"Innocent might be too strong a word."

He grins. "Ah, so you like to be bad, eh?"

You feel your face blush, happy for the darkness in the bar. "Whenever I can," you say.

"I meant innocent as in 'new to the scene.'" He reaches up, and takes your chin in one leather gloved hand. "And I'm willing to bet you've never played with anyone like me."

"True," you say, and he grins again.

"I'm Dean," he says. "But you can call me 'sir.'"

"Yes, sir," you say, feeling your stomach flip a little, and then introduce yourself.

"So, birthday boy," Dean says, "Tell me. How bad you want to be for your birthday? There's a playroom in the back there, behind the curtains. There's some couches, and a sling, and a stocks. Or if you want, I could take you home and give you the night of your dreams, boy. You might be sore when I'm through with you, but you'll be fucking satisfied." He leans in to your ear. "Emphasis on the fucking." He reaches one gloved hand around behind you, and squeezes your ass.

You swallow, feeling your dick twitch. Holy crap.