I ended up here with Slate. Tony knew about it, so when we joined the lineup outside DN and reached the front, he nodded and allowed us in without comment.
And then we were inside the space, semidark and filled with music that throbbed in time with my body.
I shoved a bill into Slate’s hand. “Get us a drink. I’ll have whatever you’re having. I’ll meet you at the bar,” I told him, as much as I hated to let him go.
Now for the uncomfortable part: changing.
A rush of relief left me when I picked up my bag and found the locker room empty. I didn’t hesitate to drop my pants and underwear.
Deep breaths and think about bookkeeping. My latex briefs left little to the imagination. A single zippered pocket over my hip gave me just enough space for a rolled-up bill or locker key. I squirmed into them, then drew the zipper up the length of my shaft, wincing as I carefully tucked my semi down into place.
Then I stripped my shirt and shoved it into my gym bag, sliding into the red latex men’s corset.
It came up to just under my pecs and covered the expanse of my stomach right down to the edge of my briefs. Black laces ran up the back, but hidden catches up my sternum were the easy way of getting in and out, thank God. Then I buckled up the straps just under my rib cage, smoothing the corset down.
My hands moved on autopilot. This was my default outfit, so I hardly had to think about it now. Which left my brain plenty of time to worry about what the fuck I was doing.
This wasn’t a normal night out to Dom Nation, where I’d cruise the bar, dance floor, and playroom for beautiful, breakable boys and then choose one, get the business done, and leave.
God. It felt almost like… was it a date?
My hands trembled as I lifted my collar from the bag and raised my head, fastening it carefully at the back of my neck. It was thin and red, the same shade as the corset, with a bow tie on the front instead of any kind of ring.
I didn’t need anyone else assuming that I, as slender and young as I looked, was a sub. But I also wasn’t willing to forego part of myself and dress up in a generic black harness just to get laid like so many guys did. Privately, some of the Doms here admired my outfit. In public, they’d never admit they liked it.
No, the least I could do was be honest about who I was—strong and feminine, every inch a man but pretty and cold and cruel.
Fuck. I was ready. Slate was about to meet Master X for the first time.
I hesitated, my hand on the handle of my favorite, trusty flogger for a long few moments. Then I let go and zipped the bag shut, slinging it over my shoulder. I’d get it out of the bag check later, if…
If. Just if.
Slate wants it, that nagging voice at the back of my head said. So why aren’t you going with it? It was an equation I didn’t want to solve. Better to pretend my denial was a fucked-up foreplay.
Because Christ, as I wove through the crowd to pick Slate out in a heartbeat standing by the bar, I wanted him.
The light was strongest here by the bar, and the glow shimmered on his tanned, ruddy bare skin. His understated black-and-silver harness and shorts looked perfect, but he stood awkwardly, one arm folded across his chest like he wasn’t used to showing off so much skin.
Yet his harness wasn’t crisp or stiff—the supple leather bore the marks of use. And he didn’t seem startled by any of the outfits on display.
Who is Slate, really? God, I want to unpick all of his layers and wrap myself in them.
Slate was gazing around the room as if studying everyone, his legs crossed, one toe tapping the ground gently.
I smiled as I came to a halt in front of him. “Hello, boy.”
His gaze flickered across me like he was about to turn me down, and then his eyes widened as he recognized me. That brief second made me grin. He was waiting for me.
But it made me grin even more as his jaw fell open and his cheeks flushed. He tried to speak once, failed, and cleared his throat as he passed me a clear plastic cup. “That’s… uh…