Mike's Saga 21

Mike’s Saga 21

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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