Time Out of Mind [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations ManLove)

by Tymber Dalton

  He pulled his cock from Mevi’s mouth and stood him up, bending him over the edge of the bed. “Feet apart.”

  Mevi spread them, wide, his back arching and presenting his ass for the target.

  Doyle stroked his hands down Mevi’s back, squeezing his ass cheeks, digging his fingers in hard until Mevi finally moaned.

  “Good boy.”

  He started slow, working him up with slappers and lighter paddles, until Mevi’s ass was red, hot, and the man was struggling not to squirm against the bed and rub his cock. He’d built up his pain tolerance quickly, now wanting and needing his Sir’s heavy sadism.

  Even delivering a bare-handed slap to the man’s ass in passing instantly hardened Mevi’s cock and had him on his knees, begging to play or at least to service Doyle.

  Doyle took his heaviest cane and gently tapped it along Mevi’s shoulders. “I’m going to give you twenty hard ones. I want you to count them off for me. These are going to hurt like hell, but you’re going to take every last one of them. Do you know why?”

  “Because this boy is Sir’s good boy,” he mumbled, his hips slowly rocking, wanting it.

  Something else Doyle had stumbled over, that Mevi dropped harder and faster into subspace when he went into “slashy speak” and used the third person when speaking about himself while they played.

  If that helped him and he liked it, Doyle was fine with it.

  “Yes. You are Sir’s very good boy. You can call yellow on these strokes if you need me to take more time between them, but I want my good boy to take all of them. You’ll feel these at least for the next day or two while we’re in the car. I want them to last for a while.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  Doyle smiled. “Thank you, boy.”

  He lightly rubbed the cane up and down Mevi’s ass with his right hand as he pinned him down with his left, planted firmly in the middle of Mevi’s back.

  “Deep breath, boy.”

  Mevi took one, waiting.

  He didn’t pull his swing, either, immediately drawing a long, red welt along both ass cheeks as Mevi let out a loud, sobbing cry.

  “One, Sir.”

  “Gooood boy.” He ran his hand over the mark, trying to gauge if he could have hit a little harder without breaking the skin, or if that was good enough. He didn’t want to bloody him, but he knew this was a stressful transition for Mevi. The more he could do to help him through it, the better it’d be for him.

  He picked a different spot, a little lower, for the second and used about the same force. More howling cries, but Mevi made no move to rise up or escape.

  “Two, Sir.”

  “Good boy.”

  He took his time, carefully laying every stroke so it’d be individually visible when Mevi inevitably looked at them in the mirror. By the time he finished, Mevi’s ass and thighs bore a solid wall of welts that would likely last a few days, or longer. He stretched out over him, cupping his hands around Mevi’s and squeezing.

  “My good boy,” he whispered in Mevi’s ear. “Such a good boy for me.” He stood and reached between Mevi’s legs, happy that his boy’s cock was still hard. He got him up on the bed, hands and knees, head down.

  Like that, he had perfect access to his ass. He quickly lubed Mevi’s hole before he sheathed his own cock in a condom and quickly slid home, hard and deep with his hands holding onto Mevi’s hips.

  “Yes!” Mevi gasped.

  “You’re not allowed to come yet, either.”

  Another thing his boy loved, a good, hard fucking, especially when his ass was nice and sore. Yes, he gave Mevi plenty of warm, sweet cuddle time. But Mevi craved it when Doyle used him hard.

  Trying to hold on as long as he could, Doyle alternated short, hard thrusts with long, slow ones, riding him, loving the way Mevi struggled to meet him stroke for stroke and unable to because of Doyle’s hands holding his hips. He didn’t know how long he fucked him, but he finally reached a point of no return and slammed his cock into him, over and over until his orgasm hit him, emptying his balls into the condom.

  He fell still, folding his body around Mevi’s and reaching under him to find his cock hard, dripping, throbbing.

  He placed a series of kisses along Mevi’s spine. “We’re not done yet, boy.” He gave his cock a hard squeeze, until Mevi rewarded him with a needy moan. “Stay.” Doyle carefully withdrew and went to clean up.

  And lube his own ass.

  When he returned, Mevi was still in the same position, but slowly humping the air, his body caught in the haze of subspace and waiting for Doyle to return and finish with him.

  He bodily rolled Mevi onto his back, bound hands over his head. Pinning him by the throat, he leaned in and tongue-fucked Mevi’s mouth until Mevi was frantically fucking the air again.

  “Does my good boy want his reward?”

  “Yes, please, Sir.”

  “Good.”

  * * * *

  Even the pain in his ass and thighs only added to Mevi’s need. As Doyle straddled him, he wrapped his hands around Mevi’s cock. Before Mevi realized what he was doing, Doyle had sheathed him in a condom and rose up, lowering his ass onto Mevi’s cock.

  “Be my good boy. Don’t come until I tell you.” Doyle’s tone cut through any strands of resistance Mevi might have thought about having. “Look at me.”

  Mevi stared up into his Master’s eyes—and that’s how he thought of Doyle, not just as his Sir.

  Doyle smiled as he slowly fucked himself on Mevi’s cock. “Look at that,” he said, reaching down to his own cock. “Didn’t think I’d get it up again that fast. Look what my boy did to me.”

  He squeezed out a drop of pre-cum onto his fingers and Mevi already had his mouth open and eagerly waiting for Doyle to feed it to him.

  Doyle’s slow grind made it hard for Mevi to hold back, especially when he stared at Doyle’s hard cock bouncing with every thrust. His tight ass…god! Why had he been reluctant to do this?

  Because I’m an idiot.

  It felt good, and it felt good to let his Sir use him like this. He felt cherished, loved, protected.

  Wanted.

  The harder Doyle used him, the closer he felt to the man, no matter how illogical that might seem.

  He wasn’t a second thought in Doyle’s mind, he was his priority, in all ways.

  Doyle leaned forward, bracing his hands on the bed next to Mevi’s head, and kissed him. “Come for me, boy.”

  Then he started fucking him in earnest, hard and fast, slamming his body down onto Mevi’s cock until he couldn’t hold back. His orgasm ripped through him, Doyle swallowing his cries with another kiss until every drop had been milked from him.

  Doyle rose up, grabbing Mevi’s head as he scooted forward. Mevi’s cock slid from his ass, but Doyle drove his hard cock into Mevi’s mouth, making him moan as he struggled to suck and lick.

  It didn’t take much for Doyle to fuck a second one out, either, finishing with his cock deep in Mevi’s throat and Mevi’s nose pressed against Doyle’s pubes. When Doyle finally pulled out, he kissed him again, tongue fucking him for a long time before he let out a contented sigh and rested his forehead against Mevi’s.

  “Shower, boy,” he whispered.

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you.”

  Doyle brushed a light, gentle kiss across his lips. “For what?”

  “For loving me.”

  Doyle stroked his cheek. “You have no idea how hard and deep I love you. You know my secrets and still love me.”

  “You know mine and love me.”

  Doyle smiled. “I can’t wait until the tour’s over and we can take a vacation together. Expect to spend it naked and well-fucked.”

  “I can’t wait, Sir. It’s the thought keeping me from over-stressing right now. Counting down until then. At least we’ll have about three weeks’ break between the US leg and flying to the UK to start there.”

  Doyle kissed him. “And expect to spend the trans-Atlantic flight squirming in your seat
with an ass full of cane marks and a butt plug holding a load of my cum inside you.”

  Mevi grinned. “Now that sounds like fun, Sir.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  When they pulled out the next morning, Mevi looked back and tried to fight the urge to cry as the complex disappeared behind them. It’d been his safe haven from the world. A protective cocoon in which he’d finally grown his wings.

  Getting out in the world again felt scary.

  Terrifying.

  At least he had Doyle by his side to help calm him.

  After dropping Doyle’s toybag and a few other things off at the storage unit, Mevi did cry as they lowered the door and Doyle locked it again.

  Doyle pulled him into his arms. “It’s just a few months, boy,” he softly said, stroking Mevi’s hair. “We’ll come get them and be together again here.”

  “I…I don’t want this to end.”

  He cupped Mevi’s face in his hands. “We won’t end. We have to spend time apart, though. If nothing else, I have to go back to LA and get ready to move and work on finding a new job here, right?”

  Mevi nodded. He’d already told Doyle he wanted to build a house in Florida, have it be their custom retreat.

  With their own dungeon, a recording studio for him, and a soundproofed office for Doyle so he could do phone calls with clients if needed. They could live in Kel’s apartment, rent it from him, until they had a place of their own.

  It was a dream Mevi tightly held onto to get through this upcoming tour.

  As they drove, Mevi held hands with Doyle, both of them singing along to show tunes, including Hamilton. He could have worked during the drive, but he didn’t want to.

  He didn’t want to miss a second of alone time with his guy.

  Every night they made love, Mevi desperate to have as much of this as they could, while they could. Mevi felt his tension ratcheting up the closer they drew to Chicago.

  In all honesty? He didn’t want to be there.

  What he wanted to do was hide somewhere with Doyle and never leave, some safe sanctuary where he could just…be.

  Back to the safety of the apartment.

  But none of those future dreams could come true unless he went on this tour, and got a new album out. Otherwise, he’d be filing bankruptcy and he couldn’t take care of his Sir if that happened.

  In fact, they’d be making a concert album from this tour to help give the band a quick cash infusion. If Mevi wanted to have his happily ever after with his Sir, in their own house in Florida, he needed the money to do it.

  That meant working.

  Because he wanted to take care of his Sir, physically and financially. He knew it wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Doyle had absolutely saved his life.

  Doyle timed their arrival to the rehearsal space so that they showed up there the morning after having spent the night just outside of the city. Once they arrived, they’d have to be careful, to publicly pretend to be nothing more than counselor and client.

  Before they got out of the car, Doyle pulled him in for a kiss. “Breathe. If you get overwhelmed, signal me and we’ll step outside or something. Okay?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Doyle apparently had a lot more confidence in him than he had in himself. When they walked in, everyone else was already there, including Clark.

  And a guy he didn’t know.

  “Who’s he?” Mevi asked.

  “That’s Erik,” Clark said.

  “Er-ique,” the man corrected, spelling it while Clark rolled his eyes.

  Mevi already didn’t like him. Dressed in ripped skinny jeans, chunky heeled boots, too much eyeliner and eyeshadow that looked like a drunk Harley Quinn had applied it, and with his poofy, ozone-depleting sprayed hair, he looked like something out of an ’80s reject thrift store, while the rest of them wore plain, comfy jeans, sneakers, and T-shirts.

  “Air-reek?” Mevi said, staring the guy down after getting a whiff of too much cheap body spray.

  “Back off, Mevi,” Clark said.

  Doyle laid a hand on Mevi’s shoulder, but Mevi didn’t move until the other guy did. Maybe early twenties and a good six inches shorter than him. Mevi knew he could probably pound the guy.

  “He’s not staying,” Troy said. “Now that you’re back.”

  “He’s not back yet,” Erique said.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “You haven’t even been practicing!” Erique said.

  “Most of the songs, I wrote before you were even born, Little Mister Wannabeme. I know them.”

  “Enough!” Clark said. “He’s contracted for five shows. Period. Then he’s gone.”

  “Who brought him in, anyway?” Mevi asked, looking at his bandmates.

  From the way the others glared at Pasch, Mevi knew he was the offender.

  “So what’s the deal, huh?” Mevi asked him.

  “Hey, we didn’t know if you’d be right, okay? No offense. We were talking, and I threw his name in.”

  “Of all the great studio guys we’ve used on albums over the years, and you bring in this nobody? Really?”

  “He worked cheap,” Clark said. “And had the schedule opening.”

  There was something seriously…off going on, but Mevi didn’t want to get into it now. “Well, I’m here. Let’s practice.”

  Clark quickly introduced Doyle to the others as Mevi’s “coach.” While Erique—hopefully—hadn’t been told about Mevi’s drinking problem, at least Pasch, Troy, Garth, and Bonnie would know who Doyle really was. And from the way they all gave him knowing nods while Erique didn’t, Mevi hoped that meant Doyle’s secret was safe. He didn’t want to spoil Doyle’s anonymity—another stressor on Mevi even though Doyle had insisted on letting him worry about that.

  He couldn’t help it. He wanted to protect his Sir.

  Doyle sat in a chair off to the side with Clark and watched while Mevi looked for his guitar. “Why is this back here?” He moved it, reaching for a strange guitar placed where his usually sat at the front when they rehearsed.

  “That’s mine,” Erique said.

  “Yeah? Well, you’d better move it, Wannabeme, before I put my foot through it.”

  “Move it,” Clark yelled. “Air-reek, you got a whole contract full of clauses I can pick from to enact to get you out of here before the opening concert. Don’t push me, son.”

  * * * *

  Doyle wasn’t sure what was going on, but he didn’t like Wannabeme either, as he was already thinking of Erique. At a break when the guy walked over with an already opened bottle of water and offered it to Mevi, Doyle called out to Mevi.

  “Mal. Need to talk to you.”

  That was a pre-arranged code between them. While he’d been calling Mevi Mal ever since they became a couple, he’d be calling him Mevi around the others.

  If he called him Mal that meant an immediate conference was required.

  Mevi accepted the bottle, but before he could drink from it, Doyle took it from him, hiding the action from Erique and swapping bottles with Mevi with one he’d just opened for himself.

  “Don’t drink or eat anything he gives you,” he whispered in Mevi’s ear. “That’s an order from your Sir, boy. And don’t eat or drink anything that’s been out of your sight. If you don’t get it from me, or get it yourself, pass on it. Understand?”

  Mevi’s eyes widened, but he nodded, not questioning him.

  When Doyle studied Erique as they resumed practice, Doyle could see the other man was eagerly watching as Mevi drank from what he thought was the bottle of water he’d brought Mevi.

  Hell, even Mevi noticed. “What’s your deal?”

  “Nothing. We just got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry.” Erique broadly smiled.

  But that smile faded as, over the next couple of hours, it was obvious that whatever he’d planted in Mevi’s bottle hadn’t worked.

  At lunch break, Doyle took Mevi outside to talk in private.

  “What’s going on, Sir?” he w
hispered. “What was that about?”

  “I think he tried to drug your water.”

  “Fucker!”

  Doyle grabbed his arm and kept him from going back in to confront him. “No. Just be aware. He wants you out, specifically. He’s been sucking up to the others. I’m going to keep an eye on him.”

  “We need to tell Clark.”

  “We don’t have proof. He can claim you doped your own water or something. We’ll get through this. Plus, do you really want the publicity?”

  Mevi shot a glare at the doorway he’d emerged from. “Fuck,” he muttered. “No, you’re right. Okay.”

  Doyle kept a close watch on Mevi more than Erique over the next week. Specifically, on Mevi’s food and water. He thought he possibly stopped at least two more attempts on Erique’s part, including one where he flat-out told Erique that wasn’t his water bottle he was reaching for, which earned him a dark scowl that wasn’t warranted under innocent circumstances.

  As media hype before the concert hit a fever pitch, stress amped up through the whole group. Doyle had taken time off from doing phone counseling during the practice sessions, but tomorrow, opening day, he had to take care of those as well as working on patient reports. So while Mevi and the others would spend the day at the venue, going through a dress rehearsal on stage and doing sound checks as the crew finalized the set and speaker placements, Doyle would stay behind at the hotel and use that time to catch up before they had to get on the road again.

  At least Doyle felt some of his own guilt and anxiety easing. Alone, Mevi was the same sweet, loving, completely open slave Doyle had come to expect. But even when they were together in front of the others, he noticed Mevi hung around him as much as possible, sending him hidden winks or smiles when no one else could see.

  His boy loved him.

  Yes, being on the road would be stressful, and he knew Mevi had an image to portray in front of the fans and even his fellow bandmates, but at least with his sobriety looking solid, Doyle wouldn’t begrudge any of that.