Page 11 of Freddie

“I will, nice to meet you,” I call out, hoping to catch his name, but he’s already on the other side of the door shouting back that he hoped so, leaving me alone just as quickly as he had entered.

I’m intrigued. Who was this hairy hunk? Would he be into dominating me for the night? He definitely looked like he liked what he saw as I prepared my outfit for the event, so maybe he just really had to be somewhere soon. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that we had met before; I knew I would never have forgotten those eyes. They looked into my green eyes like a mirror.

Maybe if I had time, I would go looking for him; it wasn’t a huge event, so it was totally possible that our paths would cross again. Or at least, I really hoped they would.

Chapter 13

Simmons

It was him. How did I not figure that out until after I said hi to him?

Airport guy, the one I’ve imagined in the exact long-sleeved latex gloves he was pulling out of his bag. He was right there in front of me like a dream of sorts as he laid out each piece of his outfit with so much care. He looked so happy to be at the event when I’d watched him fresh from my shower; it was why I’d asked if he was working or not.

His pale skin, that accent that was like a siren’s call. Unsure whether it was the natural gleam in his green eyes that told me he would be perfect as a bratty sub or my imagination. It was clear, even in the small passing minutes that he stared at my ass as I pretended not to notice, that we wanted each other. And after the interview, I was a free agent, so I would hunt his whereabouts the second I was done for the day.

Stuck with the need to turn back, my heart is still thumping in my chest. Would he remember me? Or did he already, and that’s why his smile turned to a frown? Either way, I want to see him again. Looking down at my vintage watch, I have about 45 minutes before I’ve got to head for the interview. Burt told me that he would conduct it in one of the small conference rooms to ensure the Flaming Scots’ privacy.

As promised, they had also sent me the questions the night before, and I found them all easy enough to answer. I knew there was a possibility that the interview could go off script, so to speak, but I don’t mind that. I’d be getting the chance to finally meet the person behind the blog, a blog I’m slowly becoming obsessed with. Checking multiple times a day. The mysterious blogger is omniscient when it comes to sex, kink, and the world of communities.

The blogger crafts each blog post to be pellucid and eye-catching. I’ve no doubt they are intelligent as well as hardworking in their chosen field.

It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to someone about kink or the lifestyle outside of agreements with ex-subs. That’s why I’m almost giddy with excitement to meet them. I’ve got my own questions if they would allow them at the end.

With that in mind, my mind wanders about the pull towards the man I’ve bumped into again. There’s something about him that leaves me lusting for something I can’t quite understand yet. He’s burrowing his way under my skin, and I’ve only met him twice. We never even exchanged names on either encounter. As I stroll along, I admire the exhibits while the staff carry out the finishing touches for opening time.

Some say hello or dip their heads as I look around. There are so many exhibitors this year, which is amazing. The event itself is run by a man called Rennie, a lovely middle-aged man who has taken over from his older brother when he retired a few years ago.

It was a testament to the times how much the kink community has grown not just online or worldwide but in my city. That Rennie has the support of the event space, hotels, and local food businesses to run the event was nothing short of amazing. The community faced prejudice not just from homophobic assholes but from others who didn’t understand what kinks were or why people had them.

To me, as long as it’s safe and consensual, who gives a fuck where the kink came from as long as you receive pleasure from it. Too many people outside the community had opinions on it all, which usually had my blood boiling, but this year I’d yet to see any judgement or comments on the upcoming event, which was a great sign.

I’d opted to wear a combination of an outfit I favoured for the club. Although I wasn’t a professor today, I still felt the need to be a little professional as I’m there to represent Burt and the club. Wearing black leather trousers with my Doc Martins, I matched them to my favourite mesh, long-sleeved top.

It shows off my muscles, which I worked hard for, so why not? And it makes me feel sexy even though I’m completely covered. It shines in the overhead lights and the scrape of the material on my nipples isn’t an unwelcome one. The outfit is finished with a custom leather belt that adorns Nyctra’s logo in buckle form. A black metal Dionysus symbol with an N in the middle to represent the club and its message.

The smell of coffee from the food section of the hall draws me closer, and I stop to grab a flat white to wander with. The young guy checks me out as he holds out the takeaway cup, biting his lip as his eyes lazily trail down my body and back up. I smirk, giving him a little extra in the tip I left before heading back towards the exhibits. It was always good to know it wasn’t my looks that had subs running the other way. Nope, just my personality. Great.

Chapter 14

Simmons

Heading towards one of my favourite latex vendors, I browse their range, noting some pieces I want to buy and have shipped to my address.

It’s all stunning; I just wish I had someone to share it with. Sighing, I remind myself of the sexy guy I might hook up with later. Hoping he’ll keep those gloves on, I adjust my arousal as images of his long fingers pumping my thick cock take over my mind. The woman working the stall stops hanging the bras she’s been sorting to lick her lips, having caught me. I turn away, stifling a laugh at being caught with a hard-on and almost trip trying to get out of there as fast as I can. I throw away my empty cup, check my watch and think about heading to the interview room just as I hear a voice behind me.

“Oh, hey, there you are. Ready for your interview?” I spin around to see Blair, professional as ever, looking at me expectantly. “Yeah, sure. Got carried away looking at all these amazing stalls,” I say as I follow her through the small crowds that have appeared now that the doors are open to the public.

“No worries, he’s about five minutes off being ready, but we can get you seated and your mic set up before he comes in.”

I nod along as we weave through the latex aficionados to the back of the hall where a small door leads us to a hallway where four doors, all marked with various ‘in session’ signs.

Opening the third door, I’m met with a blast of warmth which makes me wonder how little the host will wear if he’s requested the room be this temperature. I just hope I don’t sweat through my leather trousers and end up a puddle throughout the interview.

“Okay, so here we go. Take a seat in one of the chairs in front of the ring light, there’s bottled water there on the table if you wanna grab it now since you’ll be facing each other and won’t be able to get up to grab it once you’re being recorded. There’s a copy of the questions on the seat if you need a reminder, but don’t have it out on camera, obviously. Ask nothing too personal; he enjoys being anonymous, as we all know. The room is soundproofed for privacy, and the staff know the rooms are all in session for the next couple of hours, so you shouldn’t be disturbed. I’ve heard good things about him, so it should be a smooth interview with little to no bumps. Then you can go. Any questions?”

I take in everything Blair is saying, nodding as she explains the process. I tell her I’m all good on the questioning front. Anticipation creeps over my skin as I wonder what the host will be like? With his blog so popular, I’m surprised someone hasn’t found out who he is. Although that would be pretty shit to do to someone,so I’m glad he hasn’t encountered any assholes that could potentially harm him in that way.

“Okay. Relax and have fun! You’re here to chat about the sex club you frequent, not the latest stats on Wall Street, okay?” I exhale, realising that I was being a little uptight about it all, and we share a laugh before she heads off. I shout a thanks after her, but it’s stifled by a gasp when I see the person who’s grabbed the door in her place and looking right at me. Both our wide eyes must look comical as we stare across the room at one another.