by M. Rode
Rory smiled at me over his shoulder.
I left him tied, and moved his feet further apart so I could stand between his knees. He's short, but he stretched up on his toes to be lubed. Once I was in his hot tight ass, his stature kept him impaled.
I fucked him long and slow against the tree. My fingers dug into his hips to control his movement. His cock rubbed the bark, and I put a hand around it to protect his prick. I fondled him leisurely and he whimpered low.
He was a delicious fuck: gorgeously hesitant for a perfect fearful fraction about new demands, then responsive, and unashamed in his own pleasure.
I forgot myself and kissed his neck as I came. His load flooded my fingers as I shot.
We were silent as he walked to heel on the return to the cabin.
Twink and blondie had cleaned up and were kneeling one on either side of the fireplace. Their settled attitudes showed it wasn't a hastily assumed pose.
If I weren't so freaked by that kiss, I would have said the evening was perfect. I sent all the boys to bed in the storeroom, and went for a midnight ride on my Harley. I resolved to train Rory as I planned, and to control my nascent love.
Damn Gregorio. Damn him for leaving and damn him for returning.
For my own distraction as well as their betterment, I trained twink and blondie to run as a matched pair with their cock rings linked by a short chain. They were gagged, and had to cooperate. I started off by having them weed while linked, but they ended up in a puppy brawl. Rory broke it up with cold water. I switched to a lunge line and whip and worked them in circles on the front lawn until their pace was smooth even on the rough grass. I traded the lunge for a shorter leash and ran with them around the yard perfecting their form, and finally I had them do self-paced laps of the cleared property. They looked spectacular, and I wished I had a video camera. Still, Tony and Ben would return on the same day, so they'd see it in person.
Rory thought their act was funny until I attached a leash to his cock ring and took him on a dawn run. He loved being outside. It'd been frustrating for him to be in the woods and made to stay indoors. He was slower than me, but he adapted well to running on a leash. As we reached the creek, he asked if he could carry coffee and bagels tomorrow and serve me our last breakfast together by the water. Greg would arrive tomorrow afternoon. I stopped and rested us for a moment before we returned into the woods. Rory looked transcendent: bright eyed, pale skinned, yet flushed from the run, naked except for sneakers, cock hard from the ring and the leash's constant tugging. His dark hair had curled from the sweat. I wanted to pin him against a tree and finger-fuck him until he screamed, then shove him to his knees and fuck his throat.
"No, boy. That's not a good idea. In fact, this run was a mistake.” I dropped his leash. “Get yourself home. Be showered and dressed before I get there."
He was stricken. I patted his ass. “Run home, boy. You're not in trouble."
* * * *
The boys walked on eggshells all day. They knew. Twink gave me a look full of sympathy and the dam broke. I literally took him to the woodshed. I threw him over a log and spanked him hard. He took it without a fuss, then slid down to his knees and blew me. He hugged my thighs when I came.
"You tell Colby that a word of this leaks out, and I'll know it was him."
"Yes, sir.” Twink kissed my hand. “You called him Colby."
"I know. I'll put his name on his book when we get back in."
* * * *
Gregorio was marked by grief when he arrived, and it was hard to begrudge him Rory's service, but when he shook my hand and took Rory from me, I hated him. I hated him even as I gave him the report twink and I prepared, and I hated him as he asked twink questions about the figures.
I hated him even as I waved away his check book, and said Rory's stay was on the house since he'd supervised the other boys and it was emergency coverage. Besides, Tony and Ben's fees covered my time, and three boys are no harder than two.
Gregorio raised his eyebrows. “Rory supervised?"
"Rory's a talented majordomo,” I said. “He more than earned his keep."
I couldn't watch as Rory disappeared down the track with his owner.
* * * *
A few days later, I showed Ben and Tony the boys’ new tricks, but my heart wasn't in it. They performed well. Tony noticed nothing, but Ben gave me a hard look. I knew twink and blondie didn't need to tell him.
Over lunch, Tony suggested a dom retreat at the cabin this summer, and Ben endorsed the idea. The guys like camping, so the lack of beds won't be an issue.
"Besides,” Tony said, “I want my boy able to scream when he's branded. I thought we could do it then."
Colby was kneeling by him, freshly manicured and groomed. I'd let him have his suitcases yesterday so he could spruce himself up to Tony's standards. He'd made me laugh by saying the spa would be a boring chore now.
He gasped and looked up at Tony. “Sir? I can have your mark?"
"Dr. Fell seems to think you're worthy."
I grinned at Colby. “Now you've lost the princess act, you'll do."
Twink giggled and I stared at him. “You, on the other hand..."
Ben frowned. “Oh Charlie, did you drive John nuts?"
Twink was white with shock, but giggled wildly when I finished my sentence, “have made acceptable improvements."
I'll never train the giggles out of that boy.
"Car, Charlie,” Ben snapped.
"Bye, Dr. Fell sir!” yelled twink before he scampered off to Ben's Beamer.
Tony clicked his fingers at Colby, who gave me a humble little bow and left with his owner.
Ben stared at me. “John. Three strikes and you're out, buddy. For God's sake, fall for an available one next time."
I shrugged. I knew damn well my promise to start living again was not working out. And I didn't know if I could take another swing at it.
I spent the day on chores to keep my self-pity at bay. It was too quiet without three boys. I defrosted one of Rory's meals for dinner. I did my own fucking dishes. Then I had a double scotch on the porch and went to bed.
I went for my solitary dawn run, and, as I saw home, I said, “I was ready, Rob."
The Ming Ring
by Kiernan Kelly
I don't ask for much from a date. A little conversation, a little dinner, a lot of great sex, and I'm always fully ready to negotiate on the first two.
So you might understand my frustration at finding myself being dragged through a museum, bored to tears by lectures on the Ming Dynasty. Not that I have anything against ancient Chinese culture—I'd just had other plans for spending the evening. They'd all included a liberal dousing of Astroglide and a condom, and not in any of them was there a virtual tour of the Forbidden City.
I'd met Lan earlier that week at a society fundraiser for the Arts. He'd been standing at the bar, alone, an untouched cocktail on the counter and a faraway look in his dark, almond-shaped eyes. Lan's slim build, thick blue-black hair, and sweet little butt had drawn me like a compass pointing to due north. I'd cozied up next to him on the premise of ordering a drink from the bartender, fully intending to seduce him right out of the tailored black tuxedo he was wearing.
He'd worn a ring on his pinkie finger, a truly exquisite work of art. Mounted on a gold band that had been carved with Chinese symbols was a large, square-cut jade stone. Brilliantly green, almost luminescent, the stone was as striking as its owner.
"Wow. Nice ring,” I said, ever the brilliant conversationalist. What can I say? My true talents lie about three feet south of my mouth. It isn't that I'm not orally gifted—I am, just not in any way that would win me a debate.
"Thank you.” Lan's voice was soft, a whisper that I could barely hear above the music playing in the background. But it was velvety, husky, the sort of voice a man would like to hear saying incredibly dirty things while in bed, especially if they were spoken with a mouth that looked as soft and tempting as Lan's.
"Is that jade?” Another stunningly obvious question, courtesy of yours truly. I reached over to touch it, but hesitated. For some reason, I didn't feel as if I wanted to sully the beautiful stone with the oil of my skin.
Those full lips tilted in a warm smile. “Yes. It is very old. Ming Dynasty."
"Wow.” Yeah, I know—I must have been a Greek orator in a previous life. “I'm Mark, by the way."
"My name is Lan. I am pleased to meet you."
"So, Ming Dynasty, huh? They're the ones who made all the vases, right?” I've always held that it was better for me to let guys know up front that while my beauty is only skin deep, underneath it all I'm an idiot.
To my surprise, Lan chuckled. His eyes twinkled when he laughed, his cheek dimpling. “Among many other things. Do you have an interest in jade? Are you familiar with the Ming Dynasty?” he asked, touching the beautiful stone that graced his finger.
"Oh, yeah. Sure,” I replied. Not that I had a clue—I could barely use chopsticks. But I had been to the Chinese New Year's celebration in San Francisco a couple of times. That had to count for something, right?
Lan paused, biting his lip. Then he turned his exquisite, dark brown eyes up to meet mine. “The Museum is holding a fascinating exhibit of Ming art. I am privileged to own a few of the pieces on display, which has brought me quite a bit of liberty with the curators. Would you care for a private tour?"
He'd stressed the word “private” in a most interesting way, one that instantly got my attention. “Oh, sure! I'd love to see it,” I said, returning his smile with one that was pure invitation on my part.
"Excellent. Perhaps Friday night is acceptable? I will meet you at the front door of the Museum at nine o'clock."
"Friday at nine it is. See you then, Lan.” I made my exit, a little disappointed that by “tour of the Museum," he hadn't meant “meet me in the men's room in five minutes for a fabulous bathroom stall blowjob." After all, Friday was still two days away, and I was horny now. My modus operandi was Triple F—find ‘em, fuck ‘em, and forget ‘em. Waiting two days between the first “f” and the second was not exactly a part of my operating procedures. I was a man of the moment, not a man of two days from now.
I spent the next two days fantasizing about Lan, about what his body would look like, what he would taste like. He was a much smaller man than I am, slim and delicate. In my fantasies he was my own personal china doll, smooth and golden, eager to fulfill my every desire. I pictured his long-fingered, graceful hands and full lips on my body, worshiping my flesh with feather-soft strokes and warm, wet kisses.
By the time Friday night rolled around, I was ready to pop off like a Roman candle. My cock made an impressive bulge in the soft denim of my Von Dutch jeans; the tight black, long-sleeved Juicy Couture tee I'd chosen for the occasion clung to the muscles of my shoulders, chest, and stomach like a second skin.
I hoped Lan appreciated at first glance the care I'd taken to dress for him, as, given my way, we'd both be naked before we got past the Museum gift shop. I knew from a previous visit to the Museum that there was a men's room just to the right of the shop. It was a nice, roomy one that had a chaise lounge in a small sitting area across from the sinks. That small sofa had figured prominently in several of my fantasies.
The crotch of my jeans grew considerably tighter just thinking about Lan's golden skin lying bare against the red velvet of the chaise as I availed myself of at least two of the holes in his anatomy.
"Hello again.” Lan's soft, musical voice hailed me from the shadows on the broad steps of the Museum. He was dressed in a white button-down shirt and loose silk pants that were perfect for his trim figure.
Seeing him, I suddenly doubted that we'd make it as far as the bathroom, and wondered what nighttime security would think when they spotted the naked men fucking in the middle of the Museum's entry hall on their monitors. Hopefully, they'd just sit back and enjoy the show.
"Hi, Lan. Hey, you look great,” I rumbled, leaning down to kiss his cheek. His cologne was a delicate blend of spices, warm and woodsy. I wanted to bury my face in the silky strands of his hair, rub myself against him as if I was a cat and he was a toy stuffed with catnip.
"Come, there is much to see,” Lan said, taking my hand. My hand dwarfed his, yet I could feel strength in his slender fingers as they laced with mine. He was wearing the ring I had admired, and the stone felt cool against my skin.
He led me inside the Museum. I didn't remember seeing him use a key, and wondered why the Museum would leave the front door open after hours. But then I recalled that Lan had said that he had some sort of special pull with the curators, and promptly forgot about it as Lan pulled me into the dim, cool interior.
Yellow emergency lights that glowed low to the floor, and the spotlights that highlighted the paintings and exhibits, were all that lit the Museum at that hour. It was dim and eerily silent, made creepier by the ghostly white statuary scattered about. Our footsteps clacked against the marble tile floor, echoing in the empty hall. I fought back a shudder as I felt the painted eyes of artistic masterpieces following me like the special effects in a low-budget horror flick.
Lan led me through exhibit after exhibit until each one blended into the other, a long blur of pottery and paintings, until he finally turned up a long, wide staircase to the second floor.
All along, I'd been trying to encourage Lan, to tell him that I wanted him. I'd gently squeezed his hand, stroking the inner side of his wrist with my thumb. I'd flashed flirtatious smiles until my cheeks ached, and if I had wet my lips any more they'd have been chapped for a week. He hadn't responded to any of the subtle hints I'd been giving him. By the time we reached the landing, I'd decided that I would need to take matters into my own hands.
Planting my feet, I refused to be pulled along any further. Letting go of his hand, I cupped his smooth cheeks between my palms, staring into the dark depths of his eyes.
"Lan,” I whispered, leaning down until I could feel his warm breath on my face. “I can't wait any more. I want you, man. Now. Right here.” Smashing my lips to his, I poured every ounce of the need I was feeling into my kiss. Sliding my arms around his narrow waist, I pulled him flush against me, my hands cupping his firm little ass. Damn, but he had a fine ass, and it felt every bit as good as it looked.
I could feel his reaction to my kiss in the way his erection dug into my hip, the way his lips yielded under mine, the way his fingers smoothed up my chest to thread into my hair.
Good. We were on the same page. Now I just needed to get us naked.
He broke away before I could so much as kick off a shoe. “Come. We are almost there."
Damn it.
Almost there? He didn't still intend to give me a fucking tour, did he? Evidently, the answer to that was a resounding yes, because five minutes later I found myself surrounded by Chinese artifacts and listening to a lecture on the Ming Dynasty, all while still fully clothed.
"Here. This is what I wanted most to show you. It is my most prized possession,” Lan said, drawing my unwilling attention to a glass display case.
Within the case, sitting on a rectangular black pillar, was a small circlet of the clearest, most brilliantly green jade I had ever seen. Expertly carved into the shape of a coiling dragon, its eyes were tiny, glittering rubies. Each scale, each claw had been so painstakingly coaxed from the stone that even I, who knew next to nothing about jade artistry, could tell that it was a masterpiece.
"Do you know what it is?” Lan asked. His lips were tilted in a sly smile.
I looked back down at the piece. It was too big for a finger ring, too small for a bracelet.
Suddenly, I felt Lan's fingers trace across my hip, brushing over my crotch. “It's a cock ring,” he whispered, cupping my balls.
He gave me a light squeeze, and my eyes nearly rolled back in my head. I was so hard that I hurt, so ready to shoot that I was only a heartbeat or two from coming in my pants, something I'd never done before, not even during my hornie
st days as a teenager.
"Y-you're kidding,” I managed to stutter. “W-what is it, really?"
"It is the truth. It is an Imperial cock ring, crafted in 1624 by the finest artisan of the time, Chu Hsi-lu for one of the sons of Zhu; Youjiau, The Tianqi Emperor."
"Wow. Kinky ancients. Who'd have thunk?” My mind wasn't on the age of the dragon ring. It was focused solely on Lan's hand gently stroking me through the denim of my jeans. “Lan ... either stop or let me unzip,” I pleaded.
Lan's answer was a knowing smile, and the sound of my zipper sliding open. He pulled me free, wrapping his fingers around my length, stroking me in earnest now.
"What about you?” I whispered, leaning in to taste his lips again.
"No. Just you. For now.” His tongue pushed into my mouth, warm and wet, sweeping, teasing, masterful. He tasted sweet, of lemon and tea, and almonds.
I came hard, unable to hold back a moment longer, groaning my release into his mouth, hips pumping into his hand. Building for days, my orgasm seemed to last forever, going on and on until lights flickered behind my tightly-closed eyelids and my heart hammered in my chest.
By the time it was over, I found that I'd painted the display case with streaks of white. Crap. I didn't even have a handkerchief to use to clean it up, either.
Lans smiled, his eyes dancing with mischief. He traced a finger along the display case, touching it to his lips. “Delicious. Now, I have done a favor for you. Will you return one to me?"
Well, that seemed only fair. Usually when I fucked a guy I was out of there before the sheets had dried. But since he got me off so quickly, I figured I could do with a second helping. “Sure. How about if we go somewhere else? My apartment is close by."
"No. There is no need to leave. Will you wear it for me?” Lan asked. He opened a small door in the glass of the display case, reaching inside and removing the dragon cock ring.
"Wear it? You're kidding, right? Hey, Lan ... aren't you going to get into trouble for touching that?” I asked as he held it out to me, cradled on the palm of his hand.
