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  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

  All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Debra Varva

  New Leather © May 2010 Debra Varva

  eXcessica publishing

  All rights reserved

  New Leather

  By Debra Varva

  DEDICATION

  I want to thank my wonderful friends on MySpace for their unwavering support giving me the courage to write this. A special thanks to Darcy for playing editor, to Alex, Gerard and Suzanne for proof-reading and to D. Storts for the photo 'NC Waters.' You guys rock!

  I also want to apologize to Barb for talking her ear off about the story. She made a great sounding board, though.

  Finally, thank you to the BDSMcircle.net for their gracious help when I had questions.

  As the strict protocols of the BDSM community began to relax in the late 1980's, younger members embraced diversity. BDSM became no longer primarily gay as hetero and lesbian populations embraced the lifestyle due to mainstream acceptance through media such as the internet.

  The differences between the traditional views of the older practitioners and the newer, more casual attitudes are marked as Old Leather and New Leather.

  To understand these differences, I entered their world.

  —Excerpt from New Leather by Carl Guttuso

  PROLOGUE

  Carl sat in the coffee shop located in the lower floor of the Providence Place Mall to watch the two men he'd quietly followed for the better part of an hour. He originally spotted them in the special interest aisle of the bookstore above the shop.

  Rhode Island was hot for the first week of June and the lack of air conditioning in his apartment made sleeping a challenge. Not satisfied with that, of course, Carl was looking for gay erotica to bring his frustration up to an entirely new level. He became aware of the couple as they entered the area and began discussing the merits of various BDSM publications in the next section.

  At first, his only interest in the men was visual. They were lovely individually, but together they were stunning. One was dark in a way that suggested he was Latino or Puerto Rican with wavy dark brown hair over copper colored eyes that shone out of an angel's face. The second man was just as impressive with his shiny golden mop that defied style and deep blue eyes. Carl's curiosity peaked as they searched through the books on rope bondage.

  Bondage was not his thing. He had no need to tie anyone up or beat the crap out of him to call it sexy. The reverse was also true—no one was doing that to him either. He surfed the web. He knew there were people who got off on that kind of thing. He just didn't think they had both oars in the water. Maybe their mamas beat them as children or maybe their history teacher made the Spanish Inquisition sound cool. Whatever the reason, he believed that sadomasochism was twisted.

  Yet, watching the men, he questioned his prejudice against the lifestyle. Their conversation indicated the blond man was in charge. He picked out books that caught his eye and he would tell the other man how beautiful he might look in this design of knots or that one. What got Carl thinking, though, was not what they said as much as how they acted.

  Body language was important in Carl's line of work. As a staff writer for the Journal locally and a free-lance writer for the Boston Herald, he needed to know if someone was lying or getting ready to hit him. He felt both skills are equally important. He became very good at reading people and getting his story straight. Right now, his instincts were telling him that he did not have the complete picture on a way of life he had dismissed as barbaric ten minutes ago.

  Their love was in the way they focused on each other. Not in the sense that either man had his hands all over his companion, even Providence has its limitations, but each man's awareness of the other was absolute. When the Latino man objected to something in one of the books that Carl couldn't see, damn it, the blond man rubbed his back and talked in low tones of reassurance. Every look, every gesture gave the impression of devotion. Carl was intrigued.

  Forty-five minutes later, he was sitting in the coffee shop, sipping his latte and shamelessly eavesdropping. Their conversation was mostly about their jobs and families and, therefore, not of much interest to Carl until he heard the blond mention a club of 'Doms' he called Top Men. Exclusive, invitation only and run by someone named James. An idea formed in Carl's head for a story and he rose to approach the men.

  "Excuse me. My name is Carl Guttuso and I would very much like to talk to you."

  The blond man took the hand he held out. "Hello. I am Mike Adams and this is Seve Diaz. How may we help you?" He gestured to a chair. "Please, sit."

  Carl retrieved his drink from the other table and joined them. "First, I want to reassure you both that I am an honorable man and have no intention of embarrassing either of you." He took a deep breath; this was the part where most people either told him their life story or to get lost. "I write stories for the Journal and I would like to ask you a few questions about your club."

  The blond, Mike, looked shocked for a moment, but recovered quickly. "I don't know what you think you heard, but I don't own a club." His companion's snort of laughter ruined the bland delivery of that line. Without missing a beat, he turned to Seve and placed a finger on his lips. The change in the other man's demeanor was instantaneous. He quieted and dropped his eyes to his coffee.

  "Forgive me. I didn't mean to put you on the defensive. I don't write the kind of things that get men fired or jailed. I write human interest stories, for the most part." They were still listening. That was always a good sign. "I overheard you talking about a BDSM club, Top Men. I would love to attend a meeting and do a piece on the topic. You know, show the readers the lifestyle from your point of view."

  "I really should learn to keep my mouth shut," Mike sighed. "I'm not admitting there is such a club and I will deny saying anything, but…give me your cell phone number and I will get back to you."

  Yes! Before the man could change his mind, Carl took a business card from his wallet and wrote his private number on the back. "I appreciate this. Just think it over and I will respect your decision either way." Already, thoughts and questions were floating around in his head. If this guy agreed, maybe he could get a series of articles out of it. Carl could not wait to get started.

  Knowing that his presence was no longer as welcome as it had been a few minutes ago, he finished the latte and stood. "I look forward to hearing from you. Please, remember that my articles are honest exposés of recreational pursuits and alternative lifestyles. I have no interest in ruining anyone's reputation. I don't name names."

  Carl took his leave and headed for the shop's street-side door. As he opened it, he looked back at the couple who had so charmed him. Mike was leaning toward the darker man and ruffling his hair. Almost as if this was some kind of signal, the other man became animated and the two were in a deep discussion as Carl left.

  CHAPTER ONE

  James Pauly spent most of the previous evening wading through the internet to find in
formation on Carl Guttuso. He was duly impressed. Guttuso managed to make a name for himself as a reliable reporter who took the time to understand his subject matter and get his facts straight. In other words, not a sensationalistic writer of fiction.

  That was last night. This morning he was Googling the more personal things about the man. A picture showed a good-looking young man of Italian heritage. The rugged Mediterranean look was one of his favorites and as James was nearing forty, a man of thirty-one was young. The brief biography told him the man was openly gay, a plus, and not involved with anyone. Even better. Perfect for what he had in mind, in fact.

  All this flurry of activity was due to a panicked call from Mike yesterday afternoon. It took several minutes to convince him that James was not upset over the possibility of discovery. Having a reporter overhear details about his little group was unfortunate, yes, but not catastrophic. The worst-case outcome would be to call the people involved and cancel the next few meetings. A reporter could not investigate what did not exist after all.

  James didn't think it would come to that. Everything he read concerning this man confirmed he was a man of honor. Now, it was up to Guttuso to call and allow James to put his plan into motion.

  Several years back, after his submissive lover walked out, James wanted to sit down and talk with other Doms in the hopes of understanding what went wrong. As a patron of The Leatherman when it opened in Providence, he thought that would be the place to ask his questions. However, the majority of people who frequented the gay BDSM bar did not share his view of romantic dominance. Weeding through the bar's regulars was time-consuming, but eventually he gathered an eclectic group of people that believed as he did.

  James and his new friends began to meet regularly, expressing ideas and concerns. The support of like-minded men and women was invaluable. Unfortunately, he was wasting his new insights on the sub-for-a-night boys that occasionally came home with him. Something more was needed—a challenge.

  He smiled when the phone finally rang. He could have called the reporter himself, of course, but he was not in the habit of chasing his prey. He preferred to lure them in. After letting it rattle a few times, he picked up. "Pauly."

  "James…Pauly?" there was a pause. "Owner of Pauly's Point?"

  James loved the smooth timber of the man's voice as well as the surprised inflection at learning his identity. "Ah, you've heard of it?"

  Another pause while Guttuso absorbed the shock of talking to the owner of the hottest restaurant in Rhode Island. "Yes sir. It might have been mentioned a time or two." Wry amusement came through the line at James' small joke. "I'm sure Mike Adams told you what I wanted. I would very much like to interview you about the unique nature of your club. I promise…"

  James interrupted him. "I am home at the moment. Let me know when you are outside the gate and I will buzz you in." He gave the other man his address and hung up, knowing Guttuso would not be able to resist.

  * * * *

  Holy shit! Carl could not believe it. James Pauly was the president of a club for sadistic control freaks. Okay, maybe chefs had a reputation for exactly that, so it was possible this was not a big stretch for Pauly. Still, the thought of the distinguished businessman hosting Top Men astonished him. Asking Carl to come over and interview him about it was nothing short of a miracle.

  These thoughts ran around in his head as he gathered his notepad, recorder and keys together. Thankfully he lived nearby, one of the joys of living in a small state, and less than a half hour later he pulled up to the gate at the end of the driveway leading to Pauly's home.

  He re-dialed the number Mike gave him and waited for Pauly to answer. Instead, the wrought iron gates opened and Carl shook his head as he closed the phone. He was beginning to understand that Mr. Pauly was toying with him and he didn't know if he should be insulted or amused. For the moment, he would go with amused. Grinning, he drove through the gate and up the drive.

  The house was impressive, but not the huge mansion he expected. It was more of a large bungalow with lots of windows overlooking the lush landscaping in front and the private pond behind. The pond itself was not a surprise, however. Rhode Island might be the Ocean State, but hundreds of small ponds and streams peppered the state. The Zen-like setting seemed out of character for a man of Pauly's energy.

  He parked and walked to the door that stood ajar and laughed at the not so subtle message that no one would jump to open the door at Carl's convenience. So far, his host was running true to form. By making Carl call him, having the interview on his home turf and now this, he was establishing his alpha male position. Carl loved the way the man's mind worked.

  Standing in the foyer, he called, "Hello?"

  Nothing. No, he could hear a female voice singing off key and the sound of pots banging in the distance. Not the sounds he was looking for, but reassuring in their normalcy. Finally, he heard a man's low rumble to his left and he followed the sound.

  Another door ajar made Carl roll his eyes as he stepped through.

  His first impression of James Pauly was one of stunned admiration. Pictures on the web did not do the man justice. Lean strength and neatly trimmed brown hair made him look years younger than thirty-nine. A bit of silver at the temples set off the warm tan of his skin, he was classically handsome.

  He was also sitting on the edge of an oak desk with a phone to his ear, but his eyes were staring back at Carl with an intensity that unnerved him. Sexual tension crackled in the air. This was either going to be the interview of a lifetime or the interview from hell. How in god's name was he supposed to concentrate on the job?

  "Yes, Sammy, that is why I'm giving you a heads up now. I trust you to run things smoothly and I will merely be a phone call away, regardless." A pause. "When I have the dates confirmed, yes." A chuckle this time that went through Carl like a shiver. "You'll do fine. Bye, Sam."

  Sam Maynard was the manager of the restaurant and Pauly's best friend, Carl knew. Was Pauly going on vacation?

  "Good Morning, Mr. Pauly. I'm Carl Guttuso." He started to step forward and hold out his hand when the other man's hand came up to stop him.

  Halting in his tracks, not knowing what to do next, he got the distinct feeling of being stalked as Pauly came toward him and stopped within his personal space. Spicy cologne filled his nostrils.

  "Call me James for now, Carl. I'm pleased you could come." James took the hand that was still half-raised and wrapped both of his hands around it, holding on a bit too long before letting go. "Sit and we'll talk." James turned and sat behind his desk.

  Carl took a deep breath to clear his head. He knew James was playing him. He understood the point of standing so close, James was a couple of inches taller and a few pounds heavier, he meant to be intimidating. The slight emphasis on "come" when the man squeezed his hand was not lost on him either. Even knowing all that, he landed in the chair with a thump as his legs gave out.

  "What do you wish to know?"

  Carl pulled out his notebook to check the questions he wanted to ask. "First, I would like to establish the facts, if I may. You are a Dominate in BDSM."

  "Yes."

  "You preside over a club of other dominates in the area."

  "No."

  "No? Forgive me, but I know I heard Mike Adams correctly yesterday."

  "I'm sure you did. And, by the way, he was greatly distressed by that." James leaned back in his chair and relaxed. "I only meant that our group is not a formal club. We are friends who support each other."

  "What kind of support?"

  "As with any faction of people, we need the approval of our peers. There have been many times in the past that I would have liked to talk over a problem with someone who truly understood. Have you been to The Leatherman?" Carl nodded. "Then you know, for the most part, the men there simply want the quick thrill." James grinned.

  Carl's brain stuttered at the sight of the grin. Attraction did not help his thought process. "Why the grin, James?"

  "I
was just remembering a shirt I saw once, 'Whip me, Beat me, Make me smile.' My point is—the usual clientele of The Leatherman don't view domination the same way I do. I wanted, still want, to explore a man's boundaries. I want a rapport with my sub that includes body, mind and heart. My friends feel the same way."

  "I'm not sure I understand completely. You don't get off on hitting a man or humiliating him?"

  "Actually, I do."

  "Then I'm lost here."

  "And you always will be, Carl. This is not a way of life you can study from the outside and write about with any degree of accuracy."

  "Why would you assume that? I'm very good at what I do, James."

  "You are, but it changes with each couple. The next relationship I am a part of will be different from the last one. I have grown as a Dom since then and I hope to bring that maturity to my new lover. Even my friends, who believe as I do, express their belief in their own manner. How can you write that? I don't think you can if you are not a part of it." James waited while Carl worked out the puzzle he presented. “I think you should be my sub for a period of time to fully comprehend what I believe a true power exchange can be."

  "You want me to be your sub?" His voice went up an octave. Carl knew James had been maneuvering him from the beginning, but this never occurred to him.

  "You have immersed yourself in your stories before."

  "Spending a couple of weeks on a lobster boat is not the same as being your whipping boy. As for the other, I'm not comfortable with the idea of writing about my sex life."

  "Yet, you were comfortable with the idea of writing about mine, were you not?"

  "I don't bottom." His ass was his own.

  "You will now."

  "I don't like pain."

  "You will come to love it."

  Carl took a deep shuddering breath and put his pen down. "How long are we talking about?"