Goose bumps rose up all over his skin and he tensed, shivered, buzzing as he waited.

  When he thought he couldn’t wait a moment longer, Bowie’s hands touched his ass, but softly. They stroked his heated flesh, fingertips rubbing his exposed hole.

  He keened softly, eyes rolling back.

  “Sweet boy.”

  He knew other people sat beyond the lights where he couldn’t see them, but Bowie made him feel as if they were alone.

  Bowie slowly moved his hands, brought them to rest on the pads and then the spanking began in earnest, slow, sure, bone-rattling blows. If Bowie was good with whips and paddles, he was devastating with a hand spanking, making muscles jump under Channing’s skin.

  He held onto his control with a near-desperate grip, low roars trapped in his chest. He pushed against the pads, biting so hard on the bit he thought it might snap.

  Bowie was relentless, spanking him from his lower back to almost his knees, always coming back to his burning hole. Enough. He’d had enough.

  Enough.

  He was about to make his signal when Bowie stopped, the silence shocking after the steady sound of blows.

  “I hope you’ve all learned something tonight.” Bowie’s voice was all growl and rumble.

  The straps were unfastened from his thighs, his waist, and he was scooped up, Bowie holding him close. He heard Rick murmuring to the crowd when they left, but they were barely even a blur.

  Channing buried his face in Bowie’s throat, totally undone, raw and shattered. His entire fucking body was on fire.

  Bowie took him to the dressing room, laying him out on his belly on the couch. “Stay there a minute, baby. I’ll get a cloth and some spray.”

  He lay there, heart slamming in his chest, over and over. His hands clenched and unclenched. Water. He needed a drink of water.

  Bowie returned, slow and silent, and helped him up before putting a straw to his lips.

  Oh, yes. He hummed, drinking deep, the water splashing in his belly.

  Better. So much better. Even the best scenes caused physical stress.

  “You’re going to feel me tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Bowie chuckled, pressing a warm, damp cloth to his skin.

  He arched, hissing as the burn sank in deep. Then Bowie sprayed his ass with an antiseptic spray. Jesus.

  His cock jerked and he damn near shot his load.

  “Shh.” Bowie stroked the small of his back. “When we get back to your place, love. Do you need a ring until then?”

  “Yes. Yes, Bowie. I’ll put my pants on and come.”

  “We can’t have that.” Bowie lifted him easily, turning him and sliding a cock and ball harness set into place, cinching it. “They do have the best toys here.”

  He moaned, licking his lips as he nodded. His head felt as if it were a balloon attached by a string.

  Bowie stroked his back, his hip, fingers curling around to splay just next to his groin. “I want so many things.”

  “Tell me? I want to know.”

  “I want to plug you, want to tie your hands behind your back and fuck your face.” Bowie stroked his hair, and Channing’s eyes crossed, his abs going tight and hard.

  “I want to tease your front as well as your back, take a tiny strap to your nipples and your cock.”

  “Mate.” The word escaped in a low growl.

  “Yes.” Bowie’s hand slid to Channing’s cock even as those sharp teeth scraped his shoulder.

  The touch heated him, so rough, perfect, and he whined softly at the tease. Bowie withdrew as he’d advanced, smiling before kissing Channing’s cheek. “Get dressed, love. I don’t want to have our private scene here.”

  He wanted to go home, be somewhere he could let go, offer up his control. He’d been good. He had.

  Bowie helped him, easing him into his pants, his shirt. The touch of the cloth made him shiver, made him go up on tiptoe. Insane. He was fucking lost. Then Bowie kissed him hard enough to draw blood, grounding him.

  He settled into his skin, just as he slid into his shoes. Home. Home, home, home.

  “Ready to go, love?”

  “Yes, Bowie. Please.”

  There was nothing he wanted more.

  Chapter Six

  Bowie felt Channing’s buzz of energy all the way back to the bungalow, his boy shifting on the seat, ass moving. Channing’s scent made him almost dizzy, the sweat and pheromones ramping up the tension in the car until he was ready to purr with need.

  His kit had been fucking amazing, the most perfect sub, and Bowie was aching to play in a far more personal way. Bowie had been all the things Rick has asked him to be in the trainer’s place. Calm. Professional. Impersonal.

  Now he wanted Channing’s mouth, his ass, all of that red and pink skin at his disposal all night. He parked at Channing’s, reaching out to hold Channing’s neck when his kit would have leaped from the vehicle. “I said you would suck me in the car, love.” Channing whined softly, pushing back into his hand, head heavy, lips parted and shining in the streetlight. Bowie’s chest hurt with how beautiful his boy looked in the night, ready for his every command. “Get me out, baby. Touch me.”

  Channing worked Bowie’s zipper, fingers protecting his prick from the teeth. Bowie pushed up his hips, letting his cock slide free, the air almost too cold in the car.

  “You have to back the seat up, Bowie.”

  Bowie pushed the button on the driver’s seat, moving back to give Channing space. His kit gave a low moan and bent down, lips wrapping around him, his cock engulfed in flame. The heated, slick glide of lips and tongue made Bowie hum, tangle his fingers in Channing’s hair. He loved how the heavy strands caught his fingers, wrapped around and held on.

  When Channing began to move, Bowie slowed him by tugging the mass in his hand, controlling the pace. This scene was just beginning, just honestly starting now, and he needed Channing to understand that. Now, this was only for them, not for an audience, so he wanted Channing’s full participation, but Bowie was calling the shots.

  Channing took him in, every inch, tongue sliding on his shaft, pushing against his skin. Bowie let his head fall back against the padded rest, breathing in and out, trying to keep his composure.

  He was being sucked by a master, by a cockfiend, by his mate. Channing knew how to apply pressure to the underside of the head, how to massage the big vein running underneath with that wet tongue. He knew when to breathe, when to moan to make vibrations shake Bowie to the bone. And when Channing’s fingers pushed into his fly, nudging his balls, Channing proved he knew how to get Bowie off.

  “Slow down, love.” He pulled Channing up enough to look into his eyes. “Not a race.”

  He let himself admire a second, Channing’s hair mussed, lips beginning to swell, cheeks pink with heat. Then he pushed Channing back down on his cock, keeping the motion restricted by sliding his other hand under Channing’s chin. His kit fought him for a few seconds, swallowing and pushing against his touch, but finally he relaxed.

  “Good. That’s good, baby. I like it when I can go all night, when the pressure is just enough to keep me going.” Channing moaned around his prick, the sound echoing all through him. He arched up, giving Channing another inch. His ass slid on the seat.

  He needed to take them inside the house, give them room to play, but this -- the rush, the need -- it felt like hunting, and he didn’t want to lose it. Mmm. Hunting. He tugged Channing up, knowing how he could keep this going. “Okay, baby. Kiss me, then I want you to do something for me.”

  “Anything.” Channing pushed up, mouth crashing against him, hard enough their teeth clacked. He let the kiss go on as long as Channing needed it, tasting his precome on Channing’s lips. His sweet kit needed so beautifully.

  Once they broke for air, he smiled. “Go upstairs. I know you have toys. I want you to strip and pick three toys you want me to use. Scent them, then hide them. Do you understand?”

  Channing’s eyes flashed a pure gold, the cat right there. “Yes. Yes, Bowie.”

  “Good.” He smiled, kissing Channing’s mouth one more time. “You’re welcome to try to hide as well, but your place is so small. We might save that for when you see my house, hmm?”

  “I’ll meet you upstairs. I won’t need much time.” Channing kissed him again, nipping dangerously on his bottom lip.

  “I’ll give you as much as I can.” He sat back, slowly wrapping his fingers around his cock.

  A low rowl sounded, challenging him. “That’s for me. That’s mine.”

  “Is it?” He stopped, staring at Channing, daring his kit to keep eye contact.

  “Yes.” Channing vibrated, but held on. “Mmmine.”

  “Well, as everything that’s yours is mine, kit, I have every right to touch it.” He stroked again. “And you’re not doing what I told you to do.” He could see the conflict, the urge to obey, to claim, to fight, all together. “Go, Channing. I will be hunting very soon.”

  “Okay. Yeah. Yeah.” With that, Channing was running, bounding into the bungalow.

  Bowie gritted his teeth, a long moan escaping him now that Channing had left him alone. His boy was sex made flesh, pure temptation, and Bowie wanted to fuck him though the floor. He gulped air, because no sub had ever made him need like this, like his mate. He wanted to possess as well as put Channing through his paces.

  And Andy. God, when they added Andy… Bowie could see him, using that heavy cock to drive Channing insane. He’d make Channing suck him so he could watch Andy take their boy.

  He tossed his head, swallowing over and over, finally tucking away his cock. He’d given Channing plenty of head start. When he hit the front door, he scented Channing, his kit’s need. His boy had disrobed as commanded, the clothes folded neatly on the couch.

  There were signs of chaos that tickled his brain, his spine. He sniffed, breathing hard, searching while standing still.

  His head turned, and he headed toward the kitchen, searching, lifting the lid from a clean pot to find a fat, soft plug, meant for long wear. Yes. After he took Channing over and over he would put it in, make Channing keep his seed deep inside.

  He stripped off his shirt, dropped it on Channing’s leather couch -- the thing covered with a half dozen furry blankets.

  He pushed the blankets aside, unsurprised to see nothing hiding there. Too obvious.

  His kit was anything but stupid.

  He headed toward the hall, and, if it hadn’t been for the glint of light on one of the chains, he would have missed the spreader bar altogether, propped in and among the walking sticks and umbrella in the holder. Clever boy.

  Bowie smiled, tugging it out to hold it to the light. Yes. Sweet. The final thing would only be in the bedroom, he thought. Not a paddle or anything like that. His boy had been pushed far enough as far as that was concerned. No, it would be something to complement his first two choices. Maybe oil, maybe nipple clamps. Yum.

  It was hardest in here, in Channing’s room. The scent of his mate was everywhere, sunk in deep. He stopped moving, closing his eyes. The third toy was here, and so was his boy. Hiding.

  The thrum of Channing’s heart was a drum, steady and quick, his mate’s excitement pouring into the air, tingeing his inner sight nearly purple with desire. He licked his lips, anticipation making his belly tight, his cock heavy.

  He checked under the pillows, the sheets, the top of Channing’s drawers. Bowie stopped again, sniffing, torn between the en suite and the window. Surely Channing hadn’t gone out the window, so Bowie pulled the curtain back. Ha. Nipple clamps. Bonus points for him.

  Bowie dangled them on one finger, the chain twinkling in the light. He’d use the clamps first, pinching Channing’s nipples up tight and watching the blood flush them. Now he needed to discover his quiet, hiding boy.

  Bowie headed for the bathroom, knowing Channing had to be lurking in there. The shower curtain was closed, and he could feel Channing vibrating, waiting for him. Bowie grinned, turning on the sink so he could wash up, taking his time.

  He slipped his boots off, left on his slacks, just for that little bit of control. Then he opened the shower curtain, wanting to see what Channing would do.

  Empty. Son of a…

  The linen closet opened in a rush and his ass was grabbed. “Boo!”

  Bowie laughed out loud, whirling and grabbing Channing with both hands. “Good job, kit.”

  Channing beamed, kissing his nose and chin. “Love.”

  “Did you need anything before we go to the bedroom? Water? The actual facilities in here?”

  “I took care of everything, Bowie.”

  “Good. My good boy. Can you get me a glass of water? I’ll meet you in the bedroom.” He kissed Channing’s mouth.

  Channing purred for him and padded to the kitchen, giving him a view of that pretty, striped ass. Bowie hummed, but closed the door and got cleaned up a bit. He had plans for the night and he’d be damned if they were interrupted.

  Then he went back into the bedroom, stripping Channing’s bed down to the bottom sheet before spreading a soft blanket over it. Channing brought the water and a couple of hand towels.

  “Thank you.” He smiled, feeling calmer, ready again to let the pace ratchet up. That was part of all of this game. Pacing.

  “Where do you want me?”

  “Mmm. On your knees on the bed, love. Kneel up tall.” He wanted access to those tight little nipples, and didn’t want Channing hiding that lovely, marked ass.

  Channing crawled up onto the bed, fighting for balance, muscles working beautifully to keep him stable. That tight, rosy ass flexed, the harness around Channing’s cock and balls standing out starkly. He ran one finger over the welted skin, purring happily at the tiny hiss that earned him.

  “Sensitive,” Bowie said, stating the obvious. Channing shuddered for him when he traced the line between those firm ass cheeks. “Let me touch, kit. This is mine now.”

  It always had been, at a cellular level. They had been mates since they knew what that meant. Bowie wished Andy and Channing hadn’t fought it so hard, but maybe it had been necessary. He pinched the underside of one ass cheek, watching Channing sway. He loved how the flesh resisted, then gave in, submitted.

  “You’re lovely, Channing. Generous. Controlled.” He reached around the front now, flicking the tip of Channing’s bound cock.

  Channing arched, almost overbalancing, and he caught his lover with one arm. “Careful.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Shh. I simply don’t want you hurting yourself, love.” He caught the clamps in his free hand. “Shall we try out your toys now?”

  “Mmm. Yes… Are you a Sir? A Mate? Bowie?”

  “I like Mate.” He had always been a Master, actually, but Mate worked well for Channing.

  “Mate.” Channing moaned and Bowie saw his bound cock jerk.

  “Beautiful.” He reached up to tug one of Channing’s nipples, the pink bit of flesh going rock-hard. “Do you wax, kit?”

  Channing nodded. “Usually in a scene.”

  “Mmm. I like that idea. I like shaving, as well.” He pulled up one of the clamps and opened the teeth.

  Channing’s focus was laser sharp, staring at the little silver clip. “Shaving yourself is boring. I don’t let humans come at my throat.”

  “I’ll be happy to do it for you, love.” He clamped the nipple quickly, knowing slow was for releasing later on.

  Channing hissed, back arching, abs hard as rocks. The stretch and arch of that fine body made Bowie think of art, of how beauty was enhanced by experience.

  “One more, love.” He didn’t tell Channing to keep the tiny nipple exposed. His kit knew better.

  Those hands stayed curled at Channing’s sides, the only movement a tiny roll of Channing’s hips. He pinched and tugged, making Channing sensitive, making Channing wait. The little nub of flesh swelled, engorged with blood, the color a lovely dark rose.

  The softest sub vocal sounds were on the air, low, sweet. Channing was so much… more like this than he had been at the club. Without the distractions he could hear and feel those minute responses.

  This clamp went on easily, drawing out a low cry. He watched the chain strung between the two clamps move with every shiver of Channing’s chest.

  Pretty, pretty. He reached out, tugged it nice and slow. Channing jumped, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Bowie smiled, tugging harder, knowing how much it stung.

  He saw Channing’s fingers curl into fists, saw Channing’s nostrils flare. No sounds came out yet, though since he’d gagged Channing at the club, his boy might think he didn’t want them. “You can let me hear you, love.”

  “I… Fuck, it’s so good, your touch.”

  “I love how you move, how your body reacts to what I do.” He loved how Channing fought to keep his balance, please him. Seduce him. He watched and played, carefully noting every single reaction. Soon he would have to use the spreader bar, and he wondered if he should use it on wrists, ankles, or knees.

  Knees would be perfect, but then the feet would be in the way. Ankles would spread Channing comfortably, but was there a place to hang him? Wrists could be good, either attached behind Channing’s head or in front of his body.

  He finally decided on knees. That would spread his boy the widest. He stroked Channing’s belly, getting his full attention. “The bar next, sweet. Are you comfortable right now? Do you need anything before I tie you?”

  “No, Mate. I’m good.” Flushed, hard, excited -- Bowie could eat him up.

  Oh, yes. He moved close and took Channing’s mouth, needing a taste.

  Channing leaned in, let him fuck those open, hungry lips with his tongue. He stroked the bound cock, the heavy balls, teasing. Every single touch earned him a moan, a wiggle. When he slid his hand around to tap Channing’s ass, he thought Channing might fall, he jerked so hard.

  He nudged Channing’s thighs wide with his hands, then wider. He didn’t want to overbalance that fine form, just make everything work that much harder to stay upright. Then he attached the padded, adjustable cuff on one side to Channing’s thigh, just above the knee.