Both Sons of Tallav books are on sale now at Loose Id for $4.99. To celebrate, I'm posting a glimpse at Maon for my May Tuesday tease.
The G-string Maon wore was riding up and annoying him. He squirmed, wishing he could reach back and scratch. Randolph liked a show, so Maon put the friggin’ thing on as well as black leather pants. Face it. Shaking his booty for the ladies was fun. One little performance and women would chase him for days. They went for his choirboy good looks and his bad-boy smiles. He chuckled. The Whip Hand was a great place to find kinky women.
First he had to beat Randolph’s challenge. He winced at the remembered ache in his nuts when he considered the possibilities that Randolph would employ in his latest predicament bondage scene. No doubt about it. Randolph always devised some new method of torture. Maon sneaked his hand down to cup his balls, giving them a little stroke of comfort. Someday he’d put Randolph in predicament bondage, and they’d see who the better man was.
Like that would ever happen. Despite his ordinary, nondescript looks, Randolph, owner of the Whip Hand, had a charisma that mesmerized even the most difficult people into doing exactly what he willed. Not that Maon needed mesmerizing to take up Randolph’s gauntlet. They were friends, and when Randolph had needed someone to help in a predicament bondage scene, Maon had been hesitant to assist him. After all, what was in it for Maon? He wasn’t into Randolph, and he didn’t like pain. When Randolph turned it into a challenge with a hot female sub as a prize, Maon’s reluctance had evaporated. Now it was a given that Randolph would offer Maon a new sadistic challenge whenever Maon made it to Beta Tau. The public play space was already crowded with tourists of every stripe, from lifestyle kinksters to the merely curious. The Whip Hand was a place to indulge your fantasies or explore new possibilities. Only the serious-minded would complete the security registration that allowed them to enter the private play space and individual rooms beyond the public areas. Maon spotted Randolph heading toward him. A woman who looked familiar to Maon was following him, but she darted into the locker room before he could get a good look at her. He turned back to the scene he’d been watching.
“You ready?” Randolph asked when he strode up to where Maon was observing a younger man using a single tail to make a submissive shriek in fear. With each crack, she screamed even though the whip had yet to touch her.
“He’s good,” Maon said.
Randolph crossed his arms over his chest. “Trained him myself.”
“What? Mind fucks or the whip?”
“Both actually.” Randolph’s face lit with a smirk. “We’re over here.” He pointed to another of the small stages around the edge of the room. “I gave Shane the main stage. He’s got some plan to tie eight subs together in a ball.”
As Maon approached, he noticed a woman some would call chubby, but he thought of as lush, sitting on the top step.
“Kaylee, this is Maon. Maon, Kaylee. She’s generously agreed to be your prize if you win.” Randolph gave Kaylee a heated look.
“Hello, Kaylee.” Maon offered her his panty-melting grin. Her large brown eyes had met his when they were introduced, but the instant he smiled, they lowered.
“Hello, Sir.” A smile tickled her lips.
“I look forward to spending time with you, Kaylee.”
Long dark braids floated around her shoulders and brushed the tops of coffee-colored breasts held snug along with her generous curves in a midnight-blue corset. Her full plum-ripe mouth lifted in a brief curve.
Randolph gave him a tap on the arm. “Stop bragging and get onstage. Strip for the audience. Then stand over by the weights.”
Maon ignored the wicked sneer on Randolph’s face. “Hey, it’s not my fault I cast a shadow across that Dom-master aura you lay on the ladies.”
“In your dreams, prick. Now get moving.”
Maon chuckled and took center stage to start his striptease. A small crowd soon built while he turned slowly, stripping off his leather pants and waggling his ass at them. He bent over at the waist and smoothed his hands along his legs, caressing his butt cheeks before peeling the sides of the thong down. With a twist, he winked over his shoulder and spun. His thumb held the G-string so his cock was pulled down but not showing. After a few more wiggles and thrusts of his hips, he whipped the scrap down and shimmied until it dropped to his ankles. His semierect cock hung long, as did his balls.
A group of lady tourists fought over the scrap of cloth when he kicked it to them. He stood, arms akimbo, shaking his head, waiting for the winner of the scramble to look his way. When she did, raising the G-string in triumph, Maon blew her a kiss with a wink and went to where Randolph had directed.
Randolph slapped him on the ass. “Time to suit up.”
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