Collared and Tied is the go-to BDSM club for Toronto’s gay men. Master Robert has been a member since its inception, enjoying the lifestyle and the way dominating another man satisfies his deepest needs. Lately, though, he’s begun to crave Kevin, a man not in the lifestyle, someone he met in a completely different venue. How can he possibly suggest a power exchange relationship with someone who is not only vanilla, but straight?
Kevin is divorced and worries more about how his business can recover from the pandemic than finding another relationship. His only relaxation is the meetings of the wine club he runs. So why is he noticing the new member so much? There’s no way he would follow another man’s direction, go to his bed, or is there? Does Robert offer him an option he’d never considered before?
I kept a general watch out on the party, interested to see who had come from Vine to Wine, and she was right, I couldn’t see many of my group.
If I was looking specifically for our newest member, it was just to make sure that he was comfortable at his first social. After all, part of my job as secretary-treasurer was keeping the membership happy. If I was honest, Robert Smythe didn’t seem to be the type to need any reassurance; he always came across as entirely in command of himself. I wasn’t sure why he intrigued me as much as he did. He was good looking, not that I cared about that, and clearly intelligent, which I liked. He was the newest member of the club but wasn’t at all shy about expressing his opinions and sharing information. He was clearly confident and self-controlled in a way that I rather envied. I found myself wanting to know him better and wondered if this evening would be an opportunity. I hadn’t made any new friends for a while; I was hoping Robert might be the exception.
Still, I hadn’t had the chance to talk to him at any length during our tastings, and one of the main ideas behind these less formal evenings was to give us the opportunity to mingle. The focus of the evening was on socializing and actually drinking, rather than tasting, spitting, and discussing the wine, as we did during the regular meetings.
“Kevin, good to see you.” Harold from Wine Not? had come up behind Susan. His group was large and was themed around affordable excellence. The idea was that group members would know the best options for a reasonable price, and be able to say, A bottle for dinner tonight? Why not?
“Good evening, Harold, how are you?”
“Fine thanks, and you?”
“I’m as good as ever, thank you. How has your summer been?”
“Very nice, really. We managed several weekends at the cottage, and the boys had a great time at camp.” He turned to Susan. “Sue, I’d like to ask your opinion about caterers. Wendy and I are planning a party for her parents’ golden wedding anniversary, and I’ve always enjoyed the food you provide at your event here.”
“I’ll leave you two to chat,” I said. “Susan, great party as always, and thank you again for hosting.”
I moved further into the room, chatting briefly with people I knew from the other clubs. The first food station was offering a spicy shrimp skewer and a white wine that I didn’t recognize, but, as I would have predicted, they worked beautifully together. I put the skewer down and moved along, sipping the wine. Susan only provided small pours so that we could try several different wines during the evening. After I put the empty glass down, I turned back to look over the assemblage, and the first person whose eye caught mine was Robert.
For a moment we stared at each other, and for some reason it occurred to me again how good looking he was; my height or just a bit taller, broad shouldered and fit. His face was handsome, with lightly tanned skin and piercing grey eyes. A neatly trimmed beard surrounded thin but expressive lips. I had been hoping to see him, but the thrill that went through me was unexpectedly strong. I was about to look away when he jerked his head at me, a gesture that unmistakably said come here. I held the eye contact a fraction longer, but to my surprise started threading through the crowd toward him without making a conscious decision to do so.
Once I reached him, I didn’t know what to say but he just looked at me and said, “Come.”
He turned to the door, and I followed him to the elevator without a word, feeling unsettled and most unlike myself. An odd arousal tingled under my skin and heated my crotch. As the elevator door closed behind us and we started down towards the parking level I blurted out, “I’m straight you know. I, I was married. I’m not gay.”
He looked me right in the eyes and held out his hand toward my face, fingers cupped as though to caress my skin. I felt the heat from his body -- but he didn’t touch me. The utter bastard didn’t touch me and every nerve in my cheek was standing up and begging for contact.
“No?” he said as the car came to a halt, and he shrugged. “I don’t really care.”
