Page 2 of Stroke Rate

Blustery wind and snow beat against his body; a body he soon realized he couldn’t move. Something had pinned him; he tried to push at the icy cold object digging into his thigh. Whatever it was, wouldn’t budge, and it was so cold it burned his hands with every touch. The smell of gasoline and smoke, with a strange metallic undercurrent, made him gag and shiver. Cold, I’m so fucking cold.

Turning his head, he saw someone facing him. But the eyes. Empty, lifeless eyes stared back at him; a pale, motionless hand almost close enough to touch. He knew those eyes. He loved those eyes.

“Coop, Coop, Coop?! Coooopp!” River screamed through chattering teeth. His leg hurt so fucking bad—a sharp tearing pain that threatened to steal his breath. He was freezing, shivering uncontrollably, but through it all he could hear Brooke’s weak, shattered voice. A few other moans between her wracking sobs joined her breathless screams of “Coach” over and over. Something had gone terribly wrong. But River’s brain was moving like molasses, too slow to make sense of all the surrounding wreckage. River couldn't get a single breath into his lungs before everything went black as he still strained to reach for Coop.

Chapter one

Chris

Four years later

“Hello Mr. Page, welcome to The Barn.” Phae leaned against the counter, smirking, looking sexy as hell at the entrance to the club. His white-blond hair flowed around his face. Crystal blue eyes sparkled with mischief as they danced all over Chris’ body, then quickly darted to the side as a little fanged tooth bit his bottom lip. His feet were bare as always, long flowing pants clinging obscenely to his groin and thighs as he rocked on his toes. The skin-tight tank spread across his chest and abdomen was so thin Chris could easily make out every ab and see his nipple piercings.

Chris had found The Barn when he was twenty-one after an enlightening sexual experience with an older man, which had opened his eyes to more than random hookups. The older man had asked to be dominated, to be given rules, and to be given clear directions and boundaries on what he could and could not do to Chris and vice versa. It was the first time Chris had had sex and not worried. His body was finally able to relax and enjoy the pleasure, instead of worrying someone would touch him the wrong way. That one sexual experience had unlocked a part of him he never knew how to put into words. In the bedroom, Chris needed control to feel safe and enjoy himself. Before the man left, he told Chris that if he had liked what they had done, he might like The Barn, gave him a card with the address, and left. He was like some weird fairy godmother of kink.

Chris never looked back and had been playing at the club for two years. At twenty-three, he had gotten pretty comfortable being a Dom. Although he used the term loosely when talking about himself, because his only rule was his partner couldn’t touch him unless he had given permission. He also loved to please his partners. It was the one place where he didn’t feel in a constant state of high alert. The Barn was the first place he gained any autonomy over his body, something that had been stripped from him at a very young age.

He looked at the sign hanging above Phae’s head. A gaudy neon thing, blinking The Barn, and laughed to himself. Boulder, Colorado's only kink club was so perfectly Boulder. Decorated in a mix of dark woods and accented with antlers. Neon lights and cowhide couches. A small bar and a stage surrounded by barn doors that led to various play spaces. The space was kind of fancy, but kind of trashy. Chris couldn’t love it more.

“Phae, I told you just call me Chris.”

“Sorry, I can't. Those are the rules.” Phae pointed to a sign with various club rules. Phae not only worked the front but was also a well-known Dom in the community. A sadist who made his partners hurt for him. Chris didn’t want to know the details; the thought of impact play, pain as punishment or pleasure was not his kink. Just the thought of it made him uncomfortable, slightly nauseous. The mere idea of laying hands on another person in that way made him wring his wrists and bite the inside of his cheek. Chris wanted his partners to feel good and have them tell him how good he was at pleasing them. Never to inflict pain.

"Bran is in room 12, Sir. I made sure the room was stocked with everything you need. I’m sure Bran is being a good boy, waiting for you just the way you like him." Phae said, tipping his head, biting his lip with that one sharp little tooth. At that, Chris bid Phea good night before walking further into The Barn, wandering through the bar area and waving at the new bartender, Jackson. He then made his way to the hallway, past the voyeur rooms, dark and unused that night. Room 12 was to his right; he unlocked and opened the door to find a shirtless Bran in black boxer briefs on his knees, hands on his thighs, head down, waiting like the good boy he was. Chris said nothing, locking the door behind him, taking a quick survey of the room, never acknowledging Bran.

He slowly undressed himself, turning towards the lumberjack of a man waiting for his command. Chris looked his fill of Bran's massive body. His head was downcast, neck bent in a beautiful curve, with glossy thick dark hair that he kept longer on top and very short on the sides. Chris loved running his hands through it, pulling it, manipulating his head as he wished. Bran was always malleable, taking whatever Chris doled out, waiting and willing to be whatever Chris needed. Stepping forward, he placed two fingers under Bran's chin, lifting his head and giving him a chaste kiss.

“You are always so good for me, in position waiting so nicely. Phae said you would be a good boy.” Bran’s lips curled at the edges and a light pink bloomed under his thick beard at the praise, or maybe it was the fact that Phae had said he was a good boy? Chris sensed a connection between the two. The mere mention of Phae's name caused a subtle shift in Bran's demeanor. A loosening of muscles, a slight change in his breathing pattern. A tender softness filled his eyes, absent when he and Chris were alone.

He and Bran had been playing together for roughly six months, but had been friendly before that. Chris liked their arrangement: sex and friendship, or friendship adjacent. No true intimacy. They had their rules, a list of hard and soft limits. Chris’ list was very direct and fairly vanilla. Bran’s was much kinkier. Bran would have preferred impact play and various types of pain play along with his submission. But the two of them had vibed so well Bran had been okay without having any impact play, but lately Chris had wondered if he wanted more, or something different. Chris wondered if maybe Phae could give Bran what he needed more than he could. Maybe that’s why Bran had behaved the way he did when Phae was mentioned?

"Such a good boy, Bran." Cupping his cheek, running his thumb over his bottom lip, Bran melted into his touch and praise. He always became so soft with any type of reassurance that he was doing well. "Open," Bran did as he was told, tongue out and flat, saliva immediately running down his chin. Chris stood in front of him, stroking himself, assessing his partner.

Physically, Bran was an intimidating character. He stood tall, even on his knees, perhaps reaching 6'6", with a massive, broad frame covered in a dense pelt of soft hair. But in reality Bran was the softest, teddy bear of a man: kind, generous, and always willing to listen, even if Chris rarely wanted to talk. On his knees, Bran lifted his head, seeking Chris’ gaze in approval. He always had to lean over at a strange angle to take Chris’ cock while standing in front, but Bran always found a way. Folding himself over to lap at the wetness beading on Chris’ tip, Bran moaned at the taste. “Such a little slut for it. Aren't you Bran?” He nodded and shivered, glancing through his thick lashes. Bran kept his hands plastered to his legs. Always so obedient, never using his hands to touch Chris, only his mouth.

The mere thought of Bran’s hand touching him without restraint sent a shiver down his spine. He knew Bran would be gentle, but his body and brain were so programmed and hypervigilant that he couldn’t trust him. After a lifetime of harsh, crawling pain from his mother in the form of both physical and emotional abuse, his nervous system screamed not safe in most situations and with most people. Even if it made little sense. Chris shook the thought from his head, because those thoughts were too painful, too full of shame for the moment.

Chris re-focused on Bran sucking his cock. He was so soft and tender, quietly moaning as he suckled. Chris ran fingers through his hair as he panted and thrust into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. He wanted to go faster to just get off quickly, but Bran was there on his knees waiting like a good boy, ‌and he deserved more. “Up you get, on the bed, let me take care of you.”

Bran stood, pulling off his briefs, to show his cute leaking cock. For being such a large man, he had...Well, his cock was small and cute, nestled into a thick thatch of hair. Chris loved sucking him. Bran’s dick fit perfectly on his tongue. He crawled up the bed, running his hands through the thick hair all over Bran's body. His hair. God, it's like petting an actual bear, he thought as he rubbed his face into his groin.

Chris loved how opposite Bran’s body was from his own. Where Bran was tall and beefy, Chris was what a coach used to call a short, spark-plug of a dude. Bran was all dark hair and light skin; Chris golden skin and light hair. They were a vision together, a play on light and dark. Settling between Bran’s legs, he took his cock to the root in one fluid movement. Bran let out a garbled moan as Chris pulled back to suck on his foreskin, licked a stripe from taint to tip, and back down. Then he spit on his sack, watching it drip down to his hairy, puckered hole. “Fuck, you look good, Bran.”

“Mmhmmm.” Sweet, soft moans fell from his lips.

Chris spat again right onto Bran's hole, using his fingertip to spread the wetness around. Bran wiggled his ass, trying to get Chris to push a finger in.

"You want to come on my cock or on my tongue, Bran?"

"Your tongue, I want your tongue. Please, please, please. Your mouth feels so good, I want your tongue in my hole." Bran squealed as he pulled his knees up to his chest, surprisingly flexible for such a big guy. His knees framed his soft belly, balls hanging loose and soft, cock barely visible, only the head poking out of his pubic hair.

"Yeah Bran, you want me to eat that ass?" Chris said before pulling Bran’s cheeks apart and licking around his rim. Tongue flat, soft through laps over his entrance.

"Fuck yes, just like that. More, more, mmmmph," Bran muttered, releasing a punched-out grunt as Chris used his stiffened tongue to get past the first ring of muscle. He took his time to thrust forward and open him a bit before adding his thumb, using it to pry Bran’s entrance open a bit more. "Fuck, that feels so good. Can I touch myself?" He panted, shaking with anticipation, his balls pulled up tight and hard. “So close.”

Chris humped the bed, rubbing his piercings along the bedsheets. It was a little rough, a little sticky from his precum, but he was so turned on he didn’t bother to care. “Yeah Bran, jerk that pretty little cock, come on my tongue.” He speared in as deep as he could, lapping at his walls, adding a finger to brush along his spot.

“Ohh fuck, oh fuckkking hell, I’m gonna—fucckkkkkk. Ung,” he grunted, clamping down on Chris’ tongue so hard it almost hurt as he jerked himself roughly through his release.