I really should offer to carry our lunch or at least allow Dane use of his right hand, but it’s way too much fun watching him point out all the landmarks of his neighborhood while waving the giant paper bag in every direction. Besides, I love holding his hand, so that’s just not gonna happen. In the three blocks we’ve walked from Namaste toward Dane’s apartment, I’ve learned who makes the best sausage pizza (Rizzo’s), Dane’s favorite ice cream flavor at Igloo Cafe (raspberry chip), the place he goes for a haircut (Sal’s, “though not in a while”), and the disappointing reality behind the store named Leather and Ties: it’s a crusty Russian guy (Ivan) who resoles Dane’s boots until they literally disintegrate.
Dane’s gait slows as we round the corner. This must be the place.
“So, um, you may have figured out I don’t exactly live in the lap of luxury.”
“Seems like a nice neighborhood. Clean, safe . . .” Free from assholes trying to hurt you.
“This is me.” He turns into a walkway toward one of the three-story brick buildings lining this block of 31st Street. Head lowered to the ground, Dane forges ahead to the steel door. “I’m gonna need my keys,” he says, tapping his right coat pocket with his elbow.
I smile as I let his hand go, and he shakes his head and chuckles.
He pulls open the outer door and steps inside ahead of me. The left wall of the tiny vestibule consists of a panel of buzzers with mismatched labels and twelve numbered mailboxes. Dane picks through his keys and retrieves a short stack of papers from his slot before unlocking the heavy paneled door leading inside the building.
“I’m on the third floor,” he says by way of apology.
“I think I can handle it.”
“I know, Master, I was just—”
I give the back of his arm a gentle squeeze. “You’re fine, Dane.”
He nods, and we trudge up the long flights of cement stairs until we reach the third floor landing. As he shuffles over to number thirty-two, Dane rolls his keys in his hand until he finds the right one. “Here we are—Shangri-La.”
Once he opens the door, the reality of the situation grips him. His gaze darts around the apartment as if seeing it through my eyes for the very first time. I hang back behind him, taking in what I can see from here until Dane is ready to fully reveal his world.
The apartment is a narrow studio—modest, but clean and neat. Kitchen appliances line three-quarters of the left-hand side with a queen-sized bed running lengthwise against the opposite wall. Over the bed is a series of elegant, black-and-white photographs of nude male dancers I can’t see nearly well enough from the door.
At the end of the room, a light gray love seat and low, rectangular coffee table sit opposite a floor-to-ceiling entertainment unit, every shelf overflowing with books except for the space taken up by the TV in the middle. I’m dying to get over there and run my fingertips along the book spines to learn which stories have a place in Dane's life.
My anxious submissive takes a deep breath, walks to the far end of the room, and sets the food down on the coffee table. He stares out the window for what feels like several long minutes before turning around. Stuffing his hands inside his coat pockets, he shrugs his shoulders and says, “I’ve never brought anyone here before.”
I answer in the only way that makes any sense: “Thank you, Dane.”
He chuffs. “Anyway . . .”
It’s pretty awful that he’s chosen to stand as far away from me as possible right now, and he’s making no move to close the distance. I stand my ground as well, respecting the boundaries he seems to be inventing on the spot.
“There’s a closet next to the ‘master bath’ if you want to hang up your coat,” he says, drawing my attention to the minimal bathroom just to the right of the entry. “I’ll set out lunch.”
That’s the closest thing to an invitation I’ve gotten, and I take full advantage, using the momentum as an excuse to get a closer look at the photographs. “These are really beautiful, Dane. Where did you find them?”
He answers over his shoulder, standing at the silverware drawer behind me. “A gallery in the Village.”
My gaze drops to his bed. It’s not the navy-check comforter I’m seeing, but the epicenter of Dane’s daily reports. I close my eyes and picture him waking up horny and hard, stroking himself as he fantasizes about what we might do together.
“Hmm?” Dane is pulling glasses from the cabinet; the table is set for two, placemats and all. How long was I daydreaming?
“Would you like something other than water?”
“No, that’s fine, thanks.” I take a seat on the couch and pull the food containers out of the bag. “This looks great. I love biryani.” I don’t mention I usually order it with lamb. Vegetarian will look a lot better in my Daniel Craig suit.
“Wait till you taste the naan,” he says, setting down the water glasses and kneeling on the floor across the table from me. “They make it themselves and grill it to order.”
The apartment is dead silent except for the sound of containers shuffling across the table and forks clinking bowls. My mind is racing for something to say that won’t sound trite. Leave it to Dane to break through.
He sets down his fork and shakes his head. “This is awkward, right?”
I continue eating, figuring it might restore some of the normal. “Doesn’t have to be. Eat. I know you’re ravenous. You told me several times.”
Chuckling, he takes in another forkful of saag paneer, but he’s looking at me like I’m a palm tree that suddenly sprouted in the middle of his apartment.
“My place feels even smaller with you in it,” he says. “I just can’t believe you’re here.”
“I’m sorry this is uncomfortable for you. Do you regret bringing me?”
Dane tears off a piece of naan and pops it into his mouth. He manages to chew and swallow while he’s talking. “Did you ever have that dream where one of your high school classes is being held in your house? It’s kind of cool because you’re at home and all, but it’s also really freaky because what are all these people doing in your house? Especially the teacher!”
“I’m the teacher now?” I huff.
He grimaces. “Kind of.”
The clouds hovering in my brain finally clear. I know what’s wrong, and I know exactly how to fix it. A little dose of vulnerable Master is all well and good, but I’ve unfurled way too much of the lead, leaving my submissive to wander off into the woods and get hopelessly lost. The only point in the day that felt “normal” for us was when I took charge about the therapy appointment, and look how the boy responded. Grounded again by my authority, he practically knocked me to the ground with his gratitude!
All it took to undo the balance again was stepping back inside this world where Dane thinks he needs to be in control, and he’s confused and unhappy. Shame on me and enough of this!
“So, when you’d have these dreams about holding class here,” I start, as nonchalant as ever, catching Dane totally off balance with, “did the teacher ever hold you down on your bed while he made you masturbate in front of the class?”
Dane’s a smart boy, one of the qualities I love most about him. He knows I’m not just talking, that he’s just been given a peek at my post-lunch plan. His fork stops midair right as his mouth was opening for the food.
“Should I take that as a yes?” I draw the next bite of food in like nothing special just happened.
Dane clears his throat, swallowing down the last traces of the self-conscious host. In his place, my devoted, blushing submissive comes roaring back. “No, Master.”
“Well, then, Dane, I guess you and I are about to rewrite your dreams.”
I don’t make him speak again—or listen to me, for that matter. The script rolling through Dane’s head keeps him as edgy as anything I could come up with. I have my own musings to deal with right now, stretching my memory back to the boy’s earliest email confessions. I seem to remember something about serving me on his knees, and I am certainly down for helping him act that one out.
I finish eating well before Dane. Reclining on the couch, I clasp my hands behind my neck and stretch my legs all the way under the table, startling him when my boots meet his knees. He takes a few last self-conscious bites under my intense scrutiny before dabbing his mouth and tossing his napkin onto the table.
“You sure you’re finished?”
“Yes, Master.” He’s half in the bag already, tipsy with desire and need.
“In that case, you can take your clothes off now.”
He’s compelled to thank me for the privilege of removing his clothes in broad daylight. Reminded of the midday sun streaming in, I head to the window and twist the wand, closing the blinds to any prying eyes. This beautiful, naked, fully aroused creature posing in the middle of his living room belongs to me and me alone.
He gasps when I surprise him from behind, running my palms down the muscular arms clasped together at his lower back. “No wonder you kept pulling ahead of me in the pool with arms like these.”
My lips graze the side of his neck; Dane tips his head the opposite direction like a flower opening for the morning sun.
“Then again,” I continue, “it could have been the efficiency of your lungs.” My hands glide around to the muscular ridges of his chest and down his belly. Dane hisses as I bypass his erection and run my palms down his quads and around back to his hamstrings. “Though it was most likely your kick that did me in. God, these legs of yours . . . I didn’t really stand a chance, did I, Dane?”
I squeeze his ass, muddling him to the point where he can’t form an answer. “What was it you were saying about lapping me earlier?” I ask as I step around in front of him. His gaze follows my fingers as they undo my belt buckle, and his eyes grow wide as I yank the leather strap from the loops in one dramatic snap. “Dane?”
“Sorry, Master. I said I’d be gentle.” His focus is riveted to my crotch, the zipper traveling downward, my jeans and briefs riding down my thighs.
“Down you go.”
He sinks as if someone knocked his legs out from under him. His hot breath warms my erection, whetting my appetite for all the delights this boy has to offer. I rake my fingers through his hair, getting a satisfied jolt when his eyes roll back in his head.
I fist his hair at the back of his head, and those gorgeous chocolate-brown discs roll up my body until our eyes meet.
His mouth opens as I draw his lips to my body. “Forget gentle, Dane. Get me off quick. Use your hands—oh shit!” I groan and thrust and grind. “Hell, use your damn feet! You probably know how.”
I couldn’t name the exact spice, but something on Dane’s tongue has me tingling with a heat too good to waste. The day’s pent-up excitement comes uncorked all at once as he tugs at my balls and fists the base of my shaft while his tongue and teeth work over the tip.
“Yes, boy, yesss!” I hiss, pushing and pumping.
This is how it’s supposed to work: my beautiful boy on his knees with my cock down his throat. Balance has been restored in the galaxy. I’m not particularly proud of my last thoughts right before my orgasm shakes me: light sabers, death stars, fuck—Yoda?
In the time it takes to zip up my jeans, I expel the movie characters from my head before the situation can get any worse. Thank goodness he can’t read my mind.
“How’d I taste, Dane?” I chuckle as I pull him to his feet. “A little spicier than usual?”
“Perfect, Master,” he answers without hesitation.
Further proof that he’s deep inside his happy sub space bubble. Otherwise, I’m sure I would’ve gotten that grin and a little attitude. It’s all good in the proper time and place, and I love that Dane’s moods are as easy to read as the old Dick and Jane books.
This is Dane.
Dane is hot.
See Dane suck Master’s Dick.
Suck, Dane, suck!
Oh my god! The chemicals from the pool must be rotting my brain, or maybe it’s something else, someone standing naked in front of me, waiting to be held down on his bed as promised.
“Let’s go, Dane. The class is waiting for the rest of their show.”
That’s a whimper I hear as I take his elbow and pull him to the bed. “On your back, right hand behind your head. Let’s see if you really can manage with just your left hand.”
He’s too far gone to even crack a smile, and while he reaches for his cock, I climb on the bed and straddle his shins. “Eyes on me. I want you to remember every moment of this.”
His hand moves along his shaft . . .
“Next time you’re in this bed, I want you to think of me right here on top of you, watching you masturbate.”
His breathing quickens; mouth drops open . . .
“What a naughty boy you are. Sucking cock and now playing with yourself . . . in front of all these boys.”
He groans . . .
“They’re all watching you, Dane. Watching you stroke your hungry cock.”
Grunt . . .
“Come on, boys, gather in closer. Eyes on me, Dane. Can you hear him moaning, boys? He’s getting close now. Such a horny boy, playing with himself in the middle of the school day. He wants you to watch. Don’t you want them to watch, Dane? Oh yeah, get ready. Come on, Dane. Let’s see it!”
He keeps his eyes open and locked on me until the last possible second. I bear down on his legs and put one hand on his belly, framing the bull’s-eye for our imaginary audience.
He shudders and gives out a long, “Ahhhhhh!” as he pumps every last drop of cum onto the back of my hand. I bend forward and give him a hard kiss.
“Gold star, young Mr. Carmichael. Well done!”
That was filthy. Thoughts on Casa Dane? XXX