Mike's Saga 16

Mike's Saga 16 - Austin's Interlude

Austin sat crushed together with his friends. They’d started out the evening with an innocent ice cream soda, but now they were in a very crowded club. Six of them were jammed around a table that was meant to seat two. The room smelled of too many people, a strange mix of sweat and spilled soda and sexual heat between all manners of genders. This was a bar, but tonight it was conspicuously dry with tape over the taps and the harder liquor high on the shelf behind yellow caution tape. The Crossroads was hosting an event for the local BDSM community combined with several college clubs.

Austin vaguely knew that a friend of Ryan’s owned the place and had bought it after some scandal. He also knew it was considered reputable and safe. He wasn’t totally out to his college friends about his lifestyle, but he’d thought at least one or two had guessed, and as a member of the GLBT club who was co-hosting the event, Austin had been quietly pulled aside and asked. He’d ducked any outright confirmation of his lifestyle, but he had muttered that he knew the place was safe.

Austin fingered the collar around his neck. He damn well looked the part now, and unless he wanted to pretend he was playing leather boy dress up, he was going to have to drop some broader hints about what went on at home. He’d forgotten that this event was tonight, or he would never have wanted to go out. Milton must not have. It sure explained the obvious symbols of the Green Mountain Boys on his belt and collar. Men recognized those stylized mountains here, and they nodded politely and backed off. Austin guessed it was probably easier than trying to explain to some flirting dom that he was well and truly taken, but still it was odd to sit in a mini vacuum in a crowded room.

Austin sipped his Coke and watched the mix of bodies on the dance floor. He’d danced a couple rounds with Floyd, a friend who was seriously unattached at the moment and easily as submissive as Austin, so no great threat. Floyd was watching the movement on the stage and chugging back Sprite as if he wished it was something far stouter. He really was a good kid, but he was an awkward disaster around any guy who said more than hello. As treasurer of the club, he’d been coerced into coming and just watching the crew anchor a whipping post on the stage had made a sheen a sweat appear on his forehead, and he crunched ice in nervous haste. 

“Someone’s really going to get whipped?” Floyd asked.

“I suppose so,” Austin said in a lazy drawl that he’d picked up from Mace and drove Milton mad every time he used it. 

“Sensation play,” Carla said, reading the single page flyer. Carla was in Austin’s sociology class, and he hoped Phoebe, her current girlfriend, found her more appealing than he did. She was a big city girl who gave the impression that she’d gladly kick anyone in the balls who got in the way. “That includes impact play, better known as whipping.” 

Great now she’s an expert on BDSM also, Austin thought and took another sip of his drink. He wouldn’t mind coming out to Floyd as a full blown submissive, but he’d prefer Carla never know anything. She probably had a lecture all ready on the evils of polyamory.

“He’s hot,” Floyd hissed, his eyes on the stage.

Ryan! Shit! This was going to be a whipping demonstration. Ryan checked the security of the whipping post and paced several steps back from it, putting small strips of tape on the floor at different locations. He was hot as he moved purposefully across the stage in his tight leather pants and a green silk shirt that hung partially open and showed glimpses of his bulging muscles and the leather straps across his chest. Blade stepped out of the shadows, still dressed in his everyday jeans and a black turtleneck. He was carrying a large duffel which Austin assumed must hold the implements. He set it down beside the sturdy wooden chair and, as Ryan had done before, went to check the whipping post. He stepped toward Ryan, and they spoke words that Austin couldn’t hear over the loud music. Ryan squeezed his boy’s neck as they spoke and gently swatted Blade on the ass as he pushed him back toward the duffel. Blade unzipped the bag and pulled out a beautiful flogger, a crop, and a signal whip. He laid each implement on a narrow table. Ryan checked the sound system and the lights. He scanned the crowd as he tapped the microphone, and for a split second his eyes met Austin’s. He smiled and nodded, small motions that were probably missed by the crowd as it danced and jostled. Austin sipped his Coke and reached for the pretzels--safe gestures. 

Floyd was staring at Ryan, his eyes following Ryan as if they were magnets drawn to the largest metal deposit on earth. “He smiled this way.”

“Yeah,” Austin mumbled, crushing the cocktail napkin in his hand.

“Oh, God…” Floyd trailed off.

“He’s not available. The redhead’s his partner.” Maybe it was cruel to tell Floyd, but it would be just as cruel to leave him dreaming about the impossible. 

“You know him?”

“Yeah.” Austin was going for dumb blob tonight. Milton probably would have slapped him by now for his inarticulate pronouncements. “Do you want to dance?” Anything to disappear into the crowd.

Floyd didn’t answer. He continued to stare at the stage. Slowly, he licked his lips and leaned forward on his elbows. “He’s going to whip him.”

He as in Ryan and him as in Blade, Austin made the translation in his head. “Of course. He’s an expert,” Austin said with false disinterest. He’d seen the marks on Blade a few times, and he’d watched Ryan practice with the bullwhip, but he’d never seen him actually give a show. He was as fascinated as Floyd.

“I’m going to get another soda. You want something?” Austin asked, getting up from the table and away from the awkward conversation.

“No.” Floyd didn’t look away from the stage as he spoke.

Austin pushed his way through the throng of people. A bartender in the signature green jacket of the establishment poured Austin another Coke and added a twist of lime.

“Have a good time.” The bartender grinned as he pushed the drink toward Austin.

“Very taken, Chase,” Ryan’s voice rumbled in the background.

“Can’t a man even smile?”

“Not at the head of the GMB’s precious cub.” Ryan looped an arm around Austin’s neck, pulled him close, and kissed the top of his head.

“And you’re kissing him.”

“Personal friend, and I have something to ask him.” Ryan steered Austin into a hallway and pulled him into a private office.

“I have permission--”

“You’re not in trouble,”Ryan interrupted. “Do you want to play?” Ryan handed Austin his phone. “Read first.”

Austin scanned the text messages. “Go for it and have fun.” The second message was more cryptic, Tilden’s gentle style all the way. “I trust Ryan and your judgment.”

“Your men have given their blessing. So what do you say?” Ryan gave Austin a megawatt smile.

Austin’s brain balked and stumbled. The crazy part was sending urgent message to nod and jump for joy and to forget commonsense or anything else. He knew his face was flushed and that his heart rate had shot through the ceiling. This was in public. This was without Milton.

“You’re young, and you only live once. I’ll be gentle and careful, but this is supposed to be fun and exciting, Only say yes if you want. No, won’t hurt my feelings.” Ryan cupped Austin’s chin and gently kissed his cheek. “Your choice.”

“What...What will you use?”

“The flogger. Back only. I’ll keep your pants on.”

“The people?”

“I’ll keep your focus on me.”

“God! I’m scared.”

“Good scared or throw up scared?”

“I think good scared. I want to do it.”

“Sure?” Ryan asked.

“Sure,” Austin said, putting strength in his voice. “I’ll be angry for missing this chance if I don’t do it. Milton and Tilden won’t do this with me.”

“Milton might. He hides great swaths of his craziness. Ask Landon sometime; the stories are wild.”

“Milton?”

“He’s not all strict and button-downed. You should know, you live with him.” Ryan traced his finger around the medallion hanging on Austin’s collar. “He dressed you like this. Doesn’t that say something?”

That he wanted to scare every dom away within one hundred kilometers. That he missed his chance to play with dolls as a boy. 

“Think about it. You love him. You know what’s inside him, and I don’t think it’s all prim and proper.”

It wasn’t. Austin knew, but sometimes it was easier to see the steady and the calm and not the blinding, unshielded dominance. Austin had wanted that, but too close and the fire scorched. He also wanted the side that was maybe even more embarrassing to admit--the protected cub, his shield and sword. 

“Maybe easier with me,” Ryan said too wisely. “No need to live up to anyone’s expectations including your own. Now go back to your table. I’ll guide you through this, and it will be fun. I promise.” 

Ryan swatted Austin hard enough that he hissed and reached back to rub the heated skin. “Jeez!”

“Boy, I know you’re tougher than that. Now go, and don’t worry. I’m not as old as your men, but I do know what I’m doing. I haven’t killed Blade yet, tempting as that might be sometimes.”

***

Austin returned to his seat in a slight daze. He’d said yes. He was going to publicly play with Ryan. The music had stopped and men and women were shuffling to their seats or melting toward the walls. Carla was up on the stage with several other college aged people that Austin didn’t know blathering on about gay rights and BDSM safety, topics that she thought she knew more about than she really did. Milton taught history; he was the head of the Green Mountain Boys. Carla’s version scraped the surface and skittered around some of the safety issues that Milton had thumped into Austin’s head. Milton was a hard ass about what it meant to be a submissive, especially in his explanation of every day, all day, and forever. It wasn’t a role that Austin stepped into for the evening. He’d given Milton the power; he’d begged Milton to take it, and such acts had consequences. Austin knew it in ways most of this audience never would. They played in their fancy fetish clothes and would run screaming from Milton in his sweater vest, blue blazer, and loafers polished by Sheldon’s adoring hands.

Sheldon, who wouldn’t be caught dead being whipped in a public setting unless forced by his master, was the strongest submissive that Austin had ever seen. He gave everything to Milton, but he didn’t walk around in chains or indulge in strange fashion statements. Blade, Sheldon’s brother, was so different. Austin could just see him standing at the rear or the stage next to his man. He was still dressed ordinarily enough in jeans and a turtleneck, but his feet were bare and his turtleneck had been pulled out of his waistband. Blade would try anything, especially in public, but Milton had told Austin that Blade was far less submissive than Sheldon.

Where did Austin fit? Milton kept telling him to be patient, but Austin was twenty. He’d known he was a submissive since about the same time he’d realized he was gay. Even at twenty, he knew he’d been lucky to stumble upon Milton and his household.

“So you’re a gay submissive. You’re still a teenager, and we’re going to treat you that way.”

Austin had wanted to kill Sheldon for those words back when he was sixteen, but now at the ancient age of twenty, he knew Sheldon had been right. Austin had wanted what the boys had or maybe more specifically Sheldon. He’d wanted Milton. He’d watched Milton under coquettishly lowered lashes, dreamed of Milton, and done everything possible to land himself in Milton’s circle of attention. It was a miracle that Milton hadn’t shot him or left him with a note pinned to his shirt, free to a good home. Tilden had parented him in ways that still embarrassed the hell out of Austin, but he knew he was lucky. Austin chatted with his friends. Tilden had been a saint, and Milton had stayed in the background except to thwart the most desperate stupidity, and then he’d just been scary, stern, and horribly proper. Sheldon had mumbled something once about the spirit of Milton’s grandfather.

Why was he stewing over the past? He was Milton’s boy now, but he hadn’t done this. Milton shielded him, much to Austin’s dismay. He’d been spanked with a slew of awful things that were kept in the kitchen drawer, and Milton had used some simple bondage, but he didn’t go much further. He wouldn’t give Austin a collar, and he usually kept Austin off his knees in public. Too young. Too inexperienced. He was always going to be too young. No one had a time machine in their garage.

Ryan had taken the microphone. What had he been saying? Floyd was practically drooling on the table. Ryan was gorgeous, the green silk shirt now entirely unbuttoned, the muscles of his chest and abdomen shimmering in the light.

“Ready?” Blade was standing at their table, his smile brilliant and dazzling. “First time I was pretty scared too, but Ryan will keep you safe,” Blade whispered and held out his hand for Austin.

Austin grabbed Blade’s hand, his palm sweaty and his grip too hard. He’d said yes to this insane idea. His legs were following Blade, but his mind was everywhere. He was going to be completely out to his friends. Insufferable Carla would know that he really did this, that he wasn’t pretending. Austin almost stumbled up the step.

“Steady.” Ryan’s voice was gentle and infinitely reassuring. His smile was even better. “I don’t eat my volunteers.” Ryan dropped his arm over Austin’s shoulders and Blade melted back into the shadows. “Your safeword, Austin.”

“Kalamazoo.”

“Do you have a slow word?”

Austin shook his head. Milton could read him and was slowing before Austin had fully formulated the idea that he was getting scared shitless, and Tilden stayed away from the sharp edges and terrifying abysses. 

“It’s yellow for tonight. Repeat your safewords.”

“Yellow for slow, Kalamazoo to stop.”

“Good boy.”

Austin could feel his knees knocking less from Ryan’s careful ritual, and his heart had stopped trying to burst though his ribs. He took a long, slow breath, hearing Milton’s constant demand to breathe in his head.

“Good boy.”

The words weren’t a toss off meaningless phrase. Austin could hear the sincerity in Ryan’s voice, and he gave Ryan a genuine, but shaky smile. Ryan kissed Austin’s forehead in that casual possessiveness that was familiar and comforting.

“The first step in any proper whipping or flogging is to have your boy in the right mindset,” Ryan said to the audience, keeping his arm tight around Austin and sending silent reassurances. “Austin is a friend, but he isn’t my boy, and he isn’t experienced in public displays. I would have aborted if he’d continued to look that shaky.”

“I want to,” Austin protested.

“I know you do, but who makes the choice?” Ryan was speaking to Austin, but his voice was loud enough that it would carry to the people in the audience.

“You do, sir,” Austin said, looking into the quiet blue eyes.

“Ryan, not sir.” Ryan stroked his fingers through Austin’s hair. “I want you to remember its my hand on the flogger. It’s your friend who holds the flogger, someone who will take care of you and who will always stop. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ryan,” Austin said, holding Ryan’s gaze.

“Good boy. Blade, the flogger.”

“Yes, Ryan,” Blade chorused and scampered forward with the flogger. He was playing with the long leather strands as he passed it to Ryan.

“Eager beaver,” Ryan half scolded. “By the chair. Kneel and watch. Dream of the lash that will soon be on your body.”

“Yes, Ryan.” Blade folded into perfect kneeling position. His state of arousal obvious to Austin who caught himself staring at the prominent bulge in Blade’s jeans.

“Eyes on me,” Ryan barked. This was the first hint of hardness in Ryan’s voice, and it snapped Austin’s attention away from Blade. “You haven’t permission to play or desire my boy.”

Austin could feel the scarlet burn on his face. He hadn’t meant it that way; just Blade was beautiful, and Austin’s eyes had fallen naturally on the beautiful creature kneeling in perfect form.

“Go with this,” Ryan said in a voice that carried only as far as Austin’s ears. “We’re playing. I’m not mad.”

Austin blushed even more furiously at his own stupidity. Of course, Ryan wouldn’t be mad. He was teasing Austin and all the rest of the crowd with his boy. This is what they did; they were performers.

“Touch the flogger.”

Austin’s fingers slid through the soft fronds. It felt heavenly against his hand, softer than the one Milton used.

“Kiss it.”

Austin’s lips touched the leather. He inhaled deeply, letting the smell of leather waft through his nostrils. He kissed the lashes reverently.

“Shirt off, boy. Here against the post. If your hands come down, it’s a safe signal.”

Austin fumbled with his shirt. The room had felt too warm before, but now he shivered as his bare back met the air. He gripped the handholds and shut his eyes.

“Perfect skin.” Ryan’s hand traced down Austin’s back. “You’ll mark beautifully.” Ryan continued to talk to the audience, his hands doing something fabulous to Austin’s shoulders. Austin sighed and let his head fall forward. “You like this.” 

One hand continued to massage Austin’s back. The second hand disappeared and Austin felt the slightest tickle of the flogger. It was nothing but a whispered breeze. Austin pushed back and moaned, not remembering making the sound, but hearing it in his ears.

The flogger was falling steadily, softly. Austin sighed and arched his shoulders, hoping for more. It was only the softest breeze, warm palm fronds in the Caribbean. His back felt warm as if he’d been sunbathing too long. The strokes were harder now, almost a sting, but they still felt so good.

The lash stopped, and Austin felt Ryan’s hand against his back, the weight heavy against the heat of his skin. “Do we go on?”

“More,” Austin whined and tried desperately to rub against Ryan.

“It will be pleasure and pain now, not just pleasure.”

“More. Please.”

Austin rocked forward at the first blow. It had thudded against his back, no warm ocean or tickle of wind, but a sting of heavy tentacles. He moaned and arched.His body absorbed the blows and begged for more. Pain. Pleasure. Hurt. Comfort. He couldn’t tell. His brain couldn’t sort it out. His nervous system was confused and on overload. He shouted as the flogger fell, yet he wanted more. He could taste the salt of the tears that were streaking his face.

The lashes seemed to be tickling again. They slithered across his super heated flesh. Austin keened and whined. He clung desperately to the whipping post.

“Spectacular. Absolutely beautiful.” Ryan’s voice was right in Austin’s ear. “Milton has a gem.” 

Austin felt cold. He shivered, and his head swam. His throat was terribly dry. Ryan was covering him in the softest of blankets. A water bottle was held to his lips.”

“Slowly. Your body’s going to take a few minutes to come back to earth. I’ve got you. I’l hold you until everything falls back into place. You may hear me talking to the audience. The words don’t matter. Just rest.” 

Austin collapsed against Ryan. He drank whenever Ryan held the bottle to his lips, and he heard the rumble of Ryan’s voice over his head, but the words were lost in a haze. Nothing much mattered. Austin leaned against Ryan and shut his eyes.

Austin didn’t know how long he leaned against Ryan. It was comfortable nestled against the blond giant’s chest. Ryan was broader than Milton, and his voice suggested an easy humor and warmth. Ryan’s outside person was always cheerful and friendly, his blue eyes twinkling, a ready smile on his lips. Milton was more taciturn, almost aloof with strangers. He wasn’t mean or sharp, but you didn’t feel like you should flop down face first on the sofa with a cold brew and a bucket of wings. The cold brew was out for Austin anyway. Milton had made it very clear that underage alcohol was a hard limit.

“Austin, I respect what you ask me not to touch. This is the same. Violating the law, including drinking alcohol, is a rejection of your submission. Don’t do it.”

Austin had grabbed a can of beer once. He hadn’t even taken a drink, and Ryan confiscated it. He’d led Austin outside into Landon’s rose garden with the blooms cascading down the white trellises and butterflies circling the brightest blossoms. He’d held Austin much like he was holding him now, his big arm over Austin’s chest both trapping him and keeping him safe.

“That’s a no go with your men, isn’t it?” Ryan’s voice had been friendly, almost light, but he’d turned Austin’s head and made him look at those quiet blue eyes. 

“Yes, sir,” Austin had finally managed. His face had been hot with shame, and he’d wanted to do nothing more than flee, even if it meant fleeing straight into an angry Milton. “Hard limit,” he’d mumbled after another eternity.

“What were you thinking?” Ryan had released Austin’s chin, and Austin had stared at the stone walkway. His finger had traced the mortar and plucked at some brave moss trying to find purchase in the stones.

“Don’t know.”

“Has Milton or Tilden ever violated your limits?”

“No.”

“Hard limit, Austin. This was the equivalent of a dominant blowing through your safeword. It’s not done. Full stop. Don’t.”

“I didn’t...I…”

“I know,” Ryan said very gently. “No matter how much you hate to hear it, you are young, and you’re going to make giant mistakes.You just made one.”

“Are you going to tell Milton?”

“Not this time.”

“Austin squirmed around and looked at Ryan. Dominants didn’t cover up for submissives. They grabbed your wrist and dragged you to your doom.”

“Not to save you, but to save Milton. We’re dominants; we take pleasure in hitting, but not in this. Crossing the line to real punishment is a terrible place to go. Sometimes in the intricacies of this relationship it has to be done, but it takes its toll. It rips at the very fabric of the relationship and the very idea of love and consent. A violation of a hard limit leaves very little room for the dominant. He can release you; he can withdrawal attention for a specified period, or he can try hurting you in ways that are awful. This is pain without the thrill, without the erotic, without the victory for the submissive of enduring and conquering. I hate it. It makes me ashamed to be a dominant. I don’t think Milton needs to go there today. We’ll quietly chalk it up to inexperience, and it will never happen again. Agreed?”

Austin nodded. “I wasn’t...Other people do.”

“No, Austin. Milton said absolutely not, and it’s over. Submission, cub. That’s what it means. If you want a little play, you ask or you do something silly. Leave the laundry all over the floor. Milton will swat you, and you’ll both have a good time. Don’t go where you were heading. Milton is far more tolerant of bratting that I ever will be, but he has no tolerance for violations of the fundamentals of the relationship. You gave him your submission. Now you keep your end of the bargain.”

What had Ryan been saying? Austin had been drifting in one of his not so favorite moments of the past. Why had that come to mind? Ryan’s broad chest, his steady breathing, the heaviness of his arm--it all reminded Austin of the other time. This was far better memories. The flogger had been fucking spectacular. Swearing--not in Gordon’s earshot.

 Ryan was talking to the audience, answering questions. Blade had moved. His shirt was off, and he was moving around the stage: rubbing the floor with a small towel, putting more water bottles under the table, stashing a plaid blanket nearby. His movements were easy and confident. He twisted off the cap of a water bottle and took a long drink. He touched the whip, coiling it into a more precise spiral.

“Impatient, boy.”

“Yes, Ryan.” Blade flashed Ryan a giant grin and swished his hips in an obvious invitation.

“Impatient boys get more.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“When you’re begging and crying, you’ll be scared.”

“Never,” Blade taunted.

“Drop your pants, boy. Let’s see how cocky you are with a breeze brushing on those fine ass cheeks.”

Blade fumbled with his snap and zipper; he hopped from foot to foot as he tangled in his pants. This was a show. He was playing nervous. Blade caught Austin’s eyes and winked. “Finally,” he mouthed.

“Did you say something, boy?”

“Never.” Blade huddled down, covering his skimpy underclothes with his hand. The small bit of green cloth couldn’t really be called underwear. It covered Blades crack, sort of, and his cock with a tiny and inadequate square of shimmering green. Even the most unimaginative would be able to imagine what was underneath.

“Show those folks your lovely white ass. I want them to remember this color before I paint it the color it belongs--crimson with purple trimmings. You good here. Austin?” Ryan asked, his voice only for Austin’s ears. “Or do I need to invent some more shtick? Your eyes no longer look hazy and you’re not limp, but I’m not moving until you give me the heave ho.”

“I’m good.”

Ryan stroked Austin’s hair back and studied him, looking for something that Austin couldn’t fathom. Someone stepped out of the shadows and slid almost unseen into the crowd. 

“Boy, let me test that pretty whipping surface,” Ryan almost shouted at Blade. His partner skipped and pranced and stayed just our of hand’s reach. “White. Shocking! This dominant must have been napping.”

The shadowy man returned almost towing Floyd, who in any other light might have been green. In the stage light he was a yellowish, sickly white, only broken by frantic pale blue eyes.

“Get to the post, boy and find the strength to endure,” Ryan called to Blade before his voice returned to his normal tone. “Floyd, I need you to sit with your friend. If anything doesn’t look absolutely right, you yell Ryan. Can you do that for me?”

Floyd managed a nod. 

Ryan stood and kissed the muddy blond hair. “Good, kid. Water when Austin needs it and a shoulder to lean on. Your friend’s mostly back with us, but I prefer extra precautions.” Ryan’s voice was directed at the audience and at Floyd. He was in teaching mode as well as dominant mode. “My boy Blade is experienced at public scenes, as you should have noted from our verbal jousting. He’s not in the full submissive mode I would expect if we were alone with his full concentration on me. He knows this is a demonstration, a teaching seminar. We will both enjoy it, but he acting as much as feeling. Tonight, I’m not going to try to drive him close to the spot where he becomes one with a lash. This is a novice whipping demonstration, and I have another boy here. I’d never step toward the edge when my attention is divided. We will stay where I can safely support Austin and not damage my Blade.”

Ryan went to the table and picked up the signal whip. He cracked it in the air. Floyd stiffened and flinched backward from the sound.

“I think you were supposed to be comforting me, not the other way around,” Austin said and reached out and caught Floyd’s hand. “He’s never maimed Blade yet.”

“Someone’s back with the world,” Ryan said, his eyes shifting between Austin and Blade’s exquisite and waiting figure.

“I’m fine. I’ll get my shirt and go.”

“You stay right there,” Ryan growled. “I’m not dealing with an infuriated Milton because I didn’t take care of you properly. That man’s scary when he’s angry.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“You’re his precious cub. You have more protection from him than I would, a fool dominant who did something irresponsible. Off with my head.”

“I’m standing here. Are you two going to chat all night?”

“Boy, a smart mouth in front of a man holding a whip hardly seems wise.”

“Holding is the key word. It’s a pretty picture,” Blade said, turning his head and looking at Ryan with obvious appreciation in his eyes, “but I prefer the action figure.”

Ryan cracked the whip and stalked toward Blade. Ryan swung the whip, the lash streaking toward Blade’s pale and unmarked skin. Five quick strokes with five perfectly spaced red lines.

“I measured the distance before the demonstration started,” Ryan said to the audience. “At this distance, I’m only touching my boy with the very tip. This stings and leaves a faint red line, but won’t raise a welt. With a new boy, this is a far as you go. The whip is psychologically a terrifying implement. Everyone has mental images of horrific flaying with blood flying and horribly scarred backs, and with a whip I could easily draw blood and leave scars. Consensually doing either is fine if both parties agree. I won’t scar my boy. It’s a place I won’t go by my choice, but I have made him bleed.”

“He won’t get me red at this rate,” Blade snarked. “Maybe I need to put out a sign: Experienced whip master wanted. Previous employee left to join the lecture circuit.”

“Smart boys get punished,” Ryan said, his voice hot with menace. He caressed Blade with the lash. Blade shifted and a very faint grown left his lips as the lash rubbed on the inside of his thighs.

“More. Don’t tease me.”

“Beg.”

“Please, Ryan, please. Whip me. Your boy wants to feel your whip, please.”

“You will.” Ryan stepped closer, pressing into Blade’s body. Ryan kissed Blade’s shoulder, his tongue licking the faint red stripes. “You ready, boy?”

“Yes, Ryan.”

Ryan’s strokes were quick and precise. The whip fell everywhere, a hard stroke on the ass, a softer stroke on the thigh. Blade shifted and moaned, his head snapped back and he screamed at a particularly hard stroke. His skin was red now, and sweat was beading on his forehead. Ryan cracked the whip overhead and laid three diagonal strokes on Blade’s shoulders. The welts shown against the general redness. 

“Hurts,” Blade moaned. Blade’s finger’s clutched the whipping post as he slumped forward. 

“It should, boy.” Ryan ran his hand down Blade’s back, eliciting a shudder. He coiled the whip carefully, set it on the table, and reached for the crop. “And this will hurt more, boy.”

Ryan raised his arm and swung hard. The crop landed against Blade’s ass with a shattering crack. The scream was almost instantaneous, and the tears from Blade’s eyes were very real now. Two more horrible blows fell. Blade’s screams were still echoing from the walls as Ryan gathered him into his arms and silenced the pain with a fierce kiss. 

The words between Ryan and Blade were private now. All Austin could hear was a slight mumble as Ryan cradled Blade against him. Ryan’s fingers stroked down Blade’s cheek and wiped the flowing tears. Someone came running with a blanket and water.

“Shit!” Floyd mumbled, his hand clutched at Austin. “You do this shit.”

“Not like that,” Austin said quietly. He’d thought he’d known about this stuff. Milton certainly didn’t hide anything, and Austin had felt the crop a few times, but he’d never been whipped. Milton had whips, but they stayed upstairs. Austin had taken the keys once. He’d stroked the fine lash and felt the weight in his hand. He’d even flicked the lash against his pants covered leg. It had burned through the heavy weight of his jeans. He’d coiled the whip, tucked it back into the trunk, and fled downstairs. He’d never told Milton. 

It had been so beautiful. What would it have felt like to be Blade? Could Austin do that? Could he be brave enough? 

Blade must have known Austin was staring at him because he untangled himself from Ryan’s arms and smiled. “I’m fine. It’s going to hurt more in an hour or so when the good part wears off, but I’ve done this enough time to know to lie on my stomach and have Ryan at my beck and call.”

“Look fun or scary?” Ryan asked, his fingers combing through Blade’s hair.

“Don’t know,” Austin said truthfully. Some part of him wanted it, even though his brain was telling him he was a total idiot. 

“No hurry.” Ryan turned his full attention back to Blade. “Was it good for you?”

“Bastard--with the crop. That fucking hurt!”

“It’s not always what you expect.”

“I know.” Blade snuggled against Ryan. “I’ll forgive you this time.”

Ryan smiled and laughed softly. “I should’ve given you six, but I didn’t want to scare the kiddies.”

“Three was ample. Thanks anyway. Good for the kiddies to be a little scared. It’s not all sweet and fluffy with pink unicorns. I’m supposed to hurt tomorrow. I want to hurt tomorrow.”

“Not everybody is as intense as you.”

“Even without the pain it’s still not sweet and sugary, and you know it.”

“I know,” Ryan said softly. “I know.” He closed his arms around Blade, and they communed silently for a moment before Ryan turned toward Austin and Floyd again. “You guys good to go now? Chase is giving us a ride home. We can drop you off Floyd. if you like?”

“Um…” Floyd licked his lips and cleared his throat. “I…”

“I’ll make sure your friends know. Don’t worry,” Ryan said with one of his most reassuring smiles. “You’ll never find them in all that bedlam and noise right now. I have them play the loudest dance music possible after a show, so Blade and I can disappear into the background. They run a tight ship here and have us covered.”

“Uh,” Floyd said inarticulately.

“Car ride, nothing else.” Ryan stood with Blade still in his arms. “Austin, put your shirt on. Let’s go.”