"No."
She sighed softly. “The correct answer is, whatever you prefer. I'm afraid that will cost you an extra stripe.” She kissed the top of his head.
Moving into position, she delivered the first cut to his right cheek. He flinched, but said nothing.
Her boots echoed loudly as she went to the other side of the bed and then marked him for the second time.
He jerked convulsively.
"Are you sure about the gag?"
"Whatever you prefer."
"I was right about you being such a quick study.” She returned to the other side of the bed. She took aim at that sensitive spot right between his ass cheek and thigh. That brought a soft grunt from him.
After she'd switched sides and given him another, she said, “Remember to breathe. You're more than halfway there.” She kissed his neck. “You've got a couple of lovely stripes forming."
He said nothing.
"Ready to resume your caning?"
"Whatever pleases you."
She gave him the next two quickly, barely giving him time to recover. “You've one more to go.” Beth reached a hand between his legs. “Lift your hips.” He hesitated only a moment. “Your dick is hard,” she said, feeling him up.
"Yes. It is."
"Next time, we'll put the cock ring on you. Your balls are hard, as well. Excuse me?” she asked when he nodded.
"They are."
"Sometime, perhaps, I shall cane you until you come."
"If it pleases you."
"This time, answer the question. Would you like that?"
He ground his hips and she pushed her thumb against his anal hole. “Yes!"
"You're an excellent sub.” She pulled away. Bringing back her arm, she delivered the final blow as hard as she possibly could, across the centre of both of his cheeks, bisecting them.
He swore. But he started to hump the pillow.
"Stop that this instant, you naughty boy."
"I..."
"Do not come,” she warned him. Putting aside the cane, she released his hands, then unfastened him from the spreader bar. “Turn over,” she said.
His cock had never been harder or thicker.
"Please,” he said. “I want to fuck you. Let me fuck you.” There was an intensity in his eyes that she'd never seen before, a hunger, a demand only she could satisfy.
She climbed onto the bed. He seemed to completely forget his submissive tendencies. In only a few seconds, he had her on her back, beneath him. He paused, teeth gritted. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. Fuck me. Come in me."
He didn't last a dozen strokes.
She squeezed him tightly with her internal muscles.
"Beth! Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It took him long seconds for him to get his breathing under control. Then he collapsed on her. Turning on his side, he pulled her against him. “Damn."
He dug his hands into her hair. “You're the sexiest woman on the face of the planet. How the hell did I get so lucky?"
"You told me,” she said, “exactly what you wanted.” And she'd always make sure he got it. Keeping him happy was her greatest pleasure.
"You didn't come,” he said.
"You noticed."
"Is that a punishable offence?"
"It is."
He shuddered again, and it wasn't from fear, she knew, more like the devastating aftermath of a powerful orgasm.
"Do you suppose I could distract you?” he asked. “After all, I don't want to be punished right away."
"You could try."
"Beth...?"
"Hmmm?"
"I'm going to spend the rest of my life trying."
"Good thing. God knows, I was fed up with the way things were."
He moved, flipping her onto her back. He nipped the inside of her thigh.
"I like this access to your cunt. Don't wear knickers ever again,” he told her.
"Convince me,” she said.
With his mouth, he gave her plenty of reasons...
* * * *
* * * *
About the Author
Born in Northern England and raised in the Wild West, Sierra Cartwright pens book that are as untamed as the Rockies she calls home.
She's an award-winning, multi-published writer who wrote her first book at age nine and hasn't stopped since.
Sierra invites you to share the complex journey of love and desire, of surrender and commitment. Her own journey has taught her that trusting takes guts and courage, and her work is a celebration for everyone who is willing to take that risk.
Email: [email protected]
Sierra loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at www.totalebound.com.
Also by Sierra Cartwright
Naughty Nibbles: This Time
* * * *
* * * *
BALLS TO THE WALLS
SL Majors
Dedication
For Todd ... Your generosity of heart and spirit knows no bounds. And, uhm, you're sure I didn't embarrass you, at least a little?
Trademarks Acknowledgement
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:
Zowada Razor: Tim Zowada Custom Knives
San Pellegrino water: San Pellegrino Group
Chapter One
Callum O'Neil's mouth dried.
He stepped out of the shower stall, still completely naked, and saw David Browning, his mentor, his trainer ... he sighed ... the man he secretly had a crush on. David Browning, owner of Balls to the Walls, was standing in front of a sink, shaving. The mirror on the wall had odd shaped patches of steam clinging to it.
While he'd been in the shower, running soap over his chest, down his stomach, lathering his balls and slipping a slick finger into his anus, he'd thought of nothing but David.
Callum had imagined David bending him over the sink in a moment of passion and burying his cock deep in his tight little hole. His own balls would fill to exploding. When David pounded his prostate, Callum would explode, even without touching his cock.
The water had all but run cold as Callum stretched out his hands and used the wall for support. Even the fantasy of his mentor teaching him about man on man love had the power to bring him to his knees.
David obviously hadn't noticed Callum yet, so he seized the rare opportunity to shamelessly, openly stare.
A snow-white towel was draped around David's lean waist. Across his back were a few good sized scars. From what, Callum didn't know. Rather than detract from David's good looks though, the ragged, raised scars only made him sexier.
The towel was fairly thin, not at all like the ones Callum had at home. But this gym-sized piece of material allowed Callum to see the length of David's legs, along with the power in his thighs, and the tightness of his arse.
His biceps were well honed from hours at his own training facility, teaching and demonstrating, which he did while being supportive and full of encouragement. He'd intentionally kept the place small, he said. It wasn't a big health club. It was more like an exclusive studio in a primo location. David hadn't bought a lot of equipment. Rather, he had a select group of machines that were top of the line and designed for maximum results. His list of clients was A-list, as well. First class, all the way around. He worked with only one person at a time, and, as Callum knew, David gave each client all of his efforts and energy. Every time he was here, he felt unique and special, even if he occasionally caused more trouble than he was worth.
The older man's patience had no limit that Callum had ever seen. Surely there had to be, though. No one was as rigid and self-controlled as David Browning.
There were times Callum was tempted to goad David, make him snap. He wanted to bust past the damn veneer of sleek sophistication and see the man beneath. And Callum had tried, oh, had he tried to get to the other man. He'd train hard, then completely stop, or he'd over-do it. If
he wasn't getting enough attention, he'd show up early, or, with a swagger, show up a quarter of an hour late. But he'd never shaken his mentor.
And that made him lust after him all the more. He'd fantasised about David the entire three months they'd trained together, and damn it, he was getting impatient with want and need. Especially now that he'd seen David in that oh-so-skimpy and tantalising towel. His cock stuck out in front of him, hard as a rock. He needed sex; raw, passion-filled, down and dirty sex. He needed to be possessed. He needed to be fucked, and not just by anyone, by the one man who meant more to him than any other.
In his more rational moments, Callum wondered why David would take note of another wanna be footballer. He worked with dozens of men, young and old, in shape and out of shape, men with dreams and goals who came here looking for a magic elixir. In that respect, Callum was just another ordinary bloke.
David turned on the tap and rinsed his razor beneath it. He was old-fashioned, Callum noticed. He shaved with a Damascus steel and rosewood straight razor. A Zowada, if he didn't miss his guess. He'd eyed one of them, himself, but he'd been too cheap to spring for one. Maybe he'd have to rethink his decision.
A two-sided Russian leather and linen strop lay on the side of the sink, and he actually had a shaving mug with the Balls to the Walls company logo on it.
If he didn't miss his guess, David also used a badger bristle brush. Class. Everything about the man screamed class and elegance. No, screamed wasn't the right word. Exuded. David would never scream, as much as Callum would wish otherwise.
After a final swipe up his jawbone, David rinsed the blade and set it down. He bent to cup his hands beneath the water. Callum was so aroused he could have come right then. David rinsed his face, still bending over.
If he stayed any longer, he'd be caught. As it was, he could pretend he was just getting out of the shower. After all, his body was still damp. David's mirror was slightly steamed over and the water was still running into the sink. Not much he could do about the hard-on, even if he grabbed his towel from the rack in front of him.
Then, the decision was taken away from him.
David turned off the faucet and shook the razor with three decisive flicks of his wrist. He looked in the mirror, obviously seeing Callum's reflection in spite of the patches of steam. As if they had nearly naked conversations every day, he said, “You didn't seem as committed to your training today."
Here was his chance. “I was distracted.” Now that he'd actually started talking, he was scared. Nervous.
And he was grateful. Finally, something was happening. He didn't know where it would go, and that was alright. Sometimes a man just had to force a situation, and this was one of those times. He just wished his stomach wasn't a nervous knot of apprehension. David could show him the door or reject him. But that was better than never knowing, right?
Surely all relationships weren't this complicated. People hooked up all the time, every day, even. So why did it feel as if this were happening the first time in history?
Callum swallowed his nerves. This man was worth any risk.
As if in slow motion, David reached for a clean hand towel. That was another nice thing about this place. There were plenty of amenities you didn't expect in a locker room. Like baskets full of hand towels and flannels to wash your face, along with an assortment of luxurious soaps and shampoos. David spared no expense when it came to his clients’ comfort. Just because they were men didn't mean they had to be uncivilized, he was fond of saying.
Drying his hands, David turned. “Something on your mind?"
"I...” Having this man, so freaking hot, freshly shaved, nearly naked, only a few metres away was going to be his undoing. There was no longer any denying how badly his body ached for David. David himself could see his engorged penis. “Look...” Nerves on the verge of shattering, he dragged his hand through his wet hair, and a chunk of the dark blond strands fell over his forehead. All he could think about was being on his knees in front of his mentor.
David waited patiently, like he always did. Always rigid. Always controlled. He didn't ask questions; instead, he bided his time.
"Maybe we shouldn't work together anymore,” Callum said. Well, hell and fuck and back. That hadn't been what he meant to say.
"I see. This close to the first exhibition game of the season? Any particular reason?"
Because I want to give you a blowjob? Because I'm a gay man who wants to be with a man who knows what he's doing. Because I can't think coherently, and I act like a fool when you're around. And I wish you felt even a fraction of the things I do.
David finished drying his hands and then calmly, as if Callum hadn't said anything, dropped the damp towel into a laundry bin.
"Fuck. Look at me. Just look at me, will you?"
David did ... a long, sweeping glance that took in the younger man's body from head to toe.
Callum O'Neil. The name was synonymous with hot.
All that potential, youth, energy, emotion, tight arse, and lean muscle mass was fucking hot. He was tall, blond, hazel-eyed, and good looking. All of it was enhanced, compounded, by raw talent. The problem was, the lad was full of himself.
David had been in combat, and he'd spent the last year and a half around athletes. Confidence was a big part of survival. All in all, it wasn't a bad trait. But, like anything else, it had to be tempered with self discipline
Callum had gotten this far in life trading on his swaggering bravado, backed up by moments of brilliance. That was, perhaps, David's biggest challenge: helping Callum hone his assets and tamp down the impetuousness. The lad was lacking in motivation, almost missing the constant drive to do his best. David and his years of expertise could help with that. In fact, he relished the challenge. That was, if the lad didn't sack him on the spot. “I'm looking,” he said.
"Is that all you can say?” Callum folded his arms across his chest. His hazel eyes sparked with anger.
Ah. Youth and enthusiasm. David absently wondered if he, himself, had ever been that way. Or had he always been old, jaded? “I'm sorry, Callum. I'm not sure what you want from me.” And that, for one of the first times in his life, wasn't entirely the truth.
The lad rocked back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet, obviously trying to contain whatever emotion was chasing through him. “Do you even notice me?"
"Everyone notices you, Cal. You know that.” He'd negotiated land mines that were less tricky than this conversation. He'd never had a client more challenging that this lad. Others who were not performing to their potential got one chance and then David terminated their contract.
But there was something about this boy ... Not that there was much in the age difference. But with David's life experiences, he might as well be a decade older than him.
Maybe he saw something of himself in Callum, because, with him, David was sure as hell willing to bend his own rules. And he hadn't looked at the reasons for that too carefully. “Every time you walk onto a football field, everyone in the stands takes notice."
"No. Damn it. That's not what I mean."
He did that thing with his hair again, dragging his hands through it, leaving it dishevelled. For a fraction of a second, one rich with possibility as well as disaster, David considered smoothing it back.
"I mean ... as a man. Do you notice me as a man?"
He considered his response and decided on a hundred percent honesty. He owed them both that courtesy. “I'd have to be blind not to."
"You're not just having me on?"
"No.” He shook his head. Callum was the real deal. He drank, maybe too much at times, but David excused that as part of his age. But he didn't do drugs. No one would be busting him for doping. The cut lines in his muscles were the result of hard work and several different kinds of aerobic activity. But it went beyond that. He had a beautiful cock and lovely, firm balls. He was ripe for the right person. Cal had been the subject of most of David's masturbatory fantasies over the last few months.
“I'm not having you on."
"The whole time I've been here today, working out, showering, I've been thinking of nothing and no one but you."
"And...?"
Cal glanced at the tiled floor. Then he drew in a deep breath. “I was picturing you bending me over that sink."
David's cock jumped to life.
Until this moment, he'd done an excellent job of keeping his physical reactions under control. Now, since only a towel covered him, young Callum wouldn't have any doubt as to how he felt. “I don't fuck my clients.” He folded his arms across his chest.
Not to say he hadn't thought about fucking Callum the entire time he'd been shaving.
Callum had headed for the showers after his workout. Since it was already closing time, David had locked the doors and turned off the front lights.
The entire time, he'd been powerfully aware of Callum's presence.
David had paperwork to do, but he'd decided to shave instead. He'd drawn the line at entering the showers. That would have been far too tempting.
The freshness and spice of the soap Callum was using filled the locker room. Every one of David's senses was keenly honed, and the idea of the lad submissively shouting his name had gotten him so worked up that it was possible, if not probable, that he could come without even shoving his cock up the boy's arse.
David considered himself lucky not to have needed his alum based styptic pencil to repair any minor nicks from his blade.
"If I weren't your client..."
"A moot point."
"Are you always such a hard ass? Or do I bring it out in you?"
"It's not about you, Cal. Not everything is.” How did you explain rules to someone so impetuous? David was all about sacrificing for a higher ideal, for success, for survival. You didn't take a hit of marijuana if you might be called upon to lead troops the next morning. And you didn't risk your reputation for twenty minutes of sexual gratification, no matter how good the lay might be.
Naughty Nibbles Anthology Page 15
