Saturday, December 8, 2012

Visit Without Master


Visit Without Master

Milton reached down and finger combed Sheldon’s hair. Sheldon was seated on the floor, leaning into Milton’s legs and editing the newest Green Mountain Boys’ documents—introductory flyers and information sheets. 
“Are you as tired of this endless paperwork as I am?” Milton rolled his head and rubbed the back of his own neck. “Landon and Gordon were far more efficient at this stuff.”
“They dumped it on poor innocent boys in training. I know how they operate.”
Milton gently flicked the back of Sheldon’s head. “Don’t get cheeky. It’s not proper decorum for a slave boy.”
“Yes, Master.” Sheldon’s head dropped to his work.
Milton sighed and shifted. He hadn’t expected such easy acquiescence. Sheldon would usually snap out a few smart comments as a distraction. Milton studied his boy on the floor. This was his usual whirlwind green-eyed  redheaded monster who was quietly editing and had hardly moved all morning. He looked relaxed, even happy, not resistant or stressed. Milton hadn’t played or pretended with the new restrictions. He was Master, and Sheldon was slave. Milton didn’t chain Sheldon to the toilet, beat him daily, or keep him continually naked; that was best left to some of the more extreme and outlandish fiction, but he had systematically removed all choice. Breakfast food was the least of the lost choices. Sheldon had no money of his own. Sheldon had closed his accounts under Milton’s direction, and his money had been moved into Milton’s accounts. His paychecks were automatically deposited into Milton’s checking account. Even permission to work now depended on Milton’s whims.
“Do you want me to check these?”
“Yes, Master.” The words came too easily to Sheldon’s lips, or at least they did in Milton’s mind. This boy was doing slavey as he did everything else, never halfway. Sheldon had never been a halfway brat, and now he wasn’t a halfway slave. He had thrown himself into the bonds of his new status. 
Milton reached down and picked up Sheldon’s laptop. “I’ll do this later.” Milton pulled Sheldon to his feet. “My concentration is less than yours.” Milton wrapped his arm possessively around Sheldon’s waist and kissed him firmly. “I can’t look at you all morning and not want to touch you.”
That brought a sparkle to Sheldon’s eyes, and he grinned with a boyish and often bratty expression that always melted Milton’s heart. “I could fix that, Master”
“Hello! Hello!” Two voices rang out from below. “Anyone home?”
“Blade and Ryan. Were you expecting them?” Sheldon’s voice rose with alarm.
“No, but I’m not surprised. Come, boy.” Milton glanced sharply behind his shoulder. He wanted Sheldon at heel. They might as well put on a show. Ryan was checking on Sheldon; it was beyond obvious. Ryan, the dominant who could whip Blade to the edge of blood, was uneasy about the implications of Master and slave. He spoke of his concerns in careful and coded language, at least with Milton, but the meaning was clear enough. When not angry, Ryan was a properly deferential young dominant.
Both Blade and Ryan were in the kitchen. Blade had his head in the refrigerator, still at home here, as he searched for Trent and Mace’s cooking. Ryan was propped against the counter. He was trying to look nonchalant, but his eyes were focused on Sheldon with the intensity he usually reserved for watching Blade.
“Don’t you feed that, boy?” Milton asked, intentionally making a bid to defuse the tension.
“Baking’s not my forte,” Ryan said.
Blade shut the refrigerator and made a move toward Sheldon. Ryan snagged Blade’s shirt and pulled him close. 
“He may touch,” Milton said and pulled Sheldon from his place behind behind Milton’s shoulder. “They are brothers; I won’t deny contact.”
The hug was hard and long and obviously deeply needed by both. They stood together, two Zaths taking comfort in each other. “You OK, bro?” Blade’s voice was soft, the concern evident despite his casual words.
“Blade, Milton didn’t give you permission for a conversation.”
“Ryan!”
“Your brother is a slave. You must have Milton’s permission.”
“He’s my brother.”
“He is,” Milton said, “and while Ryan is technically correct when I gave you permission to embrace I also considered it permission to converse. You may answer the question, Sheldon.”
“Good,” Sheldon mumbled. “I’m good.”
Ryan’s eyes hardened at Sheldon’s inarticulate comment. He didn’t speak, but the concern was evident on his face.
“Ryan, take them to lunch. They need to talk without me around, and you need to question in privacy. I grant you that right.” Milton reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. “Here’s lunch money for Sheldon.” Milton handed Ryan a twenty which Ryan folded and put in his back pocket.
“I’ll make sure you get your change.”
“Go with them, Sheldon. Have fun.”
****
“Jesus!” Blade swore as he exited the house. “Lord of the manor! What the fuck?”
“Blade, quit,” Ryan growled. He’d known this would be hard. Blade’s picture of his brother was not the quiet man who was walking behind Ryan with his eyes down. It was the often raucous and hellish brat of a boy who’d ruined more than one dinner party.
“I’m still Sheldon Zath.” Sheldon leaned against Ryan’s car, his eyes suddenly hard and determined, the slave demeanor gone.
“Ah, it’s still there,” Ryan said. “Now get in the car. Milton will kick all our asses if I have the Zath boys fighting on the front lawn, mine most of all.” Ryan waited for them to clamber into the car. “So where are we eating? And I’m asking you also, Sheldon.”
Sheldon nodded, but didn’t offer an opinion. Milton had trained him thoroughly. This is the part Ryan didn’t like about these relationships. Sheldon should be vocal and opinionated; he was that sort of boy. Yes, Sheldon had shown some of his fire when pushed by his brother and fellow submissive, but he was being too deferential to Ryan. This was the boy who usually drove Ryan to the near screaming point in fifteen minutes.
“Sheldon it’s your choice,” Ryan said.
Sheldon froze for a moment. He stared down at his jeans and brushed off an invisible speck. “I don’t make these decisions anymore.”
“Milton handed you into my care for the afternoon. I want you to make the decision.”
“I don’t want to.” Sheldon’s voice was forceful. He drew his head up and stared directly at Ryan. “This is my choice. Ryan, you’re the one who lamented my bratting. I’ve faced my reality. Now don’t try to change it.”
“Very well.” Ryan reached across and squeezed Sheldon’s knee. “I had to make sure. Forgive me.”
“Thanks, Ryan,” Sheldon said, “and I do like pizza.”
“You’re impossible, boy. Pizza it is.”

They’d eaten the pizza, actually two pizzas. Blade was a bottomless pit when pizza was involved. Ryan had ordered the food. He’d eaten enough with Sheldon to know his topping preferences. Stay away from olives and anchovies and the boy was happy. Blade was more difficult. He still preferred the plain cheese and would laboriously pick off any vegetables.
“Have you had enough?” Ryan asked Sheldon. There was still one piece on the table. Ryan had been putting the pizza on Sheldon’s plate, not asking him if he wanted more. He hadn’t watched Milton in his master role, but knowing the man, Ryan doubted if he asked Sheldon about his dining preferences. Even in only the role of dominant, Milton had hard edges, more real life and less play than Ryan.
Ryan played hard with his partner, over the edge for some people, but it was play, and Blade was a masochist. Blade craved pain, and he craved pushing his tolerance. He was the ultimate adrenalin junky, and Ryan indulged him. Sheldon wasn’t a pain pig. Ryan knew that more than a hand spanking turned that boy’s guts to jelly, and here he was a slave. He was a slave with a master trained by Gordon Lewis. Ryan grudgingly respected Gordon. He’d seen Gordon be damn good with a panicked submissive, but Ryan had entered the Green Mountain Boys with a deep animosity to Gordon; his opinion influenced by Gavin. Ryan could see all the hard edges that Gavin had outlined in detail. It was Landon that kept Gordon within the boundaries of safe and sane, and Sheldon was no Landon. Ryan wasn’t sure what Sheldon was.
Ryan had watched Sheldon for several years. He knew the boy didn’t like pain, and he knew he adored Milton. Ryan had thought he’d understood Sheldon’s submission or more correctly fear of submission. Sheldon had played around the edges, teasing and baiting to got exactly what he wanted. Now he’d leapt into the deep end. Milton went roaming, and Sheldon decided he was a slave. Insane.
Blade played with the title master, but Ryan knew where it ended—on Monday morning when they both went back to work. Blade enjoyed scampering around naked and pretending he was a much abused captive. He didn’t enjoy having Ryan order his dinner or control his spending habits. And Blade enjoyed pain. The few relationships Ryan had known with the title of master and slave had centered around extreme fetishes and pain.  Sheldon wasn’t that sort of boy; Ryan was sure of that.
“Sheldon, the pizza?” Sheldon hadn’t answered the first time. He’d been deep in conversation with his brother, but still Ryan thought he’d been intentionally ignored. Sheldon had been watching him closely the entire lunch; he’d heard the question.
“I’m full, Ryan,” Sheldon answered politely.
“You didn’t hear me the first time?”
“No, Ryan. My apologies, Ryan.” Sheldon’s eyes were wide and much too innocent.
“You’re playing me, boy, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Sheldon couldn’t hide his grin.
“You impossible red-haired urchin. I should whip your ass.” Ryan flicked his napkin at Sheldon.
“You won’t. Your arm’s too tired from beating my brother here. He’s the one who’s into the whips.”
Here was the opening. Sheldon had handed it to Ryan with an engraved invitation, and Ryan could bet that Sheldon knew exactly what he was doing. “So what are you into?” Ryan tried to keep his voice casual, a conversation no more important than discussing the fate of Banner’s dreadful football team.
“Not feeling like the pheasant under glass. You and Blade have stared at me all lunch. I haven’t grown any horns.”
“Not yet, next week,” Ryan said flippantly, not reacting to the provocation.
“Sheldon, we’re worried.” Blade never had a problem with honesty. “You were always the scoundrel. You played Milton like a maestro and his violin. I’ve smashed into Milton’s hard side. He scares me when he steps fully into the master side, and he’s not playing anymore.”
Sheldon wadded the paper napkin into a ball. “I was afraid. I spent years crazily in love and afraid also. I did stupid things and nothing really awful ever happened, so I did stupider things.” Sheldon took a drink of soda. “I drank and drove into the garage, the side of the garage, not where you’re supposed to park. I was terrified. Milton hurt me, and Ryan you’re right; I’m not a masochist. But I craved control. I loved the other stuff he did.” Sheldon raked his fingers through his hair. “I was gutless. I never managed to tell him what I wanted. Milton’s good at guessing, but he’s not psychic. We got stuck in some demented game. Sure we got good at the game, and we almost gave each other what we wanted, but it was like staring at a chocolate cake and never eating it. Well, you know what happened from there.” Sheldon shrugged and smiled, a fleeting twist of his lips that didn’t touch his eyes.
“Not so fast, boy,” Ryan said. “If we’re talking, we’re going to do this right, not some lightning trip around the periphery. My understanding is you still don’t like pain.”
“I don’t. We’re not doing that.”
“You have little choice now,” Ryan said. “Milton’s holding the cards.”
“Yes, I gave him the deck, but I trust him not to draw all jokers. I have to trust him. I need that.”
“Shit, boy. You’re in this deep.” Ryan pulled Sheldon against him, not caring who might see. “You’ve gone all the way in, and you want this. Oh, Shit!”
“Ryan, it’s not bad, and people can see.”
“That from the boy who’s dumped iced tea over the head of fellow diners at fancy restaurants,” Ryan said with a strained laugh and released Sheldon. 
“I don’t do that anymore.” Sheldon paused and look at his brother and Ryan. “Milton defended your right to hit my brother far harder than I understand. He said you both enjoy it, that the giving and taking of pain is an important part of your dynamic. I want this with Milton. I trust him. Please don’t interfere.”
“Sheldon.” Blade reached out and ruffled his brother’s hair. “It’s not my place to interfere. I’m the boy who is ecstatic at the sight of a whip, especially the sight of a whip and a group of spectators. Go for it. Not my thing, but I know if Ryan brought out his whips you’d be running for the hills.”
“Sheldon, you’ve thought about this,” Ryan said softly. “You’ve finally found yourself, and I’m very proud of you. You’ve given a heartfelt defense of your relationship, and I know such introspection is hard for you. I’ve seen you and Milton do the avoidance dance for too many years. Milton may anger me sometimes, but I do trust him as a dominant. If anyone is going to do this sort of relationship, he probably has the discipline and control to make it work, but I want you to remember if it is ever too much we’re a phone call away, even if all you want is a break for a few days. OK?”
“Yes, Ryan.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I’m not stupid. I’m just crazy, and I’m Milton’s slave.”
“That you are.” Ryan held out his hand. “Let’s get you home to your master.”




Friday, December 7, 2012

Entanglements


Entanglements 
“That bad, huh?” Trent leaned against the counter and watched Mace in a pile of flour, bowls, eggs and milk. Dusted cake pans were stacked on the counter, and the timer was ticking away on the stove.
“Minute,” Mace said, scraping the bowl with a spatula.
“That bad.” Trent hooked an arm around Mace’s neck and kissed the short brown hair.
“He didn’t whack me or anything. I think he’d guessed you’d already done the deed.” 
“You’re stressed.”
Mace spun around and glared at Trent. “He was being a bossy assed bastard.”
“He’s always been a bossy assed bastard, as you put it.” Trent gave Mace a wry smile. “You usually like it.”
“Not to this degree.” Mace turned back to his baking. “I need the egg whites whipped.”
“Sure, and stop bothering you. Is that the message?”
“Yep.”
“I’ll do the egg whites, but you get to tell me the long sad story. We’ve already done the stomping and the snorting, and I’m not the top to scorch your ass twice in one day.”
Mace absently ran a hand over his butt. “He threatened it.”
“Oh.” Trent caught Mace’s belt and pulled him close. He should probably say something easy and comfortable and infinitely reassuring, but Trent wasn’t that sort of man. He wasn’t quick with words and bold reassurances. He’d seen Milton do it to soften Gordon’s hard edges, but it wasn’t catching. He hadn’t learned the trick.
“Yep,” Mace said and pulled away, “and I spooked and folded like a skittish two-year-old colt.” Mace stirred the batter too hard, sending flecks onto the counter and spotting the floor.
“Don’t. We already did that once today.” Trent ran his hand down his partner’s rigid back. 
“Oh, fuck it!” Mace slapped the bottle of vanilla against the counter. “I can’t even get this right. I just put in too much vanilla.”
“It won’t hurt. We’ll add some orange peel to counter it.”
“It’s not an orange vanilla cake.”
“Go sit down. Hands on your lap.”
“What?”
“Go on.” Trent turned Mace’s shoulders and aimed him for the chair.
“You don’t even know what I’m making.”
“Orange vanilla cake.” Trent steered Mace into the chair. “Hands in you lap,” he repeated.
“Oh yes, my lord and master.” Mace rolled his eyes and kicked his feet against the chair’s wooden rungs.
Trent clicked his tongue, but otherwise ignored the moaning. He had a cake to make after all. He busied himself with the pans. He didn’t have Mace’s baking skills, but he could manage.
“Do you think Milton will even let Sheldon have any?”
Trent ignored the question and pulled the first set of cakes from the oven. He tapped the top for doneness and set them out on the cooling rack. It was some sort of white cake, probably one of the more fussy ones from Mace’s mood. Trent skimmed the remaining directions, set the timer, and put in the next set of cake pans. He was in no hurry; Mace could stew for a few minutes. The slow baked recipes were always better. He tided up the kitchen, wiping the splatters from the counter, and finally turned toward his partner.
Mace was sitting with his hands on his lap and his feet hooked around the legs of the chair. He caught Trent’s look and lowered his eyes.
“Yep, kiddo, you were agitated. So what happened?” Trent straddled a chair and sat down.
“You already know about this morning.”
“The great breakfast battle.It will go down with The Battle of Hastings as a momentous occasion.”
“Milton’s the historian.” 
“It’s rubbing off. Should I have some of his dominance rub off on me too?”
“No.” Mace slapped the table with his palm.
“Hands in your lap,” Trent growled.
“Oh, God, it’s contagious!” Mace cracked a small smile before looking down and biting his lip.
“I take it Milton was forceful with you.”
Mace shrugged and swung his feet once before stilling them around the chair legs again. “He pulled me up on his lap. He talked.”
“Anything else?” Trent prodded.
“He threatened to punish me if I asked Sheldon about breakfast again. It’s breakfast, not if he wants to run off to Colorado with me.”
“Sheldon is Milton’s slave. Milton has that right.”
“How can he? It’s ridiculous!” Mace shouted.
“Don’t,” Trent said levelly. This was becoming his favorite word. “After we joined this merry band, Milton was upfront that we might see some odd and unusual goings on. This is just one more of those occasions.”
“He’s taken everything from Sheldon. How can you be so cavalier about it?”
“Does Sheldon look upset?”
“It’s probably not allowed. Ten lashes for calling your dominant a horse’s ass.”
“I’m sure it’s more than that,” Trent said half seriously. “Milton’s an old-fashioned master. He’s enforcing the master/slave contract.”
“How do you know?” 
“I called Ryan and Gordon. My personal oracles about all the more extreme elements of this lifestyle. Gordon has seen the contract. He was the witness. Sheldon has sworn obedience to Milton and freely offered himself as chattel. He has only the rights that Milton bequeaths on him.”
“Sheesh!” 
“He wanted it. Sheldon wrote the contract, not Milton. Milton only added to his own obligations to protect and cherish his property and to increase the safeguards for Sheldon.”
“And you think this is all right?” Mace started to rise from the chair.
“Sit down.”
Mace collapsed back into the chair and shot Trent a murderous look.
“We do this. Most people wouldn’t call this fair either. I spanked you this morning.”
“You can’t sell me as property.”
“And you’re not Sheldon.” Trent leaned on his elbow and studied Mace. “Sheldon, for all his antics, is deeply submissive. He needs this, especially now.”
“He needs to be muzzled so Milton can do whatever he fucking wants! Milton hurt Sheldon.”
“And he knows it. He would never have agreed otherwise. It’s more restrictive and all encompassing than Milton wanted. It’s work to be a good master. Ultimately Milton’s responsible for Sheldon’s happiness, and he takes his obligations seriously.”
“It makes Sheldon happy to be penniless and get dragged around naked on a leash?”
“I haven’t seen Sheldon naked on a leash, have you?”
“He could be. He can’t stop it.”
“True.” Trent checked the timer over his shoulder. “But Milton is obligated to Sheldon’s mental well-being. Dragging Sheldon around on a leash would hardly be productive.”
“No,” Mace snorted, “but controlling his diet is?”
“He making choices for Sheldon without punishment or pain. Think about it. Sheldon always was happiest when he was in some sort of trouble after the initial dust settled. Sheldon has this need. I don’t think either of us can understand it, at least not completely, but it is our role to show tolerance. He’s still your friend; you just need to ask Milton first before you do something for Sheldon. He’ll grant it as long as you ask, but he’ll punish you if you don’t.”
“How do you know? And you’ll let him?” Mace asked in rapid fire succession.
“We talked, or Milton talked and I listened. Mace—”Trent stood and leaned over his partner, lifting Mace’s chin so he couldn’t look away—“it’s always been understood that Milton has the final say in this household. We may be on the periphery of this family, but he is the head of the household. If you can’t accept that any longer, we should move.” Trent kissed Mace’s forehead and stepped back. “Consider it, kiddo. I can’t change that.”
Mace nodded slowly. “Milton asked me today if I still considered myself a submissive. I am, and I submit. I don’t like it today, but I will submit.”
“Good boy.” Trent almost never used that expression. Mace would know exactly what his partner meant. It wasn’t an empty or casual platitude. It was a reaffirmation of their way. 


Thursday, December 6, 2012

Breakfast with Master


Breakfast with Master

“Do you want pancakes, Sheldon?” Mace asked, already pulling out the flour and the mixing bowl.
“No,” Milton said softly.
“I didn’t ask you,” Mace shot back. He continued to pour the flour into the bowl and reached into the refrigerator for the milk.
“Sheldon is not having pancakes today,” Milton said in a steady voice. “It’s no longer his choice; it’s mine, and in the future do not ask him.”
Mace spun around, real anger evident in his eyes. He wiped his flour covered hands against his thighs, sprinkling his dark jeans with white specks. “I can’t believe you.”
“Don’t, Mace,” Milton said, keeping his voice steady. “You will not like where this conversation is going, and you’re making this harder for Sheldon, not easier. I will tell Trent to punish you for upsetting my slave.”
Sheldon dropped his head and picked at his placemat at the mention of his official title. Milton rubbed the back of Sheldon’s neck, hoping the weight of his hand would anchor his boy. Sheldon had bratted for a long time; a new title and a new status were hard for him. His desires were suddenly naked for all to see.
“Are you going to make him eat bread and water on the floor?”
“How I treat my slave is not your business. Leave the kitchen. Talk to Trent, or I will.” Milton let the unspoken threat hang in the air. If he had to speak to Trent, he’d make sure Mace was solidly punished.
“Fine,” Mace spat and marched out of the kitchen.
Milton pulled Sheldon onto his lap and wrapped his arms tightly around a shocked and shivering boy. “Shh. It’s my job to protect you. You were a very good boy not to lash out at Mace. I’m very proud of you.”
“I feel like a wimp.”
“There is nothing wimpy about being a slave; it is very hard work.” 
Sheldon nuzzled into Milton's neck, but his eyes registered his disbelief. Instead of feeling empowered by his new status, he was feeling emasculated. Milton sighed and drew Sheldon closer, dropping a kiss on the red hair.
"I never told you this would be easy, but Mace will come around. You've been friends for a long time, and I won't take that away." Sheldon needed his friend; he tended to easily make acquaintances, but rarely make friends. Sheldon didn't have friends at work. Landon and Mace were his only true friends outside of their tangled group of six, and Landon was as much a mentor as a friend. 
"What are we having for breakfast?" Sheldon asked.
Sheldon wasn't ready to talk. Make it ordinary; they could talk later. "Eggs Benedict. It's my favorite, and I know you like it.” Milton stood and pulled Sheldon with him. "You have to help. It's bad form for the master to cook for the slave."
***
Milton rubbed his eyes as he plowed through another paper. He couldn't hide behind his work for much longer. Luke was working on his dissertation, Sheldon was watching TV, and Mike had disappeared somewhere. Austin was downstairs doing his homework, or at least the boy better be. They'd had a discussion last night about Austin's haphazard approach to college. Milton wasn't going to harass him into completing every assignment, and bratting in situations where it could damage his future was something Milton didn't tolerate. If he found that boy playing zombies and whatever one more time, it was going to be the belt. Fear of your dominant could be healthy. Milton had been kind today; he'd sent Tilden to check. Tilden would harass and cajole and maybe swat, but he wouldn't leather their disobedient cub's ass.
Milton startled at the tap on the door. "Come in."
Mace entered, shutting the door behind him but staying close to its safety. His eyes were red, and his head was down. Trent had obviously taken Mace's disagreement this morning beyond a simple conversation. 
"Bad?" Milton asked gently.
"Trent called me irrationally angry. I'm sorry."
"Apology accepted. Thank you," Milton said formally and stood up. He captured Mace's wrists before Mace could flee. It had been a long time since Milton had pulled Mace onto his lap, but this was a boy who was struggling. Milton rarely saw Mace give off submissive signals, but at the moment it was unmistakable. "You're still angry and confused, aren't you? And by the way I don't consider your anger irrational just inappropriate. Sheldon is your friend. You don't understand what happened. I'm the obvious target, the cause of the changes."
"I don't want to be here." Mace's voice was soft, and Milton chose to ignore the request.
"Tell me what you feel when you see Sheldon now."
"Angry."
"Angry at me?"
"Yes." Mace managed to make that single word sound like an entire litany against Milton.
"Understandable. I'm the master."
"You're the asshole who screwed it up. Sheldon was happy before—" Mace broke off.
"I won't punish you for honesty. Yes, I was the asshole who couldn't keep his dick in his trousers. Does that about sum it up?"
Mace nodded.
"I hurt Sheldon; I hurt him badly. You don't have to tell me that. I know, but I also know we were having trouble in our relationship long before I succumbed to temptation. Sheldon was struggling to find his footing as my submissive. His brother's and Ryan's relationship, my role as head of the Green Mountain Boys, and the effect of time were all changing our relationship and the power structure within it."
"He was fun. He was happy."
"Sometimes." And sometimes Sheldon was screaming for help, Milton added silently. Milton had known the dynamics were changing. They'd both become too comfortable in the old ways; Milton hadn't pushed hard enough to make the needed changes until Sheldon imploded and demanded everything. 
"You think he was unhappy?"
"I think he needs something very different than you. You're rarely a submissive. I'm not privy to what goes on in your bedroom with Trent, but I suspect the dynamics are far different than our arrangement. I am always a dominant, and Sheldon is always a submissive. Those roles are irrevocable. You, on the other hand, rarely show a submissive side except when under emotional stress." Milton brushed his fingers through Mace's hair. "If you hadn't been hurt, you would never have been a submissive at all. Maybe it was wrong what Josh and I did all those years ago, pushing you both toward a power dynamic, but you were both hurting, and the power exchange is something we understand. It troubles me that I never see you and Trent play, and it troubles me that you find Sheldon's deep submission so incomprehensible. We may have forced you someplace you shouldn't be if you can't comprehend Sheldon's desires."
Mace sat still for several minutes. "May I get up?"
"You may." Milton unwound his arms, allowing Mace to go free. 
Mace walked slowly to the window and stared out as if he was trying to find the western sky between the reds and gold of fall. He leaned against the window, a pose he'd probably taken thousand of times against the side of a corral. "I don't know," he said, his drawl thickening as he spoke. "I'm not like your boys; I've known that for ages. I understood the bratting. It was such an obvious game. I don't understand this—the complete loss of autonomy. I get the sexual charge." Mace flushed and grimaced. "Oh, I get that for sure. When you're mad it goes straight to my groin. Trent only has to stare a certain way, and I get all tingly. So yes, you and Josh were right all the time; I am a submissive. I was also totally messed up in the head, and I needed someone to take charge. I needed a good old-fashioned kick in the pants. Josh is always good for that if Trent doesn't step up and do it himself, but I don't want it all the time." Mace's eyes went to the window again. "I don't want to play at it, but I'm not a 24/7 submissive, at least not now."
"Can you understand and accept what Sheldon needs?" Milton asked softly.
"I'm trying, and I'm trying not to hate you because I’ve always liked and trusted you. You've seen me at my worst and have always been decent and kind." Mace shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Come here, cowboy." Milton folded Mace into a tight hug. "I'm a dominant; I'm a master, but I do care about each of those beautiful men who are entangled in my life and love. I promise I'll try my best for them, and I expect you'll tell me when I'm not. Just try to be patient with me for a while. Can you do that?"
"I'll try, but I won't promise."
"Mace," Milton said, pushing Mace to arm's length. "If you speak to Sheldon as you did this morning, I will punish you. Understand that. Now go."

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Home, Master 3


Home, Master 3

Sheldon groaned but refused to open his eyes. He wasn’t ready for the morning’s fresh tortures. God, he still had that damn piece of steel in his ass, and his cock was trying to get its morning wood against Milton’s dreaded plastic. A grunt or a mewl or some noise came from across the room. It would have to be a giant rat, a creature big enough to rival the killer tomatoes of film lore, to make that noise. They didn’t have any four footed pets.
Sheldon dragged his sleepy eyes open. He couldn’t sleep with a killer rat on the loose; only it wasn’t a rat. Milton was balls deep in Tilden in an image only fit for a lewd and pornographic Valentine’s card. Milton’s brown eyes caught the motion on the bed, and the smile on his lips would never pass for sweet.
“The redheaded slave boy wakes. Up, boy. Pull out that butt plug and lube yourself.” 
Sheldon knew he shouldn’t be staring at Milton with wide green eyes. He wasn’t totally naive about the role of a slave boy, but he’d thought Milton would never call him on this. Milton had always asked for sex, not demanded it.
“Do it, boy.” The timbre of Milton’s voice suggested that death would be the easy solution if Sheldon didn’t obey. 
“Milton—” Tilden’s words were drowned under the barrage of hand against ass.
“Now, boy.”
Sheldon scrambled out of bed, pulling the quilt with him as he grabbed for the lube on the chest of drawers. 
“No, boy, show us. Don’t hide over there against the wall. It’s our pleasure to watch the slave boy prepare himself.”
Fuck! Sheldon knew his face was as red as his hair. He wasn’t an exhibitionist. He liked sex with the lights off, but Tilden was impaled on Milton and still hard as steel despite the thumping he’d just taken for opening his mouth and Sheldon’s blatant staring. This was hot. Sheldon’s cock slammed into the plastic cage, and he whimpered a protest.
“If you ever want that off, boy, you’d better hurry.”
Fuck, Milton. He was hurrying. Sheldon jerked out the plug and slammed two lube slathered fingers into his hole. So much for gentle and pleasant penetration.
“Back onto Tilden and brace yourself.”
Braced wasn’t enough. Sheldon’s chest was hitting the wall with far too much regularity. Caged cock and desperate balls were making it worse, but somehow it was also glorious. All he could feel was the sweat and heat of the two men behind him. The final thrust, they must have fired in immediate sequence. Sheldon panted against the wall, sweat dripping in his eyes. He hardly noticed the weight shift, but he noticed the fingers at his groin and the magnificent heat as Milton’s mouth engulfed Sheldon’s previously trapped organ. Sheldon shot way too quickly. He would have liked to savor those lips and tongue. Milton was damn good at giving head, but he rarely indulged his boys.
Milton looked up and licked his lips. “Worth it, boy?”
All Sheldon could manage was a nod. It had been stunning, terrifying, embarrassing, and absolutely fabulous. “Thank you, Master,” he finally stuttered.
“A tongue tied Sheldon. I’ll have to do this more often.” Milton grinned, the love in his brown eyes unmistakable. He kissed Sheldon, his mouth tasting of Sheldon and sex. “Shower. We’re a mess.” Milton reached out and pulled Tilden from the wall where he’d been leaning with a look that wavered between satisfaction and shock. “All squeaky clean and no one but us will know you like it hot and wild.” Milton kissed Tilden far more gently than he’d kissed Sheldon. “It’s not wrong to do this occasionally. We’re still good people, and you don’t want to know how long it took Landon and Gordon to beat that wisdom into me. Now shower.”

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Home, Master 2


Home, Master 2
“Are you OK?” Tilden was sitting on the bed dressed in striped pajamas that looked more appropriate for a pensioner than a member of the legendary Green Mountain Boys.
“I’ve got a piece of steel shoved up my ass and a fucking cage on my cock. So what do you think?” Sheldon knew he was being obnoxious, but he couldn’t seem to stop his mouth. This was the easy side, the sharp comments and the bratty remarks.
Tilden brushed the hair off Sheldon’s forehead and looked into the redhead’s eyes. Tilden’s own eyes were clouded with worry. “Sheldon.” Tilden hesitated, and Sheldon could almost hear Tilden’s mind turning over in the Russian he so often used in this situation. “Come here.” Tilden stood, grabbed Sheldon’s hand, and dragged him into the kitchen. He dropped two small glasses onto the table and jerked a liter bottle from the freezer. He poured the clear liquid without asking and swallowed a large gulp before turning toward Sheldon. “Drink.”
“Tilden…” Sheldon hesitated. He didn’t drink, or at least not without Milton, and he didn’t like vodka. Gasoline might be as tasty.
“You’re not driving. You’re with a dominant.” Tilden smiled, or maybe he barred his teeth. “I’m not drinking alone, and I need a drink.” Tilden swallowed the rest of the glass in a single gulp before grabbing a hunk of bread and shoving it into his mouth. He muttered something incomprehensible in Russian. He poured another full glass, swallowing half, before handing a full glass to Sheldon. "Za Zdorovie." 
Sheldon swallow a mouthful and repressed a strong urge to cough. Why was he drinking this poison with Tilden? Hell, why was Tilden drinking? Tea maybe. Sheldon could see the tea, but vodka, and vodka with a determination it seemed to kill the bottle. "You know Milton will beat our asses if we get shit faced drunk."
"What's it like?" Tilden slammed back another healthy swallow. "Getting beat I mean."
"Not worth it for fire water." Sheldon took a tentative sip and reached into the fridge for a Coke. He straddled a chair, flinching as the damn plug hit the hard surface and looked up at Tilden. God, Sheldon needed to talk to this man. He could see the hurt and concern etched over Tilden's expressive face. He was a good looking man, still far more boyish than Milton and somehow softer also. Tilden could get angry; Sheldon had provoked it a few times, but Tilden was usually the gentle, smiling man in contrast to Milton's hardness and remoteness. Sheldon choked back half the vodka--liquid courage. "What do you need to know?"
"Chto?"
"No, we're not doing the Russian babble. I'm not Luke; beyond one or two words, it starts sounding like gibberish. I'm Sheldon, fucking submissive Sheldon. Yeah, the cat's out of the bag. I'm not immature, I'm not irresponsible, I'm not a lunatic, at least according to Milton. I'm submissive to the core, and I like a heavy all the time. Shit!" Sheldon raked his fingers through his hair and swallowed another slug of vodka. "Maybe the drink was a good idea."
"What have I done?" Tilden's voice cracked with anguish. "I've taken your place."
"Stop it!" Sheldon shouted. "Fuck! I'm not going to tell you that it didn't hurt like hell. It still does sometimes, but you’re Milton's truest friend and lover and fellow dominant. The soft side he doesn't always find in himself. I'm his slave; I worship at his feet. We have different places."
"Sheldon, but—"
"No. You didn't start all this. I'm getting pretty damn old to toss rolls across the dinner table, and it was getting fucking stupid to keep pretending that I needed someone to manage getting me off to work every morning. I like someone getting me off to work every morning, but that's a different story. It was time for me to grow up."
"You have no autonomy. He ordered you into my bed tonight."
"And he put me in a cock cage which he knew guaranteed you'd do nothing more than talk and cuddle. He knows you too well, but he didn't guess the drink part." Sheldon sloshed more vodka into both their glasses. "Milton needs some surprises; it will keep him on his toes."
"Sheldon, are you really all right with this?"
Sheldon ran his finger around his glass and took a single swallow. He coughed and reached for his Coke can. "Next time you want a booze fest we're having wine. This stuff is like battery acid."
"It's an acquired taste. One I shouldn't be acquiring again. Not with Milton." Tilden shuddered.
"Does he scare you?"
"Sometimes," Tilden said after a moment's hesitation. "But I think I scare myself more."
"Like it too well," Sheldon said with a wide grin. "Rips the doors right off propriety and proper college Prof."
Tilden nodded, a blush rising up his fair cheeks.
"You're a dominant. It's OK to get off on it. You've bottomed for Milton; you've got to know that my side certainly gets a rise out of it."
Tilden blushed harder and reached for his glass. 
"You've been living with Mr. Head of the Green Mountain Boys and you blush like a school girl over a little chitchat."
"It seems," Tilden hesitated, "so naughty."
"Nothing’s wrong with naughty, and you best get used to it. A ménage of six is going to turn heads.We stopped being ordinary and boring a long time ago. We’re probably well beyond naughty and into racy and crazy."
"I know." Tilden seemed to have recovered his equilibrium. "I understand the play better, and I accept it on a good day." A sweet smile played across his lips for a second. "But what happened, that wasn't play. Ryan wouldn't say much, but I could hear it in his voice. Milton really hurt you."
"I wanted him to." God, it even sounded stupid to his own ears. It had fucking hurt. Sheldon never wanted to feel pain like that again. He didn't get his brother's fascination with pain. The younger Zath could have that, but Sheldon had felt the other—the complete surrender to Milton's will. He'd needed to go beyond himself at least that once. He'd needed to find out that he could really do it. Sheldon stared down into his glass of clear fire. “The explanation sounds stupid, I know, but I needed to do it once. I needed to give it all up and be at Milton’s complete mercy, and it needed to be real. Don’t worry, it’s out of my system.”
Tilden tore off another chunk of bread. “What about all this master stuff?”
“I wanted that—not that it isn’t hard sometimes.” Sheldon snorted. “Sometimes I think I’ve lost my fucking mind. Tonight I wanted to strangle Milton. He did explain later, or I might have.” Sheldon fingered his glass. “You know he doesn’t have to explain any longer. I gave him all the rights, but he still does. That’s why I trust him and love him.” Sheldon took another swallow of vodka. “This stuff is going to kill me. Yuck! I’m going to bed before I start to think this swill tastes good. Are you coming?” Sheldon stood and held out his hand.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. Now stop asking the slave boy questions and start ordering me about. That’s what I like.”
“Bed, boy,” Tilden mocked growled. “But sleep only.” Tilden struggled to his feet, gripping Sheldon’s hand a little too tightly. “I’m too old for drinking this stuff. Ugh!”
“If you vomit on me, Tilden, I’m letting Milton have your hide.”
“I might be a light weight, but even I’m not sick on two and a half glasses. Are you questioning your dominant?”
“No, sir.”
“Why somehow don’t I believe you?”
“Tilden,” Sheldon said softly and stretched up to kiss the taller man’s cheek. “I’m teasing, but I do listen. You are a dominant, and I respect and need that side of you. Sometimes it’s nice to curl up with a dominant who won’t put stripes on my hide. Can we go to bed now? I really am tired.”
“Yes, boy.”

Monday, December 3, 2012

Home, Master


Home, Master

“You’re with Tilden tonight. Austin with me, and Luke and Mike as you wish.” Milton was standing in the bedroom, his collar open and his tie curled in his fist. He looked like any other man preparing for bed, and he had just casually ordered everyone’s sleeping arrangements. 
Tilden glanced over at Milton, his eyebrows slowing rising into his scattered hair. His mouth opened, and he looked as if he was going to speak, but he swallowed and held his tongue at the unmistakable glare from Milton. Tilden wasn’t a submissive, and despite his routine deference to Milton that had grown as their relationship had finally escaped its straightjacket, he was in all other elements more dominant. He moved with a new confidence, and Sheldon had seen him back Mike into a wall and kiss him firmly, extreme dominance for Tilden.
It was Sheldon who voiced the only complaint. “With this on?” He ran his hand over his baggy khakis that hid the cock cage that Milton had inhumanely strapped on his slave boy this morning.
“Yes, boy. And Tilden may use you as he chooses. It’s not about your pleasure.”
Sheldon bit back the sharp words. It had been easy when they were alone at the beach cottage and his flesh still bore the full signs of Milton’s handiwork. He’d found the spot that had so often eluded him, but now it was nothing but difficult and humiliating. He was the one without keys, a wallet, or any cash. He had to ask Milton for everything. He was the one who had been soundly spanked this morning as he stood with his pants around his ankles and his hands on the countertop.
“Not happy?” Milton asked as his dark eyes rested on Sheldon.
Fuck no! He wasn’t happy. His cock wanted out of this damn prison.
“You can tell me if you’re polite and respectful. I might not change anything, but you’re not in trouble for being honest.”
Polite and respectful with this damn contraption on, with everyone watching. Who was Milton kidding? “It will be a fucking fabulous time.”
Not the right answer. Milton’s beard might be more salt and pepper than black, but he still moved fast. Sheldon was jerked into the bathroom by his ear, and the door slammed by a powerful kick of Milton’s foot.
“Boy.”
Sheldon squirmed; his knees hurt on the hard tile floor. Milton had swept Sheldon’s feet out from under him and shoved him down without a word.
“Sorry. Sorry,” Sheldon babbled.
“Stand. Strip.”
Naked, the cock cage was even more obscene. Sheldon stood in front of the mirror. His cock encased in the stupid plastic. 
“Hands on the sink. Bend over. Legs apart.”
Great, another spanking. 
Milton reached over Sheldon’s head to the medicine cabinet above. Sheldon hissed as a slick finger entered his ass and then groaned as he felt cold and hard steel against his rectum. 
“I can’t do this.” They had butt plugs. Austin liked them, but Sheldon was a cock man. He couldn’t imagine a piece of steel in his ass all night.
“Shh. It’s small. I’ve used plenty of lube, and it’s not your choice anymore.” Milton reached around and pinched Sheldon’s nipple as he pushed the plug home. “Tilden can take it out if he wants to play with you, but you don’t touch it. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Master.” Sheldon could think of one hundred things he would rather have said than the obedient and proper yes master, but bent over and vulnerable he mumbled the expected answer. He blinked back the tears of frustration, anger, and humiliation.
“Sheldon, I know you’re struggling.” Milton turned Sheldon around and gently traced his thumb down his boy’s cheek, picking up the telltale wetness. “I’d rather have my bonny red-haired boy smiling and purring.”
“No one says bonny.”
“Gordon does.”
Sheldon groaned and muttered something foul under his breath.
“Careful.” Milton hooked his arm around Sheldon’s back and pulled him close. “I’m trying to get you back to that place in your head you want to be. You fight from habit. Let yourself go. Let yourself enjoy it. You’re strongly submissive. Stop fighting it. I won’t let you fail at this, but if you fight, it will be painful, instead of pleasurable.
“What if I can’t?” Sheldon leaned into Milton. He loved this spot, his head pressed against Milton’s chest, Milton’s powerful arms tight around him. “I’m no good at this. I can’t do this.”
“Yes, you can.” Milton’s voice was sure and absolute. “I saw you do it. You were exquisite, and you were happy.”
“We were alone.”
“I know, and now you feel naked and exposed and vulnerable. The brat persona was your clothing, and now it’s gone.” Milton kissed the top of Sheldon’s head and let one hand drift to Sheldon’s ass. “We both hid. I played the gentle disciplinarian who cared about homework and peas, as the ever straight forward and brutally honest Ryan would say, and you dressed up as the juvenile and often irresponsible brat. Unfortunately we both know it’s false. I’m a socially unacceptable master with all its frightening implications, and you are neither juvenile nor irresponsible. We both have to do this. So chin up and be a good boy, and I’ll square my shoulders and draw my dominant cloak around me and pretend I can beat you into the next universe without a qualm.”
“Milton.” Sheldon struggled to move away from Milton, to be able to look up into his face and his eyes.
“No, boy. It’s Master. I am what I am with all its ugliness as well as all its majesty, as you are what you are with all its beauty and sacrifice and sometimes pain. Now go try to explain some of this to Tilden. You’re with him tonight, not as punishment, but because he needs to listen and to understand.”
“I’m caged.”
“Sex is easy. Talking is hard. He won’t use you when it’s for his pleasure only. He’s not that type of man.”
“Master, you’re a devil.”
“Sometimes.” Milton patted Sheldon’s rump. “But sometimes so are you.” Milton handed Sheldon the oversized pajama top hanging on the bathroom door. “Wear this and go, boy.”
Sheldon shrugged into the shirt infused with the scent of Milton, of his master and turned to face the door. He couldn’t make his hand reach for the knob. 
“Go.” Milton swatted the exposed thigh. “One day at a time just like we did in the very beginning. I have faith in you.”

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Master


Master
Sheldon ran his hand down his bare neck; the collar was on the dresser of the hotel next to his laptop and cell phone. He knew he should button his shirt several more buttons and that his jeans were obscenely tight for a man of his age and position. He was Milton’s submissive. He was in a sixsome. Fuck it! He’d been Milton’s boy. What was he now—a member of some stupid pack. He swiped his hand across his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry again. He’d spent enough of the last six months hiding in bathrooms and crying his eyes out. He was supposed to be over it; he was supposed to be one of many.
The club was crowded. It had been unassuming from the street, nothing but a plain brown door in a cement wall filled with other plain brown doors. It could have been a warehouse or a call center or a machine shop. Two doors later and an inquisitive bouncer with eyes that showed a longing to do far more than look, Sheldon was inside the club. It had kept its warehouse feel with bare concrete walls and exposed metal beams, but it was anything but a warehouse. Moans and the thunk of a paddle against naked flesh rose above the conversation and the clink of glasses. Sheldon braced himself as a flogger struck a freckled blond submissive who screamed a full throttle plea at each blow. 
Sheldon ordered a Coke from a bartender and retreated to a far table. He still couldn’t make himself drink alcohol. Milton’s law. He should be free of Milton’s law, but it was habit. He crushed the ice between his molars and tried not to look at the man withering in bondage as his master flicked a line of clothespins on his chest.
“I’ve not seen you here before.”
Sheldon turned to see a tall man with dark curls smiling at him. “Original pick-up line.”
The man flushed slightly, a pleasant pink highlighting his cheekbones. “I never was any good at this.” The man laughed, the color deepening on his cheeks. “Might I join you?"
Sheldon nodded and pushed the chair from the table. This guy looked normal enough, boringly normal compared to most of the others. He was dressed in black jeans and a white golf shirt which outlined his tan biceps.
“Coke?” The man asked, glancing at Sheldon’s drink.
“Yeah, I don’t drink and play.” Sheldon tried to sound confident, the way he would imagine Blade answering the question.
“Smart. I’m Hank. So do you want to?”
Just like that—no preliminaries or getting to know him. “Yeah, cool, man.”
“It’s yes, sir, boy.” Hank’s tone had changed, and his eyes were no longer laughing. “Your safewords.”
“Red and yellow.” Unoriginal but somehow his normal safewords felt like they belonged to Milton. Everything belonged to Milton. Sheldon was going to stop that tonight. He was no longer Milton’s boy. Unconsciously he touched the smooth skin of his neck; he’d become used to the warm leather against his skin, the slight aroma that reminded him of saddles and horses and long ago summer camp.
“What do you like?”
“Hand, paddle, flogger.” Milton had used the flogger a few times. It wasn’t the hand, but it wasn’t the whip either. 
“Off limits?”
“No marks. No cutting.”
“I wouldn’t,” Hank said softly. “This is a little fun; I don’t torture strangers. Shall we?” Hank stood and held out his hand.
Hank’s hand was different, his nails manicured and his fingers more slender. Sheldon followed, not wanting to look, wanting to pretend. The leather of the spanking bench was smooth and smelled of polish. Sheldon tugged against the cuffs. They were unyielding, but not painful.
“Are you ready, boy?” Hank’s hand rested on Sheldon’s exposed ass cheeks: too light, too tentative, too gentle.
“Yes, sir.” Sheldon screwed his eyes shut. He could hear Milton; he could see Milton. A light slap brushed one cheek then another. The rhythm was quick, quicker than Milton's. Sheldon could feel his skin warming. Hank was hitting harder, each blow impacting the skin with reassuring force. Sheldon jerked against his bonds. The paddle stung down his thighs. He wanted to kick and cry out. He bit his tongue, tasting a mixture of blood and tears in his mouth. Hank swung the paddle with practiced force, the swats tattooing rapid heat and pain across Sheldon’s ass and thighs. 
Sheldon knew he was crying hard now. He could hear it in his ears, sobs that shook his shoulders and strained to escape his chest.
“Easy, boy.” The man’s fingers stroked Sheldon’s sweaty hair back; his lips touched Sheldon’s forehead. “Beautiful, boy. You took that well.” The man’s fingers were swift and sure on the buckles of the restraints, and he pulled Sheldon into a tight embrace.
It wasn’t Milton. The smell was wrong. The arm on Sheldon’s shoulder was light and cautious, not heavy and demanding. Sheldon sagged against the man, against Hank. He didn’t even know Hank’s last name. Hank didn’t know Sheldon’s name at all. He hadn’t asked. Sheldon stumbled against Hank. He’d just let a stranger beat him. He forbade Milton this joy, and he’d let a stranger hear him cry, and he’d fallen into a stranger’s arms for comfort.
Sheldon couldn’t stop the tears. Someone had thrown a blanket over his shoulders. Hank was offering Sheldon water, his voice laced with concerned.
“Kiddo, you’re OK. What do you need?”
“I want to go home.” Sheldon jerked from the reassuring touch. This wasn’t the right touch. What had he done?
“I’ll take you.” Hank’s voice had morphed into a demand. 
Sheldon swayed, still clutching at the blanket, unable to make his lips form the necessary words. He’d be fine; he just needed to be alone.
“Where do you live?”
“Hotel.” The word was thick and strained, not the voice Sheldon knew. 
“Where?”
“Radisson.”
Sheldon didn’t remember exactly how he returned to his room. His feet had moved along the sidewalk; the ding of the elevator bell had reverberated in his ears. He stumbled into the room and collapsed face first onto the bed. He buried his head in the hotel pillow, wishing for the scent of Milton or at least their usual laundry detergent.
“Sit up.” A hand grabbed Sheldon’s wrist. A collar was waved under his nose—his collar. “You’re someone’s boy. Milton Brown. Who?”
Sheldon shook his head and tried to bury himself in the too many pillows.
“Boy, who?” The hand is Sheldon’s hair jerked upward. The slap across the cheek wasn’t hard enough to mark, but it stung. “Who?”
“My dominant.”
“Jesus! I don’t play with other people’s boys. You idiot! You fucking idiot! Call him.” The last was a roar, and Sheldon flinched backward, the tears flowing unchecked down his face. “Boy.” The hand was gently as it stroked Sheldon’s cheek. “Can you call him? He’s not dead?”
Sheldon shook his head.
“Shh. You need to call.” The bed sagged as Hank sat and pulled Sheldon into his chest. He searched Sheldon’s pants, finding the phone, and scrolling through the contacts.
Sheldon sat, his mind unable to will himself to do anything but leak pointless tears down his face. He should call, or he should grab the phone and smash it into bits.
Sheldon wasn’t sure how he was understanding, but he knew it took three calls before Hank found Milton. The conversation had been half rapid, half apologetic on Hank’s end, but Sheldon knew Milton was on his way. 
“You’re coming with me, Mr. Zath.” Hank’s hand was on Sheldon’s elbow. There was nothing to do, but go where he was being led.
The house was big with glass wall and some crazy waterfall in the front hall. Sheldon was hustled and coerced through some semblance of a a nighttime ritual and tucked into a bed that could have slept five. 
“Stay put.”
*******
Hank swirled the liquor around in his glass. Even the best whiskey didn’t have much flavor tonight. Hank played; he wasn’t a lifestyle dominant, but he enjoyed his nights out at the club and his fun in his basement. He’d recognized the name on the collar tag. Milton Brown—the head of the legendary Green Mountain Boys. He hadn't believed his own eyes at first, but the prefix for the third phone number he'd called had been Vermont. Hank wasn’t sure how much of the lore was real or legend, but he’d come damn close to fucking Master Brown’s boy. What a fuck up!
He swallowed another splash of whiskey, letting the burn anchor him in reality. Milton had said he’d be here before morning. Hank checked again to make sure the outside lights were illuminated and settled down on the sofa. He’d turned on the TV, but his eyes were only registering swirls of color as his mind imagined the worst. He’d played with someone else’s boy, not just an anonymous someone else, but the head of the Green Mountain Boys.
Hank knew the legends. How many rules had he violated? How many taboos had he broken? No one played with any seriousness and didn’t know those names. What would they do to him? Hank had felt the whip a few times. It wasn’t something he was anxious to relive, especially for real. Shit! He ran his hand through his short curls. He needed to work Monday; maybe he should call in sick.
It was the doorbell that woke him. Hank stumbled into the hall and threw back the bolt. A big man with a single small backpack slung over his broad shoulders stood at the door.
“Milton Brown?”
“Yes.” The handshake was firm and natural. The eyes behind the glasses were friendly or at least not hostile. “Thank you, Mr. Aldershot.”
No threats. No growling. Hank was being thanked.
“Where’s my boy?”
Hank motioned Milton forward. Milton paused at the bedroom door and look into the room without a word. His eyes studied the sleeping figure, and he didn’t seem to relax until he’d observed the regular motion of the man’s chest.
“Sheldon.” The word was half whispered, almost a plea or an incantation, before Milton stepped inside the room and gently shut the door.
****
Sheldon opened his eyes to bright light and the smell of coffee. “Milton!”
“Yes.” The tone was flat and cool and curled in the pit of Sheldon’s stomach.
“Sir?”
“Am I still that?” Milton loomed over the bed; his finger traced Sheldon’s bare neckline. “What am I, Sheldon? Do you want out? You only had to ask.”
“No, Milton, no!” Sheldon grabbed for Milton’s hand, managing only to catch the sleeve of Milton’s shirt. His clung as tightly as any small boy to his mother. “Please. Don’t.”
“What do you want, Sheldon?”
Sheldon dove from the bed and clutched at Milton’s legs. “Don’t leave me. Don’t go. Master. Please. I need you.”
“I have never been master.” Milton buried his fingers in Sheldon’s short hair and jerked him to his feet. “Hands behind your head. Feet wide.”
Sheldon struggled to find the stance. He’d seen Milton do this with Mike and Austin. Milton’s hands were everywhere, circling Sheldon’s neck, tracing a line between Sheldon’s nipples. Milton’s hands caressed and prodded the red skin of Sheldon’s ass and thighs. A hacking spit, and a finger entered Sheldon’s ass as the opposite hand grasped his cock and balls.
“Be still.” 
The hands disappeared. Milton strode into the connected bathroom and washed his hands without a word. His steps clattered over the hardwood floor. He stood in front of Sheldon, his big body blocking everything else from Sheldon’s vision. Two hands grabbed Sheldon’s head, familiar hands, hands that smelled of home. 
“Physically you look all right. Mentally…”
“Milton, please. Oh, God!” Sheldon tried to swallow the tears. He fell against Milton, his fingers clutching Milton’s shirt. “Please.”
“Stand up.” The words were soft, gentle, far too sympathetic. “Wrap this around yourself.” Milton pulled the blanket from the bed and draped it around Sheldon. “What do you need?”
“I need you. Please. Sir. Master.” Sheldon knew he was incoherent. He just wanted Milton to hold him, to make it all right, to punish him. 
“Your collar is off, Sheldon. I will not have this conversation as dominant and submissive.”
“No,” Sheldon keened and threw himself at Milton’s feet.
“Sheldon, get up.” 
“No. Please, Master.”
Milton dropped to one knee; his big hand caught Sheldon’s chin. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to handle this as a wayward and ungrateful submissive, a disobedient boy?” Milton paused, his dark eyes never leaving Sheldon’s face. “I will beat you. We don’t do this.”
Sheldon swallowed hard and stared back. “I need to hurt. I want to suffer for you. I need to feel you.” Sheldon shook as he watched Milton’s eyes travel down his face and as he heard the soft swallowed sigh. The kiss on his forehead was firm and possessive.
“I love you, and you’re asking me to put you through hell. Maybe this is my punishment also. Prepare yourself, boy,” Milton snapped, his voice a frozen tundra. “Kneel. Hands behind your back. I will prepare.”
Sheldon’s knees hurt; he couldn’t escape the bite of the pine floor. Milton had been gone for minutes. Sheldon could see the glowing numbers of the clock. Each number slid into the next with agonizing slowness.
“Up, boy.” Leather was strapped to his wrists and ankles, and he heard the clink of chains. “This way.”
Sheldon was led into the hall, naked and chained. His bare feet were soundless across the floor. The house was vast, bigger than Sheldon’s first impression. They climbed down a set of winding stairs, the chains clinking as they brushed the metal treads. The basement was only half underground and looked out into a walled garden of tall sunflowers, finches feasting on the bounty.
“Here, boy.” Milton clipped Sheldon’s wrists to hanging chains and his feet to steel rings recessed into the floor. “Your safewords apply; use them.”
Milton’s hands disappeared, and Sheldon strained to look behind him. He could already feel the strain in his shoulders and thighs of a body stretched to an unnatural star. He’d been bound a few times but not like this. These were tight, and he curled his hands around the chain, trying to ease the already impossible strain.
“What do you want, boy?” 
God, Milton was behind him again. Sheldon hadn’t heard the footfalls. He flinched as a single finger stoked his shoulder.
“Ask for it, boy.”
“Punish me. Hurt me. I want to suffer for you, sir.”
“You will suffer, boy. I will take you places you never imagined.”
The leather struck Sheldon’s back, a thousand sparks as each tail lit a line of fire across his skin. The strands hit everywhere, covering his back in a hatch work of flames. Sheldon knew he was screaming. He could hear his voice reverberating around the room and pounding in his ears.
The blows stopped; fingers traced the new welts. “What do you want, boy?”
“Hurt me more, sir. I need to suffer more.”
“Very well, boy.”
Milton’s hand touched Sheldon’s face, wiping the wet tears. A cloth was tied snugly around his eyes. It was dark, totally dark. Sheldon felt himself shiver, fear cold against his skin.
“Do you need to safeword, boy?”
“No, sir.” It would be so easy to say the word. This could end right now. Milton would honor it; he would always honor it. He was a good man; he was a man of honor.
A whip snapped across Sheldon’s chest. Sheldon hadn’t known his voice went that high. The scream was still in the air as Milton’s finger outlined the single welt.
“Do we stop now, boy?”
“No. No! I want to suffer. I need to suffer.”
The whip struck like lighting, its fire on his chest, on his abdomen, down his thighs, and even across his testicles. He was sobbing now, uncontrolled wailing sobs. He couldn’t control the noise. There was nothing but pain and noise.
“Breathe, Sheldon.” Milton’s lips touched Sheldon’s fevered forehead. “Do you need more?”
Sheldon choked and gasped before finally managing a hoarse whisper. “Punish me, sir. Hurt me more, sir.”
Milton’s hand was on Sheldon’s ass, firm and heavy. The spank was hard, tearing a scream from Sheldon’s agonized throat. “Mine, boy. This is mine. No one touches this, but me and those who are mine.” The hand kept falling, an endless tattoo of heat and pain.
Suddenly Sheldon’s hands were jerked down. He hadn’t felt the chains being removed; all he could feel was the fire everywhere.
“Forward, boy. Bend over.”
Sheldon collided against something, a spanking horse, a sofa arm. He didn’t know. The welts on his stomach sang a fierce chorus of agony. Milton’s slick finger was against his ass, a perfunctory stretch before he was impaled. 
“Mine.” The growl was fierce and possessive and all encompassing.
Sheldon’s brain was short circuited. He couldn’t tell what was pain, what was pleasure. All he could do was lie there and take it. Milton’s hand was on Sheldon’s cock, bringing it alive with firm strokes.
“Come, boy.”
Unbelievably he came through the pain and the tears. Milton came at the same time, sinking his teeth into Sheldon’s shoulder with a fierce growl. Sheldon slumped forward. He couldn’t move. Milton’s arm was around his chest; wet fingers were shoved in Sheldon’s mouth. “Clean them, boy.”
Sheldon tasted himself as his tongue laved the fingers. His body and his mind had no will of their own. He knew he was in Milton’s arms; he knew water had been pressed to his lips and a blanket tucked around his limp and shivering body. The blindfold had been removed, but the world wouldn’t come into focus. He could feel pain and euphoria, and he didn’t know what.
“You’re going to hurt like hell. Swallow these.” Two capsules were placed on Sheldon’s tongue. “Swallow.” There was no question of obedience. Milton owned him, every piece of his pain and his pleasure. He owned the flaming skin and the screaming muscles and everything underneath. He owned Sheldon’s soul.
“Master.”
“Shh. You’re going to come down like a rock. Sheldon, that was one hell of a way to get into subspace.”
Milton’s voice was so real in Sheldon’s ear. It was all Sheldon wanted to hear.
“I love you.”
“I know.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s dry and cracked lips. “You love me even when I am a dominant asshole. I don’t deserve you, my precious boy. Fortune has been kind beyond words. Rest now. We’ll talk more later.”
****
Milton folded another stack of laundry. Sheldon still wasn’t moving well. His body was a mass of healing welts and a rainbow of starburst bruises. The mirrors in the bathroom hadn’t hidden anything from Sheldon’s prying eyes. Sheldon was still asleep on the sun lounger, stretched out on the oldest and softest towel in Gordon’s stash. This was Gordon and Landon’s beach house: private, warm, and well stocked. Everything from fresh flowers to grass fed beef grilled to perfection was only a phone call away. 
Milton would have to bring Sheldon in soon. Even with all that sunblock, he would burn and that was the last thing his boy needed. Sheldon hurt. It was obvious in every cautious breath and every guarded movement. The warm swimming pool helped; Milton would take Sheldon for another swim before he brought him in for lunch. They needed to talk more too. Milton twirled the knob on the washing machine. He was a silent and resolute New Englander. He’d hide in the laundry rather than force the words from his mouth. He knew better. Without Sheldon his world would fall apart. Why couldn’t he manage to get it across to the boy?
“You asshole! You fucking sadistic asshole!” Milton was thrown against the wall, a powerful hand tight around his throat.
“Ryan,” Milton gasped, trying to get his wits about him as his head rang from another brutal shove into the cabinet.
“Just shut up. I saw your boy. Did you leave any part of him unbeaten? You who talk about humane treatment and fairness and the rights of a submissive.You hypocrite. You beat a boy to shreds, a boy who loves you enough to stay with you when you can’t keep your own dick zipped up, a boy who’s not a masochist.”
“I know, Ryan,” Milton said softly. “I know,” he repeated.
Ryan grabbed the shoulders of Milton’s shirt and jerked him from the wall before propelling him into the dryer. “You harmed Sheldon! Damn you! Don’t try to wiggle out of it with apologetic words and historical explanations.”
Milton willed himself to stay limp and unresisting. This was Ryan, a righteously furious Ryan, but still a man Milton respected and even loved. This was also a man who was younger and stronger. A fight would leave them both physically battered, and with resistance there would be a fight.
“I hurt Sheldon. I didn’t harm him when I beat him. I harmed him when Tilden and I became lovers. I don’t argue that. It is my burden. I must accept it just as you told Sheldon he must accept the revolution in our relationship. Either accept or get out. He was doing neither. He was torturing himself in some personal purgatory.”
“So you added to his misery by beating the shit out of him. The golden boy of all dominants physically beats his partner into submission. Great example you are, sir.” Ryan’s voice dripped with anger and contempt.
“Ryan, if you believe Sheldon is not safe with me mentally or physically, we have a mechanism for intervention. I suggest you avail yourself on that mechanism.” Milton deepened his tone, his eyes never breaking from Ryan’s. “I will fight you for all that is mine, but it's your right to protest. I won’t stop you.”
With a final shove, Ryan released Milton’s shirt. “I’m taking Sheldon with me.”
“If he agrees,” Milton said mildly, smoothing his shirt and turning back to his laundry.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“Yes.” Milton didn’t turn from the laundry. He could see Ryan out of the corner of his eye. Ryan had a temper, but he wouldn’t strike unprovoked. The man lived with Blade after all.
“Milton.” The first break in Ryan’s tone. It spoke of unvoiced exasperation and confusion. “I’m talking about taking your boy and you're folding the damn laundry.” Ryan swept the laundry onto the floor.
“Now I have to refold it.”
“Fuck the laundry!”
Milton propped himself against the dryer, assuming an intentionally casual pose. “Ryan, if you believe I abused Sheldon you need to take him away. If you have questions or concerns, you need to talk to me, not swear at me or my laundry.”
Ryan studied Milton. Anger, disbelief, sadness, confusion chased across his expressive face like high clouds pushed by a strong wind. “Why did you do it?”
“Because Sheldon begged me to.”
“He’s not a masochist, I wouldn’t do that to his brother.”
“You would in the right circumstances. You love Blade the way I love Sheldon. It’s well beyond merely role play and games, but we speak our love through those roles and sometimes it’s not pleasant or comfortable or maybe even legal. Is it assault? Can it ever be assault when the victim is willing? Can anyone be willing at the level I beat Sheldon, or was he delusional or incapable of giving consent? You’re a dominant. Is the world always black and white?”
“I hit Blade because we enjoy it, because we get off on it. It’s not a substitute for dealing with problems in our relationship. I don’t pummel Blade into silence and acceptance.”
“Ryan, what are you doing here?” Sheldon was standing in the doorway; the weals and colorful bruises backlit by the sunlight. He was naked and a blush rose on his cheeks as Ryan studied his frontside. 
“He’s concerned for you,” Milton said, tossing Sheldon an oversized T-shirt that wouldn't rub on his inflamed skin.
“Hurts,” Sheldon said, “but I’m OK, or at least closer to OK than I was.”
“Sheldon?” Ryan seemed to struggle for the words.
“I wanted it and needed it. Don’t ask me to explain; I really can’t, but it wasn’t Milton.”
“You don’t like this.”
Sheldon snorted and choked down a bitter laugh. “No, I don’t consider getting my skin nearly flayed off a jolly way to spend the evening.” Sheldon ran his fingers through his red hair, wincing as he lifted his hand above his shoulder. “It hurt; it hurt more than I imagined was possible, but I gave permission. I begged Milton to do it. He didn’t want to. He finished with his hand. I know that was because he couldn’t do it any more. He couldn’t continue to hurt me with those impersonal objects.” Sheldon slid across to Milton and leaned against his broad frame. “I’m thirsty. That’s why I came in.”
“OK.” Milton dropped a soft kiss on the top of Sheldon’s head.”Juice, water, soda? Do you want more pain killers?”
“Nothing with codeine. All I’ve done is sleep for two days.”
“Your body needs rest.”
“I’m not an invalid. I’m a submissive who got a well deserved thrashing. And Ryan.” Sheldon turned to face Blade’s partner. “I like you, but this is none of your damn business. I asked Milton for this. I needed to give it up. I needed to accept I’m a full blown submissive, not some overaged jackass who likes a little spanking here and there. I’m not twenty-five anymore. I get who I am, and sometimes it involves suffering and sacrifice. I’ve been a shit for six months. I deserved my penance.”
“Sheldon, this wasn’t your fault. Tilden and I—”
“Stop it! I have to accept that. Ryan told me that months ago. Suck it up and ask how many beds need fresh linen. That might have been the catalyst, but—fuck it—Ryan knew. You knew too. I’ve been faking it. I took what I wanted, but I didn’t give it up to you.”
“Sheldon.”
“No! You put up with a submissive who mocked and sassed you.”
“I like it when you brat.”
“Not day and night.”
“It’s not why I and Tilden...I’ve always loved him.”
“I know, and I’m trying not to be so damn selfish.”
“Sheldon.” Milton swept the hair back off Sheldon’s forehead. “You’re one of the most generous men I know. I turned your world upside down.”
“Yeah, but it’s done. I see that now. You came after me.” Sheldon wiped his eyes. “You chased me and left four others at home. I can’t submit properly, and you came after me. I’m an ungrateful bastard, but I need you.” Sheldon slid to his knees and encircled Milton’s legs with his arms. “Master.”
Milton threaded his fingers through the red hair, stroking the silky waves. He glanced over at Ryan who nodded slowly. “Sheldon’s collar is in the drawer in the bedroom.”
Ryan understood. He climbed the stairs two at a time, and Milton heard doors opening until Ryan found the bedroom. Milton cupped his hands around Sheldon’s face and forced those tear filled green eyes upward. They didn’t need words. Ryan thundered down the stairs and placed the collar in Milton’s hand. 
“Sheldon, do I put this back on?”
“Yes, Master. And I understand what I just said.” Sheldon bowed his head, a silent, still, and complete offering. 
Milton buckled the collar with shaking fingers and drew Sheldon to his feet. “There’s no going back now.”
“I know, Master.” Sheldon bowed to Ryan. “I’m sorry for troubling you, sir.”
“I prefer Ryan. Take care of yourself, Sheldon. I never thought you would want this.”
“You’re the one who knew I was faking. You knew all along, so don’t look so worried and shocked. Milton will take care of me.”
“Yes, he will. I’m sorry about earlier, Milton. Whatever you think I deserve.”
“No punishment. I’ve punished enough recently. Take care of Blade.”
“Always. Thank you, sir.” Ryan nodded, turned, and left.
“Ryan, Ryan,” Milton called to the departing back. “You did the right thing. You should never just assume the submissive is OK.”
“I should have known,” Ryan said his hand on the door.
“No, I hold far too much power in my hands and power corrupts. I’m a historian; I know the pattern. I expect you to hold me to the standards we all profess to respect and value. Don’t let me get away with failure.”
“I won’t,” Ryan said, opening the door. “I’ll see you back home. Good luck, Sheldon.”
“Thank you, Ryan.” Sheldon entwined his fingers in Milton’s. “I think I found my luck.”
“Well, then for God’s sakes behave. It’s different now, Sheldon. I don’t want you hurt.”
“I know, Ryan. I’ve chosen this.” Sheldon dropped to his knees, silent and contemplative. Slowly Milton’s fingers spread over Sheldon’s head, the rituals of an ancient blessing comforting master and slave alike.