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.
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 â€˜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 â€˜rent boy' habits?"
"No, Sir, I kept myself almost exclusively for you, Sir."
That annoyed me. "What the fuck does that mean, â€˜almost
"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
â€˜cops and robbers' scene, Sir."
"If your past stories are anything to go by, you must have fucked
"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,
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
"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."