Charlie's Night, my kinky twist on Choose-Your-Own-Adventure stories, is finally here! Check it out and let me know what you think!

Barnes & Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/charlies-night-ty-marton/1112122497


Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/205333


Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Charlies-Night-Interactive-Erotica-ebook/dp/B008LW6RZQ/ref=la_B004XW2EUU_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1343940444&sr=1-1

Finally gave in and joined Twitter (@tymarton) and Facebook (Ty Marton). Look me up and say hi - I might even do some dirty story giveaways to new followers... ;)

Been a BUSY couple of months, and a lot of the writing had to get put on hold, but now, I'm back! (Here's hoping 2012 goes a hell of a lot better than the end of 2011...)

Feels good to be back on track. Already have a new story - actually a collection of stories - available for sale on Amazon. I really missed having the time to sit down and write, so it was great to finally get this one finished. Check it out and let me know what you think.

http://www.amazon.com/Rough-Cuts-BDSM-Erotica-ebook/dp/B00768854M/ref=ntt_at_ep_dpt_3

-Ty

My new story, 'You Will Obey' is now LIVE on Amazon! You can read the first chapter for free a few journals entries down... if you like what you see (and trust me, it only gets better and better throughout), please consider checking out the full story here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00585C9OC



Really proud of this one! Thanks for all of the feedback and encouragement, guys - more stuff coming soon!

-Ty 

Heading to the New York area next week for business, and I get to bring my boy! Would love to explore the scene while I'm there... any good recommendations on places to go?

Still working on finishing up 'Charlie's Night' - the interactive element is going to be REALLY cool, but it's taking me a while... I have to write over a dozen different endings! It's making me feel a little schizophrenic... ;)

In other news, my first story, 'Breakdown Motel,' is doing GREAT on Amazon, cracking into the top ten of gay erotica this week! Thanks so much for everyone who's checked it out and been so supportive! Here's the link in case you're interested:  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B004XNW2XI



In the meantime, here's the first chapter from another story I'm working on, called 'You Will Obey.' It's a blackmail fantasy, and I've been having a lot of fun writing it... let me know what you think! :)

Ty

**********

Chapter One

DING!
Michael straightened his tie as he stepped off the elevator, ready to attack another Monday morning. With neatly pressed pants, neatly combed hair, and neatly trimmed fingernails, Michael was the walking personification of style by design – which, not so coincidentally, happened to be the motto of Atticus, the design firm where he’d worked for three years now. Michael had a skill for “looking the part.” Most of the firm’s employees assumed he was an excellent drafter, even the ones who had no idea who he was.
In truth, Michael was rather average at his job, but that hadn’t stopped him from advancing quickly to a senior drafting position, complete with one of the firm’s sought-after corner offices. Always keep up appearances – that was his motto.
“Good morning, Scott,” Michael said as he passed the firm’s young front receptionist, offering the same pleasant tone of voice and polite nod of the head that he always used. Michael was a creature of routine, a man who thrived by controlling all aspects of his life, from the critically important to the terribly mundane. Anything out of place or out of the ordinary, and Michael would quickly become agitated, quietly, nervously clenching his fists, an age-old habit he had developed as a child and carried ever since.
So when Michael came to his office and found a single, unaddressed, black envelope waiting for him in the inbox outside his door, his fists clenched involuntarily. It wasn’t that Michael wasn’t used to finding mail waiting for him in the mornings – he simply couldn’t recall ever having seen a black envelope before, and that, in and of itself, was enough of a deviation for him.
With curiosity and a touch of anxiety, Michael plucked the envelope from the plastic container, scrunching his brow as he inspected it. No name, no return address, no mail code – just a plain, black envelope.
“Huh,” he couldn’t help but say out loud to himself.
“What’s that?”
He turned to find Rick Pender, his fellow drafter and sometimes rival, smiling at him from behind his too-trendy horn-rimmed glasses down the hall, mug of coffee in hand.
“Oh, good morning Rick,” Michael said, holding up the envelope for him to see. “Did you get one of these?”
“No, no I don’t think so,” Rick said, stepping in for a closer examination.
“A black envelope,” Michael mused. “Can’t ever remember seeing one before.”
“Huh,” Rick echoed, taking a sip of his coffee before adding, “Maybe it’s blackmail.”
Rick laughed at his own joke, patting a less-than-amused Michael on the shoulder as he passed by, making his way down the hall. Michael didn’t know why, but he already didn’t like the way this day was shaping up. Like ripples in a pond, small disturbances in his routine always seemed to drift along, growing into bigger and bigger disruptions. Who knew what this dumb envelope would lead to?
Suddenly grouchy, Michael unlocked his office and stepped inside, tossing his briefcase in the corner and taking a seat at his desk. He pulled out an ivory letter opener, slowly and carefully opening the envelope, treating it almost like evidence, careful to leave it as intact as possible. When it was finally slit open, he poured its contents out into his hand.
Out fell a single Polaroid photograph. Michael squinted at it, his eyes suddenly widening as he realized what it was he was looking at.
It was a picture of the Grotto.
The Grotto didn’t seem like much on the outside – in, fact it didn’t seem like anything. It was a blank, ugly building near the airport, devoid of style or signage. It could have been a small warehouse, or maybe an industrial storage unit, or any one of a million other kinds of places that people pass by every day without ever thinking twice about.
By design, it was completely inconspicuous and unremarkable on the outside, and this was to protect what was on the inside: a well-furnished, well-attended, highly secretive club for anonymous men seeking the firm hand of other men –dominant men.
And in the picture, Michael, donned in sunglasses and a leather jacket, was walking inside.
Somebody knew.
His mouth suddenly dry, his fists clenched in front of him, Michael couldn’t help but glance at the framed photo he kept on his desk, an image of him and his wife dancing on their wedding day.
He swallowed, his face emotionless, but also colorless, and turned the Polaroid over, finding three simple words scribbled in domineering-looking block letters:
“YOU WILL OBEY.”

**********

Rick had been right, Michael thought to himself, trying in vain to distract himself from the photo with a new set of sketches for one of the company’s oldest clients. Literal blackmail – he would have laughed if he wasn’t so terrified. After just a few minutes, he slammed his pencil down on his desk, unable to concentrate on anything but those three, simple words:
“YOU WILL OBEY.”
“Did you see who left this letter for me?” he asked Scott, holding up the black envelope, trying his best not to seem frantic. The friendly, boyish, college Republican-esque young man could only shrug.
“Sorry, Mr. Baines,” he said, “but I really have no idea. What is it?”
“Nothing,” Michael answered, perhaps a little too quickly. “Just… curious.”
The day seemed to drag by at an excruciatingly slow pace. All Michael could think about was the photo. He thought back to all the times he had secretly ventured out to the Grotto, picturing the shadowy faces of the men there, wondering if his blackmailer was somebody he had met there.  He thought of the illicit back rooms with their sleazy red lighting, the bathroom stall glory holes, the kinky sex furniture in the public rooms where daring exhibitionists could bare all and put on a show for the entire club. Michael certainly hadn’t partaken in all of it, but he had indulged enough to feel vulnerable, to feel exposed. Did this blackmailer have more photos? The thought was dizzying and overwhelming, and it always brought Michael back to those three words…
Of course he would obey, Michael knew. The things this blackmailer knew about him had the potential to ruin his marriage, ruin his career, ruin his entire life. Everything he had built, all of his careful social calculations, all of the time he had spent establishing his image… all of it was in jeopardy.
But obey how? What did this person even want? Money? Michael actually found himself hoping it would be that simple, but he couldn’t shake a feeling in the pit of his stomach, the feeling that it would be much, much more complicated than a simple financial transaction…
By the end of the day, Michael had barely gotten any work done, and left in a hurry, avoiding contact with anyone as he rushed out of the building and down into the parking garage, fumbling for his keys and climbing into his car. Immediately, he threw his head back, sighing and wincing as if in pain. Michael’s car felt like a sanctuary after a long day of acting like nothing was wrong. It was a strange relief to sit in isolation and react to the mysterious letter without having to filter himself for the benefit of others.
“Fuck…” he muttered to himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.” He was tempted to open his briefcase and take another look at the picture, but he knew it was pointless. He had looked at it at least twenty times during the day already, and had every detail burned into his mind.
He sighed again and placed the keys into the ignition, ready to get home, but then froze, stopping just shy of turning the key.
On his windshield, tucked beneath the wiper blade, another black envelope was sitting right in front of him.
He stared at it for a few moments, the color quickly draining from his face. Finally, he took a breath and opened the door, stepping out to grab it. He sunk back into his seat and closed the door, eyeing the envelope in his hands, identical to the first. Inside, he could feel another photograph. With a strange reluctance, he tore it open, pulling the photograph out and inspecting it, his brow furrowed. It wasn’t what he had expected…
It was a picture of a small black box, sitting on a shadowy concrete floor. He squinted at the photo – something above the box looked familiar…
It was the bottom section of a license plate, he realized: “Land of Lincoln.” And judging from the color of the bumper it was attached to, it was Michael’s license plate…
After carefully looking around to make sure he was alone in the garage, Michael exited the car again, quickly moving to the front of the hood and kneeling down.
Sure enough, there, beneath the front bumper, sat a small black shoebox.
Michael swallowed, hesitating, then picked it up and hurried back into the car with it.
The box was taped shut in front, and Michael anxiously used his key to tear through, quickly folding the lid up and open, his mouth going dry at what he saw: another photograph, a pair of steel handcuffs, and a small plastic baggie with one tiny, white pill inside.
He picked up the photograph first, wincing as he saw himself strapped to a St. Andrew’s cross at the Grotto, naked and blindfolded, his nipples clamped, his erect cock tightly tied, his mouth open and gasping with pleasure.
“Jesus…” Michael muttered quietly, realizing the true extent of this blackmailer’s knowledge. Michael lived a spotless life, but his one digression, his one weakness, his one pure vice… was the Grotto. It was where his dirty little secrets lived, and this blackmailer clearly knew all of them.
He flipped the photograph over, finding the same striking block letters from before.
“YOU WILL OBEY. GET IN THE PASSENGER’S SEAT. LEAVE THE CAR UNLOCKED AND THE KEY IN THE IGNITION. PUT ON THE HANDCUFFS. SWALLOW THE PILL.”
Michael couldn’t help but give a weak, frightened laugh. The whole situation was so ridiculous, and yet so serious. Was he really going to leave himself drugged and defenseless?
Did he have a choice?
He didn’t, he realized. This person clearly knew the intimate details of his transgressions, and he simply couldn’t risk disobeying their instructions. He shook his head in stunned amazement, in near disbelief of the situation he had gotten himself into.
“Fuck,” he muttered again as he unlocked his door and slid the keys back into the ignition. Slowly, but resolutely, he climbed over into the passenger’s seat and buckled his seatbelt, then held the handcuffs in his lap, looking them over. This was it, he knew. Once these handcuffs were locked on, there was no turning back.
He took a deep breath, then clicked them onto his wrists, working quickly to avoid dwelling on the gravity of the situation. Then, he took the baggie, opening it and removing the pill. It was small and circular, like an aspirin, with no markings whatsoever. Michael had never seen anything like it, and had no idea of what it could be. For all he knew, it was rat poison.
But what other option did he have? He shook his head, took another deep breath, and brought his hands to his mouth, popping the pill and swallowing it. No turning back now, he thought to himself…
For a minute, he felt nothing, but then, as the pill began dissolving in his stomach, he could feel the effect, the chilling, hazy feeling of everything slowing down, as if his blood was flowing at half pressure. His head began to feel heavy, his thoughts jumbled…
Focus, he tried to tell himself, struggling to keep his head upright and his eyes open. Just stay awake long enough to see who comes…
He turned and looked out his window, watching for anybody approaching, but as before, the garage was empty, and his ability to focus was quickly diminishing. His eyelids began to droop, his vision blurring…
Then, he heard the sound of the driver’s side door opening. He turned to see who it was climbing into his car, but the simple act of turning his head made him intensely dizzy, so much so that within seconds, his head was completely down, the car seeming to spin before him, his eyes closing against his will…
And then, just a few moments later, Michael was out cold, the sound of the ignition turning echoing through his unconscious head.

**********

Had a great time on the road with my boy - so great to get out of California for a week or two! Thanks again to everybody who helped suggest "fun" places for us to explore... ;)

Thinking about adapting my newest story, 'Charlie's Night' (see excerpt below) into an interactive "Choose Your Own Adventure" style book... Am I nuts, or would you actually want to read something like that?

My author page is LIVE! Very exciting times. Take a look and and let me know what you think: http://www.amazon.com/Ty-Marton/e/B004XW2EUU/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0



-Ty

Excitedly planning a road-trip with my boy through the Midwest, where I grew up. Any good recommendations on hot spots for us to stop and explore?

Spanking lovers rejoice! Here's a free preview of my next story, "Charlie's Night," and it's all about SPANKING! This is just the first chapter, send me a message if you want to see more.

**********

1

   Hank knew something was different the moment he saw little Charlie Franklin come around the corner. The kid had always had a cocky air to him – the naïve fearlessness of youth, perhaps – but tonight, there was something more, a twinkle in his eye, a strut in his step, an energy that Hank hadn’t seen before. Charlie smiled, batting his boyish eyelashes as he handed Hank his ID.
   “Take a good look,” Charlie said. “Today’s my birthday.”
   Hank took a closer look at the ID – sure enough, little Charlie Franklin was eighteen years old. Legal, but just barely.
   Charlie had been coming to the Falcon’s Talon almost every weekend for nearly a year now, always begging Hank to let him in, just once. Hank, as gruff and unyielding as bouncers came, had always given Charlie some variation of the same response:
   “Piss off, kid. No jailbait allowed.”
   But Charlie Franklin couldn’t be gotten rid of quite so easily. Even if he was too young to actually get inside, he was happy to stick around and loiter outside, smoking cigarettes and winking flirtatiously as the leather daddies and bull tops arrived and made their way in.
   “Haven’t you ever been camping, kid?” Hank asked him one night. “It’s never a good idea to tease the bears.”
   Still, Hank couldn’t quite bring himself to tell Charlie to get lost. The kid had moxie, and seemed to be drawn to the place like a moth to a flame. Batting him away just felt excessive. And besides, there was a certain cuteness about watching this puppy-eyed teenager stubbornly refusing to quit, desperate to mingle with the bar’s intimidating patrons. Soon enough, they obliged him, at least at arm’s length, intrigued by the fact that they couldn’t seem to scare this skinny, shaggy-haired wannabe away.
   Ronnie, one of the bar’s resident alpha males, was particularly fascinated with Charlie. “It’s Saturday night, boy,” he blurted out on his way in one evening. “Don’t you have friends? Homework? Something?”
   Charlie, as usual, was undeterred. “Please. I’m a gay boy in a red state. High school sucks – don’t you remember?”
   The other guys couldn’t help but roar with laughter. If there was one thing they responded to, it was spunk, and Charlie had it. Some of them even came to respect the kid – it wasn’t like many of them had been brave enough to come out when they were his age, let alone spend their Saturday evenings lingering outside leather bars, wishfully peeking in whenever the door opened.
   This was why Hank broke into a mischievous grin as he handed Charlie his ID back, thinking about the world this young man was about to step into. Jailbait no more, he thought to himself. This twink’s in for a wild evening…
   “All right Charlie,” Hank said, “looks like tonight’s your big night. Head on in, no cover.”
   Armed with only a smile, and wearing just a black t-shirt and skinny jeans, Charlie took his first steps into the Falcon’s Talon, stopping in the doorway for a few moments to take in the view, savoring the moment, the musty smell of leather and cigar smoke filling his nostrils. Everywhere he looked, Charlie saw muscled, dominant studs… big, bad, shameless bulls... real men.
   This was what Charlie had been waiting for, what he felt he had earned. He looked out over this crowd, and he wasn’t intimidated, wasn’t afraid. No, Charlie looked out at this crowd and he saw a sanctuary.
   “All right everybody, listen up,” Hank bellowed, stepping in behind Charlie and slapping one of his colossal hands over the boy’s shoulder. The chatter quickly died down as the group turned to face the two of them. “Today, our good friend Charlie turned eighteen.”
   The bar immediately broke into rapturous laughter and cheers, Charlie grinning, his cheeks red. Ronnie quickly made his way over from the bar, the faint hint of the devil’s smile on his face. He looked Charlie up and down, sizing him up.
   “Eighteen, huh?” he said, stroking his chin.
   “Yes, Sir,” Charlie replied, still smiling.
   Ronnie smiled, liking the boy’s tone, then turned, looking over at the crowd, many of them watching Charlie from across the room, hungry sharks catching the scent of fresh blood. There was Peck, a stately salt-and-pepper-haired Dom, his bare chest and rippling abs peeking out from beneath a leather jacket, casually watching a game of billiards unfold, keeping Charlie in the corner of his eye. And of course Reno, a cocky Dom with long, flowing hair was sneaking a glimpse or two, conspicuously grabbing at his crotch as he momentarily locked eyes with Charlie. Even Dutch kept an eyebrow cocked from behind the bar as he quietly wiped down glasses, silently waiting to see how things played out with the club’s newest arrival. After nearly a year of controlling themselves and ignoring this ballsy kid’s flirtatious advances outside the club, any one of them would have been more than happy to take Charlie into the back room and finally see if he knew how to put his money where his mouth was.
   “I’ll tell you what, fellas,” Ronnie hollered. “I think this birthday boy’s got a butt that needs paddling.”
   Roars of approval filled the bar. Charlie bit his lip, his heart beginning to race a little, his tight blue jeans feeling tighter and tighter by the second. Ronnie grabbed him by the arm, Charlie happily following as the assertive top led him across the room to a small stage used for exhibitions and demonstrations. A few of the guys made cat calls as Charlie took his place center stage, a small spotlight buzzing to life, illuminating him, leaving nowhere to hide.
   “Boy just threw himself to the wolves,” Hank muttered to Dutch at the bar. Dutch, dry as sandpaper, just smiled softly.
   “My kind of boy,” he quietly muttered back.
   Ronnie, meanwhile, had discovered his inner showman, strutting back and forth across the stage like an emcee on caffeine pills. “Gentlemen,” he shouted out, “are you ready to show this boy how we welcome newcomers to the Talon?”
   The crowd roared with delight, cheering as Ronnie dragged a sawhorse center stage, grinning wickedly at Charlie.
   “Boy, are you prepared to submit your ass to a thorough birthday beating?” he asked.
   “Yes, Sir, I am,” he responded, putting on his bravest face.
   “Well then why the fuck are you still wearing those girly blue jeans, kid?” Ronnie demanded, the crowd cackling with laughter.
   Charlie just stared into Ronnie’s eyes, his soft lips curled up into a mischievous smile, daring the Dom to make his move.
   Ronnie grinned back at him – the kid was gonna make him work for it.
   Good.
   In a flash, Ronnie grabbed Charlie’s arm, spinning him around and pulling him backwards into his chest, wrapping his arms around the boy, one hand over his mouth, the other creeping down south past his flat stomach, locking him in like a hungry boa constrictor as the crowd cheered him on. Charlie gave a loud, muffled, happy whimper into Ronnie’s hand, his mind swimming with excitement as he felt Ronnie’s fingers graze down across the front of his bulging crotch. This was the submission he had been craving since before he could remember, the strong, firm hands of an intensely dominant man restraining him, teasing him, playing him like an instrument. Simply put, in Ronnie’s arms, Charlie might as well have been in heaven.
   Ronnie’s fingers found their way to Charlie’s button fly, and Ronnie quickly tugged it open, eliciting another loud cheer from the onlookers. Within seconds, his hand still firmly clamped over Charlie’s mouth, Ronnie was pushing the boy’s jeans down over his hips, down past his knees, dropping them to his ankles, leaving the boy in just his t-shirt and a rather skimpy set of blue briefs.
   “Lose the shirt!” someone hollered from the bar, the rest of the crowd cheering in agreement.
   “Fuck the shirt, lose those panties!” Reno added, to even more cheering.
   Ronnie grinned, squeezing this gorgeous young twink in his arms, the thick bulge in his crotch grinding up against the boy’s backside.
   “Having fun yet, boy?” he whispered into Charlie’s ear, sliding his hand up the front of his shirt, giving his nipple a hard squeeze. Charlie moaned, wincing with pained pleasure.
   “…Yes, Sir,” Charlie answered, his voice breathy and low.
   “Good,” Ronnie said, quickly grabbing the collar of Charlie’s t-shirt with his hands and yanking down, cleanly ripping it off of his body and tossing it aside like a rag. The crowd burst into hollers of approval, loving the sight of Charlie’s smooth, firm young body.
   Ronnie grabbed Charlie’s shoulders and pushed him up against the sawhorse, bending him over.
   “Hands on the floor, kid,” Ronnie growled, pleased to see the boy obey, stretching his lean body over the sawhorse, his tight ass up in the air. Admiring the view, Ronnie ran his hands over Charlie’s ass, squeezing the boy’s cheeks through his skintight briefs, purring like a lion.
   “All right boy, let’s see what you’ve got,” Ronnie said, slowly peeling Charlie’s briefs down over his ass, revealing a perfectly smooth, pale set of cheeks. Cat calls continued to ring out through the crowd, the men starting to form a line at the side of the stage.
   Ronnie pushed the underwear on down Charlie’s legs, grinning as he glimpsed the boy’s testicles peeking out from between his thighs. Charlie kicked the briefs off of his ankles, leaving himself fully nude, exposed and vulnerable, surrounded by horny Doms licking their chops, waiting for their turn.
   Ronnie gripped a fistful of Charlie’s shaggy blond hair, pulling his head up. “Open your mouth, boy,” he said, quickly stuffing Charlie’s underwear into the twink’s mouth. Charlie moaned at the taste, quickly becoming intoxicated with thoughts of what was to come…
   SMACK!
   Ronnie’s hand connected with Charlie’s cheek, his fingers spread, leaving a bright pink handprint as he pulled away. Charlie lowered his head, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth against the underwear gagging him, bracing himself for more.

   SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
   Three more loud, firm slaps rang out, the crowd cheering Ronnie on as he broke the boy in with a good, hard spanking. Charlie winced, grabbing the legs of the sawhorse to steady himself, his mind quickly beginning to sink into subspace.
   “Come on, who’s next?” he heard Ronnie shout out. “Everybody gets a piece of this ass, tonight!”
   Reno was up next, strutting up behind Charlie and grabbing the boy’s hips, bucking his crotch into the boy’s ass playfully. The crowd laughed at the sight, cheering as Reno teased the bulge in his jock between Charlie’s reddening cheeks.
   SMACK!
   Reno connected, slapping both of his hands against Charlie’s cheeks, violently grabbing them, digging his nails in. Charlie gave a loud, muffled whimper, music to Reno’s ears.
   SMACK!
   Another hard double-spank rang out, Charlie rocking forward slightly into the sawhorse, but recovering back onto his heels, determined to take his spanking like a man.
   SMACK!
   One last slap landed on the sides of Charlie’s ass, softer than Charlie had been bracing for. He took the opportunity to catch his breath, and felt Reno lean in low over top of him.
   “Happy birthday, boy,” Reno whispered, slowly humping in directly against Charlie’s tight asshole, teasing the horny kid.
   Reno stepped away, and next up was Hank, who slowly strode up onto the stage, tapping a long wooden paddle into his palm.
   “Been wanting to knock some sense into you for a long time, boy,” he growled, gently placing the paddle across Charlie’s ass, kneading it across his cheeks, warming the boy up for some serious pain.
   He lifted the paddle, holding it at the top of his swing for a few moments, tormenting Charlie with anticipation…
   WHACK!
   Hank brought it down squarely across Charlie’s ass, the paddle giving off a nice, thuddy slap as it connected with the boy’s cheeks. Charlie couldn’t help but cry out in pain, his ass throbbing in agony from the heavy beating.

   Hank just chuckled quietly under his breath, lifting the paddle again, milking the moment…
   …then slowly bringing it back down, resting it against the boy’s ass. Charlie whined, as the painful sting of the paddle that he had been bracing for did not come.
   “What’s the matter, boy, you want more?”
   “Mmmm-hmmm…” Charlie moaned out.
   “What’s that?” Hank asked, smirking.
   “Mmmm-hmmm!” Charlie cried out, loud enough for the whole bar to hear.
   WHACK!
   In one quick motion, Hank lifted the paddle and brought it down hard against Charlie’s left cheek, the boy nearly screaming out with pain, his muscles tensing and clenching at the agonizing, burning sensation.
   WHACK!
   Hank delivered one last hard slap across the boy’s right cheek, the paddle striping the boy’s cheeks, the skin beginning to swell, deep bruises already beginning to form.
   “Think you’re gonna remember this birthday for a long time,” Hank said, laughing as he added, “Probably every time you sit down.”
   Hank stepped back, making room for Peck, who was more than eager to get his hands on this beautiful young piece of meat. Peck was quiet and stoic, a man of very few words. Still, he leaned in over Charlie, wrapping a hand around the boy’s neck and pulling his head up by his chin, whispering into his ear.
   “You’re mine, boy.”
   Charlie shuddered at the very sound of it, Peck’s hot breath steaming against the side of his face. Peck stood back up, looking down over the boy, inspecting him like a new toy. He ran his fingertips gently across Charlie’s ass, delicately sliding his thumbs down the crack of the boy’s ass, slowly teasing them over top of his tight hole. Peck kept going, sliding his hand in between the boy’s legs and fondling his testicles, smiling as he heard a nice, responsive moan from the boy. He worked his hand father in, happy to discover that Charlie was sporting a rock-hard erection. Yeah, Peck thought to himself, this boy likes it. Needs it.
   Peck pulled his hand out from between Charlie’s legs and focused his attention back on the kid’s pink ass, rubbing at his cheeks, searching for the boy’s sensitive spots, finding his weak points, pushing Charlie’s buttons.
   SMACK!
   The first spank came down, connecting perfectly with one of the bruises-to-be in the center of Charlie’s left cheek, bringing out a muffled, “Mmmf!” from the boy. Charlie’s eyes widened, the precision of the spank nearly stunning him. Peck knew what he was doing, no doubt about it…
   SMACK!
   Another precise shot landed across one of Charlie’s weak spots, causing the boy’s legs to tremble slightly. Charlie couldn’t help but moan with delight, loving how well this man was reading his body, skillfully pushing his mind to the limit between pain and pleasure with the exacting care of an artisan.
   SMACK!
   Both of Peck’s hands landed squarely across Charlie’s cheeks, simultaneously working the two rising welt’s from Hank’s paddle hits. Peck spit across Charlie’s ass, massaging the wet saliva across the boy’s cheeks, giving them a nice, sticky grip.
   SMACK!
   Both hands connected again, the spit giving Charlie’s cheeks a tacky texture, amplifying the impact. The crowd watched on as Peck roughly squeezed at the boy’s cheeks, his grip tightening every second, fingers digging in to the boy’s pained flesh, until finally Charlie cried out through his makeshift gag, the adrenaline of agony surging through his body. Peck pushed just a bit further, clenching his fingers in, the boy’s whines sharpening, the crowd murmuring with admiration for Peck’s skillful dominance.
   Finally, Peck relented, releasing the boy’s ass. Charlie exhaled deeply, feeling the blood slowly rushing back into his backside. Peck leaned in over the boy again, pulling his head up like before.
   “Plenty more where that came from, boy,” he whispered, “if you think you can handle it…”
   Charlie shuddered again as Peck licked the back of his ear, then pushed his head back down, stepping away from the boy and finding a smattering of applause from his admirers.
   Ronnie returned to the stage, grabbing Charlie’s shoulder and pulling the boy to his feet and yanking the underwear out of his mouth, standing him up naked in front of the crowd, the bull tops whistling at the sight of his erect cock.
   “Let’s hear it for the birthday boy!” Ronnie yelled out, grinning as the bar cheered Charlie on, the boy doing his best not to blush, his mind racing with excited thoughts of all that could possibly come next, a whole new universe finally opened to him.
   Hank waved Ronnie over to the side of the stage, handing him a large bag. Ronnie peeked inside, nodding his head, then made his way back over to Charlie.
   “Now, since it is your birthday,” Ronnie began, “and since you clearly have a lot to learn about the dress code, Hank, Dutch, and the rest of us here at the Talon thought you deserved a little birthday present.”
   Ronnie handed Charlie the bag, the crowd cheering as he reached in, pulling out a brand new leather chest harness, centered with a shiny metal O ring. Ronnie helped him into it, securing it over his shoulders, the leather slowly beginning to stretch and conform to Charlie’s torso.
   “Pretty fuckin’ hot, boy,” Ronnie muttered. “And there’s more…”
   Charlie looked back into the bag, finding a beautiful black leather jock, a bright blue stripe running down the center.
   “Go on and squeeze that big, hard cock of yours into it,” Ronnie ordered. Charlie was happy to oblige, pulling the jock up and over his hips, his red, battered ass exposed and vulnerable in the back, his cock bulging the leather out in front.
   “That’s one way to break in the leather,” Ronnie said with a grin, patting the boy on the back as the crowd chuckled.
   Charlie was flooded with emotion. So far, this night had been everything he had dreamed it would be and more. He had always felt like he needed to submit in order to be free, and he needed to be here in order to submit. Charlie had found his community, his people. Charlie had found his freedom.
   “Thank you, Sir,” he said. “And everyone else…” he added, his eyes finding Peck in the crowd, staring back at him. “Thank you.”
   Peck smiled, watching as the community’s newest minted sub made his way off the stage and began moving towards him through the crowd. Finally, they were together, an eager, young sub and an interested, highly capable veteran Dom.
   “You said there was more where that came from, Sir,” Charlie said. Peck didn’t answer, instead just narrowing his eyes at the boy, analyzing his potential new pet.
   “I want it,” Charlie said, staring intently at the man. Peck just cocked his head, a soft smile beginning to grow across his face. This boy had no idea how deep the rabbit hole he was jumping into went…
   “You have a lot to learn, boy,” Peck finally said, sending a chill down Charlie’s spine. The very sight of him, the very sound of his voice, his manly smell even… all of it made Charlie feel naturally submissive, in the best of ways.
   “Will you teach me, Sir?” Charlie asked.
   Peck cracked his knuckles for a few moments before finally taking hold of Charlie’s arm and answering, “Come. Let’s talk,” and leading him away, through a door at the back of the bar, into one of the club’s private rooms.
   At the bar, Reno sat and sipped whiskey, watching the older Dom leading the gorgeous new arrival into the back, bitter anger dancing like fire in his eyes.
   “What’s the problem, Reno,” Dutch asked, “you jealous?”
   Reno just snorted out a dismissive laugh, finishing the last of his drink and signaling for another one. The kid’s night was just beginning, Reno thought.
   And so is mine.

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