Sal had no intention of going back to their share house with Curtis Ingram, or going with him to his. They wanted to burn this up as quickly as possible, before something went wrong. Before he said something dumb. Before he revealed himself to be privately okay with their pronouns and totally unwilling to back it up in public. Before it all fucked up the way it had for Sal with straight-presenting guys so many times before.
“Jesus,” Curtis ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, of course I want... as long as you…”
“I’m one hundred percent down,” Sal said, tugging his hand toward the back of the club. “Let’s get a place.”
Sal eyed Curtis.He was standing in the middle of the mirrored room, looking as out of place as a fully dressed dude could at a sex party. It was one of the furthest areas from the main drag of the party and completely empty. At least on this level. Above were glass booths; observation rooms, though by what Sal could see, a lot of them were watching and playing at once. The low pink and blue lights meant the mirrored room wasn’t too tractor-beamy or unflattering, but anyone inside was one hundred percent able to be seen. A pair of twenty-somethings walked up to the glass, and Sal felt themselves expand under the eyes of the new spectators. They’d always been a slut for attention. A shameless lover of exhibitionism and dominance. They loved playing publicly in safe places, and there were few places safer than this. And they were ready. They had ducked into the bathroom to suck three mints, put their underwear outside their garter belt, and collect a condom from the bowl in the sink. They felt sexy and sleek and ready to make a big old mess of Curtis Ingram—if they could.
Sal watched him take a closer look at a low velvet couch. It had built-in Velcro leg and arm shackles, and from the way Curtis was staring, he was definitely keen. He was wearing a perfectly fitted shirt and perfectly fitted jeans, all in perfectly masculine blues and greys. A nice boy, eager to be something he wasn’t. A jock type who probably couldn’t communicate except through alpha bloke behaviour. Sal felt a smile curl the corner of their mouth. If a walk on the wild side was going to happen—and lord, they wanted it to happen—Sal would have to take charge.
“What do you think?” they asked. “Is this room okay?”
He jolted like he’d just been busted touching himself. “I… If you’re okay with it…?”
“I am. How do you wanna do this?”
“What, um, what do you mean?”
Sal put their hands on their hips, and struck the cuntiest pose they knew. “Can I be in charge?”
Curtis gripped one of his sleeves, tugging at the plaid. “I… Yeah. You can do whatever—whatever the fuck you want.”
That was exactly what Sal wanted to hear. Even better than what they wanted to hear, because the way his voice caught was so sweetly submissive it made them a little lightheaded. Acting on instinct, they reached behind themselves and removed their cupless bra. Everything God had given them bounced free, and they peeled off the nipple tassels, revealing the tight, raspberry-coloured beads that had always been Sal’s favourite part of their body.
Curtis’s mouth dropped. “Jesus…”
They stepped closer, the movements feeling fluid as the heat running through them. “Feeling a little out of your depth, huh?”
He gave a strangled laugh. “When it comes to you, I always am.”
“What if I told you I liked you that way? Lost and looking for direction from me?”
He glanced up at where more people had gathered, no doubt intrigued by the match they made—the six-foot-three normie and the five-foot-two enbie in the red lingerie and drag boots. Sal waited for him to run for the hills, but despite the red blazing a path across his neck, he looked strangely determined. He pushed back his shoulders, and Sal noticed how big he was. Not just tall, but broad and muscly. A proper gym bro, probably. Their smile grew wider. “You like being controlled, don’t you, Curtis?”
“I, uh, I dunno.”
“That’s okay.” Sal pointed to the bed. “Take your clothes off and lie down.”
“All of them? Like you want me naked?”
“Is that a problem?”
He shook his head, a smile contradicting his flush. There was desire burning hot in his eyes and a noticeable bulge forming in his jeans, but he tugged harder at his shirt sleeve, not taking it off. Sal decided he needed a push. “I see you, Curtis Ingram. You want to let someone else take the lead.”
He nodded, then shook his head, both motions so miniscule Sal could hardly see them.
“You’re freaked out,” they said, stepping closer. “Super cute, really, but I like anyone who doesn’t know what they want if they’re willing to let me show them whatIwant. So take off your clothes, Curtis. Give in.”
They saw the instant he decided to go there. He undressed slowly, like a proper fucking tease. Toeing off his Docs and socks, slowly unbuttoning his shirt from the top to the bottom. His body was divine. Michelangelo shit. But he avoided meeting their eyes as he dropped his jeans. Sal felt the intoxicating rush of power, that sense that their presence was pulling everything into alignment with their wants and needs. It wasn’t something they felt much in everyday life, and they loved Domming for that reason. Control. Power.
As Curtis stepped out of his jeans, his tight briefs made it clear his cock was at straining point, and there was a lot to work with. Sal’s mouth went dry. “You should think about doing drag. Stripping.”
He looked away, grinning. “I can’t really dance.”
“Well, you can sure take your clothes off. Underwear too, please.”
He yanked down his briefs with a smirk, and Sal understood why he was back to acting like a jock-boy. He had a fantastic dick, thick with an upward curve that had Sal’s pussy clenching.
Curtis reached down and took himself in his hand. “You like that?”
