Mike's Saga 3

Mike’s Saga 3

Josh and Jer's cottage looked like it always did. Josh opened the white picket gate and guided Mike up the short path toward the front door. The flower beds were trimmed back for winter, and an autumn themed doormat stood ready for muddy boots. It looked ordinary and homey, a house where Grandma or Aunt Millie or a retired second grade teacher might live. It didn't look like a palace of horrors.

Josh removed his hand from Mike's wrists to get the door. His key rattled in the lock, and the door swung open to the bare scrubbed floors and bright white walls. Mike kept his hands behind his back and stepped across the threshold. He suppressed a shudder. It wasn't the house. The house was as bright and airy and comfortable as it always was; it was Josh's earlier promise. He was going to belt Mike. 

"Kitchen." Josh kept his hand on Mike's neck as they entered the small kitchen with its sunny yellow walls and wooden table. "Take your shoes and pants off and lean over the table."

Mike's fingers shook as he snarled the laces of his running shoes. He finally heeled them off, laces still knotted. The button on his khakis was no less stubborn. 

"Breathe, boy." Josh's hand was on Mike's hip. "You're an experienced submissive. You know how this works. Why are you so afraid?"

Mike gulped in air and glanced at Josh's face. The horrible hardness was gone. Instead the gray eyes were kind and appraising. "I can't kiss your boots."

"You can and you will. Submit, boy."

Mike stared down at Josh's boots. They were work boots, well worn but clean. The laces were tied neatly and tucked into the top. Mike didn't have a boot fetish. He couldn't do this.

"Mike, I won't ask you to worship my boots, but I will insist you close this punishment by thanking me and kissing my boots." Josh's voice hardened. "This is not about your likes and desires. This is about punishment. Now get over the table, boy."

The table was slick and hard and smelled faintly of wood polish. Mike hooked his fingers around the edges and hung on. He heard the faint tinkle of the belt buckle and the sound of the leather being pulled through the loops. Mike wanted to look over his shoulder, to see what Josh was doing, to know when the preparations were finished. He couldn't wait, quiet and passive. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and feel his ass muscles tense. How hard would it be? Would Josh warn him? Would he put his hand on Mike's back the way Tilden and Milton did? Would there be any warm up? The first blow came crashing down. Mike screamed. The wail reverberated around the kitchen and came racing back to him.

"Stay down, boy. If you move I'll put you over my knee and spank you crimson and then put you back over the table for another round with the belt."

Mike believed the threat; his fingers tightened in desperation around the table edges. The slight understanding and sympathy that had been in Josh's voice was gone. The second blow fell, the belt scorching a line of fire that burned with such intensity that it consumed all thought. Mike howled: raw, pain filled, and animalistic. His fingers slid across the table’s surface; it was almost impossible to stay down. The belt was falling rapidly now. Mike couldn't distinguish the individual blows. All he knew was that he was in hell. His screams and sobs ripped through the kitchen, and the belt kept scorching his flesh. This wasn't erotic or care taking or anything else Mike had ever felt during a spanking. This was brutal and burning and cleansing with fire everything Mike thought he was. Mike collapsed onto the table. He deserved this; he needed this. He spread his legs farther, letting the belt strike the most tender flesh. 

A hand touched Mike's shoulder. The blows had stopped. "You did that well. Good boy. Now thank me."

Mike flopped to his knees, his body a disjointed marionette under Josh's control. His head was against the boots. He could smell the leather, oil, and the wet leaves of fall. His lips touched the surface, and he kissed his punisher's boots. "Thank you for punishing me." The words were garbled with Mike's sobs, but Josh must have understood them. He pulled Mike's head into his lap and held him. 

Josh was murmuring something. Mike didn't care. He just wanted to be held, petted, and kept safe. Mike knew he was crying; he'd been crying since the second strike of the belt: tears of pain and loss and a sadness he couldn't name. He let the tears flow, not trying to be manly or tough or in control. Time passed. Mike didn’t care. There was only Josh’s stroking hand and gentle mumbles.

"Up, Mike. Even at your age, your knees will be killing you if you stay on them much longer."

Mike stumbled to his feet, mostly supported by Josh's unwavering grip. The tears had slowed to a trickle a while ago, but Mike hadn't wanted to move. On his knees with his face buried in Josh's lap, he didn't need to think; he only had to be.

Josh guided Mike toward the sink, wet a dish towel, and carefully wiped Mike's face. "Better. You're a pretty boy with tears, but you're a prettier boy without them." Josh held a glass of juice to Mike's lips. "Drink. You need it."

Orange mango. Mike swallowed the sweet liquid. He didn't like mango, but he wasn't arguing with Josh. He'd never argue with that man again.

"Come on. You're worn to the bone." Josh guided Mike into the living room and onto the large sofa. He pulled a soft throw over Mike's legs and sat down, taking Mike's head into his lap. "Sleep, boy."

Mike shut his eyes and enjoyed the gentle play of Josh's fingers on his neck and back. He was tired; sleep would be fine.

****

Milton stared down at the sleeping figure. Mike was curled onto his side, the plaid blanket pulled to his neck, one arm wrapped around a pillow.

"He looks angelic," Josh said softly.

"I brought his clothes." Milton set the duffel bag down behind the sofa. "I better go before he wakes."

"Come into the kitchen and have some coffee. He'll be down for the count."

"What did you do to him?" Milton pulled out the kitchen chair and sat down heavily. “I've certainly had no success with that boy."

"You're too nice," Josh said, setting the coffee mug down on the table.

Milton wrapped his hands around the mug and stared at the dark brew. "He's leaving."

"Give him time. He'll be back. He's fighting himself, and he's too stubborn to let you and Tilden help."

"I've done him no favors."

"No, you haven't," Josh said bluntly, taking a small sip of coffee. "He's not the young man without family you took in eight years ago. He's a fully adult submissive who needs challenged. Stop protecting him. Let him find what he needs."

"His body language--"

"Push him through it. Make him safeword if he really doesn't want it."

"Will he? He has so much pride."

"You've had this boy for eight years, and you're not sure he would safeword. What the hell have you been doing?" Josh banged his coffee mug down, his gray eyes settling grimly on Milton. "You know better than that."

Milton glared at Josh before he lowered his eyes and mumbled, "Yes, sir."

"That might get Gordon off your back, but it does nothing for me. I don't want your ritual submission, nor do I expect it. You're my superior in the Green Mountain Boys, and you’re my superior as a dominant when you put your heart in it. Your boy needed you."

"He's Tilden's boy. I'm just the bonus dominant."

"Milton!" Josh slammed his palm down in the table. "You're not naive, and you're not stupid. Mike is your boy. Yes, he is Tilden’s and Luke's lover. Tilden’s even dominated him, but you were always the heavy. He needed Tilden's unconditional love, Tilden's kindness. He still does, but he also needs to crawl across the floor and lick your boots. He needs you on top of him, holding him down, and taking everything. He needs you to grab his ears and fuck his face so hard that his throat is sore for a week."

"I don't abuse my boys."

"It's not abuse when the boy wants it, and he wants it. Let him be the boy he is. Don't try to convert him to the kinder, gentler side of dominance. He has Tilden when he wants to be held, reassured, and loved with little or no demands. He needs you to grind him into the floor."

"Tilden would kill me."

"Not when his boy--and he is his boy also--is smiling and laughing with fire in his eyes. Mike is a schizophrenic submissive as you described. He needs harshness and barely controlled brutality, but he also needs to be petted and reassured. You're lucky you don't have to be a schizophrenic dominant. You can tag team him, and he'll be in tall clover."

Milton ran his finger around the coffee mug. "Can I do this? You're suggesting something very close to the line."

"You know where that line is. I've seen you pull back with Sheldon, and he's your slave. He has no right to resist; his pleasure is your pleasure."

"Consensual slavery can be withdrawn as easily as it's given."

"I know that," Josh said with a grimace, "and you're meticulous about keeping your consensual slave very happy.  Sheldon is punished far less than when he supposedly had more freedom. You read your boys well. Trust yourself with Mike. Push him."

"I don't read him well." Milton raked his fingers through his hair. "He's an enigma."

"You read him fine. You're not arguing with me about what he needs. You've only been wishing you were seeing something else. Dominance just this side of raw brutality scares you. I expect you are afraid you might like it. I like it with a boy who relishes it. I would never do it with Jer; it would be wrong, but it's not wrong with Mike, and it's far better for you to do it than some stranger he picks up in a bar. You won't harm him, but you have to trust yourself before he trusts you." 

"It will be hard," Milton said after a long pause. "I've already put my family through hell, and this will be another level in the Devil's paradise."

"Having Mike never return will destroy everything you have built. This will work, Milton. Believe in yourself. Now I'm going to put your errant boy up in one of the apartments I just built. We'll give him time to stew, and you time to convince yourself of your new role. Now go on home before he wakes. It's best that he doesn't know we're plotting together."