by K. L. Hiers
The guests were leaving the bar in small groups until only Cypress, Tom, and one other man were left. Judging by his lack of exotic costume, Tom assumed he was one of the watchers.
Lady Villalongo came back in to fix them some drinks and left again with a promise to check in later.
Cypress took Tom and their drinks over to one of the sofas, asking, “Still okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” Tom scooted close, taking his drink and gulping back a swig. He nearly choked from the amount of alcohol and made a mental note to slow down.
“I’m probably going to ask you at least ten more times,” Cypress confessed, resting his hand on Tom’s leg. “I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”
“I’m really okay. I mean, so far, it’s really not that weird.”
“Good.” Cypress kissed his cheek. “Mm, feeling brave enough for a little stroll?”
Tom glanced over at the watcher, noting he was now reading a book. He looked back to Cypress, hoping he’d had enough to drink to steel his nerves for this. “Yeah, I think so.”
“We’ll visit one scene and come right back,” Cypress promised, taking Tom’s hand and helping him stand.
The room spun pleasantly, and Tom clung to Cypress’s side. He was a little tipsy and suddenly laughed. “Wow. Lady Villalongo does not mess around with those drinks.”
“No, she doesn’t. I’m cuttin’ myself off since I have to drive, but you’re welcome to—” Cypress was gesturing to his drink, but Tom had already grabbed it and chugged it. “Help yourself.”
“Ready for our walkabout. Walkaround. Walking.” Tom smiled up at Cypress, unable to stop himself from saying, “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”
“So are you,” Cypress said, kissing him sweetly. “Mm, come on.” He took Tom’s hand and exited the French doors out into the hallway. They went right, wandering to an open parlor where a bit of a crowd had gathered.
Tom didn’t see Fox, but he recognized assless chaps man and a woman in a transparent vinyl gown. Chaps was strapped down to a medical table, his feet in stirrups and spread wide. There was a gag in his mouth, drool running down his face, and he was moaning softly.
Tom heard and saw the crack of Vinyl Gown’s hand coming down with a paddle against Chaps’ tender thighs, and he unconsciously clenched down on Cypress’s hand. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, “that’s… that’s…”
He couldn’t even finish the thought because he had no idea what to say. Everyone was watching with an eerie reverence as the woman kept on paddling the bound man, and Tom’s face was scorching hot.
It didn’t feel like they should be a part of this. It was personal, private, and yet Tom couldn’t look away. He was spellbound as the woman began to unbuckle the man’s chaps and grabbed his cock. She only gave him two short pumps before stopping, and the man whined.
Oh, Tom knew that sweet anguish, the torment of being so close and yet being denied. He leaned against Cypress’s side, whispering, “Is that what I sound like?”
“No,” Cypress replied, whispering playfully back in his ear, “You’re much louder.”
Tom swallowed hard.
Vinyl Gown had put on gloves and now had a metal rod in her hands, slicking it up with lubricant until it was dripping. It was thin with a rounded ball at the end, and it reminded Tom of a nasal aspirator, a tool they used to suction out the nose and mouth of a deceased when they were purging.
He didn’t understand where such a little tool was going—it wasn’t much bigger than a fancy fountain pen, though he’d wager it was a few inches longer—and then Vinyl Gown grabbed Chaps’ hard cock.
“Wait, she’s gonna…?” Tom hissed at Cypress.
“Yes.” Cypress kissed his hair. “Just watch.”
Vinyl Gown began to slowly push the rod into Chaps’ cock, right into his urethra, and he let out a howl of utter bliss. She was fucking his cock with that little rod, and it only took a few strokes before he was coming, his load bubbling out around the metal.
Tom didn’t understand what he was seeing, but he was hot and dizzy, and his cock was hard. He didn’t know people could do things like that. He grabbed Cypress’s arm, asking, “Can we go sit down?”
“Of course.”
Back to the bar they went, Cypress dropping Tom off at one of the couches and grabbing more drinks. The watcher with the book was still there, reading his book and paying them no mind.
Tom felt strange, turned on and buzzing all over, and he smiled when Cypress brought him a glass of something brown with ice. A sip revealed it to be bourbon, straight. “Thank you.”
Cypress was drinking a bottle of water, rubbing Tom’s back soothingly. “Mmm, too much?”
“I didn’t… that… It was like a catheter, but definitely not a catheter.” Tom took another drink.
“It’s called urethral sounding,” Cypress explained. “Takes a lot of skill, patience, and the proper tools. The sounds, the actual rods you use, have to be cleaned very thoroughly. I mean, some guys will shove just about anything down there.”
“Ow. I mean, it has to hurt. Doesn’t it hurt?” Tom cringed.
“You start off very small,” Cypress said with a chuckle. “And yes, there can be some burning, a lot of pressure… but the pleasure is pretty intense.”
“Do you know how, how to do that?” Tom asked, hoping he didn’t sound like a crazy person for being so interested.
“It’s one of my favorite ways to masturbate.”
Tom nearly choked on his drink. “Wait, you do that to yourself?”
“When I’m in the mood,” Cypress replied, grinning wide. He was clearly enjoying Tom’s shock. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime, and if you’re interested, I can teach you.”
“I would really like that,” Tom said, glancing down at Cypress’s lips. He was drawn in like a magnet, shivering pleasantly when Cypress touched his face and pulled him in for a kiss.
Tom kissed him chastely at first, but Cypress lingered, silently asking for more. Tom couldn’t resist, kissing back a little harder. The alcohol had momentarily silenced his anxiety about being seen, and he let himself get lost in the moment.
Soon they were full-on making out on the little sofa, and Tom couldn’t remember kissing like this in years. A tease of Cypress’s fingers up his shirt made him gasp, a flick of his tongue coaxed out a little moan, and Tom was dizzy with desire.
Cypress broke the kiss off with a heated pant, growling low in Tom’s ear, “Fuck, I wanna get my hands on you.”
“Right now?” Tom whispered, just as breathless and wanting.
“Yes.”
“O-okay,” Tom said, well aware that the watcher was not reading his book anymore. It made him feel so damn sexy, and he licked his lips. “We can try.”
“Safe word?” Cypress asked immediately.
“Calvarium clamp.”
Cypress reignited their kiss with even more passion, his hand palming Tom’s cock through his khakis. He was tugging at the zipper, and Tom couldn’t believe he was going to let him do this, right here, with that guy over there watching.
Somewhere off in the house, Tom could hear a woman screaming. He couldn’t tell if it was pleasure or pain.
“Good?” Cypress asked breathlessly, bowing his head to suck at Tom’s neck, grazing his teeth over the edge of his jaw.
“Don’t stop,” Tom panted, closing his eyes. There was a naughty thrill knowing the man was watching them, but he couldn’t look at him. He focused on Cypress’s hand pulling out his cock, squeezing him, stroking him.
He couldn’t stop thinking about Cypress fucking his cock with one of those little rods, making himself come like that. It was so dirty, and it made Tom’s lust crank up to boiling. He wanted it, he wanted to watch Cypress do it, and fuck, he wanted Cypress to do it to him—
Tom heard the woman screaming again, and he flinched.
He wasn’t in the house anymore. He was back at the Dresser removal, and all he could hear was Mrs. Dresser screaming h
ysterically, howling in anguish. His heart started to pound erratically, and he tried tapping Cypress’s arm.
His eyes were open, and he could see the other man had started to touch himself while watching them. He didn’t feel sexy now. He only felt sick.
Cypress was down on his knees between Tom’s legs, pushing up his shirt and kissing his stomach as he urged, “Let me suck your cock, and don’t look at anyone else. It’s only me and you.”
Even the wet heat of Cypress’s mouth around Tom’s dick wasn’t enough to distract him from the echoes of screams inside his head. He tried to close his eyes again, and it only made it worse.
“Come on, be a good boy for me,” Cypress said, going back down to suck him harder.
“I can’t,” Tom whined, trying to pull away. “I can’t do this. Cypress… please!”
Cypress didn’t stop, holding Tom’s hips firmly and taking his cock down his throat with a greedy groan. It felt so good, so fucking good, but Tom could feel himself going soft. He tapped Cypress’s shoulder, desperate for all of this to stop. He wanted it to stop, and that damn woman would not quit screaming—
Fuck, the damn safe word.
“Calvarium clamp.”
Cypress immediately pulled off, looking up at Tom worriedly. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He was already fixing Tom’s pants and taking his hands, asking again, “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
“I want to go home,” Tom whispered, hating how weak he sounded. He was worried he was going to throw up, and he felt awful for disappointing Cypress. He could see it in his face, and he knew he’d probably ruined their entire night.
“Okay, wait right here.” Cypress kissed his cheek, quickly stepping over to the bar where Lady Villalongo was chatting with Jonah.
Tom kept his head firmly planted between his hands, staring down at the floor. He didn’t hear what was said, and he was terrified to look up. He couldn’t stand the idea of accidentally making eye contact with the guy who had been jerking off.
He was probably as upset as Cypress.
“Come on,” Cypress said, gently taking Tom’s arm and helping him stand. He didn’t sound angry, only concerned. “Let’s go, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jonah was there to escort them out, and Tom didn’t say a word until they were back in the car and pulling out of the driveway.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry—”
“Hey, hey,” Cypress cut in, reaching for Tom’s hand. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay, baby. I’m not mad. Talk to me. What happened?”
Tom didn’t say anything, closing his eyes to block out Mrs. Dresser’s screaming.
“Hey, Tom?” Cypress pressed. “Don’t shut down on me, Tom. Please. Tell me what happened that upset you so much.”
“Can… can we just wait until we get home?”
“Sure. Whatever you need.”
Tom kept his head pressed against the window the whole drive back, trying to sort out what he was going to say. By the time they were parking in his driveway, he still had no idea how to explain how or why he’d gotten so overwhelmed.
He let Cypress inside and took Mister Doodles for her walk, his mind still racing.
Watching that man getting spanked and sounded had been invigorating. The man had looked like he was in absolute heaven, and Tom had felt such heat, such raw desire, and even envy. He’d gotten a tiny taste of that thrill when Cypress had gone down on him while they were being watched—sure, it was an audience of one, but still—and yet everything had gone so wrong.
Shame.
That was the sensation weighing down in his gut now.
Shame for not being able to comfort Mrs. Dresser in her agony, shame for liking all the filthy things he’d seen tonight and liking them even more when Cypress was doing them to him.
He tried to tell himself there was nothing wrong with not being able to do anything for Mrs. Dresser. She had been suffering a loss that no parent should ever have to go through, and there truly wasn’t anything he could have done for her.
But the other stuff…
Was he some kind of pervert? What the hell was wrong with him? A little spanking wasn’t so bad, but getting his dick sucked while someone was watching? Wanting something to go in his dick?
Cypress had told him there wasn’t anything wrong with the things they did, but then why did he still feel so mortified?
Because you wouldn’t ever be doing these things if he wasn’t blackmailing you?
That wasn’t it. The threat of blackmail relieved Tom of the responsibility, yes, but it wasn’t what had created this desire. That was all his, and he didn’t know how to own up to it.
Defeated, he trudged back into the house and let Mister Doodles off her leash. Cypress was waiting for him in the kitchen, offering him a glass of wine.
“Sorry I didn’t ask before I opened it,” Cypress said with a gentle smile. “Thought you might need it.”
“Thank you.” Tom accepted it and promptly downed it.
“Okay.” Cypress clicked his tongue. “Another?”
Tom held out his empty glass.
“Now, can we talk?” Cypress asked as he refilled it.
“About?”
“What happened,” Cypress said cautiously.
“I said I was sorry,” Tom replied shortly. “I’m sorry I messed up, okay?”
“No, no, you didn’t mess anything up,” Cypress insisted. “I already told you I’m not upset—”
“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Tom said sharply, drinking heavily and shaking his head. “It was embarrassing and weird, and I really, really want to pretend it never happened.”
“We are definitely talking about it,” Cypress argued. “We ended a scene because you used your safe word, and I have no idea why. I need you to talk to me.”
“There is nothing to talk about!” Tom barked, hating how quickly his voice started to rise. “It’s over.”
“Not until you tell me what set you off.” Cypress didn’t even bat an eye at Tom’s tone. “If you have any kind of trigger, something that is going to upset you, I need to know about it so we can avoid it the next time we have a scene—”
“Oh, my God! Do you even hear how crazy that sounds?” Tom finished the wine and brushed by Cypress to put the glass in the sink.
“It’s not crazy to have good communication. It’s essential for the things we do together. Just like everybody else at that party—”
“No, I’m not like those fuckin’ freaks! I’m nothing like them! I can’t fucking do this!” Tom shouted, instantly regretting those words as soon as he said them.
“Freaks?” Cypress crossed his arms and took a step back. “Wow. Pot, meet kettle.”
“I’m so sorry,” Tom said urgently, his anger evaporating in the wake of his anguish. “Fuck, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“No?” Cypress challenged. “Then how did you mean it exactly?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know.” Tom held out his hands helplessly. “I’m still trying to figure all of this out. It’s overwhelming, okay? I feel like a pervert, and we’re doing stuff I would have never done—”
“If I hadn’t been blackmailing you, right?” Cypress cut in.
“Maybe? I don’t know anymore. Yes, okay, it was easy to say you were making me do it… but now…” Tom couldn’t finish the sentence.
“Tom, I think we need some space,” Cypress said suddenly. “These last few days have been really great, but you need some time to get your head right. You still have no idea what you really want.”
“I already told you,” Tom pleaded. “I want you.”
“Really?”
“Yes!”
“Because it’s exciting, right?” Cypress smiled bitterly. “Because it’s new, and it’s fun, but the second you got pushed a little bit out of your comfort zone, you start in with the name calling. I am not going to tolerate you shaming me because you can’t handle—”
“Pushed a little
bit? A little bit?” Tom gritted his teeth. “You pulled my fuckin’ dick out!”
“I asked you!”
“I wasn’t ready, I’m fucking sorry! But you didn’t stop right away!”
“You didn’t use the safe word! That’s the whole point of having one.”
“I fuckin’ froze up!” Tom shouted. “Okay? What do you want me to say? I’m some fuckin’ scared little prude who got in way over his head? Fine! I am! I’m scared, and I don’t know if I can do this!”
Silence fell, heavy and thick, and Tom couldn’t tear his eyes away from Cypress’s face. He was desperately searching for any sign of anger or sympathy, something to give him a clue as to what Cypress was thinking. He had no idea what was going through Cypress’s mind, and he felt like he was going to throw up.
“We need a break,” Cypress said, at last, his flat expression still totally unreadable. “We need to take some time to cool off.”
Tom was instantly struck by a crushing wave of defeat, flopping down on his couch and holding his head in his hands. He’d heard this little song and dance before, only with different words. He was already certain this was the last time he was going to see Cypress.
“Yeah. Got it.”
“I’m gonna go before either of us says anything else we’re gonna regret.” Cypress began to walk out, pausing at the door. “If you do decide that you wanna talk about what happened, don’t hesitate to call or text me, okay?”
“Sure thing,” Tom said quietly, closing his eyes to fight back the treacherous sting of tears. He refused to let himself cry, not while Cypress was still there.
“Good night, Tom. Sleep sweetly.”
Tom didn’t look up again until he heard the door shut, confirming that Cypress had left. He groaned out loud, wiping at his eyes as he got up. He kicked off his shoes, and he miserably trudged to bed.
He didn’t even bother with getting undressed, instead, flopping face-first right into his pillows. He felt nauseated, and he wanted to scream. He didn’t understand how things had gone so wrong so quickly and had no idea how to fix it.
