Title: sub/Dom
Author: Rab Green
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: 11/14/2023
Heat Level: 3 – Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 25000
Genre: Contemporary BDSM, businessmen, bears, dark, sex in public places, BDSM
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Description
Twelve hours wearing his collar—that’s how it starts. But where does it lead when you give yourself over to what you want the most? From sessions on cam to real-life meets, from twelve hours to three nights to nine years, handing over control can bring satisfaction and frustration in equal measure, and maybe something deeper than you could ever have hoped for.
Excerpt
sub/Dom
Rab Green © 2023
All Rights Reserved
That first evening on cam he made me beg to be allowed to come.
On my knees, with two fingers inside myself, my cock gripped in my hand, the taste of my own precum in my mouth, balls aching from when he told me to pull on them, nipples as well from when he told me to tease them—he told me to beg to be allowed to come, and I did and he said no.
: time for bed no wanking boy
He smirked again, directly into his webcam, to me, at me, and closed down his camera, exiting chat.
I was still being watched. I’d been on cam for just under an hour. Where his cam window had been on my screen, I could now see the chat windows from other guys who had been watching, I’d heard them ping during, but I’d ignored them. I was still being watched, I was still turned on and wound up and desperate to come, I could stay on and find someone to watch, to watch me, I could—
I closed the laptop and went to bed.
*
There was a direct message from him the next day.
:cam Thursday 10pm
And the access code to see his private photos.
*
He makes me do things.
That’s what I liked thinking, at first—that phrase specifically, but actually: he gives me instructions, and I follow them. He orders me to do things, tells me how to sit and show myself off for the webcam, tells me what to do, and I choose to do them, for him.
That goes on for about a month, on cam for him twice, maybe three times a week.
*
He takes off his leather jacket, hands it to me, says to check-in both our jackets at the bar.
The panic that had abated as I knelt between his legs rises with me as I get to my feet and walk the short distance to the bar. Let the barman be kind is a stupid thing to think, but I do. And the smirk on his face when I hand the jackets across the bar almost does me in, but the smirk is dirty and conspiratorial and a little bit jealous, and more than anything else, encouraging. I take the tickets, say thanks, even manage a smile in return.
He’s on his feet when I turn around; meets me halfway as I walk back from the bar.
“I want to have a look around.”
And I follow him as we go deeper into the club.
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Rab Green is a Scottish writer and artist living in London. He can be contacted via Twitter and his personal website.
Website | Twitter
