Ropes of Sorrel by Sean Michael
Jaret handed his backpack and his jacket into the coat-checker at Leather Roses, grinning at Ben. The boy was a total flirt, but Jaret knew his stuff would be safe. It made him grin harder because most people probably thought his back pack was full of leather and rope and all sorts of sex toys instead of books and pens. He'd come straight from his last class, Sorrel wanting to start their weekend, which started on a Thursday night instead of the more traditional Friday, with a scene. He had no idea what his lover had in mind, but he was excited, cock straining at his jeans, making them feel uncomfortably tight.
He looked around the club as he made his way to the bar for a tonic water with lime twist. It was busy tonight. Really busy for not quite 8pm. Word must have gotten out that he and Sorrel would be playing tonight. They'd built quite a reputation together as a damned good show. He nodded at a few people who stopped to say hi, but most left him alone, giving him the chance to relax and start to get into the right headspace.
He finished his drink quickly and went to pee and then went to look at the stage. It was unlit for now, empty and waiting. Full of potential. Like him. Just waiting for Sorrel to bring that potential to life. A soft hand fell on his shoulder and he turned to meet Anna's smiling eyes, full-figured body draped in the same blood-red velvet as the low, deep couches, the high-backed booths. Sorrel had told him once that the reason Anna had named her club the Rose was because the decor suited her dark hair and eyes, made her shine. That dark hair was worked up into an amazing series of braids and curls, little sparkling jewels and tiny rosebuds scattered throughout, making her seem taller, regal.
"Jaret-love? Sorrel left a note and a package for you at the bar. The new girl didn't know you and I didn't see you come in." She handed over a good-sized bundle, a little envelope on top.
"Thanks, Anna . Are any of the back rooms empty?" He didn't want to open Sorrel's package or note in public.
She nodded, hair bouncing. "Number nine -- the one with the massage table and the quiet music? He's reserved it all night."
He nodded, keeping his smile internal. Oh, Sorrel must have something intense planned if they had the private massage room reserved for the whole night. His heart was thudding hard in his chest and his cock hurt by the time he closed the door to number nine behind him. He took a deep breath, sat and opened the envelope first. The paper was rich, smooth, and Jaret could see Sorrel, sitting in the leather chair with his black pen, thinking of him, writing to him. The note was simple, straight-forward, utterly Sorrel. "J., The package is for you. Meditate and I will come for you. I love you. S."
He traced the letters, feeling Sorrel's love and care, even in the simple words. He took another deep breath to calm himself and turned to the package. The package was simple too -- a pair of loose linen pants, a tiny slice of soap that Sorrel bought in the oriental market, infused with sorrel leaves, a bag to put his watch and street clothes in.
He smiled -- even here, even at the club, even when he was gone, Sorrel managed to make the space special, theirs. Quiet. He changed into the linen pants, putting his clothes and his watch into the bag and placing them in the corner. Placing the sliver of soap in his palm, he sat cross legged on the floor and closed his eyes, slowly emptying his mind of everything but the soft scent of the soap.
Sorrel’s soap. Just like from the first day they met. From the first day he’d really needed Sorrel.
He woke up with a moan, feeling rough and ill-used. As he tried to move, his whole body screamed at him. Fuck. The memories flooded back, Ransome coming home in a rage, beating the shit out of him. He couldn't go to the hospital, last time he'd been they'd told him a note had gone into his file and the cops would get called if he showed up beaten up again. Fuckers. But he couldn't stay, not with Ransome passed out from drinking too much and him hurting as much as he was.
It had been desperation that drove him to Sorrel's, but maybe instinct was playing a part, too. Sorrel had said he could stay. He felt tears prickle at his eyelids. Ransome had been wonderful at the beginning...
A door opened and the smell of garlic and bread and tea filled the room -- not overpowering, but intense, comforting, strong. He looked over and Sorrel was carrying a tray with a bowl and a teapot, wearing a pair of workout pants and a t-shirt, dark hair falling forward into his face.
He blinked away the tears and went to sit up, groaning as his body greatly protested the effort.
"If you'll wait, I'll help." The tray was set on the bedside table and then Sorrel settled him, hands fucking solid and sure. "You hungry?"
He was about to shake his head no when his stomach growled. "Yeah, I guess I am."
"Miso soup, toast, green tea. Should all go down easy." Sorrel moved the tray over and handed him a spoon.
He gave the miso soup a skeptical look, but dipped in his spoon and sipped a tiny bit of the broth. "Hey! This is pretty good."
One thin eyebrow arched. "Amazing what three thousand years of civilization can do to a cuisine, isn't it?"
He raised an eyebrow of his own. It was about the only thing on him that didn't hurt. "This is three thousand years old? You sure it won't make me sick?"
"I'm sure, smart ass." He got a grin and a shake of head. "Do you need another set of pain meds?"
"Yes," he answered quickly.
"Okay." Sorrel dug in his pockets and handed over two white pills. "I called the Club. Ransome's not a member there any longer, or at the Leather Rose. You are still welcome, but he is not."
He sighed as he swallowed down the pills. That was going to kill Ransome. It was going to make him madder than ever, too. "I'd better lay low, he's going to looking for heads to roll for this."
"If he's smart, he'll get some help." Sorrel's eyes were dark-dark and sad. "I didn't want it to come to this, but I can't have people abused. You can stay here, Jaret, as long as you want. There's space."
He wrapped his arms around himself, feeling awful for being so glad he had somewhere to go, some way to escape Ransome. Ransome needed him and he was running away. "Thanks, Sorrel."
"You're welcome." Sorrel watched him quietly. "Are you finished eating?" He nodded, pushing the food away as his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating more. Sorrel nodded and stood, digging in a drawer to pull out a pair of white swim trunks. "Put these on and come with me."
He fingered the bathing suit. "You got a pool hidden in here?" he asked, confused.
"Wouldn't that be wonderful?" Sorrel nodded at the suit. "Put it on and let's go."
"Just like that? Put it on and go?" Was this the price then for staying here? Had he traded one master for another?
"Jaret." Sorrel looked him right in the eyes. "You trusted me enough to come here. You trusted me enough to rest. Trust me now."
Sorrel had a point. He nodded. "Yeah, okay. I might need some help with the putting it on thing, though -- lots of bending in that."
"Not a problem." Sorrel came over and sank to his knees in front of him, helping him change. As Sorrel's head fell forward, Jaret could see that the back of Sorrel's neck was covered in inks, tattooed. As he looked at the swirling patterns, Sorrel dressed him, hands impersonal and gentle.
"Thanks," he said quietly. "That looks like an interesting tattoo on your back."
"It is." Sorrel stood and grinned, tugging off his shirt and turning. The muscular back was completely covered in a bright, stunning pattern of flowers and birds, swords and tigers and dragons.
"Holy fuck. "He said it reverently, hand reaching out, but stopping short of touching. "Can I touch it?"
"Of course." Sorrel stood, relaxed and easy, skin smooth and warm under his hand.
He traced the colorful things inked into Sorrel's back, each one seeming to flow into the next, the details minute and intricate. "This must have taken forever."
"Jesus." He was stunned. Ransome had a small tattoo done on one thigh. He'd screamed and cried and carried on. "It's really beautiful, Sorrel."
"Thank you. One day, when you're bored, I'll tell you about when I got it, but not now. Come on." Sorrel grabbed the tray and headed slowly down the stairs. Blinking, Jaret followed. He found that if he didn't move too quickly, or jar anything, there was no major pain. Oh, his whole body ached, but it was possible to ignore as long as nothing flared. Sorrel led him into a sun-lit room, spare and quiet, a massage table in the center. "On your stomach, please."
The tray was set aside and piles of towels were put into a steel box, then Sorrel pulled out a series of glass bottles filled with different colored liquids. Jaret climbed up carefully onto the table, moaning and flinching a couple of times, watching Sorrel. Sorrel moved around, mixing oils in a ceramic bowl, bare feet silent on the wood floor as soft, soothing music filled the room. Then the box dinged and Sorrel lifted a pile of steaming towels out and began to cover him completely, the heat sinking deep into his sore muscles.
He groaned. Oh, that felt good. Sorrel never said a word, just replaced towels as they cooled, sometimes rubbing a sore muscle gently with oiled fingers, sometimes just dripping fragrant oils on an exposed spot. Jaret kind of went into a trance, the music and the heat and the soft smell of the oils conspiring against him, making his pain go away, making everything go away for a little while. He floated, more at peace than he had been in a long time.
A gentle touch fell on his shoulder. "Jaret, in the sauna for fifteen minutes and then a shower and a nap."
He blinked, looking up at Sorrel. "Sauna?"
He wasn't even sure what the word meant. He blinked again. Oh, sauna. Here?
Sorrel removed the towels and nodded, helping him sit up. Together they walked to a tiny shower stall that had been converted into a sauna big enough for one. "Sit. Relax. I'll bring you a glass of water."
"Thanks." He smiled over at Sorrel. He felt like he was drunk. Or high. All relaxed and boneless. Or coming off a really, really good session. Like it had been at the beginning with Ransome.
"Don't think. Just heal now." Sorrel shut the door and left him to bake, returning every few moments to get him a sip of something cool and sweet and soothing. It was like Sorrel could read his mind, knowing right when he was thirsty and when he stopped zoning.
Then Sorrel was there helping him up, almost carrying him into a shower stall and holding him as the lukewarm water poured over him, making his knees weak, his head swim. "I will not let you fall, Jaret. Just feel the water."
He closed his eyes and let his knees buckle, Sorrel taking his weight. It felt so good to just let go, not to worry about whether or not the man he was with could carry his weight.
Sorrel stripped the shorts away and washed him, leaving his skin and hair smelling of herbs. When he was rinsed, Sorrel wrapped him in more warm towels and carried him into a tiny, dark room, sliding him into a soft bed, settling the pillows beneath him so he floated without pain, without pressure.
"Sorrel?" He reached out, needing an anchor, something to keep him from floating away.
"Right here." Sorrel's hand slid into his, Sorrel settling on the floor beside the bed. "Rest and heal, I will be with you."
He sighed and let go of everything.
Slowly coming back into himself, Jaret floated, soft and quiet, everything falling away until all he knew was peace and quiet and the warm, rich scent of leather. Leather... He opened his eyes to find Sorrel, cross-legged before him, dressed in tight black leather to contrast him. "Oh... you look beautiful."
Sorrel smiled, reached out to stroke his lips. "As do you. How do you feel, Jaret?"
"Good. Quiet." He grinned wryly. "Well, trying to be quiet."
Sorrel's chuckle was low, sweet. "We will start here, then the stage, then you and I will finish here, alone."
"Anna said you'd reserved the room for the whole night. I was hoping it meant that we would make love. It's been awhile since we have, after a scene."
Sorrel didn't answer, simply stood and held out a hand for him, dark eyes warm and hungry, loving him. He let Sorrel pull him up and refrained from pushing into his lover's arms. Here Sorrel was in charge and he would not presume to know what Sorrel wanted of him. Sorrel took one long sweet kiss, hand gentle in his hair. "Safeword?"
"Blue fish," he said quietly, the words as familiar as Sorrel's eyes, as his own breath.
"Loosen the ties on your pants and bend over the table, head on your hands, Jaret."
A shiver went through him, anticipation definitely winning out over quiet and calm. He looked down, paying attention as he undid the knot on the pants, having learned the hard way that his fingers weren't always his friends when he was excited. He bent over the table, cushioning his head on his hands, eyes closing.
Warm hands slid up his back, relaxing him, forcing the knots from his spine. "Tell me what you dreamed last night."
"Flying things. I don't know what they were. They seemed to be dragons but then they were these giant birds. It was really nice until I fell off."
"What colors?" Those hands smoothed his pants down, baring his ass. "Open for me, Jaret. Spread."
He moaned softly, legs spreading, ass pushing backward. "Red and bronze. And there was a lot of blue, but that might have been the sky."
Slick fingers traced around his opening, just barely pushing. "Were they soft? Did you have a saddle?"
As the question was asked, those fingers pushed deep, spreading him, opening him. A shudder moved through him and he tried to remember, tried to think. It wasn't easy with Sorrel's fingers inside him. "There was no saddle and they were... soft?"
"Soft? Against your balls, your inner thighs?" So familiar, so relaxing these random questions. The fingers inside him moved, pressing deep, slow waves that rocked his body.
"I don't remember... no that's not true, I wasn't naked. I was wearing the sheets."
"Our sheets?" Sorrel's chuckle tickled his lower back, the smooth cheek caressing him as the fingers disappeared.
"Yeah, the cream ones with the cranes on them. Maybe that's what they were -- cranes. Maybe I was riding the sheets." He tried not to tense back up, tried to stay loose and ready for Sorrel.
Something wide and hot and smooth pressed against him, demanding entrance. "Let it in, Jaret. You've taken bigger for me. Let it in and tell me what you're feeling."
Moaning just a little, he pushed back, feeling the plug spread him, begin to fill him. "Hot. Hard. So big. Stretch. Burn. Pain, not sharp -- dull, fading. Sorrel. So full. So very full."
Sorrel rewarded him with long caresses, soft touches of lips and tongue, plug finally seating within him, leaving him full and gasping and shaking with sensation. He clenched his muscles around the hard object a shudder going through him. "Sorrel..."
"Yes, Jaret." Sorrel stood, hand pressing the base of the plug, manipulating it. He shuddered again, his breath leaving him in a loud gasp. "Stand up and face me." He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, orienting himself before standing and turning to look into his lover's eyes. The plug was heavy, moving inside him, almost vibrating, but not. Sorrel's face was calm, at peace. "I'm going to touch your cock, bind you. Don't come. Tell me about your day."
Then Sorrel sank to his knees.
Don't come. It almost made him laugh, but if he laughed he would lose control and he would come like he needed to, like he wanted to. He concentrated on Sorrel's head, watching the dark braid as it moved along Sorrel's back.
"I had classes today. Mythology and history. The mythology teacher is a thin, redheaded woman who always looks like she's about to flee in terror."
Sorrel nodded, pulling out soft white leather straps from the black bag on the floor. The first loop went behind his balls and over his cock, cool and smooth and tight. It felt good, felt strong and he knew he wouldn't have to hold on much longer. In a moment the leather would hold him to Sorrel's will and he could give up, entirely cede control to Sorrel.
As he told Sorrel about his day, Sorrel worked, separating his balls with the leather before wrapping his cock in a herringbone braid that squeezed him, held him, cradled him. "I'm going to slice the leather off, when you have to come, when I've decided it's time."
"Yes, Sorrel." He was relaxed now, body full and bound, Sorrel's. He was ready.
Sorrel gently pulled his pants up, fastening the waistband with gentle fingers. Those same fingers traced over his nipples, bringing them to firm peaks. "So beautiful. Come with me. Everyone should see how lovely you are, Jaret."
He swallowed. "You make me beautiful, Sorrel."
"No, my Jaret." A soft kiss brushed over his forehead. "I simply make you see."
"I love you, Sorrel." They were the last words he would speak unless Sorrel asked him to speak during the scene. He received another soft nuzzle before Sorrel turned and left the room, knowing without question that he would follow, that he would be right where he belonged. Just as he always had, even from the beginning.
Sorrel stepped out of the shower and started drying off, the tension in his shoulders threatening to come back up, the itch in the back of his mind telling him it had been too many weeks of work and home and playing host to his quiet, healing houseguest.
It was time to play.
He wrapped a towel around himself, heading upstairs to the playroom to dress. Leather tonight, he thought -- something supple and black and sheer sex. He powdered his legs and slid on his favorite pair of pants -- custom-made, lace-up crotch and fit like a glove. A sleeveless sheer tank top went on next, then a thin leather jacket and the boots -- butch and thick and comfortable enough to stand in all fucking night. He slid a pair of leather gloves and some rope into his bag, cock filling at the smell of the leather and the feel of silk and the knowledge someone would be waiting for him at the Club to give them what only he could.
He headed downstairs, almost slinking, body already looking for the heady mixture of meting out pleasure and pain, hearing the soft gasps, the scent of need. As if on cue there was a loud gasp as he passed by the kitchen.
"Sorrel?" Jaret padded out, meeting him in the hall. "You're going out?"
He nodded, rumbling softly at the sight of Jaret -- so fine, so needy, such a temptation. "People are starting to think I've disappeared."
Jaret licked his lips. "You don't have to go out to play though, you know. I'm here. I'm healed. And I want it."
Sorrel felt the growl in his stomach, circling the base of his spine, the great snake twining and sliding. Wanting. "You've been hurt and this is your safe place. I will not compromise that."
"So we designate a room for it, somewhere that I don't usually go and I'll have a safeword." Jaret's eyes pleaded with him. "I'm hungry, Sorrel. It's been weeks."
"I don't play like Ransome." He caught Jaret's eyes, watching him. "Do you understand?"
"I safeworded a lot with Ransome -- but never because I had to. It was always for him. But that doesn't mean I don't know how to do it. I'm not looking to get beat up, Sorrel."
"What are you looking for then?" He took a step closer, let himself invade Jaret's space.
Jaret shook his head. "I don't know. I want to feel. I want to know I'm alive. I don't want to be just going through the motions. I've been doing that all my life, Sorrel and I'm tired."
"Why me? You're still welcome at the Club."
"Because of the way you live. It's so quiet here. I never met anyone who could be so at home in so much quiet." Jaret's cheeks pinked up. "Not to mention you look fucking hot all geared up like that."
The last made him chuckle, arch an eyebrow. "I won't fuck you. I'll top you, make you fly, might even make you come, but I won't fuck you. I don't do that unless I have a long-term arrangement. It's not personal, but it is how I work."
Jaret nodded. "You're the boss. We do it your way."
"Yes." His hand tightened around his bag, the leather creaking. Finally, he nodded. "Go lock the front door and come upstairs."
Jaret nodded, eyes hot, and went to do as he'd been told, not hurrying, but not dallying either. He watched for a moment and headed up the stairs, pulling out soft, thick ropes and setting them out on the countertop, waiting to play. Jaret slipped quietly into the room, his bare feet hardly making any sound. The kid's eyes were still hot, his jeans holding a generous bulge and there was a tension in his frame, needy, wanting.
"Have a seat." Sorrel motioned to the wooden chair by the window, waiting for Jaret to settle before speaking again. "Tell me what gets you off."
Jaret shrugged a little. "Pretty much everything." Jaret's cheeks went red again. "Ransome said I was easy, that I was a slut."
"I couldn't care less what Ransome said. I want to know what you want, what you like, what you don't like." He looked at Jaret, face serious. "Do you like to be beaten? Bound? Humiliated? Do you like the sex? The service? The submission?"
"I don't like being beaten. Whips and stuff is fine, but hands... " Jaret flinched slightly. "I don't like that." Jaret looked up at him, face earnest, eyes serious. "Sometimes, especially at the beginning, I would go... there's this place inside myself. It's quiet there. I like that, doesn't much matter how I get there. I don't like fake submission, but real submission... the idea of it -- I like that a lot. Half that stuff I've never tried, so I don't know. I'm not afraid of trying new things though. Oh, and the sex is good -- I like the sex -- I like coming and I like doing it better with someone than all on my own with my hand."
Sorrel nodded. They might work well together -- he could give Jaret what he needed, if Jaret was patient. "Tell me about your best scene."
He walked across the room and began to lay out his ropes, three different widths in red, white and black.
Jaret watched him, eyes following every move. "One time Ransome lent me out to this guy. He was from California I think. A little Chinese guy and old. I thought it was going to be a breeze... He tied me down and took out a knife and all of a sudden I wasn't so lackadaisical and I was thinking oh shit and how he'd better let me up when I safeworded.
"Then he started using the knife -- dull side against my skin, just hard enough it didn't tickle." A soft shudder went through Jaret's body. "Thought I was going to go insane. He touched me everywhere -- I mean everywhere and every now and then he'd turn the knife, just little nicks that barely even bled, but just enough to keep me from screaming.
"When I was shaking and like a second from safewording he tapped the bottom of the knife against my slit and told me to come. I have never come so hard in my life. You could have poured me into a bucket and carried me home after that. I don't think I got a hardon for a week."
Sorrel's eyes fell on the cabinet filled with his collection -- little blades, the most delicate of razors, leather bindings and oils and sounds and plugs and candles. How they could play...
He forced himself to relax, to center. Small steps, easy steps -- gentle, steady progress in all things. "Frank Eng. He's exceptional. Collects butterflies."
Jaret laughed, the unexpected emotion lighting his face. "I know. He told me all about them for an hour and a half before we started."
Sorrel grinned, nodded. "Did he tell you about the monarchs that mate in his backyard?"
Jaret gave him a look. "An hour and a half, man. That's ninety whole minutes. He told me about fucking everything."
Laughing, Sorrel shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. "Stand up and undress and tell me about a scene that didn't work for you -- nothing horrible or abusive, one that just didn't work."
"Ransome likes this punk band that I don't and they have this one song that really disturbs me for some reason. Just creeps me out, I don't know if I even really ever listened to the words. Well he's got their album playing in the background while we're doing the scene. I'm up against the wall, my hands are cuffed above me so that I'm just barely standing on my toes. And it's good, I can feel the burn along my muscles and Ransome's working me with the cat 'o nine tails and I can't even hear the music anymore, I'm just lost in the burn and the tear of skin and all of a sudden that song came on. It totally blew me out of the scene and I had to safeword."
"Why did you safeword?"
"Because the pain wasn't good anymore, I wasn't in the zone. Because I couldn't even hear the whip anymore -- just that stupid song. I wanted it off."
"And did he know about the song? That you didn't like it?" He brought Jaret over to the center of the room and began to bind his hands, folded behind the lean back. "Before your answer, what's your safeword, Jaret?"
"Blue fish." He nodded and continued tying, carefully wrapping Jaret's forearms together. "Did he know about the song?"
Jaret nodded. "Yeah, he'd tease me about it all the time."
Asshole. "If you were given a sub, what would you do with him, how would you please him, let him please you?"
He wrapped the rope around Jaret's chest, letting the rope push against the smooth skin, abrade the skin above and below the sensitive flesh around the nipples.
Jaret made a soft sound, muscles tensing. For a moment he thought Jaret was going to wriggle or test the bonds, but the kid took a breath and relaxed again, turning his focus on the question. "Wow. I don't know." Jaret frowned, eyes staring unseeing at the wall. "I really don't know, Sorrel, I'd have to think about that."
"You have nothing but time, Jaret. When you know, tell me." Sorrel cinched Jaret's wrists to the ropes around his chest, giving the upper arms something to relax against. He then took the black rope and began to add another layer of bindings, this time making a diamond pattern over Jaret's chest and stomach.
Jaret looked down at his work. "Am I allowed to ask you questions?"
He checked the tension in the knots -- tight enough to feel, to press in, but not to cut. "Yes. What do you need to know?"
"Well I suppose I don't need to know it, but what you're doing looks nice and I wanted to know what it meant."
"This is called nawa shibari. It is based on something called hojojutsu -- basically binding a prisoner. The basic designs -- the diamonds, the crosses -- they are meant to control, to expose your body, to make you still and aware." He continued binding, tightening the ropes around Jaret's stomach. "They will leave fine marks behind, like harsh kisses."
"You're marking me," Jaret said quietly.
"I am." Sorrel settled on his knees. "The chest ropes are shinju -- pearls. They are commonly used to bind the breasts of women, make the skin and nipples sensitive."
He stroked one finger across one of Jaret's nipples, crossed above and below with rope, watching Jaret's face, his body. Jaret gasped, an awkward ripple running through him as his eyes widened with surprise and pleasure. Sorrel nodded and began to bind Jaret's waist and hips, sliding two thin ropes on either side of Jaret's genitals and bringing them together along his crease, tying a series of thick knots a stimulate. "Tell me, do you like to be penetrated? Do you like to suck men off?"
As he spoke he tightened the crotch rope, the knots digging in enough to feel. Jaret moaned softly. "Yes."
"Tell me what makes you hard, Jaret." He preferred this way of learning someone, so focused, so peaceful, the bindings allowing Jaret to relax, to submit without struggle, to speak truths. Lying made a person breath faster, agitating the knots, the ropes. He eased Jaret down onto a mat on the floor, pulling the heavy balls up gently before binding the slim thighs with white.
"Submitting," Jaret said softly. "Being touched by men. Not so much people I don't know, but people I do...I don't like to be blindfolded, I like watching."
"There are times when I will ask you to wear one, but with purpose." Sorrel eased Jaret onto his side, allowing the heart to beat more easily, blood pressure to drop. Then he bent Jaret's knees, hog-tying his feet to his hands. "I am going to bind your cock, your balls, now. The next time we do this, you will be shaved for me, or I will wax you bare. It is your choice."
"Would the waxing be part of the scene or apart from it?"
He looked over into Jaret's eyes. "Again, that is your choice. If you are not bare when we begin our next time in this space, you will be when we end it."
When the ropes pulled hair the results where distracting, less than erotic.
Jaret nodded. "What do you want me to call you while we're here?"
"Sorrel." He tilted his head and selected a soft, red length of suede, carefully circling Jaret's cock and balls. "There is a certain showmanship expected at the club, but in my own space, I prefer that we are honest with one another, that you offer your trust simply."
"Thank you, Sorrel."
He nodded, acknowledging the thanks, fingers carefully braiding the cord up long Jaret's stiff shaft. "Tell me of your last wet dream. What did you dream?" His palms barely brushed the tip of Jaret's cock, whispering over it.
Gasping softly, Jaret's body tried to jerk but was denied by the ropes. A soft flush rose from Jaret's belly up to the tips of his ears. "I dreamed that you were fucking me."
He refused to start, refused to let his hands deviate from the easy, calm motions of the cord, trapping Jaret's heat inside. "Where were we?"
"You know that poster in the room where I sleep? The one of the snow-capped mountain? We were on the top of that mountain. I could feel the snow against my bare back."
"Was it morning? Could you see the sun on the snow?" He tied off the red cord and then took a black piece, so carefully wrapping Jaret's balls in a gentle web.
"No, all I could see was your face."
"How did you feel?"
"You were fucking me -- it was good. I wanted more and harder but I couldn't ask. I don't remember being gagged, but I couldn't speak."
He tied the final knot and leaned back. "How do you feel now?"
"Turned on. A little nervous. Pretty calm though. And... " The pink was back, coloring Jaret's pale skin. "Special."
Sorrel nodded, one finger tracing a line of flushed skin. "Would you like to see?"
Jaret nodded, eyes huge in his face.
"Stay still." Sorrel stood, feeling hot and loose in his leather. He removed his jacket placed it in the clothes closet, swinging open the door so that Jaret could see himself -- criss-crossed in colors, skin so pale between the black and deep red, eyes drawn to cock and balls.
"That's me?" Jaret sounded shocked, breathless.
"Yes, Jaret." He left the door open and moved to kneel behind the bound man. He reached out fingers just ghosting over belly, nipple, cheekbone. "Tell me what you see."
"Beautiful... we look beautiful."
"Yes." He began touching, soft, almost-there feelings that served to let Jaret feel the bonds, feel the gentle bite of the rope and cord. His shaft was hard, the scent of arousal and leather heady in the air.
Jaret moaned, soft sounds that slowly built in volume. He was watching them in the mirror, though every now and then his eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back. Then he would focus again. Refusing to hurry, Sorrel just continued to build the levels of sensation, watch as Jaret shifted, groaning as his bonds kept him still, contained, exactly where Sorrel wanted him. Where he needed to be.
The sounds of Jaret's pleasure where the only sounds, the quiet heavy and close, a caress in itself. Jaret was starting to breathe heavily, body beginning to shake as the pleasure built slowly but surely with no where to go.
"Control, Jaret." He brushed his fingers over Jaret's eyelids, closing them. "Breathe and let yourself feel."
Jaret took one deep, shuddering breath after another, slowly calming. The soft moans returned, occasional shivers rocking the bound body.
"Beautiful. So strong." Sorrel murmured gentle encouragements, letting Jaret hear how lovely he was, how much his gift of trust was worth, all the while driving him higher, pushing him farther into the web of sensation.
"Sorrel... I can hear my heartbeat."
He smiled, fingers taking one nipple and pulling with a steady pressure. "I can feel your heartbeat. Tell me your fantasy, Jaret. Tell me what your heart beats for."
Now it was time to arouse, excite, release, bring Jaret his reward for trusting.
"Here." Sorrel settled around Jaret, pressing down, touching the hot skin fully, as his fingers undid the knot binding the tip of the straining cock. He leaned in, lips brushing the hollow below Jaret's ear. "Open your eyes. See us."
He rocked his own heat against Jaret's ass, knowing the knot would dig, his thumb pressed into the slit of Jaret’s prick. Jaret's eyes flew open, shock and need painting the drawn face, making Jaret glow. "Sorrel!"
"What do you need, Jaret? What do you feel?" If they learned only one thing together, it would be this. Jaret would learn to know what he needed.
"Lose Jaret." The words finally whispered around them after long moments of Jaret gasping like a fish, body flushed, cock weeping and almost as darkly red as the leathers that bound it.
"Or find him." Sorrel hooked his pinkie finger in a knot and popped it, releasing Jaret's cock and balls as he pumped once, cupping the full sacs firmly. "Come for me."
Jaret's mouth opened on a soundless scream, cock jerking in his hand as seed shot out, spraying his hand, Jaret's skin, the ropes.
He held Jaret until the shudders stopped and then moved quickly to undo the ropes, thin red marks left behind as they fell away. Sorrel covered his hands with oil, massaging arms and legs as they straightened, easing the cramps and aches. He refused to think about the pounding need in his balls, the need to wrap Jaret in his arms and take a kiss. Instead he did his work, easing Jaret out of the intensity and into a quiet relaxation. Before he was done, Jaret was like putty in his hands, bones seeming to have melted away.
"Sorrel," Jaret whispered, words barely spoken. "I don't want to sleep alone."
"Stay here, Jaret. I will be back after my shower." He touched Jaret's temple. "Rest."
"Okay." Jaret's eyes closed, a small smile curving his lips, he otherwise lay exactly as Sorrel had placed him.
Sorrel watched him for only a moment before heading downstairs to the shower, his favorite scented oil and the familiar calluses of his left hand to relieve the remainder of his needs.
The noise of the Rose, the crush of people, they buzzed around him, fireflies begging attention and then faded as he focused on his lover, his Jaret. Such light. He would not use the ropes here, with their different textures and colors and hours of concentration. No, those were for the two of them, a long meditation of sensation. Here Jaret stood, stretched and fine, white leather cuffs circling wrists and ankles, pale flesh against well-polished wood.
Sorrel ran his hand down Jaret's chest, stroking before turning to pull two clamps off the table. He held them in one hand, plucking at one nipple with the other, encouraging it to harden and reach for the bite of the metal. Jaret was so responsive to him, small nub of flesh growing hard, the skin around it pebbling. He slipped the clamp over the flesh, letting it close slowly, pinching the sweet hard flesh tighter and tighter, tiny crystals dangling from it, catching the light.
Jaret's mouth opened on a gasp, body growing tight within his bonds and then slowly relaxing, Jaret taking the pain, making it a part of himself. Sorrel met Jaret's eyes, letting his lover see his pride, his honor at loving someone so strong. Then his fingers teased the other nipple to hardness. He could see Jaret draw strength from that, from his pride and his love. Knew there wasn't anything that Jaret wouldn't try to do for him. Then Sorrel took a step back, letting Jaret feel the pinch before setting the tiny jewels to swinging, each motion tugging and teasing the tender flesh.
A ripple went through the stretched frame and then another, but his Jaret didn't make a sound. He stepped close, close enough that he could smell their soap on Jaret's skin. "I'm going to cut you. Put my mark on you, forever."
He kept their eyes locked, let Jaret know this was no game, that he wanted this, wanted his mark on Jaret's skin. He could see the heat flare in his lover's eyes, the sudden, hard need. Jaret had not known he wanted this, needed this, but having been shown, it was clear that he did. Sorrel could see the heat flare in his lover's eyes, the sudden, hard need.
Jaret would never have asked for this, had not known the desire for it was inside himself, but now that it was between them, he could feel Jaret's desire to wear his mark for everyone to see. He knelt, pulling the little table with his instruments on it over. Then he leaned forward and wiped the soft skin beside Jaret's belly with an alcohol swab, feeling his own skin pull and shiver in sympathy. Jaret's skin rippled and he could see every muscle in his lover's body grow taut and then slowly, one by one they relaxed, Jaret's trust in him absolute.
There was no crowd, no heavy eyes upon them as he began to work. A dozen lines, spelling his name in konji, spilling thick life on his fingers as he claimed his lover. His. He could feel Jaret's eyes, hot and heavy on him as not a flinch moved the sweet curve of belly beneath his knife. He wiped the skin down, spraying it with an antibiotic, then reached for a deep purple ointment, rubbing it in, letting the dye sink into the wound. Someone handed him a towel and he cleansed his hands and stood. "You are mine."
Jaret's lips moved in a silent "yours."
Sorrel nodded and reached into his pocket, holding up the contents for Jaret to see. The chain was platinum, heavy and thick, with one link filled in, holding the etching of a single sorrel flower, the clasp locking. He met Jaret's eyes, offering both promise and devotion in one action. Jaret's eyes filled slowly with tears, his lover bending his head for the collar. Sorrel slipped it on, the click closing the lock sharp and loud. Then he turned to the crowd, finalizing the act. "Jaret has honored me and wears my mark. He is mine as I am his."
Then as the room exploded with applause, Sorrel bent to gather his things, needing to be away from the noise and the lights. Needing their privacy.
Jaret was vibrating in his bonds, cheeks wet with tears, eyes huge and clinging to him. He moved quickly now, releasing Jaret, moving them off the stage, down the hall, leaving the crowds behind. Jaret leaned against him, moving silently at his side as he supported most of his lover's weight.
The room was warm, still, comfortable. He helped Jaret to the massage table, laying his lover on his side so he could breathe, relax, center. Jaret's trembling eventually subsided, the tears dried, the short breaths lengthening, becoming even. He carefully wiped Jaret down, removing the pants and using warm towels to cover his lover. He didn't speak, simply cleaned and held and touched, letting Jaret settle himself, letting that intensity ease.
Jaret's eyes never left him.
"Before we continue, there is something you should see." Sorrel stood, lifting his shirt, showing the mark he had set into himself earlier. Jaret cried out hand reaching to touch. He took a step closer, pushing into the touch. "It says 'Jaret'."
"Oh love... love." Jaret's fingers stroked, following the kanji letters, tears falling once again.
"Yes." Sorrel knelt, slowly licking the tears away. "My love."
Soon as Jaret was relaxed again, resting easy. "It's time to take the clamps off now. Time to let those nipples breathe." He offered Jaret a quiet smile. "Eventually you'll agree to wear my rings and we won't need the clamps anymore."
Jaret's eyes twinkled at him. "Is there anything else you wish me to wear to claim me as your own?"
He arched an eyebrow, grinning as one hand reached back to jostle the plug, distracting a little from the pain as he removed one clamp. Jaret's body bowed, the blue eyes closing as a moan pushed past red lips.
"You're mine, Jaret, without any marks at all." He leaned down, looked into those dazed eyes. "The marks tell the world what your body already knew."
Then he slid off the other clamp. Jaret shuddered, whimpered, eyes holding on to him, his lover finding strength in him.
"You are beautiful, so strong." He took a kiss, feeling the connection between them, so strong, so real. Jaret's lips clung to his, soft breaths feeding into him.
"Jaret. Love." He deepened the kiss, tongue sliding in to taste. Jaret's mouth opened wider, welcoming him. Jaret's fingertips danced gently over his mark. He let the kiss go on and on, moaning, letting Jaret hear his hunger, his need. His cock was rock-hard, throbbing in the tight leather, so hot, wanting to be buried inside his lover, held tight and close.
Jaret was breathless, body still except for the rapid rising and falling of his chest and the soft fingertips on his skin.
"Tell me what you feel." He stayed close, watching Jaret's eyes, breathing Jaret's air.
"You, everywhere. I can feel your plug in me, the way your clamps have left me susceptible to the air. The cut, I can feel each nerve in my skin where you've cut and your collar is heavy -- good heavy."
His hand slid back, rocking the plug, jostling it. "And on the stage, what then? Tell me what you thought."
Jaret's voice was not steady as he answered. "At first I thought about the audience, how they could see how much I loved you, how obedient I was to you and then... you made them fade away and all I knew was your love, your possession."
"Yes. You are mine, Jaret." He started pulling at the plug, adding lube to ease its passage. "And when I gave you your collar?"
"That I was the luckiest man alive and the most loved." Jaret's voice was faint, strained, but his words were quick and sure.
"I want you." He pulled the plug free, leaning down to fasten his lips around one nipple simultaneously. Jaret's cry filled the air, sharp and needy, like the shudder that shook his lover's body. Sorrel pulled back, shaking hard. He took a long breath, easing his need before standing and taking a step. "Undress me."
Jaret pushed himself upright and began to undo the buttons on his leather vest. He stayed still, watching as his lover's hands bared his skin. His cock was throbbing, hands and mouth itching to seal their agreement, their joining. Jaret pushed the vest from his arms and folded it neatly, setting the vest atop the bag of Jaret's own clothes in the corner of the room.
Then his lover came back and knelt before him, trembling hands working the button fly of his leather pants. He closed his eyes, drank in the fluttering sensations, the touches. The scent of Jaret and copper and leather and him. The feel of a soft kiss against the carving on his skin. "Jaret..."
"I'm sorry," came the whispered reply, Jaret working his pants down his legs.
"No." He stepped out of the pants, reached down to cup his lover's face. "Do it again." Jaret gazed up at him, blue eyes dark and full of lust and joy and love. Smiling, eyes holding his until the last moment, Jaret leaned forward and kissed his carving again. Sorrel moaned, nipples and muscles going stiff, pleasure coursing through him. "You are a part of me forever."
Jaret's breath caught in his throat and then his lover made a soft noise, tongue sliding over the kanji letters carved in his skin. He reached down, stroked Jaret's hair, gifting his lover with each moan and shiver that tongue teased from him.
"My name," whispered Jaret, voiced awed and happy.
"My lover." He nodded, heart full. "I love you, Jaret."
Jaret's face turned back up to him again. "I love you, Sorrel. So much."
Sorrel smiled. Yes. He knew. He helped Jaret up and took them to the bed.
Took them to make love.