Chapter Five

Jackson

Turning my back on my new plaything, I fetch a simple and elegant black leather collar and leash from my desk drawer. This will do nicely. "Get here, slave," I command.

With his deep, dark, and soulful eyes, Sebastian obeys.

I secure the collar around his pale neck and attach the leash. "Let's go have some fun," I say. I lead him from my office, down the stairs, through the dark labyrinth of halls, and back into the thrumming and decadent hive that is the heart of The Dungeon.

Our entrance draws a handful of curious, appreciative glances, but otherwise, the patrons of The Dungeon are too used to public displays to pay us much mind when they have their own deviancies at hand. Approaching the bar, I tug Sebastian along. He looks so beautiful. Without his cane and jacket, he looks much more casual. With his black silk shirt open at the cuffs, and his tailored trousers, it's like the Emo movement met Fabio. He just oozes an undefinable and unapologetic aura of confidence and sex appeal.

"Juliet, two shots of Green Fairy, please, doll," I say to young woman manning the bar.

"Oh, I see Mr. Crenshaw found you," she answers, already decanting our absinthe with style and elegance. "I wanted to give you a heads up, but Mr. Crenshaw is not one for following House rules it seems."

I smirk as I slide my slave's drink across the bar to him. "It seems I'm going to have to teach him some manners," I say, giving him a sidelong glance as I slug back my shot. The liquor burns down my throat, potent, satisfying, and familiar. "Thank you, Juliet. Enjoy the show." I wink.

Sebastian downs his shot without a word.

"Will do, sir," she answers without a second's hesitation.

I grin. Juliet is a cutie, and one of my regular subs. We get to mix business with pleasure often. Which is just how I like it when it comes to those beneath me. "Come," I say, leading Sebastian up from the sunken bar, and to one of my St. Andrew's Crosses. In the form of a giant X, it allows all four limbs to be bound in a standing position. "Take off your clothes. Back to the cross," I order, unclipping the leash from his collar.

My slave for the night obliges without question, his fingers deftly unbuttoning his black silk shirt, before letting it fall in a pile on the floor beside the cross. His trousers follow, as do his shiny black dress shoes. His form takes my breath away. His ink is magnificent and reminds me heavily of the Yakuza's famous full-body art. Thousands of dollars have been sunk directly into his skin, and his lithe, but muscular form only enhances its beauty.

"Like what you see, Master?" he asks, standing tall.

Like an angry bear, I attack, shoving him roughly against the cross. "You will only speak when spoken to," I warn, hand at his throat. "Is that clear, slave?"

Sebastian's lip quirks ever so slightly, but he reigns it in—for now. "Yes, Master."

"Good," I answer, though I'm utterly unconvinced that I can expect good behavior from this slave. One at a time, I secure his wrists, and then his ankles. The soft, but firm leather of the shackles serves to sufficiently restrain but protect the punished from chaffing or attempting escape. Standing back, I admire my prize. "I'd never damage such beautiful ink," I say, almost to myself. "But there's plenty of fun to be had without breaking the skin."

I grab a selection of my favorite floggers, paddles, and even a cane. This should be fun. As the music in the club throbs and swells, filling the air with seduction and illicit promise, I choose my first toy—the suede flogger. The sting will be brilliant and splayed, but not pinpointed enough to damage the skin. It's precisely what I want to start with. If my slave is a little pain slut, then we'll begin the dance with a nice warm-up. He'll want primed skin before the cane comes out to play. Cold skin with solid toys is, let's just say, like slamming your fingers in a car door on a frosty winter's morning. It'll cause immediate shock and have you yelling obscenities, dragging you from the headspace carefully cultivated by clever and calculated pain application.

"All right, slave. I'm going to ease you in nice and gentle. We play a little rougher here in The Dungeon than you lot over at The Red Bastille are used to."

Sebastian smirks but says nothing to counter my subtle slander.

Closing the space between us, I trail my fingers over his semi-erect cock, and earn a twitch and a quiet moan. With a devious grin, I lick up the side of my slave's cheek, before whispering in his ear. "What's your safeword, pretty boy?" I trail the suede flogger's soft tails over his cock as the seconds pass between us.

"I've never used my safeword," he answers proudly.

"Be that as it may," I say with a note of subtle admiration. My boy toy isn't afraid to go hard! "I should know it, just in case. Let's say it's House Rules."

Sebastian sighs. "It's ambrosia ."

"The mythological food of the gods? Intriguing. Very well. Now, we can play." Standing directly in front of my trussed-up morsel, I tease the tails of the flogger through my hand. Then before I can give away my next move, I strike. The flogger bites at his sac as I swing underhanded, rolling my shoulder the way a bowler would. I bite my lip in desire when Sebastian hisses between his teeth, his body tensing, and his fists clenching.

"Have I got your attention, Mr. Crenshaw?" I ask, my tone dripping with desire.

His cock jumps involuntarily, and his sac becomes firm, shrinking away from the pain. Sebastian smirks. "You've always had my attention."

With that nice little perk to my ego, I twirl the flogger around as I pace the platform where the St. Andrew's Cross is mounted. "You've got a honeypot for a mouth, don't you, my pet?" I counter. "We'll see what pretty words spill from those lips when I'm burying myself balls-deep in your ass?"

Sebastian's lips quirk in the cockiest way possible. "I guess we'll find out, Master."