Needs

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Needs

Jonah had promised himself that he wouldn’t do it again, that he was over it, that he didn’t need it. No, fuck! It wasn’t the car driving itself. He watched the lights in the dark sky, the stream of cars from the other side of the freeway. 

Saturday night, he’d eaten out at his favorite place. He could still taste the edge of red chile in his mouth that hadn’t been erased by his mouthwash. He’d walked around the plaza, feeling almost as out of place as the tourist and their cameras. He’d peered in the shop windows at the pots and beadwork and expensive silver. All were far more than he could afford, far more than any normal working person could afford. The prices were for the rich from California with their thick bankrolls and shiny cars with bumper stickers about solar power or bicycling. He’d gone home, back to his one bedroom apartment and the television with nothing but terrible reality programing. 

Now he was in his car, the open rangeland on either side had already changed to the outskirts of Albuquerque sprawl. He exited at University Avenue, a normal street in a normal city, the lights of a fast food place glowing on the corner. The club wasn’t far, only a few turns, lost in the urban landscape of cheap apartments painted in pseudo adobe colors and gas stations with thick iron bars protecting the cashier.

Jonah couldn’t stop himself; he wouldn’t think about not finding him. He didn’t even have a phone number or an address, only a first name and a vague memory of a small apartment with a narrow bedroom and a kitchen with cracked tile on the floor.

He still hadn’t dressed as a submissive. He couldn’t make himself show skin or wear a collar around his neck. He’d taken Noah’s off, left it on the bed where Noah couldn’t miss it. Noah’s collar had been like Noah, discreet and camouflaged. It had been designed to hide under Jonah’s shirt. It was like everything else about Noah, halfway there. He’d been halfway collared, halfway dominated. Noah, with all his caring, always terrified that Jonah would shatter into a thousand pieces.

Fuck, Noah! He didn’t think of that man anymore. Skinny ass with a soft pitched voice that faded into the wind or the rumble from the street. He was over that. Samuel needed petted and coddled. That boy always had, but not Jonah. He didn’t need babied. He was a real man.

Jonah walked into the bar, his fingers resting on the silver buckle of his belt. It was his one thing from home, his great grandfather’s belt. Supposedly he’d worn it during Texas’s fight for independence. Jonah wasn’t sure he believed the story, everyone claimed they had a relative who had died for independence and freedom, but Elijah Spencer had looked like Jonah. He no longer had the old black and white photo that had sat in the small silver frame on his dresser, tucked in front of the one of his parents on their wedding day. Jonah never had any desire to look at his parents, not with their hateful words, not with the smell of booze that oozed from his father’s pores, but he remembered Great Grandfather Elijah.

Young Jonah had modeled himself on the myth of his great grandfather, the independent man who had struck out on his own in the dust ridden plains of central Texas. His great grandfather had raised six children after his wife died in childbirth with the seventh. He’d put them all through school, three boys and three girls. Jonah had heard the story of his wonderful strength enough times that the words circled his mind even in sleep. The great and wonderful Elijah Spencer who bred cattle as easily as he’d bred his wife and who stood in that one faded and yellowed photograph with his arm over the shoulders of a war buddy. Jonah couldn’t remember what anniversary of victory they were celebrating; he only remembered the slight smile and the eyes that seemed more focused on the man at his side than the camera.

What would his great grandfather say at Jonah’s cowardice? He was a man who had been willing to die for his country, and Jonah had fled like a scared rabbit. He was a man who would never have imagined begging another man to beat him.

The loud music shook those thoughts from Jonah’s mind. Jonah drew in a deep breath and searched through the crowd. Stupid to try to kid himself. He’d come here looking for Red. His eyes circled the room; men dancing too close, the smell of spilt beer, the sound of leather against flesh. Not here. Only strangers eyeing the fresh meet.

Jonah turned. He should leave; there was nothing here for him. 

“Hey, Red, your boy’s here.” The shout rose above the music and the straining voices trying to be heard in the din.

Jonah froze. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks, and if there hadn’t been a dozen bodies between him and the door, he would have fled. Instead he drew his shoulders back and lifted his chin. He wasn’t going to be intimidated by some catcalling. 

“Boy.” 

The hand was hot. The touch of lips on his ear made him shiver. How had he not seen Red? Where had he come from?

“You’re not expected to have eyes in the back of your head,” Red teased, his hand wrapping around Jonah’s neck. “My place?”

Jonah nodded. God, he was doing his bobble head act again, but he couldn’t help it. He was so fucking screwed up. He didn’t want to be here, not in public, but he didn’t want a lovely dinner and a long chat. He’d run from that, bolted as fast as his legs could go.

“You. The bed. A red ass and my cock.”

Jonah stifled a moan. He wanted that. He wanted it all.

Jonah tried to pay attention to the streets as Red drove, but they were a jumble of signs, Calle this or that. Red’s hand kept leaving the wheel, and it was far too big of a distraction. The blood was in all the wrong places. 

“Inside or do you want a quickie in the car?” Red ran his hand over the bulge in Jonah’s pants. He smiled wide and waggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

“Inside,” Jonah managed. He already felt breathless. God, he wasn’t some teenager. He should be able to control himself.

“My shy Texan. This time inside.”

Was that a threat or a tease in Red’s voice? What would it be like to be taken in the car or to run bare chested with a leather collar on his neck into Red’s apartment? No, Jonah didn’t do those sort of things. He wouldn’t think of those things.

“Ah, we could have some fun,” Red said with a chuckle as he seemed to read Jonah’s mind. “Some other time.” He reached across and opened the door. ”Second floor. Remember. I want you kneeling and naked. You’ve got two minutes.” He tossed the keys at Jonah and looked at his watch, flashing the digital readout at Jonah.

Jonah jumped from the car and scrambled for the outside metal stairs. The apartment faced the highway overpass, the door painted a bright red. He remembered that from last time. 

Should he fold his clothes? No he only had two minutes. He tossed his t-shirt onto the bed and wiggled out of his black jeans. Where should he kneel? The bedroom was impossibly small. He could kneel on the bed, on the wildly striped comforter that look like it came out of a kid’s room. 

“Slow, boy and what a mess.” Red reached down and picked up a sock that had skittered toward the kitchen. “Do you need punished for your tardiness?”

The task had been impossible. He couldn’t have everything in place in two minutes, He’d been hurrying. 

Jonah didn’t say any of those thoughts. He lowered his eyes and nodded once. He’d failed. He always failed.

“Lovely. A pink ass of a well punished boy is always a pleasure.”

Red was laughing. He wasn’t angry. He’d been teasing, setting Jonah up.

“Yes, sir.”

Red’s hand caught Jonah’s chin, forcing his head up. For a moment, Jonah thought he might stop. There was something in his eyes. Had he seen something, seen Jonah’s useless thoughts? 

“My hand today, my naughty little boy. On the bed. Shoulders down. Ass in the air.”

Jonah jumped into position. Please start. Please don’t look at him again, all thoughtful and concerned. 

“Fuck!” 

Red didn’t believe in a warmup. The first strike had rocketed Jonah forward. He yelped through the next three before he finally got hold of himself. This was only a hand—no need for all this childish noise.

The yelp was horrible and undignified and sounded like someone’s unglued aunt after spotting a mouse in the kitchen. The fingers crushed Jonah’s balls, driving another terrible sound out of his throat .

“Better. I don’t do silent.”

“Please,” Jonah begged as the hand rested on his precious orbs. “Please,” he begged again, not sure if he wanted more or if he wanted to get up and run.

Red kissed Jonah’s shoulder. His teeth worried the skin. The hand, which had only moments ago punished Jonah’s testicles, stroked his cock in a delicious rhythm. The spanking started again. Jonah moaned, his body responding as if his mind was only a distant appendage. His moans were filling the small room. He panted, gasping to draw air into lungs that were starved for oxygen.

“Come for me.”

Blessed relief. His body uncoiled into the pits of pleasure.

“My good boy. My beautiful boy.”

Jonah groaned, not wanting to move.

“My turn.”

The slap on Jonah’s ass was hard and chased all the languid pleasure from his mind.

“Hands and knees.”

A finger plunged it. Even slick with lube, it burned, and Jonah braced himself. He could take it; he deserved this.

Jonah shuddered. God! That was a tongue. Red was rimming him.

“You like that. My boy likes his pleasure.”

Jonah groaned. He couldn’t possibly think. His mind short circuited with every swipe of Red’s tongue. He wanted more. He needed more. One finger wasn’t enough. God, he was begging for it. He could hear the litany of words that were pouring from his mouth. He wasn’t even hard, not yet, not so soon, but he was begging to be used, to be taken. 

If you’re going to be a fucking faggot at least be the one sticking in your dick. His father’s voice—no he wasn’t going to listen. He wasn’t going to remember the blood dripping from his broken nose and the door slamming in his face. This was now. He moaned as Red added another finger. 

“If you can get it up and come like this, I’ll let you. Otherwise no more until morning. I have a beautiful cage.”

Why did the cage sound as wonderful as it sounded awful? He wasn’t eighteen again; there was no way he was going to come again. He’d always needed stimulation anyway. His dick brushed the lurid comforter. Maybe this way.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Teeth clamped down on Jonah’s shoulder. “No touching, boy.”

“Bastard.”

 A slap landed on Jonah’s ass. “Bastard, sir, boy.”

“Bastard, sir,” Jonah repeated.

“Good boy. You ready?”

He was more than ready. “God, please. Yes.”

Mounted. Pinned. Filled. He was a bottom boy whore, and he couldn’t help himself. He was hard now. He grunted with each thrust. He needed friction. Every move to his cock sent a burst of pain to his shoulder where Red bit him in retaliation. 

Red slammed into him again. His hands clawed on Jonah’s hips. One final thrust.

“No luck for you.” The laugh was cruel.

No fair. Red should be in a happy bliss. He shouldn’t be noticing that Jonah was desperately humping the bedspread. 

“Cage for you, boy.” Red rolled off and reached into a drawer.

“Don’t sound so gleeful about it.”

“Hours of torture. Of course I’m gleeful.”

****

Jonah groaned and pried his eyes open. Pale light shown through the windows, full dawn still only a promise. Jonah’s hand brushed his groin. He was still caged, the cold plastic a harsh reminder.

“You can piss through that, boy. Don’t you take it off.”

“I thought you were still sleeping.”

“Am,” Red mumbled and grabbed another pillow to block the rising light.

“Bastard.”

“Careful, boy. Your dick might never see the light of day. Go piss, and I’ll see.”

Jonah did have to pee. He hated getting out of bed with the cage as an ever present reminder. He was the boy, still the boy in the morning. He was the one whose ass hurt and who had bite marks all over his shoulders.

“Stop thinking.”

“It’s morning.”

Red pulled himself upright, not bothering to cover himself. His hand rested on his stomach, almost as if it were pointing the way below. “I remember last time. I may be old and halfway to dementia, but I try not to repeat the same stupid shit twice. You, boy, need direction in the morning. Especially since I’m not into chasing fleeing bedwarmers before seven. Now pee and get back here. Go, or I might be finding a padlock for that thing.”

Jonah went. He was sure it was an empty threat, or at least his rational mind was sure of it, but he still raced to the bathroom.

Red was back under the covers, but not asleep. The pale blue eyes tracked Jonah. His mouth turned up into a smile. “Almost worth the early hour to watch you. Now get back here.” Red patted the bed.

Jonah slid back into the bed and surrendered to the demanding kiss. He didn’t even flinch as he felt the cuff go on his wrist and heard the chain rattle. It wasn’t his decision. He was chained to the bed.

“You like that,” Red snuffled into Jonah’s neck. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you at breakfast.”

****

Jonah sniffed the air. Coffee. Red was waving a mug under his nose. 

“Now I know how to get you asleep. Chains and you sleep like a baby. It’s ten. I didn’t know if you had somewhere to go.”

“Ten?” Jonah reached for the mug with his free hand.

“Yes. I have breakfast ready.” Red reached over and unbuckled the cuff. “Leave the cage in the bathroom. I’ll take care of it. I’ll be in the kitchen.” 

It was all so normal. He was sitting in bed with a cup of coffee. No, it wasn’t normal. He had a cage on his cock. He could still imagine the feel of leather around his wrist. The bathroom was safety. He slid the lock home. The cage came off easily. He needed a shower. Cold. Mind clearing. Shivering, he dried himself and grabbed his clothes. They’d been stacked on the towel rack. He didn’t bother to shave. He could do that at home. 

“Morning,” Red said in a way too normal voice as he set a full plate on the table at the sight of Jonah and held out the coffee pot. “More?”

“No, not hungry.”

“We had this conversation last time. Eat and I’ll take you back to your car.”

“We’re not…” Jonah sighed and sat down. He’d been through this before. Maybe he’d just wanted to test. He was hungry. He reached for his fork.

“Good boy. You need it that way, don’t you?” 

“What way?”

Red took a long swallow of coffee. His eyes didn’t meet Jonah’s, but focused on the mug that he  held in front of his face. “Forced aftercare.” Red slammed the mug onto the table as if he’d just remembered that he was holding it. “You’re not nice to yourself, and I’m not the man for this.”

“Hugh.”

“No,” Red cut him off. “Eat.”

Jonah stuck his fork into his eggs. “You are good at this.” Maybe that was Noah’s training. Jonah had no idea. The words had come out of his mouth, unexpected and unplanned. He didn’t want anything. He didn’t need to make conversation. He’d been fucked. That’s what he’d come for.”

“Shit, boy, eat.” Red stood up, his hand brushing Jonah’s shoulder as he ran water in the sink to do the dishes.