Rough Canvas (Nature of Desire 6)

Looking at Thomas and nowhere else, and Thomas knew him so well, he knew Marcus was so turned on he could barely speak. It made his own reaction leap, not a wise idea with the stimulation he was already experiencing. He groaned.

Marcus passed his hand over his hair, clenching and tugging to the point of pain.

"You're going to make every dick in the place rock hard. I changed my mind on one thing, because you seem to be having trouble remembering to keep your eyes down.

You can be touched, pet, but the symbol I left on your back says you're mine, that you're not to be fucked. "

Thomas bit his lips as Marcus called a staff member to attend him. The oiled-down muscular man in painted-on Latex black pants and black tie carried a shallow crate supported with a strap around his neck like one of the vintage cigarette girls, only he was providing a selection of plugs in sealed packaging. Marcus chose one very thick dildo, paid and tipped him well, then lubricated it for insertion.

Thomas watched him, his mouth dry, unable to speak. When Marcus eased it into him, his fingers gripping his buttock, Thomas' testicles drew up, his cock flexing inside the tight cavern of that automated mouth.

"If you should sweat it off, that's to protect your virtue until I return. Don't let it slide out, pet. Keep that ass tight. "

Marcus' fingers whispered down his back and then he was gone where Thomas couldn't see him. With his neck locked down, he could only look at the man next to him or gaze down into the wading pool.

The man next to him was getting ready to explode, bouncing spasmodically, as much as he could with his tight restraints, breath rasping. "Please. . . Master. . . " His Master must be at one of the tables watching him. The wet mouth sucked on Thomas' cock, rippled. Holding his ass tight wasn't a problem. He wanted to slam himself against the wall in response, but he couldn't.

He tore his gaze from the man and looked down into the fountain, only to find that provided no relief. It had a glass bottom, and through the wake of the fountain water he could see the floor of a third level below. There appeared to be a full scale Roman orgy ensuing.

Desire and lust crowding in on all sides, but where the hell was Marcus? Surely Marcus wouldn't go where he couldn't see Thomas? As Thomas rotated with the others, he couldn't see anything, for the carousel was almost full, too many bodies in the way.

Marcus had surely only been gone a minute, but without being able to see him, it seemed much longer. He felt helpless.

He heard voices, registered words as Doms walked by, appreciatively fondling those with the right symbols. One gripped the cock of the man about to explode, testing the weight and girth while his companion leisurely took down his pants and drove a sheathed cock glistening with lubrication into the slave on the other side of that man, elic

iting a guttural cry which seemed to inspire him to a rougher thrust, a reverent curse. His friend rubbing the cock next to Thomas chuckled and made a comment Thomas couldn't hear.

The man ejaculated, crying out, and Thomas closed his eyes. He didn't want to come like this. Oh God, but he was going to. . .

Then he stiffened as a strange hand touched his ass, his lower back. A thigh pressed against his, making his thighs widen further. When fingers rocked the dildo in his ass, the explosion of sensation went right to the root of his cock. An electric knot of tension fired through his belly and tributary lines in his chest as if he wore nipple clamps.

That hand was now on his back stroking. Get off. That's not yours. Two men. There were two men behind him. He was hemmed in by them, and by the slaves on either side.

He didn't like this. Didn't want this. He wanted out of here. The lobby and the glass wall, that had been just Marcus and him, even surrounded by other people. Where the fuck was Marcus?

Stop it. He squeezed his eyes shut, the rushing of the water filling his senses, but it didn't calm him. If anything, it was like the roar of a crowd watching gladiators, men forced to perform, to bleed, to suffer for cruel eyes and faces.

He wanted to focus on soft green fields, the way the North Carolina mist would lie low on the cut fields on an early morning. The velvet press of Kate's nose in his hand.

The feel of Marcus' body curled protectively around him, only this wasn't protective, so the image didn't hold, dissolving away like the empty fantasy it was. Fingers pinched his ass hard, closed around his testicles.

This was Marcus' punishment. His anger, which had been simmering below the surface since Thomas had gone down on him in front of a mass of strangers and they'd left the foyer. That was what was wrong. This was wrong.

"Let go. " He tried to twist around, tried to see his tormentors and couldn't as they stayed just out of his vision, playfully laughing at his efforts. "Stop it. " He said it again, stronger, and one slapped his ass.

"It says you can't be fucked, Slave Sixty-Eight. It doesn't say you can't be touched. " It was a game to them. They didn't know. He should just ride it out. He should just. . .

"I'm saying it. I'm. . . " As the man's touch drifted to his front, teasing his nipples, his other hand clamping on the back of Thomas' neck to increase the sense of being pinned, Thomas tried to kick out, forgetting his leg was bound to the floor. He yanked against the hold of the manacles, managing to send a tremor through the fountain wall. It drew startled looks from the bound slaves he could see.

"Stop it. Go away. Damn it, stop. STOP. "

"Sshh. . . sshhh. "

Marcus. Marcus' touch on his back, Marcus' thighs straddling his hips, the other men moving away at Marcus' murmured word. The electronic stimulation stopped.

"Let me go. "

"In a minute. I promise, in just a minute. You need to calm down first. Deep breaths. "