The Winged Horse

The Winged Horse

Sheldon was glad to be sitting on the floor. He’d never thought being able to hide under the table would make him happy, but in this sea of kink, he was more than willing to let Milton be the face of their relationship and the face of the Green Mountain Boys. Gordon and Landon, it was all their fault. The Green Mountain Boys hadn’t participated in a kink convention for years, not that it was truly called that. It had some fancy title involving power exchanges, sexual pleasures, and Sheldon had forgotten the third. Anyway it was a safe enough title to put on convention badges and not have every stranger on the street staring and wondering if he had a leather jock or a cock cage under his pants.

The actual event was something of a cross between a Medieval fair and the professional conventions that Milton attended with his slide shows and lecture notes. The exhibit hall was certainly more entertaining that the last convention Sheldon had attended as a reluctant guest. Of course, anything was more interesting than history textbooks. There were plenty of books here; just the subject matter was different. But beyond the booksellers, the booths ranged from purveyors of kinky wares to piercers and tattoo artists. Sheldon shuddered, remembering all the possible places that could be pierced. Milton had placed his heavy hand on Sheldon’s neck, and Milton’s decided “no” had never been more reassuring. 

Sheldon shifted his weight and bumped his master’s knee. Milton was part of some roundtable discussion of power exchange relationships from traditional marriage to consensual slavery. At least Sheldon didn’t have to talk; he only needed to be the living prop, leashed and tied to the table leg. Sheldon peered across the table at his fellow submissive. She was pretty enough, if he could imagine an interest on that side. Blade could probably have started an interesting chat with her, but that was Blade. Sheldon had only stared at her from under properly lowered lashes. She was tall and rawboned with cornflower blue eyes set off by dark mascara. She’d obviously visited more than one piercing studio, or her dominant was an expert. She had multiple piercing in her ears, one in her nose, hoops in her eyebrows, and a tongue stud.

Milton’s fingers tangled in Sheldon’s hair. He must have noted that Sheldon was drifting off into daydreams about piercing studios. Sheldon looked up and caught his master’s eye. 

“OK?” Milton whispered.

Sheldon nodded.

Milton’s eyes were still questioning, but he didn’t ask further. Someone in the audience was asking about the Green Mountain Boys.

“I’ve heard that the Green Mountain Boys promote discipline relationships,” the voice said in a tone of brash disdain. 

Sheldon wished he could see the speaker. Few people ever spoke in such a voice to Milton, especially when Milton was introduced as a master and not in the camouflage of a history professor.

“There are few absolute restrictions on the style of the power exchange except that it involve only men and be consensual. Individual members have different tolerances for different relationships.”

“What about that documentary and that participation in the TV show?”

Sheldon heard Milton sigh and felt Milton’s fingers comb through his red locks. Both those events still hung over the Green Mountain Boys. The TV show had been absurd, but the film might have been more damaging. In an effort to prevent it from being shunted only to X-rated theaters, it had been edited in such a way as to minimize the erotic aspect of the relationships and maximize the mentoring role. 

“The television show was pure entertainment and should be seen as such,” Milton said calmly. “The documentary represents one side of the Green Mountain Boys, a very important side for those familiar with our mission. We are not merely a hangout for men with similar sexual interests. We also provide guidance in full time power exchange relationships, education for both dominants and submissive, and protection for all our members. As part of our mission, we often mentor both submissives and dominants in ways which would only be complicated by sexual contact. In those situations, we may step close to what some may refer to either with disdain or with pleasure as a discipline relationship.”

“Do you personally advocate a discipline relationship?” Another voice asked.

“I have a slave, so I think that answers the question.”

“Cop out.” Sheldon heard from across the table. Mr. Leather himself had been seated on the far end the table. Sheldon was no leather expert, but he was sure he was supposed to have been impressed by the man’s shiny boots, leather gauntlets, and keys hanging from his back pocket. Actually that description was being cruel. Leather man and Milton had embraced as if they were long lost friends, and Milton had expressed quiet words of support over the illness and subsequent loss of that man’s boy.

“Derrick,” Milton said, the censure not totally hidden from his voice.

“Milton, we’ve had this argument several times. You were never so polite and gentle with me.”

“You hardly look like you need polite and gentle.”

Sheldon heard the audience laugh. Sheldon squirmed; he suddenly wished he could see and wasn’t stuck tied to the table. It wasn’t all simple and neat; he should know after his adventures in life as Milton’s boy.

“Maybe you should ask your slave. He’s squirming around like you just stuck an electric dildo up his ass.”

Sheldon felt the blush spread like fire across his face. His behavior did reflect his master’s training, and Sheldon was failing.

“Up, Sheldon.” Milton tugged on Sheldon’s hair.

Sheldon scrambled to his feet and stood at Milton’s right, his eyes properly down. Milton had drilled proper protocol and position into Sheldon with several sharp blows from an itty-bitty strap when Sheldon had tangled over his own feet or ended up on the wrong side.

“This is my slave Sheldon. He is one of the six in our relationship and the only slave. He has been my boy for years, and perhaps he has the greatest insight into different degrees of power exchange relationships as ours has touched on many except the part-time play relationship.”

“I think I just got put on the spot here,” Sheldon said, stumbling slightly over the words. “I don’t like public speaking, and under the table is really looking like a damn good place to be.” Sheldon waited for the audience's chuckles to subside. “The Green Mountain Boys as an organization supports consensual and honest power exchanges. How those exactly look to each person is not the GMB’s prerogative. Gordon would have no trouble punishing a submissive for truly stupid behavior; he’d also punish a dominant for that.” Sheldon smiled as Milton looked back and nodded in support.

“We are a hierarchal organization, and we enforce obedience and respect,” Milton said and pulled Sheldon forward. 

“That still doesn’t answer the question.”

Sheldon could see the belligerent questioner now. He was young, college aged, and dressed conservatively for this crowd, no leather, no jewelry.

“Kid,” Sheldon started. He was getting old, calling someone else kid. “Someone needs to punish your ass for being rude. I guess that could be called a discipline relationship.” Sheldon shook his head and smiled. “I was far worse than you once. It was a miracle that Master didn’t kill me. I was submissive and young and wild and entirely clueless about how to be an adult gay man in a relationship and even more clueless about how to do it within a power exchange. I asked for control, but didn’t cede it.”

“Sheldon—”

“You don’t have to make me feel better. I was a lunatic, and I know it.”

“But you were my lunatic.”

Sheldon smiled, caught Milton’s hand, and kissed the hand that had so often spanked him. “Fortunately you don’t tire easily and have a strong right arm. We did the discipline thing for real the first few years because I was an impulsive fool. Later we did it as a game because I was kind of stuck in some permanent half-baked brat mode. Fortunately shit rained from the sky that ended up being a fucking rainbow, and we worked it out.”

Derrick looked up from across the table; his eyes were a searing blue. “I take it you’re now in my camp?”

“I don’t know what your camp is, sir.” Sheldon said with a politeness that he could hardly believe was his own. “I was too young and too immature to enter the bondage of a slave relationship when I first met Milton, but if your position is against discipline relationships, I agree with caveats. I was a lunatic child when Milton did his white knight rescue thing. I needed all the structure that comes with master/slave, but I couldn’t have signed the documents. I was ignorant of my own needs as Milton was also. My partner couldn’t be the master without me first understanding myself. He’s too good of a dominant to trap me in a disaster. Discipline, real discipline gave me time, and I don’t eroticize pain unless he works damn hard at it, so it worked for me. I grew up, and the problems started. I need to be controlled; I was born that way. It’s part of my sexuality; it’s part of every fiber of my being. I don’t need to be beaten, and I don’t need to be told what time to come home because I’m too stupid to figure it out on my own. I needed to be told when to come home because I want to give that to my master, because my sexuality is wrapped up in submission.”

Milton wrapped his hand around Sheldon’s wrist and pulled his boy into his lap. “Good boy,” Milton whispered.

“I hate stupid people taking potshots at us.”

“It’s life,” Milton replied under his breath before turning toward the audience. “What my partner, my lover, and my slave, so passionately articulated is that discipline cannot be the only structure of the relationship. It was a bridge for us, and as head of the Green Mountain Boys, I am not going to blow up any path, no matter how roundabout if it leads a man to his final destination. Many parts of it make me uneasy, especially after having been a top in such a relationship. The use of corporal punishment in a non eroticized fashion justifiably raises ethical questions. Young man—” Milton looked out into the crowd— “I can only answer those questions for myself. I can’t answer them for you.”

“You think it’s unethical?” A women shouted from the crowd.

“I think it can be,” Milton said mildly. “But so can anything any of us do. Every time I lay a finger on one of my boys, it’s illegal if I don’t have his full consent. This is something we must all remember whether we hand spank or use the bullwhip, and this is the role of the Green Mountain Boys to remind its members of the joys but also of the abyss. Call these relationships what you will; the abyss is always there, and if the relationship is not negotiated honestly with as close to full knowledge as possible, the abyss will swallow everyone. I think it’s foolhardy to use discipline and punishment without fully understanding its erotic components and without understanding the behavior paradigm surrounding punishment. As this convention is a celebration of all things erotic, the former should not be a problem. The latter is more difficult. Simply put if the behavior isn’t decreasing whatever the dominant is doing is not punishment. Hopefully the dominant’s actions are seen as fulfillment of some sort for the submissive: either as punishment and forgiveness or erotic fun. Otherwise the dominant is doing nothing but being needlessly cruel.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s cheek. “We played at it enough I should know, and I’m not opposed to such playing. Some of my fellow members of the Green Mountain Boys are. We do not have a litmus test.”  Milton glanced at his watch and smiled. “Please tell me you have questions for the rest of these good folks. This is a roundtable.”

Derrick laughed. “Of course they’re going to ask you. You have six in your relationship, and you have the beautiful redhead at your feet who is anything but a quiet and demure little slave boy. I think he’d take me on if he didn’t think you’d beat his ass. So tell me, dearest Milton, how do you handle the dynamics between all six of you, and where is that precious young one I saw you with earlier.”

“The precious young one is probably finding trouble, and as far as the rest we flail about like everyone else.”

Sheldon bit down on his tongue. He had a good idea of Austin’s whereabouts, and it wouldn’t make Milton happy. Austin had developed a fascination with tattoos, and Sheldon guessed Austin was hanging about the many tattoo artists. Austin had promised to tell Milton before he did anything to his body, and he damn well better, Sheldon thought, or they’d both be toast. Any physical contact with Milton would be punishment, and despite Milton’s careful language he did use his power in real punishment. They should have invited Ryan and Gavin to this little roundtable, then the differences would have been obvious. Ryan was a fence sitter compared to Gavin. Sheldon hadn’t heard the argument between Milton and Gavin about Sheldon’s slave status, but he’d seen the tension between the two men, and Ray had heard some of it before Gavin had ordered him out of earshot. The gist of the conversation was that Milton was an overbearing bastard. The heat of the argument had settled to smoldering, and both Ryan and Gordon were doing fire suppression. Sheldon had spent a weekend with Ray, Blade, and Ryan, and no one had thought Sheldon wasn’t smart enough to understand the true reasons. Show the world that Milton hadn’t killed him yet and that he was still the same Sheldon and hadn’t been abducted by an alien. 

The clock ticked over to the hour, and Milton rose with a groan. “Please remind me to kill Gordon and Landon for setting me up for this torture.”

“Master, I think you’re being too subtle,” Sheldon said through the noise of shuffling feet and excited chatter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most of these people don’t live it. They want black and white answers. Give them examples from our own life. You have four different submissives plus Tilden. We couldn’t make a discipline relationship work, and you’re skillful and honest about your motivations. I wasn’t for a long time. Most people don’t have a prayer in hell in making it work. It’s master/slave without the safeguards and without the negotiations and without the honesty.”

Milton hesitated for a moment, putting his computer in his bag and stacking the used coffee cups. “For us it was, but I can’t speak for everyone. It’s not wrong to enjoy it on the level of play punishment. Many people like a spanking, and a little discipline makes the scene spicier. No matter what they say, underneath they know it’s play. I’m OK with that. They don’t have to confess it to me; it can be their secret. I grew up in the Green Mountain Boys. I have the language to speak to the motivations; most people don’t. They have to use the language with which they're comfortable and discipline is often an easier swallow than submission or slavery for those going beyond spanking play. Someday they may need different language, and then as Green Mountain Boys it’s our duty to help and to guide. Now let’s go find Austin before we have to guide him out of trouble.”

The exhibit hall was full. Early in the day most people weren’t in complete fetish wear, but there was still plenty of leashes, plaid parochial school skirts, and leather everything. Austin was at the designated meet up location, looking cute as he lounged against the chair. He smiled and waved and bounced toward them.

No sign of guilt. Good. He must have stayed away from the tattoos.

“Hey, I’m starved.”

“You’re always starved.” Milton ruffled Austin’s hair and kissed his forehead. “What did you do this morning?”

“Mostly people watched. Went to a lecture on sounding that was dull and gross at the same time. Nobody’s sticking metal up my penis.”

“I haven’t any pressing desire to play those games, so don’t worry. What did you like?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cub.” Milton didn’t try to hide the swat. “You’re older now; you’re in a crowded relationship; you need to take some responsibilities for your pleasure. I won’t guess forever.”

“I want to be marked.”

“How?”

“Tattoo.”

“Maybe.” Milton laced his fingers in Austin’s. Sheldon was surprised at Milton’s calmness. Milton had always been adamant with Sheldon about tattoos. 

“You’ll let me?”

“I said maybe. It’s dependent on many variables. Ultimately it will depend on convincing me that you’re doing it to please yourself and the members of our family, not to defy me or set yourself up for punishment.”

“That’s why it was always no with me,” Sheldon said.

“Yes, and now you’re my slave, and the answer is still no. I own your body, and I don’t want to see any permanent artificial marks on it.”

“You don’t like them?” Austin asked.

“I’m not crazy about them,” Milton said gently, “but we’re not the same generation. I teach. I know tattoos have become an important part of the youth culture. I forbid many favorite activities of the college generation. You might talk Tilden and me into this.”

“Tilden will never go for it. He’s worse than you,” Austin said mournfully. 

“That’s a first. I never thought I’d be seen as the easier one.”

Austin groaned. “You know what I mean. You get this more. Sheldon shows his collar.”

“I require it. I’m not as conservative as Tilden. I believe that’s your meaning.”

Austin nodded.

“We’ll get something to eat and then we’ll discuss it. Not before.” Milton put his finger on Austin’s lips. “Not before, cub.”

“Yes, sir.”

Milton watched Austin eat. It was hard to remember ever being that young; he had the pictures from his days with Gordon, but still it was more a surreal dream than an actual memory of youth. Milton didn't remember this unbridled enthusiasm combined with a whirlwind of emotions. Austin could go from a wide smile to a sheen of tears in his eyes in a split second. He was in his near manic stage, bouncing around in his chair as he ate.

"All right, tell me before you leap out of your seat."

Austin made an effort to calm himself. He took a deep breath and unfurled his hands on the table. "I want to do this." He pulled out his phone and handed it to Milton. "Luke drew it for me."

"Who else is in on this plot?" Milton asked as he looked at the picture. It was a winged horse with a boy astride drawn to look like an old-fashioned star chart. "The constellation Pegasus has no rider."

"I'm not going for realism."

"Careful, Austin. It was a comment, not a criticism.”

"You're always on me about stupid shit."

Wild mood swings. He's young. Let him have some space. It was a difficult prescription when Milton's first thought was to pull the boy up short for his attitude. “Austin, provoking me is not a way to improve your odds of me agreeing."

Austin glared at Milton, but managed the correct words. "Yes, sir."

Milton studied his cub before dropping his eyes back to the picture. It was a striking picture—the horse galloping, the boy sitting tall. "Are you on the horse?"

Austin gave a quick, flustered nod.

"The stars, do they mean something?"

"Us."

"There are more than six," Milton said, counting the stars.

"Ryan and Blade and Landon and Gordon. Please," Austin added after a moment's hesitation.

Milton rubbed his hand down his beard. There was more to this story than his cub was telling him, but it was clear that at least the design itself was more than a passing whim. Austin hid parts of himself, but he was showing a glimpse here of more than the cute college kid who was a good lay and a pretty ass to spank if Milton would let himself think that way. 

"May I see it, Master?"

"Of course." Milton passed the phone to Sheldon. 

Sheldon glanced at the picture and smiled. "Cool. Where are you going to put it?"

"I haven't said yes yet." 

"You will—Master," Sheldon added. "If you were planning on denying the request you wouldn't have entertained the question. You're not confused about your authority."

"Tilden must agree," Milton said.

"He never will," Austin muttered, wadding up a napkin on the table. "No jewelry, no tattoos, no fun clothing. The man is a reanimation of the 1950s."

"Austin." Milton cut off the boy's rant. "Do we have a problem I don't know about?"

"No, nothing," Austin said too quickly.

Milton stood and grabbed Austin's chin, forcing the boy to look up at him. "Do I need to enforce your honesty? I'm happy to do it."

"No. No, sir." Austin was enticing in this position, his eyes wide and slightly fearful, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed. 

"Come on." Milton pulled Austin from the chair with a little too much force. Milton held the smaller hand in his, comforting perhaps, but also verging on pain as he tightened his grip and jerked Austin forward.

The room was as any hotel room, determinedly neutral despite being host to a conference on the most primal of human desires. The church ladies of Texas would have a field day with the program, but the hotel next week could host a conservative religious convention without a single shift in the decor.  Milton looked over at his captive who was standing against the bed looking both defiant and scared at the same time. Sheldon had wisely melted off as Milton had grabbed Austin which left Austin alone with Milton in the sterile and generic room.

"What have I been missing?"

"Nothing, sir." Austin had decided on the pose of proper submissive, eyes down and his hands behind his back.

"Why do I think you're trying to play me here and not feeling one iota submissive?" Milton waited, letting the silence hang between them. Waiting was always far more unnerving to the submissive. "Answer me, boy," Milton growled into the long silence, watching Austin flinch from the sharpness of the words.

"I'm not, sir." Austin's voice was soft, pleading, and none too believable. Accused unfairly, this was a boy who would bite back, not crumble and whine.

"Strip. Now. Have you forgotten you place?"

"No, sir." Austin scrambled out of his clothes and made his usual haphazard effort at folding them. He was a beautiful boy, not a boy chronologically at twenty, but a boy in mind and spirit. Naked, his hands clasped behind his head, he was proud.

Milton traced his finger down the sculpted flesh, enjoying the slight shiver. Austin kept his feet still, but he always shivered at Milton's stroking hands. Milton cupped the delicate orbs; his hand threatened their safety, and Austin hissed from the pressure.

 “Boy, these are mine to cherish and to hurt. As is all your body.”

“Yes, sir.” Austin’s voice was stronger now. This was his headspace. This was where he needed to be.

“Over my lap.” 

Austin settled gracefully over Milton’s knee. He snaked his hand around Milton’s calf and desperately tried to keep his feet on the floor as Milton hiked his leg higher. Austin’s ass was too white; this boy did better when the glow was never below a light pink.

“Do you want to tell me what is going on between you and Tilden?” Milton stroked his hand down Austin’s thighs, widening them for access to the more tender skin.

“Nothing.”

“Right.” Milton swatted steadily and deliberately. This didn’t have to be hard, just a reminder of Austin’s place. “Try again, cub.”

“Ask him.”

“Nice,” Milton said, not hiding the sarcasm. It was nice, but not in the way ordinary people would consider it. He had a beautiful boy who was asking to be spanked. There was pleasure in watching the muscles flex and writhe as he landed the blows. This wasn’t a boy in deep trouble. This was a submissive asking for a guide to his place of happiness, and Milton was pleased to oblige.

It didn’t take long; it never did with Austin when Milton slapped his boy’s thighs. A mewl came from the back of the boy’s throat, and the words started tumbling out.

“Tilden thinks the fifties never ended. He won’t let me do anything. He hates jewelry. He treats me like a child.”

Milton focused on the last sentence, keeping his hand against the now warm flesh. “Austin you are in a very adult relationship with us. You are most definitely not a child, but you are far younger. We want you to gain from our often hard earned experience.”

“I know how to dress. It’s not like I’m going dressed in nothing but a cock cage and a butt plug. I can do my own homework.” Austin squirmed, unable to roll into a sitting position.

“You stay right there, little boy. I want to admire my handiwork.” Milton peppered the delightful pink cheeks with a few more light blows.

“God! Hurts!”

“I can make it far worse.” Milton scraped his finger nails down the reddened flesh, enjoying the shudder of both pain and arousal from his cub. “My baby boy is getting excited.” Milton ran his hand over the engorged cock, teasing and baiting his captive boy. This is what Tilden didn’t do. Milton knew, but could Austin put it into words? Could Austin begin to verbalize and rationalize his different needs? Milton bit his cheek. He didn’t want to verbalize and rationalize; he wanted to play with his beautiful and compliant cub. “So what’s going on between you and Tilden?”

“Ugh! You want to chat in this position.” Austin wiggled his hips, trying to get friction.

“Don’t you dare, boy. You come right now, and I’ll put you in a cock cage for a month. I have the means.”

“Cruel.” 

Milton stroked and tapped the lovely red cheeks. He wasn’t hitting now. This was purely sensual with only a faint reminder of what he could do if provoked.

“Sir. Milton.” Austin’s remaining words were lost in choked gurgles.

Milton circled the desperate organ in his fingers and squeezed hard, choking off the impending eruption. “Behave.”

“This is hard.”

"Submit. Your body is mine to do as I please. Torture. Love. Punish. Cherish."

"Please." Austin was pleading now. The incoherent begging reverberated off the walls. "Please. I can't. Milton!" The last syllable was drawn out in panicked desperation.

"Come."

To be twenty again. Austin spasmed across Milton's knee. The never tiring fountain spurted into Milton's hand and stained his pants.

"Better?" Milton asked to the limp body across his lap.

"Fucking hell! You're mean."

"Just like you want. Let's get cleaned up." Milton pulled them both up and stripped his now soiled pants. He wiped Austin off, using his khakis as a rag and pulled them both back onto the bed. This was Milton's favorite time with Austin. The cub would be limp, compliant, and truly in touch with his often elusive submission. "So what about Tilden?"

Austin snuggled into Milton's neck and sprawled across his dominant's chest in complete abandon. "He doesn't do this." The words were whispered, almost a confession. "It's not the same. I feel like a kid when he does it."

"I shake you hand, and you about come in your pants," Milton said with a chuckle. "No, don't take offense." Milton tightened his arms around Austin and rubbed his foot against the wisps of hair on Austin's calf. "Listen to me, cub. I can't touch you without erotic sparks. Tilden can, and that sometimes is needed. Tilden can punish you without being harsh. I can't. To drive you from headspace, I have to beat you nearly raw—excessive for a little silly not doing your homework. I'm not playing erotic games with your future."

"I don't like it," Austin whined.

"Do your homework."

"Unfair."

"Is there anything in this arrangement about fairness?"

"No, sir. But--"

"What I give you, you like a bit too much, and you don't like what Tilden gives you. That is the issue, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." The words were very quiet, mumbled into Milton's neck." Austin rubbed Milton's chest under his starched white dress shirt.

"No, kiddo." Milton caught Austin's hand. "You don't get out of talking by doing that."

Austin pouted, his face comical with the protruding lower lip.

"Stop it, brat. Submission is more than sex, and you knew that going in." Milton sat up and manhandled Austin between his bent knees. "Talk to me, cub, and I'm serious here. If you need real force, I can do that."

"No," Austin finally said into the long silence. "I do feel like a kid when Tilden punishes me. It's not like I don't love him, but..."

"But he's not me," Milton finished. In a polyamorous relationship, each member brings something different to the circle. Tilden is a caretaker; he expresses care and love by turning into an impossible mother hen." Milton kissed the top of Austin's head. "He is going to express his dominance differently than I do. I thought the division in our style would help you. I may have been in error."

"It makes me feel two."

And you're still too young and too insecure to want to be cared for, Milton thought. It was unmanly to lean on Tilden and be gently harassed into dong the right thing. Tilden could also loosen up and let some of his sexuality show, but that was a problem to be addressed with his overly square partner. Luke enjoyed a touch of fantasy parenting; Austin obviously hated it.

"Austin," Milton said, choosing his words very carefully, "Tilden loves you. He shows love by sometimes entering an excessive guardian role. I understand your discomfort with that expression of the power exchange. I will speak to Tilden, and I'll handle any further laxity in your studies. Trust me, boy, I will be neither nice nor kind if I catch you in intentional carelessness. I know you do not eroticize real pain, and I will use it."

"Sorry."

"No no," Milton said gently. "I'm not angry or disappointed in your words. I demanded this conversation."

"But Tilden—"

"I love Tilden very much, but just as I'm at best a mediocre dominant for Luke, he's not ideal for you. You might grow into him later, and his steady affection is very valuable, but I have no problem putting some lovely stripes on you ass if you turn in another late paper. I won't make it fun or sexy; I'll be angry, and it will be raw and brutal punishment. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now go take a shower because you still smell like sex, and I'll call Tilden about your tattoo."

“Tilden?” 

“Yes, Milton.” The voice came across the phone. “Are you having a good time?”

“Good time and convention are not two words that are naturally joined in one sentence.”

“Nu, it doesn’t sound like a bad time.”

“No.” Milton smiled to himself. He remembered the warmth in Austin’s ass, and his sweet cub lying on his lap. No, it hadn’t been a bad convention.

“I suspect you didn’t call just for a chat. Spill it, boy.” Tilden said with a laugh.

“Aren’t you getting sassy, my dear Tilden, safely out of striking range. Austin wants a tattoo.” Milton almost smirked at the sudden silence. Two could play at shocking comments over the phone, and his was actually true.

“You’re not thinking of allowing it? He won’t want it when he’s older, and he’ll be stuck with it.”

“I think we should let him. It means something to him, and I don’t think we should project our aesthetic tastes on him.”

“You own Sheldon, and you’re worried about projecting your aesthetic tastes on Austin. The kid’s twenty. He doesn’t know what he wants.”

“He wants this,” Milton said steadily. “He’s not a slave. Forbidding it would be a mistake.”

“Damn you! You’re not going to relent until I agree. Why did you bother to ask me if you’ve already made your decision? I’ll fall in line. You know I will.”

“Tilden—”

“No, sorry.”

“Tilden, listen to me,” Milton said, deepening his tone and unconsciously dropping into his dominant voice. “I would like a united front on this. I am no fonder of tattoos on our boys than you, but this is the time for an exception. I’ll make sure it’s out of sight and under his clothes, and it’s in good taste. We’re old fogies; we need to let Austin live a little.”

“Is it safe?”

“Ryan’s friend Devon is here. He’ll do a good job, and he’s shipshape on the sterility side.”

“What is the design?”

“A winged horse with a boy astride. Luke drew it. He’ll have the original at home. Have him show you.”

Tilden sighed. “Tak...You’re pushing for this.”

“Yes. It’s the right choice.”

“I’ll give my blessing. And—Milton—thanks for asking. You didn’t have to, and you know that.”

“Consensus is often more important than dominance. Thank you, Tilden. Austin’s getting out of the shower. I need to go now.”

****

“This is going to look great on you,” Devon said with a wide smile that was incongruous with the tribal tattoos on his cheeks, bald head, and thick chain around his neck. “How’d you get big boy over here to let you do it?” Devon jerked his head toward Milton and winked.

“Ryan needs to borrow you for a demo. You’re getting mighty big for your britches,” Milton bantered easily.

“Ah, Ryan and his whip—heaven. I wonder if Blade realizes how lucky he is.”

“I think he knows,” Milton said with a small smile. “The poor boy lived with me for several years, and I’m not nearly so much fun.”

“Ah,” Devon said as he laid out his equipment, some still wrapped in sterile drapes. “I think you’re far more fun than you pretend to us outsiders. Your many boys’ eyes are much too bright for the stiff suit you portray, and this, my friend, is a dead giveaway. You’re letting your baby boy have a tattoo.”

“It fits him,” Milton said simply.

Devon grinned. “Just what I said. You get this, sir, and you're lucky, Austin.” Devon’s voice was almost wistful for a second. 

“I know.” Austin squeezed Milton’s hand, his eyes wide and innocent and too sweet for words. “I got very lucky.”

“Remember that next time I’m all over you about not being home before the small hours of the morning on a school night."

"Naughty boy," Devon said with a laugh. "So you keep the old man on his toes?"

"Someone has to."

"Sheldon doesn't? I've seen that boy in action," Devon said, putting on his latex gloves.

Austin squirmed before Milton filled in the gap. "Austin is under the misconception that Sheldon is a saint, the perfect submissive."

"Sheldon!" Devon snorted. "I only hear most of the tales second hand, but that boy is no saint. Austin, I'm no expert on marriages, but it's not going to stop me from giving advice. You shouldn't compare yourself to the other boys. Would Milton have let Sheldon have a tattoo?"

Austin looked up at Milton as if searching for an answer.

"No," Milton said. "Even before he was my slave, the answer would have been no."

"Why?" Austin asked. 

Milton stroked his hand through Austin's hair, enjoying the soft texture. "You asked because you wanted a tattoo; Sheldon would have asked because he wanted a reaction from me."

"I don't understand."

"Think about it while Devon's working on you. It will help keep you distracted."

"How much is this going to hurt?" Austin sounded young, vulnerable, and more than a little scared.

"Austin, this is a large and complicated design. You're going to feel this, but your man is sitting there holding your hand, and it's going to look super. If you've survived Milton being all dommy, this will be nothing. You ready?"

Austin nodded and bit his lip. "Go ahead."

"Good boy," Milton and Devon said together.