Free Little Square of Cloth by Sean Michael Page B

being so nice, so yeah, maybe he would. Was that dangerous?
    “Why don’t you think about it while we have our beer?” Rupert suggested.
    “I can do that.” He totally could.
    “Excellent. So tell me a little bit about yourself, Peter.”
    “I’m a web designer. Tech guy.” Geek. “You?”
    “No shit? That’s cool. I’m a photographer and do a lot of digital special effects with the pictures I take.”
    “Oh. Oh, really? You do art stuff or portraits?” Peter leaned forward, one leg curling under him.
    “Mostly art stuff.”
    How cool was that? “Wow. I love photography. I shoot backgrounds and stuff, even sold some stuff on the stock sites.”
    “Looks like we have some interests in common,” noted Rupert. “More than just in the bedroom.”
    “I didn’t even know it was real. I thought it was fantasy, like... I don’t know...” This place. This man. This whole thing.
    “Just stroke off material?” Rupert smiled and shook his head. “No, it’s very real. And you’re a bottom. Your friend at least got that right.”
    “I-- It turns me on, the stuff online.” It made him hard. Mind you, not as hard as Rupert made him.
    “It turns me on, too. I loved it when you called me ‘Sir’ earlier, even though I know it was just for show in front of the Doms I was rescuing you from.”
    Peter looked over and licked his lips, his cock hard as a rock. Rupert’s hand landed on his thigh, warm, solid, feeling fucking huge.
    “Sir.” Heat soaked through his leg from Rupert’s hand.
    “Mmm.” Oh, the word was a low growl that settled right in Peter’s balls.
    What was he doing? Christ, he needed.
    “I can smell you,” murmured Rupert, hand moving up his thigh toward his cock.
    “Oh, God. I’m sorry. I showered. I did.”
    “Oh, baby, that wasn’t a complaint. Just the opposite.” Rupert’s hand reached the very firm bulge in his jeans, long fingers stroking him through the material.
    His eyes went wide, and he cried out. “Oh, please. I’ll embarrass myself.”
    Rupert’s hand stilled. “There are back rooms where we could... relieve the pressure.”
    “Back rooms?” Those were real, too? Peter was going to short right out.
    “Somewhere a little more private, hmm?” Rupert’s smile was so warm.
    “Yes...yes, Sir.” This was probably a terrible idea, but he was so tempted.
    Standing, Rupert shielded him from the rest of the bar and held out a hand to him. He took it and followed Rupert, but it was hard to walk; his cock was full and aching. Rupert kept him moving, though, and they went through a door a few booths down from where they were. It was quieter back here, a long corridor with several doors.
    “I... I always expect bars to be dirty in the back.” Not just kinky bars, but all bars, really.
    “Some of them might be. This one isn’t.” Opening one of the doors, Rupert checked first, then drew him in.
    It wasn’t terrifying. It was a simple room. Just a room. The light was low, and Rupert turned it even lower, moving them to the wide couch sitting against one of the side walls. There wasn’t much other furniture in the place. A bench, a table, the couch they were standing beside.
    It was intimate, quiet, and Peter stared at Rupert. The man was muscled, broad shouldered, wearing a tight t-shirt and leather pants. A wet dream made flesh.
    Standing there, Rupert stroked his right cheek. “Tell me, Peter, have you ever been kissed?”
    This was so embarrassing. “My prom date in high school. It didn’t go well.”
    “Well, if you’re going to kiss a girl...” Rupert winked.
    “Yeah. I’m not the bravest guy.” He’d fantasized about kissing a man forever, but he wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to simply expire.
    “I think you’re doing just fine, boy.” Rupert tilted Peter’s head slightly and slowly, so very slowly, brought their mouths together.
    Their lips met, and Peter whimpered and creamed his jeans like a teenager.
    Groaning, Rupert slid his tongue across