Page 135 of Naughty Dreams
I finally can fly.
The pen and notebook were in his jeans pocket, but he didn’t reach for it. He had too much to see.
Nearby two men stood beside another one, lying upon a table. They were decorating him with colored hot wax. It was more casual than the suspension scene, the three of them bantering with the watchers. As they drew closer, DJ realized the men were teaching those watching how to do wax play, while dripping the wax along their subject’s shoulders, chest and his upper thighs.
While it had an “all in good fun” feeling, the way the man shivered when the wax fell, the erection evident under his clingy shorts, said more was going on.
The next play space was occupied by a Mistress sitting on a padded square footstool. The bottom was enclosed in vinyl like a box, except for the side that allowed a man lying on his back to have his head and neck inside of it. His wrists were cuffed to hooks on the outside of the box, and a spreader bar kept his legs shoulder width apart.
While he obviously had been put to work pleasuring the Mistress with his mouth through an opening in the seat of the footstool, another man was swatting his cock and balls with a cane, short, repetitive motions that had him groaning and jerking. The Mistress’s eyes were glazed with pleasure, her lips parted.
The man with the cane paused, dropping to his heels. He stroked the bound man’s cock and spoke. “Tell me how you’re doing, Cord,” he said.
A shaking hand formed a thumbs up. The Mistress gave the man holding the cane an approving nod, and he resumed. A little harder now.
Roy had spanked him, used his belt on him, but this was different. DJ wasn’t sure if this level of torment was his kink, but watching it, seeing how involved all three of them were init, made every part of him tight. When Roy’s hand slid into his waist band, palm against the upper curve of his buttock, he swayed and put out a hand, gripping Roy’s shirt.
Two men passed on their right. One was being led by the other on a leash connected to a collar around his throat. His hands were cuffed to either side of a cage around his cock.
When DJ turned to watch his shuffling progress, he realized there was a plug in his ass, held there by the same straps that held the cage. While the Master tugged on the leash to remind him to keep up, to make him move a little faster, he wasn’t so far ahead that he couldn’t steady him. The male was so overstimulated he obviously needed it.
Suffering and pleasure. There was no line between them.
The two men were headed toward a raised platform where a woman in her forties, with childbirth stretch marks, lay upon a cushioned mat. She stared up at the man standing over her, and she was covered in flower petals. He knelt between her legs, sliding his arms under them to lift her ass onto his folded thighs. Bending, he kissed her breasts, suckled each in turn as she arched and cried out.
When he lifted his head, he looked at her with an expression that was territorial and adoring. “Your first time should be filled with pleasure and wonder. I couldn’t be there then, but I’m here now. Going forward, this will forever be your first time. Do you agree?”
“Yes, Master.” Her eyes were wet, mouth soft, breath fast.
As DJ drew closer, the words captivated him, as did the male’s tenderness with her. “I think of this as my first time as well. With the woman I want to share forever with.”
He removed his jeans without self-consciousness. He had what might be called a “dad body,” but he looked strong and confident. His hair was neatly cut, his eyes a vivid blue.
He stroked her body, arousing her even further before he guided himself into her. Her lips parted, and she sighed and moaned, tears trickling down her temples.
Those closest to the platform seemed to be people who knew the couple, who understood the significance of this for her. When he entered her, her body was slick and willing, though he took his time and spoke to her as if she were a virgin. The tears that continued to increase, the way she clutched him to her, the whispers that only he could hear, reinforced how much the moment meant to her.
He was laying claim not just to her body, but to her memories. Replacing the ones he didn’t deem worthy of her, the woman he loved. Giving her better memories.
It was an act of love, tangled up with the sexual stimulation and surroundings of kink. DJ thought of the times Roy had taken him where he’d felt something so similar. The first time he’d allowed himself that level of trust, and how strong the craving to surrender had been. Not just to any Dom. To Roy.
He tilted his head toward his bodyguard. Gripped by a shyness and need too raw to explain, DJ couldn’t lift his eyes to look at him. Roy cupped the side of his head and kissed his forehead, then his jaw and lips, teasing the fringe of the mask against his skin. He gave him a slow, lingering kiss that raised DJ’s face by degrees until they were looking into one another’s eyes.
He pushed his hand further beneath DJ’s waist band and kneaded his bare buttock. DJ had chosen not to wear underwear for this. The presence of Roy’s hand tightened the front of the jeans, creating friction over a cock already contained in too small a space.
Then Roy eased back and turned DJ, so he was looking at the couple again. The male started to do long, powerful strokes inside her. He closed his hand on her throat to hold her still, hisgaze sliding over the movement of her breasts, the arch of her body, her parted lips, the way his cock and her cunt were joined, the wetness dampening her tight curls and his.
“My beauty,” he said. “Always mine.”
They moved onward toward a cupping scene, fire and glass arousing heated skin, then doused with ice for the contrast. DJ saw laughter, sexual intensity, roughness. He fed on all of it, lost in it, his only tether the touch of the man at his side.
Was it possible to go into subspace just by watching? Maybe it was his mental exhaustion from grief, but he thought that might be happening to him. Though he was choosing the direction, Roy was steadying him on his path.
When they’d made a circuit of the first level, they headed for the second. The first thing DJ saw was a station with a trio of X frames. Two were occupied, one by a man, the other by a woman. Both were naked. The man was being whipped by a Mistress with a long flogger, the ends tipped with knots.
The woman was being beaten by a crop, but her Mistress, a formidable-looking biker chick in jeans, snug tank, and displaying lots of tattoos, alternated the impact toy with a long feather. She trailed it over her shoulders and buttocks, teasing her cunt between her spread legs.
The man’s skin was red, his body jerking against his bonds, though DJ noted he was tremendously aroused, and kept whispering, “More, please…”
