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Junta was on the edge of boredom. His manager Taguchi, had pulled strings to get him into the Star Club, assuring him that it was the most exclusive of its kind in the city.
"You'll see skin, sex, scenes, it's wild, but it's controlled too. No drugs, anyone drunk gets escorted out if they try to do something you need to be sober for like a whipping, and if you get blacklisted there, forget it. You never get allowed back and word gets around fast. Membership fees are high, but the subs there are stunning. Their training takes months and their contracts cost more per month than I make in a year. Not that I'm saying you don't pay well!"
"I'm not interested in joining. Or a contract. I'm just…"
"Curious? Listen, Azumaya, it's my job to see you're happy and you're not happy so let's fix it. Your profile shows you're naturally dominant, so have a night out playing with someone who knows how to make you feel good, huh?"
The club was everything he'd been promised, discreet, tasteful, luxurious, expensive –and against that background a whole lot of naked or near naked subs, collared, kneeling, serving their owners in any way asked of them.
Junta's gaze drifted over the room he was in, one of the more restrained spaces. A sub sucking off a man chatting to a friend, drink in hand, one over a knee getting a brisk spanking, and though there was a whipping post in the center of the room, he hadn't seen it used. Mostly, it was men socializing.
He took a sip of his drink, cool, fresh water with no ice and no flavorings. It was harder to get that right than a complex cocktail judged by how often he was handed a glass of lukewarm, chemical-tasting water with ice cubes to the brim and any amount of garnishes. People didn't listen.
A loud voice broke through the muted chatter and the red-haired man at the piano in the corner brought down his hands, striking the keys with a discordant smash. Junta eyed him with a flicker of interest. He wore a collar, but he was fully dressed in a suit, though the jacket was tossed carelessly over a chair and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, shirt buttons undone, exposing his chest.
The man who'd disturbed him was tall, good-looking in a sleazy way, and in his mid-twenties maybe. His light brown hair flopped over his face and his brown eyes had a glint to them. Junta noted the tiny beauty mark on his chin and decided it'd make a useful target if he ever punched the guy.
Now why had his mind gone there?
"That's Ayagi. His family's rich, but he's on the edge of being disinherited. So many scandals…"
"Mm." Junta tuned out Taguchi, deciding he'd finish his drink and leave. There was no one here who'd come to close to making his cock twitch, let alone harden. Same as ever, same as always…
A ripple of interest passed through the room, nothing much, subtle, soon gone, but Junta responded to it, senses quickening. Who had caused…oh, there.
The sub was dark-haired with deep blue eyes and a slender frame. His collar was too thick for that elegant neck and he was dressed, if that was the word, in a flutter of blue silk, wrapped around his body but leaving his clamped nipples and imprisoned cock on view. He carried a silver tray with a single drink, a tall glass, filled to the brim with something pink and sparkling.
Junta's chest hurt. He wanted. He wanted so much he couldn't gather his desires into a single coherent sentence. He wanted to tear everything away and leave that body naked, touched only by his hands, his mouth, claimed by his cock. He wanted to see those blue eyes swim with tears, that pretty mouth say his name, scream it, whimper it…
"Don't stare at him too long or someone will notice," Taguchi hissed. "Not good manners. That's Takato. He's Ayagi's sub."
No, he's mine.
Junta set his glass down. "How do I—"
Taguchi wasn't listening. "See that cock cage he's wearing? That brand of chastity device comes with a built in butt plug. Any moment now, Ayagi will hit the remote and the glass will go flying and Takato will end up getting whipped in public. I've seen him do it before."
Junta controlled his reaction. Some subs liked games like that. Not for him to judge. "Is that their shared dynamic?" Wasn't he polite when his throat ached with the need to say Takato's name?
Taguchi shrugged. "It's Ayagi's, for sure. Takato? Well, no. I mean, when a sub's into something, you can tell. There's a glow to them. Takato's eyes are dead. Ayagi bought him for a year, but when it's over next week, I doubt Takato will sign up again. He's close to breaking. Shame. I'd say he had the potential to be stunning, but some owners just don't know how to handle a sub."
Junta slid his gaze to Ayagi, whose smirk was spreading across his face. He slipped a hand into his pocket, out of Takato's line of sight. It would happen soon, then.
Junta wondered if what he planned to do would get him thrown out and banned. Did he care? No.
Three strides brought him to Takato's side and he took the tray from him an instant before Takato jerked and cried out as the plug in his ass vibrated. From his reaction, it was on full power. This close, Junta saw the shimmer of pain in those glorious blue eyes, the shadows under them, and the pallor of a sub not cared for properly.
His gaze dropped to the cock cage, clear, rigid plastic, padlocked in place, with a hole at the end to allow the sub to piss. But not to come. How long had Takato worn it?
Ayagi surged out of his chair, red-brown eyes hot with rage. "You! How dare you interfere with an owner and his sub?"
Ignoring Taguchi, who was babbling apologies and explanations, Junta smiled at Ayagi. "Oh, I'm sorry. You wanted the drink spilled, didn't you? Let me take care of that for you." With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the pink froth into Ayagi's face, then set the tray and glass aside. "If you want to whip me for it, well, I don't play those games, sorry. I'll pay for your suit to be cleaned, or buy you a new one. It's cheap enough that replacing it would probably cost me less than the cleaning."
"Oh, you've pushed me far enough, you—"
"Ayagi." The voice was quiet, soft, and yet, even if every voice in the room hadn't been silenced as people watched the drama play out, Junta thought that word would have been heard. "I don't allow fighting in here."
Junta turned. The man beside him was tall, elegant, smoking and wearing glasses. He knew who it had to be. The elusive, powerful owner of the club. The Negotiator. Usaka himself. The man who'd arranged the contract between this slime Ayagi and Takato.
Takato who stood, trembling, eyes lowered, silent.
"I want this sub's contract," Junta said clearly. "I'll buy out whatever he has left with him and you can double your commission or however this works."
"The fuck you will!" Ayagi shouted over a swell of laughter.
"Azumaya!" Taguchi tugged at his sleeve. "It doesn't work like that! Please, let me handle this."
Usaka raised his hand, smoke curling from the cigarette he had smoked halfway. "Quiet. Please. Takato, look at me. Do you want to revoke? You have a new owner interested in you or you can stay with Ayagi or, of course, walk away. Your choice."
Takato had obeyed and looked at Usaka, but now he turned his head, glancing first at Ayagi and then at Junta. "I revoke," he said clearly. "And I want to walk."
Shocked murmurs filled the room but Junta didn't hear them. He'd only heard Takato's rejection. Ayagi dried his face on his handkerchief in swift, angry scrubs, shot Junta a glare that promised revenge, and stormed out, not giving his former sub a glance or word.
Junta stood, frozen, as Takato's collar was removed, the clamps and chastity device eased off, the silk wrap fluttering to the floor. Takato stood, naked for a moment, then the man who'd played the piano appeared, holding a thick robe in midnight blue, long enough that when Takato put it on it fell to his bare feet.
For a moment, Takato held Junta's gaze. Something passed between them then, Junta was sure of it. He let Takato see the longing he felt, the desire, and he swore he saw it reflected back. Then Takato turned and walked away between Usaka and the redhead.
Walked away and left Junta alone.
For now. Because if Junta was sure of anything, it was that they'd meet again.
And when they did, he'd never let Takato go.