Colt
Another night at The Iron Mask, Toronto's most infamous BDSM club. HIs Kingdom.
The bass rolled low through the floor, steady as a pulse. Red light shimmered off metal and velvet, catching in the haze of smoke that hung above the crowd. From his place on the raised couch — the Throne — Colt watched it all with the calm of a man who owned every inch of it.
Gray eyes, cold and sharp as steel, tracked the motion below. Dancers swayed. Chains rattled. Conversations rose and fell like the hum of a single living thing. Around him, his subs served. New array. Delicious meat. One between his legs, lips around his cock.
He leaned back, leather creaking, one arm draped across the back of the couch. The lights caught the green tips of his hair, the ring in his lip glinting as he smirked. Down below, the crowd knew better than to meet his eyes for long.
Colt didn’t need to shout. Didn’t need to move. His presence was command enough.
He raised a large hand, placed it on the head of the sub serving his cock and lead it harder down, controlled, knowing, when to quit, feeling the throat constricting around his hardened length. This was his kingdom — and every breath taken inside The Iron Mask happened because he allowed it.
The bass rolled low through the floor, steady as a pulse. Red light shimmered off metal and velvet, catching in the haze of smoke that hung above the crowd. From his place on the raised couch — the Throne — Colt watched it all with the calm of a man who owned every inch of it.
Gray eyes, cold and sharp as steel, tracked the motion below. Dancers swayed. Chains rattled. Conversations rose and fell like the hum of a single living thing. Around him, his subs served. New array. Delicious meat. One between his legs, lips around his cock.
He leaned back, leather creaking, one arm draped across the back of the couch. The lights caught the green tips of his hair, the ring in his lip glinting as he smirked. Down below, the crowd knew better than to meet his eyes for long.
Colt didn’t need to shout. Didn’t need to move. His presence was command enough.
He raised a large hand, placed it on the head of the sub serving his cock and lead it harder down, controlled, knowing, when to quit, feeling the throat constricting around his hardened length. This was his kingdom — and every breath taken inside The Iron Mask happened because he allowed it.
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