Visit Without Master
Milton reached down and finger combed Sheldon’s hair. Sheldon was seated on the floor, leaning into Milton’s legs and editing the newest Green Mountain Boys’ documents—introductory flyers and information sheets.
“Are you as tired of this endless paperwork as I am?” Milton rolled his head and rubbed the back of his own neck. “Landon and Gordon were far more efficient at this stuff.”
“They dumped it on poor innocent boys in training. I know how they operate.”
Milton gently flicked the back of Sheldon’s head. “Don’t get cheeky. It’s not proper decorum for a slave boy.”
“Yes, Master.” Sheldon’s head dropped to his work.
Milton sighed and shifted. He hadn’t expected such easy acquiescence. Sheldon would usually snap out a few smart comments as a distraction. Milton studied his boy on the floor. This was his usual whirlwind green-eyed redheaded monster who was quietly editing and had hardly moved all morning. He looked relaxed, even happy, not resistant or stressed. Milton hadn’t played or pretended with the new restrictions. He was Master, and Sheldon was slave. Milton didn’t chain Sheldon to the toilet, beat him daily, or keep him continually naked; that was best left to some of the more extreme and outlandish fiction, but he had systematically removed all choice. Breakfast food was the least of the lost choices. Sheldon had no money of his own. Sheldon had closed his accounts under Milton’s direction, and his money had been moved into Milton’s accounts. His paychecks were automatically deposited into Milton’s checking account. Even permission to work now depended on Milton’s whims.
“Do you want me to check these?”
“Yes, Master.” The words came too easily to Sheldon’s lips, or at least they did in Milton’s mind. This boy was doing slavey as he did everything else, never halfway. Sheldon had never been a halfway brat, and now he wasn’t a halfway slave. He had thrown himself into the bonds of his new status.
Milton reached down and picked up Sheldon’s laptop. “I’ll do this later.” Milton pulled Sheldon to his feet. “My concentration is less than yours.” Milton wrapped his arm possessively around Sheldon’s waist and kissed him firmly. “I can’t look at you all morning and not want to touch you.”
That brought a sparkle to Sheldon’s eyes, and he grinned with a boyish and often bratty expression that always melted Milton’s heart. “I could fix that, Master”
“Hello! Hello!” Two voices rang out from below. “Anyone home?”
“Blade and Ryan. Were you expecting them?” Sheldon’s voice rose with alarm.
“No, but I’m not surprised. Come, boy.” Milton glanced sharply behind his shoulder. He wanted Sheldon at heel. They might as well put on a show. Ryan was checking on Sheldon; it was beyond obvious. Ryan, the dominant who could whip Blade to the edge of blood, was uneasy about the implications of Master and slave. He spoke of his concerns in careful and coded language, at least with Milton, but the meaning was clear enough. When not angry, Ryan was a properly deferential young dominant.
Both Blade and Ryan were in the kitchen. Blade had his head in the refrigerator, still at home here, as he searched for Trent and Mace’s cooking. Ryan was propped against the counter. He was trying to look nonchalant, but his eyes were focused on Sheldon with the intensity he usually reserved for watching Blade.
“Don’t you feed that, boy?” Milton asked, intentionally making a bid to defuse the tension.
“Baking’s not my forte,” Ryan said.
Blade shut the refrigerator and made a move toward Sheldon. Ryan snagged Blade’s shirt and pulled him close.
“He may touch,” Milton said and pulled Sheldon from his place behind behind Milton’s shoulder. “They are brothers; I won’t deny contact.”
The hug was hard and long and obviously deeply needed by both. They stood together, two Zaths taking comfort in each other. “You OK, bro?” Blade’s voice was soft, the concern evident despite his casual words.
“Blade, Milton didn’t give you permission for a conversation.”
“Ryan!”
“Your brother is a slave. You must have Milton’s permission.”
“He’s my brother.”
“He is,” Milton said, “and while Ryan is technically correct when I gave you permission to embrace I also considered it permission to converse. You may answer the question, Sheldon.”
“Good,” Sheldon mumbled. “I’m good.”
Ryan’s eyes hardened at Sheldon’s inarticulate comment. He didn’t speak, but the concern was evident on his face.
“Ryan, take them to lunch. They need to talk without me around, and you need to question in privacy. I grant you that right.” Milton reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. “Here’s lunch money for Sheldon.” Milton handed Ryan a twenty which Ryan folded and put in his back pocket.
“I’ll make sure you get your change.”
“Go with them, Sheldon. Have fun.”
****
“Jesus!” Blade swore as he exited the house. “Lord of the manor! What the fuck?”
“Blade, quit,” Ryan growled. He’d known this would be hard. Blade’s picture of his brother was not the quiet man who was walking behind Ryan with his eyes down. It was the often raucous and hellish brat of a boy who’d ruined more than one dinner party.
“I’m still Sheldon Zath.” Sheldon leaned against Ryan’s car, his eyes suddenly hard and determined, the slave demeanor gone.
“Ah, it’s still there,” Ryan said. “Now get in the car. Milton will kick all our asses if I have the Zath boys fighting on the front lawn, mine most of all.” Ryan waited for them to clamber into the car. “So where are we eating? And I’m asking you also, Sheldon.”
Sheldon nodded, but didn’t offer an opinion. Milton had trained him thoroughly. This is the part Ryan didn’t like about these relationships. Sheldon should be vocal and opinionated; he was that sort of boy. Yes, Sheldon had shown some of his fire when pushed by his brother and fellow submissive, but he was being too deferential to Ryan. This was the boy who usually drove Ryan to the near screaming point in fifteen minutes.
“Sheldon it’s your choice,” Ryan said.
Sheldon froze for a moment. He stared down at his jeans and brushed off an invisible speck. “I don’t make these decisions anymore.”
“Milton handed you into my care for the afternoon. I want you to make the decision.”
“I don’t want to.” Sheldon’s voice was forceful. He drew his head up and stared directly at Ryan. “This is my choice. Ryan, you’re the one who lamented my bratting. I’ve faced my reality. Now don’t try to change it.”
“Very well.” Ryan reached across and squeezed Sheldon’s knee. “I had to make sure. Forgive me.”
“Thanks, Ryan,” Sheldon said, “and I do like pizza.”
“You’re impossible, boy. Pizza it is.”
They’d eaten the pizza, actually two pizzas. Blade was a bottomless pit when pizza was involved. Ryan had ordered the food. He’d eaten enough with Sheldon to know his topping preferences. Stay away from olives and anchovies and the boy was happy. Blade was more difficult. He still preferred the plain cheese and would laboriously pick off any vegetables.
“Have you had enough?” Ryan asked Sheldon. There was still one piece on the table. Ryan had been putting the pizza on Sheldon’s plate, not asking him if he wanted more. He hadn’t watched Milton in his master role, but knowing the man, Ryan doubted if he asked Sheldon about his dining preferences. Even in only the role of dominant, Milton had hard edges, more real life and less play than Ryan.
Ryan played hard with his partner, over the edge for some people, but it was play, and Blade was a masochist. Blade craved pain, and he craved pushing his tolerance. He was the ultimate adrenalin junky, and Ryan indulged him. Sheldon wasn’t a pain pig. Ryan knew that more than a hand spanking turned that boy’s guts to jelly, and here he was a slave. He was a slave with a master trained by Gordon Lewis. Ryan grudgingly respected Gordon. He’d seen Gordon be damn good with a panicked submissive, but Ryan had entered the Green Mountain Boys with a deep animosity to Gordon; his opinion influenced by Gavin. Ryan could see all the hard edges that Gavin had outlined in detail. It was Landon that kept Gordon within the boundaries of safe and sane, and Sheldon was no Landon. Ryan wasn’t sure what Sheldon was.
Ryan had watched Sheldon for several years. He knew the boy didn’t like pain, and he knew he adored Milton. Ryan had thought he’d understood Sheldon’s submission or more correctly fear of submission. Sheldon had played around the edges, teasing and baiting to got exactly what he wanted. Now he’d leapt into the deep end. Milton went roaming, and Sheldon decided he was a slave. Insane.
Blade played with the title master, but Ryan knew where it ended—on Monday morning when they both went back to work. Blade enjoyed scampering around naked and pretending he was a much abused captive. He didn’t enjoy having Ryan order his dinner or control his spending habits. And Blade enjoyed pain. The few relationships Ryan had known with the title of master and slave had centered around extreme fetishes and pain. Sheldon wasn’t that sort of boy; Ryan was sure of that.
“Sheldon, the pizza?” Sheldon hadn’t answered the first time. He’d been deep in conversation with his brother, but still Ryan thought he’d been intentionally ignored. Sheldon had been watching him closely the entire lunch; he’d heard the question.
“I’m full, Ryan,” Sheldon answered politely.
“You didn’t hear me the first time?”
“No, Ryan. My apologies, Ryan.” Sheldon’s eyes were wide and much too innocent.
“You’re playing me, boy, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Sheldon couldn’t hide his grin.
“You impossible red-haired urchin. I should whip your ass.” Ryan flicked his napkin at Sheldon.
“You won’t. Your arm’s too tired from beating my brother here. He’s the one who’s into the whips.”
Here was the opening. Sheldon had handed it to Ryan with an engraved invitation, and Ryan could bet that Sheldon knew exactly what he was doing. “So what are you into?” Ryan tried to keep his voice casual, a conversation no more important than discussing the fate of Banner’s dreadful football team.
“Not feeling like the pheasant under glass. You and Blade have stared at me all lunch. I haven’t grown any horns.”
“Not yet, next week,” Ryan said flippantly, not reacting to the provocation.
“Sheldon, we’re worried.” Blade never had a problem with honesty. “You were always the scoundrel. You played Milton like a maestro and his violin. I’ve smashed into Milton’s hard side. He scares me when he steps fully into the master side, and he’s not playing anymore.”
Sheldon wadded the paper napkin into a ball. “I was afraid. I spent years crazily in love and afraid also. I did stupid things and nothing really awful ever happened, so I did stupider things.” Sheldon took a drink of soda. “I drank and drove into the garage, the side of the garage, not where you’re supposed to park. I was terrified. Milton hurt me, and Ryan you’re right; I’m not a masochist. But I craved control. I loved the other stuff he did.” Sheldon raked his fingers through his hair. “I was gutless. I never managed to tell him what I wanted. Milton’s good at guessing, but he’s not psychic. We got stuck in some demented game. Sure we got good at the game, and we almost gave each other what we wanted, but it was like staring at a chocolate cake and never eating it. Well, you know what happened from there.” Sheldon shrugged and smiled, a fleeting twist of his lips that didn’t touch his eyes.
“Not so fast, boy,” Ryan said. “If we’re talking, we’re going to do this right, not some lightning trip around the periphery. My understanding is you still don’t like pain.”
“I don’t. We’re not doing that.”
“You have little choice now,” Ryan said. “Milton’s holding the cards.”
“Yes, I gave him the deck, but I trust him not to draw all jokers. I have to trust him. I need that.”
“Shit, boy. You’re in this deep.” Ryan pulled Sheldon against him, not caring who might see. “You’ve gone all the way in, and you want this. Oh, Shit!”
“Ryan, it’s not bad, and people can see.”
“That from the boy who’s dumped iced tea over the head of fellow diners at fancy restaurants,” Ryan said with a strained laugh and released Sheldon.
“I don’t do that anymore.” Sheldon paused and look at his brother and Ryan. “Milton defended your right to hit my brother far harder than I understand. He said you both enjoy it, that the giving and taking of pain is an important part of your dynamic. I want this with Milton. I trust him. Please don’t interfere.”
“Sheldon.” Blade reached out and ruffled his brother’s hair. “It’s not my place to interfere. I’m the boy who is ecstatic at the sight of a whip, especially the sight of a whip and a group of spectators. Go for it. Not my thing, but I know if Ryan brought out his whips you’d be running for the hills.”
“Sheldon, you’ve thought about this,” Ryan said softly. “You’ve finally found yourself, and I’m very proud of you. You’ve given a heartfelt defense of your relationship, and I know such introspection is hard for you. I’ve seen you and Milton do the avoidance dance for too many years. Milton may anger me sometimes, but I do trust him as a dominant. If anyone is going to do this sort of relationship, he probably has the discipline and control to make it work, but I want you to remember if it is ever too much we’re a phone call away, even if all you want is a break for a few days. OK?”
“Yes, Ryan.”
“Don’t forget.”
“I’m not stupid. I’m just crazy, and I’m Milton’s slave.”
“That you are.” Ryan held out his hand. “Let’s get you home to your master.”
