New Year's

New Year’s

Sheldon stirred and desperately wished he was imagining the hand on his ass that was now heavy and threatening. He didn’t want to get up. It was vacation; Austin was still sprawled wide and ungainly with half the blankets on the floor. Milton wasn’t waking him. Mike’s snores were still rising from the huddled form in the sleeping bag. Milton had kicked him to the floor in some agreement between the two of them. Even the scholars of their contingent were still sleeping in the adjacent room, probably dreaming of irregular verbs or fleeting vowels. Six men didn’t fit in a bed, no matter how willing.

“Up, Sheldon,” Milton whispered.

Sheldon bit back his complaint about not being a rooster. He’d pledged his obedience, even if it meant getting up at insane hours on a holiday. He rolled upright, covering Austin with his bits of blanket, and set his feet on the frigid, bare floor. He almost squawked in protest as his feet conducted the cold.

“Don’t wake them.”

They were warm and toasty; only slave boy was freezing. Milton bundled Sheldon into an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of wool socks before grabbing his hand and tugging him from the room. They were in Vermont, and Sheldon followed his master through the still darkened halls to Milton’s small, private study and sitting room. Someone had truly captured the proverbial morning worm. A fire burned behind the grate, and the room smelled of coffee. Sheldon took a deep breath, hoping the scent of the rich brew might jump start his brain. Two manilla folders sat on Milton desk; even from the distance Sheldon could make out the labels: Sheldon Zath and Milton Brown.

“It’s the first of the year,” Milton said, obviously noting Sheldon’s confusion. “We need to talk. Make yourself comfortable.”

Sheldon automatically poured Master’s coffee and then his own. Milton drank coffee black and stout enough for a spoon to stand unaided in the dark brew; Sheldon preferred a less bitter drink and poured cream, sugar, and a teaspoon of chocolate shavings into his coffee before sinking down to the floor with his back to the fire.

“You can sit in a chair.”

“I’d rather not, Master,” Sheldon said quietly. They didn’t have specific rules about using or not using furniture, but Sheldon usually sat on the floor. He was the slave, and it reinforced his status in the household. There was peace on the floor; he didn’t have to entertain guests or be witty or smart or anything else. On the floor he became Milton’s property, an extension of Master to be ignored or played with at Master’s will. On the floor, he could observe the world unencumbered by expectations. He was comfortable here. He’d spent hours kneeling or sitting by the fire with Milton’s hand carding through his hair as Milton worked. Sheldon knew every nook and crevice of this room: the brass andirons, the narrow and high windows looking out toward the woods, the series of pictures on the wall with milestones of their family. A new picture had been added this year, the signing of the slave contract. Milton and Sheldon flanked by Gordon, Landon, and Ryan were leaning over the massive desk in the main study. In Sheldon’s hand was a gold fountain pen, and if he studied the picture closely he could just make out the start of his first name.

Milton picked up the two folders from his desk and dropped to the hearth, his long legs sprawling out in front of him. “Sheldon, I’m not Master right now. We need to do this.”

Sheldon nodded and swallowed on the sudden dryness in his throat. He didn’t want this to change. There was nothing to negotiate. He didn’t need to see the contracts again.  He was the slave; everything was Milton’s choice.

“Sheldon, I know you hate this.” Milton smiled gently and ruffled Sheldon’s hair. “I am trusting you with a hot drink. You’re a big boy now. I control all your choices for 364 days. Today is your chance to speak.”

“I’m fine. I don’t want any changes. I don’t need to see those.” Sheldon tapped the manilla folders with his fingers.

“Sheldon.” Milton’s voice was the familiar growl, a comforting reassurance of Sheldon’s place. “Sheldon, we must do this. I control vast swaths of your life with no recourse for you short of a safeword. This is your chance to tell me you dump the chicken salad sandwich in the trash and would prefer egg salad or that the price went up at your favorite cafe and now you can only get a half sandwich.”

“You know what I like, and you always ask if it’s enough money, and you study the receipt. You noticed when soda went up fifty cents. I’m not in danger of starving.”

“It’s not just about food. You’re restricted in every word and action toward me. Am I doing all right?”

Sheldon tangled his fingers in Milton’s, brought Milton’s hand to his lips, and kissed the palm. “You’re prefect, Master.”

“Hardly,” Milton said dryly. “I have four others.”

“I’ve made peace with that,” Sheldon said vehemently.

“Mike demands time.”

“You don’t neglect me, and as your slave it’s my duty to make sacrifices.”

“It’s my duty to care for you. Let me do that.”

“Yes, Master.” Sheldon bowed his head.

“Milton. Right now it’s Milton.”

“It’s always Master.” Sheldon studied Milton’s face, drinking in the kindness in those deep brown eyes that many found sharp and fierce. Was it only Sheldon that saw the depth of kindness and generosity? This was his master to worship, the man who owned his soul.

“Please, Sheldon, I need you to do this for me.”

“Master, stop it. Do not torture yourself. I knew to what and to where I was jumping. I am your slave. I want to be your slave.”

“Is there anything you want from me?” Milton stroked Sheldon’s hair back and studied his face for several long minutes.

“I want to quit work.”

“Sheldon?” Milton’s voice was steady, but his eyebrow rose in surprise. “You’re very good at what you do.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore. I want to be your slave everywhere and always.” Sheldon fought to keep his voice steady. He didn’t want to sound excited or wishy-washy. He wanted to sound determined. Milton wasn’t going to give easily on this. Sheldon knew that Milton considered Sheldon’s job and important equalizer, a key to maintaining Sheldon’s individual identity.

“Consensual slavery is hardly a simple and safe proposition. Your job, your world away from me, is a vital protection.”

“I don’t need protection from you; I don’t want protection from you. At work I am out of your protection. I am your property; I should always be in your protection. I feel like I’m dressing up for a masquerade when I become Sheldon Zath, the television executive. I want to be nothing but your slave.”

Milton wrapped his arms around Sheldon and drew his boy to his chest. His warm breath drifted through Sheldon’s hair. His fingers traced a line around Sheldon’s wrist. “You don’t enjoy domestic service. I don’t see you spending the day vacuuming and polishing.”

“I would if you asked, but I want...I want to take my place as co-head of the Green Mountain Boys. I have the skills for it.” Sheldon started speaking faster. “I know how to get projects done. I understand submission. You’re trying to juggle your college job, five of us, and your duties as head of the GMB. I can take some of that burden. I’m your slave. It’s my responsibility to take some of that burden.”

“You’re not a switch.”

“I’m not Landon, in case you haven’t noticed, but I’m in your protection. As your slave it’s your absolute right to protect me, and no stubborn and ill-mannered dominant will want to face the wrath of Milton protecting his property. I can do this. I want to do this. You did ask for my opinion today.”

“I did,” Milton said in a gentle rumble. “You’ve been thinking about this.”

“I already talked to Landon and Gordon. They endorse the idea.”

“Outflanked by my slave,” Milton said, his voice warm and full of humor, not censure. Milton combed his fingers through Sheldon’s hair. “I can’t give you the yes you want. I need a chance to digest this proposal; I need a chance to talk with others. The answer is not no, but it’s not yes either.”

Sheldon turned so he could see Milton’s face. “Your consideration is more than my rights. I’ll patiently await your reply. I trust you will make the best decision for both of us.”

“My beautiful boy,” Milton said, his voice full of awe and reverence. “May I have the strength, love, courage, skill, and knowledge to be worthy of your trust. No master has ever been this lucky.” Milton kissed Sheldon, gently but deeply possessive. “Mine.”

Mike's Saga 21

Mike’s Saga 21

Last Chapter

Mike wasn't sure that noise was him or not. He tugged against the leather and chains. His back rubbed against the rough brick, inflaming the series of belt strokes that he knew striped across its surface in flaming welts. He jerked against the chains; the leather bit into his wrists. He screamed, his throat too hoarse to carry the sound beyond the walls of his prison. He assumed there were four walls to this prison. He hadn't seen it; he hadn't seen anything since a bag had been shoved over his head, and he'd been forced down the stairs. The car ride had been long, bumpy, and uncomfortable. The rough carpet had burned his knees, and the smell of gasoline had permeated his nostrils.

Mike didn't know how long it had been since they'd dragged him out of the trunk. He'd been hoisted over a giant's shoulder and brought here, wherever here was. He'd sagged as his feet had hit the ground, and he'd been limp and stunned as he was tied to the wall with no delicacy or kindness. Big, strong hands had gripped his wrists, the fingers bruising as they mercilessly tightened the shackles.

"Get me the fuck out of here!" Mike jerked against the restraints. He screamed something unintelligible. He scrabbled to kick, his feet sliding across the wet cement. Earlier they'd soaked him with the hose, making him more miserable than he already was.

"Shut up, boy." The slap snapped his head back. Mike tasted blood and filthy cloth. "You stand here real quiet, and you might get out of this with only a little pain." The laugh was sinister and made Mike think of all the worst gangster films he'd ever seen.

"Go fuck yourself," Mike shouted with more bravado than he felt.

"If anyone's getting fucked it'll be you, boy." A hand slid down Mike's chest and grabbed his nipple through the thin cloth, twisting it savagely.

"Fuck!"

"Now you just stand there like a good little boy." It wasn't a slap this time, but more of a pat, something even more sickening than the slap. "The boss is going to have fun with you. Fresh meat for his sick desires." Another sharp pat and another sinister laughter before the hand disappeared, and Mike heard the click of boots across the floor.

"Let me go, you fucker!"

"And take your place." The man laughed. "Free advice, boy. I'd rest nice and quiet. I've seen what the boss has planned; you'll need your energy."

A door slammed, the noise reverberating in the dungeon. Quiet, too quiet. He was alone. Mike sagged against his bonds. He knew he was crying; he could feel the wetness on his cheeks.

***

"Is this too much?"

"He hasn't safeworded. You know what he told Landon."

"I feel like a savage, a rapist." Milton looked through the one-way glass. "He's scared He's not sure if it's real."

"That's the way it needs to be." Ryan leaned against the wall, his eyes as much on Mike as Milton. "He wants edge play; it's your job to deliver."

"Play, not real trauma. Does he know?" We snatched him from work." Milton raked his fingers through his hair. "Does he understand this is a scene?"

Ryan blew out a sharp breath. "Real, yet not real. We're close here, but I think at some level he knows. He's pushing that knowledge down because he needs it to be real. He'll see you soon enough and then there will be no question."

"After we've scared him shitless."

Ryan shrugged. "You've played with Landon. It's the same."

"I don't like to play with Landon," Milton said softly.

"You're not a sub; you're on the top side now. You're not all sweetness and roses. I've seen you. You beat that side of yourself back with brutal efficiency. You don't have to now; you've got a boy who wants to be scared, who wants to be hurt, who wants to scream and cry for real. You can love him afterward, but you have to knock him around first."

"This is more than knocking him around."

Ryan smiled wolfishly. "You're more creative than I thought you'd be. It must be Landon and Gordon's influence." Ryan squeezed Milton's shoulder. "It's fine. Mike's screamed a lot of things, but I haven't heard a safeword."

"Does he know he can safeword out of this?" Milton asked, knowing he’d asked before. He needed the reassurance. His boy was going to suffer.

"My opinion is yes, but without asking him there is always a small doubt. You have to decide if you can live with that doubt. I can't answer that question."

****

Milton strode into the room, the cement floor clicking under his heavy boots. Mike was against the far wall, chained and spread. He lifted his head at the sound of the boots.

“Back to gloat,” Mike snarled.

“Back to enjoy my prize. It’s not often they find me someone so beautiful and lively.” Milton traced his finger down the bare arm, enjoying the shiver and goosebumps in his wake. With his other hand he wormed under the tight shirt and stroked the flat belly. Mike flinched, but the chains prevented any real escape. Milton laughed and smacked the tight abdomen. “No escape. This is pleasure. You’ll struggle plenty when I make you bleed, when you are split and impaled on my thick cock, when my fingers close around your neck and you fear for every breath. Shall we begin, my prize?”

Milton didn’t wait for an answer. He reached around to the table, laid out with all his tools. The buck knife was cold in his hand as he cut down through the center of the T-shirt. He pressed hard enough for the blade to leave a trace of red on the pale skin. Milton’s tongue drew the beads of warm wetness into his mouth to the sound of Mike’s choked breaths.

“I’d be very still now, or my knife might slip, and you could loose some important accessories. That would be a shame in such a pretty boy.” Milton cut down the crotch of Mike’s jeans, the cold blade just centimeters away from the most delicate parts of his boy’s anatomy. Dropping the knife, Milton tore the shredded cloth from his boy’s legs. 

Mike strained on his tiptoes, his calf muscles taut with pressure of a boy tied too short, a boy trying to ease pain in his shoulders. The dark fur on Mike’s legs stood out in the sudden cold even as sweat formed on his forehead and under his arms. Mike’s cock was long and not overly thick. It hung half erect, the neatly trimmed pubic bush above.

Milton slapped the hardening flesh with a cruel laugh. “I wouldn’t want my prize to have fun. His fingers were quick as he fastened the gates of hell around the offending organ. “There now, all properly trussed up.” Milton stood and pressed his body into Mike, letting his rough shirt rub against the tender skin. He stood close, threatening vulnerable toes with heavy boots. He closed his mouth around a pert nipple, toying with the gold ring before biting down hard.

Mike screamed, his body shook in the chains. His chest heaved and every muscle trembled, accentuating the beauty of the tied and helpless boy.

“Lovely scream. I will hear many more before the night is out.” 

Milton turned his attention to the opposite nipple, first the caress and then the hard bite. He smiled, his face twisted into a mask of cruelty and blood lust as Mike writhed and jerked, his words incoherent.

Reaching behind him, Milton picked up the martinet, such a deceptive tool with its innocent looking leather fronds. Against the tender skin of the inner thighs, it would be anything but innocent. He dragged the thin strips of leather across Mike’s abdomen and over the creamy skin of his thighs. It was almost seductive in its caress; only Mike knew the pain that would explode at the first stroke. He shuddered and jerked, the chains rattling at his wrists.

The results of the first real stoke was delightful. Mike screamed, the full throated yell of a boy at the mercy of a sadist. His body lunged sideways, jarring his shoulders in a second wave of pain. Milton brought the lovely strands down against the unmarked thigh, driving his plaything the other way. Milton hit quickly, the strokes moving from leg to leg randomly. The skin turned from white to streaks of pink to bright crimson. The screams had quieted to hoarse and desperate cries.

“So lovely. I must see.” Milton jerked the bag off Mike's head and stroked his fingers down the wet cheeks, capturing a sheen of moisture. He brought two fingers to Mike’s mouth. “Suck, boy. You’ll need these wet where they’re going.

Mike’s mouth was hungry and desperate. He licked and slurped, coating the fingers with saliva. 

“A boy hungry for more. Such a lovely sight. Enough.” Milton cracked his other hand across Mike’s face, stunning him for a moment. Swiftly he turned Mike, exposing the lovely unmarked ass. “White is not your color.” Slapping the welcoming butt cheeks hard, Milton jammed his two wet fingers into Mike’s exposed and quivering hole.

“Ahh!”

“Two little fingers and you sing. What if I stick my whole fist up there? A boy controlled by a fist is so lovely.”

“Please. Please.”

“Please what? Please stick my fist up you?” Milton inserted another finger, this one covered with lube. 

“God! Fuck!”

“Oh, I certainly will, but I like color in the ass so hopelessly spread under me as I savage it.” With a final prod at Mike’s prostate, Milton snatched his fingers from the hole and reached for the butt plug covered under the cloth. “I have a little something, or maybe I should say a big something, while you wait.” Mike was an experienced bottom, but this was still no small toy. The stretch and the pain was going to be real. “I’m going to stuff you like a Thanksgiving turkey. Milton pushed the head of the toy against the straining ass lips. “Open up. It’s coming in anyway.” Despite the words and threats, Milton inserted the toy gently. It wouldn’t feel gentle to Mike, but that was the game, the beauty of the illusion carefully crafted.

“Too much,” Mike panted and arched against the pressure. 

“Your greedy hole is going to take it all.” Milton slapped the still mostly unmarked skin in front of him, alternating spanks with gentle pressure on the toy. It slid forward and was locked in place by muscles desperate to ease the strain.

“Shit!” Mike’s voice was broken, the wail painful as it echoed around the room.

Milton kissed the trembling shoulder, licking the sweat with his tongue. Gently he kissed down the back. It was his first act of kindness, but he needed to settle Mike. The plug would stop hurting in a moment, and he had more planned. He needed the boy completely quiet, completely willing to give everything into his torturer's hands. 

“Now for some color.” Milton started with his hand, enjoying the quivering flesh against his palm, enjoying the rising warmth. Mike’s moans were muted now; his head had fallen forward, and tears were running unchecked down his beautiful face. He would scream again when Milton switched back to the martinet. Fire over fire always made such beautiful music.

The leather hit the red flesh. The scream was loud, the keening cry of a tortured animal. Milton hit without mercy, bringing the skin to the edge of bleeding. He traced his fingers over the now flaming skin, knowing even the touch of silk would now be torture.

He yanked Mike’s hair, drawing his head so far back that Milton could see the tear filled eyes. “What do you want boy?”

“Anything you want, Master,” Mike whispered, pain written across his beautiful face.

“Do you want mercy?”

“Only if you choose to give it to me.”

“Good boy.” Milton released Mike’s hair and kissed the back of his neck. “I choose not to give you mercy. I enjoy your suffering, boy.”

“Yes, Master.”

Milton worked quickly. He’d only have a few minutes of this compliance, and he would need it. He needed to concentrate, battering back his own arousal at a boy so beautiful and so much his. The sterile needles and gloves were prepared. The five earrings to add to each ear were neatly arranged in a velvet box. Mike was deathly afraid of piercings. If Milton judged this wrong, the disaster might be an irretrievable error. Ryan was here, not just as an accessory to the scene, but a very necessary safety measure if all went wrong.

Turning Mike around again, Milton forced him to his knees, adjusting the chains to the already prearranged positions. He leaned against Mike, letting Mike sniff at his arousal. Milton drew a short breath, desperately wanting to sink into that hot mouth that was open and compliant. 

“Your pain before my pleasure.”

Quickly Milton showed the piercing tools, watching the brown eyes widen more and the pulse throb in the vulnerable neck. Milton stroked the shell of the ear. He kissed the open mouth, sweeping his tongue inside and claiming it all for himself.

“Your pain and your fear belong to me.”

“Yes, Master.” Mike’s voice trembled, but the expression in his eyes spoke of everything. Milton’s own knees shook at the sheer beauty. This was a boy truly afraid who was giving him everything, who was submitting when the immediate future held nothing but terror.

“One for each of us, my beauty. You are cherished forever.” Milton closed his eyes and kissed Mike gently, the touch of his lips pure love, not dominance or power, but love. 

Milton moved quickly. Devon had taught him well and schooled him until the correct technique took no thought. Swab the ear. Put on sterile gloves. Stick a needle through the flesh as the blood wells up and drips onto the bare shoulder and place the ring. Ten times he placed the needle. Ten times Mike screamed.

Milton’s fingers were almost numb as he scrabbled with the chains and clips. All he knew is he wanted the boy in his arms, shielded and safe. This was his boy, the boy who had just given him everything. He kissed the hot, tear soaked face. He couldn’t touch everywhere, and he needed to. His body screamed to possess, to protect, to love.

“The plug and the gates of hell. Remove them while he’s still limp.” That was Ryan’s voice cutting through the fog. He held a blanket and a bottle of sweet juice. “Move, Milton. He needs your touch, not mine. Move.”

Milton felt like his fingers were somehow detached from his mind. Everything was surreal. He worked out the plug and tossed it aside. His eyes could see nothing but the opening that beckoned for him to couple and make it complete. 

“Gates of hell.”

“Milton’s fingers found the metal. He freed his beautiful boy. Mike groaned and snuggled closer, becoming instantly erect.

“Take me, please. I need you.”

“Me too.”

Ryan was a tower of muscle. He was dragging both of them to an already prepared sleeping area. “In the shelves, everything you need. I will check on both you later.”

*****

The groan was audible through the room as Mike rolled over and opened his eyes. Milton was already dressed more casually than Mike almost ever saw him. He was wearing a faded pair of jeans, threadbare at one knee, and an oversized chamois shirt in a muted green color. His feet were bare as he padded across the floor.

“How are you doing?” Milton bent down and kissed Mike’s forehead, a chaste almost fatherly peck.

“Everything hurts. Parts of my body that I didn’t know existed hurt.”

“I expected that. But otherwise?”

Mike’s hand touched his ear. His finger lightly traced the six small studs. “I don’t know.”

Those words were maybe one of the most truthful he’d ever spoken to Milton. He’d usually just mutter something about being good and get on with his day, but he couldn’t get the easy words of reassurance to leave his mouth. His shield felt tattered.

Milton ran his fingers gently down Mike’s cheek, and kissed the bruised lips, sweetly and gently. “Yesterday was intense. Give yourself time.”

“Yesterday was wow.” Mike scrubbed his face with his hand. “I don’t know what to say. Wow!”

“And now?” Milton’s voice was gentle. Mike stared up at the dark brown eyes. This was the same man who had owned his soul yesterday. This was the man who had exploded to super dimensions, terrorizing and mesmerizing at the same time.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s fair enough. How do you feel about these?” Milton’s finger was feather light on Mike’s ear.

“I can’t believe you did that. I never…”

“I wear khakis and teach history. I’m not supposed to be a dominant who makes you bleed and scream and be a fraction of a second from your safeword." Milton sat down on the bed, his hand heavy on Mike’s knee. “I bury that part of myself, but that part is as real as the lecture notes under my arm. I am a dominant. Nothing about that side of me is fake.”

“I know.” Mike swallowed and rolled onto his stomach, so he wouldn’t have to look at Milton. “I never thought... Shit! Do you have to want to talk about everything? Last night was great. I could scream and not have to talk."

Milton kissed the back of Mike's hair and laughed softly. "This isn't natural for me either. I'm introspective, I analyze, but I don't share." Milton flicked a new earring, making Mike wince. "Do you understand why I chose these?"

"I told Landon I wanted pierced. That scene was what I told Landon. You did that for me." Mike had already said the words. It was too late to swallow them down. 

"I enjoyed it, but yes I chose elements for you." Milton laid his arm across Mike's back, the usual anchoring weight mixed with fresh pain. "It was about your first time; I wanted to give you that back. No one has the right to take the joy you get from your body and from your submission away from you. I wanted to give it back the only way I knew how. I want you to entrust me as your dominant with your body and your submission."

"You have it," Mike whispered, his words almost choked in the pillow.

"Thank you," Milton said, letting the silence surround both of them for a long moment.

"Six?"

"Yes, you fill it in."

"There are six of us. One for each of us."

"Yes."

"I have six holes in my ear."

"Is that a problem?"

Mike paused. They'd always used to make him change his clothes. They dressed for dinner. "You're conservative."

"I have five lovers. I'm not sure whose definition of conservatism that fits. Sheldon displays a collar. My hobby is kidnapping and beating my lovers. I don't think the good politicians of Texas would label me conservative; most likely they'd claim I was Satan's spawn, an Eastern latte drinking freak, or some other choice epithet that I haven't the energy to dream up."

"People will know."

"That isn't a problem for me. Mike, I'm going to give you a choice here. I won't make you keep the earrings. You can take them out and let the holes grow back."

"You'd like me to keep them?'

"I'd like you to be proud of who you are."

"Submissive and showing it."

"Submissive and claimed." Milton traced his finger around Mike's neck. "I don't like this naked."

"Not as a slave."

"I'm not crazy. Blade has a collar; submissives can also wear a collar."

"Austin deserves it first."

"When Austin's twenty-one. I have one picked out for him."

"You mush."Mike twisted around to see Milton's face. "Big, mean dominant is giving his little boy a collar for his birthday. You'll never live it down."

"Probably not." A faint blush rose on Milton's face, and he smiled a fleeting, half-sheepish grin. "Twenty-one is important."

"Excuses. You're a soft touch. You might as well put it up in lights."

Milton flushed again. "With Austin."

"It's cute. Tough guy blushing over his baby."

"Mike," Milton growled, not able to muster his usual authority. "I was asking about you."

Mike froze. It was easy to talk about Austin with his bounce and killer smile. The room suddenly felt cool on his bare body, and he shivered. "Maybe," Mike finally managed. 

"All right." Milton kissed the smooth skin of Mike's neck. "I'll ask again."

"Please," Mike murmured as he shut his eyes and opened his mouth for a real kiss. 

The kiss was long and sweet, a symbol of possession without force or pain. Mike would give that to Milton. He knew he would. He'd walk down Fifth Avenue naked with his ass welted and on a leash if Milton asked him right. Shit he was owned, and he couldn't bother to fight it. He was home in some perverted weird way that would make him blush and shiver.

Mike wrapped his hand around Milton's wrist and kissed deeper, the motions easier than the words.  His family, his dominant. It was his to show off. He had six earrings in each ear.  The hell with the people at work. His dominant put them there; he was wearing them with pride.

"Fuck me."

'Yesterday I fucked you. Today I'll love you." Milton's hand fluttered across Mike's skin as if he were a maiden lover. "You deserve to be loved. Don't you ever doubt it."

"Yes, sir." Mike fell back, his legs invitingly wide.

"I'm only sir if you want today."

"I want."

Milton feathered his lips down Mike's abdomen.  "Good boy. Slowly, gently and forever cherished.”

The End

Mike's Saga 20

Mike’s Saga 20

Mike flipped the DVD case in his hand. He was the gay boy; of course, he’d be stuck with doing the advertising work for the gay film festival, but shit he hadn’t expected this. Lovely films about gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender weren’t the only things planned, but vivid films about power and kink were also on the agenda. Did they know he was a boy at work? God, he hoped not. His boss was already hopelessly smug with his too easy and too fake smile and his ready pitch for all the clients. The man had about snickered when he’d come into Mike’s cubicle, carrying a box of DVDs, and draped himself against the wall.

“You’re in charge of this. It should be right up your alley.”

Gay, Mike didn’t hide that. Submissive, he hid that. Sheldon went to work with a collar visible on his neck. Mike could barely tolerate the thin leather bands he wore around each wrist. They did look like jewelry, but still he knew they were cuffs. They represented his willingness to submit to Milton, to be the good boy that Milton so strongly demanded. Mike had taken off the hated strips of leather twice and been caught once. He didn’t want the promised consequences if he took them off again. His submissiveness would be painted across the sky in great big letters.

“Mike, I agreed to carve out areas that weren’t under my direct control, but you defy me and disrespect all that is us, and I’ll rescind the privilege. Think about what you want, boy, because the choice is yours.” Milton in that soft tone had been soul piercingly terrifying. Mike didn’t doubt he’d be brought to heel in the worst ways. Milton knew which buttons to push, and he wasn’t refraining from the pushing. Mike had thought he’d known Milton, knew who he was at his most demanding, but Mike had been living with fuzzy rainbows over his eyes. Milton demanded everything. He was relentless, and Mike wanted nothing but more.

Mike had always thought the praise had been silly. Good boy was for your pet, but Milton had done something to Mike. He wanted to hear those two words in Milton’s soft purr; he wanted to feel Milton’s hand around his neck in that gentle and reassuring squeeze. Milton had rewarded Mike over the weekend. He could still feel the ache and warmth in his ass if he tried hard enough. Milton in a scene was stunning. He’d stood over Mike, his shirt off showing his thick pelt of salt and pepper chest hair. His black jeans had been stuffed into shiny black boots, and the wide belt around his hips had soon found a much better place whistling down on Mike’s ass. That had been good. Pissed Milton demonstrating his power over Mike wasn’t so good. Stomp and snarl and drive everyone insane with his foul mood, and Milton became all dark magic. God, he’d found that out more than once the hard way.

***

“Upstairs.” Milton dropped his napkin on the table, and his fingers, deceptively soft, stroked Austin’s hair.

Mike stood, not sure what to do with those eyes directed at him. Black fire wasn’t a good look on Milton.

“My apologies, but no one else needs to be disturbed,” Milton said in his most proper tone and rose from the table. He didn’t use words; he jerked his head a fraction, and Mike ran up the stairs in front of the demon.

Mike stood in the large bedroom and wished there was a place to hide in its airiness. The bed was made with its usual understated cream coverlet with the extra blankets folded at its foot. Austin’s pink unicorn sat on a pillow as if taunting anyone to speak of its silliness.

“Strip.” 

Strip. Dress. Eat. It was one of those days. Mike had an adult grasp of language skills; Milton could use big and complicated words. Mike dumped his clothes in an untidy heap. Milton ignored the mess and bent over Mike with a ring of metal. Mike flinched at the touch of cold and grunted as he felt the sharp points.

“Fuck!”

“I will. On your hands and knees. Ass up.”

The slap on his ass was eye watering as Mike scrambled to find his place. The rough wool rug dug into his knees as Milton’s finger slicked his opening with lube. The preparation was perfunctory at best. Milton wasn’t a huge man, but he wasn’t pencil thin. Mike grunted as his opening was breached and braced himself as Milton took him with brutal efficiency. He was a body, a hole to pleasure the boss man’s cock. There was no pleasure for Mike; even the battering across his prostate was painful as his own cock struck the spikes if it grew beyond limp. He shut his eyes and willed himself to go elsewhere. He felt the tears on his cheeks. He’d been baiting; he deserved this, but it didn’t make it any easier. He choked back a sob as Milton’s pelvis ground into him. He’d be done soon. This would have to be over soon.  The teeth were sharp on his shoulder as Milton came. He was going to have a nasty bruise for sure.

Milton pulled out and wiped himself with Mike’s tossed off shirt. “Up, boy.”

Mike struggled to his feet, trying to hide his confusion of emotions. God, he wanted Milton’s arms around him. He wanted the gentleness he saw with Austin. Shit! He wasn’t a wimp.

“Mike.” Milton’s finger stroked the damp cheek. He drew Mike into a crushing and protective hug. “Why didn’t you safeword?”

“I deserved it.”

“No one deserves the way you look now. I won’t rape you.”

Mike leaned against Milton’s broad chest; he felt the scratchiness of Milton’s old-fashioned sweater vest against his naked skin. “It was sex to put me in my place. I understand that. I am your submissive. I should actually submit,” Mike said bitterly.

“You did submit.” Milton fingers played through Mike’s short hair. “You submitted through something you obviously hated, through something that was very wrong.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.” Mike pushed away from Milton. “I didn’t like it: I deserve things I don’t like.”

“You were crying. I have to beat you raw to make you cry.”

“I like pain and you know it.” Mike bit his lip and stared up at Milton’s troubled eyes. “I don’t like being powerless, I don’t like bending to your will, and you just very effectively reminded me of my place. Wasn’t that the point anyway? Teach me I’m the submissive; remind me that you require me to submit?”

“Yes,” Milton whispered, his eyes full of something Mike couldn’t identify. Maybe sorrow, maybe compassion, maybe self-loathing.

“Mission accomplished. I learned my lesson.”

“It’s not worth it when I truly hurt you. It’s unforgivable.”

“Fuck it!” Mike kicked his barefoot against the rug. “I didn’t fucking safeword! I’m a big boy. You took Austin to task when I screwed up for not safewording with me. I can protect myself. I don’t need you looking over your shoulder all the time. I’m not glass.”

“I’ve made you emotionally vulnerable. It’s part of this relationship. It’s my role to protect you when you’re vulnerable, not exploit it.”

“Gordon exploits it. Landon exploits it. What makes you different?” Mike grabbed his pants off the floor and jerked them on, not caring that he didn’t have his boxers and that Milton’s cum mixed with lube was dripping from his ass in small dribbles. “You’re not Superman. You don’t have magic powers. I’ve been an ass for years. I deserve to get kicked to my place. You were very effective.” Mike shuddered and felt a new wave of tears break loose.

“Come here.” Milton hauled Mike onto the bed. “Shh. I want to love you now. I shattered you across the floor. Let me have this now. I need it. You need it.”

The kisses were soft and delicate. Somehow Milton had lost his clothes, and hot skin rubbed against hot skin. The horrible steel with the spikes was gone along with Mike’s pants. Milton’s mouth was so hot against his flesh.

“Please. I can’t...I’m going…”

 Milton pulled off, his words breathless. “Go ahead.”

Mike had seen Milton do this with Sheldon, but Milton didn’t give Mike this pleasure. He didn’t effortlessly swallow his difficult boy. Mike couldn’t think. He exploded as Milton’s tongue pleasured the sensitive flesh.

Milton swallowed easily and licked his lips. “Good boy. Now sleep.” Milton arm was unmovable around Mike’s chest.

****

Mike knew what was on the video. He’d been so young, so naive. He couldn’t bear to watch it, and he had to create the advertising campaign. The other two DVD’s had been easy, pure porn and not very good. He wasn’t ready to watch The Boys of the Green Mountain. He’d seen the theater release, but that was years ago, and this was the extended version, hours and hours of young and stupid Mike.

He should go to dinner. It was Friday. Milton was anal about family dinner, hiding above the garage and staring at a TV screen wouldn’t cut it. 

He looked so happy in some of these scenes, and he looked so incredibly young. Mike had leaned into the gentle affection that Milton and Tilden were offering. They’d shown Tilden prodding Mike and Luke through their homework; they’d shown a quiet family dinner interrupted once by a bread throwing contest between Sheldon and his little brother.

“Hey.”

Oh, God, Milton had found him. “Uh, sorry, work.”

Milton watched the screen with a raised eyebrow. “Work?”

“We’re doing the advertising for the film festival. It’s my project.”

“And that involves missing dinner?”

“No, sir.”

Milton dropped on the sofa beside Mike and wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulder. “You were very young then. Are you embarrassed?”

“Don’t know,” Mike mumbled, truly not knowing his feelings. He looked happy and content on the screen. What had happen? Why was it so hard now?

Milton watched the film for a few moments, rubbing Mike’s shoulder and drawing him closer. “We mixed submission and life guidance. In hindsight, we made a mess of it. We confused you both.”

“I was happy then. I’m not that kid anymore.”

“No. How do I make you happy now?”

It was easier to talk to Milton with both their eyes on the screen. Mike could almost pretend he was just an actor. “I’m better.”

“We’re not there.” Milton kissed the top of Mike’s head. 

“I’m trying.”

“I never said you weren’t.” Milton’s lips brushed Mike’s ear. “Have you watched the part with Landon and Gordon?” Mike shook his head. “It’s on the second DVD. It was never shown. This was a film designed to make our lifestyle easier and more understandable to the general public. The tough stuff was left on the cutting room floor. Maybe that was a mistake.”

****

Landon walked down the winding stairs and flicked on the lights that were swinging raw and exposed on bare wires overhead. He was alone, a microphone clipped to his yellow tie and the cameraman well out of sight. 

“We’ve shown the easy stuff, the gentle and the sweet as the dear tops love and guide their young men in the confusion of life. Now I’ll show you the part that makes films only suitable for the X-rated theaters, and then will try to explain how it all fits together.”

Landon pushed open a heavy door with a melodramatic creak. Inside displayed on all walls and surfaces were the instruments of torture. Whips of all sort hung from hooks. Cages and plugs were displayed across the open shelving. Landon stepped to the cross and spread himself across the surface.

“I enjoy a good beating. For me it’s not about teaching or training. It’s about pleasure.” He bent a crop in his hands and swung it through the air. “The whistle of a whip through the air is magical. I adore the sting across my flesh. This isn’t about me doing my homework or not causing a ruckus at dinner.” Landon smiled at the camera. “I’m too old for homework, and when I cause a ruckus at dinner it’s intentional.”

Landon moved from the cross and sat on the edge of a bondage table. He smoothed his pants and crossed his ankles. “I’m a masochist. I enjoy pain. Gordon and I play here. We are not embarrassed by this; we will not hide our sexuality despite the fact that even today it is still considered a perversion by some. Top and brat might be easy for the general public to swallow. The purity of pain and pleasure disguised. I am Gordon’s submissive. I will not hide behind any other word. For all you have seen on the first film, my dear audience, the boys are submissives. There is pleasure in the rules and the boundaries; there is pleasure in the strike of flesh against flesh. It is our way. Gordon is no more my guide than any partner or lover in any relationship. I control the fire of his disposition not vice versa. I always bow my head to him, but it is not because I can’t function as ably as he. It’s not because I’m not capable of organizing my own life. It is because I am the submissive in this relationship.”

****

Milton flicked the remote and the screen darkened. “Mike, you’re a submissive. It has nothing to do with youth or capability or any of the garbage that it was hidden behind when you first came to us. Submissive does not mean incapable, weak, or needing repair. What do I have to do to make you believe that? I want you to enjoy and relish who you are. Help me get you there.”

Mike swallowed hard and tried to come up with something to say. Milton was too damn kind. It was easier stretched across the desk and at his mercy. “It’s better,” he finally managed to mumble.

“Can you say more without me beating you first?” Milton’s hand shifted to rest against Mike’s ass. “You did miss dinner. I have a good reason to beat you to a beautiful cherry red.”

“I like red,” Mike said with a grin that he knew looked more desperate than cheeky.

“Kneel for me.” Milton gave Mike a gentle push for the sofa. “Hands behind your back.”

Mike heard the clink of the short chains being attached to his wristbands and tried to settle into his submission. Milton was notorious for leaving Mike like this, kneeling and loosely bound. He was better at it now; he didn’t want to kill someone after fifteen minutes. He could make it to a whole thirty minutes before murderous thoughts flooded his brain.  Sheldon, the hyperactive, roll tossing redhead could kneel for hours. He called it peaceful and meditative. This was from the boy who never kneeled when he was younger. Sheldon had made some snide comment about it in the film and smarted off to Milton in multiple scenes. He was so different now--peaceful, composed.

“What are you thinking about?” Milton’s fingers threaded through Mike’s hair.

“Sheldon.”

“He was an awful brat back then, not that I didn’t love him. We weren’t ready for what we have today. It was the best we could do, as imperfect as it was.” Milton massaged Mike’s scalp, his fingers both firm and gentle. “It was the best we could do for you and Luke back then also. Maybe it wasn’t good enough; you’ve both struggled since. I like to think I’ve learned something and that I’m doing better with Austin. It’s hard to know where and how to draw the lines when the submissive is so young and inexperienced. I tried to make it easy for you and Luke by allowing the dominance to plug gaps in life experience without explaining the wheres and the whys. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t know. I looked happy back then.”

“Were you?”

“It wasn’t complicated.”

“And now it is?” Milton shifted to his feet, his hand resting on Mike’s shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Mike shrugged. “Dunno.”

“That’s not an answer with me. You think about it while I find something to eat up here. I’m going to feed you as you did miss dinner, boy, and I find feeding a beautiful kneeling boy relaxing.”

Mike groaned. Being fed was one of those complicated things, something that tore his brain in two different directions. He hated the helplessness, he hated being at Milton’s mercy for every morsel, but he also enjoyed the attention and the strange contentment that settled over him.

“You did miss dinner. You can consider it punishment if you must.”

“It’s not, is it?” Mike asked, watching Milton’s khaki clad legs drift toward the mini fridge.

“It puts you at my mercy without me beating you bloody. For you that might be punishment. It’s not meant to be punishing; it’s meant to help you find your headspace, but it’s different for every submissive. What does it feel like to you, all preconceived notions set aside?”

“Care taking.”

“Is that bad or good?”

Mike watched Milton cut cheese and lay several handfuls of wheat crackers on a platter.  Not answering was never an option with Milton. “Both.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you ever be satisfied? You’re not my fucking shrink!”

“I’m your dominant, and as such I have certain rights among those having my questions answered.”

“You don’t blather about how you feel all the time. You look like granite and kick my ass.”

“Mike.” Milton carried the platter of food over and sat on the sofa. “Eat.” He held a cracker topped with cheddar cheese to Mike’s lips. “I like to feed my boys. I like the time alone; I like the calmness of the dominance. I like caring for you. My dominance is not only about sadism, not that my sadistic streak isn’t broad and wide. My dominance is also about this, a beautiful boy basking in his own submission. I can’t welt you from shoulders to knees without also doing this; you have to accept that. It’s your turn now.”

Mike slowly chewed the sharp cheese. He wanted more time; Milton was so damn honest. It wasn’t easy putting his feelings out there. “I like this.” Mike hesitated, licking the crumbs off his lips. “Sort of.” Mike looked up into Milton’s dark eyes. Would that be enough? Would he want more? He always wanted more. “Don’t make me.”

“Don’t make you what? You’re eating dinner, and we’re having a nice chat.”

Mike snorted. “You’re feeding me and interrogating me. There is nothing nice about this chat.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Fuck it!” Mike scrambled to his feet.

“Get down or I’ll tie you down.”

Milton would; Mike had seen enough examples of it. Getting his hands tied behind his back was the fucking new normal, but Milton could be creative with the bondage. Tied to the floor didn’t sound fun. Mike dropped back to his knees with a thud and a silent curse.

“I probably deserve every name you’re calling me right now. So why is this so hard?” Milton ran a finger down Mike’s cheek. “Come on, boy, talk to me.”

“Fuck you! I don’t need this.”

“You came back. I’d say you need something.”

“I’m a masochist,” Mike spat. “You’re a sadist; you say so yourself. I need to be hit. I don’t need all this shit. I’m a big boy. I don’t need a care taker. I can take care of myself. I’m not some stupid kid anymore. I’m not weak. I don’t need a parent.” Mike gulped and bitterly cursed the tears that were trying to escape. Crying with your hands tied was just fucking awful.

Milton’s fingers tugged Mike’s hair, anchoring him with a sudden wave of pain, a feeling he welcomed and embraced. “Let’s get something straight, young man. Firstly, I’m not your parent or a parent substitute, not now, not ever. I’m a dominant; I’m a sadist; I’m a control freak. I also try to be a halfway decent human being, which means when you were flailing through life I tried to help. Maybe I did a disastrous job at it, but you, boy, did need guidance. Tilden and I weren’t going to let you fail for real. It’s not in our nature. I probably should have explained how I was using my dominance and your submission. I do with Austin, and for that I apologize. Secondly, no man is an island. Being cared for and about does not make you weak or a child; it makes you loved, and somehow I’ve decided I love your pain in the neck ass. You may be the bane of my existence right now, but I love you, and you will learn to cope with my affection as well as my whip. Thirdly, I only hit if I can also love. You’re stuck with that, boy, so swallow it down and get used to it.”

“You love me?”

“Shit, boy.” Milton scooped Mike off the floor with a flailing tug and surrounded him with his arms and body; his fingers worked the chains loose behind Mike’s back “You didn’t hear me swear,” he whispered into Mike’s ear. “I love you. Do I need to hire an airplane and have it drag a sign behind it?”

“I came with Tilden. You love Tilden; I know that.”

Milton lifted Mike’s chin, let their eyes meet, and gently kissed his lips, the touch and promise of a lover. “I want you.”

“You wouldn’t have chosen me alone,” Mike challenged. He was the extra. Milton didn’t want him; he was the responsibility like he’d always been.

“I had Sheldon, but we aren’t talking either or; we’re talking polyamory. I love each of you and all of you.” Milton kissed Mike’s forehead and shut his eyes for a moment as if he were trying to draw his thoughts together. “I never liked polyamory. I never thought it worked well, and now we are six, and I wouldn’t give a one of you up. You’re each different. Tilden has always been my friend, my secret and perhaps illicit desire. I won’t deny that. Sheldon is my first and my slave. Austin is the cub who brings out every protective molecule in my body. Luke is beautiful and brilliant and still baffles me. And you, my boy, are Mike, a wonderful boy who can enjoy my darkest parts. It’s a thrill to touch you; it’s an honor to be trusted to bring you that pleasure. I want you. You are not an extra. You are not baggage that came with Tilden. You are a magnificent and wonderful submissive, and I’ve had the incredible pleasure of watching you grow from that scruffy boy who was dragged home by an exasperated Tilden to the wonderful man you are today.”

“You really want me? I’m not a duty.”

“Mike, I take you to my bed. I beat you. I don’t do either of those as a duty. I take those pleasures from men I love.” Milton brushed his lips against Mike’s and slowly deepened the kiss. “Good boy,” Milton breathed, stroking Mike’s face and smiling as Mike’s tongue snaked out to catch Milton’s fingers. “Good boy.”

“Please. Need.”

“Come here.”

The bed in the playroom was always made in pristine order. Mike fell back against the soft blankets, limp and compliant with every nerve thrumming with need. He watched glassy-eyed as Milton stripped off his clothes, his body still trim, his shoulders still wide from his days as a farm boy.

“Someone has too many clothes on.” Milton’s fingers were quick on Mike’s shirt. Milton’s lips teased the gold nipple rings as he shucked Mike’s pants down. “Mine.” Milton licked a trail down Mike’s smooth abdomen. His hard cock banged against Mike’s thigh. “What do you want?”

“Love me. Please.”

“Always.” Milton pressed a deep kiss to Mike’s mouth as his slick finger found Mike’s opening. “So good for me. So beautiful.”

“More. Please.”

“Patience. Gentle and calm has its merits. Let me love you.”

“Yes, sir.”

****

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?” Mike asked sleepily. He was tucked against Milton’s chest, a strong arm slung over his hip.

“No.”

“Sheldon…”

“He and Austin will curl up. They’re beautiful together. Neither will top, but one night won’t kill them.”

“Doesn’t Sheldon?”

“Only if I twist his arm and usually only if I’m there.”

“He’s smart.”

“Mike.” Milton brushed his fingers through Mike’s hair. “Are you still fretting over what happened with Austin?”

“I hurt him. I shouldn’t have tried to top.”

“Sexually you’re more versatile. I don’t mind, and neither does Austin. If you top in other ways, you let me teach you, or I will mind.”

“I’m not a switch.”

“No, you’re not, but it doesn’t mean you can’t play a little with the cuddly ones with my permission and my supervision.”

“Bossy.”

“Very. Now go to sleep. I want you as my cuddly one.”

“I’m not cuddly,” Mike groused, but didn’t lift his head from where it was pillowed on Milton’s chest.

“I am, and I call the shots, so get in practice, boy. Now sleep and no more chat. As head of this menagerie, I don’t get to sleep in, so I need to take my rest when I can get it.”

“The hardship of being the top,” Mike snickered and entwined his legs around Milton. “I’ll throw you a pity party.”

“And I’ll throw you a beating, brat.” Milton swatted Mike’s hip and rolled them both onto the opposite side. “Sleep.”