Page 21
Story: The Menagerie
IT ISN’T until late on Monday when Rowan is already in bed that Mal finally texts him back.
[MS] sorry had some shit going on
[MS] i’m good
[MS] thanks for checking
Rowan wants to shout at him. Fucking deck him, actually. Because what the fuck ? Mal may be the more experienced of the two of them, but what the hell gives him the right to stress the fuck out of Rowan? Rowan’s been fucking pacing the past two days, waiting to hear back from him. Jesus, he’s lucky he hasn’t had an episode over this.
He’s not some goddamn side piece, here.
[RC] What the fuck Mal?
[RC] You couldn’t have texted that 2 days ago??
[MS] i said sorry man. had shit to deal with
Rowan wants to punch a wall. He wants to tell Mal that when he stops hearing from people, it’s usually because they’re on a bender or in jail or dead. He wants to flat-out say he’s worried and pissed and fucking hungry for a real kiss after the tantalizing taste he’d gotten.
But as his string of fleeting exes would attest to, he’s never been great at communicating emotions.
[RC] I get if you’re busy or whatever but it takes 2 fucking seconds to send a text
[RC] I thought you dropped or something
[MS] it takes more than a stupid fuckin mistake like that to make me drop
Hearing Mal call the kiss a mistake again, even if it is technically true, feels like a virtual slap in the face.
[RC] You looked like you were in a fucking trance when we left Mal
[RC] What was I supposed to think??
[MS] you don’t think fuckin anything. i told you i was fine
[MS] we’re not boyfriend and girlfriend here
[MS] i don’t owe you shit
His aggression catches Rowan off guard. Apparently Mal’s done being on the defensive. Rowan can practically feel the steam coming out of his own ears as he types out his reply.
[RC] No shit we’re not a couple. But you do fucking owe it to me to tell me you aren’t gonna jump into traffic if the reason for it happened with me
[MS] it woulda happened with anyone. you’re not the hot shit you think you are
[RC] I DON’T think I’m hot shit, I was fucking worried asshole
[RC] Just because you’re the club bicycle doesn’t mean you get to ride all over me
Rowan regrets the text the second he hits Send, and Mal’s response takes two full minutes to pop onto his screen.
[MS] fuck you campbell
There isn’t anything Rowan can say after that.
He knows it’s unfair to call Mal a slut when his own wild teenage years aren’t too far behind him. Kinda loves that he is, if he’s being honest.
And he doesn’t want to leave it like this, but alongside the new cloak of shame hanging over him, there’s still a bubble of anger toward Mal floating around inside him. It may be growing smaller and weaker by the minute, but it’s there nonetheless.
He throws his phone to the other end of the bed, watching it tumble uselessly over the bunched-up comforter and clatter to the carpet below. He needs to clear his head. He grabs his running shoes and doesn’t bother changing out of his current set of sweatpants and T-shirt before heading out the door at nearly eleven at night.
APPARENTLY, TO Rowan’s relief, twenty-four hours is enough for them both to cool off from their tense exchange. Their regular texting starts back up again on Tuesday night with a text from Mal:
[MS] which one?
[MS] img03409.jpg img03410.jpg
He attaches two cropped screenshots of panties from a website Rowan doesn’t recognize—a black pair with crisscrossed straps in the back and a white pair with lace cutouts on the sides.
Rowan accepts the unconventional olive branch.
[RC] Black ones
[MS] thought so too
Rowan bites his lip, abandons his third rewatch of The Witcher , and stretches out on his couch. He types and retypes an explanation for his shitty remark the other day, but erases everything he types. Somehow, he doesn’t think I’m new to this is a good excuse. So, with a heavy exhale, he settles on:
[RC] Sorry, btw
[MS] yeah me too
The relief is instant, and the angry bubble in his chest finally pops in a completely lackluster way that makes Rowan wonder why it stuck around so long.
[MS] not used to not being in control
[RC] Thought that was kind of a given being a sub
[MS] giving over control and not being in control aren’t the same
[MS] think you know that by now
[RC] Yeah
He does. Mal allows him to take the reins when they’re together because he trusts Rowan enough to do so, but that’s a far cry from having no control over yourself. Rowan wants to ask him why it happened and if it had anything to do with the woman that Rowan treated the other day who may or may not be related to Mal, but he feels like their relationship is teetering on the edge of a cliff, too precarious to do anything that might send them plunging over the side.
If they’re ever going to get to that stage, Mal’s going to have to be the one that leads them there.
[RC] Just surprised me I guess
[RC] You’ve been doing this a long time
[MS] yeah well. surprised me too
[MS] not many firsts left to have at this point so
He doesn’t elaborate on the “so” at the end of his sentence, but Rowan’s brain is rattling around in his skull like a crash-test dummy’s. Because surely Mal can’t mean that was his first kiss?
[RC] Wait like your first first kiss??
The fact that his fingers have typed out and sent the message proves that the tact he’s been working on developing isn’t coming along as smoothly as he’d thought.
[MS] i’m 28 man not fuckin 15
[RC] That wasn’t a no…
[MS] christ
[MS] NO, my 1st kiss wasn’t with my fuckin dom in a sex induced haze
[MS] not gonna have the chastity pigs after you prince charming
The laugh that bubbles up from Rowan’s chest has him feeling lighter than he has in days. It’s nice to be able to laugh at the situation that he’s been angsting over for what feels like ages.
[RC] In this context chastity pigs sounds like some fetish shit
[MS] oh ya? you into that farmer brown?
[RC] Dunno, you could look hot in a chastity belt
[RC] Trapped in a castle and chained to a bed or something
[RC] Hard pass on the furry junk though
[MS] jesus you’re worse than i am
Rowan can practically hear Mal trying to hide a smile through his message.
[MS] got a virginity fetish or somethin?
[RC] I’d be shit outta luck with you if I did since we met at a gangbang
[MS] ya that ship sunk a long fuckin time ago
[RC] That’s definitely not the right expression Mal lmao
[MS] what the fuck ever you know what i mean
[MS] so a knight in shining armor complex then?
[RC] I do think I’d look pretty good in some medieval armor
[RC] Chainmail and feathery helmet and shit
[RC] Get a huge lance or something and some fair maiden’s token to complete the look
Mal’s next text is an eye roll emoji.
[MS] don’t expect a flower crown from my ass red
[RC] I’m sure I could find some stable boy to give me one if push came to shove
[RC] Though I would much rather have your ass than some flowers
[MS] alright well you can kiss my ass next time, how’s that
Rowan grins to himself, and yeah, that actually sounds pretty fantastic. If Mal’s lips are off limits, his ass will have to do. Fake medieval scenario or otherwise.
They chat a bit longer, keeping the conversation light even if mostly still tangentially kink related. Rowan slips in the occasional comment about what’s currently happening on the latest episode of The Great British Baking Show , which Mal predictably responds to with another eye roll emoji. Once, Rowan manages to wring a cake emoji out of him, followed by a peach emoji and knew you liked cake, red that sends an involuntary shudder down Rowan’s spine.
As their conversation winds down and it’s nearing the wee hours of the morning, Rowan lets himself dip back into the more serious topic they’d been on earlier.
[RC] I gotta go to bed soon but…
[RC] Please let me know if something like that happens again
[RC] 2 way street, remember?
[RC] I know I’m new to this but I’ll always try to figure something out
[MS] i know
A minute later, he follows up with another text.
[MS] i will
[MS] for what it’s worth i do appreciate you giving a shit
[MS] lot of doms don’t
Rowan wants to tell him that his caring has nothing to do with being a Dom, but he’ll let Mal think that if it’s what he needs to believe. Right now he doesn’t think saying Actually, it’s because I like you even though I shouldn’t would go over too well.
[RC] Of course
[RC] Aside from the obvious, was the rest of the scene OK?
He’s careful to phrase the question as if, to him, the kiss wasn’t the best part of the whole thing, if only for a fleeting moment before the panic set in.
[MS] wouldn’t have gotten that deep if it wasn’t
[MS] that shit gets to me way more than any other type of play
As Rowan’s head stops swimming from the revelation that Mal enjoyed his praise enough to lose himself to it, his heart lurches at the realization that he probably likes it so much because he doesn’t get treated like that in his everyday life. Probably not when he was growing up either, if he was like most South End kids with shitty parents and a street-hardened exterior.
[RC] I’ll keep that in mind next time you’re up for it
Mal sends him a thumbs-up emoji.
Rowan knows that it’s kind of a dismissive emoji—a signal that the conversation is over—but it makes him smile anyway.
MAL DOESN’T bring up the kiss again that week, so Rowan doesn’t either.
But fuck, he can’t stop thinking about it. Hasn’t stopped thinking about it since Saturday. How badly he’d wanted it—still wants it, even with their tiff still fresh in his mind—and how he’d come the second he realized what was happening. Another knot of guilt coils itself in Rowan’s belly, and he can’t help but still feel dirty at having basically used Mal in that way.
It’s not his fault, and he knows that. It’s not even really Mal’s fault—just one of those things that happens with shit like this.
He wonders if Mal has kissed any of his past Doms. If he’s ever wanted to kiss any of them. Rowan doubts it, given how visceral his reaction to the thought of it had been when they first met and hashed out their kink boundaries. Still, he rereads Mal’s text over and over:
[MS] it woulda happened with anyone. you’re not the hot shit you think you are.
Rowan doesn’t want to get his hopes up that that’s a fat lie and that it would not have happened with anyone. He already knows that, at least in some capacity, Mal thinks of him as different from his past Doms.
But Rowan doesn’t actually know how many Doms Mal has had; all he’s gathered from his conversations with him have pointed to “more than a few.” One or more of them could definitely have been a romantic partner as well. The thought makes his stomach churn.
He blames it on the lasagna Jay made for him last night.
[MS] I wanna do some spanking on saturday
The text comes through while Rowan is chopping vegetables for his lunch salad tomorrow, and when he reads the banner that lights up his phone on the counter, he nearly slips and cuts himself. He should really know better than to be doing anything remotely dangerous when he’s within eyesight of his phone, Mal’s texts always unpredictable and usually dirty.
Placing the knife far out of reach, he taps out his reply, silently admonishing his rapidly-beating heart for begging him to say Fuck yeah ! rather than something normal.
[RC] OK, more than usual you mean?
[MS] yeah
[MS] and hard
The Fuck yeah ! narrowly avoids being sent this time.
[RC] Do you have a set stopping point or max hits or anything
[MS] not really. just till i can’t take it anymore
Rowan ditches his lunch on the counter and jerks off on the couch, coming in barely four minutes to the image of his handprints on Mal’s ass.
WITH ALL the drama of the past week, when Saturday arrives, Rowan almost forgets about the shibari class entirely. It’s nearly 5:00 p.m. when he jolts up from lazing on the couch and has to scramble to shower and change. Mal had told him to wear something comfortable, so he pulls on some dark gray joggers, a white T-shirt, and his trusty red Nikes before he bolts out the door.
Surprisingly, thanks to his lead foot, he gets to the club a full twenty minutes before the class is scheduled to start. Mal told him he’d meet him at the bar as usual before they went to the class, but he’s nowhere in sight.
A sharp crack! rings out and catches Rowan’s attention. He scans the club, looking for the source of the noise, when it comes again, louder and definitively to the left.
To the VoyEx corner. Color him intrigued.
For the first time, rather than sit and order a drink, Rowan visits the area which he’d only glanced at during his tour the day he joined. The “corner” is actually a fairly large open room tucked around a wall that divides it from the main lounge and bar. There’s a small crowd of about ten people forming a semicircle around the main stage, which is bathed in overhead spotlights highlighting two men on stage. Both are fully naked, toned bodies catching the light attractively.
One of the men, clearly the sub, is standing with his legs and arms spread and bound to a Saint Andrew’s cross. Thin red welts cover his chest and thighs, angry and long but with no trace of blood, which speaks to the skill of the Dom whipping him with a long black flogger. The Dom reels back and cracks it across the sub’s chest, the sound of it hitting Rowan’s ears before the sub even lets out a peep.
He doesn’t know how long they’ve been at this, but the sub’s cock is flushed and hard and the wet from his cunt is dripping down his legs, catching the light as he squirms both toward and away from the flogger.
Rowan watches the exhibitionists and the crowd of voyeurs around him, half of whom are unabashedly jerking off, and lets his mind wander. To whether any of these men are married, to the slice of cheesecake from Addison sitting in his fridge at home, to the text from Clara he forgot to reply to earlier. To Mal. To their argument the other day, to the class they’re taking tonight to improve their scenes, to what Mal’s ass is going to look like once Rowan gets his hands on it afterward.
Always to Mal.
Rowan’s too caught up in him. Too emotionally invested in something that’s supposed to be casual and fun, and he can feel it start to weigh on him.
Maybe he should skip a session with Mal—tell him he’s sick or something and use one of his four precious monthly visits to the club to seek out the company of some other willing bottom. It might help. But then again, it might make things worse, especially if Mal comes anyway, seeking someone else out too. Caught playing hooky by the principal. His mind is reeling with made-up scenarios that could put soap operas to shame, and he physically shakes his head to bring himself back to the moment.
The thoughts of finding someone else are all abruptly dismissed when he realizes he’s barely turned on by everything happening around him, only a tiny blip of desire. A few weeks ago, he’d probably be whipping his dick out alongside everyone else or seeing if the pair on stage were up for a threesome later.
Something a little bit like guilt tugs at his insides as he turns away and slinks back to the bar, the whipcracks and moans fading behind him.
Jeremiah is busy chatting up a group of older-looking men, deftly preparing their drinks without missing a beat of their conversation. Maybe he should see if he’s up for something.
“You’re early tonight,” the bartender notes. “Shibari class?”
“Yep,” Rowan replies.
“You’ll love it.”
“Have you taken it before?”
The grin Jeremiah gives him is proud and devastatingly handsome. “I used to teach it.”
Rowan’s stunned into silence, which makes the other man laugh again.
“Anything to drink before you head out?”
It takes him a solid five seconds to answer. “Can I have a virgin strawberry seltzer? With lime?”
As Jeremiah whips up Rowan’s drink, Rowan watches him work, deft hands twirling the glass and flipping a cocktail napkin down on the bar as a coaster.
“Hey, do you only work on the weekends?” Rowan asks as Jeremiah adds a freshly cut lime wedge to Rowan’s glass.
He doesn’t even know why he’s asking, really. Because yeah, Jeremiah is fucking hot. Especially so tonight with one of his signature black button-ups pulling tight across his chest, a silver mesh top underneath that shines like chain mail when he turns the right way in the dim light. His hair’s gotten longer too—now more of a twist style than the sponge curls he’d had the first few times Rowan had seen him.
“Wednesday through Sunday,” Jeremiah replies, gaze raking up and down Rowan’s body over the bar top with zero shame. “Why? Trouble in paradise?”
“What do you mean?”
The look Jeremiah gives him is somewhere between pitying and surprised, and Rowan is confused as hell.
“Ah. Listen, I’d love to, but I think we both know that isn’t going to end well.”
Rowan doesn’t have time to dwell on it before Mal’s suddenly at his side, one elbow planted solidly on the bar top.
“Yo,” Mal says to Rowan, barely glancing at him before he’s turning to Jeremiah and sliding an envelope to him.
“Hey, Jer. I snagged those Lizzo tickets for your sister,” he says. “Fuckin’ scalper wanted eight hundred bucks each.”
“Christ… you didn’t pay him that, did you?” Jeremiah replies, taking the envelope and stashing it beneath the counter.
“ Hell no. Told him I’d fuck him up if he didn’t fork them over for a better price.”
Rowan snorts in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t doubt Mal would beat up some random guy for trying to rip him off.
Jeremiah lets out his own laugh, probably thinking the same thing Rowan did. “Thanks. Let me know how much I owe you and I’ll Venmo you.”
Mal waves him off. “Don’t worry ’bout it. Tell her to have a good time and don’t bring anyone who fuckin’ sucks.”
With a kiss to two of his fingers thrown in Mal’s direction, Jeremiah heads to the other end of the bar to help a throng of patrons who have emerged, some of whom Rowan recognizes from his little trip to the VoyEx corner.
“You ready, space case?” Rowan hears Mal say next to him, snapping him out of his daze.
Rowan turns to look at Mal straight-on, immediately feeling a heavy swoop of desire that he should have felt watching the men in the VoyEx corner. That he should have felt watching Jeremiah do his thing behind the bar.
“Yeah,” he replies, unable to keep the smile completely off his face. “Lead the way.”
THE SHIBARI class is held in a large open room on the first floor that would look like a dance studio if it weren’t for the thick metal beams crisscrossing the ceiling and dozens of hooks and hardpoints attached to the walls. Rowan wonders what the hell else this room is used for, or if the club really does have an entire room dedicated to group rope bondage.
Already the room is filled with couples scattered around, talking quietly but animatedly. The diversity among them is surprising—not because Boston is particularly homogenous, but because places like this usually are . Though the group that Mal picked at the gangbang had been very diverse as well. Seeing how the instructor works with couples of all different shapes and sizes should make for an interesting class.
As they walk in and find an empty table near the front, Rowan can see that a few people eye Mal with surprise and Rowan with what looks like jealousy. It’s so easy to forget that Mal— Malcolm —is basically a celebrity here. A pulse of pride shoots through him, and he turns away from the gawking faces, even though a small part of him wants to stick his tongue out and chant nahhh nah-nah boo boo !
“You’ve done this before, right?” he asks Mal instead.
“Shibari? Yeah. Haven’t done any tying in a long time, though.”
“More of a rope bunny?”
Mal gives him a flat stare, but the corners of his lips quirk up as he says, “Fuck off with that term, Firecrotch.” After a beat, he shoots back, “You ever done it?”
“Nope. Read a whole bunch about it a little while ago, though. And knot-tying was something we were drilled on in Boy Scouts, so I know my way around the basics.”
“Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” Mal quips.
Rowan snorts, but takes the nickname as a compliment.
He doesn’t really know what to expect tonight. They’ll clearly be doing some kind of rig, but the extent of it is still a mystery to him. He’d done research a couple weeks ago when Mal first mentioned the class, so he’s at least somewhat familiar with the terminology and basic ties. Though like with anything, doing is always much different from reading.
So he’s mentally prepared for pretty much whatever. He’s not, however, expecting Camilla to walk in wearing pastel workout leggings and a sports-bra, tank-top combo with her long blond hair tied up in a high ponytail.
“Welcome!” she trills, taking her place at the front of the room where two large rectangular tables sit filled with dozens of coils of rope. She captures the attention of everyone in the room immediately, a hush falling over the patrons faster than with any schoolteacher Rowan’s ever had.
An attractive man with a medium build, light complexion, and brown hair tied into a topknot emerges from the crowd of couples and joins her at the front.
“I’m sure all of you know me, at least you should, but I’m Camilla, and I’ll be your instructor tonight.” She gestures to the man next to her, “And this is Rory, my demonstration partner. I know we have a mix of experience levels in here tonight, so I’ll be as detailed as possible without making everything overwhelmingly technical for the newbies.”
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
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- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21 (Reading here)
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