The untying of knots and the loosening of rope—it was a blissful feeling.
As he was gently freed from his binds, Milo lay atop the rumpled sheets, completely, fantastically spent. He breathed heavily, and a light sheen of sweat coated his skin. Fingers softly traced over the reddened lines left by the rope, sending a shiver through Milo. He closed his eyes and took in the reverent touch.
He enjoyed being tied up, the giving of control to another. And he especially enjoyed the aftercare.
Left for last, his wrists were finally released from the headboard, and Milo’s arms ached with stiffness as he brought them down to his chest.
“I’ll be right back,” Roger said. He was Milo’s dominant partner that night.
“’Kay,” Milo managed to reply, smiling to himself for how much effort the partial word took to say.
Roger brushed a hand through Milo’s dark curls before getting off the bed. He tended to be extra sweet during aftercare, probably to make up for his earlier roughness—Milo liked both aspects about the man.
A moment later, Roger returned. The bed dipped, and Roger brought a warm washcloth across Milo’s skin, wiping away the remnants of their night together.
“Can you roll onto your stomach?” Roger asked, not a command. He wasn’t a twenty-four seven type of dom. Once the scene was over, Roger put away that part of himself.
Milo nodded. He turned, and Roger continued with the cloth over his back. The warmth felt heavenly against his sweat-cooled body. When Roger finished cleaning him off, he set to work massaging each of Milo’s aching muscles.
Milo groaned when Roger reached his shoulders, where tension lived near-constant. The man was good with his hands, working the knots and kinks thoroughly. Milo practically melted into the sheets.
“How’s that?” Roger asked, continuing to rub his thumbs into all the right places.
“Sooo good,” Milo said into the pillow.
Roger laughed softly. Then silence stretched between them. Not an uncomfortable silence, but one where they savored the feeling of post-pleasure and satiety.
When Roger finished the massage, he lay down beside Milo. The huge bed and premium thread-count sheets were far more comfortable than Milo’s own, and he struggled not to fall asleep.
“Hm?” He roused and turned on his side to face Roger, who kept his gaze on the ceiling.
“We’ve spent a few nights together now… And they’ve been really good,” he said, nervousness wavering his words. “We seem to be pretty compatible as a dom and sub. So, what do you think about a contract, with me?”
Milo tried to shutter his expression, but he’d never been very good at hiding his thoughts. When he took too long to answer, Roger finally looked at him with disappointed eyes.
“I can’t,” Milo said. And he sat up, resting an elbow on his leg. He hated having to make Roger feel bad. He was a good dom.
Roger reached for Milo, his warm hand caressing up Milo’s spine.
“I knew that you didn’t typically do contracts,” he said, lightening his tone, which Milo appreciated. “Just, keep me in mind the next time you’re looking to play.”
Milo looked back at him, stretched out and naked atop the decadent red sheets. Milo drank in the dom’s fit body, his muscles at rest, rising and falling with even breaths. Then Milo smiled. “I will, sir.”
Roger left shortly after that. It’d been a great time—and much needed. But life outside the club couldn’t be held off for long, so Milo got up. He stretched his limbs, which were still nicely sore despite the amazing massage.
Milo reached for his glasses first, which were resting on the bedside table. And when he could see clearly again, he read the alarm clock’s glowing red numbers. It was nearing one in the morning, but he had time for a shower. Everyone should be asleep at home anyway.
In the en suite bathroom, Milo placed his glasses on the marble vanity and stepped into the spacious shower. The water pressure was phenomenal, and the hot temperature would last longer than five minutes. The soap smelled like citrus and felt luxurious. As Milo rinsed off, he admired the marks on his wrists, slightly red on his tan skin. In the colder months, he could get away with it, but in the summer, Milo made sure all marks were coverable by a T-shirt.
He allowed himself to linger in the shower for a bit longer, the spray pounding into his back and the citrus-infused steam invigorating his senses. But he couldn’t stay there forever. He turned the water off and stepped out where the air felt too cold now.
He grabbed a pristine white towel and dried off, then wrapped it around his waist. He put his glasses back on and returned to the room. It was one of the club’s private accommodations. Milo had heard all the rooms rivaled those of any five-star hotel. Matte black porcelain tile covered the floor, and strip lighting was recessed along the ceiling border, providing an ambient red glow. Two bedside lamps gave off additional light, soft white and set dim, but it was enough to see all the furniture—the kind you wouldn’t find at a hotel.
The club provided most everything to satisfy an array of kinks and desires, from light play to extreme.
But most importantly, the club emphasized safety. A safe place to play, and safe people to play with. In order to become a member, doms and subs were required to take classes. Once they completed the classes and training, they filled out a checklist of which “activities” they liked and desired, and which ones they didn’t—the hard limits. At any time, the safeword could be used, and the scene would immediately stop. The club would revoke the membership of anyone who ignored the safeword.
Milo could be considered on the “light” side of the BDSM spectrum. He did not find pleasure in pain, humiliation, or degradation—nor would he think anything wrong with those who did—his best friend, Danny, enjoyed all of the above.
What Milo liked was the submission. He liked being bound and controlled. He liked being taken care of. And he liked praise, being told he’d done well, that he was a “good boy.”
It was a nice break from reality.
On top of a black wood chest were the clothes Milo had worn. He had neatly folded them and placed them there after his dom had commanded him to strip.
Milo first slipped on the tight, faux leather pants. They hugged his slim legs and accentuated his round ass so well that no one paid attention to the cheaper material. Then, Milo put on the top. It was sleeveless and mesh around his collarbone and black down to the cropped hemline. He didn’t have much muscle to show off, but still, the outfit made him feel sexy and attractive, rather than the average skinny guy he was everywhere else.
But, he couldn’t wear this home. His regular clothes were in his locker in the changing room. After he finished lacing up his boots, Milo put on the club’s black wristband, indicating his preference as a submissive. Then he headed for the door, stepping over the red rope left lying on the floor.
Obsidian was the name of the club, and it operated in two parts. The regular nightclub, which was open to the public, and then there was the private, members-only Red Obsidian—the BDSM club. They shared the same building, but Red Obsidian occupied the underground levels.
Milo walked through the hallway of private rooms, where the soundproofing wasn’t as strong. Low, pulsing music beats reverberated through the floor and ceiling—Obsidian above, Red Obsidian below. Closing wasn’t until three a.m.
He got into the elevator at the end of the hall, and down he went. It opened to a lobby area with more matte black tiles and red lighting. An elegant silver chandelier hung above, dangling ruby-colored crystals. Milo had always been impressed with the club’s design choices. Rather than overly gaudy or too stark and modern, every part of Obsidian, from the bars and dance floors to the lounges and private rooms, was the epitome of sleek, sensual, and indulgent.
It felt like another world to Milo.
Behind the large, red and black double doors, the music continued thumping wildly. It was tempting to go in and lose himself for maybe a couple more hours. But Milo turned down another hallway.
The male subs’ changing room was empty when he arrived. He half-expected his friend Danny to be waiting, ready to hound him with questions about his night with Roger. Since he wasn’t there, Danny would just ask about it tomorrow when Milo showed up to work at the bar. For now, Milo was grateful for the quiet.
He opened his locker, which wasn’t at all like the dinged-up metal ones from high school, at least, not the public schools he attended. It was spacious, fitting his clothes, backpack, and jacket. He undressed, and it felt like shedding this part of himself. When he put on his worn jeans, T-shirt, and oversized sweater, all the stresses and worries he’d let go of for the few hours he was a sub came flooding back. He became regular Milo again.