Scorched Edges by L.M. Somerton Page A

Lace . That trip had been a real eye-opener for Marty. He had no idea that kinky clubwear was so readily available. The assistant, a flamboyant goth going by the name of Arcan, had taken charge and persuaded Marty into a variety of outfits consisting of scraps of fabric.
    “You have a perfect body under those baggy clothes, you need to show it off,” Arcan had stated confidently.
    Marty didn’t want to show off, he wanted to run away and hide, but Alistair had made all the right soothing noises and Marty had walked away with a pair of low-rise, form-fitting leather trousers with a zip that started in the front and finished in the rear, allowing the trouser legs to be separated ‘for easy access’. He’d also invested in a pair of ankle boots with chunky soles and a series of buckles. Choosing underwear had been an exercise in humiliation for Marty as Alistair had held up item after item for him to consider. With Alistair’s smiling encouragement, Marty had eventually given in and purchased stretchy black lace shorts.
    With a towel slung around his hips, Marty laid the new garments on his bed. He intended to go shirtless at the club so a plain black T-shirt, which he’d take off later, finished his ensemble. He had found a sheet of skin transfers featuring hearts surrounded by flames. One of those went on his chest, above his left nipple.
    Now for the next instruction. Plugged. Next day delivery from an online supplier had brought him a bulbous black rubber butt plug. The smooth version had seemed a bit of a cop out so Marty had purchased the one covered in interesting bumps. In real life it appeared a hell of a lot more daunting that it had on his computer screen. It took several attempts and a liberal coating of Astroglide to get the thing inserted. Marty stood still for a while, getting used to the sensation of a foreign object filling his ass. The moment he moved, the damn thing nudged his prostate. Marty moaned. “Oh God! I’m never going to fit an erection into those trousers, my dick’s going to stick out over the waistband it’s so low.” He considered jacking off to relieve the pressure, but Beau’s final text had said, No touching . That message had arrived the previous evening and was the cruelest one of all.
    “The man is wicked. Evil. He’s twisting me up into spirals.” Marty’s mind clicked into maths mode. “That’s it, spirals…reciting mathematical facts should put my dick to sleep.” Marty picked up the packet containing his new underwear. Just catching sight of the picture on the front made him harder. “Oh God. The logarithmic spiral is a spiral whose polar equation is given by r equals ae to the power of b8 where r is the distance from the origin. The logarithmic spiral is also known as the growth spiral, equiangular spiral and spira mirabilis. It’s related to Fibonacci numbers, the golden ratio and the golden rectangle, and is sometimes called the golden spiral. It can be constructed from equally spaced rays by starting at a point along one ray and drawing the perpendicular to a neighboring ray. As the number of rays approaches infinity, the sequence of segments approaches the smooth logarithmic spiral.” He peeked beneath his towel. “Yes!” His cock was no longer iron hard. Quickly, with equations still swirling through his head, Marty dropped the towel, ripped open the package, removed the scrap of lace then pulled on the shorts.
    “What the hell am I doing?” Marty stood in front of the mirror and stared at his reflection. The shorts barely covered his ass. The stretchy fabric molded to his body and though it wasn’t quite see-through it might as well have been, because his package was on full, lace-clad display. Marty grabbed his new trousers from the bed and shoved his feet into the legs. It took some wiggling and cursing to pull them up, but he managed it. The fine leather clung almost as tenaciously as the underwear, but moved with his body. “Surprisingly