Green Pastures 10

Green Pastures Chapter 10

Milton tightened his arm around Luke and pressed the blond head to his chest. What was he doing with this boy? He could read his own at a glance, even Mike who’d resisted everything but the physical outlet of his submission, but Luke left him baffled. Yes, he’d manipulated the masturbation sequence. Forbid it and they flock like children to candy. Milton knew that. The religious extremists might never figure it out, but anyone not blinded by ideology knew the trick of that sort of manipulation. Only he hadn’t expected it to take only hours or for Luke to shatter.

He’d been irritated with Luke, angry in fact. The damn boy lived in some insane world of lies and fantasy, but he couldn’t brutalize this kid who was shaking in his arms. Pity he couldn’t be that fantasy dominant of Luke’s imagination, knowing just how to react and never concerned with his own feelings. He was flesh and blood and a confusion of mixed emotions, greedy pride at breaking the kid open and genuine concern for the boy who trembled in his arms. Surprisingly he felt almost no sexual arousal. He should. He’d wrung the admission from Luke. He’d conquered Luke, and he was thinking how much he’d prefer to have Austin in his arms, Austin who didn’t have all these crazy hang-ups. He had to do this for Luke, find something that would work for both of them. Tilden loved this boy.

“Six of the best, my dear lad. Over the chair and hang onto the seat.”

English schoolboy fantasies weren’t Milton’s idea of fun. He knew the scenario well enough, strict headmaster and naughty pupil. Milton didn’t dislike the cane. It left pretty marks which were important remembrances to many submissives and dominants and it allowed for a precision of blows as well as little physical contact. It was the little physical contact that had made the cane popular in Victorian England; the lecherous headmaster could pretend that it was entirely punishment.

He wasn’t really punishing Luke here, not for touching himself that had been part of the game. This punishment was part of the game; he had to make Luke see that. His words had been real and punishment enough for all the lying. Luke would have to work that out on his own; Milton couldn’t fix it with a few swings of the cane. Luke had to face his own hard truths. He was as thoroughly submissive as any of the others, and he had to own up to it. Milton couldn’t beat that into him, wouldn’t beat it into him. His words were as far as he’d go.  Those had been real; the punishment wouldn’t be. Lying to your dominant and to yourself was insanely stupid and dangerous. Without the complications of their family, he’d released that sort of submissive and feel nothing but relief, but that avenue was closed to him, and maybe he’d had a hand in this disaster. He’d sat on the periphery and watched, rather than wading in and bringing to the surface what he suspected lay underneath.  

Milton smoothed down the seat of Luke’s trousers, glad the boy wasn’t in jeans. Wool flannels would better fit the fantasy but khakis would do. He took his distance and tapped the cane twice on the presented backside.

“Be brave, boy.”

Milton wasn’t swinging hard, and he was using the junior cane. He’d leave a neat five bar gate for Luke to admire, but no terrible pain, warm and tender to the touch in a few hours, but nothing more. He laid down each stroke, waiting between the strikes so the anticipation could build. Luke was a pretty boy as he grimaced and fought to keep still. Pity it wasn’t Austin or Sheldon over that chair. Luke squawked hard as Milton laid down the last strike, crossing the other ones and putting a touch more power in it—real punishment for Luke’s damn tortures or as much as Milton would dare. 

“No more, boy. Get yourself together,” Milton said with suitable brusqueness for a headmaster. He slid a tissue box toward Luke and turned away to give him privacy. Prepared, he would have brought a handkerchief, more suitable to the era.

Luke wiped his face and blew his nose. He stood, his head down, his face flushed from embarrassment and tears.

“Back to your mates. You have something to show them now.”

Luke’s expression was lost. He turned, choking back a sob, and shuffled toward the door.

The kid didn’t get it. He didn’t know. Milton reached out and grabbed Luke’s arm. He yanked the boy into his chest.

“What sort of headmaster hugs his pupil? One who wants to be run out of town with flaming torches.” Milton kissed the blond hair. “That was a scene, Luke. I’m not happy about all the deception you’ve put all of us through, but I’m sure not taking a cane to your backside for that. I prefer not to be an abusive bastard. I’m not angry that you got off, not for real, not for getting off. I was angry about the dishonesty, but I spoke to you. You’re an adult, it was finished at that.” Milton tightened his arms and leaned over Luke, almost covering him with his body. “Well, maybe I’m still a little irritated you disobeyed your dominant. Submissives are supposed to be obedient.”

“You were angry.”

Luke’s voice was small and hesitant. Milton bit back his irritation. This wasn’t an act; he reminded himself. Luke didn’t get it. How he could be blind after all these years mystified Milton, but he was going to try to find patience. Tilden loved this boy. Milton couldn’t just tell him that he was a disaster and possibly dangerous as a submissive.

“I was angry about the years we spent circling each other, about the deception in our relationship,” Milton said in his best professor voice. “Caning you wasn’t about that anger. I caned you, so you knew that I wasn’t going to push you out of this relationship. I will talk to you, both of us as adults, and it will not be pleasant. You will face up to the realities of your submission, but those realities aren’t addressed with a cane. Those sort of lies don’t get to hide behind roleplaying and the formulated forgiveness of discipline play. I can’t do it. If I touched you for the number of times I wanted to wring your neck, you’d need to call the police on me because you’d be battered. You keep asking me to batter you. I won’t go there. I thought you were finally starting to understand, but I guess you still don’t read me, or you read me as badly as I read you.”

“You don’t like me.”

“Tilden loves you.” Luke shifted in Milton’s arms and tried to pull away. Milton hung on tighter, easily overpowering Luke and keeping him tucked close.

“That’s not an answer,” Luke said, still fighting against Milton’s strength.

“Luke, if I didn’t love you, I’d beat you.” Milton guided them both to the sofa, an awkward walk with his legs straddling a struggling Luke. He sat down and pulled Luke on top of him. “You want to make me a cruel, abusive SOB, and I don’t much like that. In fact I hate it, and I don’t much like it when you refuse to hear anything I’m saying and you stay stubbornly lost in your own fantasy. I’m trying to meet you halfway because I know what you mean to Tilden, but I don’t feel any reciprocity from you. It’s a problem.” Milton ran his fingers through Luke’s hair. “I don’t much like schoolboy scenes. That was for you.”

Luke had the courtesy to be quiet for several long minutes. He was a sweet and sensitive boy. Milton knew that. He shouldn’t want to be blatantly cruel, but Luke made Milton want to throttle him for real.

“I should go,” Luke said softly. “I don’t belong here.”

“Why? You love Tilden. None of us want you to leave.”

“You do.”

“No, Luke, I want you to stop asking me to be something I cannot be. I don’t want you to leave.”

“You’re frustrated with me.”

“Yes, but I’ll live. Luke.” Milton grasped Luke’s chin and lifted his head. “I’m stubborn to a fault. I can manage you as a submissive, but can you manage me as your dominant? I forced you into an admission that you didn’t want to admit even to yourself. I’ll force you there every day because that is the only way I will dominate. If I were your fantasy white knight, I wouldn’t give you choices or explain my perspective. I’d wreck your sense of self and make you believe you have no choice. I won’t do that to you, but I also won’t suffer your injustices toward me silently. You love Tilden. I come with Tilden, all of me, including the parts you hate. Make your choice because this halfway bit is making everybody suffer, and for all the times you drive me wild, I know you are not cruel. You don’t want to hurt Sheldon and Austin, and you especially don’t want to hurt Tilden.”

“You left yourself out,” Luke said, his blue eyes flickering to Milton’s face and back to his lap.

“Yes, I did.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You get pretty angry that I can’t be your fantasy.” Milton paused and rubbed his thumb over Luke’s throat. “You hurt me.”

Luke swallowed, an audible gulp and a jerk of his throat. “I didn’t…I didn’t mean to.”

“Luke, you wouldn’t be here if I thought it was intentional. I’m not a saint. In fact I’m too tired and too worn for this now. Talk to Sheldon. He’s good with the complicated and confused boys. He’ll talk your through it. Go on now.”

Luke stood and wiped his face with his sleeve, looking very much like a lost and punished child. “I’m sorry. I—“

“I know, Luke. It’s not all your fault. I’m guilty also. Go on now. Give us both time.”

Luke took two steps toward the door and looked back over his shoulder. “The cage should I, sir?”

“Your choice,” Milton said without the energy to help Luke make the choice. He’d tried. He wasn’t the saint Luke wanted or needed.

*

“How badly did you screw that up?”

“Sheldon.”

“Yes, Master, I can tell, and Austin grabbed Luke and tucked him into bed with the pink stuffed elephant for a pillow. He’ll live and maybe he’ll figure out how to articulate something about his submission instead of sitting around like a bump on the log.” Sheldon came across the room and put his hands on Milton’s shoulders. “This isn’t all on you, Master.”

Milton shook his head, tilted his head back, and looked into Sheldon’s green eyes. “I know Luke. I should have known he wouldn’t understand.”

“Didn’t or pretended not to? I know the way Luke operates.”

“He didn’t. He missed all the signals. It wasn’t supposed to be cruel. He was supposed to understand that I’d set him up to fail and that I forgave him for that as long as he’d be honest with me and with himself.”

“Back up. I’m not understanding.” Sheldon walked to the front of the sofa and sank into the worn cushions next to Milton. He spread his hand over Milton’s knee and squeezed once. “Master, talk to me, please.”

Milton gave Sheldon a tired smile. “You’re so good to me.”

Sheldon leaned over and brushed his lips against Milton’s. “I love you. You’re allowed to make mistakes.”

“That’s my line,” Milton said with another attempt of a smile.

“In this crazy family, it’s all our line.” Sheldon leaned closer, his weight reassuring against Milton’s chest. “So where did the wheels fall off?”

“Trying to dominate Luke.”

“That’s the cop out answer.”

“Sheldon,” Milton said with a half growl, “I’m the master here.”

“And we both know exactly when it’s time for me to be your lover, your confident, and your friend, and not just a slave. This is one of those times, Master.”

“You are always my lover, confident, and friend as well as my slave. They are not mutually exclusive. You give me great pleasure as my slave, but I don’t want you to lose your humanity when you go to your knees for me.”

“I don’t. I gain yours.”

“Sheldon!”

“I know exactly what I was when I decided to be rescued by the big, strong dominant professor. I was on a one-way ticket to disaster. Back then you didn’t worry about where all the lines were drawn. You just put my life in order and I suffered the consequences when I made chaos. I didn’t understand why I made chaos. It took me years to bow my neck and wear your collar. You may see all those pretty lines and boundaries you want to draw, but sometimes we just want someone in charge.”

“Sheldon, what are you saying?”

Milton stared at Sheldon, his eyes drinking the perfection of the man who met his brown eyes with a steady green gaze. Sheldon was as beautiful and vivacious as the first day he’d met him, determined and self-assured now rather than recklessly trying to charm the world. Sheldon knew his own power and he used it now, deliberately and expertly.

“I can guess you two got your lines crossed.”

“I forced him into an admission of the sexual nature of his submission.”

“That’s not going to hurt him. I told him that when I saw him rubbing like a cat on your legs.”

“He didn’t understand the punishment wasn’t real. I’d already chewed him out for all his deceptions. I wanted him to know I’d forgiven him.”

“What did you do?”

“I caned him, all very school boy. I thought it was obvious. I started to send him away just as a headmaster would do, and he fell apart. He’d thought I was punishing him for real.”

Sheldon made a muted groaning sound and shook his head. “Of course he did, Master. You caught him in a real deception; he wanted real punishment no matter if it turns your stomach. He has a pain tolerance of almost zero and Tilden used to spank him for real wrongs. Next time he spends years lying to you, spank him black and blue. He’ll get that and feel better.”

“I’m not beating on him.”

“Hello, Master, I’ve had a red ass for my stupidity more than a few times.”

“You were engineering that.”

“Later,” Sheldon said softly. He grasped Milton’s hands and kissed his knuckles. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this because I’ll make you feel sick.” He rubbed his thumb over the spot he’d kissed. “I didn’t know at first. I just wanted someone to stop me, to give me the control normal people seem to have, and you did that. You made me feel better. It was only much later that I put all the pieces together. Being head of the Green Mountain Boys and having Austin has made you see the lines far bolder. They were fuzzy before, and I needed them fuzzy. When I drove the car drunk that was for real. You can’t tell me otherwise.”

“It was,” Milton said in a voice that didn’t break a whisper, “to my eternal regret. It was abuse.”

“No, it was a cold shower that I needed. If I’d rolled off your lap or run away or even struggled for real, you would have stopped. I wanted punished. I needed punished. The strength of it scared me. The anger was all controlled, but it was there. I could feel it. I knew what I’d done to you—your terror and hurt. I knew that you loved me and would never let me go no matter the depth of my stupidity. You would never reject me.”

“I beat you for real, and you decided I loved you. I’m a bastard.” Milton ran his hand over his hair and let his chin drop to his chest. He’d conditioned his lover to consider a beating as an act of love.

“I wasn’t afraid, not the way you’re thinking. It wasn’t learned helplessness. I wouldn’t have been passive if you’d given me a black eye or loose teeth. I thought you’d throw me out. Instead you fixed it. I hurt for a few days, but that was cheap, and you took iron control over my life which I like. I hadn’t a clue back then to tell you I wanted to be owned. I would have vehemently denied it if you’d tried. Luke can’t tell you what he wants. He may never be able to. You can work on that, but he can’t change overnight. He’ll never be Austin who understands the lines in all their exactitude. I don’t even understand them that well. You and Tilden were Austin’s guardians. He knows absolutely without his consent as a submissive that you would never physically touch him, that you see it as repulsive. None of the rest of us will ever see it that clearly. It’s a fact of life and we can’t change it. You have to deal with it, roll with the punches. Luke will cope. He’s not entirely fragile, and maybe having it all go to hell will make him open his mouth and realize dominance doesn’t come with mind reading.” Sheldon unfolded himself from Milton’s side. He stood up and held out his hand. “Now go cuddle with your baby boys. Austin’s always good for your wounded soul, and Luke doesn’t need you playing the invisible man.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Distract the shit out of Tilden?”

Milton raised his eyebrows.

“I can drink tea and pretend to be interested in the morphology of Russian verbs with the best of them, but I was thinking of something more physical. He can be sweet in bed if I catch him in the right moment.”

Sheldon slipped easily from Milton’s embrace with a kiss on Milton’s cheek that was sweet, endearing, and way too platonic. He winked and waved ta ta with a flap of his hand. Milton sighed and rubbed his hand over his smooth cheek. He was supposed to know how to do this now. He was no wet behind the ears dominant, and without Sheldon he would be lost. Mentally Milton shook himself as he felt his mood drop toward melancholy. He didn’t have the luxury of regrets or what ifs. No matter how arrogant it sounded he was the sun in this solar system of relationships, and he couldn’t flame out in exhaustion or uncertainty. All he wanted to do was go sit with Sheldon and drink a cup of coffee, enjoy the silent companionship of long term lovers, or maybe not so silent in Sheldon’s case. Still and silent had never been Sheldon’s way. But still Milton longed for the directness of his redheaded urchin. He didn’t have to parse his words for Sheldon. He didn’t have to plot strategy or worry about consequences. They knew each other. They knew where it hurt to poke and prod and sometimes they would. They weren’t saints. They both had strong dispositions, and they’d both hurt each other. Milton had almost struck a mortal blow to their relationship, but they’d found their way back. Luke was different. The boy was so damn fragile that he made Milton’s head hurt. Breathe deeply and the boy acted fatally wounded.

Green Pastures 9

Green Pastures 9

Dinner. How many of these Saturday dinners had Luke sat like a bump on a log. He could remember when he’d first sat down at the long mahogany table with the white linen and delicate china. It had been a novelty. He couldn’t remember eating with his family on any regular basis. His mother had left when he’d been young enough that his memories of her were vague, and his father didn’t do family except at holidays and then the tension was so thick that sane people spent the evening swilling as much liquor as possible. 

Dinner was sacrosanct here, everyone around the table, everyone cleaned and pressed, everyone forced into conversation. Luke thought he’d perfected the art of invisibility, but tonight Milton seemed determined to keep him present and not drifting into his private world over the roast and potatoes. They’d shifted the order of the chairs, and Luke found himself on Milton’s left instead of down at the more familiar distant end.

Milton was in one of his lord of the manor moods. On more approachable nights, he’d ask about the number of potatoes or inquire about a preference for green beans or spinach. Not tonight, he placed the food and passed the plates. Even Austin didn’t complain as Milton poured the gravy and it ran over into his green beans. He looked too damn sated to complain about anything, all loose limbed with a silly smile on his face and dreamy eyes. Sheldon was soliciting attention, pushed close and leaning into Milton at every chance. Milton was indulging him with a kiss to his forehead and a hand that kept disappearing under the table. Tilden was sitting very still, braced against the pain from his beating, but eating calmly. Trent and Mace were at the other end, eating with minimal discussion except to ask for salt or butter.

“May I be excused?” Luke had learned the formal words long ago. Walking away from the table was something that wasn’t done. Even Mace would ask, and Trent always waited until it was time to clear.

“No.”

One word uttered with such absoluteness that Luke was struck with the urge to dump his plate down Milton’s shirt. For once he understood Sheldon’s crazed impulsiveness. Luke might have followed through with his own impulsiveness if Milton hadn’t taken his plate at that exact moment and divided his meal into half, sliding a potato and a healthy slice of meat onto his own plate. He cut the remaining meat into bite sized pieces before placing it back at Luke’s place.

“Finish it please.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Did you have any lunch, or did you eat something out of the vending machine in the basement of the language building?”

“Chips,” Luke muttered, knowing his face was coloring at the interrogation. He was an adult. Milton had cut his meat and was asking him questions suitable for a wayward five year old.

“Sick?” Milton questioned, his eyes soft and mildly amused behind his glasses. Without his beard, his eyes were more noticeable, rounder or bigger or something which made entirely no sense as his beard had never covered his eyes.

Luke shook his head.

“Stubborn and disobedient,” Milton said with a click of his tongue which was as shaming as his words.

Anger followed embarrassment, it was a story Luke knew all too well. His high school record was a colorful saga of such incidents. “I’m not playing this game.” 

“Sit.”

The command drew his ass back to the chair before Luke had even realized he’d started to rise. Milton leaned into him, his nose centimeters away. Luke watched the graying nose hairs wave in the fury of Milton’s breath. 

“You gave me explicit permission.” Each word was pronounced with such clarity and force that the syllables tattooed themselves to Luke’s soul. Milton was angry, not the playful anger Luke saw often enough with Milton’s boys, but real anger, hot and frightening.

“Sorry,” Luke mumbled, his eyes locked on his plate. “I can’t. I’m not…”

“Safeword. This won’t work.”

“No.” Luke shook his head and fisted the white tablecloth. “It’s not like that. Please.”

Why was he pleading? Milton had embarrassed and humiliated him. Milton was offering a way out, a way to save face, and he wasn’t grabbing it.

“Luke. I have done nothing to violate our agreement, and you are in distress. I won’t torture you.” 

Milton’s voice was too kind, too gentle. Why couldn’t he just yell or yank Luke over his knee for his idiocy? This was impossible. Luke felt tears, hot and shameful against the back of his eyes. Crying, he wasn’t five.

“Do you want a reason to make crying easier?” Milton brushed his fingers through Luke’s now short hair.

“Fuck off!”

Wrong answer. He could have at least been smart enough to curse in a language Milton didn’t know. Not Russian, Milton knew those curses. The fingers jerked Luke’s hair, and he was propelled across Milton’s knee in a speed that he wouldn’t have thought possible a minute ago. The sound that left his lips wasn’t planned or calculated or in any way manly—something between the howl of a cat and a child screeching. A single hard spank and Luke was jerked to his feet, stripped of his trousers, and dropped back over Milton’s knee with his dress gray flannels bunched at his ankles.

Dangling upside down with a bare ass in a formal dining room was a shocking and sobering thought. He was the good boy. This didn’t happen to him. The flurry of swats heated his flesh, but it was nothing like he’d seen with Mike. Unpleasant, painful, but not frightening. He was secure, pressed against wool and strong thighs, the hand on his flesh grounding him and holding him in the present, focusing him only on the heat in his ass and the wetness on his face.

“Luke, OK?”

“Yes, sir.” Luke wiped his eyes and took a shuddering breath. He was still upside down, red faced and red assed now, but he was OK. He knew what Milton meant. He was OK in all the real ways. He’d allowed this. He wasn’t violated or a victim. He was embarrassed beyond thought, but he’d get over that.

“Should we resume our meal?”

“Yes, sir.”

Luke was righted and his pants pulled up with practiced efficiency. “Brat.” Milton’s smile crept just to the corner of his mouth and he hid it at as fast as it had appeared. He placed Luke back in his chair with no concern that wood and freshly spanked ass weren’t bosom buddies. “Eat.”

Luke ate. He stared at the plate, refusing to look at anyone around the table. God, he was an idiot. He just needed to keep his head down and this would all pass.

Luke barely registered Mace picking up his plate and Trent passing around the apple pie. He could have been eating chopped cardboard. He skipped the ice cream, even though, he was pretty sure he liked ice cream on his apple pie. It was one less thing to swallow.

People were leaving the table. Milton had stood up which meant dinner was over. He was talking to Austin in a low murmur, his hand resting on Austin’s shoulder. Austin smiled and nodded.

“Brat.”

Luke jumped at the voice. 

Sheldon draped himself over Luke and continued in the same affectionate voice. “You play, you pay, and he went easy on you.”

“It was in front of everyone.”

“We’re not strangers, Luke, and you asked for it in front of everyone.”

“I wasn’t—“

“Don’t even pretend there. I saw you and I heard you. You wanted it. You did everything, but dump dinner on Milton’s head.”

Luke felt the heat rise in his face. He fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth.

“You thought about it.” Sheldon laughed and punched Luke in the shoulder. “You little brat. I didn’t think you had it in you. At your age he’ll play hardball if you land dinner on his head, so I’d be careful.” Sheldon grabbed a chair and sat close, his knee bumping Luke’s leg. His voice dropped to a low conspiratorial tone. “He has you, Luke. You don’t have to make him prove it every minute, but he’ll oblige you if you go down that path. Choose.”

“Bed, Luke.” Milton’s voice snapped across the dining room.

“It’s eight thirty.”

“Yes, and I sent you to bed. You’re tired and stressed. Rest will do you good.”

“I’m not that tired,” Luke groused.

“I’m sure you’re not.” Milton turned around and stepped closer to the table. The threat was there even if a solid piece of mahogany still blocked the path. “I want you in bed. Now go.”

“You’re just pushing me around. I know when I’m tired.”

“You’re right on both counts.” Milton clicked his fingers and pointed at the door. “My orders are what matters, not my reasons behind them. I’ll come tuck you in shortly. Brush your teeth and get in your pajamas.”

Luke refrained from sticking his tongue out. He wanted to. It seemed like the perfect response to such bossiness. Instead he stood up, wrapped the remnants of his dignity around him, and went to the bedroom. He flopped on the bed and pulled out his laptop. He could kill a few hours this way, and his highness Milton could stuff it.

“Do you need supervision?”

Milton was standing just inside the door. He could do intimidation beautifully from a distance. His voice dripped with a promise of punishment even as the tone stayed level and reasonable.

“No.”

“Pajamas, did you forget?”

“I told you I wasn’t tired.” 

“And I thought I told you that your level of tiredness mattered little. This can be as ugly as you want, Luke, but I don’t think you want me manhandling you into your pajamas, not that I might not enjoy it.” Milton grinned, a hungry gleam in his eye. “Squirmy, half-naked boy fighting me. My idea of fun.” He tossed Luke’s pajamas at him. “Change.”

“Bastard!”

“I’m not arguing. Go on, boy.”

Dragged into his pajamas or changing on his own, they were both awful choices. Luke grabbed the t-shirt and blue cotton pajama bottoms and headed for the bathroom. He jerked off his dress clothes and crumpled them into a heap. That probably violated some dictate of Milton’s, but bed had been the order. He’d get in the damn bed with brushed teeth and proper pajamas. 

“You’re in a fine mood.”

Milton was sitting on the end of the bed, legs crossed, dark socks showing from under his gray flannels. He was calm, collected, and beyond reproach, and it pissed Luke off.

“I’m getting in bed. I don’t need supervision.”

Milton smiled, a tiny sympathetic smile that softened the harsh lines of his face and lightened his dark eyes. “I have far more sympathy to Gordon than I used to. I did that every night for months. He’d put me over the bed and give me six of the best and then put me to bed and talk my ear off. I thought he was a total bastard.”

“He is a total bastard.”

Milton shrugged and patted the bed. “He made me understand myself when I was a mess of hormones and contradictory desires. I didn’t much like him when the cane was leaving stripes on my ass, but he was good for me and good to me. He talked to me and nothing I wanted to talk about was off limits. He made me talk to him; something I never did with you, but I should have. You can’t pretend any longer. I need to see what is really there, not what you think I want to see, not what you feel is appropriate to show the world, but what is in the depths of your soul.” Milton folded his hand in his lap, and his voice continued in the same steady cadence. “You handed me enormous power today.”

“There is a long list of what I won’t do,” Luke said, his voice louder than he meant. He’d wanted to sound calm and rational, but Milton’s steadiness only made him feel more frazzled. 

“You put restrictions on the accouterments of dominance and submission that makes our relationship appear suitable for a nineteenth century governess to read to her young charges. You did nothing to protect yourself from true danger. I can have fun with handcuffs, whips, and anal beads with a complete stranger. I’d never touch guiding and controlling the life of someone I picked up in a bar. You handed me the power to make you eat and to go to bed at entirely unreasonable times. Do you see that now?  You didn’t ask for pleasure or fun, you asked for control, and to be crude I could totally fuck with you. Worse I could probably totally fuck with you and convince you I wasn’t until I’d crippled you. I won’t, Luke, or at least I’ll try not to. I’ll keep the power arbitrary enough that you remember it’s by choice, not because you need a keeper or a parent. I’ll send you to bed at unreasonable hours, not because I think you can’t determine how much sleep you need, but because this is how we decided to play this game. I’ll be there when you really need me, but I expect the same from you, the same from anyone I love, anyone I call family. Tilden can be an absolute rock, but it has nothing to do with dominance or power imbalances or the desire to control. A dominant doesn’t have a uniquely better understanding of the world or greater coping mechanisms. You’ve handed me power that says I do, so I’m going to remind you at times of the complete arbitrariness of my power. We’ll all be that pillar when you need it, but I’ll still be an ass at times just because I feel like it and you want it.” Milton stood up and kissed Luke’s forehead. “If you want me to get you off, I will, otherwise no touching yourself.”

“You bastard!”

“Absolutely.” Milton fenced Luke’s head in with his hands and leaned down. His lips met Luke’s. It wasn’t chaste. Luke’s mouth was plundered and conquered and he was left breathless. “You sure?”

“Go away.” Luke pushed at Milton with his hands. He was still breathless. He could say yes. Milton was offering, his hand resting on Luke’s stomach, so close to the part that was traitorously begging for attention.

The kiss was chaste, a gentle peck on the forehead no different from the kiss of a relative seen only at Christmas. “Good night.” Milton reached for the light and switched it off. “This stays off. Sleep.”

Right. Luke cursed his traitorous body. He didn’t want Milton, not like that, not at his whim, not on his knees with a cock shoved down his throat, not being plowed with no recourse but to take it. He liked it slow and gentle, love, not primitive savagery.

Three hours later and he was still awake. He heard the house become quiet, no more muffled laughter from the family room or cut off shouts from Austin who seemed to be in high spirits. Luke padded over to the window and stared out into the darkness. From this angle he could see the cluster of lights that were the student dormitories. They’d be coming alive now with shouts and plastic cups filled with beer and soccer matches in the hall. For college students it was still early, the evening just starting.

“You’re still awake.”

No duh! He’d been sent to bed at the children’s hour. What did Milton expect?

“Tilden crashed on the sofa. I’m not strong enough to carry him, so he’ll probably have a stiff neck tomorrow. Austin and Sheldon are both snoring. Do you want anything?”

Luke shook his head. He could think of a few things, but they’d probably all get him beat.

“Do you want me to spank you for being out of bed? You have broken the spirit of my instructions.”

“No.” Luke turned back toward the window. Why would he want that?

“Do you want the other?”

“I don’t need sex every five minutes. I’m not a pervert.”

“Am I?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Fair enough. I won’t argue that, but I know you and Tilden aren’t celibate.”

“I’m not doing it by order.”

“Invitation, and you’re going to find out the joys of monastic life if you decide to be stubborn. You don’t touch yourself or have anyone else touch you without my permission. I will know, and for your information this is far harder without the cage.”

“I can manage,” Luke spat.

“We’ll see. Now in bed.”

Milton was going to stay. He took off his pajama top and slid into the bed. Luke rolled to the other side and slammed his head against the pillow.

“No warm boy to cuddle tonight?” Milton’s voice was warm and teasing and tempting.

“No, not in the mood.” Only he was, but he wasn’t giving that bastard a victory. He’d been humiliated from dawn to dusk and now he wanted to curl up with his torturer like a puppy. He wasn’t deranged or addled or just plain crazy.

One in the morning. Milton was snoring, his face slack in the muted light from the street. Luke needed to pee. He’d tried to sleep, he really had, but sleep wouldn’t come. It hung tantalizingly close for a minute and then galloped off leaving him with his brain churning. A piss and a drink of water would help. Maybe, or at least he could pretend it would.

“Come here.”

Oh, God! The man was a light sleeper. He should have remembered that. Of course, he’d heard the toilet flush.

“You enjoy this.” Milton pulled him close, rested Luke’s lighter body against his chest. “You like being held. Stop thinking and go to sleep. You can beg in the morning.”

“What?”

“Yes,” Milton said with a chuckle. “Punishment for not sleeping. No relief until you beg.”

“In your dreams.”

“We’ll see.” Milton’s arm rested heavily around Luke; his breath fluttered through the blond curls. “Life is to be enjoyed. Let yourself go.”

Luke awoke to the sound of the shower in the adjoining bathroom. The door was ajar to try to disperse the steam, and Luke could hear the water cascading down onto the tile walls and floor. It was only seven and Sunday. Luke groaned and pulled the covers up to his chin. He wanted more sleep, yet he was too awake now. Sleep was a lovely fantasy that he wasn’t going to have.

The water shut off. Milton stepped from the shower and reached for a towel. He wrapped it around his waist and searched in the medicine cabinet for a fresh razor. He touched his face, as if surprised by the smoothness of his cheeks. For a man who had worn a beard for most of his adult live, he shaved in long, smooth strokes. He wiped the lather from his face with the towel he’d slung around his neck and turned and faced the bedroom. His eyes met Luke’s.

“Need the bathroom?”

Luke nodded, not wanting to engage with Milton this morning. Couldn’t he just vanish to his own crazies?

“Do you want anything from me before I go in search of clean clothes?” Milton reached for Tilden’s bathrobe which was too small but serviceable. He hid nothing as he dropped the towel and wrapped the robe around his waist.

“I’m fine.”

Did he need anything? Yeah, to punch the bastard in the nose. He didn’t think of sex every moment and certainly not before morning coffee.

“As you wish. Luke,” Milton continued after a momentary pause, “I will consider it a serious breach of trust if you touch yourself. Do you understand?”

Hello, he wasn’t a sex crazed maniac, not like the crazy in the bathrobe. He could go a few days without turning into the wicked witch of the West. Probably not the best thing to say. Luke settled on a nod and a mumbled bland noise.

“I offered. Remember that.” Milton walked over to the bed and kissed Luke’s cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Thank God the man had finally left. Luke headed for the bathroom, cursing the tingling in his groin. He needed to pee, nothing else. He’d never been told not to touch himself, and now his hand lingered as he shook off the last drops of urine. He wanted to. How would the damn beast ever know? It was his body. Milton didn’t have any right to dictate what Luke did to himself.

His hand had been moving as the thoughts whirled through his head. He was hard now, primed. One last stroke. Shit! Luke grabbed a wash cloth his heart still beating fast. Milton was going to kill him. Milton was never going to know. 

He showered, shaved, and dressed. A quick glance in the mirror, nothing showed. No flush on his cheeks. He looked normal, ordinary. Yeah, and he felt like it was stamped on his forehead. He grabbed a book off the nightstand. That would look ordinary, his head stuck in a book. He did that on a regular basis.

Milton was already in the kitchen, dressed in his Sunday jeans and a Banner sweatshirt that was faded and frayed around the cuffs. 

“Coffee or tea?”

“Coffee.”

Milton poured the cup and added the splash of cream that he knew Luke liked. His attention was still half on the paper he was reading. He only glanced up as he passed the coffee to Luke. He froze. Slowly he turned back toward the counter and set down the cup.

“You did, didn’t you?”

What did he have a giant w on his forehead for wanker? Luke shifted on his feet, not able to meet Milton’s eyes, debating a brazen lie or capitulating without a fight.

“Luke.” Milton gripped Luke’s chin and angled his head up. “Tell me.” 

Dangling like a fish on a hook, the order was impossible to ignore. “Yes, sir.”

“Come with me.” Everything about the words were ordinary, but Luke suppressed a shiver. Milton hadn’t yelled. He hadn’t even glared at Luke. He’d merely walked out of the kitchen without looking back.

They went into Tilden’s study. Everyone else must still be asleep upstairs and Milton must not want to wake them, Luke thought rather uselessly. Milton leaned against the back of an armchair, his eyes trained out into the yard. He stood looking at a view they’d all seen a million times. Luke fidgeted. Should he stand or sit? Maybe he should speak first?

Finally Milton spoke, “Luke, you are many things, some that I freely admit that I find difficult, but I never thought you were untrustworthy. I’m not sure what to do now. You deeply violated my trust.”

“I jerked off. It’s hardly life or death.”

“Not life or death, but dishonest and hurtful. I’m not sure if I’m angry or sad. My first impulse is to burn our contract and forget it, but our life is far too complicated for a simple solution. Did you even try, Luke?”

“Not really,” Luke mumbled, his eyes filling with unexplainable tears. He hadn’t thought this was a big deal. It wasn’t arson or kidnapping or bank robbery. He’d jerked off, a minor hiccup. 

Milton turned toward Luke, his dark eyes sweeping over Luke. “I take my role as a dominant seriously. You’ve spent ten years telling yourself and me that the blatant sexuality of my dominance turns you off, that you’re not that sort of person, and that I’m straddling the line of perversion. We spent hours talking about this yesterday, and you spelled out very clearly that you didn’t want to play sex games with me, to use your words. You’ve demanded none of the tools that I’d use if I was playing with this. Luke, you gave me control over you. I asked for something very simple, and you threw it into my face. With anyone else, I’d spank his ass and shove them in a cock cage until hell froze over, but what am I to do with you? You said none of that. Do you want out? Were you simply not thinking? Have you been lying to yourself as well as me? Luke, what am I to do?”

Luke stared down as his feet, tears blurring his vision. 

“Luke, I want an answer.”

“I don’t know,” Luke whispered. “I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t mean for it to be this serious. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Luke, Luke, Luke,” Milton said with exasperation. He grabbed Luke’s wrist and pulled him close. “You have no idea what to tell me to do, do you?”

Luke nodded, thankful for the bulk of Milton’s arms that seemed to be holding him up. 

“Less than twenty-four hours. You are a sexual submissive. We are not pretending, not now, not ever. Less than an hour since I left the room. Nothing could make your inclinations clearer. I’m handling it that way. Six with the cane and a cage until I think you have a modicum of control. We will have to redo the contract today. Agreed?” Milton pushed Luke away and waited for an answer.

“Yes, sir.” What else could he say?