* * * * *

I take him shopping the following day, not just to spoil him with sexy clothing, though I do that too; seeing him wrapped up is almost as good as seeing him naked as long as I'm the one to control the transition.

Our main destination is a small shop off the main arcade, away from the designer clothes and expensive jewelry, although this is a jewelry store too, but a rather more specialized one. I ring the buzzer, give my name to the intercom, and it opens to accept us.

Owen gasps as he sees the interior, dimly lit with multiple showcases containing beautiful items, usually a mix of leather and metal and jewels.

"I want you to have some new cuffs, Owen I want everyone to know you're mine, and that you're special."

His small hand squeezes mine and he stares with wonder at a showcase full of sparkling adornments; rings and barbells and hooks.

"You want to be pierced?" my voice is a growl; I love nipple piercings and Owen is so responsive – I think of the pleasure I could give him.

"Maybe, Sir. I've been thinking of it. Maybe a tattoo as well. But I knew I couldn't, before."

I know what he means. Daddies often don't like things like that – it takes away the innocence. But whilst I love Owen's reactions to all that play my favorite thing about it is his reactions to the filthy things I say to him and piercings and tattoos simply play into that.

"It's up to you, Bunny, but I think you would look so very sexy with a piercing or two, and it's your body, so I support whatever it is you want to do."

He turns to me, his eyes bright, standing on his toes to kiss me, which quickly turns into us exploring each other's mouths passionately, until we're interrupted by a chaste cough.

"Hello Dr Kemholt, it's a pleasure to see you again," Roland Jones owns this luxurious emporium, and I know he'll help us pick out something perfect.

"Roland, hello," Owen drops into sub, lowering his eyes, though I love the fact that he maintains his confident stance. "Owen, greet Roland."

"Hello Roland, it's nice to meet you," he favors the older man with a flash of his heart-stopping smile and Roland's eyes go to me, wide and impressed.

"We're here for some new cuffs for Owen, Roland, any suggestions?"

He shows us various designs for leather cuffs, and Owen is drawn straight to the design that matches the first one I bought him.

"I still have it, Sir, and it's my favorite design."

"Okay, but these ones should say something more intense, I think," I'm going to leave it up to him though.

The first single cuff had 'Taken' on it in delicate rubies, just to denote he was unavailable for play. But I want these ones to be more about us. He looks up at me with huge eyes and bites his lip.

"How about 'Owned'?" he suggests uncertainly.

"I like that for one of them," I take a small breath, just to steel myself, "but how do you feel about 'Loved' being on the other one?"

His eyes widen immeasurably, in shock and, I realize quickly, when he throws himself at me, regardless of Roland's presence, in joy.

When we've finally paused for breath, and Owen's head is resting on the crook of my neck, Roland suggests we mark out the 'Loved' one in emeralds, to match Owen's eyes, and the 'Owned' one in diamonds, as then the three cuffs can be interchangeable depending on the mood we are in when we play.

Roland goes off to draw up the design for me to sign off, and Owen wanders the room, lightly running his elegant fingers over the glass cabinets. I soon realize he does that when he spots something he's attracted to, as he always pauses for a moment to absorb the sight.

"You like them, Bunny?" I ask as he stares at narrow metal cuffs that look more like delicate bracelets than submissive cuffs.

"They're beautiful," he whispers.

They are, a burnished metal, not quite silver but not quite bronze – almost a matt rose-gold, with intricate designs along the side, Celtic inspired. There is a delicate chain between each open end with a minute lock, so they can either be worn locked, or without the chain and more like bangles.

Roland comes back so I sign the designs, and he tells us it will take a week for them to be hand-produced. Owen smiles but I can tell he's disappointed at having to wait for them. I whisper to Roland and while Owen and I are discussing where to go for lunch he disappears, to reappear with the metal cuffs in his hands.

"Owen," I say, "would you try these on?"

He smiles happily and I slide them onto his narrow wrists, carefully looping the chains and clicking the tiny locks shut. He waggles his wrists, the delicate metal sliding around the fine bones.

"They look amazing, Bunny will you wear them out today?"

"Yes, Sir, I'd love to," his face is already wreathed in smiles, but he gets even happier when Roland presents me with another cuff in the same material, slightly thicker than Owen's pair, and open, though with a tiny key attached to one end.

"Sir?" Roland asks. "Many Doms like to demonstrate the reciprocal nature of their relationship with a matching cuff, and it carries one of the keys so it's always with you."

I look down at Owen's happy face, filled with excitement for what we've begun, and I feel a matching excitement.

"We'll take them."

* * * * *

I ring Frankie, and we arrange to meet him and Ellis at one of the restaurants he owns in Hell's Kitchen – a vibrant and bustling Caribbean joint serving jerk-marinated pork and goat, delicious Pepperpot, and flavorsome rice and peas. As is usual for Frankie's businesses, this one is run by a D/s couple we've been friends with for many years, Emilio and Eddie.

They're waiting for us when we get there, having had to battle midtown traffic since my call with Frankie. Frankie scowls at our tardiness, but Ellis spots Owen's gorgeous new cuffs straight away and starts jumping up and down. Because this is a safe space, Ellis is wearing his daytime collar, a delicate filigreed piece of metal with a glossy opal in the center, almost a necklace choker, but a clear indicator to anyone in the know, particularly when you spot the small lock at the back.

I know Ellis is asking Owen all sorts of personal questions while I catch up with Frankie, as it's been a few weeks since I've seen him anywhere but at the club.

"Glad to see you so happy, mon ami," he wraps one huge arm around me, "though it's taken you long enough to stop denying you're crazy about Owen."

"I know. Call me an idiot if you want. I just didn't think I was what he needed."

"And now you do?"

"Well...yeah. But also, I don't think he'd let me be anything but exactly what he needs."

Frankie bursts into a chest-shaking laugh.

"Well, mon cher, you do like confident submissives. It would seem this one has your number. He even has you cuffed!"

He's laughing, so I don't mind his subtle mockery, but the fact is I have always liked confident subs, and these days it's more than just a preference, it's a need. I believe in Owen's newly demonstrated confidence, I have to, it feels real.

* * * * *

It doesn't take long before we're spending several evenings a week together when Owen is on day-shifts. Although we go to the club every Saturday, it's the nights he spends with me, when he doesn't have work early the next day, that are my favorites.

We easily come to an agreement about how we'll conduct our relationship that seems to be working so far. Owen is a natural submissive, so it's his preference to defer to me, though we have no restrictions on speech or touch unless we're scening. So he calls me Gray, and he's incredibly affectionate, holding hands and dropping sweet kisses on me at random times.

I'm not sure I'd call the sex we have in my house scening, though there is definitely a D/s and a bondage flavor to it. We save the heavier stuff for the playroom at the club, and I have been pushing his responses a little over the last few weeks, to the satisfaction of both of us.

On Tuesday night, we're snuggled down watching some movie. It's a horror – Owen's choice – and he's pressed hard into me, holding my palms up to his face so he can cover his eyes when something scary happens.

"Are you sure you want to watch a horror, Owen?" I chuckle in his ear, before taking advantage of my proximity to suckle at the sensitive point under his ear, making him arch his neck and moan.

"Gray..."

I don't think I'll ever get bored of hearing the way he says that, his soft voice dangerously husky.

But he stops me, covering his neck with his hand and turning to partially face me.

"Gray, you have a playroom, don't you?"

I stiffen at his words. I haven't even opened the door in weeks, haven't even thought of that busy, dark room in almost that long. Certainly since we became a pair. And now he's brought it up I'm wondering how it's stayed so distant from my current thoughts. I love to play with Owen; at the club, in my bedroom – strapping him to my bed and sending him into the stratosphere with toys and with my cock. Why wouldn't I want to play with him harder in my home?

"Do you not want me in there?" I can tell he's trying to sound casual, like it isn't bothering him, but I can tell equally easily that it does.

"I haven't used it...for a long time," I hedge.

"Since Liam?"

"What do you know about Liam?" I ask calmly.

"Not that much. Only what Ellis knows really, and I know he doesn't have all the information."

"No one does. I don't talk about him, even to Frankie. I mean, Frankie knew him pretty well while we were together. But he doesn't know anything except that I caught him trying to seduce Amir at Gavin's wake."

Owen's mouth drops on a perfect 'O' of shock. I wasn't trying to surprise him into silence. I want to share it with him. I don't feel the same way about Owen as I felt about Liam, but it isn't because I don't care about him, and it isn't because my feelings for him aren't intense. I just think that you will never feel the exact same way about two people who are so different.

And Owen is different. Regardless of the strange beginnings of our relationship, of me being oh so certain that Owen was delicate and sweet and an adorable boy, he's shown himself to be feisty and tough and fun, back then, and even more now.

"So you don't use the room because it reminds you of him?"

"Yes. It reminds me of the good times, which makes me sad, because it felt like they'd all been a lie. I'm sorry."

Owen turns more fully, facing me properly. He delicately takes my face between his hands and kisses me softly. I turn it harder, lapping until he permits me into his mouth, where I force his tongue into submission, controlling it until we have to break apart or pass out.

"No way!" Owen laughs. "You're not getting out of this conversation that easily."

"Oh yeah?" I growl back at him. "You just trying to be cheeky enough for me to punish you?"

He's not playing though, and I was only joking anyway. I let him push me back into the couch with his small hand at my chest.

"We've been good at being honest, up to a point. I think we need to extend that. I want you to want to scene with me here, in your playroom, but I know you don't want to. I'm not saying we have to do it now, but it's something I want you to think about."

Owen is serious, his full lips a straight line instead of his usual broad smile, his green eyes dulled by the unaccustomed negativity.

"Owen," I say, looking deep into his eyes, "I want to. Give me a little time."

"You have it," and he kisses me again.

I stand, pulling him up until he's clinging to me, his legs wrapped around my waist. I might not be willing to use the playroom yet, but I am willing to push Owen, to show him some care that he hasn't experienced with me yet.

When we're in my room, I thrust him onto the bed and quickly strip him while he watches me through thick lashes. He moans in delight when I clip his leather cuffs together – he likes to wear them all the time when we're in the house, and I think I'm going to get him another emerald 'loved' one so he can match them up – he always wears that one on his left wrist regardless of which of the other two he chooses.

I use a length of rope to fix him to the headboard, and more to thickly wrap his smooth pale thighs, pulling his legs wide and connecting them to the purpose-made hooks under my bed. I just have to watch him for a long moment, stretched out for me, lightly whimpering in desire, his toned stomach muscles clenching, his cock stiff and already leaking precum.

"Please, Sir, don't make me wait."

"Oh, baby, I'll make you wait as long as I want. And while you're laying there with so much desperation in every line I may just make you wait forever."

I slide a lubed finger inside him, refusing to stroke his aching nerves, even as he bucks against my hand, seeking relief.

"Such an impatient boy, Owen, so greedy for release," I growl into his soft ear, before sucking a nipple between my lips hard, flicking my tongue over the imprisoned nub.

I keep working him with a finger, sliding a second into his tight passage, watching his reactions as I scissor, finally passing my pads over the sensitive gland.

"Can I make this more intense for you?"

"Please, yes, Sir, please," his frantic pleas would agree to anything right now, but I think he'll like this.

Breath play was one of his soft limits and I didn't push him on it when I was working with him before, though I know how much he loves it when I steal his breath with my cock. But that's different, and most of the heightened sensation that I plan on giving him now comes from the psychological aspect of loss of control and vulnerability, that isn't necessarily there with deep-throating, at least to the same conscious level.

I keep moving my fingers as I lean over him, placing my large hand over his slim neck, lightly squeezing just under his jaw, my palm pressing against his Adam's apple. The reaction is instant, his eyes rolling back in his head, his neck thrust up into my hand, his words encouraging more.

I move my hand to his mouth.

"Ssh baby," I kid, "you mustn't wake the neighbors."

I push a third finger inside him, pushing against his mouth harder and carefully pinching my thumb and forefinger over his nose, hearing the keening mewl through my hand. To my utter surprise it's only moments before he releases hard, his face going red as he urgently tries to draw breath during his intense orgasm. Just as his body slumps I release him, allowing him to suck welcome air in.

"Fuck, Owen, that was incredible. So, so hot," I kiss at his collarbone, but he's gone, floating in his own world just from that brief interaction.

As I unfasten the ropes and pull him toward me I'm in awe of the trust he's already placing in me, the willingness to be vulnerable, and I know he'll be eager to show me many more ways he's ready to give himself up to me.

* * * * *