Ian woke up feeling like a truck had ran him over. His muscles were sore, and his face was completely numb. He remembered taking the mushrooms when he had run out of alcohol, and was interested in the results it had produced. The entire night… morning? He vaguely remembered the light, so it had probably been morning. Well whatever it had been, it was kind of a blur.

Ian pulled his legs up to his chest and stretched his back, then proceeded to get out of bed. He was having a hard time, since he was completely drained. Drained of energy, drained of strength and drained of brainpower. Luckily for him, his condition wasn’t accompanied by headache nor nausea, so it was probably nothing a good breakfast couldn’t fix.

As he dragged himself to the living room, Ian noticed something off about the place. It was clean.

Had he done that? Ian looked around at the spotless coffee table. He knew he had made a mess of that, even before the trip started. Had he actually cleaned his house whilst tripping? If so, he needed to get some more of them shrooms. The place looked spotless.

However nice it was to wake up in a clean apartment, it did leave Ian with a slight predicament. Where the hell had he put his writing? Had he even written something last night? He knew he had, he was sure of it. He had been composing for hours. So where was his work?

Ian was on the brink of starting a full-scale investigation, when his stomach growled. Right. Food first, music later. He walked over to the fridge, took out some eggs, bacon, cherry tomatoes and spring onions and made himself a nice omelette. He slopped down on the couch to eat it and put the television on to watch the news. Besides the usual stuff there also was a local item about a guy scaring a producers office half to death, stabbing someone with a letter opener and then jumping off the building. Apparently, he was a mental patient who had only recently walked out of the institution that was keeping him.

Ah, that reminded Ian about the song he was writing about his neighbour’s crazy hook-up. Now where… As Ian scanned the room he noted a stack of paper on the dresser next to the balcony door. He walked over and looked at it. Those were his writings alright. Why had he put them there? And why was there blood on them?

As Ian fingered the papers, trying to sort out what he had been doing a sudden image entered his mind. It was a painting of Dylan in blues and greens, surrounded by a blinding light, looking down at him, making him feel safe.

What the hell?

Oh.

Ian’s eyes went wide as he realised why his apartment was so clean. Oh, shit he had been in such terror. He remembered now. There had been people from his past looking like sea creatures, snipping at him and his muse had come to save him. Only it wasn’t a metaphorical muse. Fucking Dylan had come over to talk him down, and apparently clean up his mess. Oh wow, the man was an actual saint.

How could he ever make up for this? Should he buy him flowers? No he was a guy, you don’t buy a guy flowers, right? Ian liked flowers. Maybe you could buy a guy flowers, or was that gay? Wait, Dylan was gay... Okay, that made it even more awkward. 

To be safe Ian decided that, whatever was the norm, buying a guy flowers because he put your crazy drugged up ass to bed for the second time, was not a good move. Unless... But he didn't even know which flowers were edible.

Oh wait. Dylan liked craft beer! Ian had no idea which ones were good, or special or whatever, since he didn’t even drink normal beer, but he was adamant on finding out. He ferociously researched local beers on Google, then got distracted by a ringing noise.

Ah, his phone. Ian followed the sound and found it under the couch. Cherry was calling him. Why was she…

SHIT!

“Ian, where ARE you? Your first client is already propped up in room 3. Please tell me you’re only one minute away!”

“Crap. I can be there in um… 25?”

“I can’t make him wait half an hour! Besides, you have three more clients this evening! They’re all going to be running late!”

“Can someone take over my first one?” Ian pleaded, knowing there was no way he’d get there faster. 25 minutes had already been a bluff, because that was the amount of time it took to ride his bike there. He needed to shower and get dressed too.

“I guess, Patrick is here way early. But the client is not going to be happy about it. It’s the fat one with the weird mole, you KNOW he wants you…”

“Yeah well, too bad for him. Tell him I’ll treat him extra nice next time and tell Patrick I owe him. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Hurry up or I’ll spank you.” Cherry tried to sound menacing. She didn’t though. There was a reason she worked the desk.

“After I finish spanking everyone else, okay sweetie?” Ian quipped then hung up and rushed into the shower.

***

After dealing with his first, would-be second client of the evening, Ian carefully washed his hands. The moistening disinfectant that the club kept in large hands-free dispensers in every bathroom was soothing and cleaned up the shitload of cum he had gotten on his hands and arms and up to his elbows. Luckily, none of it got anywhere else, so he didn’t need to take a complete shower. His last Mr. Smith (there were multiple) had taken up a little too much of his time and his next client was probably waiting already.

Ian picked up the form from the next assignment. Admittedly it was a strange one. Cherry had told him one second earlier, so he should’ve known, but Ian hardly found anything strange anymore. He’d been working as a dom for almost three years already and figured he’d seen it all.

Yet ‘Mr. Mantis’ form was strange. According to the paperwork he was a first-timer. Yet he had ticked all the boxes. He could practically do anything to the man. All pain settings up to severe and no sexual preferences listed whatsoever. He’d been a bad boy (there was an option for a sub to have been a good boy too) and every possible punishment on the list, even not getting any sexual gratification at all, was seemingly alright by him. Someone really wanted to get his ass kicked.

There were more clients like that, Ian loved them. Just control, no sex and no mess. But those were never first-timers. Safeword was “Apple.” Something stirred in the back of Ian’s mind and made him feel a little awkward. He decided to be on guard for this one.

They’d given him number six, one of the dungeon chambers. Completely outfitted to entertain the most desperate slaves. ‘Mr. Mantis’ was already there, waiting for him in his underwear, tied to the wall and blindfolded. Curtesy of Cherry. They did that a lot, especially with newbies. Making the sub wait without anything to see or do was one of the subtle features of domination.

Ian cracked his whip as he entered the room and added in a low voice “well, well, what have we got here…” then froze as he saw who was chained to the wall.

No fucking way.

The room was dimly lit and the person against the wall was blindfolded, so Ian moved closer to be sure, but concluded he had it right the first time.

What the hell was Dylan doing here? He knew nice normal people have deviant sides too, but really?! Also there was a really disturbing scar on Dylan’s chest. It looked like someone had stomped out a cigar on his heart and cut a jagged X over it. Was this what he had meant by ‘the scars on his heart’? Wait, had he done that to himself? Holy shit.

“Are you there?” Dylan said, which made Ian realise that he was staring blankly at the man before him, instead of doing his job.

“Don’t speak unless I tell you to.” Ian bit. It was a habit.

Now what? He never had any issues with this kind of thing, but the thought of hurting Dylan didn’t sit well with him. Why was that? Of course, after what he had done for Ian only this morning, he should instead be showering him with gift-wrapped baskets of craft beer for being the best person ever. What kind of person hurts an actual saint? But Dylan did come here of his own accord, so this was probably what his muse liked. Tastes differ. It shouldn’t bother him.

Yet it did.

Maybe I should send someone else in. Ian thought, then ejected that thought forcefully from his brain as he felt his chest constrict at the idea. Why was that?

Ian clenched his teeth as he decided just to do his job. He could thank him and buy gifts later. Dylan would never have to know it was him, right?

He walked up to the man and drew the top of his whip over his body, slowly, teasingly. No reaction. A quick slap against the thigh. Still nothing.

“Bad Mr. Mantis… are you ready for your punishment?”

“Yes.” Dylan answered solemnly.

“Yes Master!” Ian bellowed as he smacked the whip against the other thigh.

“I am ready Master.” Dylan said in the same tone of voice. It didn’t even sound excited. Rather resigned.

Ian unhooked Dylan’s left hand from the wall and turned him over. Then re-hooked the left hand on the other side, so his slave was now facing the wall. Ian trailed his hands up Dylan’s legs, nails raking the skin until they reached his boxers. He pushed himself against Dylan’s back as his hands roamed the front of his body, pinching his nipples hard, then moved down to his underwear.

Ian was aware of his own heartbeat speeding up as he got closer to Dylan’s crotch. It skipped a beat when he noticed Dylan was less excited than he apparently was.

Okay. Vanilla wasn’t doing it. Obviously, it had said so on the form. Why had he even started out with that? 

Because you still don’t want to hurt him, even when he wants you to. A voice in the back of his mind said. The voice was right, but that shouldn’t matter now. Ian was supposed to do his job.

He needed something to make this easier, so after he stripped him completely, he released Dylan from the wall. Making sure he kept his blindfold on tied him up as nasty as he could. Tight knots strained his arms behind his back and tying them to his thighs he made sure Dylan’s back was awkwardly arched. Then attached his bound ankles to a hook and pressed the lift that would slowly pull him up to hang him upside down from the ceiling.

It took about 90 seconds. Ian rushed out to the change room and found his stash. Thank heavens he hadn’t used all of it yesterday. He snorted two thick lines and cleaned his nose after. That was better. Then he ran back and entered the room just in time to watch his helpless neighbour finish his journey to the top of the room.

“Are you feeling helpless now, slave?”

“Yes master.”

As the bound body of his neighbour dangled in front of him, he noticed there was still no physical reaction in the crotch area. This wouldn’t do. This man deserved to get whatever he wanted out of sex and Ian should be able to make sure he got it. He tried emotional abuse, scolding, degradation, more intense sensations of physical pain, anal penetration with assorted toys, but none of it did jack shit.

It was almost time for the next client, and he hadn’t even gotten an erection out of Dylan. He had heard screams of pain, but with no hint of desire behind it. This had never happened. Why now, why with him?

Ian gave up as he approached Dylan’s bound figure and started to slowly undo the knots. “You’ve been a brave one, Mr. Mantis.” He whispered in Dylan’s ear, then licked the side and slowly trailed his tongue down the man’s body. As he undid the ropes around Dylan’s thighs with his hands, he noticed something.

Alright, so it does work. It just responds better to gentle treatment.

Ian caressed Dylan’s thighs as he worked his tongue further down. At least he could do this right. He didn’t need to do that as much as he used to, but Ian prided himself on being good with his mouth. Finally, something he could do to make Dylan get value for his money.

Dylan was lying on his back, his arms still tied behind him, but his lower body now free to move. Ian found his mouth teasing Dylan’s treasure trail as he slowly slid his hands further up his thighs, slowly separating them. Dylan's cock was now completely erect. Alright, time for the happy ending, Ian thought as he moved his hands and mouth to his centre of attention.

“Apple.” Dylan said. And Ian jumped up.

What? He was finally enjoying something and used the safeword now?

“You want me to stop?” Ian asked, incredulous.

“Yes.” The voice sounded a little strained, but it was confident and final.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“You treated me nice. That wasn’t what I came here for.”

“Sorry.” Ian said. He was now feeling like a complete idiot. Oh, hell he was even hard. This was the worst professional fuck-up ever. And now he needed to take off Dylan’s blindfold and he would know. He couldn’t know. So Ian just ran out.

It wasn’t a solution for anything. Dylan was still half tied-up and blindfolded. Someone needed to help him out. Luckily, Ian bumped into Patrick in the dressing room.

“Patrick! You need to untie my client and escort him out.”

“Why?”

“I fucked up. I don’t want him to see me.”

“50 bucks. I already had to clean up your mess once today.”

“Sure,” Ian said and immediately forked over the money, then undressed himself and got in the shower. He had only 10 minutes before the next client would be there and Ian was nowhere near ready. It took him a thourough scrub and the last bit of white he still had in his pocket to get in the vicinity of ready again.

Luckily the last client was an easy one. Ian knew exactly what he wanted, so it wasn’t too big of an issue that his mind kept drifting to Dylan.

What was going on with the man? He clearly wasn’t into pain, but yet he had wanted only that. Pain without arousal, like he felt he just needed to be punished. Or needed to hurt? Could it be...