Dom of Destruction

an excerpt



Chapter One

Tuesday Night

Devil's Dungeon

Bellevue, WA


Brian entered the kink club and found the place silent and all but deserted. What, nobody plays on Tuesdays? "I can't be the only one that's horny," he muttered, rounding the vacant front desk. He poked his head into the office. Nobody there. Great. Feeling as lost as he had on his first visit--and twice as horny, since he'd had four nights of constant fantasizing about Gar under his belt--he stalked down the hall. As he walked, he passed four or five red doors to his left, all of them closed. On the right, solid steel doors stood open, admitting views of bare concrete rooms. Brian's balls constricted, his cock hardening.

Gar had strung him from the ceiling in one of those rooms last Friday night. God, how he'd loved it. Remembering the way Gar handled him with firm, disciplinary authority made his cock leak in his pants. The man had taken his ass as though he owned it, showed him how sexy submission could be, then claimed Brian as his sub. The most thrilling thing that had ever happened to him. But waiting until the following Thursday to see Gar, and under orders not to get off on his own, had finally snapped his last nerve. He wanted the man he craved on top of him--inside him--now.

All the bare cement rooms were vacant. Brian sighed and resigned himself to peeking into the others, desperate to find his sole source of relief. Hell, he'd tear down every door in the place if it meant he could see Gar, touch him, kiss him. Damn it. With one fuck, Gar had turned him into the most addicted sub on the planet. So not the macho top he used to be.

Balls aching from lack of release, he forced himself to pause at one red door and listen. Nothing. Very quietly he turned the handle and opened the door about a half an inch. The playpen was completely empty. He kept going. The next room proved vacant too, and the next. He didn't even bother turning the knobs. With two rooms to go, he bit his lip and told himself if Gar wasn't here, he'd rifle through the front desk for his phone number. He needed the man too badly to wait until Thursday

At the second to the last door he heard voices. One of them deep, even and low. It sounded a hell of a lot like Gar. Throwing caution to the wind, he pushed the door open and took a step inside. He halted, paralyzed with shock at the scene before him.

Gar stood on the dais by the bed, as handsome as ever, exuding pure masculine control while some young dork wearing a collar and a leather Trojan kilt knelt at his feet sucking him off. Gar's meaty hand cupped the back of the guy's head, alternately pulling it away and then snugging it closer to his balls. "Yeah. That's right. See how that position works better with the collar?"

What. The. Hell? Brian entered the room and headed straight for his Dom. He noticed a third man in the room--an attendant holding a towel--who flashed him a worried look at his approach. "Gar, what are you doing?"

Gar's eyes widened for a second, then he waved a dismissive hand his way. "Working with one of my subs." He frowned. "What are you doing here, anyway? It isn't Thursday."

Brian took a step closer, tension making his moves stiff. Rising anxiety in his chest stuttered his heartbeat. What the hell was wrong with Gar? The intensity of their last encounter had stamped its mark into every fiber of Brian's being. It had driven his need higher and higher for days until frustration had forced him to come here begging for more. Did Gar not get that? "No, it's not, but I wanted to see you."

"I'm a little busy. Come back Thursday. Thursday's your night."

The guy slid his mouth off of Gar's dick and it hung there, pointing right at the man's face, clad in its shiny latex condom. "Did you want me to stop, Master?"

"No." Gar shook his head. "Keep going until I tell you to stop."

The sub resumed his project, sucking loudly and fisting the end of Gar's cock. Gar's shaft was so large the poor man's hand hardly fit around it.

Brian blinked, trying to understand the scene unfolding before his eyes. No, he hadn't assumed he was Gar's boyfriend, but hell, he'd wanted a little more than to be relegated to a weekly time slot. "My night? You have a different sub every night?"

Gar sighed and crossed his arms. Irritation showed in his features, in the way his brows scrunched together like two large hairy caterpillars. "No, not every night. Fridays and Saturdays are still open."

"What?" Brian hadn't meant to screech, but the audacity of the man's offhanded treatment of him put his anger on a short leash and his dismissive attitude jerked the chain. For God's sake. Didn't Gar realize he had needs?

Gar having a different sub every night wasn't what he'd expected. What he'd imagined--what he'd truly wanted--was a piece of what Paul and Geoffrey had. An exclusive Dom/sub relationship. As in one-on-one. Man to man. Someone who'd understand him and help him explore his newfound submissive side. From what Paul had told him about being a Dom, the role didn't include a fucking harem. "Look, Gar--"

Gar huffed out a breath and backed up, removing his penis from the man's mouth. "Hold on. I'll be right back." He glanced at the other attendant and pointed. "You will service him while I'm gone and do a good job."

The guy crawled away. "Yes, master."

Brian rolled his eyes so far they nearly lodged in the back of his head. Oh this is great. I have a slut for a Dom that treats guys like they're actual slaves from a bad porno. How could this get any worse?

Seconds later, Gar towered over him, smelling of sweat, man, sex, and latex. He grabbed Brian's arm and squeezed lightly. "You need to go. You're not even supposed to be in here right now."

"I thought we had an arrangement."

"We do."

"One of many, it seems."

Gar let go of Brian's arm. "Brian, what the hell is your beef?"

The growl in Gar's voice rattled through him, spiking his testiness higher. He'd started the night out with a sac full of frustration. But Gar's asshole remarks weren't doing a damn thing for his libido. He itched to punch Gar in the jaw. "You mind explaining to me why you have a different guy servicing you every night?"

"Not every night. We already covered that."

Heat rose up Brian's neck, flushing his face, making it warm and tingly. "Jesus, I thought you wanted me as your sub."

"I do. I happen to train a lot of subs, Brian. You have to learn to wait your turn."

I wasn't asking to be trained... The words died in his mouth. How could he explain he'd wanted so much more than to be a number or a weekday routine? With Gar glaring at him his anger got the best of him. Seeing another man's mouth on their Dom's cock would make anyone see red. "This is bullshit. I don't need you to be my Dom anymore. You're fired. I'll find someone else." He turned to leave.

Gar grabbed his arm once again, stopping his escape. "Brian, don't do that. Don't walk away. I'm warning you. There's a lot of rough play out there in the BDSM world. You get involved in a scene with the wrong guy and you're going to get hurt." The annoyance fled Gar's face, replaced with concern. "If you want to learn the ropes that's fine with me, but start slow. It takes time to learn what's safe play, set up safe words, and know your own limits. Believe me, I don't want to see you get hurt."

The worry in Gar's eyes contrasted with his former comments, and Brian had a hard time adjusting to the sudden one-eighty. But he had an even harder time going home empty handed with only a lecture to show for his efforts. He glared into the larger man's eyes. Whatever. I'm outta here.

"Please, Brian. Tell me you'll be careful."

Across the room, the attendant's high-pitched moans turned into raw, gasping pants. Apparently Gar's sub had completed his assigned task and was once again available for his master.

Master. Brian sneered at the idea. He's certainly not mine. Gar wasn't a master; he was nothing but a jerk. "You let me worry about my safety. I don't need you for that." He tugged his arm out of Gar's grasp and headed for the bright red door.

"Brian, are you coming back Thursday?"

He didn't even bother turning his head. "Not if I find someone else first."