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couldn’t see him. With his neck locked down, he could only look at the man next to him or gaze down into the wading pool.

The man next to him was getting ready to explode, bouncing spasmodically, as

much as he could with his tight restraints, breath rasping. “Please…Master…”

His Master must be at one of the tables watching him. The wet mouth sucked on

Thomas’ cock, rippled. Holding his ass tight wasn’t a problem. He wanted to slam himself against the wall in response, but he couldn’t.

He tore his gaze from the man and looked down into the fountain, only to find that provided no relief. It had a glass bottom, and through the wake of the fountain water he could see the floor of a third level below. There appeared to be a full scale Roman orgy ensuing.

Desire and lust crowding in on all sides, but where the hell was Marcus? Surely Marcus wouldn’t go where he couldn’t see Thomas? As Thomas rotated with the others, he couldn’t see anything, for the carousel was almost full, too many bodies in the way.

Marcus had surely only been gone a minute, but without being able to see him, it seemed much longer. He felt helpless.

He heard voices, registered words as Doms walked by, appreciatively fondling

those with the right symbols. One gripped the cock of the man about to explode, testing the weight and girth while his companion leisurely took down his pants and drove a sheathed cock glistening with lubrication into the slave on the other side of that man, eliciting a guttural cry which seemed to inspire him to a rougher thrust, a reverent curse. His friend rubbing the cock next to Thomas chuckled and made a comment

Thomas couldn’t hear.

The man ejaculated, crying out, and Thomas closed his eyes. He didn’t want to

come like this. Oh God, but he was going to…

Then he stiffened as a strange hand touched his ass, his lower back. A thigh pressed against his, making his thighs widen further. When fingers rocked the dildo in his ass, 101

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the explosion of sensation went right to the root of his cock. An electric knot of tension fired through his belly and tributary lines in his chest as if he wore nipple clamps.

That hand was now on his back stroking.
Get off. That’s not yours
. Two men. There were two men behind him. He was hemmed in by them, and by the slaves on either

side.

He didn’t like this. Didn’t want this. He wanted out of here. The lobby and the glass wall, that had been just Marcus and him, even surrounded by other people. Where the fuck was Marcus?

Stop it.
He squeezed his eyes shut, the rushing of the water filling his senses, but it didn’t calm him. If anything, it was like the roar of a crowd watching gladiators, men forced to perform, to bleed, to suffer for cruel eyes and faces.

He wanted to focus on soft green fields, the way the North Carolina mist would lie low on the cut fields on an early morning. The velvet press of Kate’s nose in his hand.

The feel of Marcus’ body curled protectively around him, only this wasn’t protective, so the image didn’t hold, dissolving away like the empty fantasy it was. Fingers pinched his ass hard, closed around his testicles.

This was Marcus’ punishment. His anger, which had been simmering below the

surface since Thomas had gone down on him in front of a mass of strangers and they’d left the foyer. That was what was wrong. This was wrong.

“Let go.” He tried to twist around, tried to see his tormentors and couldn’t as they stayed just out of his vision, playfully laughing at his efforts. “Stop it.” He said it again, stronger, and one slapped his ass.

“It says you can’t be fucked, Slave Sixty-Eight. It doesn’t say you can’t be touched.”

It was a game to them. They didn’t know. He should just ride it out. He should just…

“I’m saying it. I’m…” As the man’s touch drifted to his front, teasing his nipples, his other hand clamping on the back of Thomas’ neck to increase the sense of being pinned, Thomas tried to kick out, forgetting his leg was bound to the floor. He yanked against the hold of the manacles, managing to send a tremor through the fountain wall. It drew startled looks from the bound slaves he could see.

“Stop it. Go away. Damn it, stop.
STOP.
”

“Sshh…sshhh.”

Marcus. Marcus’ touch on his back, Marcus’ thighs straddling his hips, the other men moving away at Marcus’ murmured word. The electronic stimulation stopped.

“Let me go.”

“In a minute. I promise, in just a minute. You need to calm down first. Deep

breaths.”

“Why did you do this? This wasn’t about…like the rest. I’m not…”

I’m not theirs. I’m yours.
Thomas wanted to say it, but he didn’t. Not right now. He was angry, hurt. He wanted to be let go.

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The other man had been removed by his Master after his climax, so Marcus came

into his field of vision then, sitting down on the now empty convex scallop of the carousel, sans dildo. Propping his hand just behind Thomas’ head, he leaned down over him, so Thomas could see his Master’s face. Only his Master’s face. Marcus laid his hand on Thomas’ cheek, thumb caressing the side of his nose.

“It’s different now with us, isn’t it?” Thomas managed. He was able to stretch out his fingers enough to grasp the cuff of Marcus’ sleeve, capture it between two fingers in a tenuous hold, just a physical connection. “It was easier before, but it’s like…we’re deeper somehow now.”

His intuitive artist. Marcus didn’t know how to answer him, how to say that yes, it was more intense. That bringing Thomas here had opened up scars much older than those Thomas had inflicted. That the cut of his leaving had severed stitches over ancient wounds Marcus thought he’d left behind.

Don’t sacrifice my son on the altar of your demons…

“Come on.” Marcus reached over and removed the restraints on Thomas’ neck and

arms, the legs and hips. He wanted to touch him, but he didn’t. He felt unclean. “You don’t belong here.”

It was startling to realize that neither did he. Not anymore. Not while he was with Thomas.

Thomas rose. Swayed a little as blood rushed to his head, but still Marcus couldn’t bring himself to reach out. It was Thomas who did, catching Marcus’ shoulder before he could draw away. He curled a hand in Marcus’ shirt lapel to steady himself.

“Is this what you want? What you like?” When Thomas said the words in an odd,

soft voice, Marcus could see the weight he’d placed on his farm boy’s heart. Thomas was obviously torn between what he subconsciously knew to be true about the two of them and his doubt of that truth. Doubt, because Marcus had betrayed Thomas’ trust.

Betrayed what Marcus himself knew to be true about the two of them.

“No,” Marcus said at last, making himself say that truth. “Not with you.”

When he started to turn away, his slave tightened his grip, met his gaze. “Master.

It’s okay.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Marcus attempted a light tone, failed. “You mess me up,

Thomas. In a lot of ways.”

A slow smile crossed Thomas’ face, a surprising expression considering the gravity of the moment. “And you think my compass isn’t spinning around like I’m in the

Bermuda Triangle when I’m with you?” He took a breath. “If this is the kind of thing you want, I’ll…figure it out. I’ll do it. We’ll do it.”

“No.” Marcus pried his touch off his shirtfront and held it upright between them, curled hand over curled hand, like two men taking a warriors’ oath. “It’s never going to be that way with us. Anything you say “stop” about, I respect. No apologies, no guilt on your part, no feeling like you’ve disappointed me. I want you to feel comfortable saying it. You want to get out of here now?”

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When Thomas looked at him, something shifted in his eyes, something that made

everything in Marcus go still. His grip increased around Marcus’ hand.

“You said…”

“What, pet?”

“
‘Then I kissed every welt so he was begging for more.’”
Thomas moved in, his hair brushing Marcus’ temple. They were eye to eye, his lips so close, his body completely naked, pressing close to Marcus’ fully clothed one. But it was his gaze where all his energy was concentrated, bringing fire into Marcus’ chest at that searing look. “That’s the room you set up, wasn’t it?”

Marcus nodded, one slow movement.

“Then give me your pain, Master. I can bear it as long as I know your lips will touch every mark when you’re done, signing it as your work.”

They both knew there was more going on here, but Jesus. As usual it was Thomas

who called it forth, gave it a name, restored the balance. And Marcus knew Thomas had no clue he had that gift. He wondered if any Master could deserve him, let alone one as despicable as himself.

* * * * *

The room he’d booked wasn’t private. Three other couples were in there. Marcus

was fine with that, though initially he would have preferred a room with just him and his slave. He ignored the sly voice that suggested his change of heart was to keep Thomas from making any more soul baring confessions that might drive
him
to his knees.

However, it was silent except for the short commands of Masters to their bound

subs, the slap of weapons against flesh. One slave was bent double, wrists bound so he hugged his knees as his Master caned him. Another was over a spanking bench being paddled, his buttocks already a bright red. His grunts came through the ball gag strapped around his head.

Some Masters were like used car salesmen, loud, admonishing their subs as if for a performance. These three couples were quiet, simply giving Marcus a cursory look and a nod as he came into the door. They were into their own scenes, personal between their sub and them. Their presence was stimulating, but not intrusive.

Walking Thomas to the side of the room, Marcus straightened his arms above his

head and locked him into a pair of manacles dropped from the ceiling. Marcus did the same to his ankles with a set bolted into the floor, using his knee instead of his voice to command Thomas to spread wide. The chains made a clanking sound.

There was a delicious shiver running through his slave’s body now, Thomas

responding as Marcus knew he would, making him want to snap and salivate like a wolf. Something was drawing tight, low in Marcus’ belly, a feeling he hadn’t ever 104

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experienced as a Dom before. He’d gotten hints of it before with Thomas, a vision of the places the feelings between them could take them both.

“Master…” Thomas’ voice, almost a murmur, sending a ripple of response through

Marcus’ body. He leaned up against his now immobilized lover, pressing his hips against Thomas’ bare backside. He stroked his arms, all the way up, and gripped his wrists just below the cuffs with his own hot palms, as if they were bound together. Two slaves to Fate, awaiting its lash.

Then he got hold of himself. Marcus dropped one hand to Thomas’ jaw, holding

him steady. “Don’t move your lips,” he commanded.

He brushed his lips over the firm mouth, the corners, tracing him with his tongue.

Thomas clenched his fists in the cuffs. His cock brushed against Marcus’ as it rose high again, bumping his groin.

When Marcus glanced down and raised an ironic gaze, there was a tight smile on

Thomas’ lips, even as his eyes burned with need. “You said my lips. You didn’t say anything else.”

Marcus pressed his temple to him. “So I did. I’m going to blindfold you now,

dearest. I want your focus to be only on what’s going on inside of you and what I’m doing. Let everything but that energy go and see where it takes you.”

Thomas didn’t reply, just stood still as Marcus fitted the blindfold over his eyes, unable to resist brushing his fingers over Thomas’ fair lips one more time before he turned him, the heavy ankle chains having enough slack that he could make Thomas face away from him. Then he moved back, went to the weapon choices on the wall.

Let everything but the energy go, and see where it takes you…

That was what Thomas did when he painted. Thomas wondered if Marcus had

knowingly provided him the right words to help him focus, give him something to hang onto. So much of the past hour had been instinct, no thought. There was no explaining why. As he strained to hear Marcus’ movements, his footsteps, the

portentous sound of something being retrieved from inside a cabinet, his body trembled with anxiety and arousal both. His cock was as stiff as it had been when Marcus was inside him, as if Marcus were still inside him.

Like a cruel poltergeist, the thought flitted through his mind of what his family would think. Jesus, would they be glad to accept he was “just gay” if they knew about this? No, he didn’t want his thoughts to go there. But there it was. Rory or his mother, or even Celeste, seeing this. Was something wrong with him? Was he sick to crave this so much from Marcus’ hand? He was about to be beaten, hard, and all he could think was
yes, please
.
Give me the release.

His fists became knots, reflecting what was happening in his lower abdomen. Was this who he was? He couldn’t even explain why he desired and wanted this to himself.

Was he just fucked up? What if—

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The whistle of air announced the lick of flame which sliced down his back in a

diagonal line from shoulder blade to mid-back. He arched on a gasp.

“
Let everything go.
You’re disobeying your Master. Let me see if I can’t help bring you in line.” Marcus’ voice, stern, implacable, with a rough thread that told Thomas his instant response had aroused him.

Give me your pain…

The lash fell again. Holy God, what was Marcus using? The stinging provided a jolt, the weight of the tail like a knife cut that became a rope burn. But the pain released a wealth of inexplicable emotional and physical responses in him. It simply was and there was no defense against the reaction.