At the top of the staircase, Micah paused and scanned the room. He had not been up here since that night, and a wave of sadness washed through him as he looked around. Nothing had changed. The walls were still darkly paneled, the floor an almost pearlescent silver granite tile. The bar remained at the back of the ballroom-size room. The side walls were taken up with the play stations. Tonight each station had spotlights shining on skimpily clad men who were cuffed and chained to the wall.

At Club Latitude, members played where everyone could see them, or they took their toy and went home. There was a rule that if a Master left the club with a submissive for private play, both men would call in to the club the next morning. There were no private rooms, just a locker room which was used for after-session cuddling as much as it was for a quick shower and changing clothes.

As he crossed the room, Micah glanced left and right, dismissing each chained male as too skinny, too delicate, too blond. His last boy had been blond. His stomach clenched at the thought of playing with another flaxen-haired beauty.

He stopped at the last station on the left before the bar as a raven-haired slave caught his eye. Tall, broad, well-muscled, and tanned, the strong light glinted off what little hair the man had. The sides were super-short and the longer top had been spiked, adding an additional inch to his height. The silky white G-string that encased his cock contrasted nicely with his burnished gold skin.

The black mask covering his eyes was unusual. Checking the others, he saw none of them were blindfolded. Did this play into the boy’s kink? Or was there another reason he wore the mask?

He could work with that, Micah thought before freezing. Was he considering taking this boy home?

His cock jerked and began to fill as the submissive beauty turned on the order of two men who were looking him over. That’s when Micah saw the wings. A foot-wide tattoo centered between his shoulder blades was the detailed wings of an angel. There was another tat on his left ass cheek, but Micah couldn’t make it out from this distance.

Without considering what he was doing, he approached the station where the dark angel was secured. By the time he stopped, a foot from the man’s back, he had changed his plans for the weekend. Something about those wings called to him, made him want to see them move as the slave danced under his toys.

“You’re mine, angel,” Micah said, his voice pitched low and just above a whisper. “I can already see you strung up in my ropes, your skin glowing from my flogger, your cock weeping as you beg me for a release that I may or may not give you.”