Page 66 of The Menagerie

“Right, I remember Clover saying that when I joined.” He folds his arms over his chest, looking for something to do with his hands. “How often do those come up?”

“A few times a month, usually. There’s an Events tab on the app that you can check out.”

“Got it.”

She rapidly types something on her computer before looking back up at him with a radiant smile. “All set, same room as last time.”

“Is that his usual or somethin’?”

She purses her lips to the side momentarily, one sharp cheekbone casting a shadow across her jaw. “Mmm, sorta. From what I remember, he sticks with one room per Dom and switches when he gets a new one.”

“Huh.”

Interesting. Rowan wonders if that’s typical for subs in general or a quirk of Mal’s. It almost sounds like something you’d do when you break up with someone and start dating someone new. Which, in a way, their Dom/sub relationship kind of is. Mal had been with someone before Rowan, and probably someone before him, and while there isn’t the same romantic connection as you’d have with a traditional dating relationship, there must still be some of that lingering discomfort about fucking someone in the same place as someone else.

But maybe not. This is a sex club, after all. A place of business transactions.

Rowan dwells on it throughout his customary single beer, not even bothering to finish it completely. He makes idle conversation with Jeremiah, rejects the advances of an attractive silver fox, and keeps a mental tally of how many people an enthusiastic twink makes out with on the dance floor.

Barely fifteen minutes later, Mal appears by his side and skips a drink altogether, opting to lead Rowan straight into the back rooms with little more than a “Hey” and a nod.

IN THEGold Room, Mal flings his messenger bag down on the bed and unzips it in three quick movements, opening it like a briefcase. Inside are numerous bulging pockets, the contents of which Rowan can’t see, plus several toys nestled in the middle.

“Brought some shit,” Mal tells him unnecessarily.

He pulls out a pair of black leather cuffs, each a little over two inches wide with a silver buckle on one side and a D-ring on the other, connected by a sturdy-looking metal connector that clips on to each ring. As Mal had told him before, the inside is lined with short black fur that looks almost like velvet. Next to the cuffs he places a long string of silicone anal beads, identical to the ones they’d looked at last time in the toy cabinet. Finally he places down a bottle of strawberry-flavored lube.

“Strawberry, huh?” Rowan comments. “That your favorite?”

“The other flavors taste like ass, man. And not in a good way.”

Rowan mentally slaps himself for nearly forgetting. Forgetting thattonight, he’s gonna fuck Mal’s mouth after he fucks his ass.

He’s gonnacomein his mouth after he fucks his ass.

He remembers how greedily Mal had swallowed each load at the gangbang, how delicious he looked with come coating his tongue and lips and dribbling down his chin.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Rowan tells him, finally.

He feels his dick give an interested twitch as he picks up the cuffs to examine them. He unclasps them from one another, turning one over in his hands, feeling the softness of the fur and the smoothness of the leather and the cold bite of the metal clasps. He flicks open the clasp, testing it several times to get the feel for it. Going through the motions.Pull, flick, clasp, tighten. Repeat. Pull, flick, clasp, tighten. Repeat.He practices a few more times, until his fingers slide over the material confidently.

Comfortable in his ability to open the cuffs quickly should the need arise, Rowan places them aside. Looks up to find Mal staring intently at him.

“You good, Boy Scout?”

The flush comes to Rowan’s cheeks against his will at having been clocked on his brief dalliance in the Boy Scouts because of some damncuffs.

“Yeah.”

Mal half zips his bag and places it atop the supply table on the other side of the room.

When he returns, Rowan asks, “Since this is gonna be a bit more involved than our last scene, do you want me to check in throughout? Like, ask for your color?”

Mal chews his cheek in consideration.

“I normally don’t ask for that unless it’s a scene that I think will push me to my limit or it’s somethin’ I haven’t done before. But is that something you wanna do?”

“Maybe?” Rowan replies, hating how uncertain he feels.

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