****Hi, thanks for checking out this chapter of Cody's story. This is a consensual, gay male BDSM story. This chapter contains bondage/restraints, biting/marking, denial, and dominance. If you aren't into those things, this chapter may not be for you. If you do, I hope you enjoy.
Penny****
I'm up early, but somehow Lee is up before me, or at least the bed is empty. My alarm was set for five thirty, but it's so dark in Lee's bedroom, and oh shit, I'm in Lee's bed. I spent the night. I'm giddy, but I reign it in. Also, it's still ridiculously dark, so it's hard to tell what time it is. Using my phone as a flashlight I get up and stumble to where I sort of remember the light switch being, then grope the wall until my hand lands on it. The lights come on and I blink a few times.
Lee's collection of spanking tools on the wall is staring at me, both intimidating and exciting. There are two rows, a top and a bottom row, each tool hanging from the ropes by hooks. They seem to be organized by type, then size. As a tradesman, I appreciate his organization and care for his equipment.
Or maybe that's just how I'm trying to keep myself from being overwhelmed.
It's impressive. He has a lot of stuff here, some of it still has original tags on it. I flip a tag over, careful not to touch its owner, a sleek black handled whip of some type with about fifty strips of red leather sprouting from the handle. The tag informs me that it's actually a flogger, and that it cost Lee eighty four dollars and ninety five cents, before tax.
I drop the tag and peruse his collection, a rising sexy-terror bubbling from my guts into the rest of my body. He has seven different wooden sticks with black grippy handles, then four different sized crops, like the kind used for horses, three of them all black, one of them trimmed with blood-red leather. There are traditional looking paddles, wooden ones like from movies and stuff with bad kids.
In addition to the flogger I checked the tag on, he has four other ones, all made of different material. One is made from that weird rubber stuff that they used to make Koosh balls out of, those plastic or rubber pom pom balls I got out of quarter machines when I was a kid. Another is made from tiny little chains, and when I run my fingers over it the sound it makes makes me shiver.
So many paddles. A wooden one. One that has a solid plastic handle but the end is wrapped in leather. One that is just leather, split in two all the way down to the reinforced handle. Some are made of silicone, maybe? They are soft to touch, and kind of floppy, and I wonder how they would even work if they aren't solid. One of the paddles is obviously a novelty, it's done in black leather, but the word 'SLUT' is cut out, displayed over a layer of red leather.
Lee clears his throat behind me, sending my heart racing.
"Shit, Lee," I gasp, hand over my heart as I turn to face him, my face on fire.
He's smiling like the cat who stole the cream. "Don't mind me," he says, a cup of coffee in his hands. He's leaning in his door frame like he's been there for a while. "I'm just observing."
"For how long?" I'm so embarrassed I could die. My little man, on the other hand, is as excited as a dog whose owner just came home.
Lee notices the excited doggie in my boxers. He lets his eyes trail up my body slowly, I'm wearing an old black tank top, the boxers, and nothing else. "Oh, I dunno," he dismisses, finally meeting my eyes. I'm too embarrassed, I look away quickly, hand over my erection.
"Sorry, sorry. I was just, it, um..." I had no excuse.
"Do you see anything you're interested in?" Lee asks, then hides behind a sip of coffee. It's hard to tell, the lighting is bad, but he might be blushing.
"I dunno," I reply, turning away from him. It's not better to be looking at Lee's collection, it's just as embarrassing, but he asked, so I'm going to answer. I pick up the weird rubber or silicone one. It's shaped like a paddle, but it's weirdly smooth and just as floppy as I thought it'd be. "I don't understand this one."
"Oh, the Tantus?" Lee asks, pushing himself off the doorframe. He advances on me before I can retreat, then places his hand over mine on the paddle's handle. "What don't you understand?"
He puts his mug on the floor, then moves my hand and the paddle flops. I'm rock hard, and so nervous my throat is tight. "It's, like, wiggly. Isn't it supposed to be hard?"
Lee releases my hand and steps back. "Isn't it devious?" His smile, oh my heart be still.
"Huh?" That's me, a wordsmith, for sure.
"Hit your arm with it," he suggests. I do, but not very hard and it thuds against my forearm ineffectively. I look up at him and shrug. "No, no, it's about impact. It's in the wrist, here, can I?"
He holds his hand out and I obediently hand over the Tantus. He holds it like he knows what he's doing. I'm jealous and nervous, and suddenly full of ants. He holds his other arm out, then flicks the Tantus in a way that I know will replay in my mind for the rest of the day. The sound it makes, oh, the sound it makes. His arm is immediately pink in the round shape of the paddle.
"Hold out your arm?" he asks. I do, because I would do anything this man tells me without questioning it, and maybe that's wrong, but fuck if I care right now. He grasps my hand with his free hand, then flicks his wrist.
That innocent looking piece of flat, thin silicone hits with an oddly satisfying thud, but also stings like hell. I hiss and reflexively jerk my arm back, but Lee holds it so I can't. He's watching me intensely, waiting for my reaction.
"Wow," I say, looking at the red impact mark on my arm. It's much redder than Lee's was, but I turn red so easy that it's not surprising. I meet his eyes, then turn away, the intensity is too much.
"Did you like that?"
"No," I whine. "It hurts."
"That's the point, isn't it?"
I nod. He puts the paddle back on the empty hanger. "It hurts more than I thought it would," I note. He isn't looking at me, he's studying his wall of pain. He pulls down one of the floggers, the one with a ton of tiny rubber threads.
"They're all different, how they feel when they're used," he says. "And where they're used. Were you ever paddled as a kid?"
I shake my head. "No. Never."
There is a longer than necessary pause before he says anything else. "Did you really not like it?" he asks, not looking at me as he studies the flogger in his hands. He's running his fingers through the rubber threads and I want to know how it feels.
The temperature in the room rises ten degrees in a second. "I liked it," I admit, barely a whisper. "But I also didn't."
