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What You Earn

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Adam pulled into the dungeon parking lot at a quarter to ten. He should've been here an hour ago, but he'd been damn near useless at work all week, driven to distraction over the thought of tonight. It had taken him three times as long to get everything done that he needed to. His coworkers had asked him if he was sick, and he'd claimed he was because the alternative was telling them that he was just that excited to go to the kink club tonight.

He'd gotten the email a few weeks ago. He'd almost marked it as spam, but then he'd recognized the name of the dungeon he'd joined in his freshman year, back when he still had the occasional free evening to dedicate to making himself feel good. It had been a long time since Adam had allowed himself that. He was, unequivocally and unapologetically, what one might call a workaholic. Between his final year of law school, the unpaid internship he could never hope to build a career without, and the two jobs he could never hope to survive long enough to build a career without, Adam didn't have a lot of time for leisure activities.

Most of the time, he was fine with that, and when he wasn't, he could usually manage to squeeze in a quick fuck with one of his study buddies. Those encounters were rarely exciting, and they certainly didn't satisfy him, but it was the price he paid for having priorities in his life. He had accepted it.

Until that email. He still had a club membership, technically. And they were hosting a special event.

It was a little pricey, but Adam's finances were in a decent place, and reading that email had sent a flush of arousal all the way down to his toes. He deserved a night off, didn't he? One night all to himself, no work, just the kind of hedonistic indulgence that would leave him thoroughly sated and hopefully carry him through the end of the semester to graduation. He'd earned that.

There had been a surprising amount of paperwork involved. A dozen forms and contracts with verbiage that Adam was more qualified than most to understand. Medical stuff too, verifying his clean bill of health and that he carried no transmittable diseases. Lists of rules and regulations, guidelines for behavior, safety protocols and information on who the floor marshals were and where they'd be in case of crisis. The definition of consent with a place for him to sign to confirm he understood the concept, and a plain text description of the event requiring another signature indicating his understanding of that.

Adam had filled out all of the forms. He'd signed in all the required places. He'd gotten tested and told he was clean. He'd swung by the dungeon on his Monday lunch break to turn it all in and then he'd had nothing to do but count down the days.

Now the time was finally, finally, here. Adam took a moment to breathe, the cool night air in sharp contrast with the fire in his gut. Normally, he doused that feeling with reminders of his schedule and his next paper deadline and just how much he did not have time to deal with it. But none of that mattered tonight.

The front room was misleadingly well lit and normal-looking. The receptionist had changed in the last few years; this one was a chic brunette with cat-eye glasses. She didn't look any different from the receptionist in the law office Adam had interned at the previous summer. She checked him in, verified that he was on the list and all his paperwork was in order, and pointed him down a long, equally normal-looking hallway with a cheery smile.

The dungeon itself was the same as Adam remembered—a sumptuous contrast to the corporate stylings of the foyer, filled with plush chairs and couches, nooks and crannies set into the walls dressed for comfort and the illusion of privacy. Soft, unobtrusive music played from somewhere Adam's one functioning ear couldn't pinpoint. The lights were dim enough to make it all feel, somehow, both cozy and illicit. The only new feature were a half dozen spotlights, all trained on the center of the cavernous room.

Six people; the focal point of tonight's event. Kneeling in a neat line, naked and exposed in the bright lights. Some of them were bound, some gagged. All were blindfolded. As Adam watched, another event attendee stepped up to guide one of them forward until she was on her hands and knees. He shoved his jeans down around his thighs and pushed into her from behind. The girl did not resist. And why would she? It was what she'd signed up for. To be helpless like this. To be completely at the mercy of the unseen, anonymous—though thoroughly vetted and monitored—crowd. Nothing but a hole to fuck.

These people had come to be used, and Adam had come to use them.

God, it really had been too long since he'd done anything like this. Well, he'd never done anything quite like this, but once upon a time Adam had participated in the local scene. He'd had regular play partners, submissives who would give him the opportunity to take them apart and put them back together again. That wasn't the kind of thing he could ask of a casual hookup with someone from his environmental law class and thus it wasn't the kind of thing he got to have in his life much anymore. The craving for it, that itch, had been set aside for a long time.

It reared its head now as Adam made his way around the room. A lot of the people here were regulars who knew each other well and there was a fair amount of comfortable chatter. Plenty of couples had come together and were touching each other while they watched the show. The people on display were quiet, each waiting with varying levels of composure until someone decided to make use of them. Adam kept to the edges at first, observing. He had always liked to watch. He also liked to plan, to gather information before making any decisions. He had options here, in these six willing bodies, and he wanted to make the best choice he could.

On one end was an older man, thick-set and with very red hair, both on his head and everywhere else. He had a spider gag holding his mouth open and drool coated his chin and neck. He wasn't hard, but the way he moaned when a woman put her fingers on his tongue said he was having a very good time anyway. Adam liked the body hair, but he wasn't a huge fan of excess saliva, so he passed this one by.

Next up was the woman who'd been bent over earlier. Her long hair was bunned and another man was currently using it to guide her through a rough blowjob. When he let her up for air, she said, "Thank you, master." That was promising. Adam mentally put a mark in the pro column for her.

The next woman was trussed up like a turkey, rope tight around her arms and her thighs and her breasts. Nobody was touching her at the moment, but she didn't seem to mind. She just squirmed against her bonds, letting the ropes laid over her nipples keep her occupied as she waited, whimpering. Adam appreciated her patience. It made him want to reward her, praise her for being such a good girl. He might come back to her later.

A slim young man with a thick collar around his neck sat beside her, obediently lapping at the hand held in front of his mouth. At a command from the hand's owner, he turned his face up for her to straddle. He resumed his licking. He was obviously good at it, Adam noted with interest, but, as much as he liked collars, actual puppy play had never been very appealing to him.

Adam moved down the line to the next person and stopped. For a moment, he wasn't sure what—who—he was looking at. Then, when he was sure, he still couldn't quite wrap his head around it.

He hadn't known that Declan Lynch was back in Boston.

He also hadn't known that Declan Lynch was submissively inclined.

And he definitely hadn't known that Declan Lynch was trans.

But there Declan Lynch was, on his knees in the middle of the row, a blindfold crushing his trademark dark curls against his scalp, and his thighs spread to show off a bush as neat and tidy as the rest of him. A hint of delicate pink showed through the dark hair, his pussy already glistening with somebody's come.

Adam should leave. That was his first thought, that there was something inappropriate about this and it would only be right for him to go. Declan, like the others, had signed up for anonymity, after all. He'd come here to be handled by strangers, people he did not know who did not know him, not by his little brother's ex-situationship whom he would probably see again in a few weeks when Thanksgiving rolled around. To be here, even just seeing Declan like this, felt like crossing some kind of ethical line. This isn't what Declan had consented to.

Adam thought this, standing still in the middle of the gently ebbing crowd, for several long minutes. As each one passed, the urgency of the thought faded a bit, even as the better parts of himself tried to hold onto it. Because wasn't it what Declan had consented to? Technically speaking, the anonymity in this arrangement wasn't a guarantee that Declan wouldn't know any of the people who touched him. It was a guarantee that he wouldn't know who touched him, regardless of who they were. He'd signed up to be unaware.

Adam watched as a man stepped up to put his hand on Declan's throat. Declan tensed at the unexpected touch, then relaxed into it and obligingly lifted his chin. The man let his hand trace its way down Declan's body, over his chest, across his stomach, and between his legs to tug at his little tdick. Declan's lips parted, though if he made a sound, Adam wasn't close enough to hear it.

Adam looked away. He shouldn't be here, he told himself again. It was weak, though. His conviction was quickly being eaten away at by that itch deep in Adam's gut. It wasn't that Adam particularly liked Declan as an individual, because he didn't, though he'd always acknowledged a certain physical attraction to him. It was the way that Declan ducked his head now, so different from his usual stubborn pride and outward aggression, while a stranger slipped rough fingers inside his body. It was the vulnerability of his covered eyes, the helplessness of the rope cuff keeping his hands behind his back, the invitation of his open mouth.

As the man circled around behind Declan, Adam accepted that he would not be leaving. He stayed right where he was, watching, as Declan was bent forward until his cheek was flat against the floor, unable to support himself with his hands bound behind him. He watched as the man fucked Declan that way, fast and hard and selfish about it. He watched as the man tucked himself back into his pants when he was finished, pulled Declan back up onto his knees, and left him dripping fresh come. He watched the rise and fall of Declan's flushed chest, the twitch of his stomach and clench of his thighs, the tremble that said he'd been right on the edge of orgasm and left without satisfaction.

Adam watched until he was sure that nobody else had their eyes set on Declan. Then he approached, making sure that his steps were loud enough to be heard. Declan's head snapped his way, obviously listening hard. Already attentive. Already eager.

Adam took a moment to think. To plan. He couldn't speak, he knew that much—Declan had known him far too long not to recognize his voice, even if Adam had finally squeezed the last of the Henrietta accent out of his vowels. That limited what he could do here, but he was good at nothing if not working within his means. There were other ways to communicate.

Declan waited, perfectly still, the shallowness of his breathing the only indication of his anticipation. Adam would never have expected this of the boy he'd known in high school. Maybe he should have. Wasn't it a cliché that men with powerful public fronts craved someone to take that power from them behind closed doors? If anyone would embody a cliché like that, it would be Declan Lynch.

Cliché or not, he was being very good. He deserved to be rewarded for it.

Decision made, Adam reached out to run his knuckles down Declan's cheek. The touch startled him a bit, but he stayed still and receptive. His lips parted again, obedient and expectant. Adam traced them with his fingertips, feeling the warmth of his carefully controlled breathing. Then he slid his thumb into Declan's mouth.

Declan immediately began to suckle on it. For a moment, Adam allowed this. Then he hooked his fingers underneath Declan's chin and pressed the pad of his thumb down, pinning Declan's tongue in place. Declan made a soft noise, not of protest but maybe of surprise. When Adam used the grip on his lower jaw to guide his head up, he followed the motion. To the left side, and to the right. He allowed Adam to move him with no resistance, this way and that.

Pleasure curled low in Adam's gut. Good boy, he wanted to say but couldn't.

He pulled his thumb free of Declan's mouth and tapped his forefinger twice against Declan's lips instead. Declan opened his mouth again, wider. Without a spoken command, the gesture could reasonably be interpreted any number of ways, so Adam didn't hold it against Declan that he didn't understand right away. He nudged Declan's mouth closed and tapped his lips again. Speak.

This time he got it. He swallowed and said, "Thank you."

Adam smiled to himself. He ran his fingers through Declan's curls in silent praise, but he tapped against his lips one more time too.

"Thank you, sir."

He really was a very good boy, wasn't he? Adam put his thumb back into Declan's mouth, gripped his chin again, and nodded Declan's head for him. Declan made another of those soft noises—this one was appreciative. Some tension in his body released, now that he'd understood what the rules were, how this particular partner had chosen to communicate with him.

Adam let him sit for a minute, enjoying the view and contemplating his options. The rope-bound woman down the row had found somebody to use her and was loudly declaring her gratitude. Puppy boy was whimpering. A person with a leather bustier and a whip approached Declan from behind, but they backed off with raised hands and an easy laugh when Adam gave them a pointed, proprietary look. Their boots clacked loudly against the floor as they retreated to one of the nearby little round tables to watch.

Adam glanced down at his own boots. Not knee-high and pointy-heeled, but plain and sturdy. Decent quality leather. The dark, scuffed brown of it was a pleasing contrast to the creamy paleness of Declan's inner thigh. Adam smiled to himself.

When Adam tightened his hold on Declan's chin and pulled him upward, Declan followed. Beyond just tilting his head up. Declan had to lift himself up from sitting on his feet. Adam stopped him before he gained his knees properly, halfway between sitting and kneeling. With his hands bound, he may have struggled to keep his balance without Adam holding him in place. He kept him there just long enough for Declan's thighs to start trembling from the effort of holding the awkward position and his breath to start coming faster in warm little puffs against Adam's wrist.

Just when the strain was getting to be too much, Adam let up on the pressure, and as he eased Declan back down, he shifted his foot forward between those spread legs. The toe of his boot fit snugly against Declan's well-used cunt. Declan's hips jerked at the unexpected contact. He settled into it gingerly, cautiously, but Adam could see the way his muscles clenched. A drip of come from his last partner leaked out. His little dick looked achingly hard.

Adam brushed the sweaty curls back from Declan's forehead. Declan leaned into the touch; he was almost sweet in his neediness. When Adam nudged up with his toe, he moaned around the thumb still in his mouth. Adam took his thumb out and did it again, to hear the sound unmuffled. It was a tease, this, just the lightest of contact, a hint of friction from the stitching in the leather, but nothing substantial. Declan had already been played with so much, though, that every touch seemed enough to shock him. How long had he been on the floor? Had he come yet tonight, or had he been worked up over and over but never pushed over the edge?

Adam slid his hand from Declan's hair down to the back of his neck and guided him forward until his face was cradled against Adam's thigh. He shifted again, wedging his foot further underneath Declan's body, no longer a tease but a firm presence from shin to toe tip. Declan gasped wetly against his slacks. This time, when Adam moved his foot against him, it sent a full-body shudder through him.

Go on, Adam wanted to say. Take what you need. You've earned it. Instead, he lifted his foot one more time and pet Declan's curls encouragingly when his hips bucked.

The message got through. Carefully, testingly, Declan began to move. It wasn't easy to get leverage without the use of his hands, and Adam's grip on his neck was largely responsible for keeping him upright and in place, but Declan had enough core strength to get the job done. He ground down against Adam's boot, no longer situated on the mostly-plain toe of it but on the busier texture of the laces. Slow at first, and then picking up speed. His hips jerked and swiveled as he searched for the best angle, overworked thighs shaking with the effort of supporting him.

It was a beautiful sight. Flushed all the way from his cheeks down to his chest, glistening with sweat, every muscle pulled taut as he worked himself over. His lips were red and wet and open, dampening Adam's slacks with every desperate noise he muffled in them.

Adam wanted to hear him properly, though. He tugged at Declan's hair until he lifted his head. Even with the blindfold covering half his face, Adam could tell his expression was blissed to the point of worshipfulness. Leave it to a catholic to find holiness in submission. Adam fed Declan his thumb again for just long enough to nod his head for him—the closest he could get to praise without saying the words. He tapped Declan's lips.

His response was immediate this time. "Thank you, sir."

Perfect.

Adam led him back into position and, this time, Declan thanked him for it. He leaned forward, knee digging hard into Declan's chest, until Declan could grind his dick against Adam's shin. Declan gasped and cursed and thanked him for it. The hem of Adam's pants was soaked through from Declan's cunt. There was no chance of salvaging these shoelaces; he would have to buy new ones. He tightened his grip on Declan's neck, keeping his face pressed tight against Adam's thigh, just a few inches shy of his own erection. Declan thanked him for that too.

Then, breathless and desperate, he said, "Please."

Adam had to bite his own tongue to keep from groaning.

"Can I come, sir?" Declan gasped. "Please can I come?"

Adam wanted to say no. He wanted to pull back and watch Declan writhe, teetering excruciatingly on the edge. He wanted to see if Declan had the discipline and self-control to just stop, if that's what Adam told him to do, no matter how close he was. He wanted to know how many times Declan could be denied before he cried. Most of all, he wanted to fuck Declan's pretty, polite little mouth until he choked.

And he could. He could do those things, right here and now, as dozens of people milled around to watch. He could gag Declan on his cock. He could fuck Declan into the ground just like the last man had and leave his pussy leaking a third—fourth? fifth?—load of come. He could jerk himself off onto Declan's sweat-damp face and leave him sticky and dripping white for the rest of the night. He could do anything he wanted to, and Declan would take it and be grateful.

Adam pressed the heel of his palm against his dick and reminded himself why he shouldn't fucking do that. It was bad enough that he was touching Declan at all, taking advantage of the consent loophole that his unexpected presence here created. Declan wanted to be fucked, yes, but he almost certainly didn't want to be fucked by him. If he knew whose hands he had on him right now…

Declan was begging in earnest, a steady stream of please and god with a few thank you, sirs thrown in like that might help his case. The rhythm of his hips was faltering as he fought against his impending orgasm. Waiting for Adam's permission.

His mouth was open against Adam's hip, soaking through the fabric there with sweat and spit, and he latched onto Adam's thumb immediately when it touched his tongue. He sucked and the feeling shot through Adam like lightning. He grit his teeth against the temptation to turn Declan's head the other way and let him suck to his heart's content. He gripped Declan's chin hard enough to bruise. It was an awkward angle like this, without pulling him upright again, but Adam managed to guide Declan through something recognizable as a nod.

Declan whined. His thighs clamped around Adam's ankle, hips working furiously for the pressure and friction he needed to tip over the edge. It seemed to go on and on, his whole body jerking and trembling with the force of his pleasure. Adam's thumb slipped from his mouth and was replaced with a veritable litany of gratitude.

Adam bit back every curse that wanted to fall from his own lips. He allowed himself one squeeze through his slacks, hard enough to hurt, and then forced his hand away from himself. He would get himself off at home, both to the memory of this and to the fantasy of ripping the blindfold off, letting Declan see just whose leg he'd been humping like a dog. The boy Adam had been back in high school could never have imagined the high and mighty Declan Lynch on his knees for him, begging, pleading, coming at his command. He wouldn't have dared.

Now, as Declan slumped, exhausted, against him, Adam threaded his fingers through his hair. He tugged Declan upright, the better to admire the absolute mess he'd made of the man. Adam's boot was drenched in his wetness and dripping with other men's come, the hem of his slacks plastered to his ankle. He was suddenly very glad that he'd driven to this event instead of taking public transit.

Adam tapped Declan's lips.

He sighed out another thank you, sir, sounding floaty and absent. More than satisfied. Adam nudged his lips apart and Declan opened his mouth wide, most likely expecting Adam to come in it. But Adam just tapped on his tongue—a new command that stymied him until Adam used the grip on his hair to bend him over, nearly all the way to the floor. His nose made contact with Adam's boot, and he understood.

With painstaking care, Declan cleaned up his mess. He dragged the flat of his tongue over the wide leather tip of the boot, licking up all that slick and come, and dug the tip of it into the stitching and seams as best he could. He even pulled the laces into his mouth and sucked on them. By the time he was finished, his lips were red and swollen and shining. He turned his face up, blindly beseeching.

One last time, Adam slid his thumb into that sweet, obedient mouth. He nodded Declan's head. Good boy. Declan suckled on him gently, but didn't protest when Adam pulled away. Beside him, the puppy sub was whimpering for attention again. The person with the heels and whip was back, waiting patiently now that it seemed the scene was winding down. Adam took one more long, lingering look at Declan, committing the pretty picture of him to memory, and then nodded to them.

Declan's attention shifted to the whip that nudged the back of his neck, and Adam turned away. He was so hard it hurt to walk, but he ignored it, making his way through the crowd and back toward the long, well-lit hallway and unassuming foyer. His sock was damp with Declan's come. He wondered if the fashionably bespectacled woman at the receptionist desk could smell it. If she could, she care. She worked in a kink dungeon; she was surely used to the people who passed her by reeking of sex. She gave him another of those cheery smiles and wished him a good night.

Adam slid back into his car, placing his feet carefully to minimize the mess. He slumped back in the seat and breathed in the cool night air. He still thrummed with arousal. It felt good. He felt good, even if he hadn't come, better than he had in ages. He put his thumb, still damp, against his own lips, and let himself luxuriate in the feeling of it all, the memory of Declan's mouth.

It occurred to him that he might've asked the receptionist if Declan Lynch was a regular here. If he would be back in the club the next week or if he, like Adam, had only made an appearance for the special event.

But that would be a wildly inappropriate thing to do. It was probably against the rules for her to give out privileged information about other club members. Boundaries and confidentiality were sacred in places like this. That's why they'd had to sign so many forms to get in the door. He could probably get blacklisted for even asking something like that. No, he definitely couldn't ask. If he wanted to know about Declan Lynch would be here another night, he would have to come back and see for himself.

Adam told himself he shouldn't. He told himself it was a bad idea. He tried to think of his schedule, his deadlines, how little time he had. It did nothing to douse the fire in him this time. What was one more night, really? Just to peek in and answer the question. He'd never be able to concentrate at work again if he didn't at least know one way or the other.

Just one more night off. He'd earned that. Hadn't he?

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