Of Being Yours[another way 2] by Anna Martin Page B

firmly gripped my arms and turned me so that I was facing out into the room. There was nowhere to hide.
    He selected a length of the hemp rope from the wall and began to enclose my upper body in what I recognized to be one of his most-used chest harnesses. I liked this one too; it securely bound my arms to my sides, and my crossed forearms were caught in its strong web.
    The club was playing its usual electro-dance music, and it actually helped me find the right headspace for this particular scene. The beat of the music thumped through the floor, through the air too, and altered the rhythm of my heart until I was existing in time to it. This music was a million miles from what Master would normally play when we were alone together, but we weren’t alone.
    Although I kept my eyes closed, I was hyperaware of the people moving around us. Master worked quickly, and I soon found myself testing the amount of wriggle room he’d left me—it wasn’t a lot.
    I found myself with my head falling back on his shoulder and his hands roaming freely over my chest, pulling at my nipple rings and the line of hair that led from my belly button down into my pants. Now, they were the only thing left covering my body. That was okay, though. I would be okay with less.
    Even though I was restrained, the ropes didn’t connect to any suspension point, so I would be holding myself up if Master were to back away. He didn’t blindfold me either, or gag me; this was something about pure control, submitting to him because it was something we both craved.
    I had never performed sexually with him in public before.
    I had never wanted to before.
    But I was pretty sure that was where this was heading.
    His thumb skirted the waistband of my pants, teasing each sensitive hipbone before dipping just underneath, enough to tease. He must have known I was hard, not just hard but aching and wanting, even with the people who were watching.
    I was sure that they were watching now.
    My Master gave me every opportunity to back out as his hands roamed my body. I wouldn’t ask for it—that wasn’t the way it worked—but he kept pushing until he could be sure he was correctly interpreting my mood. My throat contracted and I gasped involuntarily as his thumb worked the first shiny button through the brown leather. It was really happening.
    “Jesse,” he said in a low voice, his mouth next to my ear so I could feel his hot breath on my skin.
    “Yes?”
    “We have rules in parts of our relationship to keep us both safe.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    He kissed my neck. “So tell me what you want.”
    “I want…” I said, then rearranged my thoughts so there would be no hesitation when I said it, “I want to break the rules.”
    Of all the reactions I could have anticipated from him, a bark of laughter wasn’t one of them. He wrapped his arms around my chest in a tight hug and kissed me again.
    “Okay. I’m breaking them as Will, though, okay? Not as your Master.”
    “Okay.”
    What he was trying to do made sense to me; although this wasn’t normal for both of us, there was always a degree of flexibility in the rules we set for ourselves. If he was going to flex them at all, like we had that night with Jeff, he was going to do it in a context where my trust and dependence on my Master wouldn’t be compromised.
    When his hand pushed under the waistband of my pants, I was naked underneath.
    He knew that, of course, but our audience didn’t. I kept my head resting on his shoulder, my eyes, if I opened them, trained toward the ceiling. Despite this, I had enough self-awareness to know that Will drew a crowd whenever he decided to show off, and the two of us together were fairly compelling to watch. We had a connection that transcended the traditional roles of BDSM and what people tended to expect of gay men.
    That being said, when he drew my cock out of my pants, I forgot everything. I craved his touch.
    “Come on, baby,” he whispered in my ear and bit my earlobe.