Tethered Master Trent (MxM...xM?) | Random Updates

2.Even More Stupid

I guess I'm stupid. There's no other explanation for my current situation.

That guy, Xander is sitting across the table from me in one of the trendy coffee places downtown.

Everything smells of cinnamon and chocolate. Sometimes a strong waft of espresso washes over me.

"How do you like it?" Xander asks pointing at my mug with a brusque tilt of his head.

"It's the worst thing I've ever tasted," I say. And I'm not lying.

I like my coffee plain, black and strong. This shit has mint, orange peels and some mystical foam made from non-dairy milk.

He curls a finger over the mug handle and slides my beverage on the table toward him.

I catch a glimpse of his many silvery rings and bracelets and wonder how I've ended up meeting this guy on a random Monday morning.

He's not my type.

Sure, he's young. But he's tall and has a long, stern face and such an icy blue gaze I shudder every time I meet his eyes. It's not just the looks, it's his entire appearance. Worn-out jeans and a ripped top, both probably more expensive than my plain suit. Ivory clips in his hair, pulling it to the side and revealing the close-cropped hair on the lower half of his head; he's even wearing mascara I suspect, but maybe those dark long lashes are natural?

"What's wrong, Trent?" he asks warmly.

"Nothing. I have to leave soon. That's all," I say trying to return the smile. But I'm pretty sure he knows that I'm not into this date or meeting, or however he wants to call it.

It wasn't my idea and I shouldn't have agreed to it, but I was vulnerable and stupid at the time because I've made the mistake of going back to the Blue Hedonism club yesterday.

On that boring Sunday, a night out sounded good. Except I regretted my choice the moment I stepped back inside that place.

As I walked around the Blue Hedonism, they whispered and watched me.

A couple of Subs say something about being happy that I've gotten my ass kicked. Of course, they're talking among themselves and thinking the music is covering up their low voices. They're wrong.

I can hear them but I don't care. My ass parks in a secluded area, and I enjoy the show. It's a short shibari bondage scene and the tension in those ropes keeps my member taut and ready for action.

But there's no Sub willing to have me in this club. One gives the previous engagement excuse, another mentions he's a masochist and has special needs, and so on. I settle on watching the scenes others play and consider rubbing one out. Yet it would be humiliating, wouldn't it?

And then I see him - Master Xander.

A large, muscular man is hugging the couch backrest, knees on the seat, while Xander is pounding his ass. Since he's almost entirely with his back to me I relax at the thought that Master Xander can't see me.

Naked and pale with long lines telling of his muscles but rather lean and not bulked up at all, Xander is as I remember him, except for one thing I've failed to notice before - a dark tattoo along his spine of a sword or a dagger, fragmented into bits and pieces, fading into mere dots at the small of his back. That looks a bit cool, I admit and lean against the wall enjoying the view.

His buttocks contract and relax as he rams into the well-built Sub. Is that his type? Am I his type? My cheeks catch fire and I can't feel my face for a moment.

Get a grip.

Xander's thrusts slow down and he bends over the Sub, caressing his tanned torso.

That raven-haired Sub from the night before approaches and Master Xander turns offering me a view of his profile as the Sub sets a soda with a straw at Xander's mouth.