Sunday, January 8, 2017

Sunday's Safe Word Shelf: Tales from the Edge by LM Somerton Part 2

The Edge is a training company with a difference. Its weekend clients come for classes in bondage and domination, not team building and problem solving.

The management, staff and customers of The Edge do not lead boring lives. In fact they have a habit of getting themselves into all kinds of trouble. Put Dominant, possessive alpha males together with bratty, loveable submissives and sparks are bound to fly. These Tales from The Edge are their stories.

Driven to the Edge #7
Not all limits can be negotiated.

The Edge is reaching a major milestone. After ten years in business together, Doms Joe Dexter and Heath Anders are planning a celebration and new beginnings. But even the best-laid plans can be thrown off course.

When Olly, Joe’s beloved sub, gets caught up in a hostage situation involving Special Forces soldiers, PTSD and blood diamonds, a party is the last thing on Joe’s mind. He hates the lack of control, and the thought of losing Olly takes him close to the edge.

Joe is not the only one reassessing his priorities. Olly needs Joe’s strength more than ever. He feels safe only in Joe’s arms or in his bondage.

Can Joe and Olly find sanctuary in each other or will their latest adventure drive them apart?

Reader Advisory: This book contains a hostage situation and scenes of violence.

Binding the Edges #8(Coming January 10, 2017)
Never let go of the one you love.

After recent traumatic events, Olly is finding it hard to get his head around what happened. While he tries to deal with a maelstrom of emotions, renovations at The Edge are in full flow, alongside preparations for tenth anniversary celebrations. Joe, his Dom, recognises Olly’s delicate state of mind and does his best to reassure him. A trip to the New Forest with their friends, Aiden and Heath, helps the healing process.

Returning home, Olly and Aiden focus on preparations for the party. When Aiden is called away, Olly takes a walk to clear his head, keeping his eye on a brewing storm. To his horror, he discovers Mark Vickery, an old enemy, has landed on the island by boat and is out for revenge.

With Olly missing and the storm raging, Joe, Heath and Aiden set out on a rescue mission that unfolds in a way none of them expected. Can the storm wash away the past or will Olly and Joe’s future be destroyed by a twist of fate?

Driven to the Edge #7
Olly threw himself onto the battered couch in the nurses’ break room with a dramatic sigh. Challenged by his momentum, the ancient springs groaned and creaked beneath him. He bounced a couple of times before settling in place.

“Lord, my cute little butt needs better support than this heap of firewood can provide.” He swung his legs up onto the cushions. “It’s been one long-assed day.” He wriggled his toes inside his sparkly purple sneakers. “Why do you suppose the Americans call these things sneakers? Do you think they were designed for tiptoeing off to clandestine booty-calls?”

“Are you addressing that question to me, Nurse Lane, or are you talking to yourself again?”

Olly pulled himself up and peered over the back of the couch. “Well, I thought I was conversing with my biggest fan, i.e. me. Oh, hey, Rex, I didn’t even notice you lurking there. Did you get lost on your way to the doctors’ lounge? And why do you guys have a posh lounge when we only have a break room? Doesn’t seem fair, considering everyone knows we nurses do all the work around here.”

“The coffee in here is less toxic and you always have chocolate biscuits. My chances of finding anything edible in our break room are slim to none because surgeons absorb sugar from fifty feet away. The tin is perpetually empty.” He stirred the contents of his chipped mug with vigor. “Can I make you one?”

“Only if you want me to worship at your feet.” Olly hoped his drooling wasn’t too obvious.

“My ego could deal with that. Not sure your Joe would approve, though.”

Olly groaned. “Does Joe send out memos or something? I swear every staff member at this hospital is under instructions to keep an eye on me and send in reports. Joe doesn’t even work here and he knows more people than I do.”

Rex handed him a mug. “He does know everyone. And everyone knows you… Even the ones you haven’t met.”

Olly inhaled the scent of freshly brewed coffee. “I haven’t had a cup of this all day. That has to be some kind of endurance record. Gimme a biscuit. Oh, and you earned some brownie points for not denying nurses do all the work.”

Rex shoved Olly’s legs off the sofa and took a seat next to him. He planted the biscuit tin between them. “Don’t snaffle all the bourbons. I have a medical degree. I know better than to say anything that might piss off a nurse—even you.”

“If there are jammy dodgers left, your bourbons are safe.” Olly rooted in the tin. “Woohoo! There’s one.” He and Rex shared a high five. Olly dunked his biscuit in his coffee then consumed it in two bites. “Oh, God…so good. Sugar and caffeine in one hit. I’m in heaven. All I need now is a foot massage and I can die happy.” He toed off his sneakers to reveal rainbow-striped socks.

“You can get that from someone other than me.” Rex hauled himself out of the sofa’s amorous clutches. “I have my limits. Gotta get back before one of the ward sisters notices I’m AWOL.”

“Good luck with that, they have spies everywhere.”

Rex grunted. “Ain’t that the truth? When are you back on shift?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. I’m working from two till ten. At least I get a nice, long lie-in.” He closed his eyes and drifted into a daydream involving Joe, a flogger and multiple orgasms.

“If you were a dog, I swear your back leg would be twitching right now.”

“Fuck off, Rex.” Olly didn’t bother to open his eyes—it was too much like hard work. He wouldn’t normally have spoken to a doctor that way, but he was off shift and that meant anyone was fair game. He flicked his fingers in a gesture that could only be interpreted as dismissal.

“Cheeky brat.” Rex sounded fond of Olly rather than annoyed with him. His words were followed by the thud of the door closing.

“I get called that a lot,” Olly murmured.

He was in danger of falling asleep. His grip on the coffee mug slackened but, as it tipped, he came back to full alertness. There was no way he was going to lose a single precious drop of his illicit caffeine hit. Of course, he would have to confess to Joe when he got home. He wasn’t supposed to have coffee without permission, but at the end of a long, difficult shift his willpower was non-existent. He giggled. Punishment followed by Joe pounding him through the mattress would be a great way to end the day.

After sneaking another biscuit, a bourbon this time, Olly levered himself up. He shoved his tired feet back into his sneakers, then tied the laces in a double bow. He intended to shower at home, so he pulled on his black Edge sweatshirt over his lurid pink scrubs. He had several more brightly colored sets that he’d bought himself back in his wardrobe. He couldn’t abide the dull green ones the hospital issued—the color did not go with his hair. He also washed them himself. The hospital laundry made everything smell the same and Olly preferred the scent of lemons to carbolic.

The knowledge that he was heading home always put an extra spring in Olly’s step, even after a tiring day. He took his usual shortcut down the rear fire escape to the staff car park. He wasn’t supposed to do it, but it cut a full six and a half minutes off the prescribed exit route via reception. He always waved at the security camera to annoy the guards in the monitor room. In his opinion they were too grumpy and he felt it was his duty to cheer up their day.

Even from a distance and through the damp haze of a Yorkshire afternoon, his car was easy to spot. In the massed ranks of gray, black and white vehicles there was an occasional daub of red but only one bright yellow burst of sunshine. Though he had access to The Edge’s company vehicles, Olly’s heart was firmly given to Fifi, his sweet little Fiat. He had saved hard to buy the diminutive car, which now sported faux fur cushions in a garish shade of tangerine and a plush Minion toy hanging from the rearview mirror. Only a couple of years old, Fifi had air conditioning for the two weeks of summer when it was needed and a sound system powerful enough to entertain half the county. Best of all was the heated driver’s seat, which warmed Olly’s ass almost as well as a spanking from Joe.

When he reached his car, Olly paused as he always did, to take in the view. The building housing Bourton Military Hospital and Convalescent Facility had once been an imposing stately home—one of the grandest houses in North Yorkshire. Its position on a bluff, rolling moorland, at its foot, had been of strategic importance during many a historical conflict. Olly could easily picture roundheads and cavaliers ranging across the moors, engaged in battle. Well, actually, he could picture being held captive by an evil roundhead general, then being liberated by a dashing, long-haired hero in a feathered hat and the resultant kinky celebrations. He had no particular reason for making Cromwell’s troops the bad guys other than the royalists dressed better.

Though Bourton had been extended with the addition of modern wings, the development had been kept to the rear of the building, so its front aspect remained much as it had been in Elizabethan times when the first stones had been laid. In the early evening with the fiery hues of the setting sun reflecting from thousands of tiny panes of glass in the leaded windows, it was a spectacular sight. It always made Olly smile, and that evening was no exception. No matter how emotionally exhausting his day had been, Bourton at sunset was one big happy pill.

He clambered into Fifi, turned on the ignition and selected appropriate tunes for the thirty-minute drive to the coast. Duran Duran’s Wild Boys blasted out of the speakers. Olly added his slightly out of tune voice to Simon Le Bon’s in a loud duet and pulled out of his space. By the time he got home he would have worked his way through Hungry Like the Wolf, Rio and Girls on Film at least three times. With the setting sun at his back, he headed across moorland scattered with the gold and mauve of gorse and heather. Ahead of him, storm clouds bruised the sky black and purple. Olly frowned.

Hope I get back before that deluge arrives.

He pressed the accelerator a bit harder, urging Fifi on through a strangled rendition of Hold Back the Rain.

The musical magic worked because, as Olly approached the causeway linking the mainland to the island where he lived, it was still dry. He heaved a sigh of relief. Driving across the narrow road in the rain wasn’t fun. Between the sea mist and spray beating up from the tires it was a case of aim and pray he didn’t steer off the edge. He checked nobody was coming in the other direction before starting out. If Aiden and Heath had plans for the evening, Aiden had a tendency to drive like a Formula One wannabe. The way was clear, so Olly pointed Fifi at the island and covered the final part of his journey.

The Edge, his partner Joe’s company, was housed in a rambling old building that had once been the estate of an eccentric billionaire. Now it played host to elite training courses for various clandestine parts of the security forces. That was the aspect the public saw. Interspersed with survival skills and espionage 101, The Edge also offered classes aimed at participants in the BDSM scene. Joe and his business partner Heath were both lifestyle Doms. They had set up The Edge almost ten years earlier, turning it into a thriving and well-respected business.

Olly smacked his lips together. Thinking about Joe made him drool, gave him a guaranteed erection and sent shivers down the length of his spine. He parked Fifi between two of The Edge’s logo-adorned four-wheel drives, then jumped out. He gave the little Fiat a pat before heading inside.

The entrance hall was grand and rather intimidating on first viewing, but to Olly it was warm, welcoming and smelled of home. A fire crackled in the enormous open fireplace, taking the chill from the air. A massive patterned rug covered two-thirds of the floor and there was a scattering of cozy armchairs for people waiting for appointments. Low tables held a range of newspapers and magazines. There was no reception area, but Joe and Heath had offices on opposite sides of the hall. If neither of them was around, a brass bell summoned whoever was on meet-and-greet duty.

Heath’s door was closed. Olly guessed he and Aiden were having some pre-dinner alone time, which probably involved Aiden bent over Heath’s desk. Aiden was Heath’s sub, and Olly’s best friend and partner in crime. Olly smiled when he saw Joe’s door was open a crack, soft light spilling around the edges. He gave the heavy oak a soft tap.

“Come in, Olly.” Joe’s voice always had an edge of command, even in giving the most mundane instructions.

Olly shivered. He pushed the door open and walked into Joe’s office.

“Close the door behind you, please.” Joe glanced up from whatever he was working on. He gave Olly an appraising look.

Olly clasped his hands behind his back, fidgeting from foot to foot.

“How did you know it was me, Sir?”

“Other than the fact you were due back from work about now?” Joe quirked an eyebrow. “Heath never knocks if the door is open, he barges straight in. Aiden knocks, then stomps around outside until he’s invited in. That young man has no patience. At this time of the evening it’s unlikely to be anyone else.” He stood, then pushed his chair back.

Olly, keeping his hands behind his back, sank to his knees. He ducked his head, unwilling to meet Joe’s icy blue gaze. Joe walked around his desk. He perched on its edge.

“Hmm. I suspect you’ve been disobedient, Oliver. How many mugs of coffee did you have today?”

Olly’s face heated. “One, Sir.”

“Do you think mumbling your confession makes any difference?”

“No, Sir.” Olly widened his eyes and tried his most appealing expression. “I ate two biscuits as well, but one was a jammy dodger and you know I can’t resist those. There are never any left in the tin in the nurses’ break room, but this evening there was one, buried under the boring digestives. I couldn’t leave it there, could I? Then I got a serious sugar craving. I think my willpower is getting stronger because I only had one more and it was a bourbon so it doesn’t really count.”

“Sugar and caffeine.”

It was a reprimand disguised as a statement.

“Yes, Sir.” Olly nibbled his lower lip. Anticipation built, a slow burn centered in his balls. The urge to fidget was strong, especially with stimulants rushing through his blood.

“Stand up. Grip the edge of the desk.”

Joe moved to one side, making room for Olly. Olly rose with as much grace as his trembling legs would allow. He stood, legs apart, about a foot from the desk, and leaned forward to rest his hands on the edge. The familiarity of the position sent him halfway to subspace. That and the absolute certainty Joe would punish him. He’d broken Joe’s rules and Joe was reassuringly consistent when it came to consequences. It was one of the many reasons Olly loved him so much.

He sighed when Joe stroked his ass. He wished the touch was against bare skin rather than through the polyester of his scrubs, but it was a start. He wiggled, hoping for more.

“Be still, brat.”

Joe slipped his fingers beneath the elasticated waist of Olly’s pink polyester trousers. He pulled them down so the fabric rested below the curve of his butt.

“Pristine. All my marks have faded. We should do something to remedy that, don’t you think?”

“Yes please, Sir.”

Binding the Edges #8
Olly surveyed the bombsite that had once been his and Joe’s bedroom. There was a certain satisfaction in seeing his entire wardrobe strewn across the bed and over every inch of the floor.

“I have absolutely no idea what to pack.” He stuck out his lower lip and stood, hands on hips, waiting for inspiration to strike.

“We’re only going to be away for two nights, how hard can it be?” Aiden reclined on the bed, partly covered by a collection of brightly colored T-shirts.

“Oh, it can be very hard, believe me.” Olly twitched his nose and smirked.

Aiden groaned. “There’s an image I need to bleach from my brain.”

“You left yourself wide open,” Olly said. “That’s not like you.” He scratched at his arm. “Christ, these stitches are driving me insane.”

“I’m tired,” Aiden said. “My brain’s not working. And if you don’t stop messing with that cut, Joe will lock your hands into bondage mittens.”

Olly gulped. “There’s a pair of those around here somewhere. I hate them. They make my hands all sweaty and I don’t like it when I can’t touch Joe. I should hide them.”

“If Joe can’t find them, he’ll know you are responsible and when he asks you where they are you’ll have to tell him the truth.”

“Then I’ll be in even more trouble.” Olly sighed. “Being a submissive involves far too many ethical decisions for my liking. Why are you tired?”

“Because I didn’t get enough sleep last night.”

Olly gave his friend a more detailed examination. There were dark shadows beneath Aiden’s eyes but he didn’t seem tense or unhappy. “Tell me all the juicy details. What did Heath do to you? Come on, spill! I’m your best friend in the whole wide world and therefore entitled to know about every kinky facet of your love life.” Olly gave Aiden a stubborn stare. “Besides, it beats making packing decisions.”

“Oh, I’m so glad that my private life is more titillating than your underwear choices.”

“Well…” Olly considered that for a few seconds. Underwear selection for a mini-break with Joe was a very serious matter. “It’s a close call, but my natural curiosity needs satisfying.”

Aiden grunted. “More like rabid nosiness.”

Olly clambered onto the bed, shoving clothing out of the way as he went. He sat cross-legged and stared Aiden down. “You have to tell me now. It would be cruel not to. I would have to report you to the RSPCS.”

Aiden squinted at him and raised an eyebrow.

“Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Subs. It’s a thing.”

“You’ve met Heath,” Aiden responded. “I should have an honorary membership.”

“What did your big bad Dom do now? Tell Olly. I’ll kiss it better.”

“You will not!”

Aiden’s indignant exclamation had Olly dissolving in a fit of giggles. “Well, that gives me a clue as to which part of your anatomy is involved. How about we play the yes no game?”

“What are you talking about, Olly?”

“Well, you’re too shy to tell me straight out, so just answer my questions yes or no. That’s all you have to do. You don’t really tell me anything but I get the information I need. It’s a win-win solution to our mutual dilemma.”

“I don’t have a dilemma.” There was a delicate blush staining Aiden’s well-defined cheekbones.

“I disagree. Your dilemma is that if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I will aggravate you until you cry like a little girl.” Olly blew on his fingernails and polished them against his shirt.

“Jesus.” Aiden banged his head against the mattress. “Fine. But you only get ten questions. After that you suffer in silence. Agreed?”

“Agreed. This is fun!” Ten questions should be enough, Olly reasoned.

Aiden shifted up the bed then made himself comfortable against the pillows. Olly drummed his fingers on his thigh, impatient to get started.

“Okay, question one.” He held up a finger. “Did Heath keep you awake with the assistance of sex toys?”

“Yes.” Aiden sighed heavily.

“That was an easy one and gives me a clue that more than one item was involved.” Olly licked his lips. “So was your sadistic Dom indulging himself with a little CBT?”

Aiden groaned. “Yes.”

“Mmm. Delicious. Of course cock and ball torture can be achieved in so many ways. However, I credit Heath with a particularly inventive imagination. Was some sort of predicament play involved?”

Aiden apparently had to think about that one. “Yes.”

“Ah, another clue. You weren’t sure how to answer so that tells me it wasn’t a complicated setup, but you must have been put in a position where movement had consequences. That wasn’t a question, by the way.”

“Olly, get on with it.”

“Wow. You whine almost as well as I do. Not quite, of course, because I am the world champion. Now, knowing you as well as I do, you probably gave Heath some cheek. He would have wanted to screw you hard but punish you at the same time. Am I getting warm?”

“Yes, and that was a question.”

“Gloating doesn’t suit you.” Olly flopped onto his front, folded his arms then rested his chin on them. He peeked at Aiden from beneath a few stray curls. “I still have six questions left. I don’t think Heath would use one of those clamp thingies that squash your balls flat. He cares about your bits too much.”

Aiden blinked. It was enough of a tell to convince Olly he was right.

“He’d want to stop you getting away from him because I know how you like to run. So, possibly a spreader bar…but that’s too boring for Heath. Something that gave him easy access to your arse but was suitably humiliating.” Olly frowned, mentally listing all the possible options. “I’ve got it!” He chuckled.

Aiden closed his eyes, his expression a picture of abject misery. “God, this is painful.”

“I’ll bet last night was, too!” Olly crowed. “Did he use a humbler?”

Aiden’s blush deepened. “Yes.” He spoke so softly, Olly barely caught the word.

“That’s so hot! Joe has a stiff rubber one, but I bet Heath’s is made of wood because that’s much more uncomfortable.” He giggled. “So there you are, on your hands and knees, unable to get up. The humbler is digging into the backs of your thighs and your balls are trapped and exposed.”

“Stop with the vivid descriptions, Olly. I was there, remember. God, I wish I had a gag handy. A big rubber ball gag.”

“Heath didn’t use one of those, though, because he would have wanted to hear you scream. He wouldn’t have been able to resist flogging your balls. Next question—did he use a flogger on you?”


Aiden was far too triumphant for Olly’s liking. He was convinced Heath would have used something, so if not a flogger… “A crop! He used a crop.”

Aiden shifted on the bed. “You haven’t asked a question.”

“Don’t need to waste one. I can see from your face I’m right. I’ll bet you my next custard donut that he took his time wrangling you into that contraption, then he cropped your balls. I’ll add another donut, a jammy one this time, if he didn’t edge you for hours before fucking you into oblivion.”

“Do you have a camera hidden in our bedroom, Olly?” Aiden scowled.

“He probably chained your hands to the end of the bed, as well.” Olly smirked when Aiden rubbed at his wrists.

“I hate you.”

“You love me. I’m adorable.” Olly rested his chin on Aiden’s knee. “I’ll save the rest of my question quota for another time.”

“For that, I’m eternally grateful. Now, for goodness sake, finish packing. If you’re not ready by the time Joe wants to leave, he’ll probably tie you up and stuff you in the boot with the luggage.”

Olly thought about that for a moment and decided it was quite likely. He scooted off the bed, panic rising in his belly. “I don’t know what to do, Aiden. I can’t seem to think straight about anything at the moment—it’s all too confusing. Everything I look at reminds me of what happened at the hospital, even the silliest things like a pair of nail scissors, Joe’s razor, even a balled-up pair of socks for Christ’s sake. Then I think about what could have happened and I just want to curl up and cry.” Hot tears welled.

“That’s because you went through a significant traumatic experience and you’re suffering from a form of PTSD.”

At the sound of Joe’s calm tones, Olly whirled around. “Sir!” He threw himself into Joe’s welcoming arms.

“Thank you for keeping an eye on him for me, Aiden,” Joe said.

“What?” Olly rubbed at his eyes then peered at Aiden who was sliding off the bed. He edged around the room, keeping well out of Olly’s reach. “You were babysitting me for Joe?”

“I, um, maybe?” Aiden made it to the door.

“We’re leaving in an hour,” Joe said to Aiden. “Heath’s expecting you at your place.”

Aiden made his escape, mouthing ‘sorry’ at Olly before he left.

Olly tilted his head back to get a proper look at Joe’s face. Joe’s expression gave no indication of remorse or guilt, just his usual serene certainty that everything was under control. His control. He pressed a finger against Olly’s lips preventing him from forming them into a pout.

“Who knows what’s best for you, sweetheart?”

Olly ducked his head, escaping Joe’s finger. “You do, Sir.” In Olly’s mind, nothing was more certain. Joe only ever acted in Olly’s best interest, even to his own detriment. “But you don’t have to worry about me.”

“That’s for me to decide, Oliver. After everything you’ve been through recently I didn’t want you to be on your own.”

“Because you’re a psychologist and you were analyzing me?” Olly asked.

“No, because you needed a friend. I know what you’d do if you had too much time on your own to think. You’d mull over every detail of what happened and start to blame yourself, wish you’d handled things differently. Then you’d start worrying about all the what ifs with that creative imagination of yours, and end up having nightmares for weeks.”

“You know me too well, Sir.” Olly nuzzled against Joe’s chest, absorbing his warmth.

“I have better things to do with you in bed than watch you toss and turn in your sleep.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“So no sulking with Aiden. He’s a good friend.”

“The best. Now I understand why he didn’t run away when I interrogated him about what he and Heath got up to last night. I think you did me a favor, Sir.”

“That grin is far too wicked. I suspect you need to be punished.”

“Ooh, yes please!”

“But you have packing to finish because we need to get on the road if we’re going to make it to Hampshire in time for dinner.”

“You’re no fun, Sir.” Olly was torn between wanting to play with Joe and his curiosity about their destination. He would also get to see Carey and Alistair. Maybe some of his other friends, too. “What do you want me to take?”

Joe gave him a curious glance. The press of Joe’s fingers under his chin tilted Olly’s head back.

“This isn’t like you. Usually you’d have two enormous suitcases stuffed to bursting by now. What’s going on?”

“Sorry, Sir.” Tears that seemed to come all too quickly stung Olly’s eyes.

“Hey, now. None of that.” Joe kissed away a tear. “Are you having a tough time making decisions at the moment?”

Olly nodded. He worried that if he spoke he’d have a full-on nuclear meltdown.

“Well, it’s a good job you have me, isn’t it?”

Olly bobbed his head, feeling a bit like a nodding dog toy. His head felt too heavy for his neck and a wave of exhaustion washed over him. He wanted to grab a pillow, one that smelled of Joe, hug it tight and drift off to sleep.

“Where’s your bag?” Joe rooted around on the floor until he uncovered a bright purple suitcase on wheels. He put it on the bed then flipped the lid back. “Right. Important things first. Go to your underwear drawer and fetch the black silk thong, the powder-blue shorts and the white satin briefs with the open back. Unless they’re somewhere on the floor, of course.”

The order cleared Olly’s head. He went to the drawer and collected the underwear. “All your favorites, Sir.”

“We’re having a well-earned break. I think I’m entitled to indulge myself a little. For the evening, I want you to bring the navy leather trousers. Match them with that cerise shirt.”

Olly’s jaw dropped.

“Is that a problem?”

Olly caught the mischievous glint in Joe’s eye. “Sir, you’re teasing me. You know they don’t go together and you wouldn’t want me to turn people’s stomachs just by walking into a room, would you?”

“Why don’t you choose something more appropriate then?” A smile ghosted across Joe’s lips.

Olly burrowed into his pile of T-shirts and extracted a dip-dyed V-neck that was almost the same midnight blue as the trousers at the bottom, fading to the palest blue around the neckline. “This one!” He held it up triumphantly.

“That’s a little better than my option, I suppose.” Joe grinned. “You can bring the sheer slave-boy trousers, as well. You won’t need a top to go with those. I’ve already packed your white leather harness.”

Olly swallowed. His cock perked into life. “Aww, Sir! I don’t want to spend the entire journey like this.” He stared at his bulging jeans. “No fair.”

“If you pick out a couple of pairs of jeans, a warm sweater and two more T-shirts in the next three minutes, there just might be time to do something about that.”

Clothes flew through the air as Olly made his choices.

“Don’t forget socks and some comfortable boots for walking. That’s all you’ll need. I predict most of this will be brought back unworn because you won’t be needing clothes for much of what I have in mind.”

Olly gaped. He dropped his boots into the case and slammed the lid down. “I’m packed, Sir.”

“Jeans off. Lie on the bed, hands above your head.”

If there were an Olympic event for bed-mounting, Olly would have the gold medal sewn up. He kicked off his jeans before taking a flying leap toward the mattress. Naked from the waist down, he stretched his arms over his head to grasp the headboard. His cock strained skyward, jerking with excitement. Joe climbed onto the bed and straddled him. Olly came close to hyperventilating. Breathing became impossible when Joe ducked his head and took Olly’s swollen shaft into his mouth.

Olly tried to keep still, he really did, but it was a lost cause. The man he adored was sucking his cock in a way only a Dom could manage. Totally in control, Joe played Olly’s body like a finely tuned instrument. Powerful suction followed delicate puffs of air or the press of teeth. When Joe fondled his balls, Olly screamed.

“Sir! Sir…please… You can’t… I can’t… I have to…nng.” Permission to come became Olly’s reason for living. He needed it more than he needed air. Joe had trained him patiently and well. There was no way he could come without Joe’s order.

“Let it go, sweetheart.” Joe released him only for as long as it took to utter the words. Olly came on command into the heat of Joe’s mouth, body spasming, the burn of release flooding every vein. It took a while for Olly’s eyes to regain their focus. Joe leaned over him, licking his lips. He bent forward for a kiss and Olly could taste his essence in Joe’s mouth. Joe gave Olly’s sensitized cock a final squeeze. “I want you downstairs in the hall in five minutes. The mess in here can wait until we get back…when I’m certain you’ll be cleaning it up naked, on your knees.”

Olly’s cock gave a valiant twitch. “You said that on purpose, Sir!”

Joe climbed gracefully off the bed. “Of course I did.”
Author Bio:
Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.

She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She's fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and some not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.


Driven to the Edge #7

Binding the Edges #8