Obsession

ManLoveRomance Press LLC

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 64,000
0 Ratings (0.0)

OBSESSION takes a penetrating look at man-to-msn BDSM relations, always evolving and diversifying, at masters and slaves, friends and enemies, in the dramatic climax to Tarquin and Paul's Leather family story.

OBSESSION is the third novel about Tarquin and Paul, Masters and slaves, friends and enemies in today's Leather BDSM world. A penetrating look at the dynamics of man-to-man sexual relationships, always evolving and diversifying, it provides a powerful and dramatic conclusion to the trilogy of LEATHER MASTERS and slaves.

Submissive Rufus is pulled between his television career and his turbulent sex life with his Master, Paul. When he runs back to England, it is Tarquin who must follow him and, accompanied by James Villier, his sexual rival and Rufus' agent, he tracks the boy down through his previous experiences as a "rent-boy".

In London, after a sex-filled night with James, Tarquin meets a potential new slave, who is to join the household back in Los Angeles.

But Rufus turns away from his Master, Paul, and now fixates on Tarquin. His obsession gradually becomes a mania that leads to the violent and shattering climax.

Obsession
0 Ratings (0.0)

Obsession

ManLoveRomance Press LLC

Heat Rating: Sextreme
Word Count: 64,000
0 Ratings (0.0)
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Excerpt

I flung his buff body onto the leather seat of the sling. Rufusboy

didn't have much choice. He was tightly bound into a thick black

straitjacket, arms crossed over his heaving chest, straps running past

his shaved genitals to hold the leather in place.

I stood back for a moment. I could feel my heavy steel tit rings

shaking on my own torso as I drew a sharp breath. My erect prick

thrust out from my naked crotch. Tight leather chaps and tall boots

encased my muscled legs and feet. Paul Everest wanted Rufusboy

McLachlan, wanted to take him in the worst possible way. I wanted

to fuck him hard. We were both panting with excitement. Rufusboy's

puckered hole looked ready for lube and my cock.

It had only been a couple of hours since I picked up my

wandering boy, Rufusboy, at LAX. I waited eagerly for him to be

disgorged into the arrivals hall of the Bradley Terminal with the rest

of the passengers that had arrived on the British Airways flight from

London. Rufusboy's well-built body was easy to spot. His russet hair

was slightly longer than when he'd left Los Angeles a month before.

There was a flurry of attention from the crowd. I cursed silently.

When I'd first met Rufusboy in Britain, the previous spring, I had

been on assignment for my job as a creative graphics designer in

Los Angeles. I had left Tarquin, my partner and previous Master,

behind for my first visit abroad. The attraction to Rufusboy has been

instantaneous. During a horny weekend in the country, I wasted

no time in tying the boy up and having sweet and violent sex. He

certainly seemed to have enjoyed the events that weekend.

I hadn't known that Rufusboy was an emerging television star,

rising from college "rent-boy" to be a leading actor in a hit British

TV series. That fact didn't really interfere with our developing a new

relationship as Master and boy in London, where I was working

temporarily. His show had already been completed and aired in the

UK. The Spycatcher series had been picked up for US distribution and

the rights sold for an American version.

With the agreement of Tarquin Charlton, my partner and lover,

I had been happy to invite Rufusboy to stay with us in our Hancock

Park home while he came over to the States for a short vacation and

a chance to audition for the leading role in the American series.

Tarquin, a leading entertainment industry attorney and James

Villier, one of his closest friends (and sexual rival), a major fi lm and

television agent, were able to open doors for Rufusboy. Still he had

won the role on his own talents--or so I thought.

Almost immediately, the tentacles of television stardom reached

around Rufusboy, pulling him away from my influence. James

had hosted a party to celebrate my boy's success. The other men

in attendance wanted to hump his ass and dick his other opening,

during the resulting orgy that ensued. I was shaken. The wheels of

possible fame began to turn with schmoozing and favors. Rufusboy

seemed to welcome it all. As I thought back on it later, in Britain

Rufusboy had seemed less susceptible to these outside influences.

Perhaps the volatile seeds had been planted there, the result appearing

more visibly in LA, with the promise of greater TV fame and sexual

adventures through an American series.

Yes, I was possessive. I'd devoted time and effort to training

Rufusboy to meet my demands, in both London and now in LA.

I grew increasingly depressed when my boy prepared to go back

to London to close out his British apartment and professional

commitments. In the month Rufusboy was away, my mind had not

changed. I had been almost celibate; well, apart from making violent

love with Tarquin several times and jerking off when I needed to.

Now in my mid-thirties, I knew I was an imposing almost sixfoot,

well-muscled Master, with a major leather kink. I counted the

days before my boy returned. My moods fluctuated, making it not

only difficult to concentrate on my growing professional graphics

duties, but also making me a poor companion at home.

At LAX there had been a brief hug before Rufusboy pulled

away. Okay, I was aware that there was a crowd around. In the car,

driving back to Hancock Park, my hand groped the boy's crotch.

Once we were off the freeway, I insisted that Rufusboy unbutton

his 501s and pull out his large and already throbbing cock and balls.

I reached over to massage that choice penis. When I turned off the

car in the driveway of our Hancock Park home, I ordered my boy

out of the Cadillac and down on his knees to worship his Master's

boots, outside the side door. Conveniently, Tarquin had a screening

to attend that evening. He had taken his slave, Grant, for company.

That left the house vacant for us to get reacquainted.

Once inside, I allowed the returnee to warm up my tumescent

penis with his mouth. Rufusboy slobbered eagerly on his Master's

dick. But only for fi ve minutes; then, I slapped him across the

head, ordering him to pull out and to follow me down into the

basement dungeon. Once there, I watched Rufusboy look around

in the diffused light at the familiar devices--the bondage bench, St.

Andrew's cross, ropes, chains, pulleys and the glimmering leather

sling. We undressed. I slid into my ‘working' leather chaps and

Wesco boots. Rufusboy stood straight and proud, wearing only his

boots and a heavy metal cock ring, which did nothing to reduce the

pulsing of his prick.

"So, boy, you behaved yourself while you were in London? No

returning to your sluttish ‘rent boy' habits?"

"No, Sir, I kept myself almost exclusively for you, Sir."

That annoyed me. "What the fuck does that mean, ‘almost

exclusively?"

"Sir, my former Master, Sir Norman, you remember him. He's

also my British agent. Well, Sir, he requested a farewell session."

"Oh shit, another of his costume parties, I suppose."

"Yes, Sir. I met with him on a couple of evenings and did the

‘cops and robbers' scene, Sir."

"If your past stories are anything to go by, you must have fucked

each other."

"He wore a rubber, Sir, at my insistence. And so did I."

"Yeah, you just couldn't keep your wick clean for me, could you,

boy?"

I knew I was pushing it, but I couldn't help it. My mind was fi lled

with the frustration and fear that I felt about losing him, losing my

boy to the world of television and its viewers. My emotions churned

my insides, yet inflated my cock.

"Stand here with your hands out--you're going into this

straitjacket. Go ahead, slip it on. I'll cinch the fastenings in back.

Slide your arms into the sleeves and cross them over, so I can buckle

them in the back."

I pushed Rufusboy hard, trying to work off my angry mood.

"Spread those legs. Let's get the bottom straps past that bouncing

dick and joined up behind. I'm glad to see you kept your equipment

and your ass shaved and clean."

"Oh, yes, Sir, I shaved last night, so I'd be smooth for you, Sir."

Rufusboy charmingly confi rmed.

I wasn't taken in by his facile charm. "Yeah, maybe. Let's get the

buckles tightened and the collar fastened 'round your neck. That's

better. Fuck, but you do look hot and vulnerable. My cock seems to

think so, too. So, let's heave you into the sling and lube you up for

action."

"Sir, yes, Sir. Whatever my Master wants."

"I hope I can believe you, boy."

I manhandled him into position in the sling, running ropes under

his armpits and hauling him up to reach the chains. He grunted

as I spread his legs into the stirrups. I then shoved two well-lubed

fi ngers into the hole I knew so well. He groaned and wriggled to

accommodate the third digit that I thrust into him. I stretched and

checked the passageway, then pulled out my fi ngers and lined up my

own eager prick, sliding it up and down his asscheeks to smooth out

the lubricant I'd applied all over my hard and bare tool. I had decided

I was going to breed him, to fuck him bareback.

Rufusboy sighed as my cockhead sank home, spiraling rapidly

up that familiar shaft. He sweat in the straitjacket as I ran my hands

over the smooth, black leather. He knew my rhythms and his ass

muscles began to clench in response to the fuck he was taking. My

arms moved over to maneuver the sling's upper chains. I thrust

myself forward, fi lling him completely. Then my prick slid down, as

I pushed the sling away from me.

We were both trembling with desire and excitement, were panting

and moaning, pulsating and clenching. I was breeding my boy anew,

to remind him who his true Master was. He was sliding and slithering

as far up the leather seat as the straitjacket and restraints would allow,

in preparation to receive my seed.

I was on fi re with lust, now able to forget my anxieties, as I

pumped hard into his passage. My previous sexual experience with

Rufusboy enabled me to slide in and out with increasing force and

rapidity. I knew I had a hot boy ready to be reclaimed. I ripped the tit

patches off the straitjacket, then reached in to pull long and hard on

his nipples, timing my actions to the thrusts of my thumping cock.

His pain at penetration was turning into pleasure as he began to

buck beneath me, heaving and panting in the sling. My balls could

stand it no longer. I yelled, cursed, poured my cum into Rufusboy's

innards, which eagerly awaited my gift. Almost simultaneously, I felt

his body spasm. His dick spewed his own cream, over his panting

and leathered chest, in great white gobs.

My body slithered over his, as we sweat and grunted together.

Gradually, I calmed down and my cock slipped out of the warm

hole it had been pleasuring. I looked deeply into his eyes. They held

mine momentarily, then looked down in submission. I smiled in satisfaction.

The sling stopped swaying and I slowly released him.

"Welcome home, Rufusboy. That felt good!"

"Sir, thank you, Sir. My body needed your seed back in it as a

reminder that my Master and I have this special relationship."

"And long may that continue. Now let's get you out of the jacket,

cleaned up, and a newly greased plug back in you. Even you must be

tired after that long flight and a good fuck."

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