Title: Koji ma Oshi
author: Sol 1056
rating: NC-17 for sex, violence, and dirty mouths
warning: BDSM, psychological issues, post-post-EW
pairings: 2x1, 3x5x3, 4xR
I kept that vision of Heero's flushed face in my memory, taking it out and enjoying it every now and then. I still didn't know what he did in the scene, or what he got from it--if he were a submissive, then I had some inkling. But if he were dominant?--then I was still in the damn dark--but I had a flashlight, thanks to Zorya. All I needed was a pick-ax and I was on my way.
And I knew, instinctively, that doing it myself--experiencing firsthand--was the only way to find out if I could ever be the one to put that little smile on his face, the one I'd seen the mornings after he'd been at the club. Once upon a time, only two people had given him that expression: Relena, and me. Someday, I swore, I'd be the only one.
And that's how I ended up in the last place I expected. Hey, I've done a lot of crazy things in my life, but that evening took the fuckin' prize. Maybe. Okay, in my life so far--at least, it seemed like the most insane place to be, until the next thing rolled around...
The other crazy situation? One I'd never expected, and I went into it all on the request of someone that I could never turn down. I went in cold, and came away damn hot.
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"You want me to what?" I choked out, then glanced at Heero across the office. His head had come up at my words; he was listening, but still typing. I managed to get myself under control. "I don't--"
"Please," Relena begged, in the lowest whisper she could manage. I had to turn my phone up to the top volume. "And don't tell Dorothy, either. She'd never let me live it down."
"She'll just want to watch," I replied.
Relena snorted. "No, she'd bug me for details. She's fascinated by all that stuff, but... well, you know."
"No, I don't know." Okay, maybe I did--Dorothy had always been a lot of talk and not much follow-through unless her back was to the wall--but I was rather enjoying Relena's discomfort. It almost made up for my own.
"She's aristocratic stock." Relena sounded annoyed, though with me, or Dorothy, it was hard to tell. "She's got that whole keep-appearances crap, and she'll never get the guts to investigate until I do. But this is private."
"Which is why I'm involved," I said, part-asking, part-teasing.
"Exactly," Relena replied, and then gave me the kicker. Damn her political side for knowing just what to say to blow away all my counter-arguments.
I sighed, and agreed, and an hour later it was lunch-time. Gave Heero some line about running errands and grabbed a cab cross-town, and soon I was walking back into that little leather-fetish shop.
Same girl behind the counter; the rest of the shop was deserted. The girl had little sparkly bits in her hair that glittered, and her loose, ruffled shirt was dark burgundy that day. She popped up from where she was sitting and looked me up and down, scowling fiercely. I was dressed too conservatively for her taste, I suspected.
"Uh, hey," I said, and grinned down at her. I wasn't going to lose my composure, no matter how scary retail clerks could be--they still don't outrank nurses on the scare charts. "How's business?"
"Fine," she said, and pursed her lips. "You need more clothes?" She was examining my dark-blue button-up shirt with narrowed eyes.
"Nope. Just buying a gift," I replied, and leaned over the counter, eyeing the goods under the glass.
Duo, Relena had chided. I'd do it for you if you were surprising someone you love.
Damn her. So I stared down at the dildos and strap-ons and vibrators, and tried to comprehend the notion of a hot-pink, squishy-plastic butt-plug that had 'marvelously realistic sensations!' It was hot pink. Fuchsia, even. Where's the realistic in fuckin' neon, anyway?
"I need three vibrators," I told the girl. "Small, medium, and large."
She grinned widely and started pulling out packages, dumping them on the counter while rattling off their attributes in rapid-fire. "This one is quieter, but its vibration is rather low. This one has eight settings--" She fumbled with a box of batteries, setting them in the case and then flipping the unit on. It shook in her hand while she ran through the settings. "This one's my favorite. Intermittent pulse."
"Handy."
"And this one--" She grabbed the largest one, a bright blue vibrator with white racing stripes. "It's awesome. Comes with sleeves, with different bumps for sensations... See? It's cushy." She held out one sleeve, and I dutifully squeezed it. Yes, it was cushy. Or something. She beamed and took out the batteries, putting the vibrator back in its package. "These are remote control operated."
"Remote control?" I couldn't help it. I thought of the fox-tail, the bunny-tail... and... my brain went somewhere out of my ears and my dick started doing all the talking. "Any remote control butt-plugs?"
"These!" She spun, yanking several down from the wall and scattering them in front of me. Again I got the entire list, but I was looking over her shoulder.
"That one," I said, pointing. "Is that one remote control?"
"It has a remote control variant," she told me, momentarily stumped. "But I think that's a special order."
"Okay. Order me one of those." I sorted through the stack on the counter; I didn't have a lot of time before I had to be back at the office. "This one, and these two. And..." I grinned, thinking of Relena's response when I'd drop off the package. "What's that thing? The butterfly?"
The girl's eyes went wide in delight; she giggled, throwing the case's door open and yanking out three different kinds. They looked like little barrettes, but with two cords attached to top and bottom... sort of like abbreviated underwear. Cancel that; extremely abbreviated panties.
"These are butterfly vibrators," she announced, laying them out. "This piece goes over the clit, and the cords are pulled up over the legs. And this one is remote controlled!"
"Perfect," I said, chuckling. "Do you ship?"
"In brown packages with only a post office box return address," she said.
"That won't get past security," I muttered. "Can you put my address in, as return, instead?"
"I guess so." The girl swept everything up in a pile. "One remote-control butterfly, three vibrators, and I need to write up the special order. Anything else?"
I made a humming sound--it was just like Zorya's, I realized, and I chuckled again--and stared at the rows of brightly-colored, highly-realistic fleshy cock-shaped objects. A few had straps, and one was double-ended. I jabbed a finger at the medium-sized one, with two cocks and a tiny stub in the middle.
"What's that one do? The little thing in the middle?"
"Massages the clit," the girl told me, with a wide grin.
"Great. Throw that in as well. I want the butterfly shipped, and the rest I'll take myself."
She gave me a pleased smile, and leaned over the counter to write up the order slip. Her breasts pushed up at the edge of her loose blouse, and it dawned on me she was doing it purposefully so I could enjoy the view. I had no problem doing so, while she angled for a bit of exhibitionism. I signed the order, filled out my address, and she packaged up the purchases I'd give Relena. Last, she asked me if I wanted any note in with the butterfly vibrator. I grinned and carefully filled out the card--all I needed was room for two large words, in block capitals.
She noted the words, looked at me curiously, but packed it all up. I took the bags, and made my way from the shop. Hailing a cab, it occurred to me that I'd be walking back into the office with two large nondescript brown packages. Hey, Heero, what do you think about this? Wrap your brain around the mystery of what I'm up to... but hey, a little mystery never hurt anyone.
So maybe I might've looked a bit smug, too. I'd see Relena for a few when I left the office, and she could go home and surprise Quatre. Then, in a few days, when his package arrived, he could surprise her right back. Just too bad I couldn't be a fly on the wall when he opened his gift to find my note. Hopefully that would explain all and he wouldn't go Zero on me:
REVENGE. ENJOY.
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The other crazy place I didn't expect to be? In one of the larger rooms at Paradiso, on a Saturday morning--bright and sunny outside, and I was indoors, in a room normally lit only by flickering bulbs. I was wearing baggy blue jeans--at Zorya's request--and a lightweight shirt over an old Sweeper's t-shirt.
"Okay, roll up the bottom of your jeans," Zorya instructed. She had on sneakers, blue jeans, and a casual shirt, and for once looked more like a soccer mom than a serious dominatrix, including hair in a high ponytail.
She opened one of the wall cabinets; the end wall was lined with them, and she'd told me that's where member-dominants often stored their tools and toys, rather than cart them back and forth. Bringing out a crop, she handed it to me, then pulled out a second one.
"Riding crop. Hold it like this. Now, slap, lightly, on your calf."
I did as she said. "Crap!" That stung--I rubbed my calf and glared at her, but she only laughed.
"Lightly, Duo." Zorya rolled up her own jeans, to just below her knee. She looked like she was ready to go wading. "Watch what I'm doing with my wrist. Pop, like that, see?"
Just a slight bend--almost like pulling punches. I duplicated it, and the crop felt like it'd the barest stinging kiss on my skin. Under her instruction, I varied the strikes, and after a bit I noted it didn't hurt so much.
"Pain build-up," she pointed out. "It's very rare that you'd start a scene with the hardest blows--where would you go from there? Start light, and as the sub acclimates, you go up a level, until you hit a limit. Go just a little beyond if the sub's not safe-worded yet, and stop at a peak. Then bring the sub down with successively gentler sensation. Here. Try this." She handed me a cat o' nine tails.
I swung it back and forth, getting a feel for the weight, then slapped it against the inside of my forearm like she'd shown me to start. "It's like being slapped with nine little crops," I observed.
"Be careful, though." She held up a second crop, and hit her arm purposefully off-center. The tails wrapped around her arm, and she pulled them loose with a tug. "That's wrap-around. If the flails hit the kidneys, that's one thing--bad, but still. If you're aiming for the thighs..."
"Fuck," I whispered, thinking of flails traveling at top speeds, wrapping around and slapping me in the balls. I cringed automatically; Zorya had the decency to stifle her grin.
"It'd hurt for women, too, believe me. Turn around, and hold onto that rail over your head." When I did so, she smacked me lightly, then just a bit harder. Although still only a slight stinging-slapping sensation, there was a rhythm. "Look in the mirror--see how I'm moving?"
"Yeah," I said, and she stopped, handing me the tails. She turned around and reached up for two rings over her head. "What? Me do you?" I hoped I didn't sound like she'd just given me ice cream. No, Duo, sound casual, man, you can do it. Maybe.
"Keep it light--just go for control. This isn't like the crop, where you can do an uneven rhythm if you want--you have to get a swinging pattern."
I swished the flails in my hand, stretching my back and letting the tingling in my back subside. It didn't hurt; it felt hot. I imagined doing that to skin and then running my tongue over the tingling skin. Setting that aside, I concentrated on aiming for the middle of Zorya's back, mimicking what she'd done to me.
The flail-ends landed on either side of her spine, as she'd instructed, and she grunted softly, her body swaying with the impact. I was careful not to hit the spine. Last thing I wanted was to accidentally injure the woman who'd become my mentor--and my friend. That nearly made me halt in the middle, to realize that: she really was a friend. Maybe even a good one. I let the thought bubble up and fade.
When I'd fallen into a pattern and was comfortable with it--and knew I could do it again without fumbling--I lowered the cat and stepped back.
Zorya let go of the rings and turned around, arching her back and stretching a little. "That's invigorating," she declared, and grinned at me. "Okay, next, the cane."
We worked our way through the entire repertoire, and by the end, I was feeling like my brain was going to explode from all the details. How to hold this, how to stand here, how to check for the submissive's state of mind and when to check, danger signs... so many things.
"Mercy, please," I finally said. "I just know I'm going to be tested on this."
"You will be, every scene you do," Zorya replied, putting the last of the instruments away. She closed the cabinet door and locked it. "Want to get some coffee? I don't have to get the hooligan from his judo class for another half-hour."
"Sounds good." I did the math: I'd told Heero I'd be in at noon, so I had an hour.
Zorya--it was hard to think of her as Colette, out of a scene, and she didn't seem to mind the nickname--started up the coffee pot behind the bar and poured us both cups. We sat at the empty bar, surrounded by a sea of chair-legs, upside down on the tables.
"I don't really get why someone would let another person strike them," I said. "That's what gets me, I suppose."
"It's not just striking a person." Zorya pursed her lips, then took a sip of her coffee and smiled at me--I knew she'd just thought of a way to put it. "You went through some kind of training to become a pilot, right?"
"Of course." I smirked. "Contrary to the shit you see in the movies, we did not actually just get in and fly with no instruction at all."
"I didn't think so." She wrinkled her nose. "DenWood fucks everything up, from sado-masochism right on down to police officer jargon. Did you do any physical training? Lifting weights, running?"
"Yeah. Lots of both, and plenty else."
"Anyone talk you through it? Y'know, stand there, making comments, observing... encouraging, maybe?"
I thought back to G, and nodded. "My... I guess you'd call him my boss. He often stood at my shoulder and counted the repetitions. He tracked my progress, mostly, and would chide me if I didn't do as much--or more--than the day before."
Zorya nodded. "Ever get to a point where you couldn't hear him any more? You were off in your own head-space, and just... doing it, not even really thinking?"
"Sure. All the time." I shrugged. "I always figured I'd just learned to tune him out or something."
"Maybe, but that's head-space, too, or very similar. Except instead of getting that state of--if I can use the term loosely--zen--on your own, a submissive uses someone else to do it."
"Oh." I thought about that. "I'm not sure that really applies to me, then. I can always go lift weights on my own, and still get there."
"Not everyone can. We all learn triggers, somewhere in our psyche, and for some people, the release of the physical overload..." She paused, sipping coffee with a thoughtful expression. "Because really, sometimes, it's painful, but it's not a bad pain. Bad pain is when you're being hurt and you can't stop it, nor control it. A submissive has the safe word, so there's always the point that you can say, here is where it's too much."
"Makes sense." I said that, then realized: it did. Shit, it really did. I nearly laughed at my own mini-epiphany, but didn't.
"And really, there are other ways... ever held off on an orgasm, just to prolong the experience?"
I thought of jacking off while imagining Zorya whispering in my ear, and quite purposefully did not move a muscle. "Once or twice."
"That's just another version of it--loading more and more sensation on, until when you finally get the release... Well, that can be orgasm, or just the cessation of pain. Running five miles and making it to the top of the last hill, and that's runner's high. Same thing, in some ways. A final..." She punched a fist in the air. "Woo-hoo! I made it!" She dropped her fist with a grin. "That's part of it, too."
I grinned back at her. I was starting to get the picture. I wasn't sure if it was my kink, but at least if it was Heero's, I wasn't going to run screaming. And maybe, if that's what he wanted--to get from me, or to give me--I just might be willing to give it a shot.
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I arrived at the office later than I'd expected--I'd had to run back to my place and drop off an armload of books. Zorya had teased that she'd test me on it, once she'd spoken with her top submissive about letting me watch a scene. Exhibition wasn't that sub's kink, but apparently they'd educated one or two other new dominants in the past. In the meantime, I had homework.
Nine books! I'd joined the club, paid up my library membership--dues to replace damaged or lost books, and to buy new ones--and then Zorya let me into the little shelf-lined room. Next thing I knew, she'd pulled book after book off the shelf.
"This one's by a gay dominant, about working with a male sub. That should be useful. This one's on how to use and adapt common household items into toys--Satyr also gives classes here. There's one in a week or two, so you should definitely show up for that. We keep telling him he should be a stand-up comedian. Oh, this one's great. Written by a long-term couple, lots of cool ideas. And this one..."
I'd just sighed and kept my arms out, and she dumped them all on me. I put them down long enough to sign the checkout sheet with my new member number, and a promise I'd come to the next gathering at the nearby shopping center. She sent me off with a wave and a muttered curse about the time. What really cracked me up was that she drove off in a minivan--yes, that soccer mom in the minivan next to you at the stoplight just might think a crop is the best accessory to completing an outfit.
Then I thought of Relena, and wondered if the package had arrived yet. I didn't expect to hear anything, but I was sure if Quatre had used it, I'd be able to tell from his demeanor the next time we spoke. I jerked myself from my pleasant daydreams of Quatre's embarrassment--and hopefully, some smugness--and opened the office door to find Heero scowling down at the paperwork across the main table.
"What?" Whatever it was, it couldn't be good; I hadn't seen that set of his jaw since we were sixteen and Relena had been kidnapped.
"Corruption in L1," Heero said, and crossed his arms. Apparently he was holding the paper responsible, barring any other suitable scapegoats. "Just spoke to Trowa. He wants you to call immediately; he's coming by."
"There's always corruption, everywhere," I said, and started up my computer. I dug out my phone from my pocket and dialed Trowa's cell. "What impact on the case?"
"Undercover officer tipped off the local dealers." Heero snorted. "Surveillance caught him."
The cell phone stopped ringing, when Trowa picked up. "Barton," he said.
"I just got to the office."
"Almost there. Wufei's on his way to L1. Barton out."
Damn. I snapped the phone closed. "Trowa works fast."
"Happened two hours ago. Where were you? None of us could reach you."
"Ah..." I shrugged. "Sorry. I was visiting a friend. My phone was off."
"I noticed." Heero shook his head. "It will take Wufei six hours to get to L1, moving at top speeds outside the lanes. He won't actually get to the precinct until eight hours from now. Trowa wants to go in, and shut them down."
"Wait a minute," I said, startled. "That'll alert the entire network."
"Not if we don't wait," Heero retorted. "Right now, it's intact--the dealers will think it was a sting just for L1."
The door banged open behind us, and Trowa strode in. He nodded to me, then Heero, and dropped several more papers on the table. "Printouts of statements from the other investigating officers concerning the case's developments," he said. "In sum, they're trying to cover up as fast as they can."
"Bastards," I muttered, and collapsed into my chair. I sighed, and leaned my head back to stare at the ceiling. "You're sending Wufei in. He's big guns, Trowa. Don't you think that's going to send up a massive sign?"
"Be glad I didn't send Wufei and Heero," Trowa replied, with a twist to his lips. "However, there will be no record of Wufei's appearance on L1, and he's moving with a corps of undercover Preventers. They'll sweep through the department itself, and turn the entire place upside down. The dealers will be caught up in that, along with every other investigation."
I whistled. "That's a fuckload of chaos."
"Well-deserved chaos," Trowa said. "But that's the only way to prevent the Crow-71 rings from thinking they're the source of the reaction. They'll get lost in the noise."
"You sure he can do it?"
"I trust him implicitly." Trowa's voice was flat, calm, but almost a challenge, and his words hit me hard enough to knock my breath away.
When was the last time I could say that of anyone? Once upon a time, I would have said that of my comrades, but now? Could I really? Trowa watched me with a peculiar expression, but I didn't know what it meant. I realized Heero was carefully not looking in my direction, and I wasn't sure what that meant, either.
"Fine," I said, and stood up. "So basically it's all up to your cleaner. Wufei. He's in charge as concerns the L1 situation. Right?"
Trowa nodded.
"Great. I'm starving. Let's get some lunch."
Heero's head came up, and he gave me a baffled look that quickly faded into the merest hint of a smirk. Trowa looked surprised.
"Come on, guys. There's a great Indo-Pak place not far from here. Trowa, you have got to try the shrimp." I ushered them both from the office, and I didn't miss the quick flash of hurt on Heero's face. What, did he think I would hand-feed Trowa, too? Or was it something else?
Y'know, shit. Once upon a time I thought all I needed was a Woman-English, English-Woman dictionary and my life would be complete. Fuck that--I need a Heero-English, English-Heero dictionary. And a thesaurus. And maybe a full set of etymological explanations on every minute facial expression. Or maybe I could just tie him down and torment him until he told me everything he was thinking...
It was a good thing I was behind them as I shut the office door, locked it and followed them down the hall to the stairs. Not only did I get to enjoy the best view in Bremen--because Heero's ass has gotten even more perfect, if that were possible--but neither of them could tell just how much of a hard-on I suddenly had at the idea of Heero at my mercy.
Down, boy, today we're just gonna socialize.
But I still enjoyed the thought while I could.
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"Tiki, this is Dao... Dao, this is Tiki," Zorya said. She'd dressed in another short skirt, but this one was deep green velvet that rode up on her thighs with every step. Her garters were fishnet, and the platform boots were laced up to her knee. She didn't take them off at the door; I made a mental note to ask her later if making herself taller or shorter through shoe-wear was a psychological element of her role.
Tiki knelt by Zorya's feet; I was aware that Tiki and Zorya had been playing together for years, and that Tiki played a full submissive role once inside the room. He'd undressed on his own and knelt on a black pillow, ready when we walked into the room, five minutes after him.
The entire room--not much bigger than my living room--was black: ceilings, walls, floor. The darkness ate up the low lights, adding to the mystery. Tiki was ten years older than me, and about my height, with chin-length black hair. When I'd met him at the gathering, he'd been knowledgeable and witty, and had mentioned he ran his own software company. Celestina had immediately given him grief about designing her bug-ridden email software; it was clearly a running joke.
I'd left that gathering with a bit more information about using common kitchen implements as toys--and the long-forgotten sensation that I was becoming part of a group again. Tiki had been one of the noisier ones, welcoming me cheerfully, and it was strange to see him so quiet, with his head down, and perfectly still. I didn't think his hands had stopped moving the entire time we'd talked.
Zorya pointed to a nearby chair, and I took a seat, leaning back with an ankle across my knee. Not the easiest on my back, but more comfortable than stretching out, and from what she'd explained of her plans for the scene, it'd be at least two hours of observation. The leather pants creaked with the movement, and she flashed me a grin. I wanted to see a scene from the dominant's point of view, but I couldn't help the flash of pride when she'd praised my choice of wearing the silver mesh shirt--even if I did feel ridiculously exposed. But the leather jacket, like my riding leathers, was too thick and heavy for the early summer heat. And the room was warm, probably so Tiki would be comfortable--
--Considering he was rising gracefully up on the balls of his feet and then settling down, flat-footed, to stand before Zorya... without a stitch on. He didn't have an athletic build--a slight curve to his stomach, heavier in the chest--but he moved with confidence and held himself with a certain pride. In her boots, Zorya was only an inch or two shorter, but somehow she still seemed taller, yet he wasn't diminished. She held out a hand, and he bowed low, kissing her hand and whispering something.
"Please, use me," he said, in his deep baritone. It wasn't a ritual phrase, but somewhere between a plea and a prayer. I shivered.
"Tiki," Zorya murmured. She ran a hand through his hair, and he remained, bowed. Then she walked off to her toolbox, and he came upright, his eyes lowered, but I could see tension running through his body.
It reminded me of Heero, on our trip: that building sense, some kind of anticipation. What I'd seen was stress--was it simply the agony of waiting?
Zorya snapped a collar around Tiki's neck, then around his wrists, and bent to place more around his thighs and ankles. She tested each, although I noted the leather was worn to a specific hole, so these had to be the shackles that she used only for Tiki.
She made a motion, and he preceded her to an X-like structure by the wall. She had to rise up on her toes to attach his wrist cuffs to the upper arms, the quick release locks clicking against the metal. Zorya made quick work of his ankles, but as she stood, she ran her hands along his legs, up the back of his knee, to his thighs. He shuddered visibly, and she murmured into his ear, then stepped away with a pleased smile.
For a man who'd talked my ear off at the gathering, he was still silent; Zorya didn't say much, either. But that, I figured, was again due to their long relationship of playing together. They probably knew each other's moves well enough to quote chapter and verse--and then Zorya slipped a blindfold over Tiki's eyes. A second later she was running something quickly up his back, and he made a small sound, his back arching in surprise.
She tossed me the implement when she was done, and brought out another--apparently she had several stashed in the cleavage of her black leather corset. What she'd thrown me was something that looked like a metal circle--with a series of dull points around the edge--a roller ball with a handle. I put it in the tub to my left, where she'd told me she wanted all metallic objects placed. All objects with leather would go in a different bowl to be cleaned later. The tub held cleaning and antibacterial fluid. Once again I had to hand it to her, that she could track both Tiki's needs and keep health and safety in mind at the same time.
Then again, I piloted a Gundam. This should be a piece of cake, when it came to keeping sixteen different things in mind. Smiling at my previous intimidation--however mild--I leaned back and decided to enjoy.
And boy was it worth enjoying. I never thought I'd get off on watching someone get whipped, but it wasn't that he was experiencing pain. Tiki started with soft sighs, little cries, then rising. From where I sat, I could see him at a slight angle; he was hard as a rock, cock slapping against his belly as he pressed into the X-braces and then rose to meet her next blow.
She cropped him on the back of his thighs, until he whimpered; she massaged where she'd struck until he'd relaxed and sighed. The cat o' nine tails across his back, first light, then harder, but halfway through a stroke she raised a second cat, replacing it in the pattern without missing a beat.
Tiki, however, was startled; the new implement was her rose-tipped cat o' nine tails. Softer, with roses made from suede, it brushed across his skin, and he shuddered. Two strokes, three, then she hit him with an abrupt slap from the real cat o' nine tails, and he moaned, legs buckling.
The heat was intense in the room, and it was probably all coming off the two of them. They moved in tandem; Zorya rose up and came down with each strike as his body bucked in response. Her face impassive, her jaw set; muscles flexed in her bare arms as she alternated strikes with kisses with snaps of the cane, then a brush of feather. She pressed herself against him, running her hands across his front, whispering into his ear; I saw him nod and she stepped away with a soft chuckle.
I ignored--for just a moment, because it was damn hard, believe it or not, pun fuckin' intended--what I was watching, and thought of what was happening under the appearance of things. Tiki was building up in endurance, and each strike was just a bit harder, yet it wasn't a consistent thing. She surprised him at points, but never too much or too little--just different. Alternated, enough so he didn't slip into boredom, never enough to allow him to anticipate--and the minute his shoulders relaxed, she'd soon move to something else.
It was almost a shock when she let him down, and he moved, blindfolded, with perfect trust and not a single missed step. She held his hands, leading him forward, and he followed, stopping when she did. Zorya pressed on his shoulders, guiding him to lean over a large sawhorse--she'd called it a horse, I was pretty sure--that had a padded leather bench on its top. His head on the very end, she shackled his hands to the base, and then his ankles to the other end. He was straddling it, with his ass just off the end, cock pressed into a hole in the base.
I had to switch legs, and took a moment to adjust myself in my leather pants. Wouldn't I know--I should've known--she caught sight of the move, and smiled.
First thought: don't distract the Dominant when she's working.
Second thought: where's the door?
Third thought: too late.
She leaned over me, hands on the arms of the chair. Her breasts were right there in front of me, corset so low I could see the edge of her aureoles peeking up.
"You like what you see," she whispered, and it wasn't a question.
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
"And what do you want?" Zorya ran one hand up my thigh, to cup at my erection through the leather. She glanced at me from under her eyelashes; I knew she was waiting for me to say whether she'd pushed a limit too far. I thought about it: did I want that? I looked past her to Tiki, who waited silently, trapped on the leather-cushioned sawhorse. The only limitation from his end was that she was his dominant, and only she would touch him; I was to watch. What role did I play, as observer? Or was I being drawn in... did I want to be drawn in?
Her hand moved away from my groin, and I couldn't stop a moan. Fuck yeah, I wanted to see what she'd do, learn, know how she could play me--and then I could do it to someone else. Fuck yeah. Whatever she fucking wanted, I'd give. That was all I could think.
"Yes," I whispered, and uncrossed my legs, leaning back with my knees wide. It was like offering myself up, and her eyes widened, then narrowed. From under the bottom of her leather corset, she brought out a small packet, dropping it in my lap, then stepped back. She made a little motion with her hands, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to know what she wanted. I took a deep breath, unzipped my pants, and let my cock spring free.
Holy shit, I wanted to touch myself. With trembling fingers, I opened the condom packet and rolled it down over my cock. It took everything I had not to come right then--and I've never had a problem with staying power, but damn, with her watching me...
She placed both my hands on the chair arms, held them there, and then moved away. I watched her hips, swaying with each step, and took another deep breath. The air felt cool on my cock, but hot on my face, and I shifted a little to get the pressure off my braid so it wasn't pulling.
Zorya ran her hands across Tiki's back, speaking to him with inaudible whispers, then picked up a paddle. First she used her bare hand, spanking him--slow, then faster, ending with a sharp blow on each cheek--and his moans grew. His head came up with each blow, his hips bucking against the horse. I saw her flex her hand--getting feeling back into it, probably--then she swung the paddle, again alternating light to hard to fast... and then running her bare hand across his ass and down between his legs.
He moaned, crying out wordlessly, and moved against her hand. The sound was erotic, the sight unbelievable--and there I was, with the biggest damn erection in months, legs spread right in front of this woman... why?
Wait... why not?
Wasn't enough that it pleased her?
And then I knew.
I understood.
That's what it was about.
Not the black leather, the rose-tipped flog, the snap of the cane. Not the shackles or the blindfold or the hundred little implements, or the chains or the command phrases or the kneeling positions for submissives. Not the tight pants or the scene names or the formalities; not the remote controls or the high heels or the arched backs.
It wasn't for one's own pleasure.
It was to please someone else.
Someone I trusted.
Someone I might even love, in an unexpected way. Not in a sexual sense, but in a way of respect, admiration, maybe even emulation. And so, in that moment, whatever she wanted, I would do to please her, as would Tiki. And at the same time, she was doing whatever he wanted, to please him... and me.
It was a feedback loop--and I was caught in it.
And I wasn't going to break free.
Not now.
Not now, now that I finally understood.
She stood over Tiki, running her hands across him; one of her hands played between his hips. At some point while I'd been lost in my moment, she'd brought out something and was pushing it into his ass. Tiki's head was up, his body shuddering with each flick of her wrist... and she was watching him, and watching me.
"Do it," she murmured, and pointedly stared at my cock.
I nodded, licking my hand and placing it around my shaft; I stroked once, then again, as her smile grew. She said something to Tiki, removing his blindfold, and he turned his head, blinking, to stare at me.
"Yes," Zorya purred, and I understood, again, that intuitive leap between what we'd discussed beforehand--all the dry details--to what was happening--the wet, heat of my hand, the trickle of sweat down the side of my face, the delicious sound of Tiki's moans. She was including me, but without breaking the limits. She was giving Tiki the chance to see me being dominated, too, and maybe that was part of it. She was pleasing me--in a way I'd never have expected--by creating a space in which I didn't think of myself as not good enough or not worth noticing or my space as too private to let others in: she was blowing the door down and telling me it was okay, it was good...
Come out and play.
I stroked harder, as her hand moved again between his legs, with a final thrust. Tiki threw his head back with a shout, and almost immediately she began caning him: sharp, fierce blows. Something glinted in her other hand; a remote control device: it buzzed with each strike, mixing pain and pleasure. He was bucking against the horse, but his eyes were on me.
In the low light, I could tell his gaze was losing focus. He was nearing his edge, and my own nerves were on fire. I bucked into my hand, pumping faster, and Zorya increased her own pace; Tiki, in turn, cried out, eyes closing for a moment before opening to stare at me.
His pleasure.
Her pleasure.
Mine.
I came with a muffled grunt, one hand cupped over the head of my cock, and my body arched in the chair, hips bucking uncontrollably. Tiki came at about the same instant, his entire body seeming to lift away from the horse.
Her words came at me from a distance, praise and admiration and pleasure, and I don't know to which of us she was talking: him, me, both, everything. I came down with a sigh, staring across the room to see her undoing his restraints.
He rose up into her arms, and they hugged tightly before she reached out a hand towards me. I removed the condom, dropping it into the trash bucket by the two bowls. I zipped up my pants and rose on unsteady legs to cross the twelve feet to her. She smiled, running a hand down my face, and I realized she was probably as high as I felt. Tiki's face was pressed against her stomach; he was on his knees, and I moved to stand behind her, hugging her from behind. She sagged a little between us, and together we kept her upright.
After a moment, I had myself under control--and I wanted to think, but not really think. I wanted to have a cup of coffee and listen to Flamel's music and bask... yeah, that was the perfect word; bask... in what I'd realized. I hugged Zorya again, and kissed her on the cheek.
"I'll be in the piano room," I told her. "Anything else you need me to do before I go?"
"No," she said, smiling--a bit weary, but happy, content. Her eyes were half-closed, in that sated way of post-orgasm, though I was almost certain she'd not come herself.
"Okay," I whispered. Without another word, I silently left the room, leaving the two of them to their privacy.
Out in the hallway, I took a deep breath and straightened myself, smoothing down my braid out of pure habit before throwing it over my shoulder. Two people walked past, and one of the Dungeon Masters paused, giving me a curious look.
"Aftercare," I said, jabbing a thumb to the door behind me. He nodded, and headed on; only then did I realize he'd looked me over while I was getting my breath. But I didn't feel violated or annoyed or even embarrassed. Some small part of me, instead, almost preened--and how unbelievable is that?
And is that what she'd given me, this time? Not the question of trust... but acceptance. I suddenly felt handsome, and wanted to laugh at myself. How long had I been seeing myself as an assortment of parts, good for certain things--hands for fixing, arms for lifting, legs for moving, cock for fucking?
But all together, to see... oh, it was hard to explain and I couldn't find words then anymore than I can now, describing it. Like she'd looked at me from across that small room and said, as clear as day: You are sexy.
It was mind-blowing, and... damn, a bit of an ego boost. No. Ten times an ego boost. More. Wonderful. Amazing. I wanted to find the little girl from the fetish shop--she was around here somewhere, I'd seen her before we'd left the upper bar--and kiss her silly for making me buy these clothes.
Or maybe I wanted to track down Heero and shove him against the wall and kiss him silly. The thought of Heero, silly at anything, finally did make me laugh out loud, and I held that thought in my head all the way to the piano bar.
Flamel was playing another melancholy tune, but the words sparkled, while Cherub brought me coffee. I lay on the swooning sofa, hands clasped across my stomach, and didn't care that I might as well have been bare-chested for all the shirt covered me. I smiled at Cherub when she checked on me, and I pondered the question of where I went from there.
Now that I understood, there were only two things left to do. One was to get more experience--as a dominant; I'd need to know more if Heero were submissive in a scene. And if Heero preferred to be dominant, I'd follow his lead and learn from him as a submissive. The next step was even simpler.
The next time Heero headed to the club... I'd be waiting for him.
On to Chapter nine
Back to chapter seven