by Jay Lygon
Hector chuckled. “Like it?”
“Oh, yes.”
He reached behind my back and sprung the quick release on the handcuffs holding my hands behind me. “Put your hands back on my shoulders, and I want you to fuck as hard and fast as you can. I want you looking into my eyes.”
There were times when Hector had no trouble getting me to obey him. I gripped him, looked him right in the eye, and fucked like a bunny just released from solitary confinement. My butt muscles clenched and shoved me forward. He kept working the sleeve around our cocks. Inside, I loved the bump as his cockhead slid past mine and back again. The lube kept it from being too much friction, but I got off on how our skin glided together. My balls were so tight that I was afraid I couldn’t stop myself from coming.
“Oh yeah, oh yeah,” I kept saying. No matter how hard I tried to hold them in, words spilled from my mouth during sex. I looked down at the sleeve. “Fuck, that’s hot.”
“Look at me.”
Hector must have loved the sensation inside the sleeve, too. His face set into that expression of hard concentration he always got before he came. His eyes narrowed to slits, and he breathed hard through his open mouth. I leaned in and shoved my tongue between his lips. He pulled at my hair until I broke the lock on his mouth.
“Now you can look down,” Hector said. He gasped as his load splattered against the side of the sleeve. The hot, thick come smeared as I pumped through it. “Come for me.” His command was all I needed. I clenched my teeth, growled deep in my throat, and shot three day’s worth of pent-up sex over Hector’s cock.
***
The night before I headed to Toronto, Hector and I drove down past Belmont Shores to Ophir’s house. As usual, the parking on the streets was horrendous, so we had to park Hector’s vintage truck blocks away and hike past the narrow beach houses to Ophir’s Mediterranean villa. To call Ophir’s place a mansion was a stretch, but in that neighborhood of tiny, clapboard houses packed tight onto their lots, Ophir’s two-story place with its big garden was comparatively huge.
I pushed the doorbell. I could hear the low rumble of male voices from inside, and it sounded as if someone played the grand piano in the living room.
Number Three opened the door. At least I think it was Number Three. Ophir’s slave boys were so similar in build and coloring that they could have been related. With their shaved heads and matching gray silk coolie outfits, all signs of individuality were erased. I wasn’t sure, but it could have been that Number Three had been a different boy each time we’d been to Ophir’s lately. It was possible. He had a high turnover. Only Chris, Ophir’s Number One, never changed. Boys who thought they wanted lifestyle BDSM quickly learned under Ophir’s hand whether they were cut out for it or not. Most weren’t. Fantasy was a lot different than reality, and from what I heard, Ophir enjoyed shattering illusions.
Honestly, I was a little nervous as we made our way through the crowd in the living room. It was the first time we’d seen Ophir since the soccer game. I had no idea if he and Hector had talked and smoothed things over. The closer we got to the kitchen where Ophir held court, the more relieved I was that old friends held us up for small talk. Eventually, though, Hector pushed open the door to the kitchen.
The kitchen in Ophir’s place was bigger than the living room in our house. Like the garden, it was right out of a high-end, glossy magazine. The appliances alone cost more than a sports car. The countertops were granite, the cabinets solid oak, the floor tiles handcrafted in Morocco. A solid oak table sat in the bay window that overlooked the Moroccan garden’s water feature and cerulean blue walls.
Masters in leather leaned against the counters and chatted. Hector, in his neat, wool pants and crisp shirt, stood out. Only Ophir dressed like that, too. I wondered if that was something he’d learned from Hector, or if Hector had learned it from him. Several men moved to make room for Hector near the island in the center of the kitchen. Many of the men had their boys on the floor. Sometimes Hector had me kneel at his feet, but other times he had me stand, so I waited patiently for his signal instead of assuming anything.
Hector pulled me close, turning me so that my back was against his chest. I kept my eyes down and my mouth shut, as was expected of me. It wasn’t boring, though. I loved listening to the Masters gossip. Mostly they talked about wine and food. When talk turned to politics, I zoned in a private mental space. Cleared of thoughts, my mind floated, and I was at peace.
Hector’s body tensed slightly, pulling me out of my thoughts with a quick jerk. My gaze flitted up to see why. Ophir had come over. I stared at my shoes. Thankfully, Ophir ignored me. Hector relaxed. I could feel the rumble of a chuckle move through his chest. He hugged me tighter. Everything was the way it should be.
After Ophir moved on to talk to his other guests, Hector’s lips barely grazed my ear. “Would you like to go upstairs?”
That was a loaded question. While it had been weeks since we’d played deep, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to go into Ophir’s dungeon. That room was stark like an operating theater, which kind of creeped me out. The other thing I didn’t like was the floor to ceiling two-way mirror on one wall. I knew there was a room behind it, because I’d been in it. Knowing that other men were watching always made it hard for me to lose myself in a scene. I could feel their arousal, and as the God of Sex, found it hard to ignore the worship flowing to me. I hated to share the moment with anyone but Hector. It was too much like group sex, and I didn’t think Hector would have consented to sharing me like that.
Hector let go of me. He grasped my hand and led me out of the kitchen as if I were a reluctant child. I still lagged behind as we went up the stairs. Instead of getting angry, though, Hector paused at the top of the stairs and gazed into my eyes.
“Is something wrong, Baby?”
I glanced at the door leading to the dungeon and shrugged. “If Master commands--”
“I haven’t had you in the dungeon in a long time.” He caressed my cheek. It was a fight between my reluctance and wanting to please him. If only he’d made it an order instead of asking.
“I’ll do anything you ask, Sir.”
“I know you will. This isn’t a test of your obedience, Boy.”
It was misery trying to think of the right thing to say. If only I had the power to give him the answer he wanted to hear.
“Feeling shy tonight?”
Relieved that he understood, I nodded.
“We can watch instead.” He took my hand and led me into the small room behind the two-way mirror. When he shut the door, it was dark except for the light from the dungeon.
A tall, slim boy was shackled to the brushed metal St. Andrew’s cross in the center of the room. The overhead lights were harsh on the stark white tile floor and walls. The boy’s butt was an enviable shade of pink. His Master, a leather-clad hulk I didn’t recognize, peered into the wall cabinet of toys Ophir provided for his guests.
Hector sat on the couch facing the mirror and unzipped his pants. I slipped to my knees and took his cock into my mouth.
The boy behind me cried out. Hector grunted. The boy yelped. Hector’s legs tensed. At the next scream from the boy, Hector pulled his cock out of my mouth, stood, and tucked his hard on into his pants. He touched my cheek. “Sorry, Baby. I can’t let that continue. That man has no idea what he’s doing with that flogger, and he’s going to seriously hurt his boy if no one stops him. You wait right here and Papi will be back in a moment.”
He strode out of the darkened room. The dungeon door opened seconds later. The Master lowered his arm as Hector walked in. Hector beckoned to the Master. The guy looked pissed off about the interruption. He stomped over to Hector.
Ophir slipped into the dark room with me. We stood side by side as we silently watched Hector talk to the increasingly agitated Master. Ophir turned to me and put a hand on my shoulder. “I was beginning to think he’d never leave your side. I’ll make this quick. I never did thank you, Sam, for what you did fo
r my Number One, Chris, a couple months ago.” He whispered so that we couldn’t be heard in the dungeon.
“Hector was the one who fixed things.” I blushed. I wondered if Ophir knew that Hector told me he’d paddled Ophir’s ass in front of Chris.
“You were having your own troubles, but you took time to help my boy when he was alone and scared. You sent him to Hector. If you hadn’t, well, I made a bad mistake sending him away, and because of you, he’s mine again. I won’t forget that, Sam.”
He gave me far too much credit.
Inside the dungeon, the Master’s ears burned bright red. Hector’s body language was calm, but I could hear him giving that Master a tongue-lashing that rivaled any whipping. Even the boy shackled to the cross listened with a shocked expression in his eyes.
Ophir turned to go, but stopped. “I don’t want Hector to catch us alone, so I’ll say my piece and then go. I’m probably the only person on earth who understands exactly what you’re going through with Hector. If you ever need to talk, call me. I will be there for you just as you were there for my Chris.” As quickly as he’d come in, he slipped out of the room.
Chapter 6
George, my editor at Park Avenue Magazine, had sent frantic emails demanding I cover one of the films premiering at the Toronto Film Festival. Given a choice, I would have avoided it based on the trailers alone, but the magazine wanted the female star on the December cover and everyone was ordered to blow smoke up her ass to get her to agree to it.
Oops. Did I say that out loud?
My well-ordered life had been turned upside down by my career. The strict schedule that kept me on track was replaced by chaos. Running from junkets to screenings to parties left a nebulous haze in the pit of my stomach. And then there was the stupid movie I had to review.
Oh man. I was in a bad mood. Good thing Hector wasn’t there to see me scowling. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and exhaled. It wasn’t fair to judge a movie by its smarmy trailers. It could be really good. I doubted it, but there was always the chance I’d be pleasantly surprised.
Deep cleansing breath. Neck roll. Attitude adjustment.
At least the theater was incredible. The Elgin & Winter Garden Theatre reminded me of the El Capitan in Hollywood with its opulent, art deco interior and balcony. The exterior was absolutely gorgeous, and the interior was stunning. I loved seeing movies in those kinds of venues, because it was more like a real theater experience than going to a generic multiplex at a mall.
I should have known better than to sit near the reserved seats in the back of the theater, but I needed to take notes during the film and didn’t want to disturb anyone. If only everyone were as considerate. As the huge chandelier dimmed and the red velvet curtain rose, there was a commotion at the door leading to the foyer. Unlike almost everyone else in the theater, I refused to turn around and look at the noisy latecomers. I didn’t have to look to know who it was. The female star’s name was whispered by at least a hundred people.
My seat was in the row directly in front of their reserved places, so it felt as if everyone in the theater was staring at me. They weren’t, of course. Who looked at a movie critic? Still, my face blazed as I scrunched down as far as I could in my seat.
Every person in the star’s posse bumped my seat as they passed behind me. Not one interrupted their loud conversation to apologize. My teeth ground together as I hid behind my notebook.
The motion and noise behind me didn’t end as the movie started. A pair of cowboy boots slammed on top of the empty seat next to me. Several people seemed to be playing a game of musical chairs, only instead of music they were using angry whispers. Everyone wanted to sit next to the star, who apparently was directly behind me.
Finally, half an hour into the rehashed pathos, generic family dysfunction, and precocious child actors quoting Freud in lispy little voices on the screen, the posse seemed to have settled down. Then loud music sounded behind me. Great.
“Hello? David! My man! How’s it going?” The star made no effort to lower her voice when she answered her mobile phone.
The muscles down my back tightened.
She chatted away for ten minutes, laughing loudly and talking about personal crap. Like almost every other person in the theater, I found myself eavesdropping, albeit unwillingly, on a Hollywood deal in motion. It eclipsed everything around it, even her heavy-handed dramatic scene in the film. Finally, it seemed she’d wrapped everything up. Relieved, I tried to figure out what was happening in the film. I was almost into it when she got another call.
As the music rose in an overwrought emotional crescendo in the final minutes of the movie, I couldn’t take it anymore. Stooping, I slinked along the row of seats and headed for the lobby. By the time I got to the door, the final credits were rolling. I noticed that, unlike most festival movie audiences, no one except the star’s posse gave it a standing ovation. Few people in the theater even clapped.
It was going to be almost impossible to keep my disgust with the star out of my review, but even if she hadn’t been such a jerk, it would have been hard to find something nice to say about that movie. Too bad I couldn’t review the theater instead. Or could I? I was considering that sneaky idea when I was grabbed in a tight embrace.
“Alberto, it’s been hours,” I said as I gently disentangled myself from his arms. When I left home, he’d been in his driveway wearing a Speedo and washing his car. Since his driveway was on the far side of his house, I didn’t think he put on the show for my benefit. Deal’s living room window, however, was directly across the street.
“Surprised to see me?”
“You’re Fame. Film festivals are probably your native habitat.”
He swatted my arm. “You’re always so funny.” A rush of his worship washed over me.
“Got your exclusive picture yet?”
His brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he clutched the camera hanging from his neck. “I’m working on it.” He glanced around and leaned close. “I’m figuring out this God thing, although I’d be grateful for any pointers you can give me. Are you free for dinner?”
“My editor, George, is in town. He invited me to dinner tonight. But maybe--”
The theater doors slammed open. The star of the film strode into the lobby, followed by her posse. She paused and posed as if she expected fans to rush up to her. A few did, but most people kept walking. Annoyed, she glanced around the lobby. When she spotted me, she called out, “Sam Dewey! You came to see my film!” She oozed something, but it wasn’t charm. She wasn’t that good of an actor. Still, I took her hand briefly and gave her a wan smile. “Going to give me a good review?” she asked.
Her posse smiled and nodded, as if urging me to feed her ego. That was their job, not mine. I was surprised to catch Alberto nodding and smiling, too. What kind of Kool-Aid had he been drinking? He’d seen her film, hadn’t he? Or maybe he thought it was good. There was no accounting for taste.
“Congratulations on the film,” I said, because that was saying something without meaning anything. She didn’t react. Was she waiting for a compliment? It didn’t seem right to tell her that she was the least sucky thing about her movie, which wasn’t saying much, but I wasn’t about to lie either. Hmm. What to say? I said, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of your work in the future.” There. That was nice. Especially since I didn’t finish my thought by saying, “At the dollar theater.”
She grinned at me as she put on sunglasses. “We’re throwing a little party tonight. You should come,” she said as she grandly swept past me. Her merry little band of fart catchers trotted after her. My heart broke a little when Alberto cheerfully waved goodbye and fell in line with the rest of the posse.
***
I hadn't lied to Alberto when I told him that I had dinner plans. My editor, George, was in town, and we did have a dinner date. While I’d toyed with the idea of weaseling out of it, once I told Alberto about it, I knew I was doomed to go, so I rode the elevator to the top of one o
f Toronto’s skyscrapers and stepped out into the foyer of a ritzy restaurant. From the secluded booths to the harpist near the center bar to the thick, white linen tablecloths, the place screamed date restaurant, which meant that dinner would take at least three hours. Oh joy. Oh rapture. What the hell was wrong with a burger at a diner? Was I the only person who preferred that?
George was already seated at a table toward the center of the room. He had sort of a nautical theme going with his suit. It was summer blue with a gold anchor embroidered on the pocket. His shirt was yellow, white, and blue striped, and his yellow tie had blue anchors on it. I’m sure it looked great in a catalog. Maybe International Male? Oh Gods. I was turning into a clothing snob.
“I hope you don’t mind terribly being away from the windows. You can still see the view from here. Heights make me uncomfortable,” George confessed as I took my seat.
Then why did he pick that place? “I’d be happy to go somewhere else if you’d prefer,” I said.
