Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(53)

This would be their last one for a while. He’d be stopping by the storage unit in the morning on their way out of Sarasota, leaving his bag, not able to take it with him traveling. Besides, there’d be too much risk of someone hearing something, or nosy housekeepers discovering it and taking pictures and selling them or something.

Meaning Doyle would have to be creative, but he’d manage.

They’d also be dropping off a few things they wouldn’t need, like the guitar and music stands, and a few extra kinky goodies they’d picked up while there. Once the concert tour was over, Mevi would be returning to Florida with Doyle for a mini vacation together, and they could get them then. Just a few months away.

While Mevi was waiting on the bedroom floor, in his formal bow position, Doyle finished arranging everything before turning to him.

“Sit up.”

Mevi moved smoothly, as if he was born for this, for turning Doyle’s every fantasy into flesh and blood.

Doyle shoved his shorts off and stood in front of Mevi, who was already opening his mouth in eager anticipation. For a man who’d never sucked a cock before they were together, he’d proven he was eager, willing, and damn good at it.

Doyle held Mevi’s head and slowly fed his cock to him, knowing Mevi would sit there for hours, if he asked it, doing just that. But he didn’t want this load down his boy’s throat.

“You’re going to do something for me today, boy,” he softly said. “I’m going to f*ck that sweet ass after I put my marks on it. Then you’re going to f*ck me.”

This was something they hadn’t done yet, simply because he could tell Mevi was a total bottom. He’d be happy doing nothing but serving Doyle, wanted nothing to do with anything that remotely resembled “topping,” in Mevi’s mind. Previous times when he’d hinted and given Mevi a choice, Mevi always chose to catch, not pitch.

Mevi’s gaze stared up at him, eyes already glazed as he was hitting subspace. Doyle hadn’t pressed this issue, but he wanted to do it before they were on tour and Mevi’s stress went through the roof. He wouldn’t add to it, and trying to work through this was extra stress for Mevi.

But Doyle hoped he’d come up with a way, for today, to ease Mevi into the idea without it stressing him too much. Later, when they got through the tour and had some downtime together, he’d work on training Mevi to enjoy it as much as he enjoyed everything else they’d done so far, gently breaking down those barriers in his mind so he equated f*cking his Sir with making his Sir happy and following his Sir’s orders like a good boy.

“Hands.”

Mevi raised his hands, wrists together, ready for the rope. Even as Mevi sucked Doyle’s cock, Doyle quickly bound the man’s wrists together with rope. He would, some day, order him collar and cuffs.

Not now.

Right now, he enjoyed the look of his boy, bare except for the inked marks on his wrist. Mevi loved rope, and had spent several evenings completely bound and immobilized on the couch with Doyle, watching TV while Doyle took his time working up to an orgasm, using Mevi’s mouth or ass or both at his leisure before letting Mevi come.

He pulled his cock from Mevi’s mouth and stood him up, bending him over the edge of the bed. “Feet apart.”

Mevi spread them, wide, his back arching and presenting his ass for the target.

Doyle stroked his hands down Mevi’s back, squeezing his ass cheeks, digging his fingers in hard until Mevi finally moaned.

“Good boy.”

He started slow, working him up with slappers and lighter paddles, until Mevi’s ass was red, hot, and the man was struggling not to squirm against the bed and rub his cock. He’d built up his pain tolerance quickly, now wanting and needing his Sir’s heavy sadism.

Even delivering a bare-handed slap to the man’s ass in passing instantly hardened Mevi’s cock and had him on his knees, begging to play or at least to service Doyle.

Doyle took his heaviest cane and gently tapped it along Mevi’s shoulders. “I’m going to give you twenty hard ones. I want you to count them off for me. These are going to hurt like hell, but you’re going to take every last one of them. Do you know why?”

“Because this boy is Sir’s good boy,” he mumbled, his hips slowly rocking, wanting it.

Something else Doyle had stumbled over, that Mevi dropped harder and faster into subspace when he went into “slashy speak” and used the third person when speaking about himself while they played.

If that helped him and he liked it, Doyle was fine with it.

“Yes. You are Sir’s very good boy. You can call yellow on these strokes if you need me to take more time between them, but I want my good boy to take all of them. You’ll feel these at least for the next day or two while we’re in the car. I want them to last for a while.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

Doyle smiled. “Thank you, boy.”

He lightly rubbed the cane up and down Mevi’s ass with his right hand as he pinned him down with his left, planted firmly in the middle of Mevi’s back.

“Deep breath, boy.”

Mevi took one, waiting.

He didn’t pull his swing, either, immediately drawing a long, red welt along both ass cheeks as Mevi let out a loud, sobbing cry.

“One, Sir.”

“Gooood boy.” He ran his hand over the mark, trying to gauge if he could have hit a little harder without breaking the skin, or if that was good enough. He didn’t want to bloody him, but he knew this was a stressful transition for Mevi. The more he could do to help him through it, the better it’d be for him.