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.”