Scorched Edges (20 page)
“All good then.” Rogue grabbed his laptop. “I’ll drop a line to Trap and see if he has any further intelligence for us before we start planning. I think we’ll need to get creative on this one.” He tapped away for a couple of minutes then hit the send button. “Done. Now, I have a sub to discipline.”
Hatchet snatched another cookie. “Enjoy.”
The Wyverns’ sleeping accommodations were housed along a short passage, and Rogue’s room was at the far end. When Orlando had first been brought to the headquarters of the club, he’d been locked in a spare room, but Rogue had long since relocated him into his own spartan quarters. Rogue moved quietly, a habit born of an instinct for self-preservation. He heard rock music playing as he approached his door. Orlando must have plugged the iPod into the speakers. As Rogue got closer, he recognized the sound of Rush playing on low volume. One of his favorite bands. Orlando was doing his best to suck up.
Rogue pushed open the door and strolled into the room. He turned and bolted the door. “Wouldn’t want to be disturbed, would we?”
Orlando sat on the bed, knees drawn up to his chest, hugging a pillow. He was naked and, from the fresh scent of lime in the air, recently showered. He’d found time to dry and style his mop of black hair into artful disarray and apply eyeliner. Rogue’s cock jerked in appreciation.
Orlando raised a dark eyebrow. “What’s it to be then…Sir?” he asked. The ‘Sir’ had definitely been an afterthought.
“Nothing you’ll enjoy, insolent brat.” Rogue reached beneath the bed and pulled out the spreader bar he kept there. Made from tubular steel, it was lightweight but effective and had a nice wide span. Thick leather cuffs at either end were attached by D-rings, allowing for a little movement. “On your knees.”
Rogue waited while Orlando reluctantly let go of his pillow and turned onto all fours. Rogue strapped a leather restraint around one of Orlando’s ankles and laid the bar across the bed. “Wider.” He tapped Orlando’s free ankle until the full length of the bar fitted between his spread legs, then fitted the second cuff. “Very nice.”
Rogue admired the view. The muscles in Orlando’s slender thighs tensed. His smooth balls were tight and swollen, his cock hard. The tip glistened with pre-cum but in his current position there was no chance that Orlando could get any kind of friction. He’d be frustrated as hell. Rogue grinned. He went in to the small en suite wet room and retrieved a pump bottle of lube. He returned to the bedroom and stood where Orlando could see him. He pumped the lube and coated two fingers with a glistening layer of the stuff.
“You’ve been behaving like a spoiled child for weeks and I’ve been lax in correcting you. That’s going to stop. From now on, you will be polite to every member of the club. Even Hatchet. You will carry out any and every task required of you without complaint, however menial it may seem. If I get even a hint that you’ve been acting like a brat I’ll bend you over the kitchen table and cane your ass so hard you won’t sit for a week. You won’t enjoy it either because that pretty dick of yours will be locked up in the most excruciating chastity device I can get my hands on. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir, I understand. But it’s not fair,” Orlando complained.
“I didn’t say it was.”
Rogue pushed two slick fingertips against Orlando’s hole and probed steadily. Orlando fisted the bed covers and whimpered. Rogue rested his free hand on Orlando’s ass and continued to probe with his fingers. Orlando’s inner muscles gripped him hard but Rogue moved with gentle persistence until he found his target. Orlando’s gland was firm beneath Rogue’s fingertips. He massaged it with care—just enough to drive Orlando to the edge of orgasm but not enough to allow him to come. Orlando jerked his hips, humping the air, desperately searching for something to stimulate his dick. He threw himself down onto his stomach and ground his cock into the mattress.
“Oh no you don’t.” Rogue withdrew his fingers. “You can’t be trusted at all, can you?”
He crossed to the dresser and extracted a set of padded cuffs, which only took a moment to fasten around Orlando’s wrists. Rogue hoisted his sub’s arms up until he could loop the connecting chain over the sturdy hook screwed in to the ceiling. Orlando could still kneel on the bed but his body was fully stretched and he’d lost any hope of being able to rub off on the bed covers. Rogue reapplied some lube, then got back to work with his fingers. Orlando’s passage accepted him easily, and he was less gentle this time, thrusting in until he made contact with his sub’s prostate.
“Fuck!” Orlando fought his bonds as much as he was able. His ass muscles clenched but with the spreader bar in place he could do nothing to prevent Rogue’s manipulation of his sensitive nerves.
Rogue circled Orlando’s waist with his arm, holding him in place but being careful to go nowhere near his cock. Any time it seemed that Orlando was close to coming without his dick being touched, Rogue stilled his fingers for a while.
“Please, please, please… You have to let me come, Sir.”
“I don’t have to do any such thing. I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet. Who’s in charge?”
“You are!”
“And are you going to behave?”
“I… You’re not being fair, you bastard.”
“I don’t give a fuck about fair. I care about keeping you safe!” The words slipped out before Rogue could stop them.
He pulled free of Orlando’s grasping channel, then plumped some pillows. He sat on the bed where Orlando could look down on him. Slowly, he lowered his zipper and freed his cock. He fisted himself a couple of times.
“Oh, God, that feels good.”
“You son of a bitch,” Orlando groused.
Rogue relaxed back onto the pillows and jacked himself to the edge of release. He savored the sweet pain of holding off for a few agonizing seconds and met Orlando’s gaze.
“Do you know how stunning you look, chained and helpless?”
Perfect jack-off material. The only thing better would be for me to have my cock buried balls deep in his ass. But this is about discipline, not pleasure. At least for him.
“You’re still hard, sweetheart. Denial turns you on, doesn’t it?” Rogue pulled on his rigid cock and allowed the orgasm to roll down his spine. His breath quickened as the tingling pleasure built to a crescendo. His balls drew up tight and hot cum spurted through his fingers onto the sheets. He grinned when Orlando cursed under his breath.
Once he’d recovered enough to get up, Rogue cleaned himself off in the bathroom. A new application of lube got his fingers nice and slick. There was no resistance as he penetrated Orlando’s channel. Once he found the little nub of nerves, Rogue massaged in slow, gentle circles and this time he didn’t stop. A leisurely trickle of cum gradually issued from Orlando’s cock while he jerked and cried in his restraints.
“The milking process takes a while, I’m afraid,” Rogue commented without sympathy. “It needs to happen bit by bit, so you don’t get too much pleasure from it. I understand that ice on your balls can make it even more frustrating, but we can try that another time.”
“No!” Orlando sobbed. “I hate you!”
“Of course you do.” Rogue kept his fingers moving until he was satisfied that Orlando’s balls were drained. He withdrew carefully. “Now, I think your cock deserves some attention.” He stroked Orlando’s now half-hard length. “Of course, however much you want to, it’s going to be a while before you’ll reach orgasm, no matter what I do to you.”
Rogue knelt on the bed and took Orlando’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head and savoring the salt-sweet taste. He paid some attention to Orlando’s balls before licking a trail up his trembling stomach and abs.
“Don’t! Stop it. I’m sorry…it’s too sensitive.”
“I don’t hear your safe word, Orlando. Until I do, I decide when this ends.” Rogue reached Orlando’s chest and took one pert nipple between his teeth. He bit and sucked while twisting the other between a finger and thumb. Orlando howled.
“Let me down…please! This is torture. You’re cruel and mean…”
“I am,” Rogue agreed. “And I’m quite prepared to do this every day until you start behaving.”
“Fuck you!”
Rogue shook his head. “Never gonna happen, sweet cheeks. I will, however, be fucking you. Though your cock will likely be caged and your nipples clamped. We’ll see. I have plenty of ideas about how to keep you under control.” He released Orlando from bondage and slid the spreader bar back beneath the bed. He massaged Orlando’s wrists and ankles, checking carefully for any damage to his skin, but apart from some redness there was none. “It’s almost lunchtime. Get dressed and you can help in the kitchen. Crow and Shelton should be back with supplies by now.” He walked over to the door. “Change the sheets too—laundry duty this afternoon will keep you out of mischief.”
Orlando threw himself face down on the bed and thumped his fists into a pillow. A few feathers flew into the air then drifted back down to land in his hair, the white a stark contrast against the black strands. Rogue gave a low chuckle. He left the room, closing the door quietly behind him. A session with Orlando always cleared his mind, and he strolled back to the living room with new purpose. Sitting around waiting for trouble made his skin itch—planning a pre-emptive strike on Arno Bellazi and his crew of gun and drug runners would give The Wyverns something to focus on.
In the two months since Orlando’s kidnapping and the resulting gun battle with the Diablos Oros, there had been little action. Though it had been useful to have some breathing space to repair the damage done to the compound and surrounding area by bullets and Shelton’s booby traps, Rogue wasn’t used to the relative calm. Horatio Trap usually kept The Wyverns very busy and the sudden lack of demands on their time and expertise was suspicious.
Crow, Shelton and Hatchet were seated around the table in the corner of the living room that they habitually used for plotting rather than eating. Everyone was more comfortable gathered around in the kitchen for meals—The Wyverns weren’t much into formality or table manners—so the big dining table had become an unofficial office. Shelton waved at him.
“Hey, Rogue, is Orlando in trouble again? We left all the groceries in the kitchen for him to unpack.”
“He’ll be out in a bit. He’s just…getting his head together.”
Hatchet snorted. “We’ll be waiting a while then.”
Shelton rolled his eyes. “You could cut him some slack, Hatch. It can’t be easy fitting in here.”
“Do I look like a fucking therapist? He’s tougher than he appears and this is a motorcycle club, not kindergarten.”
“We don’t all have skin like a rhino,” Shelton scolded. “Orlando is sensitive. His entire life has changed in a few short weeks so it’s no wonder that he gets a bit snarky.”
Crow kneaded the back of Shelton’s neck. “You know we don’t have time to pander to delicate sensibilities, Shel,” he said. “If Orlando weren’t here, he’d either be dead or under lock and key at one of his father’s hideouts by now. Neither option seems particularly great to me.”
Shelton closed his eyes and leaned into Crow’s touch with a purr. “Oh, that’s good. You’re right, of course, but that’s still no excuse to act like a bunch of foul-mouthed Neanderthals.”
“But we are a bunch of… Never mind.” Hatchet stopped talking as Crow gave him a warning glare. It didn’t do to upset Shelton if Crow was around.
Rogue took a seat at the head of the table. “Orlando will adjust. He has no choice, and if we deal with the Bellazi Clan thoroughly enough, then he might just get a bit of his freedom back.”
Shelton tapped his pen on the edge of the table. “Best get to planning then.”
Rogue nodded. “For the sake of our collective sanity, I think that would be wise.”
About the Author
Lucinda lives in a small village in the English countryside, surrounded by rolling hills, cows and sheep. She started writing to fill time between jobs and is now firmly and unashamedly addicted.
She loves the English weather, especially the rain, and adores a thunderstorm. She loves good food, warm company and a crackling fire. She’s fascinated by the psychology of relationships, especially between men, and her stories contain some subtle (and not so subtle) leanings towards BDSM.
Email:
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L.M. Somerton loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at
http://www.pride-publishing.com
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Also by L.M. Somerton
Tales from The Edge: Reaching the Edge
Tales from The Edge: Living on the Edge
Tales from The Edge: Dancing on the Edge
