Happy Daft Day, veridian_dair! Recipient:veridian_dair Title: The Shopping Trip Author:dingochow Rating: NC-17 Warnings: BDSM, D/s relationship(s), biting, voyeurism, dirty talk, nipple play, piercing, a sex-based business, and a couple of seriously pervy OMCs. Some attempts at literary structure and multiple styles within one story. Just generally pervy all around. A/N: Where did this come from? I have no idea. I also had no idea certain people have such depraved imaginations. Be patient, please, with the slow start.
The Shopping Trip
Green Eyes was nervous on the train. It had been so long since he had been away from the Tower, since he had seen other buildings, or a wide sky not screened by trees, or horses, or lorries, or cars, or any people other than Master, really. It had been so long since he'd worn real clothes.
Master often kept him naked, as part of his Training, or dressed him in costumes appropriate to the scenes he had designed. Otherwise Green Eyes wore only a shirt, a little white undershirt, that barely skimmed the base of his prick and didn't cover much of his arse at all. Wearing that shirt was somehow … nakeder than being naked. Which was exactly as Master wished it.
Green Eyes was still wearing the undershirt, but he had a long sleeved shirt with a collar, also white, over it, and a simple black jacket, and black trousers and white socks and thin black canvas shoes with white laces. He was so surprised that no one stared at him, knowing what he was, knowing that the man with him was Master, and that he was being Trained. He must still look like other young men, other boys, at least on the surface.
They were alone in the compartment. None of the other passengers were willing to risk Master's glare, which Green Eyes understood. But that left him sitting in the seat facing Master and that was awkward. Every nerve in him screamed to kneel, to assume an Appropriate Position of Submission at Master's feet. But Master had ordered him not to do that. This confused him. It was entirely proper to simply kneel when other people were present and more extreme positions would be uncouth.
He settled for sitting quietly with his hands open on his knees and his eyes on the floor, in what he hoped looked like a good faith attempt to present himself appropriately. But he was still terribly nervous, and he knew Master was watching him intently, enjoying the stress and confusion criss-crossing on his face as the details of his Training warred with the First Principle: Complete Obedience to a Direct Order.
It pleased Master when Green Eyes found things difficult, when he had to struggle to find the Center of his Submission. Green Eyes knew this, and tried to enjoy the challenge.
It did get easier. Green Eyes relaxed and even began to glance out the window occasionally. Master had a book with him, as always, and he read while the boy stole glimpses of the countryside fading into suburbs and then into the outskirts of the city.
The train swung and rattled and pulled into the station. Master stood up, slid the book into his pocket, gathered his cloak around him. Green Eyes waited, staying where he had been placed, until Master made a gesture and he fell in behind.
More challenges: the platform was crowded and Green Eyes had to jink and dance to stay the proper two steps behind Master's left hand. He was proud, though; Master didn't have to turn back to look for him, not once. He trusted his boy to be there behind him.
Master led him out of the station and into a busy shopping street, then stopped, rather surprisingly, at a large café, packed with shoppers and businesspeople. Master sat down at a table, gesturing Green Eyes into the seat across from him. This was worse than the train, a million times worse. To sit with Master, as equals, in public … Green Eyes knew he was blushing, knew he was shaking. It took all his courage to pull out the chair and drop down into it. If he hadn't had a Direct Order, he could not have done it. His proper place, always, was under the table, on the floor at Master's feet.
Master ordered an espresso for himself, and something with hot milk and sugar for Green Eyes. The waiter was busy, correct, and efficient, in a way Green Eyes knew that Master liked. He started to relax again. Considering the difficult circumstances, he thought he was being a fairly good boy.
The waiter brought the drinks, and Master paid him. Apparently they were only staying for one cup.
"Drink your coffee, boy." said Master, and Green Eyes sipped gratefully. It was hot and good and helped him stop the last of his shivers.
"Do you know, boy, why we left the Tower today?"
"No, Ma-no, sir." Green Eyes flushed; he had almost Disobeyed. Never say "Master" in front of people without specific permission, ever. Master lifted an eyebrow, but no sharp heel came down on his foot in the thin canvas shoe, no strong fingers pinched him hard in a delicate place. There would be no immediate Correction, but Green Eyes knew that when he returned to the Tower, he would be writing about it in the Book, and someday soon he would read it aloud and take the consequences. And that was entirely proper. A boy in his position, being so well Trained, should not make such an error.
But Master was smiling, very slightly. Green Eyes doubted anyone else would have noticed it.
"I have brought you to the city today because, in general, I have been fairly pleased with your progress. When I consider the headstrong, rebellious little egotist I began with …" Green Eyes hung his head; he didn't like remembering that person very much either. "I am amazed to see before me today a partially trained boy who is not without potential for further development." Green Eyes wanted to wriggle at the unaccustomed praise, but of course he didn't. A boy who was not without potential for further development would never do something like that.
"I am considering stepping up your training, perhaps exposing you to a greater variety of situations, which would of course require you to be provided with appropriate identification." Green Eyes swallowed hard, remembering the clubs he had gone to before he met Master, the boys with their nipples pierced for their masters' rings, tattooed with their masters' sigils, branded with their masters' initials. And wearing collars, heavy collars of steel and gold, with locks and "property of" stamped on them … "It is, of course, far too early to even consider permanently marking your body, but I have decided to have you fitted for a collar." Green Eyes could not entirely stop his surge of emotion, and Master caught him up and held him together with a strict look.
"You will not be permitted to wear it, probably for some time. But you will be allowed to see it, and sometimes to touch it, and it will provide us both with a tangible goal."
"Yes, sir." Oddly enough, it was suddenly easy to behave properly. Master's 'tangible goal' was already doing its work, and now the idea of discussing such matters in a public place was providing a delicious little thrill that Green Eyes found calming. They were far from his newfound comfort zones in the Tower, but they were still playing their now-familiar game.
"Good. Finish your coffee."
Green Eyes did, then Master lead him swiftly down the street, around one corner and then another. They were in another shopping street, this one quieter and much narrower, with big trees growing between the pavement and the streets. The shops looked richer, not fancy, just posh. There was a haberdasher, a bookshop, a jeweler, a furniture shop with beautiful jewel colored rugs like the ones in Master's study at the Tower. Green Eyes spent a lot of time naked on those rugs, and they were crisp but soft. If Master wanted to buy another one, he would not object.
Master paused, and turned to walk into a narrow alley. Green Eyes followed automatically. Even the alleys here were posh, nice and clean, with large empty rubbish containers to step behind and be hidden from passers by. He was accustomed to Master's sudden impulses to make use of his body, and he licked his lips to soften them and prepared to drop to his knees. Master would almost certainly want to use his mouth, under the circumstances.
He was surprised when Master pulled him close, to stand in front of him, turned away. Green Eyes bent his head, taking one of the Appropriate Positions to use while standing, and waited. Master rested his gloved hands on his hips; he could feel the leather heat through his thin trousers as Master whispered in his ear.
"Where is a collar fitted, boy?"
"Around … around the neck, sir. Around my neck."
Master moved so fast, like a huge snake. One hand was fisted in Green Eye's hair, yanking hard, pulling his head brutally forward and down until his chin knocked against his throat. The other gripped his collar, tugging jacket and shirt down, baring his nape from hairline down to shoulder blades. He was deliciously terrified; he'd never been put in this position before and had no idea what Master was going to do to him. He did know he was hard, dripping hard, and Master was the same as he humped once against Green Eyes' back.
Then he felt hot breath against the knobs of his spine, and Master licked once, wet and rough, across the base of his neck. And bit him there, hard. Master often bit him, sometimes breaking the skin and tearing at his flesh, sometimes stopping just short to create a bruise that stayed swollen for days and was even more painful. This was the second kind of bite. Green Eyes whimpered softly. It pleased Master when he made sounds when Master hurt him, but this was obviously not the place for howls and sobbing.
"Good boy." He grinned through his few tears since Master couldn't see him. He must have finessed that nicely. "That is where the collar will rest when you wear it. When I bite you in this way, and fasten your collar, it will rub on the bruise."
"It will be ... painful."
"Yes, sir. Thank you sir." Master took his hands away.
"Tidy yourself. Your clothes are in disarray and your hair is even more disheveled than usual." Green Eyes rearranged his shirt and jacket and ran his fingers through his hair. It was a lost cause, of course, and Master liked it that way, although he would never admit it.
Master stepped out of the alley proudly, without regard to who might be watching. No one, Green Eyes thought as he followed, was brave enough to question anything Master did, or even look sideways at him. He trotted along behind, just out of reach of the billowing cloak, until Master stopped at a shop whose sign was a gilded horse, almost life size. Green Eyes looked into the windows: "Gold's, Saddlers" was lettered there, in black and gilt, and the windows were full of the poshest kind of saddles for all kinds of riding beasts, not just horses, as well as harnesses and bridles and all the other bits. In one corner was a display of dog harnesses and leads ... and collars, heavy leather ones in every color, some with studs or spikes or little metal decorations set into them, and all of them with tough metal buckles and bristling with rings so whatever was wearing them could be tied up.
None of the other boys he remembered seeing had worn an ordinary leather dog collar. But he was Master's property, something he was training to be useful, and he would be collared accordingly.
"Boy," said Master in a soft, warning voice. Green Eyes came to his side quickly, guiltily. This was another error he would have to write in the Book. "We are going inside, and you are going to tell the person behind the counter what I want."
"Yes, sir." What else could he say?
Master pushed the door open and Green Eyes followed him inside. A little bell tinkled, and inside it was crowded and sunny and smelled deliciously of leather. Even Master took a deep, pleased breath, then walked decisively across the room, past rack after rack of polished boots, to a large display of whips and riding crops. Very exciting whips and riding crops. Green Eyes was hard again, just thinking about Master touching a crop, and imagining the feel of a collar around his neck.
Which made it even more difficult to approach the counter and the young woman behind it. She had red hair and green eyes, and was dressed like a lady in a smooth black jumper and pearls. She was just the kind of girl he used to like, the kind he used to go out with, before Master taught him the truth about himself.
Master was watching him, a short whip dangling from his hand, the dull brown braid of its lash crossing the toe of his black boot. He would not have been able to speak to the girl at all, if it wasn't for the promise of the whip.
"Ah ...Miss? Master would like to buy a collar. And have it fitted ... fitted to me." He stammered like an idiot, stared at her breasts, the pearls at her throat, at her lips, at his own feet, mortified. What would she think of him ... what would she say, this clean, wholesome girl? She was probably the owner's daughter or something.
"Of course, sir. You'll want our Specialty Department. Go to the end of the counter and take the corridor to your left, the door is painted red. Our Mr. Harley will be available to assist you."
"You're very welcome, sir."
That was devastating. Just entirely mortifying. She wasn't shocked at all. Not one single bit. What kind of upper crust saddle shop was this?
He soon found out. Master led him briskly through the shop to the red door. Of course, he knew exactly where it was.
The rest of the shop was clean and lofty, full of natural light; all creamy plastered walls and yellow wooden floors and polished brass. Behind the red door it was dark. There was a polished walnut counter, and floors of old scarred wood polished to a dull shine. The walls were painted dark red. There were no windows, and the smell of leather was, if anything even stronger.
It was a serious, sensual room. Green Eyes automatically pulled himself together into his politest posture and even Master seemed to stand up extra straight.
A dark red curtain the same color as the walls twitched open behind the counter and a man appeared. Green Eyes peeked up at him. He was tall, even taller than Master, with bristly cropped grey hair and bright, hard blue eyes. He wore a gentleman's grey suit trousers and a white shirt, but no jacket or tie, only a fancy waistcoat with a blue and silver design of swords and dragons. His face was lined, and his hands were huge, smooth and powerful, with short, bitten nails.
He was, Green Eyes knew instantly, a master himself, and a very tough one. He would hit hard and often, and not ever let you sleep in his bed. It would be the floor for you, and maybe no blanket either.
"Stone!" said the Grey Master. "Delightful to see you. Let me take your cloak."
"Thank you, Harley. It is pleasant to see you, as well." Master swung the heavy cloth off his shoulders and dumped it carelessly into Harley's arms. Green Eyes discreetly admired Master's lean figure, all in black: gloves, frock coat, silk shirt, leather breeches and tall boots. Master's hair hung to his waist in a tight braid that Green Eyes had plaited himself, and his profile was like a hawk's. The Grey Master admired him, too, not at all discreetly, making Green Eyes think about things that were None of His Business.
"No new boots for you today, Stone, I see. A fresh whip, perhaps? You may want to try several, with such a pretty subject to test them on, and I have a nice new selection in a variety of lengths and weights. Many of them I braided myself, so you know they are tight and true."
"I'm sure they are. But I'm happy with my old black one, and that reddish brown crop with the stiff core you made for me last summer." Green Eyes winced inwardly. Master sometimes Trained him with the brown crop, and it could cut like a cane.
"A pity. I would like to see that stripped and whimpering." He indicated Green Eyes with a casual gesture.
"You may do so yet. I would like you and Fidel to fit him for a collar." The Grey Master seemed surprised by this.
"Keeping one at last, Stone?" Master, of course, replied only with the eyebrow, and Harley immediately retreated to return with a large album bound in black leather. "Of course, sir. Our sample book."
"Thank you. Kneel, boy." Green Eyes immediately dropped to his knees at Master's feet, hands loose on his thighs and his eyes on the floor. There was an interesting knot in the wood to look at, and he was happy to have something familiar to do, though of course he would rather be peeking at the album.
Or not, as he heard Master flipping impatiently through the heavy pages.
"Unacceptable. This is jewelry … pretty decorations for painted whores. Show me collars, please. Plain leather collars suitable for a decent, well- trained boy." Master reached down with one hand to stroke Green Eyes's hair. A caress. In a public place, in front of another master. 'A decent, well-trained boy' in reference to him. He dared greatly and rubbed his cheek against Master's leg. A hard tweak to one lock of hair was only a token Correction. Green Eyes composed himself, but grinned at the floor. Master would know, but what he couldn't see he sometimes let pass.
"Perhaps these would be more to your taste, sir." Another album, from the sound of it, dropped down on the counter, and Master's gloved fingertips turned the pages, more slowly this time.
"Oh yes, much better. Solid leather, with a plain buckle."
"Yes, sir, in a variety of widths, tooled and untooled. These with the rolled edge are very elegant and won't cut the skin, even under tension, and these are lined with fetal kidskin, to protect delicate skin."
"A simple lining will be fine, and untooled, but with the rolled edge. No studs or spikes. A design like this will suit admirably."
"Depends on the leather. I will see the samples, now, if you have them. Browns, blacks and greys only, no colors, please."
Master made the Stand Up gesture, and Green Eyes was able to watch, gulping, as the Grey Master, Mr. Harley, swung a double handful of thick leather straps onto the counter. Master began to sort through them.
"The darker the better, I would think, for a boy with dark hair and pale skin."
"He's like white gold," said Mr. Harley, in a tone of voice that would have scared Green Eyes out of his wits if Master hadn't been standing right there. "So yes, dark, but not pure black. On you, Stone, it is marvelous, though no mere black can touch the raven's wing of your hair. But this new item of yours is warmer in tone; his hair is definitely dark brown. How about this?"
"Charcoal brown, light polish, very nice. This is horsehide?" Master rolled the straps sensually in his hands, folding and snapping them. Green Eyes could only imagine what would happen if Master took the whole bundle home. Master loved using straps on him, as restraints or as training tools, and it would take years to work through them all.
"Yes, sir. We also have bison, camel and rhinoceros belly in the same dye ... all full grain, premium hides chosen by Mr. Gold himself ...as you can see, the effect is similar, but each one is slightly different."
"The rhinoceros belly is absurdly too heavy, and I dislike the grain of the camel. We will test fit the horsehide and the bison."
"Always decisive, Mr. Stone. Will you choose buckles, now?"
"Fine." Green Eyes wasn't sure, but Master seemed to be slightly excited. Mr. Harley brought out boxes of buckles. Master rejected the fancy ones, and anything too shiny, and he and Harley settled on something plain and solid with a matte finish, in cold toned marine bronze. The design Master had selected, and Green Eyes had never seen, must feature two thick D rings, because master chose those as well.
"So you want a number sixteen practical collar made up with the number five hardware in cold bronze, the strap to be either horse or bison, in Darkest Brown, width to be determined."
"And now to the fitting. If you would follow me please." Mr. Harley picked up the two straps, the buckles and rings, and his notes, and led them across the room. One of the walls of the small room was really another curtain, and behind it was another room, slightly larger. It was decorated in a similar way, with a dark wooden floor and red walls, but there were pictures hanging here, black and white photographs in dark steel frames.
Green Eyes nearly sprained his neck trying to stare at all the photographs at once without seeming to take his eyes off the floor. He couldn't study them as closely as he wanted to, but he could see that they were all of men, boys and young men and even older men. All of them were nude, and all of them were restrained in some way with leather, presumably the products of Gold's Specialty Department. Some wore harnesses, some wore cuffs around their wrists or ankles or both, some were bound in knotted straps, and all were wearing leather collars.
Master signaled to him to stand to one side of the room, directly facing a beautiful photograph of an albino boy with hair down to his knees, wearing a spiked collar and framing his genitals with pale, long fingered hands beneath matching spiked wrist cuffs. He had a huge erection, and Green Eyes didn't blame him one bit.
Behind him, reflected in the glass covering the photograph, Mr. Harley was skittering around, doing Master's bidding. He placed a low boxlike riser of dark wood in the center of the floor, set a little table to the side. Lights came up, focused on the box.
"Come here, boy," said Master, and Green Eyes presented himself in his very best Appropriate Posture. Mr. Harley was standing next to him, holding a long black riding crop with a short thick tab that tapped against the polished leather of his shoe.
"Strip, and stand on the box." Master gave him a sharp look, like he was concerned that Green Eyes was going to disobey and shame him in front of his colleague. Well, that wasn't going to happen, but it was still strange to undress in front of those avid eyes.
Master had taught him to strip properly, revealing his bare body slowly, in the most flattering order, and putting his clothes away neatly in an inconspicuous place. And he had displayed him to some of his friends, but then he'd always been brought in already naked. Combining the two made it a lot worse, or perhaps simply more challenging.
He stood on the box. Master leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Mr. Harley stalked around him, examining him from all angles. He was looking at the floor, or rather at the box, and was surprised to feel a leather touch on the small of his back. Mr. Harley was touching him with the tab of the crop.
"This angle is very nice-the flare of the buttock." He tapped the inside of Green Eyes' ankle, and he automatically spread his legs further. "Good response, very quick." Mr. Harley walked around to his front, and touched his scrotum with the crop. He twitched, and Master lifted one eyebrow. Stand still. Master wishes this to happen, or he would not let it happen. Mr. Harley lifted the crop, pulling Green Eye's prick and balls lightly away from his body.
"I'm surprised, Stone, to see that you've brought him here bare. No plug, not even a cock ring. Look how hard he is, the depraved little thing. Aren't you afraid he'll disobey you all over the floor once Fidel touches him?"
Master chuckled his low, dark chuckle.
"You know I've always preferred the …natural response. The attempt to obey is what interests me; the struggle, not the restraint."
"And the inner restraint is more interesting to you than the outer, physical kind, you pretentious sod. I'm lucky not everyone is an intellectual."
"It would be bad for your business, certainly."
Green Eyes was trying not to gulp, trying not to come, and they were laughing.
"Fidel!" called Mr. Harley, and the curtain opened. Another man came in, this one a little shorter than Master and broader in the shoulders and chest. His skin was brown, and his hair was brown and grey and tied back in a ponytail with a leather thong. He had a little grey beard on his chin and very dark eyes, and wore nothing but a fancy tooled collar and his piercings, one in each nipple and one in his foreskin, which was pulled back off the head of his half hard prick. He was carrying five or six black leather collars, which he placed on the side table.
Fidel stood in an Appropriate Position in front of Mr. Harley. He was Mr. Harley's boy, if that was the right word for someone who looked like he was old as Master. Mr. Harley nodded and Fidel approached Green Eyes. With the riser, Green Eyes could look him in the face. He grinned a narrow, nasty grin.
"Fidel," said Mr. Harley, "will fit you for your collar." Master only nodded, and Mr. Harley joined him leaning against the wall.
Fidel lifted his chin with two fingers and stroked across his jaw and whispered in his ear.
"Such a pretty little boy. Master been training you, yes? Teachin' you to stand, how to walk, how to strip naked? How to bend over and take it? How to kneel down to suck the prick? You work at it another ten, twenty years, then you know how to suck prick as good as Fidel."
He moved to the other side, pointed Green Eyes' chin at the ceiling and stroked down his throat.
"Master punish you, yes? You a bad boy a lot, I bet. Sometimes bad on purpose so he spank you? Whip you with the crop? Cane you? The cane hurts worst, doesn't it, pretty? You ever cry when he canes you? You ever come? Come all over the desk, all over his boots?" Fidel tipped his head to the side, exploring the join between his neck and shoulders with strong fingers. "He make you lick it up? Fidel always licks up the come around here. You want to come on the floor, watch Fidel lick it up?"
He bent Green Eyes' head forward and saw the bruise Master had put there in the alley. "Oh yeah, Master gets you ready. Master bites his boy, hurts him real nice. Gonna hurt more soon. Gonna hurt like hell when I pull that collar tight. You want me to hurt you, boy, hurt you with a thick old piece of leather?"
Green Eyes just assumed this was another erotic rhetorical question, but Master spoke out, his voice like a slap.
"Answer him, boy. Do you want Fidel to hurt you?"
"I … I want him to do whatever pleases Master."
Fidel took the first collar and buckled it tight around his throat. He was all business now, whispering only a few instructions and the occasional, "pretty neck, you." It did hurt, but not too much, and Green Eyes found it helped keep him grounded as Fidel, and eventually Master, checked placements and fits, shoving fingers under the collars, running them around the edges, tugging at the rings.
Finally Fidel stepped back and Master was stroking his fingers down over the buckle of the chosen collar and onto Green Eyes' chest.
"You look very good in this collar. You will look better in mine."
"Yes, Master.” That must be the end of it. It must be over. Master and Mr. Harley were discussing the final choices for size and thickness; he was to be collared (eventually) in number nine premium horsehide, which sounded very good to him. He was still standing there naked on the box, and while he had dripped a bit, and twitched, he still hadn't come, in spite of everything. He was a good boy.
And then Fidel approached Master and spoke to him.
Fidel! Spoke to Master!
"Scuse me, Master Stone, sir, but don't ya want him pierced? Good time to pierce him, standin' here all naked and pretty, hot up and ready for it? Get the full effect, with the sample collar." Master seemed to be considering it, after all that he'd said this morning about it being far too early to think about marking him.
"I don't know, Fidel, what do you think?" Master sounded like he respected Fidel's opinion. "What kind of piercing would you recommend?"
"Nipple, straight through, sir, just an identity piercing. You ain't the fancy-fancy type, I can see. Plain ring now, till it heals, then one with your symbol on it."
"We have relationships with the Specialty Departments of several fine jewelers, Mr. Stone, and we could easily obtain for you any kind of custom marker you might desire." Mr. Harley was back in salesman mode, and Green Eyes was starting to tremble. What did it feel like to be pierced? Master nodded and Fidel approached him again.
"You got sweet nipples, don't ya, boy?" Fidel whispered as he cupped his pectorals in his hands, big hands, and his fingers zeroed right in, caressing, first, and then pinching gently. "Yeah, so pretty, little brown things get so hard, yeah they do. Master touch your nipples? He twist 'em? He sure likes watching me play with 'em. You like that, like a little twist? Feels like the left one is more sensitive … definitely the left." Fidel circled his left nipple with calloused fingertips, over and over again, standing well back so Master could see the whole thing clearly: Fidel's hand, Green Eye's heaving chest and swollen nipple, his prick ready to burst.
"Yeah, the left one - stick a needle right through the pretty tit, make ya scream." Fidel pinched him once, hard, and Green Eyes came, falling to his hands and knees as he spurted all over the box and the floor.
"Thank you, Fidel," said Master. "No piercing today, Harley, but I will give due consideration to my boy's left nipple in the future. Dress now, boy."
Green Eyes unbuckled the sample collar, left it on the table and got dressed, watching in the glass over the photograph as Fidel, Mr. Harley's polished black shoe on the back of his neck, knelt and licked his come off the floor.
Then Fidel disappeared behind the curtain (with a twisted wink at Green Eyes that made him feel horny and dirty and good) and they were all standing at the counter again. Mr. Harley brought Master his cloak and fiddled with the paperwork.
"Your collar will be ready in about four days, Mr. Stone, if that is all right with you. I'd like to make it up myself."
"Excellent service at Gold's, just as one expects."
"Thank you, sir, we endeavor to give satisfaction. Ship this to the Tower?" Master nodded. "Invoice to accompany shipment, and as always, you pay only if the product meets your needs."
"I'm sure it will."
"And a little bonus, to match your collar. On the house." Mr. Harley produced the long leather strap, the sample of the Darkest Brown horsehide.
"Thank you very much. This will be … useful."
"I hope so. Try it out." Green Eyes gritted his teeth, but Mr. Harley held out his big bare hand, palm up, and gave Master a friendly challenging look.
Master doubled the strap over and swung it hard against the palm of Mr. Harley's hand, and he winced delightedly.
"Very nice," said Master, coiling the strap and putting it in his cloak pocket.
"Mmm. Very nice, indeed. Wish I could watch you using that on your item there. Maybe you'd like to try it out right here, over the counter? I've got a set of cuffs hooked up, or I could get Fidel to hold him down. Why not make it interesting for him, sitting down all the way home?"
"That won't be necessary."
"You can't fool me, Stone, You got hot as hell, watching all that. What a little green and dark and golden fireball he is. At least take him into the back room for a while .You'll want to use him, hard, before you get on that train."
"I'm not going to fuck in your dressing room, thank you very much. I have a perfectly good playroom back in the Tower and I'm fully capable of … restraining myself until I get home."
Mr. Harley laughed a lot at that but Master only smiled. He knew Green Eyes had enough to think about to keep him squirming in his seat for a trip around the world. And Green Eyes knew Master could, and would, do anything Master said he would do.
"That's a really, really filthy story," said Harry admiringly. It was Reading Porn Aloud Naked Night at their house, and he and Severus were lounging on the leather couch in the study. Severus set the Muggle magazine down on the coffee table and took off his reading glasses.
"Did it turn you on?"
"Oh, yeah ... in a big way." He slid over and rubbed his wet prick against his lover's bare hip, and the older man shivered.
"Do you want me to make use of your body, boy?" The deep rumble of Severus's voice made Harry tremble. Porno fantasy time …
"Yes, Master. If it pleases you, Master."
"Very well. On the floor. Assume the position." Harry, not being a well trained boy, wasn't entirely sure what position Severus meant, but he made an educated guess. Everybody likes to see their boyfriend head down and ass up, knees spread wide, right? Mmm. Their study rugs were crisp and soft under his knees and chest and face, just like the rugs in the story.
"Good boy." Severus caressed him, his back, then his arse, then went straight to his anus, stroking gently but firmly over the puckered flesh.
"What is this, boy?"
"My arsehole, Master."
*smack* Severus slapped him hard across one buttock. What th' fuck?
"Try that again, boy." Oh, yeah. He's my master. He owns me. Nice thought.
*smack* Matching spank across the other cheek, even sharper. Harry was suddenly so excited it was hard to speak.
"Yes, sir, please sir, it's your hole, Master. Belongs to you sir, all yours."
Severus filled him, hard and fast, two well lubricated fingers at once.
"Good boy. That is correct. My own little hole, nice and tight. I'm going to fuck it now."
"Yes, Master." Man, they never did it this fast, with so little preparation. Harry took a deep breath; the burn was thrilling. He imagined he was trained to do this, wearing a collar, submissive to his owner, every day, every moment, just something for Master to use whenever he wanted. Severus moved over him, smooth, and powerful, like a machine, using his favorite rhythm. Harry existed just for him, just for his pleasure, just a hole for him to fuck, tight and hot and slick, thrusting over and over and over ... just a hole …
Severus reached around him, tugged his prick hard.
"Come now, boy. Come for me."
"Yes, Master" Harry howled and filled his master's hand.
"Good boy. That was … acceptable. Take your reward now." Acceptable? Acceptable? And what was the reward? Weren't they finished? Harry looked up blearily, and Severus was sitting up very straight, holding out his cupped hand.
"Master?" Severus took Harry, firmly and gently, by the hair on the black of his head, pulled his face toward his hand. Oh yeah … Harry took a tentative lick.
"That's right. Lap it up. Take your reward." Harry crawled over and licked Severus's hand clean, licked up all his own come. Yeah … He was inspired and knelt next to Severus's long bare feet, bowing until his face was on the floor. Again.
"Thank you, Master. Thank you for using me for your pleasure, and for giving me a reward."
Severus put his newly clean hand on Harry's back and patted him once.
The weirdest thing, Harry thought, about acting out a fantasy was figuring out exactly when you were done with it. He stayed face down until he heard and felt Severus standing up, stretching, cracking his back, then he straightened up. He felt oddly shy, nakeder than naked, like the boy in the story.
"Come on, Harry," said Severus, very gently. "Let's move this to the bedroom. I still like playing on the floor, but my back is rapidly losing its taste for such exercise." He picked up the magazine and led the way to their bed where they settled down together, the loft room cool and dim under the low eaves. Harry yawned against Severus's shoulder.
"Do you suppose Stone lets Green Eyes sleep in his bed?"
"I'm sure he does. He's powerful and strict, but he has a soft side. And if Green Eyes is anything like you, he's so little and warm and loyal, snuggled up against Master, that even Stone could not resist him."
"It's funny, how much the two characters in that story were like us, and some of the little details, too, like the rugs in the study. Who wrote it?"
"No way!" Harry grabbed at the magazine. "You're 'Serena Fury'?
"You would hardly expect me to sign my right name to these … efforts."
"You mean there's more of them?"
"I was thinking of writing a whole series."
"Really? Cool. You should stop putting my friends's sisters in them, though."
"You aren't going to complain about a cameo appearance by your ex girlfriend, I hope. I thought it was a highly flattering portrayal. Regardless, I seriously doubt you're going to share your kinky gay Muggle porn with Ronald Weasley, schoolboy chum or not."
"It's not Ron I'm worried about. Mr. Weasley reads the oddest magazines."
"If he recognizes his daughter he should be flattered, too."
"Yeah, maybe he should. She doesn't actually do anything sexy, and she's a lot more polite here than in real life." Harry sighed contentedly, and leaned against Severus's warm side. "It's a pretty good story, really, for porn. What made you decide to write it from the point of view of the boy, of Green Eyes, instead of Stone's when he's supposed to be you?"
Severus leaned back against the pillows and actually seemed to think for a while, which was odd for him right after fantasy sex, which sometimes seemed to temporarily shut off the amazing brain.
"I don't know, Harry. Maybe I'm still trying to figure out what makes you tick, and I'm exploring some theories."
"You think that I'm really submissive, deep down inside?"
"I think you tend in that direction, yes. And you certainly like to play games of that sort."
"Yeah ... and I feel safe with you when you're like that, all dominant, like you're protecting me." Severus, never one to miss a cue, put an arm tight around him and pulled him closer. "But I don't like pain, and I don't want to be bitten hard or whipped with a crop."
"But you do like to play spanking games."
"True. And I might not mind you spanking me with a strap. A big, long, thick leather strap." Harry squirmed. "A lot of the stuff in the story is brilliantly sexy to think about, like a fantasy, but I'm not sure I'd really want to do it … not just the pain, but the other bloke touching me, and you watching …"
"That's good. I'm sure my blood pressure would never permit it. No one else touches you, Harry. Ever." He caressed Harry's left nipple in an oddly familiar way, then tugged gently at the snake ring that ran through the tender brown nub, and the boy pushed up against his hand. Serena Fury was a demon for research and the telling detail. But Harry wasn't thinking about process.
"I'd wear your collar, though. If you ever wanted me to. If you ever … wanted me enough to want that."
"Good boy." said Severus, tipping his head forward and biting him softly on the nape of his neck.