gay fucking porn with his asshole twitching like this. It was fucked up. It was totally fucked up, and if he wanted to be straight this was the exact wrong way of going about it, and how the fuck had he even justified this crazy fucking plan to himself?
A man with a mouth full of fabric, face flushed dark, eyes wet. A flash of bright red on the black and white: a close-up of the woman’s dress over the curve of her hip. Latex. That’s what it was made of.
Austin liked what he saw. His boner didn’t get harder—not that it could, by this point—but
it didn’t go away, either. Looking at the woman wasn’t better than looking at the degraded man, just different. Hot, but without the nausea or the asshole clenching.
See? Still straight. You can do this.
He put his earbuds in and pressed play. Instantly squeezed his eyes shut.
He could do this. He could do this. He could do this.
Holy shit, was he hyperventilating? His breath puffed in and out of him like he’d been running for miles. His hands clenched into fists. Should he take his pants off for this? Would it be more effective if he jacked off, or did he only need to watch?
Shit, he was supposed to be watching this thing.
He forced his eyes to the screen. Danny Domino was sitting on an office chair, looking as scared and eager as Austin felt. He had the collar of his pink shirt popped and his white ball cap on sideways. Across from him, a prim librarian type with a severe bun in her black hair and nerdy thick-framed glasses to match was looking over several sheets of paper attached to a clipboard. She had the kind of look where somebody at the porn studio obviously had wanted her to look ugly and un-sexy, like she wasn’t part of the production, even though she clearly was. “Well, everything here seems to be in order, Mr. Domino,” she said. She had a clipped, lilting accent. Sexy as hell. Indian, if Austin had to guess. “All we need now is your signature, guaranteeing that you identify as heterosexual and granting me your full and complete submission.”
Submission. God, the way she said that word, as if it tasted like candy in her mouth. The way she said complete, too, snapping on the T aggressively. Austin reached down and rubbed the heel of his palm over the rigid line of his dick through his jeans. This was okay, wasn’t it? It was gay porn, but he was jerking off to the woman. That had to be okay. He’d stop once the ass fucking got up and running. He would.
Danny Domino took the clipboard from her. The camera zoomed in on his throat and his bobbing Adam’s apple as he gulped.
(Austin gulped, too.)
Then it zoomed in on Danny’s hand as he signed.
(Austin didn’t have anything to sign, but he’d irrevocably committed to this all the same, the minute he’d stuffed the DVD into his bag. Maybe even before that.)
What happened next wasn’t surprising. “Well, well, well,” the woman said, and stood. She reached back and loosed her bun. Shook out her long black hair. Now she’d take off her glasses—
But she didn’t. She unbuttoned her prudish little grey blazer and let it slip off her shoulders to the floor. Walked around the desk, and the camera crawled up and down her body so that Austin was eye-fucking every inch of her. Because behind the desk and underneath the blazer, she was—of course—the woman in the red latex dress. And she wasn’t taking off her glasses. God, she was like every strict stick-in-the-mud-but-still-impossibly-hot teacher he’d had in school. And—holy fuck—just as likely to punish him.
He licked his lips and unzipped the fly of his jeans, watching as the woman—this must be mistress Titanium? Tatiana? Titania?—strode around the desk to where Danny Domino was still sitting, pinned by fear to his chair. Austin felt pinned to his chair, too.
“You are one stupid son of a bitch, Danny. Can I call you Danny?” She tapped her lip with one finger. She had red nails to match her dress. Sharp. Viciously sharp. “Oh, that’s right, I can do whatever I want now. Because you signed my contract, didn’t you, Danny? Didn’t anybody ever warn you about blank cheques?”
“N-no, ma’am,” Danny said sheepishly, and wrapped his hands around the sides of his stiff-backed chair.
Mistress Titania gave him an exaggerated pout. “How very sad for you—and how very fortuitous for me.”
Danny’s and Austin’s eyebrows both furrowed in unison.
“Oh dear. Don’t tell me you don’t know what the word ‘fortuitous’ means, now, Danny.”
He shook his head.
Titania snatched him by the chin, fingernails nearly piercing his skin. “It means you’re mine now, bitch.”
Bitch, that wasn’t a word to call a man, it was one for catty women and dogs in heat, but here she was, calling Danny that, and he could easily overpower her and make her his bitch, but he wasn’t. He was sitting there taking it, and God, Austin wanted to take it too. From her? “My straight bitch, my toy. Mine to do anything I like with.” She tossed a glance over her shoulder, not loosing her hold on Danny, who must be sweating with fear by now.
(Austin was.)
(Or maybe that was the hand wrapped around his dick, already working hard and fast.)
“Puck, dear!” she called. “You can come in now!”
Austin’s hand on his dick stilled. He stopped breathing.
This was it. This was the point of no return.
Austin didn’t want to return.
“Wh-who?” Danny squeaked, just as the door behind him opened.
And in strode Puck. Master Puck. Easily six feet tall and built like a brick house, with massive shoulders and pecs and powerful thighs and a slightly padded belly. Like a hockey enforcer in peak fighting condition—there was no other way to describe it.
Austin really didn’t care one way or another about the shiny black leather fetish wear the guy was sporting: the studded harness crisscrossing his broad chest, the buckled bands around his wrists and up his forearms, and especially not the tight pants with the huge fucking bulge in the front.
No, what Austin cared about was the way Puck grabbed the back of Danny’s chair and forcefully spun him so that they were—well, not eye to eye, but eye to abs, yeah. Danny’s eyes flicked up. “What the—” he shouted, and tried to push his chair back, get some distance between them, but Mistress Titania was behind him, blocking the way, and Master Puck had already knocked the ball cap from his head and grabbed him by the hair.
He grinned ferally at Titania over the top of Danny’s head. “Titania, baby, you have outdone yourself this time. He signed?”
“Signed and sealed,” Titania confirmed with a nod. She bent over, so her arms were draped over Danny’s shoulders and chest and her tits were pillowed against the back of Danny’s head.
Danny whimpered. “What’s going on?” he asked.
“Didn’t I warn you about blank cheques, boy? This is my good friend Master Puck. He’s got a taste for straight boys and I like to help him out. Well, technically he pays me to help him out.” She kissed his temple and turned his face up. “You like my dress, don’t you? I saw you looking. Puck bought it for me. Why don’t you thank him?”
“No way!” Danny shouted in disgust, but he didn’t struggle.
(And Austin didn’t turn off the DVD, either.)
Puck bent until he and Danny’s noses were touching. Had Puck’s nose been broken, once? It looked a little off, a little crooked, so rugged compared to Danny’s perky perfect Hollywood features. Austin had the sudden urge to see Danny’s perfectness messed up, to see him taken down a few pegs until he was the bitch Titania had named him.
“Way,” Puck replied, easily.
“Sorry, Puck,” Titania said, stroking Danny’s face now. “Forgot to mention he’s a little bit stupid. Let me spell it out for you, Danny. You signed over your body and submission to me, and with that power, I’m telling you, serve him.”
“How, how . . .” Danny squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again, then shook his head.
(Austin didn’t close his eyes. Didn’t shake his head, didn’t even blink.)
“Serve. Him.” Titania’s stroking hand took another handful of Danny’s hair. They both had him, now. He was helpless caught between them. Signed himself away, and now they had him. “You can start by thanking him, like I told you to.”
“Thank you,” Danny spat.
Titania twisted her hand in his hair until he grunted in pain. “For?”
“Thank you . . . for buying Mistress Titania her dress.”
“Sir,” Titania finished.
Danny swallowed hard. Glared up at Puck defiantly. “No.”
Swea
t beaded on the back of Austin’s neck. Cold sweat. Time seemed to stop. He stared at the two men, at the camera’s close-up on their two faces in profile, at Danny’s pathetic fury and Puck’s cool smirk, just the two of them in the frame, like Titania didn’t matter, wasn’t there at all. Maybe for them, she wasn’t. She certainly wasn’t for Austin, not anymore, not in the face of this clash of wills so heavy with testosterone he could practically smell it.
His dick throbbed in his hand, trapped in the vice grip of his fist.
He let out the breath he was holding, still hanging on the edge.
Puck tossed his head back and laughed.
Austin recoiled in shock.
So did Danny, but more because Puck had hauled off and backhanded him across the face.
And it was no staged strike, either. Austin had taken enough hits to recognize Danny’s stunned face and slack lip, and the hot red rising on his face, of course. Austin palmed his own cheek, trying to capture that pain, that humiliation of being hit the way pimps hit whores.
“You ’n’ me are gonna have fun, straight boy. Now pick up your fuckin’ hat.”
Danny seemed like he was still dazed by the hit, holding his face and looking around blindly. Puck didn’t hit him again, though, not even when the seconds stretched out to minutes, out to their breaking point. He stood waiting, arms crossed and occasionally looking at one of his bracers as if it were a watch. It was almost comical, totally the opposite of the raw power and authority he’d displayed.
Straight Shooter (Rear Entrance Video, #3) Page 4
