Gayday! Gayday! - Gay 11

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Gayday! Gayday!

ISBN #978-0-85715-276-3

©Copyright Kim Dare 2010

Cover Art by Natalie winters ©Copyright September 2010

Edited by Christine Riley

Total-E-Bound Publishing

 

This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

 

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

 

Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

 

The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

 

Published in 2010 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

 

 

Warning: This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has been rated Total-e-burning.

 

 

G-A-Y

 

GAYDAY! GAYDAY!

 

 

Kim Dare

 

 

 

Dedication

 

 

To brats and those brave enough to master them.

 

 

Trademarks Acknowledgement

 

 

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmark mentioned in this work of fiction:

 

Coke: Coca-Cola Company

 

 

Chapter One

 

 “Gayday! Gayday!”

Slade Pearson stared at his mobile for a few seconds before peering past it to the clock on his bedside table. Two am.

“Rip, is that you?” Slade rolled his eyes at himself. Bloody stupid question. Of course it was Rip. Who the hell else would phone him that time in the morning? “What do you want?”

“Gayday!” his friend repeated, in the same urgent little whisper as before.

Slade dropped his head back on the pillow and pushed a hand through his hair as he waited for his friend to start making sense. If Rip was in his usual form, it could take a while.

“Gayday—you know, like a mayday signal, except the distress flag I’m sending up is rainbow coloured,” Rip finally explained, his voice still hushed, as if he was afraid he might be overheard.

“You mean you’re drunk and want me to play taxi?” Slade translated. “Forget it.”

“I mean he’s a damn sight more psychotic than I expected, and I need you to come and rescue me.”

“What?” Slade half sat up, his blankets pooling around his waist as he realised his friend didn’t just sound tipsy, he also sounded nervous as hell.

“I’m kind of on a date,” Rip confessed. “And I really need someone to break it up.”

“In the complete knowledge that I’m going to regret asking—how exactly do you expect me to do that?”

“Pretend you’re my master?” Rip suggested.

Slade groaned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Don’t you know anyone else who could—?”

“All the gay men I know are subs like me. A submissive’s not going to cut it with this guy. I need a dom. A straight one will do. You don’t have to screw me, Slade, just come and get me?” A few seconds of silence buzzed through the phone. “Please?”

Slade pushed his blankets away and kicked his legs over the side of the bed with a long suffering sigh. “Fine. I’m on my way.”

He pinned the mobile between his ear and his shoulder as he pulled his jeans and boots on. By the time he grabbed up his shirt, Rip had whispered his location into the phone and hurriedly hung up as he heard his date coming back.

Now that he knew exactly where Rip had been calling him from, Slade found himself quickening his stride as he made his way to his car.

The idea of a bratty little sub like Rip in a club like Black’s was…he shook his head as he drove out of the car park. The little fool was going to get himself whipped, and not in the way he’d probably enjoy.

As Slade pulled up outside the club a few minutes later, he’d never been so glad to live so close to the best kinky club in the area. But a quick glance at his watch still showed Rip had already been on his own in there for far too long.

Slade marched straight into the main room of the club, scanning the shadowy gloom for any sign of his friend as he went. Pretend to be his boyfriend catching him cheating…it was a bloody stupid idea, but as he stormed through the various public areas and failed to catch sight the sub, he soon found himself furious enough to pull off the act all too convincingly.

Images flashed through his head of all the many and varied things that could be happening to the stupid little fool. His hand clenched into a fist at his side.

There!

Slade stopped. His friend knelt, apparently unharmed, on a black leather cushion on the other side of the room. The dominant ran his eyes over the smaller man’s body. His posture was wrong. He looked wary beneath the usual mop of blond hair. But there wasn’t a mark on him. Slade’s fist unfurled as he forced himself to push his anger aside.

Tearing his eyes away from the submissive, he turned his attention to the dominant sitting in the chair above him. Slade bit back a curse as he recognised Hewett.

The part of Slade that had mentally been calling his friend all the names under the sun for dragging him out of his bed for nothing fell silent. It was hard to blame him for realising he was out of his depth with Hewett—he was right.

As Slade strode towards them, Rip glanced up. Slade saw the relief flash across the younger man’s gaze. It should probably have made him feel sorry for his friend. It didn’t. Rip might not fool around with the hardcore end of the lifestyle, but he knew enough about it not to get himself involved with someone like Hewett.

Rip’s expression wavered as he seemed to sense just how furious Slade was with him. He shuffled a little further back on his cushion. Big blue eyes opened very wide as Slade failed to stop at the edge of the little collection of seats and simply call him to heel.

Slade kept going until he loomed right above the kneeling sub. A hand on the back of the smaller man’s tight black t-shirt pulled him to his feet. He stumbled, but Slade kept him upright as he turned his attention to the other dominant.

He nodded politely to the older man. “Hewett.”

The dominant’s lips twitched into a half surprised, half amused smile as he looked from Slade, to Rip, and back to Slade again. “Pearson. It’s been a while.”

“You know him—?” Rip stopped himself short as Slade glared at him.

“Yours?” Hewett asked.

Slade took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. To play the bloody stupid game, or not to play the bloody stupid game…“It’s early days,” he said in the end. “He’s still at the bratty stage.”

Hewett looked Rip up and down very carefully. “He’s not wearing a collar.”

“He hasn’t earned one yet,” Slade said, without even thinking twice about it. “He still has a lot to learn about what I consider to be acceptable behaviour for a sub.” His free hand tightened into a fist once more. Wandering off with a dominant that was way out of his league was not acceptable behaviour for a sub, right then, it was hard to consider it acceptable behaviour for a friend either.

“Take a seat,” Hewett offered, apparently quite willing to accept that having some sort of previous acquaintance with the younger man gave Slade some right to claim ownership of him. Either that, or he’d worked out for himself that Rip wasn’t the kind of submissive who’d be able to enjoy the kind of games he liked and wasn’t about to waste energy fighting over him.

Slade sat down on the offered chair. His hand stayed on the collar of Rip’s t-shirt. His friend dropped on his knees on the cushion at the foot of Slade’s chair.

The younger man looked up at him, his expression a mixture of confusion and relief.

“I’m sure he’s very sorry for wasting your time.” Slade glanced pointedly at Rip.

The younger man blinked as he seemed to catch up. He turned his attention back to Hewett. “I’m sorry for wasting your time, sir.”

Hewett nodded just once, before turning his attention back to Slade. “He had permission to come here tonight?”

“No.” Slade left no room for doubt in his answer. If he owned Rip, he wouldn’t have permission to be in the club without his master, let alone flirt with another dominant. If Rip belonged to him, he’d see to it his silly little friend knew exactly who he belonged to.

Hewett smiled. “Sounds like he’s in for an interesting night when he gets home.”

If he’d actually had any pretensions to collaring Rip, Slade knew that he wouldn’t have the slightest hesitation in turning him over his knee right there in the club. A public punishment wouldn’t do a man with Rip’s kinks any harm. Slade had no doubt he was exhibitionist enough that he’d take an audience in his stride and probably even get off on it.

“Unless you’re inclined to stay a while…” Hewett mused. “There are a few new bi dominants on the scene who I believe are quite eager to meet you. Of course, I wouldn’t want to delay anything you felt needed to be dealt with immediately…” He waved a hand towards Rip as he trailed off again.

The submissive twisted his neck, struggling against the hand that still maintained a tight grip on his shirt, as he tried to look over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t…”

A second before the words left the smaller man’s mouth, they’d been perfectly accurate. It wasn’t his place to punish him, it wasn’t his responsibility either.

Slade saw understanding dawn in the submissive’s eyes as he realised he’d just said the one thing which meant there was no way they could keep up the pretence, unless he did exactly that.

Hewett laughed. “You’re right. Still very much at the bratty stage.”

Well, if Rip wanted him to play the part of a pissed off dominant, he was going to get his wish. Slade let go of his friend’s shirt.

“On your feet.”

Rip only hesitated for a second before he did as he was told. He stood squarely before Slade, boots shoulder width apart, his hands folded neatly behind his back. Any tipsiness that had stopped the younger man driving himself home, promptly evaporated as he focused in on the dominant before him.

“Do you remember your safe word?”

Not a single hesitation. “Red, sir.”

It was so commonplace Slade didn’t need to file it carefully away inside his mind. He merely nodded to let his friend know that he would remember it.

“Do you know why you’re going to be punished?”

“For coming here without your permission, sir,” Rip rattled off so fluidly, no one listening could ever have guessed that they hadn’t had a similar conversation dozens of times, before scores of other punishments.

Slade couldn’t help but remember all the times he’d been quite inclined to turn the other man over his knee for some stupid prank he’d pulled. Leaning back in his chair, he invited the submissive to upend himself over his lap.

“Yes, sir.” Their eyes met for a brief moment, Slade didn’t miss the curiosity in his friend’s expression.

A nod at the submissive’s belt made Rip falter for the briefest second, as he realised Slade fully intended to spank him bare. The moment passed, Rip reached for his belt. It only took a few deft motions for him to have it undone. The fly was down a moment later. Slade held the other man’s gaze, studying his eyes. There wasn’t a hint of worry there, just that same inquisitiveness, as if Rip was waiting to see if he would blink or not.

The submissive’s jeans were tight. It took a bit of wriggling for him to get them down, but once he turned himself over Slade’s lap, he settled quickly into position without any extra fuss.

When Slade placed his hand on the top curve of his friend’s backside, every muscle in the submissive’s body knotted up, as if he suddenly found himself unsure how to react to the gentle touch. Slade ran his hand down Rip’s tightened buttocks. He had always been aware the other man had a very nice arse. Offered up to him as it was, it became quite magnificent.

Two pale, perfect globes that begged to be reddened by a master’s hand—by Slade’s hand. He stroked his palm over each cheek, admiring the fair skin that, for a little while at least, belonged to him. His other arm settled itself over the small of his temporary sub’s back, holding him safe and steady.

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