His Boy Next Door #23

On Display

by R.J. Moray

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2017 R.J. Moray

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First Electronic Edition

About His Boy Next Door

An older man.

A submissive discovery.

Hurting Channon was always the point, but not like this.

Making it up to him, though, should be fun. Jack knows what Channon likes, knows how Channon wants to serve, and comes up with a plan to give Channon what they both want.

This book is episode 23 in an ongoing series, and contains scenes of an adult nature. Read at your own discretion.

On Display

Jack enjoyed mornings with Channon for a number of reasons, but high on the list was watching Channon blush and squirm over whatever it was they'd got up to the night before. Today Channon's nipples were red and sore, and he kept touching them through his t-shirt, smiling to himself.

He looked happy. Jack was glad. He'd worried so much about Channon the last few days. Failing him…even if only once, it was too much. Jack didn't like to think about it but he knew better than to pretend it had never happened. He'd screwed up. And then he'd screwed up fixing it, and Channon had looked so forlorn, and it had felt like Jack's heart was breaking to watch him mope about the house.

And then he'd fought with Nate and Nate had gone running to Channon, and Jack had been left with this ungodly spike of jealousy, anger, and suspicion. That Nate might use Channon to manipulate him was unthinkable, and yet once thought the thought persisted. Nate didn't want him to sell the company. Channon didn't want him to sell the company.

Jack? Didn't want to sell the company.

But he didn't want either of them to think this would work on him again.

It was his stubborn streak, the one he knew drove Nate crazy. Jack was 'contrary', Nate said. It wasn't untrue. It was just that he'd spent so long doing what other people wanted that now he refused, absolutely, to be controlled by anyone.

Even Channon.

He could feel it though, the desire to make Channon happy creeping up inside him like vines, wrapping around his heart. Channon wasn't like the people Jack usually played with. He had no experience, no expectations, frighteningly little self-worth, and it would be oh so very easy to break him.

Jack wasn't the kind of man who liked to break his toys.

And Channon was his, to use, to care for, to keep. Channon was a delight. It was Jack's job to keep him whole.

So now he sat Channon down at the dinner table and looked him in the eye. "How are you feeling today?"

"Good," Channon said, bright-eyed and energized like he'd slept for a week. He flashed Jack a shy smile. "And you, Sir?"

The way he said Sir…Jack stroked his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed in bliss. He was so tactile, even when he didn't have the confidence to reach out for himself. Jack stroked his ear, slipping his fingers over the curve of it and brushing his damp hair behind.

"I feel great. I had a lot of fun with you last night." Channon's cheeks went pink, and his hand twitched up to his chest, skating over one abused nipple. "Did you like it?"

Channon's blush intensified. "Yes, Sir."

"What did you like about it?"

"Just…when you used me? And it was all for you, not for me at all."

Good boy. But. "You wouldn't rather have an orgasm? I mean, a good one. You had plenty of orgasms last night, after all."

Now Channon was so red he looked sunburned. "I like coming, but…I like it better when you make me wait, Sir."

"Why is that?"

"Because then…it's for you. When you want me to." He bit his lip, looking down at his hands on his knees.

"Would you like me to own your orgasms, Channon?"

His black-lashed eyes flickered up, blinking. "Don't you already, Sir? I only come when you tell me to."

It was true. Jack hadn't ever said it like that, though. "I want to own them."

Channon squirmed, licking his lips. "They're yours, Sir. Just like me." He looked flustered, and Jack couldn't help smirking over it.

"Is this conversation turning you on, Channon?"

He nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"What would you do for an orgasm right now?"

Channon stared at him, genuinely confused. "Nothing, Sir?"

It was unexpected. "Nothing?"

"I mean…I'd do anything you wanted anyway, Sir, and you get to decide if I get to come. So it doesn't matter?" He said it nervously, as if he wasn't sure about it, but Jack felt a rush of satisfaction to hear it. Channon would do what he wanted because he wanted it, not for any kind of reward. That was excellent.

Because that meant Jack got to reward him anyway.

"Come here." Channon did so immediately, standing between Jack's knees and biting his lip. "Up on the table."

When Jack had him there he unfastened Channon's jeans and tucked a hand inside to rub him through his boxers. Channon inhaled sharply, his dick twitching in Jack's hand, already thickening up. Jack caught Channon's chin and made him look him in the eye.

"I'm impressed with how good you've been for me. You always try your hardest. I'm proud. And today I'm going to make you come. But, fair warning, it's not going to be yet. Okay?"

Channon nodded, green eyes wide. "Yes, Sir. Whatever you want."

He leaned back on his palms, watching Jack with his lip caught between his teeth. Jack untucked Channon from his boxers. His uncut prick was small when it was soft, still modest when he was hard, and now it made a neat handful in Jack's palm.

"So, you don't want to make too many decisions," Jack said, handing him gently. "Is that right?"

"Yes, Sir," Channon breathed, tension in his hips as he tried to hold still.

"Have you ordered our meals for this week?" It was one of Channon's chores, just something to give him routine, since Jack couldn't order him to clean the condo. Now Channon shook his head—this was okay, the deadline was Sunday. "I'm going to choose your lunches, then. I'm going to write the day of the week on each of them for you. Okay?"

"Yes, Sir." Channon's mouth writhed, his expression tightening as Jack stroked him full, tugging on his foreskin and watching Channon squirm on the table.

"And I'm going to pick out what you're going to wear this week. We'll lay them out in a minute, the exact thing you're going to wear each day. No deviations, okay?"

Channon whimpered, his chin tipping up, and Jack could see the throb of his pulse in his throat. "Ye-es, Sir."

Jack pushed Channon's t-shirt up, admiring the ripple of his belly. He was taut and muscular, and with time he was going to thicken up into a Greek god, the kind of man that made people turn and stare in the street, made them long after him in the gym.

Maybe Jack would get to keep him. Maybe Channon would stay.

And if he wanted Channon to stay then Jack had to show him how wanted he was, prove to him that Jack was serious about him, about them, about all of it.

Channon was breathing hard, these hurt little huffs as his thighs strained against the urge to fuck up into Jack's hand. He'd dropped down to his elbows, the long line of his torso quivering with effort. Jack stilled his hand, thumb flickering up under the head of Channon's cock, stroking over the glans to smear the liquid beading at his slit.

"You can polish my shoes today," Jack said, as Channon panted on the table. "Yours too. I want you to look smart this week."

"Yes, Sir," Channon breathed, pushing himself up to his palms again. "I won't let you down."

"Good." Jack gave his dick a last squeeze and then tucked him away. "Let's go sort out your wardrobe."

For work Channon preferred t-shirts and jeans and sneakers—this week Jack decided that he should wear a series of button-ups with slacks, and his least formal suit with a plain v-neck t-shirt under it, a few of his nicer cashmere sweaters. For the next day Jack selected the tiniest pair of gym shorts Channon owned and a white tank. Channon nodded, and then cocked his head on one side.

"Um. Next Saturday, Sir?"

"Next Saturday," Jack said with relish, "I don't want you wearing anything at all."

This seemed to please him, and when Jack dismissed him he bounded off to settle into the apartment entryway, surrounded by shoes and tins of polish and wax.

He did a pretty good job, so once Jack had inspected each shoe thoroughly and Channon had washed up he jerked Channon off against the bathroom sink, watching Channon's mouth come open red and wet in the mirror, his tongue darting over his lip, forearms tensing as he gripped the edge of the counter.

"I've been reading your journal," Jack murmured into Channon's ear. "You're developing an exhibitionist streak."

"Because you like it, Sir," Channon gasped, biting down hard on his lip as he rocked into Jack's hand. "Ah! You, you like it if, ah! If someone might see."

"That's true. I like looking at you and I like other people looking at you, and I like the thought of someone walking in to find you with your ass in the air, stuffed full of my dick and begging to come."

Channon convulsed, and for one heady moment he looked like he was going to go right over the edge, but then he breathed out, his eyes wrenched closed, swallowing hard. "I want that. Sir, I want, I…I want that too…"

"Yeah? You want someone to see you take it? I could shove you to your knees in an alleyway and fuck your mouth, and anyone who saw us would think you were a rent-boy, sucking dick for money."

"Sir," Channon whined, "Sir, please, please, I'll come, I'm going to, I can't—"

Yeah. "Come on, sweetheart, come all over my hand."

And he did, obedient, precious Channon, moaning and jerking as he splashed come on the sink, the counter, over Jack's fingers. Jack made him lick his hand clean and Channon moaned over that too, flushed red all down his neck and his chest, gone loose and easy now Jack was done with him.

"Sir?" He caught Jack's eyes in the mirror. "Do you want me to ..?"

Probably Channon wanted to suck him off, but Jack shoved him over the edge of the sink and yanked his jeans down, jerking off on his ass and painting him with come. It felt good, like marking territory, and the faces Channon pulled in the mirror looked sufficiently turned on for Jack to think this week might get interesting.

"That's it until Friday," Jack said, running his fingers through the mess on Channon's ass and rubbing it into his skin. "You don't get to come for a week. Can you handle that?"

Channon nodded, panting into the sink. "Yes, Sir," he gasped.

Jack grinned, patting Channon's sticky ass. "Good boy."

* * *

Sunday, Jack took Channon to the gym. Usually they used the home gym, but today Jack basically wanted to parade Channon around in shorts and watch muscle-guys thirst after him. Channon seemed largely oblivious, focusing on his reps with laser-like intensity. Jack admired his form, and smirked to himself over the other men admiring him and his tight little shorts.

Or more than admiring. One of them was hanging over the machine next to Channon now, offering advice. Channon was being polite, which was good, but then the guy leaned in and touched him. Jack was nearly up off his bench before he saw Channon turn to look the guy in the eye and say something, and then they both turned to look at Jack.

Ah. Channon had played the, "I have a boyfriend," card.

The guy looked disappointed, but then he said something to Channon that had him ducking his head in laughter, and left it at that.

Later, toweling off in the change-room, Jack asked him what the guy had said.

"Oh." Channon was already flushed from exertion and hot water, but now he looked embarrassed. "He said I should hit him up if Daddy ever let me out to play."

Jack couldn't help chuckling at that. "And are you going to?"

"I liked his tatts," Channon said, giving Jack an innocent look Jack didn't believe for a second. Fuck, he was getting cheeky in his confidence. Then he smirked. "No. I mean, you're not going to, are you?"

He sounded a little nervous, and Jack patted his arm. "It's not in the plan. Was that all he said?"

Channon relaxed, and then smiled up at him shyly. "He asked if anyone had ever told me my ass was cute."

"And what did you say?"

"'Only my boyfriend,'" and he beamed.

Jack ruffled his hair and took him home.

* * *

Besides the lunches and the clothes, Jack made other small alterations to Channon's routine. He changed Channon's main hair product from a wax that smelled of coconut to a cream that smelled of honey. He told Channon he couldn't have coffee that week, only tea, and no energy drinks or soda. Channon accepted all of this blissfully, thanking Jack for each tiny new constriction.

On Tuesday, Jack made Channon kneel by his chair and be petted for half a hour, and then tied him up on the sofa to be quiet and good while Jack answered a few last minute emails.

On Thursday, Jack took Channon through Gorean slave positions, just for fun. It wasn't something he particularly liked, but Channon seemed to take to it, though he made a face when Jack explained the origins.

"What's the matter?"

"I just…women aren't naturally submissive, are they, Sir?"

"No." Jack adjusted Channon's posture, enjoying moving him into place with his hands and feeling the supple submission in his muscles. "You remember Mistress Diana, don't you? Does she strike you as submissive?"

"No, Sir."

"Do you think you're naturally dominant?"

"No, Sir!"

"No. But it's a game some people like to play, and it makes them happy, so it's fine. According to them, there's something especially shameful about a man being put on his knees, but I don't think that's true. Do you?"

"No, Sir."

"You're not ashamed of this, are you?"

"No, Sir." He glanced up over his cheekbone, those green eyes wide and trusting. "Not unless you want me to be."

He was so fucking good. Jack wanted to work him over, work him up into a frenzy and watch his face as he spilled over, but he'd said, and he had to keep his word, to make sure Channon trusted him to keep it.

It could wait. Friday was just around the corner, and then? Jack had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to do with Channon on Friday.

* * *

Jack was, in his heart, a sadist. He enjoyed the suffering of others when it was deserved and amusing or ironic. Schadenfreude was, perhaps, his greatest weakness. To revel in the downfall of a rival, yes, that was an exquisite pleasure. As was inflicting a little carefully managed pain on a willing victim.

But his parents had instilled in him a sense of fairness and justice, so he curbed these tendencies wherever possible.

To be honest, he did torture his team a little, Harley in particular, but only because Harley was so fucking keen, and seemed to tolerate it so well. Jack tried to make it up in his paycheck, but still, Harley didn't deserve to be abused and Jack had felt vaguely guilty about it every time he'd set Harley some almost-impossible task, despite his secret thrill whenever Harley pulled it off.

And now he had Channon to torture instead, and Channon loved it. He said as much, over and over, wrote it in his journal, proclaimed it with his body as he yearned toward Jack under the paddle or the weight of rope. Channon begged for it in every look, in the way he bit his lip, blushing sweetly at Jack's feet, in the bob of his throat as he swallowed his protests and gave himself up completely to Jack's cruelty.

In return, Jack didn't hold back any more than he had to, for Channon's sake. Channon needed him, and he wouldn't let Channon down by giving him anything less than exactly what he needed.

So on Friday after dinner, Jack said, "Get in the bath. We're going to the Club tonight."

Channon was vibrating with excitement by the time Jack came in to bathe him. He loved bathing Channon, loved him wet and slippery and sweet-scented, loved seeing his skin pinked up from the hot water, and the clean pucker of his asshole when Jack made him bend over for inspection. He loved how shy Channon got when Jack cleaned him intimately. He should have been used to it by now, surely, but no, he was still so bashful about his private places, still gasped with surprise when Jack unexpectedly touched him somewhere supposedly secret.

Jack bathed him and rubbed him with lotion and fondled him until he was a hard, squirmy mess of freshly clean limbs, and then dressed him in black. He'd picked out lace panties for Channon, fairly masculine lace panties to be honest, but the lace was floral and Channon looked rebellious for all of a moment before he ducked his head and said, "Yes, Sir," and permitted Jack to have his way.

Once he was in his trousers and the dark v-neck t-shirt Jack chose for him, Channon seemed still very aware of the panties, shifting uncomfortably as Jack watched.

"Do they pinch?" Jack asked.

Channon shook his head. "No, Sir," he said, the tips of his ears turning red. "I just…I know they're there."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I don't know." Channon swallowed, ducking his head. "Okay, I guess."

"And how do you feel about someone seeing you in them?"

Channon sucked in a breath, but he steadied himself, glancing all shy-eyed up at Jack with his lip caught in his teeth. "Okay. If you want them to, Sir."

He was obviously embarrassed about it, maybe felt it was transgressive and humiliating, but maybe, maybe arousing. Jack cupped Channon's dick in his pants—Channon sucked in a startled breath but otherwise did nothing—and yeah, he was hard, his cock trapped in its cage of lace. Jack caught himself grinning and smoothed his grin away.

"Well, better get used to it," he said, enjoying Channon's obvious dismay.

This time when Jack clipped Channon's collar closed around his neck, he made a show of fetching out a matching leash from the toy chest. Channon watched him silently, but the twitch of his fingers betrayed him; he wanted that leash, wanted Jack to put it on him and walk him around like the pet he'd become. Jack, however, just coiled it up and slipped it into his pocket. Not yet. Channon would have to wait for that particular treat.

Channon was very quiet and well-behaved on the drive over to the Club, stood obediently beside Jack at check-in, and went immediately to his knees the second Jack pushed him down on the rug by his favorite sofa, settling into the palms-on-the-floor position Jack had been teaching him. Jack clipped the leash to Channon's collar, and saw him shiver. Good boy. Jack ruffled his hair, and Channon sighed, his eyes flickering shut.

There was conversation to be had, and someone else sent their slave for juice and mock-tails, but Jack kept Channon close, playing idly with his hair from time to time. Channon sat perfectly still, perfectly obedient, even when Nate came up in thigh-high leather boots and a sleeveless undershirt that showed off his shoulders.

"Hey, cutiepie," Nate said. Channon glanced up at him but didn't move. Nate grinned, flopping down on the couch. "He's being good, then?"

"Channon is always good," Jack said, because Channon always was, or tried to be, and deserved to hear how much Jack approved of him.

Nate wrinkled his nose. Jack knew what he thought of it, and how much Nate liked a little push-back. Or a lot of push-back. Jack didn't understand it, but he wasn't about to judge.

"Are you playing tonight?" Nate asked.

"I hadn't planned on it. But we'll see. Channon isn't making any decisions for himself this week, so if I decide to he doesn't really get much of a choice."

This, of course, wasn't strictly true. Channon could safe out at any time, could exercise his right to withdraw his consent for this if he wanted to, and Jack had made it clear that there would never be a punishment for using a safeword. There'd be no point if Channon couldn't back out. Without that, well. Jack didn't like to think about it.

"I've got a date, in a bit," Nate said, looking smug. Jack glanced at him, unable to help himself. That was the second time Nate had said it like that—a 'date', and no details. His mysterious date didn't seem to have a name, and Nate didn't seem inclined to give any more information than that. It was unusual for him. Maybe it was serious. Maybe it was nothing.

"A play date?" Jack asked, not exactly fishing for information, though his curiosity was killing him.

Nate nodded, sipping his agua fresca. "You can come watch. Bring your boy, if you like."

It wasn't an unexpected invitation, but there was something about it. Come see mine. Like a challenge, or simply tit-for-tat.

Jack wondered if Nate was going to invite him to play with this new friend of his, the way Jack had shared Channon with him. He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He'd talked to Channon about sharing, and so far Channon seemed perfectly okay with anything, with Nate or anyone Jack trusted. But the idea of Jack playing with another sub, that was largely academic at this stage. Something to think about later, then.

Jack's eye caught on Diana across the room—she raised a hand to beckon him over and he glanced down at Channon, leashed and obedient by the foot of the sofa. Channon should stay here, where it was safe and comfortable. Jack wasn't quite ready to parade him about on a chain.

He handed the leash to Nate. "Mind him for me?"

Nate grinned. "Can I play with him a bit?"

"Only a little," Jack warned, and then he reached down to yank Channon's hair just hard enough to make him gasp. "Be good. I'll be back shortly."

Diana, of course, wanted to talk to him about memberships and investment. Or, rather, she wanted to set up a meeting for some time in January to go over them. This, always. She wanted him to buy in to the Club and Jack really didn't want it on his books because they were too closely scrutinized. She didn't seem to get why that was such a bad thing—it wasn't that he was afraid of the world finding out what he did of an evening, he frankly couldn't care less about that. But the attention for other club members could be catastrophic. Nate was in the same boat, of course, but she never bothered him about it because Nate managed such an air of vague disreputability that everyone forgot he had just as much capital at his disposal as Jack did.

By the time he'd settled an appointment (and God he wished they'd just call him in his off-hours instead of pinning him down on a Club night) Jack found Nate and Channon in cheerful conversation on the sofa. Channon was still on his knees on the floor, but Nate had him between his thighs, his head pulled back in Nate's lap by the hair, spine arched like a bow. They were talking about a TV show Jack didn't watch, and when Channon caught sight of Jack he shut up at once.

"Any trouble?" Jack asked.

"Your boy's perfect and you know it," Nate said with mock disgust. "Here, I have to find my date before he thinks I've stood him up." He tossed the leash to Jack, petting Channon before pushing him back to the floor. "Later, cupcake."

Jack took Nate's place, pulling Channon's head into his lap the same way. Channon settled easily, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried to work out if Jack wanted him to look up, attentive, or down and demure.

Jack preferred attentive. "Eyes on me, Channon." Channon did as he was told immediately, those thick-lashed green eyes fixing on Jack like he was the only thing in the world. God, Channon worshiped like a true believer. Jack felt blessed, again. "Are you being good?"

"I'm trying, Sir," Channon said. Good answer. Nicely humble. Jack rewarded him with a head-scritch.

"You make a lovely puppy, Channon. I might play with you like that more often."

Channon didn't say anything—it hadn't been a question, after all—but he licked his lips as if the idea didn't horrify him.

"Are you thirsty?"

Channon hesitated. Jack could see him thinking. "I can wait, Sir."

"That wasn't the question." He put just enough bite into it that Channon's eyes widened.

"I…yes, Sir, I'm thirsty."

Better. Jack unclipped the leash and gave Channon a little push. "Go to the bar and order a bowl and a water bottle."

It took him a second to understand, but then Channon had clambered to his feet, and he nodded. "Yes, Sir."

Jack watched him go, idly flicking the leash in his hand. Channon had some grace about him, the careless grace of a young athlete, but it was so artless, coupled with a self-conscious awkwardness that Jack shouldn't have enjoyed as much as he did. He could see why people seemed shocked. What could Channon Beaumont possibly offer someone like him?

Only everything he'd ever wanted.

There was someone hovering in Jack's peripheral vision. He tilted his head far enough to see her, but not enough to acknowledge her. She was slim and pretty, with long dark hair and big eyes, and she seemed to want to kneel down beside him but wasn't sure how to do so.

He sighed internally and turned to look at her. "Yes?"

"Are you…is it okay if I ..?"

She was very new, and Jack knew he had a responsibility, but it was so tedious. "I'm not what you're looking for." She looked stricken, so he softened it a little. "I only play with men."

That seemed to mollify her a little, but she was still mortified. "Sorry, I…I'm sorry."

"You can kneel down here, if you like." He pointed to a spot on the floor. She knelt down into it. She was wearing heels and it made her awkward, but it was endearing in its way. "What's your name?"

"Alice," she said. It might have been her legal name, it might not. Alice was a good name for her, in any case, something fragile and doll-like in her face.

"I'm Jack," he said. "If you like, you can stay here for a while. Until you feel more comfortable."

"Thank-you," she said, sounding very relieved.

When Channon caught sight of her, he stopped dead, his eyes going wide, but then he ducked his head and came forward, holding out the tray with the bowl and bottle of water. "Sir," he said stiffly.

Jack took the bowl and put it on the floor by his feet. It was white ceramic with gold-glazed handles, sleek and handsome but obviously exactly what it was—a dog bowl. He cracked the bottled water open and poured some into it. "Here, Channon," he snapped his fingers, pointing where he wanted him.

Channon put down the tray and knelt down there on all fours, and then sat back on his heels, waiting, obviously trying to ignore the woman watching him with her big, dark eyes.

"Go on, drink up," Jack said.

Maybe it was his audience. Channon bent his head to drink, with only a small hesitation, lapping at the water as best he could.

It was, Jack knew, humiliating. Humans weren't built to drink water like this, bent over and licking it up out of a shallow dish. Channon would get it on his face, all over his chin. When he sat up it would run down to drip on his shirt. If he was unlucky, he'd get it up his nose. And he wouldn't get much water to actually swallow.

But that wasn't the point of this, and they both knew it.

Channon did his best, managed not to splutter, and eventually Jack slid his fingers into Channon's hair. "Good boy," he said, injecting as much warmth into his voice as he could manage. "That's enough. Sit up."

Channon sat up. Water dripped off his chin onto his shirt and his face was wet, but he looked up at Jack like Jack was his whole world and Jack had to swallow the excess of emotion in his throat.

"Here." He opened the bottle again. "Open your mouth. Head back." He tilted the bottle to pour a thin stream into Channon's mouth, one hand under his chin to steady him. It wasn't perfect but Channon did his best not to spill any, and when Jack decided he'd swallowed enough Jack wiped his face down with a handkerchief, his throat too where the water had run.

Channon looked flustered and embarrassed, but pleased with the attention, and when Jack beckoned him in between his knees again Channon went eagerly, burying his face in Jack's thigh and nuzzling contentedly.

"Good boy." Jack snapped the leash back on him and tugged him up. "Channon, this is Alice." Channon regarded Alice silently, and then looked down at the floor. "There's no need to be rude," Jack said sternly. "Say hello."

The admonition was enough to overcome any reservations on Channon's part. "Hello, Alice," he said quickly, meeting Alice's eye for a moment.

"Hi, Channon," she said back, glancing up at Jack tentatively.

Jack took pity on her. "So, Alice, do you know anyone here?"

"Uh…not really. My friend said…but she doesn't seem to be here."

"Normally you need a sponsor's invitation to come," Jack said, because those were the rules.

Alice nodded. "My friend. Um. Gwen."

Oh. That was just typical. "Gwendolyn?" he clarified, and when she nodded he did his best not to grimace. "I haven't seen her. But, do you see the woman in white under the black-light by the painting of a horse?" He pointed Diana out across the room, Kyle kneeling perfectly at her feet, one of her boots propped on his thigh. "She's friends with Gwendolyn. You can go tell her 'Master Jack sent me to beg you to take care of me for Mistress Gwendolyn'. She probably won't make you beg," he added because, well, probably, "but she will look after you until your friend gets here."

Alice looked grateful. "Thank-you. Um…nice meeting you, Channon."

Channon nodded, glancing away from her at once, and Jack chuckled. He carded his fingers through Channon's hair as Alice got up and crossed the room, turning his attention back to his poor jealous boy.

"Sweetheart, did you think I was going to neglect you?"

"No, Sir," Channon muttered, and Jack thought it was so unbelievably cute but it was also poor behavior in public and couldn't go unchecked.

Jack jerked the leash, forcing Channon's head up. "Channon. Look at me." He looked surprised and then anxious, but he did as he was told, the corners of his mouth turning down a little. Jack pinched his nipple sharply through his shirt but he only winced, didn't make a sound. "When I introduce you to another sub, you say, 'Hello.' When they leave you say, 'Goodbye.' This is basic manners, Channon, I know you know better."

The look on his face was clearly mortification. "I'm sorry, Sir."

"I won't punish you for this, but you're very lucky it didn't happen in front of another Dom. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now. Why didn't you like her?"

Channon's shoulders hunched, like he wanted to get away from the question. "I didn't not like her, Sir."

"Then why were you rude to her?"

He looked so ashamed of himself, Jack almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "I…she surprised me."

"Because you didn't think I'd speak to another sub?"

"I didn't think you'd want to play with a girl, Sir," Channon said, looking up at him sorrowfully.

Ah. That made sense, on some level. "I've played with women before. I don't anymore. So you're right about that. What if she'd been a man?"

Channon thought about it. "I would have been surprised anyway, Sir. But that's wrong, so I…won't, next time."

"Good."

Something to ease into, maybe, something that required more discussion. Jack wondered if it was something he should push to a resolution. Not now, maybe.

Although, "You don't seem to mind Nate."

Channon shrugged. "He's different, Sir. He's like you."

"Ah." Now that made a whole bunch of sense. "You don't want to be replaced."

Channon shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut. "No, Sir."

"You don't have to worry about that," Jack told him, stroking his neck. "I'm not going anywhere and neither are you."

It seemed to reassure him, which was good because that was when Jack's phone pinged.

We're getting started, if you're interested.

Nate and his date. Jack stood up, tugging Channon to his feet. He let the chain hang down along Channon's spine, putting his hand in the small of it to guide him. "Come on. Let's go see what Nate has in mind."

What Nate had in mind, it seemed, was to flog the shit out of some kid called Mac.

He said 'kid' but Mac looked older than Channon, fair-haired and rawboned, something dangerous and wild about him that Jack found interesting but unappealing. He was attractive, in an angular way, small and slight with a dancer's build. Stripped down to a strappy black jock he seemed savage and undisciplined, and Nate cuffed him down roughly, nothing tender in the way he buckled him to the St Andrew's Cross.

They were in one of the semi-private booths out the back. Jack leaned up against the doorway with Channon at his feet, watching Nate test out floggers and strops and a wicked looking single-tail that cracked like a bullwhip. The kid on the cross turned his head to the side, baring his teeth. Nate had blindfolded him with black silk, letting the sub's imagination run away with the sound of those cracks. Nate had also stripped to the waist, lean muscle rippling beneath his gold-dusted skin, and Jack remembered the taste of him, of his salt, of the feel of Nate's flesh between his teeth.

Nate was handsome. Jack couldn't deny it, had always found him irresistible. Now, with his stubble grown out to a gold thatch on his jaw, there was something raw about him, something wild. Not Jack's type at all but he had been once. Jack would never forget it.

He glanced down to see Channon watching white-faced and intent, his eyes tracking every shift of Nate's hands as he sorted the toys to his satisfaction. Channon liked Nate, Jack was sure of that, but he was pretty sure Channon was about to find out that he didn't like how Nate liked to play, and he was curious to see if that would change anything.

Nate knelt down to whisper to the sub, a hand caressing his hair, but whatever he said didn't seem to reassure the kid at all. He tensed visibly, and when Nate kept talking he yanked hard against his restraints. Nate chuckled, twisting the hand in Mac's hair.

Then he stood up, and began.

He started mildly enough, warming Mac up with a pair of floggers. He carouseled them over Mac's exposed skin from shoulders to waist, down the backs of his thighs and calves. It was barely a caress, something sweet to start. Channon made an inquisitive sound. Jack ran his fingers through Channon's hair, wondering if he'd enjoy this or not.

Now Nate turned the floggers in an arc, one-handed at first, flicking them together across Mac's shoulders. They left stingy marks, painting him down to the backs of his thighs in delicate pink welts. Nate took his time, layering marks in drifts like autumn leaves, which he rubbed over with his free hand. He was wearing short fingerless gloves, and Jack didn't know what they were made of but it must have been textured because the pressure of his palms on the flog-marks made Mac squirm and huff a little. Hmm, interesting. Rough, maybe, like sharkskin. Jack took note of it for later.

When Nate shifted one flogger to his other hand, Jack felt Channon straighten, stiffening up against his chest. He was definitely interested now, his breathing shallow and quick, as Nate florentined the boy on the cross. The neat figure eight of it, the easy swing as he crossed the floggers one over the other, was almost hypnotic. Mac shuddered under the strikes, but Jack didn't think it too bad because he breathed through it, giving positive cues when required. Even when Nate snapped him hard—Mac arched, but the way his mouth came open Jack was sure this was exactly what he wanted right now.

Nate flogged him until he was writhing, and then hung the floggers over Mac's shoulders to run his palms down Mac's back, whispering something that made the kid moan. Nate was grinning, talking to him, sliding his hands up Mac's sides and stroking him in long sweeps of the hands, scuffing his beard down the back of Mac's neck.

There was a small crowd at the door now. It had been so long since Nate had whipped someone at the Club. Jack felt certain that next time he'd take Mac up onto a stage, show him off to the world. If Mac didn't bail on him after this, of course.

The dragon's tail was more painful than the flogger by nature, and the crack of it made Channon jerk back against Jack's leg. Nate flicked it across Mac's ass, teasing him, and then snapped it with a sharp snap that made both Mac and Channon flinch.

Nate stung him again on the other side, and sharply beneath each of his buttocks, right on the sit-spot. He leaned in to say something to the kid, who was visibly working not to cry out. Nate seemed to be encouraging him to give that up, to just let it out, but Mac was fighting him, clearly unwilling to let Nate have that much of him. When he refused, Nate frowned, and went back for another round of firm strokes punctuated by harsh cracks. He caressed the boy's backside and down his thighs, his fingers lingering on his welts, and nuzzled along his spine. Then he stepped back to take him through another round, ratcheting the intensity up each time. Now Jack leaned forward because Mac was fighting this but he couldn't fight it forever. His breathing had gone deep and ragged, and he was letting out these hurt noises after each stroke, but it felt performative, not real. Clearly Nate knew this, clearly he was ready for it.

"Come on, beautiful," he crooned, rubbing his fingers through the kid's hair. "Come on, I know you can do better than that. Am I not hurting you enough?"

"No," Mac gasped.

Nate grinned. "No?"

"No sir, you're not hurting me enough."

"Aww. I'm sorry." He wasn't, not a bit. Jack saw him bypass the crop and pick up the last wicked single-tail, and the savage glee in Nate's face was headily familiar. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

The first stroke took the kid by surprise and startled the first real cry out of him. And then Nate went to town, leaving a fan of welts across his ass. It was beautiful, this perfectly balanced pattern, the red layered over all that poor pale skin like a work of art. Jack breathed in, breathed out, watched as Mac's resolve melted into nothing and he cried out for real, jerking against his bonds. He tried begging, tried bargaining with Nate for something, anything to make him stop. Nate paused, rubbing him over as he listened.

"Oh, I know," he said, sounding sorry, but Jack knew he was anything but. "But you know you need this. This is what you need, isn't it?"

The kid struggled, and gave up, lying there panting and sweaty, and Jack wondered if he was hard, if he wanted Nate to fuck him, or if this was just about the discipline, just about the pain.

He hadn't used a safeword, hadn't given a color, but then…Nate hadn't asked.

"Do you need me to keep going? You gotta tell me, baby boy. You know I'm doing this for you."

Mac breathed out in a ragged ruin. "I need it."

"You sure? I don't know if you can take any more."

"No, I…please."

"Okay. But you asked for this, don't forget."

This time when Nate picked up a flogger he was harsh. And he didn't stop. Mac begged him, sobbing wet and messy, and Nate paused to shush him.

"You asked for it. I promised you. There's only one way out of this, and you know it."

Mac screamed at him before he was done, and Channon had turned his face against Jack's knee, hunched over and unable to watch. It was a bit much for Jack, personally. It edged too close to something too non-consensual to be fun, and Mac made it sound real.

And then Nate put down the flogger, took off the gloves, and stroked Mac while he cried and cried, taking off his cuffs and pulling him down into his lap to rock him against his chest.

"There you go. There you go, that's better. You're better now, aren't you? Isn't that good?"

He pulled off the blindfold and wrapped Mac in a blanket and stroked his hair, and Mac let him. Apparently this was what he wanted. It was, Jack thought, very much what Nate wanted. Jack wondered how Mac would feel when Nate brought out the ginger.

They seemed matched. Jack found it disconcerting in a way, that old pull toward Nate tugging at him like a rubberband stretched thin.

It had never been going to work between them, not the way everyone had expected it to. How happy they could have made Jack's parents (not to mention the shareholders) if they'd just settled down together and adopted some kids from wherever it was politically incorrect to adopt kids from these days. The house with the white picket fence and the dogs in the yard felt very far away, now.

Channon shifted against his leg and Jack stroked his hair, pondering this feeling. Melancholy for something that had never existed, perhaps. Whatever it was, it didn't matter. He had Channon. He'd chosen Channon. Hopefully Nate would be happy with whatever, eventually, he chose for himself.

"Come on," Jack said, tugging Channon's hair, and Channon rose to his feet, let Jack escort him on to the next booth to give Nate and his boy a little privacy. The next booth was free, and Jack stopped there, touching Channon's arm to get his attention. "What did you think of that?"

Channon ducked his head. "I…it looked painful, Sir." He looked up, something in his eyes that made Jack stop and take note. "Is that what…Sir, I don't think I can take that."

"You don't have to. We don't have to do what they do. But that was just a harsher version of what we've already been doing. It wasn't very different, in all honesty."

Channon looked like he didn't agree.

"I mean, I've seen Nate play before. He likes a lot of toys we don't use. Like the humbler. And the kind of gag that fills your throat," Jack added, stroking the skin just above Channon's collar.

Channon flushed, his eyelashes fluttering. "I…maybe I could do that," he said, looking down. "I mean, I'd try, Sir, if you told me to."

He was so sweet. "Hmmm. Maybe I need to get you a cock-cage, huh? Lock you up tight and torture your balls a bit." Channon looked horrified, but he nodded, a flush (of arousal? Maybe?) darkening his cheeks. "We'll see. If you're good for me, maybe I'll reward you with some new toys. Does that sound good?"

"Yes, Sir," Channon mumbled, clearly embarrassed about it.

"I guess I'll just have to come up with a way for you to be extra good," Jack teased, enjoying Channon's distress. Then—"Come on," he said, unable to stop smirking. "Let's see what else is going on."

There wasn't much, to be honest. A bit of flogging, some boot worship. It was too close to Christmas for there to be much happening, everyone was busy with work and holiday festivities, no time for this kind of fun, apparently. There might have been a play party somewhere that conflicted with tonight. Whatever the reason, the stages in the open dungeon weren't all in use. One of them had a display of shibari, a sub tied up in iridescent nylon, and Channon looked interested so Jack steered him over to it.

The knot-work was sloppy. Jack didn't care for it—fine for the bedroom, absolutely fine for beginners or for a quick wrap-and-fuck, but it wasn't, he thought, display quality. Disappointing. He was about to move on from it when he caught Channon frowning.

"What's up?" he murmured into Channon's ear, and Channon twisted around to whisper to him.

"She keeps moving. Should she be moving?"

"Maybe she's got an itch," Jack said, amused.

Channon's frown intensified. "Sir. If I moved around like that you'd spank me."

"I would," Jack agreed, and then, because suddenly he wanted to, very, very much, he said, "So I guess you think you can do better."

Channon opened his mouth, and then seemed to sense he was being led into a trap. "I…yes, Sir," he said, clearly deciding honesty was his best option here.

Perfect. "Well, in that case, I'm going to give you the chance to prove it."

Channon wasn't stupid. He could guess what that meant. To his credit, all he did was take a deep breath and say, "Yes, Sir. Thank-you, Sir."

It took a word with Diana, and then with another with one of the dungeon monitors, to get him everything he needed. The Club rented some toys and sold others, so Jack had several lengths of jute added to his account, and rented a set of shears, and then he led Channon up onto one of the stages.

"Strip," Jack said, busying himself with his tools, as if he didn't even care. "Leave your panties on."

That was the moment Channon realized he was still wearing them, the realization clear on his face. Jack just looked at him, arching an eyebrow when Channon hesitated, and Channon nodded, his face tomato-red, mouth wrenched in humiliation.

He stripped quickly, folding his clothes and setting them aside. Then he stood there in just black lace panties and his collar, hands clasped behind his back, head down, back straight, one eye on Jack for further instructions just the way Jack had taught him.

On a whim, Jack texted Nate: If you're done, I'm tying Channon up in public for the first time, out the back.

Immediately: I'm so there. Give me a minute.

Perfect.

Jack considered the stage. The perfect fuck-you to the other rigger would be suspension but they weren't up to that yet and there was no way Jack would spring something like that on Channon without practice and discussion. That was fucking dangerous. There was nothing in this world that would make him take that kind of risk with Channon's safety. And, anyway, even if they had practiced suspension, it wasn't like he actively wanted to fuck off another Dom, even one who might have wanted to wait a little longer before showing off his newest tricks in public.

So. Instead Jack summoned Channon to the center of the stage where a ring had been suspended from the ceiling. He adjusted the height until Channon could comfortably reach it with both hands, and told Channon to stay in that spot.

"Remember," he said, gripping Channon's chin and forcing him to make eye contact. "If it pinches, if you get tingles, if something's numb, what do you say?"

"Yellow, Sir," Channon said, blinking hard, obviously trying to forget that he was wearing those panties in front of the thin crowd gathering to watch.

"And if you don't think I can hear you, what do you do?"

Channon lifted a hand and displayed the sign Jack had taught him. "This, Sir."

"Good. Now. Arms out."

Jack had chosen red cord to offset the black of Channon's hair and the black lace at his crotch. He wound it around Channon's chest and down between his legs, just a basic karada, something to anchor everything else. Channon breathed when Jack told him to, relaxed when Jack told him to, let Jack work as quickly or slowly as he wanted. The more rope Jack wound about him the more quietly still Channon became, the more his breathing evened out, and his eyes drifted lazily closed, watching Jack from under his long, black lashes. He licked his lips a little too much and Jack wondered if he should give Channon some water, but when he asked if Channon was thirsty Channon said, "No, Sir," in a lazy, dreamy voice, as if he was….well basically as if he was a little stoned.

That was good, Jack thought, all those endorphins helping him loosen up. Channon's pulse was steady, flickering at his throat and his wrists, and Jack was gentle with him as he trussed him up.

It was nothing they hadn't done before, but they didn't usually do it standing up, and Jack was careful to make sure Channon could take his own weight instead of trusting it to the rope. Jack made a column of him, latticing his arms up behind his head and knotting him to the ring, and when he was stable, tying his left leg calf-to-thigh in a yoga stretch he knew Channon could do, wrapping the right for balance and because he liked how Channon's flesh looked where it popped between the cords.

Channon took it all calmly, let Jack pose him as he liked, didn't wriggle or twist against the jute. He wrinkled his nose, and Jack recognized an itch, so he rubbed it for him—Channon gave him a grateful look, or maybe just a soppy puppy-dog look, Jack wasn't sure.

He bound Channon's right ankle to a loop in the floor, adjusted a few cords, and stepped back.

Fuck, it was beautiful sight. Channon, head resting in the crook of his arm, his whole body on display and streaked with crimson. The pale shimmer of his skin between the ropes. The perfect line of his spine, and his stillness, staying where he'd been told to like a good boy, like Jack's perfect plaything.

Jack pulled up a chair, sat down with Channon between his knees, and ran his fingers up and down the rope. Channon shivered but he didn't move, not even when Jack tugged at his panties. He was hard, the outline of his cock clearly visible through the lacy fabric. Jack palmed him tenderly and Channon tensed, but he forced himself to relax, even as his eyelashes fluttered on his cheek. Jack bent his head to press a kiss to Channon's ribs between the cords of rope; Channon hummed with contentment.

"Can I come up and see?" Nate asked from the edge of the stage. He had his boy wrapped in a hoody and sweats in front of him, was spread out over his shoulders like a blanket. The kid looked raw and sullen, but when Nate rubbed a hand absently over his chest Jack saw how Mac shuddered, pressing into the touch. Yeah. Nate gave him what he wanted, even if it wasn't sexual. Or if it was. Good for him.

"No touching," Jack said. Channon might be able to stand it but then again he might not, in front of all these people. "But sure, anyone can come look."

Several people took him up on this, including Diana, who patted Jack on the shoulder. "It's good to see you up here," she said, the 'again' unspoken. They both knew. He smiled at her, just a little.

"Maybe next time we'll plan something a bit more elaborate," he told her.

He gave Channon maybe fifteen minutes before those ropes had to come off. Jack kept a hand on him the whole time people crowded around, watching him breathe, making sure he didn't start to freak out. He didn't, though when someone bent down to examine his cock and their hair brushed against his leg Jack caught the stiffening of Channon's muscles, the hard swallow of shock in his throat. Jack kept everyone further back after that, not wanting to ruin this for Channon when he was doing so well.

At the ten minute mark, Jack shooed them away. Then, he stood up, moved the chair in front, and braced Channon against him to let him down until the ring was level with the top of the chair back. He'd left enough trailing ends to tie the ring to the chair, giving Channon something to balance on.

"Just a bit more, sweetheart," he murmured in Channon's ear.

Because he knew what the audience wanted to see.

Channon was at the perfect height now for Jack to just open up his pants and fuck him. He didn't, of course, but they wanted to know that he could, so Jack went up behind and settled Channon's ass in his lap, stroking down his back, bending over him to grip the harness and give it a solid yank, exactly how he would if he took Channon like this.

And the other thing they wanted to know, of course, was if Channon could take discipline.

Jack had no interest in disciplining him now, but the flogger Diana had found him was buttery soft and gentle. He played it over Channon's thighs, over his ass, more for show than for anything else. Jack took pleasure in Channon's shudder and gasp, how carefully he held still. Channon was beautiful and he was Jack's, and Jack was so pleased with him that once he was done teasing him with the flogger he crouched down to tell him this. "Channon, you've done so well, I'm so proud of you."

Channon whimpered, and licked his lips. "Sir," he breathed, "Sir, Sir…"

That was enough. Jack unbound him, rubbing over the rope-marks and kissing them, tugging Channon's head back to kiss his mouth. Everyone who was watching would see it, and Jack was glad. Channon was his and he'd do whatever he wanted with Channon whenever he wanted, so long as Channon wanted it too.

And then he had Channon in his arms, limp and weak, and Diana handed him a blanket to wrap him in. No-one clapped, exactly, but people seemed appreciative, murmuring amongst themselves. Several of them came up to ask questions, and Jack was brief with them, more concerned with getting Channon home now than anything else.

Nate had a dopey endorphin grin on his face, his boy now nowhere to be seen. "That was pretty good. Romantic, really."

"And you were definitely not romantic," Jack said, eyeing him. He looked good. Happy. Satisfied in a way he hadn't always been.

Jack disliked avoiding introspection, so he couldn't help recognizing that he'd done what he'd done with Channon for a reason. Nate had shown definitively how much he didn't need Jack anymore, how Jack would never be right for him like that. Sure, they'd known that for years, but tonight he'd invited Jack to see first hand how far apart they'd grown in that regard. So Jack had shown him the same thing, the tender control he wanted with Channon, what he needed. What Nate couldn't understand.

It felt good, actually, to have it all out in the open. No jealousy, no anger. Just the natural end of something that had been over for a long time.

Nate's grin was wolfish. "So, I don't know how Mac feels, but maybe our boys could play together sometime."

It was so typical it made Jack laugh. "Yeah, maybe." The thought of that was definitely hot, or maybe it was just that Jack was primed for it after everything that had happened this evening. "I have to get this one home," he said, squeezing Channon against his chest, "but we will definitely talk about that later."

"Cool. Goodnight, you two."

* * *

The cold air outside seemed to clear Channon's head a little, lifting the grogginess he'd still been showing. Jack wasn't concerned, but he kept an eye on him, watching him blink and stare into space. Channon was wrecked. Jack had been planning something but now he thought it wasn't what Channon needed, tempting as it was, not after the scene at the Club.

And then, in the car and halfway home, "Sir," Channon sighed, one hand creeping across the center console. "Sir…"

Jack caught that hand and rested it on his own thigh. "Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?"

"Um. Good." He blinked, eyes focusing on Jack suddenly. "Are…" and his hand went to his throat, finding his collar still there. "Uh…I'm good, Sir."

"You wanted to ask a question."

Channon bit his lip. "Are you…sending me to bed when we get home?"

The grin came over him unbidden. "Why do you ask that, Channon?"

Channon breathed in, still a little heavy-lidded, and definitely affected by what they'd done tonight. "Can I…I mean, may I please you, Sir?"

It was a tantalizing offer. Jack felt Channon had earned it. And, to be honest, he wanted it for himself. "Hmmm. Maybe. Did you have something specific in mind, or did you want me to make this decision for you too?"

Channon swallowed, and he looked so fucking wrecked, like he was having trouble putting words together but the thoughts were all there, clear as day. "Can I suck on you, Sir? I just…if I could suck you, I…" and he shuddered, all over, squeezing his eyes shut. "I just want to, I want it, and I know I can't…I'm not allowed, but sometimes…if I could just suck you, Sir, I know I…"

"You know what, sweetheart?" Jack patted his hand, trying for reassuring but not sure if it was smothered by the intense burst of arousal that came from Channon begging to suck his cock.

"I could be good for you, Sir. If that's what you wanted. Only if you'd like it, Sir."

Channon was caught in a logical trap, Jack realized. Channon wanted to serve him. Channon knew that part of pleasing him meant that it didn't matter what Channon wanted, only what Jack wanted. And Channon knew that Jack often denied him things that he wanted because that was what Jack wanted. So, on the one hand, he thought Jack might like Channon to suck him off, and wanted to. But on the other, he thought that by wanting it Jack would refuse to let him, because it was Jack's favor to give, not Channon's to ask.

And still, Channon wanted it desperately, Jack could see it in the way his mouth wrenched up, the way he leaned toward Jack with his whole body. Channon wanted to give Jack something, maybe equal to what Jack had given him when he'd taken Channon up onto that stage.

Why yes, Channon, I would like you to suck my cock, Jack thought, but I can't let you think I'm giving you what you want. And I can't make it easy for you.

They weren't home yet, but that was perfect. Jack pulled down a side-street, and killed the engine.

"Okay, Channon. Get out of the car."

Channon stared at him, as if he couldn't believe or understand what was happening, so Jack unbuckled his seat-belt and turned to give him the sternest look he could manage.

"Do I have to tell you again?" he said, mild enough but with an edge to it so Channon would know he was serious.

Channon shook his head, already breathing hard. "No, Sir." He unbuckled himself and struggled out of his seat.

Jack followed him into the cold. When Jack shut the driver's side door Channon shut his too, and when Jack came around the front and propped himself up on the hood Channon edged around to drop to his knees at Jack's feet.

He looked up. His face was cast in darkness but Jack could see the painfully needy look on his face, and when Channon's hands clutched at Jack's calves Jack didn't tell him no.

It occurred to Jack that Channon was still only eighteen, and before Jack nearly the whole of his sexual experience had been making out in cars, so really this shouldn't have been all that out of his comfort zone, but then again he knew Channon had never got very far with Kim, so while it was one thing to be caught necking with his girlfriend in the back of a car, blowing a guy in an alleyway was probably a lot closer to something Channon thought of as illicit and frightening. And humiliating. Especially if he stopped to think of the implications.

Jack wanted him to think of the implications.

So. "If I was paying for this, Channon, I wouldn't be happy about waiting this long," Jack said, low and even, and Channon inhaled sharply as if stung by it. Then his hand was on Jack's belt, and he had Jack's trousers open, and Jack lifted his hips just a little to help get his boxers down, and Channon's mouth closed hot and wet on Jack's cock.

He was getting so good at this now. Jack dropped an arm across Channon's shoulders, not holding him down but just lacing his fingers in Channon's hair, and he heard Channon whimper.

"Yeah, you can suck me. Go on, Channon, you know you love to."

Channon moaned, sliding down to take Jack to the back of his throat, and then he slid up, and down, working his mouth along Jack's length like he was dying for it. Jack breathed out and pressed down a little, encouraging Channon to take him deeper, and Channon did his best, working his tongue around to lap at the sensitive places he knew Jack liked. The sight of him, his head bobbing in Jack's lap, Jack's own fingers curled in his hair, sent a tremendous thrill down Jack's spine. Channon's mouth felt so good, the sucking warmth, the view, the knowledge that Channon was crazily turned-on right now. Jack could tell because when Channon was turned-on he sucked dick all messy and sloppy, drooling everywhere and moaning softly to himself, and he was doing that now, slurping at him like he was sucking down a milkshake. It felt incredible, especially when he rocked up into Channon's throat and Channon groaned, sucking harder, faster.

"Fuck, you could suck dick for money, Channon, do you have any idea? Taking guys into alleyways and dropping to your knees for them, sucking them down and swallowing their cocks. I could whore you out. I'd make a fortune on your mouth, Channon, and keep your ass for myself."

It was just a fantasy, but Channon moaned helplessly. His hands clutched at Jack's thighs, his mouth sucking hard and hungry and Jack could feel it, the broad spreading heat, the tight coil of it in his gut. He was going to come any second now, so he tightened his grip.

"I'm going to come in your mouth, Channon, and you're going to swallow every drop of it, do you hear me?" Channon made a sound that could have been a 'yes' with a dick in it, and then Jack didn't care, he was shooting thick heavy gouts into Channon's throat, gasping as it wracked his body from end to end, the hot throb of it blinding.

Channon took it all, swallowed it down, and when Jack pulled him up his eyes were glazed and wet, his mouth so red as he gasped for breath that Jack had to kiss him. Channon moaned, his hands scrabbling at Jack's shoulders to find a purchase, and then he clung there, giving up his come-soaked mouth to Jack's tongue as easily as he had to Jack's cock.

He was so beautiful Jack couldn't look right at him, this lovely ruin of a boy who would do anything Jack told him to, no matter how much it embarrassed or frightened him. Jack couldn't lose this, he couldn't mess this up. He needed to keep Channon safe, always, and give him everything he needed.

What he needed now, though, was a hand in his pants, and Jack unzipped him, reaching in to take him in his palm. Channon moaned into his mouth, hands clutching Jack's jacket into fistfuls, and it would strain the fabric but Jack didn't care. He had Channon between his thighs and in his mouth and Channon was all his, rocking into his hand and making weak, wet sounds as Jack sucked on his tongue. He mouthed along Channon's jaw, nipping him with his teeth, and Channon moaned loud enough that if anyone had been walking past the mouth of the alley they would definitely have heard him.

The thought of it, of someone seeing Channon like this, a fucking mess and all Jack's, made Jack's cock twitch valiantly, but it was too soon. He couldn't turn Channon onto his front, bend him over the hood and fuck him the way he wanted to be fucked. Next time, he told himself, working Channon in long, smooth strokes, as Channon's breath hitched, his moans hiking up until Jack knew he was about to crack.

"Please, Sir!" Channon begged into Jack's neck.

Jack whispered in his ear, "You can. Do it for me."

And that was it. Channon shuddered, his hips jerking wildly, clutching at Jack's shoulders like he was the last solid thing in the universe. The sounds he made as he spilled. The heat of it spattering Jack's hand, his cock, messy across the front of his trousers. These pants were ruined, probably, but Jack didn't care. He'd promised Channon and he'd done what he said he would and Channon was his. Nothing else was important.

"Fuck, Channon," Jack breathed. "You're amazing. Don't change. Be mine."

Channon inhaled, his chest shuddering. "I am Sir. Be mine too."

Because. That was fair and just, and Jack could only expect as much as he gave. If Channon wanted that, then Jack could give it to him. They could do that. It could work. Jack would never have to let him go.

"Yeah," he said, breathing hard. He leaned his brow against Channon's, hot and sweaty and satisfied. "Let's do that."

Did you like this story?

Please leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads!

The series will continue in His Boy Next Door #24: Christmas Gifts, available December 2017

For new releases, join the R.J. Moray Mailing List

Also by the Author

Published as R.J. Moray

Novellas

Finding Elliott

His Boy Next Door (Channon Beaumont) series

Season One

A New Discovery

Breaking In

Bad Decisions

New Toys

Eating In

Staking Claims

Punishment

Submission

Showing Off

Shared Interests

Fears

Choices

Season Two

Members Only

Learning the Ropes

A Good Host

Anonymous

Possession

Out

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving (part II)

Mistakes

Forgiveness

On Display

Christmas Gifts AVAILABLE DECEMBER 2017

Published as Robin Moray

Bonded to the Alpha series

Bonded to the Alpha

Loyal

Claimed

Mated

Mallory Witches series

Something Wicked

About the Author

R.J. Moray writes MM BDSM erotica for readers who like their Doms a little more tender, but just as dominant.

For novel-length MM erotic romance, check out the works of Robin Moray, who is exactly the same author in a slightly more elaborate hat.

You can follow the author on twitter @robinmoray or tumblr at robinmoray.tumblr.com, or email Robin via therobinmoray@gmail.com.

Interested in hearing about new releases from this author? Join the Robin Moray mailing list.