Mitsho stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel around his midsection and moving to the bathroom sink to prepare for the night. Drops of water drizzled down his corded shoulders, making lines down his chiseled stomach. He was proud of his body; he worked very hard to be the strongest. Strong mind, strong body and strong desires . . .
He opened a carved wooden box that sat on his counter, and flipped through the few pieces of jewelry he owned, finally picking delicate three-inch long Indian beaded earrings. They had belonged to an ancient warrior relative of his, when his people had still been in control of their lives. He slipped them in his earlobes, feeling the energy of his predator side taking over. He felt like the great line of warriors that had come before him, but in a modern society, warriors weren't necessarily needed.
He took a small amount of hair and braided it down the right side, a small warrior braid as his father had shown him, then he moved into the bedroom, throwing his towel on the bed and slipping on black silk boxers. The blues played in the background, the music sad and slow. He pulled on his black pants and a white button up shirt. Slipping his shoes on and putting his wallet in his back pocket he was ready for the night. As he moved out the front door, he grabbed his black leather gloves sitting on the counter.
It was a short drive to 'Embrace of Darkness,' a nightclub he had gotten to know to well. Passing the line that had been pushed along the wall waiting behind thick velvet ropes; he stopped in front of the bodyguard watching the doors.
"Hey there Mr. Eagle-Feather," Juri said, opening the door for him and he moved past the bodyguard with a nod. The club was already crowded this early into the night. Every black leather seat had been taken; the bar was swarming with close to bare-naked patrons.
"Mr. Eagle-Feather," his nightclub partner Grayson greeted him, pushing a martini glass in his hand. He sipped at the rim as he watched the dancers from the top of the entrance staircase.
"I have resumes for the new bartenders sitting on your desk," Grayson said. "Also we have a new doorman starting."
"I will take a look at those files in a moment," he said. A movement from the dance floor caught his attention.
The young man wasn't older than his early twenties, his honey brown hair almost as long as Mitsho. He was thin, on the femme side for a man, and his skin was much lighter in color than his. He stepped down the stairs, the music carrying him across the floor. He kept his distance at first, watching the young man sway his hips. His hands brushed over his body provocatively, lifting his shirt with the friction, showing a hairless stomach, with tight abs. He had the moves of a stripper.
He placed his hand on the young man's shoulder stopping him. The kid turned to look at him, throwing his hair over his shoulders.
"Can I help you?" He asked with a mischievous grin, his eyes deep brown.
"Can I have this dance?"
"If you have to ask than the answer is no," he answered, his smile growing sharper. Mitsho grabbed the kid's hips, roughly bringing the kid's hips against his own. The young man gasped, his smile faltering for a moment, but fear never crossed those beautiful eyes.
He didn't give him a chance to pull away. "My name is Mitsho."
"Kalia," he answered as Mitsho kept his hands on the kid's hips, forcing him to take up his own rhythm. The kid didn't struggle; though his eyes were wide trying to read him.
"It's dangerous for a submissive to be here without a Top to watch over him," he said. The kid tried to move from his hands and he held him firmly against him, their hips moving with the music that surrounded them.
"I don't need anyone to watch me," Kalia said.
"Really you think you can take care of yourself?" He whispered against Kalia's ear, smelling his skin, his tongue flicking over the young man's jaw line.
"Let me go," Kalia said, the first time fear lingered in his voice.
"No, I don't think so you little slut," he said. "I'm going to let you fuck my whip in front of all these people."
"No, I can't," he said, trying to pull from his grip, fear tensing his body.
"You don't have a choice," Mitsho said, easily pulling him through the crowd and onto one of the many small stages. Kalia brought his leg up trying to kick him off. He caught his leg, holding it against his thigh, pressing his already hard groan into Kalia's pelvis. His free hand wrapped into the man's hair and pulled his head back so he could lick his neck.
"Please don't hurt me," Kalia said.
Mitsho pushed the man around so his back was to his chest. He unbuttoned Kalia's shirt, pulling the fabric down around his slender shoulders and kissing along his collarbone. Kalia's breath hitched. He let the shirt fall to the floor, taking the handcuffs from his pocket and rubbing the cold metal along the young man's left arm. Taking both his wrists in one hand, he slapped the cuffs over Kalia, cuffing him to the pole.
