On His Knees

by Adira August

  But Hunt had come to him. Just as he’d gone to other Doms before him. Trusting in Hunter to know what he needed, Cam dismissed his doubt, concentrated on each step of the task. He covered Hunter’s sacrum and kidneys with a thick leather shield and tightened it down on the Angel.

  With a few drops of oil, he lubricated the wooden butt plug. The teardrop-shaped top, shiny and very smooth, became almost too slippery to hold. Cam was going to fuck Hunter until he screamed, as was necessary, but he didn’t want to injure him when he did. The plug would serve to stretch him, as well as be a constant reminder of his helplessness.

  Every strike of a towel across his ass cheeks would move the plug, massaging, stimulating, opening him. Cam’s dick jerked hard at the thought.

  He slipped his fingers through the opening at the bottom of the plug and spread Hunter’s cheeks with his other hand. A low choking sound came from Hunter, but he submitted immediately when he felt the nose of the plug in the center of his anus and Cam spun the slick, cool surface against him. Cam inserted it slowly, Hunt groaning a soft oh, God at the widest point.

  Pausing there, Cam turned the plug in place, rocking it slightly, making sure this sub fully experienced his humiliation and powerlessness. As he needed. When Hunter’s body went fully slack in surrender, Cam slipped the plug all the way in.

  It abruptly narrowed and Hunter’s sphincter contracted around the wide stem. A muffled grunt - Cam smiled knowing Hunter had just realized how open he would remain. Good. The sound, the squirm, the sight of the big man laid out before him - Cam’s fist closed hard around his own throbbing cock. But only for a moment. He was going to need all his energy and the drive that came from frustration.

  Uncurling his fingers from the handle that nestled between Hunter’s full round buttocks, Cam massaged and squeezed him over the plug handle. Satisfied Hunt would remain pliant, Cam picked up the oil. It was time to break Hunter Dane.

  Hunter

  Something cold traced lines and loops over my body. Cam was squeezing something liquid over me. His hands moved lightly over my skin, spreading it. Oil. Shoulders and back, ass and thighs. Even down my calves. Why? He moved to the side, oiling my arms, my hands, each finger.

  I was so comfortable, except for the hard lump in my ass I tried not to think about. And the roiling tension in my gut, looking for a way out.

  He must have been squatting, kneading one calf and then the other, firmly but not deeply. With one hand on each leg, he slid his palms up my hamstrings and back - up and down in long soothing strokes. Inside. In front. Thumbs tracing my gluteal folds. He didn’t touch my genitals, and he avoided the plug.

  Cam continued up my sides and over my shoulders, fingers digging more deeply into the large muscles. I couldn’t lift my head or pull off the beams or … God, he’s good at this …

  My breathing slowed and deepened with the warm melting of my muscles while a cold, hard coil in my chest writhed and tightened, waking the leaden thing in my gut. I tensed against it, but his hands… his hands were big, the tough skin a delicious rasp over my body, leaving me undone.

  Hot tears filled my eyes, spilled and fell and the leaden thing shuddered and swelled. I couldn’t stop it.

  There was a low, hoarse keening. It was me. Fight. I had to fight. This wasn’t Dominant-submissive, this was some arrogant kid using my body to play a game with my head.

  I strained and jerked and twisted against my restraints. “Get off me!”

  The Angel stood, solid and still. I knew the weakness would be the leather, not the metal. I clenched my fists and twisted and pushed and pulled.

  “Get the fuck off me, goddamnit! Get off me! Get off me, now!”

  Cam laid the length of his body over mine, his erection between my thighs, jammed against my sac, his hands on my neck, his thumbs pressed into the hollow at the base of my skull.

  I fought him. I screamed at him. I twisted against the leather around my wrists, but it only tightened and I realized there was metal inside the restraints, too. When I tried to jerk my head Cam grabbed fistfuls of my hair and held me. I bucked and heaved and … and … no escape.

  “You’re going to tell me.” His voice was steady and matter-of-fact. He leaned back enough to get his hands on my lower back, and pressed his thumbs together into the valley of my spine. Fingers spread like wings, glided firm and deep in one long sweep up my spine to my neck.

  I wailed, the sound forced from me by the electric shocks that shot to my groin and my gut and my throat and my brain. He did it again, harder, faster. The wail became a snarling shriek and the thing inside me clawed and writhed.

  Then he was gone. My lungs clutched at air, heaving and gasping. A low sound and crack! Right shoulder. I was mid-yelp when crack! Left shoulder. Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Right and left, ass and thighs, I couldn’t get my breath fast enough to really shout, the pain concentrated, hard and deep. I couldn’t think what he’d hit me with.

  whoomSLAP! I felt the cold water spray across my back. Towel. whoomSLAP!

  whoomSLAP! whoomSLAP! whoomSLAP! whoomSLAP! whoomSLAP! whoomSLAP! whoomSLAP! whoomSLAP!

  Two towels, heavy with water, swinging and snapping, accurate and tireless.

  He worked me over thoroughly, only stopping long enough to wet the towels, the cold and heat and pain and sound overwhelmed me and I only thought of drawing breath as he gave no pause, no respite.

  The slap, the crack, the whap of a full stroke - he beat me steadily, expertly. Back and buttocks, thighs and calves, up and down my body. I could neither push into the blows nor move to avoid them. The weight of each pressed into me, into my chest and gut and the leaden thing deformed and cracked. My every exhalation was a wail broken by the next blow and the pain he gave me and the pain inside met and merged and

  the closet door squeaked as it opened. Flies ...

  “Noooooooooo!” I screamed.

  The beating stopped - wet hands - the hard plug gone - his cockhead in its place -

  “Tell me.”

  I screamed again as he slammed his cock balls deep into me. He fucked me fast twice and pulled back, ready for another thrust.

  “Tell me.”

  Slam and scream, oh God, it hurts … His hips hit me again and again. He pulled back once more and hesitated, rubbing his huge hard cockhead in and out my hole, his precum the only lube.

  Slam! …. Slam! … Slam!

  … I knew before the door opened, the smell, that smell you never forgot of decaying flesh.

  There was pain, so much pain.

  Her legs were pulled up and her arms bound to them. Skeletal … maggots in the crease of her elbow … how long had she suffered before …

  The screaming …

  Her eyes opened ...

  The darkness inside me exploded.

  In the Arms of Angels

  “Aliiiiiiiiive!”

  A shrieking wail of true agony ripped from Hunter’s throat.

  Cam stilled himself inside the quaking, anguished body beneath him. Cam wrapped his arms tightly around Hunter’s chest and clamped his hands around the edges of the beam.

  Garbled words, howled, roared, repeated - a litany of horror. The unendurable reality tearing at vocal cords, stretching rigid tendons. Cam finally made out the words: “She was alive.”

  Hunter wailed and bucked for long minutes. Cam and the Angel held him hard, Cam concentrated on not moving inside him. Thankfully, his dick receded and he was able to ease out.

  When Hunter subsided into helpless sobs, Cam released him from the Angel. Lowering him to the floor, holding him, rocking him, Cam had no idea who was alive or why it was so painful. But he did know Hunter Dane was through the last gate.

  Camden Snow was a very strong young man. But even the constant training and strength building routine integral to his life didn’t give him the ability to lift Hunter from the floor and carry him to bed. And there was a bed in the Church, in the Sacristy, a room accessible through the Sanctuary, a raised area with a long
marble-topped table.

  When Hunter seemed lucid enough to take simple direction, Cam got him to his feet and led him to the small room just large enough to hold a queen-sized bed. Cam laid back and pulled Hunter half over him, his head on Cam’s chest, his arm across Cam’s stomach, so his back was spared. Hunter fell into an exhausted sleep.

  The Church could accommodate several scenes at once and usually did. Cam lay there calculating how much he’d need to tip Chez for monopolizing the room on a Friday night. On the thought that he could probably get away with finally giving Chez a good hiding with a single tail, Cam drifted off.

  Cam snuggled down under the blanket, not ready to relinquish sleep. It was so quiet and peaceful. It smelled so good, the mixture of coffee and fresh air - fresh air? His eyes popped open. He squinted against the strong sunlight. Sunlight?

  “Here you go. Sherrilynn dropped it off.” Hunter Dane was holding out a Starbucks coffee. Cam, took it, confused and sat up, while Hunt perched at the end of the bed and turfed the contents of the bag out onto the bed.

  “We got bagels, whole wheat and cinnamon. There’s extra cream and sugar.” The lovely dark-haired man glanced up at Cam, “Whole wheat, for you?”

  Cam shook his head, pointing at the cinnamon. “Did you order-in the sunlight, too?”

  Hunt grinned, heedlessly dazzling Camden Snow with his dimples and straight white teeth. “The whole fake background thing just unhooks and swings in. It’s a firecode deal.”

  Cam gazed shyly at Hunter for a moment, disappointed that he was in pants and socks and shoes. Happy his upper body was still uncovered. “You showered.”

  “Yeah, well, we had a shower head and plenty of towels and soap.” He shrugged at his bare torso. “I got a jacket in the car.”

  He gave Cam a curious look. “You know, I never saw that many towels in that bathroom, before. Did you, I mean, do you have Chez stock them when you show up?”

  “I’ve had the stuff here for a while. Chez’s been keeping it for me in the office. Just in case.”

  “In case?” Hunter asked.

  “You ever went to your knees,” Cam replied simply, sipping coffee. “You off today?” Cam kept any hint of hope from his voice.

  “No,” Hunter said shortly. “There’s a mountain of evidence to go through, reports, all that shit. Completed inventories and reports need to be on the ADA’s desk by Sunday night.”

  “So, you have to go soon? Chez kicking us out?”

  The detective shrugged. “I’m on my own schedule. Right now, homicide is crawling with media types. Lot of brass strutting around as if they actually do police work. It’ll slow down after noon and I’ll go in.”

  He took a long pull of his coffee and ripped a piece from a bagel. “Chez hinted around after Sherrilynn left about needing to clean the room. I gave him a Dom look and he simpered off.”

  Cam laughed and stood up. “Good. I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

  Hunter raised an eyebrow at the order. “You’re not done?”

  “A couple more things, before you go,” he said and waited. Hunter inclined his head.

  Cam broke into a huge grin.

  Hunter

  He scampered - no other word for it - out of the room. It was like being with a shifter of some kind. The powerhouse Dom of the night before replaced by a sweet, excited kid.

  I had to admit Camden Snow in the nude, moving, was a beautiful sight. A continuous flow of muscle and shadow. The light blond waves on his head - a necessity for any Norse god - became deep copper curls down below and faded to a translucent down on his legs. Dwight, my photographer friend, would kill to get him into a studio. And the two of us together …

  Never work.

  Cam was back by the time I finished my bagel, fully dressed, hair wet-combed, carrying that gym bag. Now, what?

  “Let me see your back,” he said, fishing in one of the outside pockets.

  I stood and turned around.

  “Whole thing,” he said.

  I sighed but unbuckled my belt. A deal’s a deal. I felt his fingertips on my skin. “It doesn’t look too bad. This hurt?” He pressed. I winced, but he couldn’t see me.

  “Some,” I told him.

  “Okay, I got stuff here. Hold still.”

  Stuff? I heard a jar open and he was smoothing some cool, light cream over my back and butt. He did the upper thighs and stopped. “The rest looks pretty good.”

  He capped the jar. “Give it a couple minutes and it’ll pretty much disappear. It’s not greasy, so, your clothes should be good.”

  He was back in the gym bag. I was beginning to think of it like a magician’s hat - how much more could the thing hold?

  Cam ripped the plastic off something and held it out to me. “Shirt,” he said. And … was that a blush? Blonds had no secrets.

  I took a risk with my submission and pulled up my pants. Cam just kept holding out the shirt. A black, form-hugging knit with some kind of image on it. I pulled it on.

  Eyes shining like a kid on Christmas morning, Cam got his cell and took a picture. Of me. He handed me the phone.

  The design on the shirt wrapped from back to front. A snow leopard. With ice-blue eyes.

  “Last thing,” he said. He put one of his big, warm, now familiar hands, on the side of my face and kissed me on the mouth.

  The next time I kiss you, you'll kiss me back. The way you want. Move as you want. Do as you want. The very next time I kiss you, Hunter.

  He pressed his lips to mine, warm and firm and somehow still soft. Damnit. If I would ever love a man …

  I put both hands on the sides of his face and broke away. I let him go.

  “Are you done, now?” I asked. He nodded, his expression neutral. But I thought there was sadness in him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. “I can never be what you’d like me to be,” I told him.

  “Are you saying you aren’t gay? Because I didn’t think you were.”

  I heard a car go up the alley. Someone dropped a dumpster lid. I should probably get going but - I owed him.

  “You know that thing people do where they instinctively reach out and maybe, brush the hair back off their lover’s forehead or touch them some way just to touch them, when it serves no other purpose?”

  I waited for him to indicate he understood. He nodded, but his knit brows told me he had no idea where I was going.

  “I don’t do that,” I said. “It never occurs to me. Ever. In any way. With anyone.”

  The brows smoothed out. I was familiar with the blank look.

  “Cam, before you ask, I have no idea. I’m not a sociopath, according to a shrink I got drunk with one night. I wasn’t abused, I don’t have a dark secret. I just don’t … look … the only reason I’d get a dog is if I needed a guard type or went blind and needed a guide dog. I’m not into delving deeply into my psyche about this, it’s just who I am.”

  “You’re saying you don’t love,” he said.

  “Love is something we do, Cam. Whatever subjective feelings we have about someone that people call love is just that, subjective feelings.

  “I care for people, in that I do things for their benefit. I just don’t do all the other things. I don’t crave anyone’s company if they aren’t present. I’m not bothered by longings for the presence of a particular person. I don’t ... connect.”

  He considered me for what seemed quite a long time. Then, “Okay.”

  “I’m pretty sure this is why I’m so good at my job. My concentration on the case and the evidence is total. It’s all about making the things come together, wrapping it up for the D.A. so no defense attorney can find a hole to squeeze through. My cases never have evidence suppressed for bad searches. We put assholes away with paper chains and data. No one does that better than I do.”

  Cam smiled then. “Well, whatever your operating system, you don’t lack depth or passion.”

  “Here’s the thing,” I said, before I changed my mind. “You gave
me everything I needed last night. I’m not sure there is anyone else who could have done what you did.”

  I smiled. “I slept. No dreams, no drugs, no alcohol, no nightmares. I slept. Hard. For almost eight hours. And this morning, I’m good.” I rethought that. “Well, I don’t want anyone slapping me on the back, but I’m in a really good place. It’s remarkable. You gave me that. And - I want to do something for you.”

  The knit brows were back. “Not necessary. This is one of the things I do very well. It’s my passion, so -”

  “Did you come last night? On the Angel?” I interrupted him.

  “No. It wasn’t about sex. Coming in you would be … rape. I don’t do that.” He looked offended like - How could you ask?

  It was a wonder to me that he understood so perfectly that ramming his dick painfully into my ass was one thing, but using me for his own pleasure at that moment was so vastly something else it was unthinkable.

  “Would you like to?” I asked him. “Not rape me, would you like to fuck me?”

  He blinked. And shifted his feet. “What are you wanting, Hunter?” His tone shaded toward Dom.

  I shook my head. “Not that. Just … like friends.”

  He laughed. “With benefits?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe. Sometimes.”

  He thought about it. “I would like that. And you’d enjoy it, though you might not believe that at the moment, but ... not today.”

  My eyebrows went up. Oh?

  “Give me your phone,” he said. I was so used to doing what he said, I just handed it over. He was so used to giving me orders, I think it would have startled him if I hadn’t. He entered his information..

  “Here,” he said, handing it back. “You’re going to spend the day swimming in shit and being objective. If you want, call me when you’re done. My place, though, not here.”

  “So you can fuck me?”