Curious, Hank took the call. “Hello?”
“Henry, is that you?”
Had the guy meant to call his dad? “This is Hank. Er, Henry’s son.”
“Yes, yes. Hank, that’s right. Listen, has your dad talked to you about the, uh, state of his finances lately?” Gardner sounded anxious.
A finger of unease dragged its way down Hank’s spine. “Not lately. What’s up?”
In fact, Henry Seeley could rarely be bothered to speak directly to Hank about anything at all, unless it was to berate him for not taking an interest in the incredibly boring day-to-day business of running a construction empire, or lament that he’d given birth to a shiftless, good-for-nothing queer. His mother was the social director when it came to family events, informing Hank of when he was expected to attend this or that function.
“I see. Well.” Gardner harrumphed nervously. “I’ll just come out with it, since this situation affects you directly. Your father has been charged with some pretty serious allegations by the IRS, including tax fraud and mismanagement of company funds. While the investigation is ongoing, all Seeley Construction accounts have been frozen. What this means is, you won’t be getting your monthly allowance until this mess is resolved—if it’s resolved without a total dissolution of the company’s assets.”
“What?” Hank blurted, alarmed and confused. “How can that be right? That’s my money—my trust fund. They can’t mess with that just because my father’s in trouble. Anyway, he’ll get it sorted out. He’s got that whole cadre of lawyers to prevent this sort of thing.”
“I’m afraid this time it’s more serious. Once the IRS gets involved, it’s a whole new ballgame. And regarding your trust—yes, you are the beneficiary, but it’s a revocable trust and it’s, uh, well, it’s being revoked.”
“I don’t understand.” Hank felt numb. This conversation made no sense.
“Well,” Gardner said, clearing his throat. “By setting up a revocable trust, your father maintained the ability to cancel it at any time and reabsorb the money into his own accounts. It’s not a typical way of doing things, especially for a family member. But you know your father. He likes to keep a tight rein over all of his enterprises.”
Including his son, Hank thought bitterly.
“Back when he set this up,” Gardner continued, “I advised against his choosing a revocable trust for precisely this reason. It’s not separate from his other assets and thus it’s not protected in the event of this kind of, uh, irregularity. Put another way, when the IRS seized his assets, the trust remained on his books. It still belongs to your father and not you. I’m sorry to say, the same holds true of the cars and the house you live in.”
“The cars and the house,” Hank cried, his voice pitched high with fear and outrage. “What the hell am I supposed to do while he weasels his way out of this one?”
There was a silence on the other end of the phone for several beats. Then Gardner cleared his throat again. “I really couldn’t say, son. I would suggest you prepare yourself to downsize. As to weaseling out of this situation, to use your phrase, your father appears to have gotten himself involved in some rather nefarious enterprises and dealings that could well end up putting Seeley Construction out of business, not to mention garnering him some serious jail time. I wouldn’t count on seeing any funds for the near future. Hopefully, your portfolio is diversified and you can draw on other assets for the time being.”
“Holy shit,” Hank breathed, reeling with shock. What portfolio? He’d always just assumed his bottomless trust fund would go on forever. He had no portfolio to diversify. He’d always left the boring details of his money to others. He was, he realized with shock and growing terror, being thrown overboard without a lifejacket.
The trouble was, he had no idea what to do about it.
Chapter 8
The Underground BDSM club was located in a seedy part of town. It was literally underground, housed in the basement of a strip club. Hank had Carson drop him off, with instructions to remain on call to pick him up later that evening.
He thought about trying to connect with Avery. But he didn’t want calmness or understanding. Anger bounced through his body like pinballs, pinging off his nerves and ramping up his need to hurt someone—anyone. He felt edgy and raw, ready for rough play with some hardcore players.
He’d dressed in black leather and brought his gear bag. He hoisted it over his shoulder, gave Carson a wave and headed down the crumbling concrete stairs to The Underground. He rapped on the heavy metal door and took a step back so the guy on duty could see him easily through the peephole.
The door was pulled open by Jack, who served as both greeter and bouncer. Jack was a big, muscular man in his forties with a blond crewcut and tattoos that covered his neck, chest and massive arms. He broke into a gap-toothed smile when he saw it was Hank.
“Sir Henry,” he said, pulling Hank into a hug while simultaneously slapping him on the back. “Great to see you, dude.”
“Good to be back.” Hank pulled his wallet from his back pocket and paid the cover charge. “My whip arm is itching for some action.”
“Don’t forget to take a flyer.” Jack picked up a flyer from a stack and handed it to Hank. “We’re having a whip demo and sale this weekend. Great prices. Not to be missed. Bring that boy toy of yours. What’s his name? Ricky? Reeves?”
“He’s ancient history,” Hank replied, trying to sound cool, though the reminder that Reese was no longer his stung. “I’m ready for fresh meat.”
“Haha, that’s the spirit. Plenty of horny sub boys are here already and in need of correction.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Hank shoved the flyer into his gear bag and headed into the club. He moved through the dark space, bombarded by the pounding beat of the techno music. Pulling his flask from the inner pocket of his leather jacket, he took a healthy swig. As the warmth curled in his chest, he scanned the room, looking for a distraction.
He found it in the form of a sub named Zach. Zach was in his early twenties, with dirty-blond hair that hung messily in his eyes. Tonight he was wearing black biker shorts, his chest bare, save for the barbells that pierced his nipples. He was watching a scene in progress at one of the stations. Two guys were working over a third with what looked like birch branches cut fresh from the tree. The sub was strung up between two whipping posts, arms and legs extended, his bare body covered in marks from the homemade switches, his cock fully erect.
Hank put his hand on the back of Zach’s neck and growled into his ear, “You ready to suffer, boy?”
Zach whipped around, his face splitting into a wide smile. “Sir Henry! You’re here.” He looked past Hank. “Where’s Re—”
“I’m here alone tonight,” Hank brusquely interrupted. “Want to scene?”
“Oh, yes, please, Sir. Thank you, Sir. This scene has me so turned on that I was about to jerk myself off. I’d way rather have you do it for me.”
“Don’t count on it,” Hank said, pulling Zach along with him toward a whipping station. “I’m feeling mean tonight.”
“Ooooh. Even better, Sir. Whip me, beat me, make me squeal.”
What the fuck am I doing? Hank wondered, already irritated by this vapid boy. He’d way rather have been with Avery. No. Fuck that. He didn’t want Avery to see him like this, filled with rage and anxiety. Better to work off his edginess with someone he couldn’t care less about.
They found an empty station with a whipping post. While Zach stripped off his shorts, revealing his smoothly shaved groin, Hank pulled out some toys from his gear bag. He chose a particularly nasty single tail, along with cuffs, a ball gag and a black leather hood.
“Ooooh,” Zach said in a high, girlish voice that grated on Hank’s nerves. “The stinger! I love the stinger, Sir Henry. May I worship your cock first, Sir?”
“No,” Hank snapped. “Hold out your wrists.”
Zach complied, and Hank clipped the cuffs in place and then pushed Zach against
the post facing away from him. “Raise your arms.” When Zach had complied, Hank clipped his wrist cuffs to the highest eyebolt, forcing Zach slightly up on his toes.
“Ooooh, Sir,” Zach breathed, his eyes fluttering shut. “I’ve been a very, very naughty boy. I need to be punished.”
“Shut up,” Hank snarled. Moving to stand in front of the tethered man, he showed him the ball gag.
Zach shook his head. “No, thank you, Sir. I don’t like ball gags. I need to be able to scream my passion.”
“Nobody’s asking what you like. I’m tired of hearing you talk.” He shoved the rubber ball between Zach’s teeth. Zach shook his head from side to side, trying to avoid the inevitable, but his resistance only fueled Hank’s determination. He buckled the gag in place and then slid the leather hood over Zach’s head, adjusting it so the air holes aligned with Zach’s nostrils.
“That’s better,” Hank said, taking his position behind the naked sub boy. “Subs should be seen and not heard.”
He let the stinger fly with a whistle and a snap as the tip made contact with Zach’s ass. Zach jerked forward from the sudden, unexpected stroke and made a gargling sound against the gag. Hank struck again, adding a second welt just below the first. Rage roiled through him, Reese’s betrayal and his father’s cluster fuck merging into one, huge, unfair blob of misery and pain. Zach was a total pain slut and would happily take whatever Hank could give. He gave himself free rein, covering Zach’s ass and the backs of his thighs in myriad welts, a few of them drawing blood, which was a no-no at the club. He didn’t give a fuck.
Zach was twitching and jerking, the muffled sounds beneath the hood increasingly frantic. To Hank’s rising dismay, he wasn’t getting the relief a rough scene normally afforded him. It was almost as if he were just going through the motions, acting out a scenario that no longer applied to him.
This felt so different from the loving domination Avery seemed to practice. He almost wished Avery were with him now. Avery would help him cope somehow with his impotent fury and loss of control. Avery would know what to do. But Avery was off servicing some john for money. He could act all high and mighty about the sanctity of submission, but in the end, the guy was just a whore.
Even as these unworthy thoughts pounded in his brain, he knew they were untrue. Avery wasn’t just some rent boy. Avery was his own unique brand of Dom, and something deep inside Hank had responded to that, giving him a peek into a different world—a different kind of life that wasn’t fueled by rage and power.
A large hand clamped suddenly on his shoulder, pulling him away from Zach. “Hey, man,” Jack said, his face creased with concern. “Things okay here? Someone was complaining about your scene. Is that blood on that boy’s ass? You know that’s not allowed.”
Hank, startled by the interruption, started to snarl that it was none of anyone else’s business what he did in a private scene. But then he stopped himself. Shit. What the hell was he doing? He dropped his whip arm and shook his head, as if emerging from a dream, or, more accurately, a nightmare.
“Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away.” He pulled the hood from Zach’s head and unbuckled the ball gag.
Zach immediately began to wail. Alarmed, Hank unclipped his cuffs and spun him around. “Hey, it’s okay, Zach. I’m sorry. It’s okay. Let me get you cleaned up.”
Jack was still standing there, his massive arms crossed over his broad chest, a scowl on his face. Zach looked toward him and Hank waited for the recriminations and accusations. But, to his surprise, through the tears on his flushed face, Zach gushed, “Sir Henry is my Master now. He’s claimed me with this whipping. Isn’t that fabulous?”
Jack frowned. “So, you’re okay? No issues here?”
Zach lifted his plucked eyebrows in a comical display of confusion. “Issues? No, not at all. Sir Henry can do whatever he wants.” He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around Hank’s legs, nearly knocking him off balance in the process. “I adore my lord and Master, Sir Henry.”
What the fuck? Horrified, Hank peeled Zach’s arms away and took an abrupt step back. “I’m not your Master, Zach, so get over it. This was just a scene. Nothing more.”
Zach stared up at him, crestfallen.
Hank shook his head in disgust. All of this felt wrong. So, so wrong. He pulled out his wallet and removed a fifty-dollar bill. “Something’s come up, Jack,” he said, thrusting the money toward him. “Can you do me a favor and clean this boy up? I have to go.”
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed his gear, shoved it in the bag, and fled.
It was Friday before Hank and Avery reconnected, though they had exchanged a few texts since they’d gotten together earlier in the week. Avery had been super busy at the brewery with Nolan, while still juggling his other jobs, and simply hadn’t had time for anything else. Things were about to change for the better at the brewery, with several bars and restaurants expressing strong interest in their brews. Nolan had already started talking about a full partnership, and hopefully it wouldn’t be long before Avery would be able to focus solely on the beer business, without the need of the extra income from his other gigs.
He was a little worried about Hank, who hadn’t been very responsive during their texts. Hank had seemed pissed that Avery wasn’t more available, but there was nothing he could do about that. He was determined to make things better tonight.
When he pulled up in Hank’s driveway, he saw that the front door had been left slightly ajar. Going up to it, he opened it and called out, “Hank? It’s me.”
“Hey. Come on back,” Hank called from somewhere in the house. “I’m in the game room.”
A brightly colored flyer on the occasional table by the front door caught Avery’s eye. He picked it up and read: The Underground Semi-Annual Whip Demo and Sale. Featuring quality whips and floggers by the Leather Master out of Portland, Oregon and by Sir Anthony from Sydney Australia. Sir Anthony will also be on hand to give a whipping demo. Not to be missed! Friday, October 25, starts at 8 PM. Be there or be unaware.
Flyer in hand, Avery walked through the spacious living room and into the game room. Hank was bent over the pool table, his cue aimed at a billiard ball. He made the shot, expertly sinking the ball. When he saw Avery, he set down his pool cue, his smile stiff. “I remember you. Glad you could find time in your busy schedule to stop by.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but Avery sensed the hurt beneath it.
He moved toward Hank and took him into his arms, giving him a long, passionate kiss. When he let Hank go, Hank’s cheeks had flushed, and his dark eyes were shining. “Okay,” he said, his smile more genuine this time. “I forgive you.”
Avery laughed. “Whew. That’s a relief.” He held up the flyer. “This looks intriguing. I’ve been in the market for a new flogger. I’ve heard about this Leather Master guy. His stuff is supposed to be top quality.” He glanced again at the flyer. “It’s tonight. Should we check it out?”
Hank frowned. “I don’t know if you’d feel comfortable at The Underground. It’s a hardcore BDSM club. You know—raunchy.”
Avery shrugged. “That’s okay. We wouldn’t be going there to scene.” He moved closer and put his hand around Hank’s throat, loving the sudden softening in Hank’s expression at the dominant gesture. Yes indeed—Hank was a true sub, whether he was fully prepared to accept it or not. He placed his other hand on Hank’s now bulging crotch. “And here’s a promise. Whatever flogger I buy, your ass will be the first to feel its sting.”
“Ooooh,” Hank breathed, his pupils dilating. “Yes, Sir.”
Avery let him go. Beneath his flannel shirt, he wore a black knit shirt over black jeans and boots. “Am I dressed okay for this place?”
Hank frowned. “Lose the flannel and you’ll be okay. Leather would be better but…” He shrugged. “It’ll have to do.”
Avery chuckled. “Guess so, seeing as I don’t own any leather.”
“We’ll have to fix that,” Hank said. “You would look
hot in leathers—a big, sexy bear like you.”
“If you say so,” Avery said dubiously. “How about you? You going to dress for this club?”
“Absolutely,” Hank said emphatically. “Come upstairs with me while I get changed.”
Hank decked himself out in black leather pants that Avery had to admit looked scorchingly hot, the way they molded to his muscular legs and the pleasing bulge at his crotch. Shirtless, he added a black leather vest and a captain’s black cap, which he placed at a jaunty angle over his dark hair.
“You look like an ad for a gay leather magazine,” Avery observed, both amused and aroused. He couldn’t help feeling Hank was dressing up for a part, one he no longer needed to play. He let it go, though, saying only, “I’ll have fun taking all that off you later.”
Hank grinned. “Works for me.”
Downstairs, Hank went behind the bar and filled a small silver flask with alcohol. He slipped the flask into the inner pocket on his vest. Avery said nothing, though he didn’t want Hank getting drunk—not tonight. He had other plans for him.
“I’ll just give Carson a quick call so he can drive us over. No way do I want to park my car in the neighborhood where the club is. We’re talking dark alleys and roving gangs.”
“No, don’t call him. I’ll drive. We can take my car.”
Hank frowned. “You sure? It might get stolen.”
Avery shrugged. “If someone goes to the trouble of stealing my car, then they probably need it more than I do. I’m not worried.”
Avery parked in the crowded parking lot behind a low brick building that appeared to be a strip club, complete with a naked neon woman moving her leg up and down in the flickering light. “There’s a private side entrance down to The Underground,” Hank explained.
Turning the Tables Page 9
