Mike's Saga 9

Mike’s Saga 9

Milton was in his study. The door was open; there was no excuse to hover in the hallway. Mike forced his foot over the threshold. The room looked as it always looked. The blinds pulled open to the trees and frosted grass below. The desk piled high with papers and books. Milton sat, head down, intently marking a paper.

“Shut the door. Take a seat.”

The door creaked and rattled and stubbornly tried to escape its latch. Old doors—old house. Mike perched on the edge of the armchair. Wood for a fire was stacked on the hearth, but no cheery blaze burned behind the grate. 

Milton still hadn’t looked up. He’d finished the first paper and moved to the next. How long was he going to make Mike wait? Mike reached for the book on the side table. It probably wasn’t interesting, but it was better than torture by tedium.

“I said sit, not read.”

Mike had only managed the title page. It was a book on Custer and his final battle. Prothetic? 

“I’m not a frog on a lily pad.” 

“On my time, not yours. Sit.”

Sit. Stay. Mike wasn’t a fucking dog. He wasn’t going to sit here and be ignored. “I’ll come back at a better time.” He stood and took one step toward the door.

Retribution was swift. Milton caught Mike in one stride, and a horrible sting landed on Mike’s thigh. Milton had a short whip; it must have been hidden behind the books and papers.

“Sit, boy.”

"No." 

Those two short letters were perhaps the most dangerous word in the English language at that moment. Milton flipped Mike over his lap and trapped Mike's flailing legs between his knees. Mike's boxers disappeared in an instant. He was bare and vulnerable and without any hope of mercy.

"Do you say no to me, boy?"

The correct answer was a fervent plea to the contrary, but Mike ground his teeth together in total silence. What was Milton going to do? A little spanking? Tedious lines or more tedious corner time? 

The first smack landed with an alarming strength. Mike hissed and grabbed at Milton's ankle. This wasn't some imitation of a childhood punishment. Why had he ever been under the illusion that Milton would go easy? Milton was hammering all the most sensitive areas. Mike squirmed and reached back, trying to cover his most vulnerable region.

No warning. No request to move his hands forward. The tiny whip stung across Mike's hand with a vicious cut. Mike bellowed something incomprehensible and jerked his hands away.

"You know better. Do I need to restrain you?"

Fuck Milton! Fuck this all! That wasn't fair. Milton didn't hit like that.

"I asked you a question, boy," The whip flicked across Mike's thighs, a searing line of fire.

Mike jerked and tried to tumble off Milton's lap. He couldn't do this; he couldn't breathe. "Stop! I can't!" 

The whip lit into his flesh again. Nothing could hurt that much. 

"Kathmandu!" Safeword. Mike was still trapped. Why wasn't Milton letting him up? 

"Steady. Breathe. I've put the whip on the floor."

"Let me up! Let me up, you fucker! I'm not doing this. I safeworded."

"Breathe, Mike. I want you to lie here and calm down. I'm not hurting you. This is not the first time for you to be over my knee. You don’t safeword out of a punishment when it’s not to your liking."

"Get off me!" Mike clawed at Milton's pants legs. He tried to hit Milton with his fists, only to have his wrists caught and trapped behind him.

"You aren't going anywhere."

"I safeworded." Mike knew his voice was panicked and desperate. He had to get up. Milton had to let him up.

"You did, and I'm not hitting you. This is punishment; walking away is not an option. I will let go of your wrists, but you will keep your arms behind your back, and you will stay down over my knees."

"I safeworded. It stops. I control this."

"To a degree. Punishment is different than play.” Milton’s voice was calm, a steady solid rhythm in a sea of fright. His hand moved up and down Mike’s back, the palm warm from the spanking. “That’s it. Calm. Remember those conversations long ago. In punishment a safeword brings about a discussion; it does not allow an escape. It’s not a get out of jail free card. Restraint is part of this punishment. I am not willing to yield there. I will calm you, I will talk to you, I won’t hit you, but I will not release you.”

“Please. Milton, please, let me up.” Mike knew his voice was full of panic, not a dignified adult tenor, but a childish whine, the little boy frightened by his first dark tunnel on a roller coaster, the chilled and exhausted boy after a long awaited trip to the zoo that turned into a deluge and an explosion of thunder.

"Mike, you must trust me. You want to submit. Submission is the giving of self; you can't snatch it back at the first sign of hardship. Give in to me."

"I don't like this."

"I know. You can handle physical pain, but here you must bend to my will. Pain you can bend to your own will and your own pleasure. Stillness, whether by word or by physical bondage, removes your control. You crave control and surrender, yet you fear it with all your heart. You will surrender to me. It won't be today. It won't be next week, but it will happen. I require it. I failed you before by not requiring it; I will not fail you again."

“I can’t. I don’t want this,” Mike mumbled, his words still thick with tears. Physically he’d stopped fighting. His body lay across Milton’s knee; his head hung down in a dizzying rush of blood. 

“Do you still need to safeword?”

Mike hesitated. He swallowed hard and shook his head, wishing he had long hair to hide his face.

"I know you're not happy. This wasn't about your pleasure."

"I hate this."

“I am going to let you up You will kneel beside me and contemplate your submission. You will contemplate my will. You will still be punished, but this is your break. I will separate the physical pain from bondage. Together it is an overload.”

Mike shifted on his knees. The rug next to Milton’s chair was soft, but still the position focused pressure on Mike’s knees. He’d knelt many times for Milton. It was Milton who had taught him proper protocol. Mike could put his body in the position; he always could. He liked this part, the sinking under the dominant’s gaze and hand. It was a role he enjoyed; he especially enjoyed the shock on men’s faces when he did this in public. He didn’t look like a sub, or at least not how most imagined a sub. He was tall and dark and didn’t walk with his eyes down. He wasn’t blond and small with a permanent blush on his cheeks.

“Let yourself go.” Milton’s thumb rubbed Mike’s neck, slow and hypnotic.

Mike looked up, catching a look of kindness in Milton’s eye that was almost overwhelming. “Have you ever safeworded, sir?” The sir felt natural; it rolled off Mike’s tongue without resistance.

“Twice for myself, and I have often pulled back with submissives, a silent safeword. Austin will fall easily and then panic. I’m the dominant; he’s very young; his safety is my responsibility.”

“You’ve often stopped scenes with me?” Maybe it was a question. Mike wasn’t sure; he wasn’t sure if he even truly wanted the answer.

“Yes, you don’t trust me.”

Mike stared at the rug. It was dark and worn at the corners with a few threads hanging loose. “I don’t trust anyone.”

“Tilden and I will make you trust. There is no other option. You have come home; we must now act.”

“What if you can’t?” Had he just said that? Why was he talking on his knees? He should be quiet; he was good at playing the role.

“We won’t fail.” The words were said with an absolute finality, a determination that was reassuring and frightening all at once.

“How can you be sure?”

Milton’s big hand cupped Mike’s chin. He forced Mike’s eyes onto him for a long searching moment. “I survived Gordon at seventeen. I made two into three and then into six. I have a slave. I have pledged his care and happiness. Austin loves you. Tilden, in all his careful gentleness, loves you. I love you.”

“I’m not Sheldon or Austin.”

“No, you’re not.” Milton stroked two fingers down Mike’s face. “You’re Mike. We live in a tapestry of relationships; each thread is important. The picture is not complete without every color of thread.”

Milton’s pen scratched across a paper. The desk drawer opened and closed. Somewhere downstairs there was the sound of footsteps and a door. The heating chugged and banged and blew hot air too close to Mike’s face. 

“Will you tell me why you safeworded?”

“Mike,” Milton said with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, “kneeling is usually a position of silent contemplation.”

“Sorry.”

“No, I’m not angry. I won’t punish you for talking. I’ve wanted you to talk to me without the easy shallowness that you pass off as conversation. Come here.” Milton reached down and pulled Mike to his feet. “The sofa is a better place for conversation.”

Mike allowed himself to be guided down against Milton and covered with a soft throw. He didn’t want coddled; he wasn’t breakable, but he didn’t resist the comfort.

“I don’t want you too comfortable.” Milton reached into his pocket and pulled out two leather wristbands. Black and brown leather was entwined together and finished off with a small brass clasp. “These are from Tilden and me. The black for me, the tan for Tilden. Separate yet one. They stay on all the time. You ask one of us to take them off to bathe or for any other reason.”

“At work?”

“They look like jewelry. No one will notice.”

Mike reached out and touched the soft leather. They were beautiful. They were his in all their symbolism and all their terror. “What if I say no?”

“This is a hard limit. You accept my bondage, or I will not dominate you.”

Mike stroked his fingers down the smooth leather. “I don’t like bondage.”

“I know. You gave me a demonstration earlier when you safeworded. Bondage represents me being in control. You both want and fear the control. This is nonnegotiable, Mike.”

Mike held out his hand, clenching his muscles tight to try to prevent the shaking. It had been a long time ago. Milton would never do that to him. This was the man who spanked and chatted.

“Mike, I know about your past. It’s time to let that go.”

“Tie me up. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you wouldn’t be. You safeworded less than an hour ago when I trapped you over my knee for a spanking. You must face your fears and conquer them. I will help, but it is you who must do the real work.”

“This is stupid. It’s all a game.”

“Real fear isn’t a game.” Milton circled his hand around Mike’s wrist and squeezed. “Someday I will bring both of us real pleasure, but first we must conquer the demons. I won’t punish you for safewording here. I understand the fear. I will release you, wait for you to calm down, and try again. I will teach you to accept bondage, to even like bondage. Having your wrists tied will be as common as brushing your teeth.” Milton fastened the slim pieces of leather around Mike’s wrists. “In a panic these would break. They are symbols of bondage, not actual implements. I want your brain to submit to the bondage. Hands behind your back. I have a quick release snap.” Milton showed Mike the snap. 

The snap clicked into place and Mike tugged against the leather and metal, feeling the panic rise in his gut. Last time… This was Milton. He was a college professor; he was harmless. He’d beaten Sheldon. He was feared in the community.

“Steady.” Milton tucked Mike against his chest and kissed the sweat streaked forehead. “Do you need to safeword?”

“No.” Mike gulped and swallow the bile that was rising in his throat. 

“Good boy. Trust. Submit.”

“Tell me about when you safeworded. Please.”

“Distract the hell out of me. I’m scared. I don’t want to do this. I hear you, Mike. Once I safeworded because I was terrified, the other time because I was angry.”

“You, afraid?”

“Very. Landon and Gordon play very hard and very close to the edge, especially Landon when he dominates. I lost it—freaked out as Austin would say.”

“What happened?”

“They aborted the scene in an instant and spent the next week analyzing it with me, teaching me to get through it, teaching me to enjoy the blurring of fantasy and reality, but also anchoring me in the reality by allowing me to see the protections put in place. They aren’t fools or reckless, just damn scary. Psychological manipulation.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” The words sounded stupid to Mike’s ears, but what else was he to say? He liked the physical sensation. He liked a hot ass. He didn’t want whatever Milton was describing.

“Fun is such a generic term. Some people climb cliffs for fun or drive race cars; for other people fun is knitting a sweater for a friend or going to the movies and losing several hours pretending to be the hero. Scening with Landon and Gordon is all those things plus unimaginable arousal. Terror can be a powerful aphrodisiac when handled right.”

“Don’t I get more than generalities?” Mike shifted and felt the tug of the cuffs against his wrist. “I don’t like this.”

“Good boy.”

“Good boy?”

“Honesty, Mike. You want to play where Landon and Gordon took me, and without honesty it is unacceptably dangerous; some would always consider it unacceptably dangerous. I must have absolute trust that your responses are honest and genuine. I won’t harm you.”

What if Mike couldn’t? He knew he never let people close; Mike kept even Tilden with his gentle persistence at arm’s length. He knew he was family. He knew family was supposed to share everything.

“We can get you there if you want it.”

“You knew what I was thinking.”

“I watch you closely. You cannot hide--no part of you.” Milton ran his hand under the blanket and roughly fondled Mike’s cock and balls. “Not your sex, not your heart, not your mind. It must all be open and bare. The sex will be easy; it’s the other side you jealously guard. If you won’t give it to me, we are done here.”

“What if I can’t?”

“Do you want to?”

Mike nodded slowly. He wanted submission; he needed submission, but, God, he was incapable of it. 

“I will teach you, I will train you, and eventually I will force you. It is what Landon and Gordon gave me, and I was not an easy pupil. It is my duty to pass the knowledge onward.”

“You’re a dominant.”

“Yes, but to go to the edge I must be completely honest. I can spank a little and chase baby subs around for not eating breakfast and keep most of myself hidden. For what you want, I cannot hide anything. I would harm us both, and I would tear this sixsome to shreds.”

“Do the other boys have it?”

“Each relationship is different. You know better than to compare and contrast, but you are also not a child, and you deserve to understand everything to the best of my abilities. Sheldon owns me as much as I own him. I would never be master without that exchange. Austin I shield from my worst. I am still his teenage matinée idol; I hope to gradually draw the curtain back.”

“Austin’s not as young or as naive as you think.”

“You love that boy more than you understand.”

“Yes, and I hurt him.”

“You have to live with that. I can’t wish it all away. He is surprisingly resilient, and he’s very forgiving.”

“I’m an ass.”

“Stop it.” Milton landed a sharp slap on Mike’s ass. “It’s my privilege to punish and not yours.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boy.”

Those two silly words felt good. Mike wanted the praise; he wanted to be Milton’s good boy.

“You could be a very good boy and you could be very happy if you’d let yourself.”

Right. Mike the perfect submissive. “Tell me about the rest of us.”

“Tilden has always had all of me; we were only deluding ourselves. He’s my friend and lover. He’s the softer side which I will never have. He’s who I imagined I would grow up to be.”

“Milton!”

“I’m a severe and intense dominant. I have learned to accept that. Tilden is far kinder, more generous, more of everything that I cannot be. Mothers grab their boys tighter when they see under my professorial persona; they hand their boys to Tilden with a smile. He isn’t dangerous; I am.”

“You aren’t dangerous.”

“I’m sitting here contemplating how hard I will finish our aborted spanking. I want to see your ass red and shiny. I want to hear you cry and beg. I want you to surrender to me. I am dangerous.”

“I want to surrender. I want to beg. Damn it! I don’t know how. Teach me. Make me.”

“That’s a challenge you might not want to give to me.”

“Make me,” Mike said more boldly. “Make me surrender.”

“I will,” Milton said with chilling ferocity. “I will, boy, and you won’t know what hit you.”

Mike swallowed hard. Milton sounded fierce and unforgiving. Mike had wanted this; he’d asked for it, however his brain and nervous system refused to pretend that all was well. 

“Stand up, boy. Turn around.” Milton unfastened Mike’s wrists. “Over my knee. Let’s finish our aborted spanking, shall we?”

Let’s not. How hard was Milton going to hit? Mike stood, staring at his bare feet and wishing he was still in bed with the lingering aroma of Luke and Tilden on the sheets.

“Mike,” Milton growled. 

Mike shuffled his feet; he crept closer to Milton’s waiting knees. He hated this position. He wasn’t comfortable over someone’s knee. He was too tall. Sheldon fit over Milton’s lap; Mike’s legs always hung in all directions as if they were oversized spaghetti. 

“Mike, is there a problem?” Milton asked gently.

Mike shook his head. Not wanting wasn’t a problem; Milton had made that clear enough.

“Over my knee is a declaration of submission. You are a submissive; you will yield to my will.”

“I’m trying,” Mike muttered.

“Take your shirt and sweatshirt off.”

“Milton!” Mike’s head shot up. He’d never been spanked naked in punishment. 

“Hesitation has consequences. It’s not as if I’ve never seen all of you. Strip off, boy.”

Mike jerked his sweatshirt off and threw it across the floor. Milton would want it folded; he could fucking ask, or Milton could do it himself. The T-shirt came off next. Mike left it at his feet in a crumpled ball.

“Temper.”

“Yes, I have a fucking temper. How would you feel standing here bare assed naked while I was fully clothed?”

Milton raised his eyebrows, his expression a granite coldness. “I lived with Gordon and Landon. I learned very quickly to keep a civil tongue and a proper attitude of contriteness. We have failed to teach you manners; our deficiency is most obvious now, and I will correct it. Come here, boy.” Milton patted his thigh.

Mike tried to move his feet forward. He’d gone too far. Milton was furious; those were the eyes that made Sheldon turn pale and could even shut up Blade and all his cocky bullshit.

“I can’t do this,” Mike heard the sounds, a strange and sick croaking. He bent down and snatched up his T-shirt. Milton struck him in a full body tackle. Mike tumbled forward, hitting the floor with a thump as Milton pinned him from above.

“So you didn’t want a spanking, boy?” Milton snarled, spit from his lips landing on Mike’s cheek and forehead. “Now you’ve earned yourself a beating instead of a nice hand spanking.” Milton jerked Mike upright and wrenched his wrists behind him. Milton’s voice changed to a fraction of its earlier volume. “Safeword?”

Safeword. Milton was giving him an out. Mike didn’t want an out. 

“Get off me you oversized gorilla. Get your fucking hands off me?” Mike tried to spin around; he tried to kick Milton. Barefoot and naked he was no match for Milton. He was plowed forward and bodily thrown over the desk.

Milton’s hand crashed down, an incessant tattoo on Mike’s ass. Milton slapped Mike’s legs apart and concentrated on the most tender skin.

“Shit! Asshole! Go crap on your mother’s grave!”

Milton shoved Mike forward, nearly knocking the wind from his lungs. Mike groaned and gasped for breath. He heard the sound of a belt being jerked through the loops.

The bellow was unintelligible. Mike flailed and scrabbled across the smooth surface of the desk. Papers fluttered to the floor; the desk lamp crashed down, followed by a stack of books. Nothing stopped the belt that was flying over Mike’s skin.

The tears came, deep and wrenching sobs. Mike had quit struggling. His fingers weakly clung to the slick corners; his chest heaved in a desperate struggle for air.

“On your knees, boy.” Milton spun Mike around and kicked his legs out from under him. “Ask me for the spanking you deserved earlier.” He loomed over Mike, his eyes a black fire. Sweat dotted his forehead, and his shirttail hung from his pants, the orderly neatness lost sometime during the struggle.       

“Please punish me, sir. Please punish your disobedient and disrespectful boy.”

“Over my knee, boy.” Milton sat in the desk chair, his broad thighs both inviting and terrifying. “Boy, this is your due. Don’t make me come get you.”

Mike stumbled to his feet and almost fell onto Milton’s lap. Milton’s arm wrapped around his waist, suddenly a comfort and not a restraint. His palm lightly stroked the inflamed skin on Mike’s ass.

“Spread your legs.” Milton’s finger stroked over Mike’s most intimate area. “True submission can be a pleasure. You want this.” Gently Milton slapped the skin on Mike’s ass and thighs, the strikes more a caress than an actual blow. Milton continued to spank, his hand making circuit after circuit. 

Mike hung limply across Milton’s lap, not trying to brace himself. The tears flowed down his cheeks unchecked. Nothing mattered but the rhythm of the hand falling and Milton’s strong arm anchoring Mike in place. 

“Submission.” Milton’s lips touched Mike’s sweaty back in a gentle kiss. “My sweet and beautiful boy. It’s in there. Only we must search for its buried treasure with more effort than Columbus stumbling onto the new world.”

Mike groaned. He was going to be so sore, but now it didn’t matter. He wanted only to lie across Milton’s knees and float. This was the rabbit hole where the world was topsy-turvy. Could he stay here forever?

“We’re going to walk across the hall to the shower and get cleaned up before both of us can’t move.” Milton slid Mike to his knees, stood up, and pulled Mike to his feet. Mike clung to Milton’s shoulders and somehow stumbled into the bathroom.

The water was hot. Milton’s arm was around Mike’s chest. Mike’s back pressed against the fur on Milton’s chest. He was being washed. Milton’s fingers massaged Mike’s scalp and trailed down Mike’s chest. A warm soapy cloth wiped over his abdomen, and confident hands soaped his groin area. Mike was bent forward and a thick, soapy finger pressed into his private entrance. The water and soap stung across his ass.

Warm spring rains. Tulips and daffodils and the return of the robins.

“You’re still floating, aren’t you, boy?”

Mike nodded. He knew there was a stupid grin on his face. He couldn’t help himself. His wrist cuffs were back on. The leather was smooth and beautiful. Milton had chained Mike to the towel bar. Why had this bothered him?

A fluffy towel patted against the chafed skin of Mike’s ass. He trembled and sighed as his legs seemed to spread apart on their own. 

“Next time, boy, not that it isn’t tempting.” Milton combed Mike’s hair and carefully shaved his face. He opened the medicine cabinet and coated one hand with gel before rubbing it across Mike’s ass and thighs. “You’ll feel these. It can’t be helped.”

“Feels good,” Mike moaned.

“You’re still high.” Milton smiled and kissed Mike’s cheek. “Am I going to need a helmet for when you crash?”

“Yeah,” Mike said, not really knowing what he was saying.

“I thought so. Put this on.” Milton wrestled Mike into an oversized shirt. “Come.” He held out his hand.

“Pants?” 

“Later maybe. I wanted to admire the lovely red that is peeking out in the most enticing places, plus pants will hurt. Come.”

Mike wrapped his hand in Milton’s. When was the last time he’d held hands like this? Strangers would take his hand as Mommy and Daddy climbed into a car, waved, and smiled.

“I’ve got you. I know it’s wearing off. I can see it in your eyes; they aren’t as glazed, but there’s no hurry. Subspace is to be cherished, especially if you’re going to make me break the lamp to get you there.”

Mike remembered the struggle to get him across the desk, the papers and the lamp. He felt a blush on his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“No.” Milton kissed Mike, his mouth demanding surrender. “Stay down a little longer. You deserve it. I want to enjoy my sweet and beautiful submissive for a few minutes.”

“I fought you.”

“Mike,” Milton growled. “I thought I told you to enjoy yourself. I guess my five minutes of obedience is up.”

“Sorry.” Mike felt tears welling in his eyes. He blinked and looked down.

“Ugh,” Milton said with wry amusement, “that wasn’t a reprimand. That was a fact. It is going to take practice to keep you in headspace. I was hoping you might enjoy it for a few more minutes.” Milton wrapped Mike in a firm hug. “We’ll talk about all this later when you can remember the name of the president and know the alphabet beyond the third letter.”

“OK,” Mike said, agreeing easily, but yet somehow knowing he should be pulling away. “I’m hungry.” 

“Good boy. Let yourself alone for a few more minutes.”

****

Mike lay sprawled across the sofa, his head in Tilden’s lap, Tilden’s hand tracing gentle lines down his back. Mike’s stomach rumbled contently. Milton had fed him: roast beef, crunchy French bread, cookies, and a glass of orange juice. Mike had stood at the kitchen counter and eaten with Milton comfortably at his back. 

“Mike, are you with us?”

“Uh,” Mike mumbled and tried to bring himself into the present. They’d been talking; he had heard the voices over him, but it seemed like too much effort to focus on the words.

“Tired?” Milton bent down and kissed Mike’s face. “You are a very good boy. Shut your eyes and drift off. There is nothing you need to do. Sleep.”

****

“Did he just fall asleep to your orders?” Tilden whispered.

“Maybe.” Milton sat down next to Tilden, his hand covering Tilden’s and momentarily stilling its motion over Mike’s back. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I heard the crashing. I took Austin into the basement. Urgent laundry. We couldn’t stay out running all morning.”

Milton squeezed Tilden’s wrist. “Consensual non consent. It’s what he needs.”

“What did you break?”

“The lamp. I didn’t break Mike.”

“He’s bruised.”

“Yes. Does he look unhappy now?”

“No.” Tilden’s eyes studied the sleeping figure on his lap.

“He’s sleeping because I threw him over the desk, pinned him down, and beat him with my belt. He’s sleeping because I made him get down on his knees and beg me to punish his disrespectful ass.”

“Milton.” Tilden tried to pull his hand away from Milton. 

“Don’t you pull away. We are his dominants. You don’t get to pretend your hands are clean from the part you consider ugly. I won’t ask you to throw him into the bookcase or punch him in the gut, but you don’t get to disapprove under that remote and polite exterior. We are in this together. I’ll do the beating, but don’t you dare silently disapprove, not when you reap the benefits of a sweet and happy boy.”

“Milton, I’m not this sort of man.”

Milton stood up and jammed his hands into his pockets. His fingers pressed into the few coins and his keys. “And I’m the brutal one, the one who hurts for fun, the one who is in the same class as Gordon? You’re married to me mister. You love it when I have my cock buried in your ass and your hands pinned over your head. You don’t get to pretend this is all clean and neat. I enjoy it. I enjoy the power; I enjoy the blistering heat of flesh well beaten; I enjoy a boy who looks at me with fear and desperation and longing and pure, unshielded adoration. I enjoy a boy who is thrilled to be at my mercy. I care about my boys, I love my boys, but I’m not pretending my power is some altruistic aid to teach boys to live a good life. It’s not. I dominate for my pleasure. I’m not a sociopath. The pleasure is not evil when handled with responsibility and care and love.”

“Milton, I didn’t mean it that way.” Tilden’s eyes were wide with pain and anguish. “I love you.”

“And yet you loathe this.”

“Make me understand it. I love Mike. I want Mike happy. I don’t want him leaving again. Teach me. You’re a teacher.”

Milton dropped to his knees and caught Tilden’s hand. He listened to the soft snores from Mike. That boy could sleep through a hurricane. He was enticing in his sleep, his face placid, his long legs hanging over the sofa edge, his face pressed into Tilden’s lap with complete trust. 

“His submission is as complicated as your dominance,” Tilden said gently into the silence. “I understand Luke. He doesn’t want to be bruised and battered and thrown into the furniture. I understand Austin. I feel he’s too young. I’ve heard your arguments, and intellectually I understand, but he was a child in this house. I know he’s now no younger than Mike and Luke were in the beginning, but I hadn’t known them as children.”

“He’s not a child. Do you think I’m a pedophile?”

“God, no! But I still see the shadows of the fifteen-year-old who sassed you at dinner when I see you kiss him, when I see him naked and the tattoo ripples across his back, when I hear him groan when you bury yourself in his ass. I know he’s an adult. I know he understood his choices; you made sure of that. I know he’s a submissive; it was obvious at fifteen.”

“Your mother has forgiven me.”

Tilden grimaced and then smiled. “My mother is far more forward thinking about sexuality than I am, but she was a high school principal. A seventeen-year-old with a man of your age was at first concerning, and then she saw you together. She thinks you walk on water.”

“She’ll be disappointed. I sink like everyone else.”

“You make me happy.” Tilden bent forward and kissed Milton gently.

“Even with this?”

“I don’t like physical violence. I’m trying to understand.”

“I spank you.”

“When you spank me it’s erotic. I give myself to you; you don’t beat me.”

“Mike can’t give himself to me without the fight. It’s who he is, and it’s where we erred before.”

“Will our furniture survive?”

“Stop it.” Milton swatted at Tilden’s knee. It wasn’t a real swat, more a feeble attempt to break the tension. They were both trying to lighten the mood, Tilden with his flippant comment and Milton with his swat. This wasn’t something that lent itself to lightness and joviality. This was hard for both of them. It was hard for the boy who was now sleeping so soundly.

Milton flipped himself around and sat on the floor, hugging his knees with his back to the sofa. Landon or Gordon would have forced him back around, but Tilden wasn’t that sort of man. It was easier to speak looking away. Milton valued his privacy; he’d revered his grandfather’s quiet strength, the solidness of a man of very few words, but Landon and Gordon had also taught him the value of words and the need to be able to speak of wants and emotions that few could understand.

“Mike needs submission. He needs deep submission, but he also needs to fight. We backed off when he fought before. We read it as a signal that he wished to go no further. We were wrong. He wants to go much further. He wants to give it all up; he wants to fly. He finds peace and release and a happiness that has always eluded him when the dominance moves toward absolute force. He faked it well enough for a while, but underneath that boy has never been happy. He loves you; he loves Luke, but he was missing something. Maybe it’s partially from his parents’ abandonment. I don’t know, but I am as uncomfortable equating extreme submission with bad childhood as I am equating extreme dominance with some childhood mishap. I had an idyllic childhood, and I am an extreme dominant. The proteins in my DNA must have been folded in the path of dominance.”

“Your grandfather was a dominant.”

“Yes, and most likely my father, but my father didn’t understand it, and he killed himself with drugs. No one ever spoke of my father except in guarded whispers when they thought I was out of earshot, but I’m a historian; I know how to put clues together to create a coherent and plausible history. I was packed off to Gordon and Landon at seventeen because my grandfather saw it in me. He wanted to keep me safe and my future lovers safe. They probably saved me from myself. I know they kept me out of jail; an adolescent with hormones and my tendencies is a menace to society.”

“You are a good man.” Tilden ran his fingers through Milton’s hair. “I know you are a good man. I don’t always understand, but I know you love us.”

“Gordon and Landon taught me that I was good, taught me that wanting to hit didn’t make me a freak, that I could control the dangerous side. They both beat me; they came very close to torturing me, or something that many people would consider torture, but yet they loved me, and I saw a generosity of spirit in those two that I have seen nowhere else. They are absolutely safe when the terror becomes too real to bear. I don’t submit easily.”

“They forced you.” 

“Consensual non consent. I was forced, but I had also consented. It’s a difficult concept, and something many feel is always too risky.”

“It was hard? You feared it?” Tilden’s hand rested on Milton’s shoulder, gentle and silent support.

“Yes, Landon creates very powerful dark fantasies. He is a dungeon master. There is an actual dungeon under the lake house. He locked me in there. I don’t know how long. There was no light but a bare bulb high overhead in a cage. The only stimulation was the guards coming to feed me and Landon and Gordon coming to torture me. I was the king’s prisoner, suspected of espionage and subject to the king’s inquiry and justice. The floor was dirt and straw, and the food gruel and scummy water. I safeworded.”

“What happened?”

“They took me upstairs to the big sunny room with the white couches. You’ve been in that part of the house. They held me while I was completely hysterical for several hours. I’d forgotten it was fake. I’d started to feel as if I were that prisoner. They spoiled me rotten for a week, showed my the inner workings of the dungeon, and we did it again. I flew the next time. It was the only time I stayed in subspace for any length of time. I understand the fantasy of being chained and beaten and kept in the closet as a convenient sex toy. I remember them both damn near raping me. I was kneeling on that filthy floor, and Landon had his cock jammed down my throat. My nose was mashed into his groin, and Gordon mounted me with a brutal thrust. I was impaled between the two of them: filthy, exhausted, entirely submissive to their will, and I loved it. I had the most spectacular orgasm. I had another great one a few days later in a very warn and clean bath with two very gentle lovers, but it wasn’t as good as when I was being tortured in their dungeon.”

“You want to lock Mike in a dank and filthy dungeon?”

Milton listened to the gentle sound on Mike’s breathing, the light snores and the occasional half sighs. Mike slept with such trust and beauty. Could Milton be worthy of what he needed? Could he take him to the very edge of sanity?

“I want Mike to be able to have that fantasy if he wants it. It’s not wrong or evil or sick to want that fantasy. He wants to fight and to struggle and to finally surrender. I was able to give him a taste today, but he must be more open and honest before he can have the whole meal. He safeworded on me.”

“When? When you threw him over the desk?”

“No, when I treated him like Sheldon or Austin. I tried to show him the daily submission, the submission that can be infused into real life. He needs that side also, but he wouldn’t yield. He fought and he safeworded. I was only spanking him over my knee. It wasn't about physical pain. It was about yielding, and it was about the idea of bondage and the submission bondage requires, especially self bondage which you cannot physically fight.”

“Did you stop?”

“Yes, but I kept him over my knee. I explained, but he cannot yet understand. Without the lamp smashing, he equates surrender with something he doesn’t want to be: weak, childish, needy, effeminate. He was very young and very lost when he first came to us. His submission was tied into a role of near guardianship by us. He doesn’t want that. He’s a man now, not a boy who can’t do his homework. Luke is gentle; he paints, enjoys classical concerts, and lives with his nose in a book with Cyrillic script. That is not a picture of modern masculinity. Mike has associated his submission with emasculation and childish behavior. We must teach him differently. We must teach him that a submissive is strong and masculine and adult, and right now he needs the brutality to feel strong. He wants to yield, and eventually he will yield as Jer does from a slight look, but not now. He has to feel that he is forced to yield, not that he offers it with demure pleasure. I can make him feel the force. I can be brutal and cruel, and I can and will enjoy it. Can you accept that?”

“I must,” Tilden said simply after a long pause. His fingers played in Milton’s hair, and without turning Milton knew the expression on Tilden’s face. The scatter of violet that brightened his blue eyes would be still; fine furrows would knit his brow.

“He’ll need you for aftercare. He’ll need your love and your gentle presence. You’re the contrast; you’ll show him the pleasure of yielding without being bruised and battered.”

“You’ll need me to,” Tilden said, fisting Milton’s hair with sudden strength. “You speak of enjoying the brutality, of understanding your demons, but I see how much you resist creating true pain. You’re kinder and gentler than you let yourself believe. You see the kindness in Gordon; let yourself see it in yourself.”

“I wanted to take him when I had him over the desk. I could barely stop myself.”

“Dominance is part of your sexuality. No one condemns a man for being interested in a beautiful, naked woman. Why shouldn’t you be interested in your own sexual pleasure laid out in front of you? You didn’t take him, not that I think Mike would have objected.”

“He wasn’t in any condition to consent. He was too far gone.”

“Next time he’ll understand more, and you can negotiate your pleasure. It’s as you called it earlier consensual non consent.”

Milton groaned and leaned his head back, trying to catch Tilden’s eye. “It’s the most difficult negotiation there is.”

“Mike’s not always honest. He might have to get burnt a few times to understand the value of honesty. It won’t kill him.”

“I won’t have him thinking it’s rape.”

“He won’t. You aren’t capable of rape. Don’t.” Tilden jerked Milton’s hair as he started to speak. “I live with you. I love you. I know what you are capable of, and rape is not one of your capabilities. I’m not naive. I fear your unshielded dominance, and I know you shield it with me and especially with Luke, and you’re going to turn it loose with Mike. I’ll stay out of the flames.”

“The flames are scorching. My dominance is worse than Gordon’s. It is deeper and darker than you can imagine.”

“It’s also sunny and light and damn close to fatherly at times. Trust yourself. Have you talked to Gordon or Landon recently?”

“Are you sending me to them?”

“I’m asking if you should go to them.”

Milton twisted around and studied Tilden’s face. “I’ll go to them, but I want you with me. He’s your boy, and I’m also your boy. You can’t step back anymore. You are a dominant.”

“I submit to you.”

“You are a dominant. You are not my submissive, not in the way of the other boys. You yield with grace to a friend and a lover. You submit to no one else. It is not your natural state.”

“With you it’s easy.” Tilden kissed Milton. At first his tongue swept against Milton’s teeth and demanded entrance. The kiss lengthened and with a gentle invitation he yielded to Milton and welcomed Milton inside. Tilden slid Mike’s head onto a pillow and stood. His long fingers undid the top two buttons of his shirt, and he shucked it over his head. He kicked off his shoes, and his pants dropped down over his slim hips into a pile at his ankles. “Take me.”

“Tilden!”

“Take me.” Tilden ran his hand over Milton’s groin, feeling for the bulge hidden under the layers of clothing. “I know you want to, and I’m offering.”

Milton grabbed Tilden’s hand and jerked it behind his back. He pulled Tilden close; Milton wrapped his arm around the narrow waist and kissed the offered neck. His tongue flicked over the skin and slowly he sank his teeth down. Tilden groaned, but didn’t move, his body still, a perfect offering.

“You’ll have a mark.”

“I’ll wear a turtleneck.” Tilden pressed closer, rubbing shamelessly against Milton.

Milton licked Tilden’s neck and bit down again. He knew it hurt; he could feel Tilden tense as the teeth broke his skin, but Tilden didn’t pull away. He stayed, offering his surrender and trust.

Milton pressed his fingers to Tilden’s lips. “Suck.” Tilden’s tongue was hot, wet, and heavenly. He laved the fingers in spit. “My wanton friend.” Milton pulled his fingers from the glistening lips, spun Tilden around, and shoved two deep inside the tempting flesh. Tilden yelped at the sudden intrusion. “Quiet. Don’t wake the sleeping boy.”

“Ah,” Tilden tried to muffle the groan as Milton’s fingers scissored inside him.

“Shh.” Milton bit down hard on Tilden’s shoulder and added a third finger. Tilden spread his legs; a delightful groan rose from his lips. “So ready. So wanting,” Milton whispered in Tilden’s ear. “You love being my toy. No proper Russian teacher here. You want more. You want to feel me buried to the hilt. You want to be helpless as you mewl and buck and pleasure me with abandon.”

“Please,” Tilden whined.

“It’s the middle of the afternoon on Saturday. Someone might walk in. It’s not proper.”

“I don’t care. Fuck me.”

“Very well, I will.”