Mike's Saga 15

Mike's Saga 15

Austin studied Milton's face through lowered lashes. He wasn't Sheldon who could read Milton in the dark with half a glance, but to Austin, Milton didn't look angry. He wasn't sure how he looked. His eyes were very dark behind his glasses, unfathomable pools of blackness. His beard hid his mouth, and the shadows of evening accented the creases in his brow and the lines around his eyes.

"Am I in trouble?"

"You should be." Milton's big hand wrapped around Austin's neck. "Technically Sheldon and Landon intervened in time, but I'm happy to add some color if you desire. I'm not going to turn down a beautiful boy."

"Milton!"

"It's not wrong to want a little for yourself, and you've lived here long enough to know what it's really about. You can ask with words as well as with actions."

Austin swallowed and studied the familiar floor with its wide pine and the long and worn scratch near the door. He was enough of a realist to know he'd wanted Milton's attention, but he didn't want a scorched ass. Sometimes it was nice, the warmth in his flesh, the feel of Milton's handprints, the time in his arms, but an angry or disappointed Milton wasn't pleasant. Austin would still have the handprints or the stripes of the belt, but he'd see the anger or exasperation flash in Milton's eye and then be suppressed. Perhaps Tilden was the better choice for the occasional colossal idiocy. He was difficult to anger, but he could look sad, and he made Austin feel small and guilty. Milton hit far harder, but the guilt lifted from Austin's shoulders, driven away by the fire in his ass.

"Hard, I know," Milton said with a sympathy that bulldozed all other feeling from Austin's mind. "I'll keep asking, but you'll tell me when you're ready." Milton kissed the top of Austin's head. "Do you want to go out, or did you merely want my attention?"

"Both," Austin mumbled, feeling a blush hot on his neck.

"Right," Milton said with a hearty cheerfulness that sent sparks of anticipation racing through Austin's body. His stomach churned, and blood dropped inappropriately to his groin. "Strip, boy," Milton said, already moving toward the closet.

Austin pulled his shirt over his head, letting it fall to the floor. He kicked off his shoes and wrestled his tight pants over his hips. He hadn't been wearing underwear, and he shivered in the cold. Austin shifted from foot to foot and longed to cover himself. Silly, he knew, but alone and bare in the center of the room was different than with the easy camaraderie of the nighttime ritual.

"Don't fidget, boy."

How had Milton known? His head was buried in the closet. He didn't have rear facing vision or any other superpowers. He was an ordinary college professor, only he wasn't. He was Austin's dominant. Austin wanted to please Milton. He wanted to see that small, private smile and feel Milton's fingers brush down his face.

"Good boy." Milton was smiling; maybe not the smile that sent a thrill of pleasure through Austin, but it wasn't exactly sinister either. "Dress, boy." Milton dropped a pile of clothes on the bed and laid a pair of shiny black boots on the floor.

Austin pulled the black Henley over his head. Tiny white briefs sat on the faded jeans. Austin glanced at Milton, the question unasked on his lips. He wore boxers usually, too big and in loud plaids.

"You had nothing before."

Austin thought about complaining, a flash of idiocy before his brain kicked in. His ass was still comfortable and only the slightest of pink; he wanted it to stay that way. The briefs were tight, squishing him in ways that weren't entirely comfortable. The jeans were worn and almost thin in strategic places. Austin fingered the small hole in his knee and stroked the soft cotton. He pulled on the thick gray socks and slid his feet into the boots. He bent to tie the laces.

"I will." Milton pushed Austin to a sitting position on the bed and knelt at his boy's feet. He carefully threaded the laces, tightening each as he laced higher, up and over Austin's ankles. The final bow was small and tucked securely inside the laces. "Stand."

Austin's feet felt heavy inside their black coffins. He flexed his ankles and rolled up on his toes.

"Your belt."

The leather was thick and soft; it barely threaded through the loops. Austin cinched it around his hips, the large buckle of a green mountain accenting his slight frame.

"For tonight only. Kneel for me."

Austin stared up at the slim cord of braided leather. A charm of a snow capped mountain hung in the middle. It was a collar, his very own collar. The leather branded his neck. Austin couldn't hold position; he had to touch the leather. It was warm and soft in his fingers.

"Only for tonight, cub. I won't have my boy out alone, looking unclaimed."

"Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Milton pulled Austin to his feet and kissed him thoroughly. The world stopped when Milton kissed. For Austin, there was nothing but his dominant's possession. He let himself float, wishing it would never end.

"Be sensible, boy and have a good time."

Austin fingered his collar and stared at his reflection in the mirror on the closet door. The jeans were stretched tight over his ass. The boots gleamed in the light of the lamp. His shirt clung across his flat abdomen, and the collar was unmistakable.

"My beautiful boy."

"I can...like this."

"My choice." Milton smiled his perfect smile. "You're young, you deserve to have fun, and you deserve to enjoy your beauty. You are clearly marked. Go enjoy yourself."

"Come," Austin said softly, reaching toward Milton.

"No, I intimidate your friends. You deserve to be young without the college professor at your heels. Be good and have fun. Now go."

"No drinking?" For some reason Austin couldn't help but ask the question. He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it again.

"You know the answer, boy. Don't tempt fate."

"Yes, sir. I'll be good and thank you."

"Go," Milton said with a wave of his hand "Have fun."

Mike's Saga 14

Mike's Saga 14

Landon turned from the sleeping Mike as he heard voices in the hall.

“Where are you going?” 

“Out.” 

“Not like that.”

“And who put you in charge? Austin’s strident voice came through the door. “Last time I looked you were on your knees and praying Milton wasn’t going to have your ass.”

“Austin.” Landon had made the door in two strides. He braced himself against the doorframe and glared out into the hall. Austin froze, his face a rainbow of colors before settling on terrified white. Sheldon, for being the focus of the abuse, was leaning calmly against the wall. He gave Landon a faint smile and something that might be interpreted as a nod. 

“Sir?” Austin finally managed into the silence. 

“Is there an explanation for what I just heard?” Landon asked, not softening his gaze. Those words weren’t the Austin he knew nor was his current state of dress. Austin hunched his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back. His silk shirt, open to nearly his navel, billowed with every motion, and his pants tightened even further at the change of position.

“Austin, if you need something from Milton, you only need to ask. This might be a little much and not really what you wanted.” Sheldon waved his hand, encompassing Austin’s provocative display. “You don’t like the results when you do this.”

“I’m not a baby. I can take care of myself.”

“Right to getting your ass kicked,” Sheldon muttered. “These aren’t your games.”

“How do you know?” Austin shouted. “I’m not the stuffed toy to pull out of the closet when someone needs a spare boy. I want to have my own life.”

“Enough.” Landon let his voice reverberate through the hall. Austin scurried from Landon when he was being careful and gentle. It wasn’t often that Landon openly showed his dominant side in front of this boy. This was a very young boy, too many generations apart to understand Landon. He wasn’t a boy that Landon dominated in any traditional sense. This wasn’t even a side that Landon showed often around Sheldon, who despite his experience was a soft boy in many ways. Austin was even softer. He was provoking something that wouldn’t be pleasure. It wouldn’t even be pleasure tinged with a healthy dose of fear; it would be terror and pain.

“I want to go out.” Austin’s voice had acquired a tone of pleading, and he appeared to teeter on the edge of fleeing or exploding. Mike was easy--beat the kid until he gave in. Austin was different. Milton was good with these types. He could be both a safe harbor, and the fearsome fantasy dominant. He knew how to entice a submissive toward the path of commonsense.

“Sheldon, get Milton.”

If Landon’s mind hadn’t been trained on Austin, he would have marveled at Sheldon’s prompt obedience. Sheldon turned and ran down the stairs. Landon could remember when getting Sheldon to shut the windows against rain could entail a five minute argument.

“Stay,” Landon ordered as Austin started to sidle down the hall. The boy’s eyes could have been the model for the latest animated hero, but he stayed. 

Milton was quick. He came up the stairs two at a time. His eyes met Austin’s before shifting briefly toward Landon. “Interesting. Nothing more than the outfit?”

“Nothing of significance.” Well, Landon was a submissive also; he didn’t need to pour lighter fluid on an already nicely burning fire.

“I want to go out. It’s Saturday night.” Austin rounded on Milton, his posture a mixture of defiance and submission. His voice was raised, but his hands were still clasped behind his back. “I’m a college student, not a hermit.”

“You’re allowed to go out. You’re not allowed to go out dressed like that.”

“I’m twenty. My friends dress like this.”

“They aren’t mine.” Milton stepped close. He intentionally loomed over Austin, driving him back into the wall. “You’re married, boy, and on my watch you don’t forget that.”

“I’m married, not a prisoner.” Austin blinked hard, fighting tears of anger and frustration.

Milton stroked his fingers through Austin’s hair and pressed his lips to Austin’s forehead. “Cub, I didn’t say you couldn’t go out. You just can’t go out looking abandoned and wayward. I know you might feel that way. Sometimes six means less time for one. Mike--”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Listen.” Milton put his finger to Austin’s lips. “You did, and it’s not wrong or selfish. I spent the day chasing Mike and what did you get? Dinner with Landon and Gordon--bogey prize number one. Sheldon watching young Percy--bogey prize number two. Bogey prize number three is me taking my belt to you for this little display. Do we need to go there?”

Austin shook his head and dove toward Milton’s chest. He wrapped his arms around Milton and clung tightly.

“Good boy.” Milton hugged his youngest boy, his arms wrapped around quivering shoulders. “You’re not a prisoner here. You can go out, but you’re going out as our boy.” With one arm still over Austin’s shoulders, Milton pushed him down the hall.

“Cute kid,” Landon said as Austin and Milton disappeared into the other bedroom.

“Don’t let him hear you say that. He wants to be all adult very badly,” Sheldon said with a slight grin. “If only he knew...I would have been dead for that.”

“Deserved too, my favorite slave.”

“Point taken, sir,” Sheldon said carefully.

“Good, very good. I still sometimes can’t believe it.” Landon smiled and shook his head. “This from the wild red head who drove us mad for years.”

“I still can.”

“Not tonight,” Landon said with a low groan. “Your brother in arms about did me in.”

“Mike all right?”

“You should ask if I’m all right. Mike’s fine, sleeping it off. I need a massage, a hot tub, and a lovely slave boy.

“This lovely slave boy’s taken. Don’t even think about it.”

“Don’t I know. I’ll just have to suffer.”

“Suffer,” Sheldon snorted. “You were in your element. Don’t even think of whining to me.”

“Brat. Get back to your duties before I recover my strength.”

“Yes, sir.” Sheldon skipped away, unimpressed, unafraid, and a very happy boy.

Mike's Saga 13

Chapter 13

Mike would have stumbled up the stairs if Landon's hand hadn't been on his back, offering reassurance and stability that he shouldn't need. Mike hurt, the deep muscle ache from his earlier encounter with Milton and a fiery sting from Landon with the damn clothesline. It wasn't just his body that ached, but his mind also. His mind was stumbling up the stairs more than his feet. Mike had thought he'd known himself, thought he'd known something about submission, but it now seemed wrong or topsy-turvy or maybe just surreal. Mike had admitted to Landon thoughts he didn't even admit to himself. They were secrets to be kept permanently locked away.

"Do you want to say goodnight to everybody, or would you just like me to put you to bed and make your excuses?"

"I'm not two," Mike said reflexively. 

"Don't start." Landon slapped Mike's thigh. "I can punish you to make you accept care, but I think you're ready for some gentle spoiling without making me hurt you to the point where you'll do anything to stop the pain."

"You wouldn't?" Mike said, clutching the stair railing.

"I would."

Mike believed those words. Landon was absolutely direct, and Mike couldn't suppress the shiver at the sureness that emanated from Landon. This man would hurt him. He wouldn't be conned or diverted. He'd hurt Mike until Mike was nothing but a thousand shards of glass across the floor.

"Let me be gentle, not brutal."

"Yes, sir" Mike heard the two words echo around his brain. They weren't only words, but an acknowledgment of the completeness of his submission. 

"Good boy." They crowned the last stair, and Landon wrapped Mike in a suffocating hug. "Submission is about accepting pleasure as well as pain. Let me care for you."

"Yes, sir"  

"I'll draw you a bath and you can soak in warm luxury."

"I prefer a shower."

"Did I ask?" 

Mike snarled a half articulate sound and started to stalk away. He wasn't soaking in bubble bath or getting swaddled in cotton wool. He'd stand in the shower and let the water beat the aches out of him. He wanted to lick his wounds in peace.

"Should we go downstairs again?" Landon invited. "I can be very creative." Landon smiled at Mike. It wasn't a nice smile, but predatory and feral, and it made Mike swallow hard.

"No."

"No?" Landon's voice rose in a question. He pulled Mike around, his eyes searching. "Do you need more? I like hurting pretty boys." Landon gave Mike another one of those nasty smiles.

"No. No, sir." Mike held Landon's eye. 

"Beg me to care for you and not to hurt you."

"Landon." Mike could hear the desperation in his voice. He didn't want to beg. He wasn't sure he even could, but he couldn't take another beating. His body hurt, his brain hurt, everything hurt.

"Do not try to bargain with me, boy. I have no patience for such behavior."

"Please." Mike balked at the flavor of the words. He'd begged with Josh, and he'd begged with Milton, but they were impressive dominants with a remoteness and force that was beyond question. Landon was different; Mike had seen him as a submissive. He'd seen Landon openly sympathetic with Sheldon, one of the boys. What was Landon now? He wasn't one of the boys.

"Mike," Landon ran his knuckles down Mike's cheek. "You don't want hit again; I can see it in your body language. Ask me not to hit you."

Mike balled his hands into fists and wished he was anywhere but in this narrow corridor with Landon. He wished the walls would swallow him up. This had all seemed so easy when he'd been explaining it to Gabe, but now it seemed impossible.

"Do you reject your submission?" Landon's eyes searched Mike who shivered in their all knowing gaze.

"I can't." Mike leaned against the wall, the plaster digging into his sore shoulder. Somewhere in the distance water gurgled in the pipes and voices murmured softly. Ordinary noises--ordinary people.

"Hands on the wall for me." Landon's voice bubbled directly in Mike's ear. "Lean into the wall. Spread your feet."

"Don't hit me." The words were out before Mike could think or stop them--words of desperation and exhaustion.

"I don't need to now." Landon stroked Mike's back and rubbed his neck. "Lower your head for me." 

The hands were hot on Mike's neck. Mike groaned and slumped forward. He was too tired; he wanted to collapse against Landon in a ball of fluff that could be battered by a kitten.

“Ask me to get you comfortable?”

Mike even in his addled state caught the slight shift of words. Landon had just thrown him a life ring. He didn’t have to beg. He could use innocuous phrases about help with the stairs.

“Please.” Mike licked his lips and struggled for the words. “I...I’m...Help me.”

“Good boy.” Landon kissed the back on Mike’s neck. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

Mike leaned back in the steaming water. Landon had stripped him with the efficiency of an expert valet and nurse combined. Mike hadn’t even been able to voice a protest over the fully dressed Landon remaining in the bathroom.

“Boy, I saw all your bits when I beat you, so stop with this ridiculous modesty.”

Landon was leaning over the tub; he had shampoo in his hand. Mike shut his eyes and let the sure fingers massage his scalp without protest. Mike felt Landon pour water over his head, rinsing out all the soap. 

“All shiny and clean. Out you come.”

Mike reached for a towel as he pushed himself out of the tub. Every muscle groaned as if he’d just run a marathon and started training for Olympic weightlifting. 

“I’ll dry you.” Landon pulled Mike away from the towels.

Mike wasn’t sure how he felt standing naked as Landon drew the towel around his body. The rawness of his exposure vied with his guilty delight at absolute pampering. Landon was on his knees, running the soft towel down each leg. He patted the towel gently over Mike’s ass and thighs and finished by running his fingers through Mike’s hair. 

“Bed,” Landon ordered.

“I don’t have any clothes.”

Landon gave Mike a look of disbelief and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling in an exaggerated fashion. “First, the chance of being seen walking across the hall to the bedroom is about nil. Second and more important, you are a submissive. You haven’t a choice.”

“I could safeword.”

“Now?” Landon shook his head. “I beat you naked, and I bathed you. I’ve touched all your most private parts. Does it make any sense to safeword now?”

Mike stared at his naked feet. Of course it made no sense. Landon’s hand was on his butt cheek. His other hand rested on Mike’s stomach. He was thoroughly owned, and this wasn’t even his dominant.

“Do I have any choices?”

“Only what Milton chooses to give you? You chose to come back. Now you accept his choices. It’s what you’ve always wanted, only you hid it from even yourself. There’s no hiding now.” Landon’s hand brushed down Mike’s groin as if symbolically emphasizing the point. “Bed. I have no right to go further.”

“Milton…”

“Milton would flay me alive.” Landon smiled, a sympathetic and sweet expression. “You’re his boy. I had his trust to rough you up a bit, nothing more, and I would never violate that trust. Power is about trust. I’ve stood over him with a whip, and he has prostrated himself at my feet. I’ve kissed his boots and begged shamelessly for all and everything from him. I would never violate his trust, not as a dominant, not as a submissive, not as a human being. He’ll take very good care of you if you let him. Don’t break his heart again. I will not forgive you, no matter his argument.”

Mike knew his eyes showed everything. He felt the knot of guilt in his stomach.

“Don’t.” Landon’s hand flicked across a welt just hard enough to make it sing in agony. “You have been accepted back into the family. That is all that matters--no recriminations, no guilt. Only you must learn this time, no more pretending. You are submissive; wear it with pride.” Landon chastely kissed Mike’s lips. “I submit. I am Gordon’s boy.”

“You dominate also.”

“Sometimes, but never with Gordon. With Gordon I am as much of a submissive as you or Sheldon.” Landon held Mike’s chin, forcing their gazes to meet. “I give my submission and unlike you I am also a dominant. Mike, I understand what you are being asked to give. I’m everything a submissive isn’t supposed to be. It’s a sacrifice worth making. Now get in bed before you freeze. Milton is miserly with the heat.” 

Mike's Saga 12

Mike's Saga 

Landon in Mike's Eyes

"Come with me." Landon's voice was a flat demand. He stared at Mike with eyes that were cold, appraising, and tinged with outright cruelty. This was the cat studying the caged hamster.

Mike glanced over at Milton, suddenly wanting rescue from the man who he'd dreamed of killing during the entire dinner. Milton shook his head and turned Mike's shoulders toward Landon.

Landon caught Mike's chains and jerked him from the immediate safety of Milton's shadow. "I want these behind your back." Landon unfastened the chains.

Blessed freedom. Nothing rattling or banging. Mike rubbed a hand over his wrist. They weren't sore, but it was an automatic urge--too many cop shows.

"Hands behind your back."

"I don't want to." The words weren't openly hostile, not the fighting words of fuck you and fuck the handcuffs, but Landon didn't see it that way. He stepped closer to Mike; his breath reeked of the garlic in the mashed potatoes. The shine in his eyes was demonic. Mike tried to step back, but his hip bumped the table. He'd have to go backwards over the table like some movie stuntman. The clatter of broken dishes would not be a winner.

"Do you need to make this harder? I can oblige."

Mike shook his head and put his hands behind his back. He bit his lip and willed his stomach to stay where it was. The click of the snap echoed through the dining room. 

"Easy." Landon's hand was firm on Mike's upper arm, restraining and reassuring. "I submit; I understand the need to fight. This, however, is not the safest spot. Look at all those dominants lined up just dying to join the party. Do you want Milton on your already sore ass again?”

“No, not here.” Mike looked around at all the eyes that were studying him with a frightening intensity. He didn’t want to be the party favor, at least not tonight.

“It can be fun when you’re in the right headspace. You are not. We can show you how to go there if this becomes something you want. I will never do it publicly if it doesn’t make your submissive heart thud stronger in your chest and your eyes dilate with pure lust.” Landon paused and stroked a hand down Mike’s cheek. “Milton is not an exhibitionist. I have seen his reaction during public displays. You are in no danger unless you want it, and then he’ll swallow his own discomfort for the good of his boy.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Maybe later?”

Did he want it later? Mike swallowed and licked his lips; his breath caught in his throat. He could want this. Oh, God, he could want this.

Landon nodded sagely. “Yes, you could want this. Milton’s lucky, a beautiful plaything who wants to show off.”

Mike could feel the heat in his face. He would have buried his face in his hands, but they were cuffed behind him. 

“Don’t panic.” Landon kissed Mike’s forehead. “Panicked boys are no fun. I have to be sweet and generous and kind, or Milton and Gordon will beat me into next week.”

“Landon!”

“Good boy. There you go.” Landon wrapped his arm around Mike’s waist and pulled him out of the dining room, though the kitchen, and down into the basement. “Subterranean rooms. Has anyone told you how fond I am of dungeons?”

“No.”

“Just as well. I don’t want to scare you yet.” Landon gave Mike a cruel smile. “Naked, chained and in the dark. Beautiful.”

Mike shivered. This was stupid, he berated himself. Landon’s playing you. He’d never do that.

“Scared?”

Mike shook his head. He wasn’t giving Landon that satisfaction. 

Landon caught Mike’s chin in a harsh grip. “Lying about real fears is stupid and dangerous. You want to play hard; you want to play on the edge. You will be hurt if you’re not honest, and it won’t be the good hurt. It will be a damaging hurt, and it would break Milton’s heart. Are you scared?”

“Yes,” Mike said softly.

“Good boy. Kneel for me.” 

Landon balanced Mike as he went to his knees. It was hard with his hands behind his back. Landon sat on the worn and ugly plaid couch. He drew Mike close; the wool of his pants brushed Mike’s cheek. Landon’s hand stroked Mike’s back in a mesmerizing rhythm: down, up, and back down again. Mike felt himself relax into the touch. 

“You like this,” Landon said, his voice warm. “Does Milton do this for you?”

“Tilden.”

“You resist Milton?”

Mike nodded.

“He’s safe to resist. He can push you here if that’s what you want and need.”

Mike sighed and slumped against Landon’s leg. He was tired. He was safe. They kept saying he was safe. He could relax; he could enjoy this.

“Beautiful. So submissive. So beautiful.”

“I’m not that submissive,” Mike mumbled. His tongue felt thick and slow. He couldn’t open his eyes beyond their half slits. 

“You are, sweetheart. You are a gloriously submissive boy.”

“I’m not a baby. I don’t need pampered.”

“Mike, submission has nothing to do with being a baby, and sometimes being pampered is glorious. Enjoy the soft with the harsh; it makes the contrast more delicious."

Mike slid out of kneeling position and folded himself into a cross-legged sit outside of Landon's reach. He didn't need stroked. He wasn't a fucking pet! 

"Deliberate disobedience is punished. Do you want a retry?"

"No," Mike spat. 

"Now I get to have my pleasure." Mike's hair was short, but somehow Landon buried his hand in it and jerked harshly upward. Landon's other hand grabbed Mike's ear and twisted.

Mike came to his feet. He couldn't get away, not with his hands fixed behind him. Landon dragged him backward until Mike found his shoulders pressed into the cold concrete. His hands were snapped to something.

"Cable tie. Do not try to pull it out. It's around a pipe. I can add water to your misery in ways less destructive to the house than ripping the pipe from the wall."

"Fuck you!" Mike jerked against his bonds. 

"Stop it, boy." Landon grabbed some spare clothesline from the nearest shelf, folded it over on itself, and landed a vicious lick on the front of Mike's thigh. 

"Shit!"

"There is nothing pleasant about getting whipped with something this narrow or this hard," Landon said calmly. "Do I continue?"

Mike bit his lip and stared resolutely forward. It was a fucking piece of clothesline. He could survive this.

"Have it your way. I asked."

Fuck! God! Landon's hand was blindingly fast. Mike's thighs lit up like some cruel pinball game with the blows as the substitute for balls ricocheting from one side to the other.

"Stop. Please. I’ll be good." Mike felt the tears coursing down his face. He couldn't stop then; all he could do was stand here in misery.

Landon's reaction was instant. The improvised whip fell at his feet, and a thumb wiped the tears from Mike's cheek. "Don't try to play me, boy. I'm not nice."

"Sir. Please."

"I'm going to untie you from the pipe. You will stay exactly where I put you."

"Yes, sir." It was the only possible answer. 

"I'm going to take your shoes and pants off. Do not kick me. Your hands are chained."

"Yes, sir."

Landon bent and untied Mike's shoes, pulling them off one by one. He followed the pants with Mike's socks. His fingers on Mike's belt were impersonal. The pants fell to Mike's knees. He stepped out of them obediently.

"Boxers, yes or no?" Landon asked. 

"I have a choice?" Mike licked his dry lips and felt the goose bumps rise on his calves.

"Yes, I haven't negotiated nudity with you. I won't touch you sexually in the strictest sense. I don't have Milton or Tilden here to supervise. Your body belongs to them."

"Off is OK."  Why did he say that? Mike was insane, certifiably insane.The men with the white coats should be called. Mike was half hard. Landon was going to see. Landon's hand was hot against Mike's hip. 

"Milton's handiwork?" Landon traced a large and purpling bruise that covered one thigh.

"Yes." Mike shut his eyes and let himself be inspected.

"And you wanted more from me. How much of a masochist are you?"

"Not this much," Mike whispered as Landon probed a tender area.

"Those hurt. Your fantasies run dark. Tell me about them."

Mike stood mute. He couldn't talk about this, not with a senior citizen in a blazer and a proper tie.

"All right then. Up on the table." Landon patted the sturdy table where they folded their clothes; it would hold Mike's weight with ease. "Kneel on it for me. Right on the edge. Knees nice and wide." Landon bent and picked up the clothesline, coiling it in his fist. "Do you need incentive?"

"No, sir." Mike’s eyes flickered to the table and back to his feet. 

"Up."

Landon's hands were steady and strong. He maneuvered Mike into a horribly exposed position. The hands pushed Mike's thighs apart. There was no hiding. His arousal bobbed in all its splendor. Mike flushed, his skin hot and red.

"Boy, you like this. Force is a common fantasy. Does it go as far as mock rape?"

Landon was so calm, so clinical. He was asking these questions as if they were discussing the price of gas.

"Boy, I expect answers." Landon flicked his improvised whip against Mike's thigh.

"I want force." Mike shut his eyes. "I want to be forced to submit."

"Tied up?"

"Yes."

"Whipped?"

"Yes?"

"Kidnapped?"

"Yes."

"Raped?"

Mike hesitated. He licked his lips, trying to bring up enough saliva to speak.

"It's a common enough fantasy. I've played both sides."

"Yes," Mike whispered hoarsely. 

"Anything else?"

"Pierced."

It should have been so hot. Instead it had been terrifying. He remembered the cold impersonal fingers. He felt it every time the rings in his nipples were tugged.

"Something I don't know about?"

"Milton does."

"History?"

"Yes."

"Good boy. Brave boy. Open your eyes for me." Landon glided his hand over Mike's thigh. "Look at me." Landon waited until Mike forced his eyes upward. Landon's smile was warn and genuine. "You are a beautiful boy, a beautiful submissive, a beautiful man. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be comforted and loved, and you deserve to enjoy your kink. Come on down, boy."

Landon helped Mike from the table. With sure fingers he undid the clasp between the leather cuffs and released Mike’s hand. He folded a blanket around Mike and led him to the sofa.

“I’m OK,” Mike mumbled, collapsing onto the sofa.

“You’re fine. You’re tough. You don’t have to prove it with me, and I’m still taking care of you. So chill, boy.”

Mike smiled. “Chill?”

“I might be old and like proper suits and early bedtimes, but I’m not letting this century pass me by. Now just chill, my boy. We’re gonna just hang until Milton shows himself.”

“Landon, stop. You’re ruining my image of you. You’re supposed to be prim and proper.”

“And I’m not supposed to be a dom either, am I, boy?”

“No, sir,” Mike said, laying his head in Landon’s lap.