College Boy II

College Boy II

Milton shifted as he felt the weight on the bed; he must have drifted off.

“Landon said we needed to have a little chat. Are you all right, my boy?” Gordon squeezed Milton’s shoulder as he spoke.

To anyone else Milton would have answered he was fine. He was no longer cold; he could if he concentrated finish that wretched paper without too much hardship. He hadn’t run his car into the guardrail. “I’m trying.”

“What happened, my boy?”

“Didn’t Joe tell you?” Milton asked as he struggled into a sitting position.

“He’s resting comfortably, but he only answers questions in monosyllables.”

“I hit him,” Milton said and dropped his eyes to the quilt covering his knees. All the beds had quilts; this one was a traditional patchwork pattern of multicolored cloth bits. As a boy, his bed had been covered by a similar quilt. When he’d been sick, he’d whiled away the day trying to find repeated cloth pieces and invent patterns in his mind for the color choices.

“Tell me what happened, boy.” Gordon’s words were short, but his tone was anything but impatient, and his eyes, while searching and impossible for Milton to look into their depths, remained friendly.

“I hit him,” Milton blurted out.

“You punched him; you slapped him; you threw him to the ground? Please clarify.”

“No,” Milton said, horrified.

“Milton, you are familiar with our procedures. Please start at the beginning and tell me everything.”

Milton nodded. He wanted to trace his fingers down the quilt or go off on some wild tangent like many of the brats, but he knew better. Gordon had little tolerance for obfuscation. “I was running the little loop like you ordered.” 

“And whose fault was that?” Gordon asked sharply.

“Mine, sir.”

 “Yes, shifting blame is not appropriate.”

“I know, sir.”

“That’s right, boy. Please, go on.”

“I was wet and not very happy,” Milton continued. If Gordon was going to treat him like a brat, he could act like a brat--well, not really. He wasn’t a brat, and that wasn’t how Gordon was treating him. He guided a submissive; with Milton Gordon merely insisted. 

“Yes,” Gordon said in a deep slow tone that Milton found both reassuring and infuriating.

“I came upon the car. You saw where it had gone off the road. Joe was sitting beside the car, totally oblivious to his surroundings. I was trying to get him dressed, and I swatted him. I shouldn’t have; I didn’t have the right,” Milton said hurriedly.

“My lad, talking faster will not get you out of telling me all the details. Pray continue, more slowly and without the gaps.”

“I didn’t have his consent.”

“Did I not tell you to relate the incident in full detail?” Gordon dropped his hand on Milton’s thigh in a clear warning. “I don’t expect to have to tell you again.”

“Yes, sir. As I was saying, I was trying to get Joe changed. He was mostly unresponsive, and I was concerned he might be suffering from hypothermia. I was cold also; I wanted to get out the rain; I didn’t have the patience to explain things to him.”

“A blinding rainstorm with a semi-coherent man hardly seems the place for a philosophical conversation, but you have yet to tell me what happened.” Gordon raised his eyebrows inquiringly. 

Milton sighed and rubbed his hand on his chin, feeling the traces of his new beard. “I found some clothes for him in his car, and I gave them to him. He wouldn’t change; he was just standing there. I started to undress him, and he started flailing at me, acting hysterical. I swatted him three times on the hip. I shouldn’t have. I didn’t have the right. I hadn’t told him I was a top. He hadn’t told me he was a submissive or given me permission to top.”

“He’s a submissive. That’s obvious,” Gordon said with a soft chuckle. “What did he do when you swatted him?”

“He accused me of abuse, and he was right.” 

“Did you swat him again or use any other physical force after Joe told you to stop?”

“No, I helped him change and carried him to the farmhouse when I couldn’t get him to walk.” Milton searched Gordon’s face for some hint of his fate. He wanted to get this over with. He was in the wrong, and he knew it. Why did Gordon have to dissect everything into the smallest detail?

“Do you think you used excessive force?”

“I shouldn’t have used any force. I had no agreement. I scared him.”

“Hmm,” Gordon said noncommittally. “I think you may have scared him less than many.”

“That kid’s been hit. I hurt him.” Milton said, his voice rising.

“Don’t shout at me, boy.”

Milton turned away, struggling to regain his temper. Gordon was death on bad manners, and temper tantrums fit clearly in his definition of bad manners.

“Do you have yourself back under control?”

“Yes, sir,” Milton said, turning back to Gordon.

“What could you have done differently?”

“I could have not hit him.”

“Milton Andrew Brown,” Gordon growled. “I asked for a real alternative, not a smart answer.”

Milton squared his shoulders and stiffened his back. He was getting very close to Gordon thrashing him. Then he’d get two: one for being less than charming during the interrogation and one for being a stupid fool with Joe.

“Do you need me to punish you?” Gordon asked in that remote and polite tone of his that sounded like do you need me to pick up a fresh liter of milk.

Milton ducked his head and felt a blush rising on his cheeks. This was a question he still couldn’t answer comfortably. He hated being asked to analyze his own feelings.

“You’re going to have to ask today if you need it, my boy. I do not see any easy solution to the predicament in which you found yourself.” Gordon held up his hand to still Milton’s protest. “You found an unresponsive young man on the road leading to our lodge. This is a dead-end road, so logic tells you this man had either read the map upside down or was heading here. With that information, you jumped to the obvious conclusion that the young man was a submissive, and I do not think you’re wrong about that conclusion.”

“It still didn’t give me the right to hit him.”

“No, it didn’t,” Gordon said with aggravating calmness, “but it made your reaction more understandable. You swatted him, not because you’re mean, a pretty tyrant, or a myriad of other unpleasant possibilities. You swatted Joe because he was a young man in clear distress in a bad situation. Your role as a Green Mountain Boy and a top does involve protecting men it that very situation.”

“Protecting them, not hitting them.”

“Yes,” Gordon said slowly. “I didn’t say I condoned your action. I said I understood your motivation. Your motivation wasn’t evil. You are too kind for that. You are far more kind and gentle than I ever will be. I will not lie to you; I enjoy wielding the power I have as a top. I enjoy directing people; I enjoy having authority over them. You, my lad, are more altruistic. You want to protect your friends and anyone else in need.”

“I like it too,” Milton said half to himself.

“That’s not a fault. Do you condemn a submissive for wanting a partner to lean on, a partner who will direct and guide him, or for enjoying himself in play?”

“No, but...”

“Finish your sentence, boy.”

“I’m inflicting it. I could hurt the submissive.”

“Yes, you could, but you are not cruel. You do not enjoy suffering.”

“I hurt Joe.”

“That was a mistake, an accident. You didn’t set out to hurt that boy, and you had no good options.”

“I could have thrown him over my shoulder from the start.”

“You are a large man. Do you think that would have been less frightening?”

“I wouldn’t have hit him.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

Milton looked up at Gordon’s face. He knew where Gordon was leading. He was trying to show Milton that all solutions were bad. “I wouldn’t have hit him,” Milton repeated.

“Stubborn boy.” Gordon caught Milton in a piercing stare, a look that told Milton he was stepping close to that line that would find him over Gordon’s knee or leaning over the bed waiting for the strike of the cane.

“I hurt him. I scared him.” Milton wanted to cry, to run to Gordon the way a child might run to a parent after a fall off a bike, or to strike the wall in unsuppressed fury. He ruthlessly crushed those feeling. He was a dominant; he controlled and mastered his emotions. He wasn’t a sub where the world was washed bright and clear by a spanking. Not that he believed that either; it was a myth. He’d seen Landon and Gordon do their dance too many times to think a spanking made the world spin right on its axis. It was about negotiations, rituals, and expectations. Landon was more than capable of managing his own affairs, but sometimes he wanted that freedom to throw it all at Gordon and tell him to make it right.

“Milton,” Gordon said softly, “he was scared already. You certainly didn’t physically hurt him, and if I understand you correctly, you stopped the minute he objected. Joe might not understand it now; he might not understand it for months, but you showed him today that he has control. He couldn’t have made you stop, but you stopped because he asked.”

“He should never have had to ask.”

“You have a one track mind, boy.”

“I thought determination was a valued trait in a top.”

Gordon raised his eyebrows and gave Milton a slow appraising look. “I take it you would like me to punish you?”

Milton looked away; he could feel the redness rising up his neck.

“You look at me, boy, when I’m talking to you.” Gordon’s tone had sharpened. 

Milton had crossed the line; he was going to be punished. Milton wasn’t sure if he was relieved or dreaded the next few minutes. Gordon hadn’t wanted to spank him that was clear from the earlier conversation, but Milton knew once Gordon committed there would be no reprieve. 

“I take it you need this,” Gordon said, his hand resting on Milton’s shoulder both as a light restraint and a reassurance.”

Milton nodded. He didn’t want to talk about it. It was embarrassing, and humiliating; Milton could rattle off a whole host of unpleasant words for it.

“Nodding won’t do it, my lad. I expect more from you.”

Milton could think of a thousand nasty retorts. All would land him in a corner probably on his knees to contemplate his manners. Those would be easy to say; asking for this was hard. He stroked the stubble of his new beard.

Gordon captured Milton’s hand, his grip firm but not harsh. “My lad, you’re a top; I won’t allow you to evade here. I will spank you, but you must ask for it. I do not feel this needs to be punished. You understand your error, and I understand the difficulty of the situation in which you were unexpectedly trapped. No solution was easy or good. This was not a situation of you snapping unthinkingly at a rampaging brat nor was it a bad decision made from tiredness, crankiness, or pure self-centeredness. You had a boy in trouble, and you used a solution that was not perhaps appropriate, but no malice was intended, and you changed tack immediately in response to Joe’s distress.”

“I scared him,” Milton said, gritting his teeth and insanely wishing he could tuck his head inside his pajama top and disappear.

Gordon squeezed Milton’s knee. “It’s frightening how easy it is to do that, isn’t it?” Gordon lips twisted into a slight smile or maybe more accurately a slight grimace. “It’s a power that can be used for real evil.” Gordon bent forward and kissed Milton’s forehead. “I have no qualms with you. You’re a good boy; you don’t want to hurt. Now I’m not always so sure about myself.” Gordon laughed mirthlessly. “Fortunately I have Landon to keep me in my place.”

“You’ve always been kind to me,” Milton said softly.

“Not everybody sees how I’ve treated you as kindness.”

 “You taught me to respect my dominant side, even fear it. I needed that, and it would have been far more unkind to set me loose on the world as a raw and impulsive top.”

Gordon kissed Milton’s forehead and entwined his fingers in the younger man’s hair. “You must also embrace and enjoy it. I think you forget to have fun with it sometimes. Landon reminds me to play. You need that also.”

“Maybe,” Milton acquiesced. Milton lifted his head and squared his jaw; he hadn’t inherited his grandfather’s stubbornness for nothing. “You are changing the subject. I forgot the primary role of being a top. I am to do no harm. I did harm today, and I want you to punish me.”

“Very well.” Gordon deepened his tone. “You will, as in all punishments, set this aside after I have finished. With punishment there must be forgiveness. Will you forgive yourself?”

Milton kept his eyes on Gordon’s face, studying the slight furrows that were starting around his eyes and the dark hair that was now beginning to show traces of gray as it receded off the high forehead. “I will,” Milton said his voice steady.

Gordon shifted, making a place for Milton to fit across his thighs. “All right, my boy, let’s get this done.” He patted his thigh. He didn’t have to do more. 

Milton slid out from under the quilt and dropped his pajama bottoms. Quickly before he lost his nerve, he draped himself over Gordon’s thighs. He’s wanted this. It was too late for regret or negotiation. He’d earned this, and he would be brave and stoic.

 Gordon tightened his arm around Milton’s hips. “This is about putting your mistake aside, learning from it but not being crippled by it. Remember this was your choice.”

The first smack landed hard, and Milton flinched before remembering his resolve to take this stoically. The swats landed one after another in a cresting wave of stinging pain. Milton squirmed, and Gordon hitched him higher, landing a flurry of spanks on Milton’s sensitive thighs. Milton groaned, screwed his eyes shut, and bit his lip. He jerked as a hard slap landed on the most sensitive part of his inner thigh.

“Part of this arrangement is that you do not hide your emotions from me,” Gordon said, landing a swat with each word.

“Yes, sir,” Milton choked and let the tears spill down his face. His ass hurt; he wanted to cry. Actually he wanted to start the whole day over again. Milton clung to the bed covers, burying his face in the quilt as Gordon continued to apply a rigorous use of physical force to Milton’s exposed flesh. What an idiotic way of thinking about it! He was getting thrashed; there were no other words for it, and he had asked for it. He needed to have his head examined!

Milton collapsed over Gordon, no longer fighting. The tears streaked down his cheeks. 

“Good boy.” Gordon’s hand stilled on Milton’s backside, but he kept Milton pinned against his thighs. “Do you need more?”

“No,” Milton groaned. He was sore; he wanted up.

“Don’t struggle,” Gordon said sharply, tapping Milton’s sore flesh. “You may request punishment, but I’m in charge now. Why were we doing this?”

“Because I hit Joe without permission.”

“No.” Gordon landed a flurry of hard smacks, causing Milton to hiss and squirm. “Why are we doing this?” Gordon repeated.

“I asked you to,” Milton choked out. He didn’t say that he must have been temporarily insane at the time. 

“Closer,” Gordon said, resting his hand on the heated flesh. “Tell me more.”

“I was feeling guilty. I have a martyr complex,” Milton blurted out. “Are you satisfied now?”

“Milton,” Gordon growled, but Milton thought he heard a trace of humor in that growl. “You are lying over my knees. This is not a good time for smart comments. Do you need more?”

“No. Please.” Milton said unable to not plead. He was sore; he wanted up. He’d done his penance.

“Do you forgive yourself?”

Milton hung over Gordon’s knees, exposed, half-naked, and also safe. Gordon knew what he was feeling. For all his orders, demands, and draconian rules, Milton had never seen Gordon not be kind to a man in true distress and not spend as long as necessary to explain his position. He might turn the unfortunate fellow’s backside a glowing red, but Gordon would have convinced the poor soul of his position and the overall desirability of being spanked to tears. 

“Do you need time in the corner to think, boy?” Gordon asked, his hand swatting lightly, a promise of more if Milton didn’t answer. 

“No,” Milton said, hearing the desperation in his own voice. He hated the corner; he especially hated the corner on his knees.

“Why did I do this?” Gordon asked, his hand stroking down Milton’s shoulders.

“I was punishing myself instead of learning from my mistakes.”

“What have you learned?”

“To be careful whom I swat.’

“You knew that already,” Gordon said, laying his hand warningly on Milton’s hot buttocks.

“There are sometimes no good solutions.” Milton squirmed on Gordon’s lap. He was beyond dignity; He just wanted this interrogation over. “Sometimes I’m going to make mistakes.”

Gordon ruffled Milton’s hair and swung him upright. “You are a very good man and a very good top, better in many ways than I will ever be. We all make mistakes, and we must learn to accept are errors and endeavor not to repeat them”

“What do I do with Joe?”

“What do you think? You have some experience. How would you mitigate this?”

Milton rubbed his eyes, trying to scrub the signs of crying from his face. “I’ve never dealt with an abused submissive. I don’t know.”

“How do you deal with a new submissive or a new dominant for that matter?”

“You explain everything many times. You make the correct path easy and all other routes very hard.”

“You do the same thing for Joe.” Gordon said gently as he held Milton close. “You’re not the boy who came here at eighteen having overgrown your peers in high school but not quite a man. You’re a man now, a beautiful and intelligent man that anyone would be proud to know. You will make mistakes; you will feel overwhelmed at times. It is the way of the top. Landon and I won’t abandon you, but we will also not shield you from your own folly. Now, how do you manage Joe?”

“I treat him like a new submissive,” Milton said tentatively. 

“Maybe even more cautiously. Adam and I spoke briefly. He believes under no circumstance that Joe should be physically touched. He suggested the experienced couples model the relationship, but allow Joe to gradually find his place as a submissive and realize he’s safe.”

“I made it take longer.”

“Milton,” Gordon said sternly, “we’ve dealt with this.”

“Yes, sir, but it’s true.”

“You’re impossible, boy. You will stay in bed the rest of the day. I’ll send Landon around later with dinner.”

“You already spanked me,” Milton muttered under his breath.

“Do you want to go for tomorrow also?” Gordon asked in that irritatingly gentle tone of his that meant he was frighteningly serious.

“No, sir,” Milton said hastily.

“I thought not. Back under the covers with you. Out of bed only to go to the bathroom.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t glare at me,” Gordon tapped Milton’s nose sharply. “We had an agreement.”

Milton wanted to toss his pillow at Gordon, but Gordon wasn’t Landon. Milton would end up on his knees for half the night. Landon would have a rousing pillow fight and get the other subs and even some of the tops to join in.

“Do you want me to go, so you can sulk in peace?” Gordon asked.

“I don’t sulk.”

“Right then. Have you a better verb?”

Milton turned in the bed and smacked the pillow with his fist. “No,” he growled.

“As I thought.” Gordon kissed the back of Milton’s head. “I’ll send Landon in later. You might actually talk to him.”

******

“I hear Gordon has you confined to bed,” Landon said in a much too cheerful voice.”

“I feel like a leper.” Milton sat up in bed, hissing as his sore butt pressed into the sheets.

“He spanked you?” Landon’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “He told me he was only going to talk to you. It’s not like he’s perfect.”

“I asked him to.” 

“You are insane. You know how hard he spanks, and this was not in play. I try to keep his hands off me unless we’re playing or of course having sex.”

“Is that how gentlemen talk?” Milton asked, not able to hide his smile.

“No, that’s how subs talk who are trying to cheer up a grumpy top. I brought treats also: a ham and cheese sandwich, potato chips, and a chocolate bar. I couldn’t get the chocolate cake out in my trouser pocket, and you know the rules.”

“Bread and water rations if you’re not at dinner.”

“Not quite but close enough. Basic brown bag rations are OK.” Landon flipped Milton’s dinner to him.”

“Does Gordon know about the chocolate?”

“What do you think?”

“No.”

“And hopefully he never will. Unlike you, I prefer to avoid punishment spankings.”

“I needed it,” Milton said softly, toying with the bread on the sandwich.

“Milton,” Landon said, sitting on the bed and pulling Milton into a hug. “Don’t you think I know? I’m Gordon’s boy. I know what it means.” Landon sat silently for a moment, not loosening his arms that held Milton locked against him. “Did it help?”

“Yes. Is Joe OK?”

“Are you sure it helped?” Landon pushed Milton to arm’s length to study his face.

“Yes. Don’t you get all toppy with me now.”

“Milton!” The tone was sharp, easily as sharp as Gordon’s. Landon might be Gordon’s boy, but he wouldn’t hesitate to be a top if the situation warranted. 

“It helped. It’s not easy for me.”

“I know.” Landon ruffled Milton’s hair. “When you finally get a beard instead of that hideous stubble I’ll drag you around by it every time you get too serious.”

“And I’ll spank you. Baiting a top is a dangerous sport.”

“I like danger. I get bored easily.”

“Don’t we all know.” Milton smiled; he couldn’t help himself. Landon had this effect on people; he made them happier.

“That’s better.” Landon smiled back. “Oh, and we all think Joe will be fine. Adam has attached himself like a leech. A couple of guys already started a betting pool.”

“Landon,” Milton spluttered, sending bread crumbs across the bed. “It’s been two hours.”

“Four now,” Landon said, his eyes laughing. “I’ve seen it before. I’m betting for a summer announcement. They’ll be perfect together. Adam has a rescue complex, and he’s a softie. Have you ever seen him spank anyone? He’s allergic to force.  What do you want to bet?”

“Not against you. You always win.” 

“I’ll give it to August. We’ll be getting out our vests and morning coats. Maybe you’ll be best man.”

“Stop.” Milton grabbed the pillow and whacked Landon. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No more than you and no pillow fight until after dinner. I don’t want to explain how we got mustard on the sheets.”

“All right, you win for now.”

“I want more than that,” Landon said with a grin. “If I’m right, you have to be the wedding planner.”

“They’re eloping. I heard there is a great deal in Vegas.”

Vegas,” Landon snorted. “Don’t give up your day job. Wedding planning is not in your future. 

“I’m a student; I don’t have a day job.”

“You’re definitely feeling better. You’re getting smart with me.” Landon ruffled Milton’s hair. “Now eat. I’m not responsible if Gordon finds the chocolate.”

“Yes, sir.” Milton set down the sandwich and opened the gold foil of the chocolate bar. “The evidence has been lost,” he said and took a big bite.”

Landon laughed. “And I thought only bratting boys ate chocolate as a first course.”