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People could come by and spin their naked bodies, or. . . Thomas watched as a man, obviously a total stranger to the bound slave, pulled the wheel around so its occupant was upside down. Then he jammed his cock into the slave's mouth, which was wrested open with a gag ring. The Dom leisurely fucked his mouth while sipping a cocktail and talking to another Dom.
It was hedonistic, like one of the fascinating upper layers of Hell. Dark and shadows. Thomas felt sick and excited at once.
"Your eyes aren't on my feet. " Marcus' voice brought him back and he obeyed, but he noticed Marcus had given him time to study his surroundings before he'd reminded him. "I'm letting go, pet. You stay two steps behind me at all times. You forget and look up again, I'll make you do it on your hands and knees like a dog so you can't see anything but my feet. "
There was something hard in Marcus' voice that hadn't been there in the foyer. The tone suggested he might do the humiliating thing he described. Thomas followed, wondering at the feelings swirling in his stomach. It was like being offered candy, but the wrong kind. He couldn't put a name to it, but some shadowy apprehension was moving low in his belly, the deeper they moved into the club. He wasn't sure. . .
Before he could complete the thought, they moved out of the dance area into a new space. This was one large room divided by a wall of clear glass. The glass was partitioned into rectangular sections by Ionic columns. Between each set of columns was a carved
wooden chair that looked as though it might have graced the judgment hall of a Roman governor.
Metal pieces formed artistic diamond-shaped divided lights in the glass, but they were functional, for there were protrusions bolted onto those metal frame pieces.
Because Thomas only dared a quick glimpse, he couldn't tell what they were. He wasn't going to risk Marcus doing exactly what he'd said he'd do, and dealing with how that might turn him on. But not knowing the whole picture, having to rely on Marcus' guidance, was creating all sorts of tangled reactions within him, apprehensive and lustful at once.
Marcus stopped by one of the chairs. He effectively banished Thomas' thought process by opening his slacks again and taking a seat. Almost absently, he fondled Thomas' bare thigh. "Come here, pet. Keep your eyes down. " Because of that, he had to let Marcus guide him. Marcus nudged him so Thomas stood in front of his Master, facing away from him. "There are two handles in front of you. Bend over and take hold of them. "
They were at mid-body level, anchored into the metal frame pieces of the glass wall.
Now he could see there were people on the other side. A man bent toward him, a mirror image of how Marcus wanted him. His long cock was hanging down between spread, trembling thighs as someone took him from behind. He had his mouth pressed on the glass, stretched open by the rubber phallus mounted there. A duplicate of the one in front of Thomas' face now, sheathed in an unlubricated new condom.
Thomas' own body started trembling as he realized what Marcus intended to do.
"You're making me wait. "
As Thomas grasped the handles, Marcus continued in an implacable voice. "Take the dildo in your mouth, all the way, until your lips are against the glass. It's sterile. The attendants clean the glass and replace the condom between every use. Once you get it all the way in, you'll lift your eyes. You keep them open and staring straight ahead. " Thomas obeyed slowly, reluctant and self-conscious. When he took his lips down the length of the hard rubber cock, he and the man being fucked on the other side were essentially in a kiss, separated by thick double-plated glass. The way the handles were anchored in the steel framework their knuckles would have touched.
The wild drumbeat of the music on the dance floor could be felt through his bare heels. Where the glass was hinged to the Ionic column, there was a slender line of space, so he could hear the grunts of the other slave, as rhythmic and primal as those drums.
His eyes were a pale green, his hair red and long. He had a pale, muscular body, with a tattoo of a dragon over the left pec that undulated as he reacted to the thrusts of whoever was fucking him.
Thomas didn't want to keep his eyes open, feeling far too exposed to this man and his submission, but his Master had ordered it, so he did.
I am Slave Sixty-Eight. I obey my Master and that's all. I'm not responsible for anything but giving him pleasure. I don't think about who I am beyond this moment, or what others would think. It's all about this moment. . .
To hold onto the handles and lean forward the way Marcus wished, Thomas had to bend his knees. The significance of that uncomfortable pose struck when Marcus slid his chair up behind Thomas, removed the lubricated probe, put his hands on Thomas' hips and brought him down on his cock.
Holy fuck. Truer words never spoken. After all the stimulation from the coffee house to this moment, Marcus' cock sinking into him had the searing pleasure of fire racing through his blood. Thomas bit down on the rubber cock savagely. The panic in the other man's eyes reflected his realization that Thomas had just been penetrated, and it propelled him closer to a release Thomas was sure his Master had forbidden him.
Both of them were sucking frantically on the phalluses, a way of goading or controlling themselves, Thomas didn't know. He just had to do it.
Perhaps Thomas was just imagining it, torqued as he was, but he thought he could feel the pressure of the other man's lips, their texture, even as he imagined it was Marcus' cock he was deep-throating, almost choking on it as Marcus thrust deep, withdrew and thrust deep again, full penetration and withdrawal each time. It left a trail of clawing need all up and down the passageway, to the root of him. He heard Marcus' grunt of approval like a gift. God, he'd gone beyond wanting to come. He had to come or he'd just die.
Thomas couldn't beg with his mouth so occupied, so he begged with his body, his arm muscles banded steel as he held onto the handles with tight fists, hips lifting up and slamming down. Marcus' hands slid down either thigh where Thomas sat on his lap, caressed muscles, then one hand reached between his legs, released the harness a notch.
"Come, pet. "
Despite his overwhelming desire to do so, Thomas managed to hold back. Not until he'd brought his Master pleasure. He gripped him with his strong inner muscles, sliding up and down Marcus' delectable length. He longed to feel that hot jetting pulse of his climax, the spasmodic clutch of his hands. Marcus' hands were powerful enough to bruise and they often did. Thomas loved it.
It was submission and yet an exercise of power at once. The desire to serve his Master's pleasure but prove he could make him do something, no matter how many times he'd had slaves within walls like these do his bidding.
"Stubborn," Marcus said, but his voice was hoarse. Thomas renewed his efforts, so on each slow withdrawal Marcus was pulling against resistance from muscles oiled with lubricant, that knew just how to stroke and hold him. . .
Thomas grunted as Marcus abruptly slammed into him, slick and slow gone hot and fast. He hung onto the handles, providing the counterpoint even as need burst into undeniable release. "Oh God. . . " his voice was garbled against the gag of the phallus.
"Let it go," Marcus growled.
You first, damn it. Thomas' nerve endings had never felt so sensitive. If Marcus touched him anywhere - his elbow, an earlobe - he would go off like a rocket. Though the fire of it was all consuming, Thomas hung on, thinking he could hold on just another second. . .
