Page 175 of Naughty Dreams
There was only one to whom he could surrender, find the true soaring flight that held everything, the journey he wanted and needed.
The Masters had returned to circle him, hands brushing against him, him touching them, looking for that spark.
They fell in line, one stepping in behind the next, the visual effect as if they were merging into one man. Smoke billowed out and over them, making them disappear. DJ faced the back of the stage, seeking where they’d gone.
By never letting go.
The walls you build around me
Can't be broken down
You make them that strong
To take care of me.
It makes me feel safe.
You make me feel safe.
And loved.
What Alan had said about Roy.
DJ lifted his eyes slowly. Though he faced the back of the stage, the five large screens captured his expression, showing how his gaze traveled, seeking.
Spotlights flashed onto the right and left corners of the stage’s upper levels, now occupied by dancers whose feet weren’t on the ground. They were suspended in elaborate webs, two more Dom-like dancers rotating them with tethers of glittering crimson rope. They watched over them while their subs were so helplessly, gracefully bound.
During that display, the five Doms had leaped into different positions, three on the left stage platforms, two on the right. Asa lift behind Sy’s drum kit rose into view, all eyes turned in that direction.
Another Master stood upon it.
The Master.
He was silhouetted against the center screen, flashing with falling bars of light. He had his back to DJ, but his head was tilted to his shoulder.
The dancer Marshall had found with a build and look similar to Roy’s wasn’t executing the move they’d practiced that day. But he wore a suit like Roy usually wore, and his stillness was like Roy’s. Coaching him hadn’t been difficult, since DJ had mapped Roy’s every feature, every mannerism, on his heart and soul.
The center screen changed, showing DJ’s expression as he approached the steps. The screens flanking it on either side provided a close-up of the dancer. Sharp gray eyes, short hair, still, hard face. An attitude of vigilance that matched his posture. Watching. Waiting.
DJ delivered the bridge in his trademark raw scream, giving the song its due. It wasn’t about polish. It was about what the words offered, and the depth of his feeling for them.
Leave me marked
But not destroyed
Master
Master
Master
With each repetition of the wordMaster, DJ broached another step. Lines of fire seemed to follow him up, a sizzling effect bordering the step edges to his left and right.
He’d lifted his left arm out to the side, his fingers trembling. Into the mic in his right hand, he sang each version of Masterdifferently. Just as Roy contained many versions of what DJ wanted, so DJ hoped he would provide the same, as Roy’s submissive.
He’d reached the step below the silhouetted male. The dancer had stripped off the coat, dropping it to the side, revealing a prop gun in a shoulder harness.
DJ knelt, brought his arms down and wrists together, and then held them up above his head. The spotlights on the suspended dancers vanished, replaced by a burst of sparks that arced out from either side of the Roy-dancer’s platform and rained down on the stage.
