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.