Bound by Lies (9 page)

Jenner has always admired that about David, and tried to learn from him the ability to hone other talents as a means of bending others to his will.

David walks up to Jenner, not stopping until they’re breathing the same air and sharing body heat. Tilting his head back to blow a tendril of smoke up into the night sky, Jenner feels David caress the skin of his bare chest beside his nipple, below the edge of the makeup masking his tattoo. Instantly, the skin to skin contact causes Jenner’s flesh to tighten, his nipple pebbling, his cock stiffening and just as eager for David’s rapt attention.

“Good to see you,” David says, smooth and easy, with that smile which first intrigued Jenner years ago, luring him into a world unlike any other. Though it’s always there in some form or other, whether broad or slight, bold or subtle, David’s grin has the ability to reflect many things—amusement, raw lust, pride, disappointment, scorn or threat, among many other moods and fleeting emotions.

Letting the cigarette, held between two fingers, fall to his side, Jenner holds in a breathless chuckle as David’s crooked finger skims down the center of Jenner’s body. So many memories of intoxicating pleasure and wild debauchery flood him. Just being near David has always keyed Jenner up, the promise of what’s to come, if only he wants it enough to try to take it, there and tempting so strongly.

“Likewise,” Jenner answers, holding David’s intense, penetrating stare as that bent finger trails along the length of Jenner’s swelling erection through the fabric of his pants. Many desires hit him at once, but the biggest one a curiosity about whether Shea is there somewhere, ready and waiting. Jenner has had Shea too many times to count, but always with David present, watching and guiding, and only with David’s express consent, as well as Shea’s. It’s not Jenner’s place to ask, though. If David is in the mood to watch his apprentice fuck the breath out of his dutiful, precious slave, David will say so, and arrange it. It’s the only way it will happen.

The contrast between David and Shea is another thing that has always intrigued Jenner. Shea who is so unassuming, a blue-collar everyman who usually seems so awkward and bashful, who doesn’t come from money and doesn’t boast any great talents other than being able to submit to his Master’s will so completely and spectacularly that as soon as he witnessed Shea and David together, Jenner has wanted that for himself. To have a submissive of his own, who yields so profoundly, trusts so utterly, and gets off on it as much as the Master taking him is the dream, the ultimate goal.

Seeing starlight catch on the silken strands of David’s short, dark hair, styled so immaculately, the curve of his seductive lips, the glint of steel in his light green eyes, Jenner feels his body reacting greedily to every touch and stroke, and asks, “New blood tonight?”

David chuckles knowingly and takes firmer hold of Jenner’s cock, which causes Jenner’s smile to falter, overtaken by the ache and need.

After letting the moment draw out, witnessing Jenner’s every reaction, David suggests, “See what you find.” Squeezing just so, making Jenner’s knees weak, David effectively reminds him how permanent his devotion truly is. “Otherwise, come find me.”

Releasing Jenner, turning away and striding back to the house, David adds, “Have fun. It’s been too long, you know. We’ve missed you.”

Wanting to call him back, to beg, to please, to perform and indulge, Jenner sucks hard on the cigarette and throbs with the force of his lust.

“Fuck,” he sighs, exhaling once David disappears inside once again.

An hour later, he’s in the thick of it, with bodies all around him, men of all shapes and sizes. The heat of them, the collective musk and sexual energy, coupled with the pervading smoke, heavy bass and plentiful alcohol creates a richly decadent atmosphere. The Dungeon Monitors are out in force, he sees, patrolling the downstairs, watching to enure that the rules are followed and the guests are being safe. Since the place is full of many new faces, David must have brought in extra help to keep the crowd in check. With his leather leash wrapped around a fist, palming the metal clasp on its end, Jenner downs the last of his tequila and scans the crowd for a slave to take. He wants someone small and fit, but beyond that he doesn’t care, as long as he gets off before he goes home. When it was renovated, some of the mansion’s walls were knocked out on the main floor to open up the space, but even so there is still a seemingly endless maze of rooms to wander through, all leading off of the largest space, which holds the bar and the dance floor. He winds his way through all of them without finding what he’s looking for and ends up near the front entrance.

The open front door is flanked by two imposing guys checking IDs and forbidding entry to anyone who doesn’t make the cut. Just inside the entryway is a counter. Behind the counter, a third security staff member handles the necessary paperwork and financial transactions, asking guests to sign a consent and legal waiver and pay the cover charge. It’s only once you get past the counter that you’re truly welcomed inside.

The chill blowing in from outside has mostly cleared the area with the exception of a few sweaty slaves in tight miniskirts, cooling off in the draft. Some of them turn and try to catch his attention when they see him, his thickly muscled chest and arms bare and on display. They aren’t his type, though, so after checking for the hundredth time the makeup covering the tattoo on his chest, which could be used to identify and out him, something he very much doesn’t want to happen, he continues on his quest. He pauses when a figure rounds the counter, having paid the fee and cleared the security checkpoints.

The new guest slips in, quietly, trying to look everywhere at once, as if he doesn’t know if he’s in the right place or has permission to be there. Jenner gives the newcomer a furtive glance out of nothing but dull curiosity.

His heart stops in his chest.

There’s no way
, he thinks.

A heady wave of heat and keen, powerful excitement radiates out through his body. Senses sharpening, he zeroes in on the target. The noise, the smoke, the other people, they all disappear.

“Sweet fuck,” he gasps. “Oh my
god
.”

Go. Move. Now.

A fear sparks in his brain, bright, hot and specific. He has to move quickly. He might only have seconds.

Stalking across the twenty feet or so separating them, he unwinds the leash and finds the clip. Another Master is approaching, one he doesn’t recognize. Jenner just barely manages to get there first.

“Hi,” he shouts over the din.

The slave turns. The top half of his face is covered with a plain black mask, his long, golden-brown hair tied up in a knot at the nape of his neck. Jenner stares at lips he knows as well as his own by now, judging only from the hours he’s spent memorizing them at the bar. He endures it with a longing ache while his subject measures him. Bright green eyes scan Jenner’s bare, waxed-smooth chest, dark nipples, and washboard abs tapering down to narrow hips. This is the true test, Jenner knows unequivocally, and in that one second he experiences the cold bite of real dread. If he’s found to be undesirable, he’ll know right away and there will be no disputing it. Live or die.

“How about we get a drink first,” Brayden says warily after seeing the leash held up in Jenner’s hand.

Jenner only has to nod toward the two other Masters waiting behind him should Jenner fail to claim the prize.

Jaw clenched, bowing his head slightly, Brayden finally consents. He pulls at the metal loop fitted in his collar as Jenner latches the leash. A blush spreads outward from Brayden’s neck, over his chest, and Jenner’s mouth waters, wanting to feel the heat of it under his tongue. Cock swelling painfully, a hot, hard line inside the tight briefs he’d worn, he tries not to stare at the dark green woolen kilt hanging from Brayden’s hips.

How?

Why?

Fuck.

The stark reality of having Brayden on a leash and leading him by it through the mansion to the bar sparks a torrent of questions that he knows he cannot ask if he wants to try to remain anonymous. Of all things, Jenner knows at the very least that he wants that. Anonymity is key. But, just the same, he wants to ask what Brayden is doing there, if he knows what he got himself into by coming to this place, dressed as he is; he wants to ask him if he’s gay, or bored, or maybe just curious.

Tension on the leash, every slight tug a reminder of precisely
who
his slave is tonight, makes Jenner feel woozy from the sheer, spectacular possibilities unfolding before him.

Jenner almost makes the simple, stupid mistake of ordering Brayden a rum and coke with a slice of lime, his preferred drink, which Jenner of course only knows about from working with him. Catching himself, he instead orders two beers. In the distance, weaving through the crowd with ease, he sees both David and Shea. There are others there, too, the old blood, the ones he’s indulged with, sometimes over and over again, or those who have simply watched. All around them, here and there throughout the old building packed full of secrets are the handful of men who know everything there is to know about Jenner Parrish the Master. He’s been inside them or dominated others for their voyeuristic pleasure. The conflict between being at Manse, surrounded by such people who know such dangerous truths, while keeping Brayden, Jenner’s private, primary desire, safely by his side, sets Jenner on edge.

The leash, the sly glances at Brayden’s body, claimed at Jenner’s side, slight wafts of the scent of him—it gets in his head, gets him high.

It’s too loud for conversation, which is a good thing because Jenner is sure that if Brayden was to hear one more clear word from him, he’d figure it out and it would all end right there. Desperate to keep this, whatever this is, going long enough to maybe, possibly, get to have an anonymous (on his part) sexual encounter with the object of his obsession, Jenner watches Brayden drink his lager. Brayden is fixated solely on Jenner’s body, ogling his muscled arms and pecs, avoiding meeting his eyes. That’s a good thing. He downs the beer quickly and sets the empty on the counter.

“Okay, let’s do this then,” Brayden says with audible and visual nervousness.

For some reason, Jenner can’t bring himself to usher Brayden along with a hand to his shoulder or back, as he usually would. Touching bare skin would be too much. He wants to save it until he knows he won’t have to stop, that he can touch, fondle, grope and caress without limit or prying eyes. Instead, he keeps using the leash, drawing his slave away from the rowdier groups and toward the stairs climbing to the second floor.

When they get to the base of them, Jenner pauses, turns and asks, loudly, trying to alter the tone of his voice, “Are you sure? You want this?”

“Yes,” Brayden nods.

The second floor is segmented off into many tiny rooms without doors. They find one right away. Music from the first floor is piped in through a speaker in the wall and it reverberates through the floor as well. They still have to shout to be heard.

The walls are wallpapered. Curtains hang on one of them, and Jenner would bet money that there isn’t actually a window behind them, that it’s only for effect, to make the room seem cozier than it is. A small bed with fresh, white sheets is the only furniture. They barely notice the inconspicuous waitstaff, dressed in black suits and masks decorated with an M for Manse, slipping in and out of rooms with fresh sheets and complimentary toiletries. The Dungeon Monitors are there, too, giving the guests their space but watching, always watching. The staff always does an exemplary job at tidying up after the guests, keeping them safe and staying out of the way whenever possible, which is one of the reasons why Jenner keeps coming back, even if more often than not, he doesn’t find precisely the type of company he’s been looking for.

But after a torturous dry spell, Jenner has found not someone merely passable, but the fantasy itself, claimed and willing to submit.

If you’re dreaming and passed out on the furniture somewhere
, he warns himself,
don’t you dare wake up yet.

From the minute they cross the threshold, Brayden’s panic begins to flow freely and Jenner can sense it, like a predator catching the scent of pheromones. It’s in the tension of his body, the wideness of his eyes, the sweat slicking his skin and the quickness of his breath. They stand in the center of the small room and when Jenner makes a move to come closer, Brayden flinches violently away.

Immediately, Jenner raises his hands, showing that he means no harm.

“Sorry. Sorry. I just. I don’t. Do things like this. I….”

“It’s okay,” Jenner says soothingly, even though he doesn’t expect to be heard. He waits for Brayden to turn and bolt.

Please. Please. Not yet.

Brayden’s restless fingers find the leash, hanging now un-held from his neck, and he begins to play with it. Staring straight ahead, at a spot on the center of Jenner’s chest near his make-up covered tattoo, looking like a dark bruise there, marring the otherwise flawless, porcelain skin, Brayden says, “Restrain me.”

Jenner blinks. He takes a shallow breath. “What?”

“Restrain me!” Brayden says more loudly, shouting the words almost angrily, with defiance. So much defiance. “Do it!”

Eyes closing with near orgasmic pleasure in anticipation at the exquisite permission, Jenner moans and gathers his wits.

Brayden waits, tensed and wary like a cornered rabbit.

It happens quickly. With plenty of training at both martial arts and handling men’s naked bodies, Jenner’s hand darts out, grabs the leash, yanks on it hard. It sends Brayden sprawling forward in a calculated fall toward the bed, his hands shooting out to take the impact of his landing. Getting behind him, Jenner pivots, planting one foot, then the other between Brayden’s as he bounces against the edge of the bed. Pushing him more forward so that he’s forced to crawl up onto the mattress, Jenner then grabs each of Brayden’s wrists and twists them up behind his back, using one hand to hold them. He unclips the leash and winds it around and around and around Brayden’s overlapped wrists, tying them together.