CHAPTER ONE
Cason looked out on the sea of dancing people. He could see several people he knew from the scene and a lot of newbies out in the crowd. Strokes wasn't really a fetish bar; it was more of a place for like-minded people to gather and hang out. Still, there was plenty of eye candy, bare skin held in harnesses, mesh shirts, and better yet, nothing at all. His cock stirred as he watched two twinks dance with each other, their hips grinding back and forth to the throbbing beat of the music.
Taking a drink, Cason savored the bitter strength of the alcohol as it trickled down his throat. It had been a long week, and an even longer day making the wooden rocking chair Tiffany had ordered. He deserved the break to relax his aching body. The tiny woman had wanted something her size and carved along the back with moonflower vines, her favorite plant that had grown by the swing on her grandmother's porch when she was small.
Sentimental, but a lot of what Cason carved for people was. He liked listening to his customers and then carving something to meet their needs out of the responsive wood. It filled a driving force inside him. Rocking chairs, cradles, tables, spanking benches and even dildos had been carved, polished, then boxed up and shipped out of his shop.
It was a good hobby and the way it dovetailed into his other... life, was nice too.
Tonight his body craved a different force. He needed a sub; to control, to please, to drive his cock into until they both came.
There were plenty of options.
"Hey, man." A hand clamped down on his shoulder. Cason smiled and turned to see his best friend standing beside him with a smaller guy tucked against his side.
"Brandon." Cason cocked his head toward Page. "Something come out of your mouth that shouldn't have?" he asked.
Page rolled his eyes but said nothing. He couldn't with his dark red lips stretched tight around a ball gag that was strapped behind his head. Brandon reached over and pinched one of Page's nipples, the small nubs already swollen, and the poor guy went rigid.
"Mmph!"
"No rolling your eyes," Brandon said in his slow, deep voice. Page nodded frantically and Brandon let up on his grip slowly, then rubbed the abused flesh softly, which would only increase the ache over time.
Cason's cock plumped up more at the small display. He'd met Page a few months back at a munch. Even for one of those informal gatherings Page had pushed limits. They'd talked; Cason even liked him, but the sub's bratty demeanor wasn't what Cason preferred in his partners. A glimpse of Page's inner spirit and he'd known from the tinge of colors in Page that the small man would be perfect for his best friend. All it had taken was an introduction and Page had been smitten with the giant man with a deep voice and very deliberate hands. Just like Cason had known he would. "So, Brandon, having fun?"
"Always." Brandon ordered a beer for himself, ignoring the imploring look from beneath Page's lashes that was being sent his way. "He'll behave and be ready to put that tongue to good use when I finally take the gag out though. Then we'll both be having fun, won't we, babe?"
Page's wink made both men laugh out loud.
The brat had a thing for gags. Cason had an order due in a few weeks from Brandon for Page's birthday gift; he wanted a wood bit gag that would let Brandon restrain and control Page's head movement. It had to be silky smooth wood, to protect his mouth, so of course Cason was the best man to order from. He'd made several toys for Brandon over the years.
"So, how is the counselor doing tonight? Found a new boy to fix and find a happy relationship for?"
Like he needed that reminder. Cason hadn't taken anyone home in a while for just that reason. He'd been in the lifestyle for some time but his particular
ability
made it difficult to want to play over the last year. One by one, the subs he'd guided through the scenes to their subspace and sent soaring the bliss beyond had thanked him, usually on their knees with their cum still decorating their bodies... and then found someone else that fit the needs his ability allowed them to realize.
He always knew what they needed, but none of them ever needed him.
Cason scanned the dance floor again. Sometimes he couldn't resist; he needed that connection with them too, as fleeting as it was. He was a Dom and they were looking for something to fulfill them, personally, sexually... both of those intertwined for most of them. Creating their perfect scene and guiding them to it seemed to connect them to the submissive inside, whoever that person turned out to be.
None of the dancing singles on the floor captured his attention though, so he turned away, glancing at the door just as it opened. Maybe he'd order a second drink, if he wasn't going to play.
"I don't think there is anyone here that needs me, not tonight."
His balls ached at the thought. Pleasuring himself was fine from time to time, but he got tired of using his hands on his own cock. He wanted to knead malleable flesh, to stroke and smack it. He wanted hot lips wrapped around his cock while his hand was buried in sweaty blond hair as soft, gray-green eyes stared up at him.
Shit.
He knew better than to go there.
Vince, Page's roommate, had just entered the bar. Cason had been watching him for a few months, ever since he got to know Page. Vince sidled up to the edge of the bar and ordered. Cason hoped it would be a nice alcoholic beverage, something fruity maybe, or a rum and coke. Those would fit the way the young man seemed, flirty and fun or dark and smoldering when the eyes of interested men were on him. Cason frowned when the bartender smiled back at Vince as he handed Vince a bottle of water, saying something to the cheerful blond who slid his change in pants damn near too tight to get his hands in the pockets.
Someone else had come out to play tonight.
"Hey, Cason!" Brandon's big elbow nudged him.
"What?" He rubbed at his ribs, then realized he'd lost Vince in the crowd when Brandon distracted him. He glared at Brandon. "Keep those damn things to yourself." He tried looking around subtly for Vince. "Hey, a booth just opened up. Let's go sit down, unless you're going to dance?"
Page looked up at Brandon who shook his head. "Not yet."
They headed over to the booth, putting their glasses down and sitting on the soft leather benches. Page snuggled up against Brandon's side, his hands out of sight under the table. He was probably begging to go dance, in the only way he could with his mouth plugged.
Cason enjoyed the thick cushioned seat as he leaned back and sighed in relief. "Long day."
Unfortunately, Brandon was more focused on him than his sub, and they wouldn't be going dancing. Cason recognized the obstinate look on Brandon's face; they'd sit there until he answered his friend's questions. "What's up with you?" Brandon asked. "You've been acting off for the last few weeks."
How was Cason supposed to tell him about the stories he'd heard about Page's little roommate? About how he wanted to snap the so-called Doms the poor man had been playing with in half?
His friend looked down at Page who had turned away and was staring out at the dance floor. Brandon shifted his gaze out at the sea of people, looking in the direction Page was staring. Cason turned in his seat and looked too. He knew what he'd see before he looked, but he did it anyway.
The dance floor was lit up. The song had changed but the beat stayed the same, calling for dancers to move and writhe together in a parody of a more intimate act.
Of course if this was a fetish club people probably would have been having sex on the dance floor, but Strokes was too mainstream for that. Cason saw a woman whose breasts were being fondled under her shirt by the man behind her. Swaying next to her were a couple of men grinding into each other's thighs. They were locked in tight together; the dancer's ass he could see looked like a tight handful and it was being squeezed happily by a grinning man that scooted into the pair's space and joined them.
But Page wasn't looking at any of that. His roommate was on the edge of the dance floor, his chin tucked to his chest as an arrogant redheaded man standing beside him stroked his hand down his stomach toward his belt before hooking a finger into it. The man hauled Vince up against his body. Vince tilted his head back and smiled, saying something before he looked down again. His smile disappeared when he looked down, though.
Cason narrowed his eyes at the pair. He resisted getting up and interfering, even though the sneering curl in the redhead's lip pissed him off. Something about the blond triggered a protective instinct in him, but the man's spirit wasn't touched in any way Cason could see. He needed guidance, obviously, but not the type that Cason could offer him.
Some days he cursed his daimon heritage. He could see the color of the spirits inside a submissive and know, based on that influence, what would drive them to reach their center. Inside each submissive lay their truth, and finding that brought them to find peace in their individual submission. His own ability lay in taking them on the journey, through the scenes he planned for the submissive he took under his protection.
The last few times he'd been with a sub he'd succeeded in breaking down their barriers, but after each scene ended and he'd soothed their shattered nerves, gave them water and praised them, they left. He'd been sated, in a way, but the longing grew for someone who needed more from him.
But Vince didn't need him.
