––––––––
Setting up the morning of the festival, it quickly became obvious that far more than Darren's pride was going to be warming Miles. And that the leather pants had been a huge mistake.
The look was hot, of course. Even setting up, Miles could feel the gaze of other exhibitors admiring him and Darren. It was different from being admired as Darren's sub. It was tempting to look away and pretend it wasn't happening, but that wasn't going to help him engage and get to know new people. Instead, he tried to channel Darren, acknowledging admiring glances with a smile and a nod.
His pants were hot, and they were also quickly becoming the other kind of hot. The mid-June day was clear and sunny. Setting up on asphalt and concrete made the temperature even hotter. The charity had brought in misting fans, which hung from the top back corners of the tent, but they could only do so much. From the sweat already trickling down the back of his neck, Miles could tell it was going to be sweltering.
"I don't know if I can keep these pants on," he said as Darren finished knotting a blue rope harness around his torso, positioned to accentuate his pecs and abs. "I'm going to startdripping." God, why hadn't he thought about the heat? Would chaps have been better after all? Utility shorts?
"Strip down to your underwear?" Darren had already stripped down to nothing but his own jute harness and an army green and mesh utili-kilt.
"I can't be that naked in public. Especially not today." Miles felt far more comfortable being seen at events than he had in the beginning. Since the custody battle, he and his ex-wife had managed to settle into a fairly civil truce for the kids' sake. It was probably because she'd decided Miles had been a poor, pathetic closeted gay for the entire duration of their marriage, but it was easier not to correct her.
He felt comfortable enough to start doing certain events without the mask and black Lycra sleeves that hid his tattoos. Still, they were doing this for charity, and it definitely didn't feel right to be running around in nothing but y-fronts.
"Maybe grab something from one of the vendors before things get going?" Darren suggested.
Miles stepped out of the tent to look up and down the street. Vendors hurried to finish setting up while volunteers moved signage. The crew manning the watersports pool at the end of the block were spraying down the asphalt with hoses, hoping to beat the heat.
Someone was smoking weed somewhere, the skunky resin mixing with the smell of frying oil. The sizzle from the food trucks and the whir of margarita blenders were just the beginnings of the chaos the street was about to be.
"I... don't think I have time for that."
"We have some extra booth boy spanks if you're interested." The owner of the rope booth had introduced himself as Michael, a warm, friendly bear of a man with incredibly luxurious long hair. He held up a pair of camo print spanks with "BOUND & PROUD" in rainbow block letters across the ass.
Miles took them from him, examining the fabric. It was a thick, high-quality athletic spandex, at least, but... "I'm not sure I'm going to feel any less naked in these than my underwear, to be honest."
"But they're not underwear, and you'll be way less sweaty," Michael pointed out encouragingly.
"He has a point, love." Darren leaned in, lowering his voice. "I think you'd make an incredible booth boy."
"I could lend you some of our tactical gear to model if it'll help you feel less naked," Michael added. "Since you helped us unload and set up."
"Clearly I'm outnumbered," Miles said with a sigh, and started to unbuckle his pants.
Darren stepped closer as he did, resting a hand on the back of his neck just below his collar. "You'll do fine today, no matter what you're wearing, alright? You're ready for this. And I'll be right here whenever you need me."
Miles nodded, exhaling some of the built-up stress. "Thanks, love."
The spanks were a bit tight, but not uncomfortable. In truth, Miles preferred the support, adjusting himself inside his underwear to try to minimize the obvious bulge.
"Oooh, looking good, Miles." Sarah had just pulled off her maxi dress to reveal a black, tight-laced mesh waist cincher and bikini bottoms. On top, she wore a pair of star-shaped pasties and an impressively elaborate black rope bra that made her full, bare breasts look amazing. Her copper skin shimmered with some kind of glittery suntan lotion. Miles wished he felt half as comfortable in his gear as she seemed.
"You're looking great, too," Darren told her, before looking Miles up and down with a low whistle. "And Miles is lookingverygood."
"Those fit amazingly, Daddy. See if this'll work," Michael passed over a utility belt with two thigh holsters attached.
Miles opened his mouth to protest that he wasn'tthat kindof daddy, then pushed away the complaint to focus on the belts. At least he'd worn his fair share of this kind of gear from his cop days. The rigging was far less heavy-duty, but still familiar and reassuring. As he tightened the anchor straps around his thighs, he couldn't help but admire the effect of the black webbing, tight against his thigh muscles, digging into his flesh as he flexed. Despite the lack of clothing, he still felt in charge.
"Jesus Christ, you look incredible in that."
Miles turned back to his husband, feeling a rush of arousal and adrenaline at once. Would he ever get used to the way Darren looked at him?
He stood on display without being prompted, lifting his arms to lace his fingers at the base of his skull and standing straight, chest out. "Do I pass muster, Sir?"
Darren's tongue darted out to wet his lips as he looked him up and down. He ran his fingers along one of the thigh holsters before tugging at the waistband of the spanks with an approving hum. Then he leaned in to nuzzle Miles's ear. "You'd better ask me that later if we're going to get anything done today."
Once the festival gates opened, Miles was surprised at how quickly things got busy. The road between the rows of booths was almost immediately filled with festival goers - slower ones on the outside browsing the booths, while a faster-moving midstream made their way towards the spanking booth, or in the opposite direction for the surprisingly popular watersports station and the distant, bumping bass of the performance stage.
