Standing in front of the tall wall mirror in his bedroom, Sky perused his figure with dismay. The leather trousers he had squeezed his arse into were so impossibly tight they looked as if they had been painted on. The waistband sank beneath his protruding belly. The back seam cut into the crack of his bum, looking not sexy, but merely sad. There was no way on earth he would be able to sit down without splitting the seam.
If John Moorcroft knew how much I fancied him, he’d throw up.
Sky unfastened his fly--he’d had to lie flat on the bed to fasten it in the first place--and breathed a sigh of relief. In his clean but untidy bedroom, he looked at the unmade bed, the overflowing wash basket, the tumble of items on top of the chest of drawers, and felt for a moment overwhelmed, fat, and miserable.
Come on, boy. Get your act together. If you want to get fucked anytime in the next month, you had better get out there.
The weekly Rough House meeting was tonight, and after passing a particularly attractive, mature leather man on the street on his way home from work, he felt spurred on to attend. There was no dress code at Rough House, but fetish wear was preferred. Sky loved wearing leather, which was what drove him to go riffling through his wardrobe for his leather trousers and jacket. Naked, he walked to the kitchen and pulled a pair of clean, dark denim jeans out of the tumble dryer. Standing so as not to sit on the kitchen chairs with his bare arse, he pulled them on. They were a good fit, having been bought recently, but when he caught sight of himself reflected in the kitchen window, he groaned out loud. No wonder Moorcroft had been so anxious to get him in shape. He probably thought Sky would expire before he managed to find his missing mother.
Dressed at last in jeans, black T-shirt, and a leather waistcoat, he headed out into the warm June evening. He’d make a start on his health regimen right now by walking. If he wanted a few drinks, and he did, he couldn’t drive anyway, but he’d usually hop on the bus.
John Moorcroft slipped back into his mind again as he walked. In fact he’d thought about nothing but the man since first seeing him. He wished John could see him now, walking briskly. It was a good thirty minutes from his flat to the club. After this he wouldn’t feel so guilty about the beer he planned to drink, but he would avoid his usual haunt afterward, the fish-and-chip truck under the Arches.
It had been several days since John Moorcroft had met him, and there hadn’t been a word from the man since. Maybe it would be better if he’d changed his mind. It would be hard working with someone that attractive, especially after the bloke had pointedly remarked that he was straight. Did he think Sky would lunge at him at the first opportunity? Straight men always thought gay men had designs on them, including the ones who were not nearly as handsome as Moorcroft. Most of them would be lucky to get a dog chasing them, let alone a gay man.
Rough House was located on the second and third floors above a Mandarin restaurant. Outside on the street, a group of leather men stood chatting to a couple of leather dykes. One of the women was nearly as big as him. “Hello, Sky!” A chorus of greetings and smiles from the group made him feel welcome.
One of the men slapped him on the shoulder. “How are you, boy?” Master Owen had played with him several times over the years.
“Very well, thank you, Master Owen,” he replied respectfully. “May I buy you a beer, Sir?”
“That would be nice, boy.”
Sky grabbed the door and held it back for the man, who wore leather head to foot, including a Muir Cap with a thick chain around the brim. “Sir.” Sky bowed his head as the other man passed, and then followed him up the stairs.
The smell always made his cock strain at his zipper when he entered a leather bar. Though most leather bars were men only, Rough House encouraged leather dykes to come out as well, but the place still smelled strongly of beer and masculine sweat. Since it was a private club, cigar smoking was also allowed, the aroma of good tobacco hanging heavily in the air. Sky was convinced he could detect the scent of fresh sperm.
There was just enough light so the patrons could play safely in the club. The music, unlike most bars and clubs, was relatively low to enable players to hear each other to ensure that safe words and instructions were not misheard. It was on the third floor that the more intense scenes with serious players happened.
At the bar he ordered two beers, paid, and handed one to Master Owen, offering a small bow as he did so.
“Good boy.” The master took a long drink before saying, “I was hoping you’d show up tonight. There’s something upstairs you’ll enjoy. Go and look. I’ll come and join you in a bit.” He walked off to talk to some men sitting at a table.
With affection, Sky watched the master for a moment before obeying him. Master Owen wasn’t much older than Sky, but he felt older because of his demeanor and self-confidence. He was always calm and assertive.
As soon as Sky emerged from the stairwell into the third-floor playroom, he spotted the pillory. An involuntary moan escaped him. Restrained and fucked from behind by an anonymous cock--nothing excited him more, except perhaps the unlikely scenario of John Moorcroft sticking his dick up Sky’s arse.
Everywhere in the large space, scenes were being played out. One man was mounted on a spanking stool, being fisted by a man who was naked but for a pair of knee-high boots. At the same time, the restrained man was getting a tattoo from a tall, skinny leather dyke. Sounding scenes were in progress, drawing Sky’s attention for a few minutes. But it was the pillory that attracted him, and there was a short lineup of three men waiting their turns, sitting quietly on an old wooden bench.
The apparatus was either very old or looked old, the wood so dark and rough it could have been snatched right out of a medieval town square. The man in charge of the scene was tall and heavyset, with a hairy, bare chest, and wearing old canvas trousers, brown leather boots, and a brown leather apron. He could have been a blacksmith from the Dark Ages.
Immediately he spotted Sky watching. “Get on that bench, boy, and wait your turn,” he said, playing his part to the hilt.
“Yes, Sir.” With a shy smile, Sky joined the boys watching the young man already in the pillory. He was naked, his legs spread and locked. The blacksmith
slapped his arse hard several times, encouraging passersby to do the same. There was no lack of good-natured volunteers willing to give him a couple of hard whacks. After a while a thickly muscled man wearing a wrestling singlet stood behind him and reamed him hard.
Sky’s beer was gone, and his cock was bursting by the time his turn arrived. “Up you get, boy, and hurry up!” the man roared at him. “No dillydallying.”
“Yes, Sir.” Sky shot up from the bench. The blacksmith lifted the top section of the pillory while Sky settled his hands and head comfortably in the indents. The top of the pillory came down and was locked securely. The pillory was positioned facing the wall so that when a man was in place, he saw nothing but the wall in front of him.
The blacksmith got behind Sky, reached around his waist, and unfastened his jeans. “Let’s get these trousers of yours down, boy, and show the good people what you’ve got.”
Cool air settled over Sky’s buttocks as his jeans were lowered to his knees. Backside bare, exposed to the room, his cock jutted out, rock hard.
“I suspect you need a good paddling to teach you to behave,” the blacksmith said.
“I believe I do, Sir,” Sky agreed.
Without wasting a moment, the blacksmith set to work.
Having been paddled many times before, Sky knew from the feel that it was a wooden paddle that pounded his arse without mercy. He held his breath and tensed before reminding himself, Let go. Go with the movement and pressure of the paddle. Don’t tense
. Releasing a breath, he loosened up and went with it, relief flooding his body after the awful week he’d had--the encounter with the thieving bin man and all that shit with John Moorcroft. Sky drew in a long, slow breath, held it for a count of ten, and let it go just as slowly, letting his body melt under the paddle. At length the blacksmith brought the paddling to a halt.
“That’s enough for now, boy. That’ll teach you to behave.”
Eyes closed, Sky smiled with relief. “Thank you, Sir,” he called out.
“Now!” The blacksmith’s voice rose again, bright and hearty. “Who wants to fuck this fine arse? You, Sir? Come right on up and help yourself.”
Come on, Master Owen. I’m desperate.
Two strong hands slapped Sky’s thighs hard, stinging wonderfully, before prizing his buttocks apart.
“Thank you, Master,” Sky moaned.
Master must be rubbing the wet tip of his cock against Sky’s anus, because he could feel something firm but silky massaging the sensitive ring muscle. For more than a minute it went on, arousing him to near unbearable heights. Sky panted shamelessly. He wanted to grab his cock and rub it fast to relieve the overpowering, burning pleasure. But with his hands fastened securely on either side of his head, it was impossible.
“Master, fuck me,” he begged. “Please.”
The blacksmith laughed loudly as Master’s cock pressed against Sky’s anus, pausing for one tantalizing moment before he pushed it hard up Sky’s rectum.
Bracing his feet firmly, legs as wide as he could get them with the restriction of his jeans around his knees, Sky felt the full impact of the fuck. Master thrust hard and fast. It couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds before Sky orgasmed, his sperm shooting onto the floor near the wall.
Behind him Master was not done and continued to fuck for several more minutes, arousing Sky again as he panted hard. A long moan and a sudden stillness alerted him to Master’s orgasm.
The moment of stillness passed, followed by several more long, hard thrusts.
Master held on to Sky’s hips while he recovered, still breathing heavily. They remained locked together, Master’s hands gripping Sky’s hips, his groin, hot and sweaty, pressed against Sky’s buttocks. At last he released Sky and stood back.
The blacksmith unlocked the pillory and raised the upper bar, allowing Sky to stand upright. “All right, boy, you’re free to go. Give someone else a turn.”
Pulling up his jeans, Sky turned around to thank Master Owen for his attention.
Only it wasn’t Master Owen. John Moorcroft fastened his jeans, buckled his belt, and then looked up.
The man’s expression flew in the space of a minute from relief, to surprise, to horror.
So much for being straight, Mr. Moorcroft.
Sky’s voice was so weak it came out in a squeak. “John!”
John looked quickly about him. Sky was unsure if he was looking for assistance or to see who was watching them.
“This is a surprise,” Sky continued. Surprise? It was the biggest shock of his life, at least in recent years, and he was talking as if they had bumped into each other in the men’s department of Debenhams. It was then he noticed John still held the used condom, the one that had just been up Sky’s arse. “Let me take that for you.”
He grabbed the damp, slippery sheath from the man’s hand and disposed of it in one of the many bins provided for the purpose. “Can I buy you a beer, John?” The circumstances were so awkward that he didn’t know what form of address to use or what to say to ease the tension. Should he have said Master?
John Moorcroft wore dark denim jeans, a black, tight-fitting shirt with black leather boots and belt. He wasn’t dressed like a master. He was fucking gorgeous, though...as usual.
Seconds passed, and still John stared at him. He seemed paralyzed, but what with? Embarrassment? Fear? Horror? The man who had told him in no uncertain terms that he was straight had just fucked him a private leather club. The same man who had commented on his girth in a very uncomplimentary fashion had just given him a fantastic orgasm. Yes, it was definitely embarrassment and horror. “Are you hungry? Do you want a fruit salad? There’s a restaurant downstairs.” He was rambling now.
“I don’t just eat fruit salad, you know.” John sounded exasperated.
At least he was speaking.
John looked him briefly in the eyes before walking away in the direction of the stairs. Sky watched as he disappeared out of sight and was still staring at the top of the darkened stairwell when he reappeared. With one finger he beckoned, then disappeared out of sight again.
Sky’s heart, which had slowed considerably since his orgasm, picked up the pace again, and he hurriedly followed John down the stairs and out the door to the street.
The evening air was pleasantly warm. Several men Sky knew nodded hello or called out greetings, but every one of them registered surprise at seeing him leaving Rough House with such a handsome man. Was he so pathetic that no one assumed he would ever pull a decent-looking bloke?
John walked along to the next block and into Starbucks while Sky followed at his heels. “What can I get you?” Sky asked. Suddenly he felt really nervous of this man. If he was honest, he’d been a bit nervous of him from the moment he was ordered to strip naked in front of him in the locker room at the gym.
At the counter John said, “I’ll get it. What do you want?”
“A coffee with cream and sugar, and can I have a chocolate croissant, please, Sir?”
“Sit down,” John said with such command that Sky almost dropped to the floor on the spot.
“Yes, Sir,” he mumbled. At a small table by the window, on a chair far too small for him, he sat, watching John Moorcroft’s back at the counter, the slender waist and narrow hips, the well-shaped head.
When the man turned with their purchases, he looked quickly away. John placed Sky’s coffee on the table and a fruit smoothie for himself. There was no chocolate croissant. Neither, he realized when he took a mouthful of his coffee, was there any sugar in it. “Thank you, Sir.”
Long minutes stretched uncomfortably between them while John looked out of the window into the busy street. Sky decided to wait, partly because John Moorcroft had the aura of a master and partly because Sky was bound to say something idiotic. When at last the man looked directly at him, Sky automatically sat up straighter.
“I’m straight. That was a one-off. I walked into that place entirely by mistake and simply took advantage of the moment. I don’t normally do things like that.”
That was a lie. Rough House was upstairs, and there was no sign announcing its presence. The only way people found out about it was by word of mouth or going looking for it on the Internet.
“Weird that it turned out to be you in those stocks.”
“It was a pillory, Sir,” Sky said with an apologetic smile.
John shrugged. “What would I know? I’ve never seen anything like that place before.” Another long pause. “This is really embarrassing.”
“Not as embarrassing as my weigh-in and workout at your boot camp, Sir.” Sky slurped his coffee, desperately wanting to put some sugar in it. “Do you mind if I get some sugar?”
“Yes, I mind.”
“What about sweetener?”
“That shit’s even worse. Aspartame is a potent neurotoxin.”
“Is it?” Sky looked into the handsome, chiseled face. “What difference does it make? I assume the job is off.”
“No, it’s not off,” John said. “We’ll start Monday. I’ve made arrangements for one of my trainers to take over some of my private clients, and Christine will run the gym if I need to be away.”
Sky’s spirits soared at the words. This job would lead to nothing of a personal nature between them, yet he was excited by it. It would be interesting if nothing else, and he really did want to improve his health. “Good.” He tried to sound nonchalant. “Shall we meet at my office at nine o’clock?”
A small but extremely derisive snort issued from deep in John’s throat. “I’m not setting foot in that place again. Just breathing the air could give you cancer. We’ll meet at that same café at eight a.m. I’ll bring all the information I have about my mother. Also I’ll take you to the doctor to get your blood pressure checked out, as well as a few other things.”
Sky had no idea how his face looked, but it prompted John to say, “And get that look off your face. I’m in charge now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Sky answered promptly. “I just hate going to the doctor.”
“She always tells me to get the weight off.”
“She’ll love you, then, because you’re going to get the weight off. Make an appointment first thing Monday.”
“My doctor has a walk-in clinic in the mornings. But...erm...when it comes to the investigation, I have to take the lead.” Sky shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Yes, I understand that.” John leaned back in his chair and looked out the window as he said, “And we’ll say nothing about that incident at the club. It was a mistake that won’t be repeated.”
“You’re into that stuff, whips and chains?”
John stood. A couple of young women walking past gave him long, interested looks. “Monday. Eight a.m.” He walked out.
The instant John Moorcroft was out of sight, Sky dove for the counter to order two chocolate croissants. Sinking his teeth into the first one, he sighed. The smooth richness of the chocolate hit his taste buds first, followed by a burst of buttery heaven. He closed his eyes, savoring the flakey deliciousness, and swallowed with relief.
Opening his eyes to take another bite, he saw, through the window, John Moorcroft watching him. They made eye contact for the briefest of moments before the man walked away.
With much less enjoyment, Sky finished his late-night snack and went home. As he walked, the pleasure and excitement of his fuck in the pillory came back. With his cock straining at his fly, he hurried up the stairs to his flat above the Anchor and Hope. In the shower, he leaned his forehead against the wall as the hot water pounded his bald head. He rubbed his cock furiously, orgasming with the image of John Moorcroft’s face in his mind.