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

Mike's Saga 20

Mike’s Saga 20

Mike flipped the DVD case in his hand. He was the gay boy; of course, he’d be stuck with doing the advertising work for the gay film festival, but shit he hadn’t expected this. Lovely films about gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender weren’t the only things planned, but vivid films about power and kink were also on the agenda. Did they know he was a boy at work? God, he hoped not. His boss was already hopelessly smug with his too easy and too fake smile and his ready pitch for all the clients. The man had about snickered when he’d come into Mike’s cubicle, carrying a box of DVDs, and draped himself against the wall.

“You’re in charge of this. It should be right up your alley.”

Gay, Mike didn’t hide that. Submissive, he hid that. Sheldon went to work with a collar visible on his neck. Mike could barely tolerate the thin leather bands he wore around each wrist. They did look like jewelry, but still he knew they were cuffs. They represented his willingness to submit to Milton, to be the good boy that Milton so strongly demanded. Mike had taken off the hated strips of leather twice and been caught once. He didn’t want the promised consequences if he took them off again. His submissiveness would be painted across the sky in great big letters.

“Mike, I agreed to carve out areas that weren’t under my direct control, but you defy me and disrespect all that is us, and I’ll rescind the privilege. Think about what you want, boy, because the choice is yours.” Milton in that soft tone had been soul piercingly terrifying. Mike didn’t doubt he’d be brought to heel in the worst ways. Milton knew which buttons to push, and he wasn’t refraining from the pushing. Mike had thought he’d known Milton, knew who he was at his most demanding, but Mike had been living with fuzzy rainbows over his eyes. Milton demanded everything. He was relentless, and Mike wanted nothing but more.

Mike had always thought the praise had been silly. Good boy was for your pet, but Milton had done something to Mike. He wanted to hear those two words in Milton’s soft purr; he wanted to feel Milton’s hand around his neck in that gentle and reassuring squeeze. Milton had rewarded Mike over the weekend. He could still feel the ache and warmth in his ass if he tried hard enough. Milton in a scene was stunning. He’d stood over Mike, his shirt off showing his thick pelt of salt and pepper chest hair. His black jeans had been stuffed into shiny black boots, and the wide belt around his hips had soon found a much better place whistling down on Mike’s ass. That had been good. Pissed Milton demonstrating his power over Mike wasn’t so good. Stomp and snarl and drive everyone insane with his foul mood, and Milton became all dark magic. God, he’d found that out more than once the hard way.

***

“Upstairs.” Milton dropped his napkin on the table, and his fingers, deceptively soft, stroked Austin’s hair.

Mike stood, not sure what to do with those eyes directed at him. Black fire wasn’t a good look on Milton.

“My apologies, but no one else needs to be disturbed,” Milton said in his most proper tone and rose from the table. He didn’t use words; he jerked his head a fraction, and Mike ran up the stairs in front of the demon.

Mike stood in the large bedroom and wished there was a place to hide in its airiness. The bed was made with its usual understated cream coverlet with the extra blankets folded at its foot. Austin’s pink unicorn sat on a pillow as if taunting anyone to speak of its silliness.

“Strip.” 

Strip. Dress. Eat. It was one of those days. Mike had an adult grasp of language skills; Milton could use big and complicated words. Mike dumped his clothes in an untidy heap. Milton ignored the mess and bent over Mike with a ring of metal. Mike flinched at the touch of cold and grunted as he felt the sharp points.

“Fuck!”

“I will. On your hands and knees. Ass up.”

The slap on his ass was eye watering as Mike scrambled to find his place. The rough wool rug dug into his knees as Milton’s finger slicked his opening with lube. The preparation was perfunctory at best. Milton wasn’t a huge man, but he wasn’t pencil thin. Mike grunted as his opening was breached and braced himself as Milton took him with brutal efficiency. He was a body, a hole to pleasure the boss man’s cock. There was no pleasure for Mike; even the battering across his prostate was painful as his own cock struck the spikes if it grew beyond limp. He shut his eyes and willed himself to go elsewhere. He felt the tears on his cheeks. He’d been baiting; he deserved this, but it didn’t make it any easier. He choked back a sob as Milton’s pelvis ground into him. He’d be done soon. This would have to be over soon.  The teeth were sharp on his shoulder as Milton came. He was going to have a nasty bruise for sure.

Milton pulled out and wiped himself with Mike’s tossed off shirt. “Up, boy.”

Mike struggled to his feet, trying to hide his confusion of emotions. God, he wanted Milton’s arms around him. He wanted the gentleness he saw with Austin. Shit! He wasn’t a wimp.

“Mike.” Milton’s finger stroked the damp cheek. He drew Mike into a crushing and protective hug. “Why didn’t you safeword?”

“I deserved it.”

“No one deserves the way you look now. I won’t rape you.”

Mike leaned against Milton’s broad chest; he felt the scratchiness of Milton’s old-fashioned sweater vest against his naked skin. “It was sex to put me in my place. I understand that. I am your submissive. I should actually submit,” Mike said bitterly.

“You did submit.” Milton fingers played through Mike’s short hair. “You submitted through something you obviously hated, through something that was very wrong.”

“Don’t be melodramatic.” Mike pushed away from Milton. “I didn’t like it: I deserve things I don’t like.”

“You were crying. I have to beat you raw to make you cry.”

“I like pain and you know it.” Mike bit his lip and stared up at Milton’s troubled eyes. “I don’t like being powerless, I don’t like bending to your will, and you just very effectively reminded me of my place. Wasn’t that the point anyway? Teach me I’m the submissive; remind me that you require me to submit?”

“Yes,” Milton whispered, his eyes full of something Mike couldn’t identify. Maybe sorrow, maybe compassion, maybe self-loathing.

“Mission accomplished. I learned my lesson.”

“It’s not worth it when I truly hurt you. It’s unforgivable.”

“Fuck it!” Mike kicked his barefoot against the rug. “I didn’t fucking safeword! I’m a big boy. You took Austin to task when I screwed up for not safewording with me. I can protect myself. I don’t need you looking over your shoulder all the time. I’m not glass.”

“I’ve made you emotionally vulnerable. It’s part of this relationship. It’s my role to protect you when you’re vulnerable, not exploit it.”

“Gordon exploits it. Landon exploits it. What makes you different?” Mike grabbed his pants off the floor and jerked them on, not caring that he didn’t have his boxers and that Milton’s cum mixed with lube was dripping from his ass in small dribbles. “You’re not Superman. You don’t have magic powers. I’ve been an ass for years. I deserve to get kicked to my place. You were very effective.” Mike shuddered and felt a new wave of tears break loose.

“Come here.” Milton hauled Mike onto the bed. “Shh. I want to love you now. I shattered you across the floor. Let me have this now. I need it. You need it.”

The kisses were soft and delicate. Somehow Milton had lost his clothes, and hot skin rubbed against hot skin. The horrible steel with the spikes was gone along with Mike’s pants. Milton’s mouth was so hot against his flesh.

“Please. I can’t...I’m going…”

 Milton pulled off, his words breathless. “Go ahead.”

Mike had seen Milton do this with Sheldon, but Milton didn’t give Mike this pleasure. He didn’t effortlessly swallow his difficult boy. Mike couldn’t think. He exploded as Milton’s tongue pleasured the sensitive flesh.

Milton swallowed easily and licked his lips. “Good boy. Now sleep.” Milton arm was unmovable around Mike’s chest.

****

Mike knew what was on the video. He’d been so young, so naive. He couldn’t bear to watch it, and he had to create the advertising campaign. The other two DVD’s had been easy, pure porn and not very good. He wasn’t ready to watch The Boys of the Green Mountain. He’d seen the theater release, but that was years ago, and this was the extended version, hours and hours of young and stupid Mike.

He should go to dinner. It was Friday. Milton was anal about family dinner, hiding above the garage and staring at a TV screen wouldn’t cut it. 

He looked so happy in some of these scenes, and he looked so incredibly young. Mike had leaned into the gentle affection that Milton and Tilden were offering. They’d shown Tilden prodding Mike and Luke through their homework; they’d shown a quiet family dinner interrupted once by a bread throwing contest between Sheldon and his little brother.

“Hey.”

Oh, God, Milton had found him. “Uh, sorry, work.”

Milton watched the screen with a raised eyebrow. “Work?”

“We’re doing the advertising for the film festival. It’s my project.”

“And that involves missing dinner?”

“No, sir.”

Milton dropped on the sofa beside Mike and wrapped his arm around Mike’s shoulder. “You were very young then. Are you embarrassed?”

“Don’t know,” Mike mumbled, truly not knowing his feelings. He looked happy and content on the screen. What had happen? Why was it so hard now?

Milton watched the film for a few moments, rubbing Mike’s shoulder and drawing him closer. “We mixed submission and life guidance. In hindsight, we made a mess of it. We confused you both.”

“I was happy then. I’m not that kid anymore.”

“No. How do I make you happy now?”

It was easier to talk to Milton with both their eyes on the screen. Mike could almost pretend he was just an actor. “I’m better.”

“We’re not there.” Milton kissed the top of Mike’s head. 

“I’m trying.”

“I never said you weren’t.” Milton’s lips brushed Mike’s ear. “Have you watched the part with Landon and Gordon?” Mike shook his head. “It’s on the second DVD. It was never shown. This was a film designed to make our lifestyle easier and more understandable to the general public. The tough stuff was left on the cutting room floor. Maybe that was a mistake.”

****

Landon walked down the winding stairs and flicked on the lights that were swinging raw and exposed on bare wires overhead. He was alone, a microphone clipped to his yellow tie and the cameraman well out of sight. 

“We’ve shown the easy stuff, the gentle and the sweet as the dear tops love and guide their young men in the confusion of life. Now I’ll show you the part that makes films only suitable for the X-rated theaters, and then will try to explain how it all fits together.”

Landon pushed open a heavy door with a melodramatic creak. Inside displayed on all walls and surfaces were the instruments of torture. Whips of all sort hung from hooks. Cages and plugs were displayed across the open shelving. Landon stepped to the cross and spread himself across the surface.

“I enjoy a good beating. For me it’s not about teaching or training. It’s about pleasure.” He bent a crop in his hands and swung it through the air. “The whistle of a whip through the air is magical. I adore the sting across my flesh. This isn’t about me doing my homework or not causing a ruckus at dinner.” Landon smiled at the camera. “I’m too old for homework, and when I cause a ruckus at dinner it’s intentional.”

Landon moved from the cross and sat on the edge of a bondage table. He smoothed his pants and crossed his ankles. “I’m a masochist. I enjoy pain. Gordon and I play here. We are not embarrassed by this; we will not hide our sexuality despite the fact that even today it is still considered a perversion by some. Top and brat might be easy for the general public to swallow. The purity of pain and pleasure disguised. I am Gordon’s submissive. I will not hide behind any other word. For all you have seen on the first film, my dear audience, the boys are submissives. There is pleasure in the rules and the boundaries; there is pleasure in the strike of flesh against flesh. It is our way. Gordon is no more my guide than any partner or lover in any relationship. I control the fire of his disposition not vice versa. I always bow my head to him, but it is not because I can’t function as ably as he. It’s not because I’m not capable of organizing my own life. It is because I am the submissive in this relationship.”

****

Milton flicked the remote and the screen darkened. “Mike, you’re a submissive. It has nothing to do with youth or capability or any of the garbage that it was hidden behind when you first came to us. Submissive does not mean incapable, weak, or needing repair. What do I have to do to make you believe that? I want you to enjoy and relish who you are. Help me get you there.”

Mike swallowed hard and tried to come up with something to say. Milton was too damn kind. It was easier stretched across the desk and at his mercy. “It’s better,” he finally managed to mumble.

“Can you say more without me beating you first?” Milton’s hand shifted to rest against Mike’s ass. “You did miss dinner. I have a good reason to beat you to a beautiful cherry red.”

“I like red,” Mike said with a grin that he knew looked more desperate than cheeky.

“Kneel for me.” Milton gave Mike a gentle push for the sofa. “Hands behind your back.”

Mike heard the clink of the short chains being attached to his wristbands and tried to settle into his submission. Milton was notorious for leaving Mike like this, kneeling and loosely bound. He was better at it now; he didn’t want to kill someone after fifteen minutes. He could make it to a whole thirty minutes before murderous thoughts flooded his brain.  Sheldon, the hyperactive, roll tossing redhead could kneel for hours. He called it peaceful and meditative. This was from the boy who never kneeled when he was younger. Sheldon had made some snide comment about it in the film and smarted off to Milton in multiple scenes. He was so different now--peaceful, composed.

“What are you thinking about?” Milton’s fingers threaded through Mike’s hair.

“Sheldon.”

“He was an awful brat back then, not that I didn’t love him. We weren’t ready for what we have today. It was the best we could do, as imperfect as it was.” Milton massaged Mike’s scalp, his fingers both firm and gentle. “It was the best we could do for you and Luke back then also. Maybe it wasn’t good enough; you’ve both struggled since. I like to think I’ve learned something and that I’m doing better with Austin. It’s hard to know where and how to draw the lines when the submissive is so young and inexperienced. I tried to make it easy for you and Luke by allowing the dominance to plug gaps in life experience without explaining the wheres and the whys. It was a mistake.”

“I don’t know. I looked happy back then.”

“Were you?”

“It wasn’t complicated.”

“And now it is?” Milton shifted to his feet, his hand resting on Mike’s shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

Mike shrugged. “Dunno.”

“That’s not an answer with me. You think about it while I find something to eat up here. I’m going to feed you as you did miss dinner, boy, and I find feeding a beautiful kneeling boy relaxing.”

Mike groaned. Being fed was one of those complicated things, something that tore his brain in two different directions. He hated the helplessness, he hated being at Milton’s mercy for every morsel, but he also enjoyed the attention and the strange contentment that settled over him.

“You did miss dinner. You can consider it punishment if you must.”

“It’s not, is it?” Mike asked, watching Milton’s khaki clad legs drift toward the mini fridge.

“It puts you at my mercy without me beating you bloody. For you that might be punishment. It’s not meant to be punishing; it’s meant to help you find your headspace, but it’s different for every submissive. What does it feel like to you, all preconceived notions set aside?”

“Care taking.”

“Is that bad or good?”

Mike watched Milton cut cheese and lay several handfuls of wheat crackers on a platter.  Not answering was never an option with Milton. “Both.”

“Why?”

“Can’t you ever be satisfied? You’re not my fucking shrink!”

“I’m your dominant, and as such I have certain rights among those having my questions answered.”

“You don’t blather about how you feel all the time. You look like granite and kick my ass.”

“Mike.” Milton carried the platter of food over and sat on the sofa. “Eat.” He held a cracker topped with cheddar cheese to Mike’s lips. “I like to feed my boys. I like the time alone; I like the calmness of the dominance. I like caring for you. My dominance is not only about sadism, not that my sadistic streak isn’t broad and wide. My dominance is also about this, a beautiful boy basking in his own submission. I can’t welt you from shoulders to knees without also doing this; you have to accept that. It’s your turn now.”

Mike slowly chewed the sharp cheese. He wanted more time; Milton was so damn honest. It wasn’t easy putting his feelings out there. “I like this.” Mike hesitated, licking the crumbs off his lips. “Sort of.” Mike looked up into Milton’s dark eyes. Would that be enough? Would he want more? He always wanted more. “Don’t make me.”

“Don’t make you what? You’re eating dinner, and we’re having a nice chat.”

Mike snorted. “You’re feeding me and interrogating me. There is nothing nice about this chat.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Fuck it!” Mike scrambled to his feet.

“Get down or I’ll tie you down.”

Milton would; Mike had seen enough examples of it. Getting his hands tied behind his back was the fucking new normal, but Milton could be creative with the bondage. Tied to the floor didn’t sound fun. Mike dropped back to his knees with a thud and a silent curse.

“I probably deserve every name you’re calling me right now. So why is this so hard?” Milton ran a finger down Mike’s cheek. “Come on, boy, talk to me.”

“Fuck you! I don’t need this.”

“You came back. I’d say you need something.”

“I’m a masochist,” Mike spat. “You’re a sadist; you say so yourself. I need to be hit. I don’t need all this shit. I’m a big boy. I don’t need a care taker. I can take care of myself. I’m not some stupid kid anymore. I’m not weak. I don’t need a parent.” Mike gulped and bitterly cursed the tears that were trying to escape. Crying with your hands tied was just fucking awful.

Milton’s fingers tugged Mike’s hair, anchoring him with a sudden wave of pain, a feeling he welcomed and embraced. “Let’s get something straight, young man. Firstly, I’m not your parent or a parent substitute, not now, not ever. I’m a dominant; I’m a sadist; I’m a control freak. I also try to be a halfway decent human being, which means when you were flailing through life I tried to help. Maybe I did a disastrous job at it, but you, boy, did need guidance. Tilden and I weren’t going to let you fail for real. It’s not in our nature. I probably should have explained how I was using my dominance and your submission. I do with Austin, and for that I apologize. Secondly, no man is an island. Being cared for and about does not make you weak or a child; it makes you loved, and somehow I’ve decided I love your pain in the neck ass. You may be the bane of my existence right now, but I love you, and you will learn to cope with my affection as well as my whip. Thirdly, I only hit if I can also love. You’re stuck with that, boy, so swallow it down and get used to it.”

“You love me?”

“Shit, boy.” Milton scooped Mike off the floor with a flailing tug and surrounded him with his arms and body; his fingers worked the chains loose behind Mike’s back “You didn’t hear me swear,” he whispered into Mike’s ear. “I love you. Do I need to hire an airplane and have it drag a sign behind it?”

“I came with Tilden. You love Tilden; I know that.”

Milton lifted Mike’s chin, let their eyes meet, and gently kissed his lips, the touch and promise of a lover. “I want you.”

“You wouldn’t have chosen me alone,” Mike challenged. He was the extra. Milton didn’t want him; he was the responsibility like he’d always been.

“I had Sheldon, but we aren’t talking either or; we’re talking polyamory. I love each of you and all of you.” Milton kissed Mike’s forehead and shut his eyes for a moment as if he were trying to draw his thoughts together. “I never liked polyamory. I never thought it worked well, and now we are six, and I wouldn’t give a one of you up. You’re each different. Tilden has always been my friend, my secret and perhaps illicit desire. I won’t deny that. Sheldon is my first and my slave. Austin is the cub who brings out every protective molecule in my body. Luke is beautiful and brilliant and still baffles me. And you, my boy, are Mike, a wonderful boy who can enjoy my darkest parts. It’s a thrill to touch you; it’s an honor to be trusted to bring you that pleasure. I want you. You are not an extra. You are not baggage that came with Tilden. You are a magnificent and wonderful submissive, and I’ve had the incredible pleasure of watching you grow from that scruffy boy who was dragged home by an exasperated Tilden to the wonderful man you are today.”

“You really want me? I’m not a duty.”

“Mike, I take you to my bed. I beat you. I don’t do either of those as a duty. I take those pleasures from men I love.” Milton brushed his lips against Mike’s and slowly deepened the kiss. “Good boy,” Milton breathed, stroking Mike’s face and smiling as Mike’s tongue snaked out to catch Milton’s fingers. “Good boy.”

“Please. Need.”

“Come here.”

The bed in the playroom was always made in pristine order. Mike fell back against the soft blankets, limp and compliant with every nerve thrumming with need. He watched glassy-eyed as Milton stripped off his clothes, his body still trim, his shoulders still wide from his days as a farm boy.

“Someone has too many clothes on.” Milton’s fingers were quick on Mike’s shirt. Milton’s lips teased the gold nipple rings as he shucked Mike’s pants down. “Mine.” Milton licked a trail down Mike’s smooth abdomen. His hard cock banged against Mike’s thigh. “What do you want?”

“Love me. Please.”

“Always.” Milton pressed a deep kiss to Mike’s mouth as his slick finger found Mike’s opening. “So good for me. So beautiful.”

“More. Please.”

“Patience. Gentle and calm has its merits. Let me love you.”

“Yes, sir.”

****

“Shouldn’t you be getting back?” Mike asked sleepily. He was tucked against Milton’s chest, a strong arm slung over his hip.

“No.”

“Sheldon…”

“He and Austin will curl up. They’re beautiful together. Neither will top, but one night won’t kill them.”

“Doesn’t Sheldon?”

“Only if I twist his arm and usually only if I’m there.”

“He’s smart.”

“Mike.” Milton brushed his fingers through Mike’s hair. “Are you still fretting over what happened with Austin?”

“I hurt him. I shouldn’t have tried to top.”

“Sexually you’re more versatile. I don’t mind, and neither does Austin. If you top in other ways, you let me teach you, or I will mind.”

“I’m not a switch.”

“No, you’re not, but it doesn’t mean you can’t play a little with the cuddly ones with my permission and my supervision.”

“Bossy.”

“Very. Now go to sleep. I want you as my cuddly one.”

“I’m not cuddly,” Mike groused, but didn’t lift his head from where it was pillowed on Milton’s chest.

“I am, and I call the shots, so get in practice, boy. Now sleep and no more chat. As head of this menagerie, I don’t get to sleep in, so I need to take my rest when I can get it.”

“The hardship of being the top,” Mike snickered and entwined his legs around Milton. “I’ll throw you a pity party.”

“And I’ll throw you a beating, brat.” Milton swatted Mike’s hip and rolled them both onto the opposite side. “Sleep.” 

Mike's Saga 18

Mike's Saga 18

“Mike?” Austin stared at the purple wheals and the rainbow of bruises.

“Kid.” Mike leaned against the sink, trying not to hiss as his bruises touched the porcelain surface. He wanted to look relaxed, to feel relaxed, but his throat felt dry, and he fought the urge to stare at his bare feet. He’d hurt Austin. It had been unforgivable. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, knowing the words were entirely inadequate. No words would be adequate.

“It’s OK,” Austin said too quickly and gnawed on his lower lip.”Did Milton…” Austin waved his arms, seeming to encompass all the bruises and marks on Mike.

Mike smiled, trying to look gentle. “I fought them. It’s really not too bad.”

“It looks terrible.”

Mike swung around and studied himself in the mirror. “It is dramatic, but I’m not broken or anything. Don’t let Landon and clothesline ever get near you.” Mike ran his fingers down the red lines on his thighs. “No sympathy from him. Behave like an asshole submissive and get treated like one.”

“You’re not an asshole.”

“I can be.” Mike shrugged and studied his reflection in the mirror. He was an asshole. There was no doubt about it. He’d hurt Austin; he’d run away. He’d hurt everyone, tearing a big gaping hole in the fabric of the family. Just like his parents he’d run from everything, but Milton hadn’t let him. He’d sent Josh after him with his determined bluntness and unhesitating conviction that he was in the right. Mike had been horrid, disgraceful, despicable. He could go on for days, listing his flaws, but it hadn’t mattered. They’d come after him. They’d welcome him home. Milton had engulfed Mike in a hug that had been far more than a casual motion. It had sunk into his bones and crunched through his barrier of muscle. Tilden had stroked his long fingers down Mike’s cheek with his infinite gentleness. They’d open their hearts again, so he could batter them with his stupidity and selfishness. Austin, the youngest and the most pure innocence, was standing in the tiny space of the bathroom, his eyes speaking volumes. Austin should punch him or at least swear at him, but his face showed nothing but concern and undeserved adoration. Even the three lone freckles that splashed across his forehead seemed to be in cahoots in welcoming and forgiving Mike.

Austin reached out and caught Mike’s hand, his fingers tentative at first and then stronger. The words so soft that they almost vanished unheard into the tile and porcelain. “Don’t. You belong here. I love you.”

“How could you?” Mike wheeled around on Austin, jerking his hand from the boy’s grip. “I hurt you. I deliberately hurt you. It was my responsibility.” Mike dashed a tear from his face with a vicious wipe of his hand. “I’m despicable.”

“You are not.” Austin wrapped his arms around Mike’s waist and unashamedly hugged him. “I don’t want a pound of flesh. Please stop hurting yourself.”

“It’s not that easy.” Mike swallowed hard, trying to stop the tears that were way too close. He kissed Austin’s shaggy and slightly too long hair. It was always on the kid’s shoulders and scattered in all directions, something that had to drive neat and orderly Milton half insane, yet he never insisted on a trim. Mike perched unsteadily on the edge of the tub, almost enjoying the anchoring pain of the bruises pressed against porcelain. “Austin,” Mike said in the gentlest voice he could find, “the bruising and battering wasn’t punishment. I like it. I’m dark. I want these.” Mike traced a welt on the front of his thigh.

“Why?” Austin’s voice was high and infused with the naiveté of youth.

Mike shrugged, but forced himself to look more inward. Austin’s eyes were too big and too desperate; Mike couldn’t blow him off with an easy shrug. It wouldn’t be right. “My fantasies...My fantasies are about rape and pain and force.” Mike stroked his hand through Austin’s dark hair. “I don’t know. I’m not right. I shouldn’t want to be hurt like this.”

“They do it.”

“Milton doesn’t hit any of you like this.” Mike bit his cheek, tasting the fresh blood on his tongue. He was the broken one, the crazy one. He shouldn’t be here in this nice peaceful family.

“Sheldon calls him Master. What’s the difference?”

“He doesn’t have to beat Sheldon into submission. I can’t give it up.” He was useless as a submissive. Why did he torture everybody? Why hadn’t he had the courage to just stay gone?

“Milton,” Austin shouted.

“No. I’m OK.”

“Bullshit!” Austin stood up and wrapped a nearby towel around his waist. “Milton.”

At these moments Milton somehow always looked bigger and broader than he really was. He blocked the doorway with a languid ease, and his eyes swept over both men in the bathroom.

"Austin." Milton's voice was soft and gentle as if he was coaxing a reluctant kitten out from under the bed. "May I help you?" Polite and careful, not an uncouth what do you want or slurred together. Milton's face was carefully neutral, no sign of impatience for being summarily called.

"It's Mike," Austin said, moving toward Milton's warmth and welcome, knowing he'd be wanted, that he'd be loved. "He doesn't think we want him." 

Mike watched in fascination as Milton's eyebrows rose and fell in some type of strange dance, and his eyes locked on Mike with an intensity that was almost painful. Milton looped an arm around Austin's neck and kissed his forehead with a brand of absolute possession. Austin belonged; there was no question about that.

"Austin, go downstairs and get something to eat."

Great! Alone again with his lord and master. 

"Come." Milton held out his hand. He led Mike from the bathroom to Milton's dresser. The nursery cane still lay on top, marring the otherwise spotless surface. Milton's fingers brushed the cane.

Mike tried to pull away from Milton; his stomach was doing things that no stomach should ever attempt. He couldn't do this again, not today.

"Be still. Hands behind your back."

Mike's body moved before his mind processed the order. He stood, clenching his muscles, trying to hide the shakes.

Milton didn't touch the cane further. He opened a drawer and pulled out a well-used shirt that had faded from red to rose and a pair of pale blue boxers. "Dress." Milton tossed them on the bed.

They were too big and soft with wear, but still Mike flinched as they slid over his sensitive skin. He clasped his hands again behind his back and waited.

Milton clicked his fingers and walked through to the connected sitting area. He sat in the overstuffed and hideous chair that they all called Sheldon's chair. He pointed to the floor by his feet.

"Sit or kneel. I recommend kneeling and take a cushion from the sofa."

Even with a cushion, sitting was out. Breathing hurt his ass; Mike sure wasn't voluntarily putting weight on it. Mike sank to his knees and lowered his head.

"You can look at me. This isn't formal kneeling." Milton's hand played down the back of Mike's neck in easy reassurance. "Do you want to tell me what that was about?"

What would happen if Mike said no? The cane was within easy reach in the other room, and Milton was wearing a belt. Fuck! Mike didn't even think he could take the hand.

"I see the answer is no," Milton said after the silence seemed to stretch from corner to corner and zip around all four walls. "We'll get there. I'm in no hurry." 

Milton reached for a book on a nearby table. In this house, there were always books. Books lived everywhere: in shelves, on tables, stacked under beds, even creeping into the bathroom. Of course, there were no books for the poor slob on his knees. Mike was supposed to reflect or think or maybe meditate the way Sheldon did. Super, he could meditate on his asshole qualities and why Milton was hopelessly optimistic that Mike would be even a halfway normal boy. 

The silence was awful. It only magnified every ache and pain in Mike’s body. He hadn’t realized he could hurt so many damn places, and this was twenty-four hours later. He shifted, desperately looking for someplace comfortable, and suppressed a hiss of pain as his ass touched his heels. Flambéed ass—maybe they could sell it at the finest restaurants. 

Milton’s fingers played over Mike’s neck. They rubbed at the soreness and the steady ache that inhabited all of Mike’s muscles. “This can be as hard as you like. I’m very comfortable.”

“Of course you are,” Mike spat. “I’m the one who has to take all the shit.”

“Because you want to.” Milton pulled a short length of chain from his pocket and clipped Mike’s leather wristbands together. “Maybe you need some help.”

“I hate this!” Mike tried to jerk his arms apart and started to scramble to his feet. Milton caught his ear and twisted it brutally. “Ah!” Mike crumbled back to his knees, choking back a sob of pain and shock.

“Do you want to safeword?”

Mike shook his head sharply, wishing he could reach his ear to rub the throbbing, wishing he could wipe the traitorous tears that had slipped onto his cheeks. Milton’s hand raised Mike’s chin, and Mike was forced to look into the calm, brown eyes above him.

“You’re pretty with tears on your face.” Milton’s finger brushed a stray drop of wetness. “I’m a sadist; I enjoy inflicting pain. You’re a masochist; you want pain. Neither is wrong unless we exceed each other’s limits. One of my limits is we don’t play unless you give me your submission. You’re not a boy who wants a small flogging in a bar or a little fun with the whip. You want it big and scary and psychologically approaching real. I can do that as your playmate, but we play by my rules, and I don’t play on the edges without real submission, without a boy who is honest with me about everything, not the easy stuff about did you eat breakfast, but the hard stuff about what’s in here.” Milton tapped Mike on the head. “I can fight you for your submission, but you must also learn to give it and to give it willingly and gracefully.”

“I can’t,” Mike mumbled, casting his eyes downward. He couldn’t yield. He wasn’t soft or gentle or sweet. He didn’t want cuddled and spoiled like Austin, and he sure as hell didn’t want Sheldon’s brand of submission. ‘Yes, Master’ was never coming out of Mike’s mouth.

“Why?” Milton slapped Mike’s cheek, a gentle tap in the arsenal of slaps but the warning was clear. “Keep your eyes on me. I want to see you.”

“I don’t know,” He knew. He was independent; he was a loner; he’d never be a family man. Milton and Tilden were obsessed with family. They’d actually had family. What had Mike had–a roof and a kind stranger when he was lucky. He couldn’t be the boy Milton wanted.

“You’re convinced you can’t, so I believe you must have reasons. The question, Mike, is do I break you to find out or do I use kindness. I enjoy watching you suffer. You are a beautiful boy when you writhe under the lash and your body glistens with the special sweat of pain. You are already close to the edge with pain. I can see it in every taut muscle, in every flick of an eyelid, in every strain of sinew. You are a masochist. Your body is wired to enjoy pain, but I can take that away. I can make it pure suffering and despair. I was taught by Landon and Gordon; I know what to do, but yet as a sadist I prefer a boy who can ride the pain, who can enjoy my tortures, who can blossom under the whip. Yes, I think I‘ll use patience. We can wait.”

“Bastard!”

“Probably,” Milton said with an unthreatening smile. “No more colorful adjectives to go around the word?”

“No.”

“Fine. We wait.” 

Milton’s touch disappeared; his eyes fell back to his book. Mike silently groaned and started counting the panes in the windows and lines in the hardwood floor. He studied Milton’s shoelaces and the fine polish on the boots. Mike hadn’t remembered Milton in shiny black boots; he’d always been more a loafer man, but today his boots were black with a mirror finish. 

Mike squirmed and shifted. He listened to the turn of the page and the noises of the house. Austin was out there somewhere. The house was never empty; maybe someone would stumble into the sitting room and relieve Mike from the torture of boredom and perverted kindness. The whip would have been welcome across his inflamed back and ass. The pain took him from himself; it loosened his inhibitions; it made everything easier.

“Please.” Had that come from his mouth? Had he spoken that word?

Milton’s eyes were immediately on Mike, the book forgotten. “Do you need to stand up and stretch?”

“Pee,” Mike muttered, knowing his face was red.

“OK. This is thinking time, not torture.” 

Those words could have fooled him. Mike was beginning to wonder if having his fingernails pulled out one by one might be more pleasurable. Milton helped Mike to his feet, his hand secure on his elbow. He marched him into the bathroom and pulled his penis through the fly. Milton’s hand was warm and strange on Mike’s cock as he stood looking at the toilet. It wasn’t that Milton hadn’t touch him plenty, but not for the mundane use of the toilet.

“You could unchain me,” Mike said, trying to find a sarcastic tone. “I don’t need an audience.”

“Go on.” Milton’s hand was wrapped around Mike’s cock, pointing it at the toilet.

Mike stared at the water and the porcelain. Nothing happened.

“There are more unpleasant ways to do this,” Milton said blandly. “You don’t have a choice here.” Milton reached across and turned on the water at the sink.

“I can’t. Not with you here,” Mike said in a strained voice. “Oh, God.”

“Relax. I’ve seen it all before. It’s humiliating if you let it be. It’s very submissive, and you are a submissive.”

Mike knew his cheeks were red; he could feel the heat in his face. He couldn’t do this. Milton was fully dressed, and Mike was standing over the toilet, wishing he could make himself invisible, wishing his heart wasn’t beating wildly, wishing he wasn’t embarrassed as hell and pervertedly excited by this.

Failure. Mike’s bladder clenched in stubborn protest. Not a drop anywhere.

“We’ll do it the other way,” Milton whispered in Mike’s ear. His hand pulled down Mike’s boxers and rested warm on his tummy. “I’ll pass a catheter.”

“You know how?” The question shot out of Mike’s mouth.

“Milton Brown purveyor of all kinky skills,” Milton said with a smile. “Head of the Green Mountain Boys–remember. Gordon’s boy for several years. I know all kinds of scary and crazy things. Step into the tub for me. We’ll do it there in case we have some dripping.”

“I…”

“Boy, do it.” 

The swat to Mike’s exposed ass wasn’t light. He jumped forward. It couldn’t be that awful. Milton wouldn’t hurt him, not for real, He could always safeword.

“Easy.” Milton’s arm swept around Mike’s waist; his beard rubbed against Mike’s neck, familiar in its scratchiness. “This isn’t painful. It’s not the most pleasant, but not painful. It’s about trust and submission. Can you trust me here?”

Mike managed a small nod. He let Milton guide him into the tub. He stood with his knees locked, trying to stop the shaking. Milton kissed Mike’s neck and rubbed the small of Mike’s back. Milton’s fingers ghosted down Mike’s thighs. Mike squeezed his eyes shut, pressing the stupid tears back into place. He wasn’t a wimp. He could do this. It was only Milton; the man taught history.

“Kathmandu,” Milton said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. He unclipped the chains and kissed Mike hard on the forehead. 

“What?” Mike sputtered. “That’s my safeword.”

“My choice.”

“I could’ve done it.”

“Go to the bathroom,” Milton said in a voice that suggested argument would be fruitless. “I’ll be outside.”

Mike slumped against the cool tile and clung to the towel bar. He’d failed at this too. He couldn’t stop the tears; they crowded over the barrier of his eyelids and spilled down his cheeks. He turned the spigot on in the tub and splashed his face with water. He was tough; he wasn’t showing this side to Milton. He wasn’t a little boy who needed coddled and guided. He grabbed a towel with too much force and swiped at his face. The toilet, he needed to use the toilet; that’s what had started this debacle. It was easy without Milton’s body behind him, without Milton’s hand on him. It was all so ordinary and normal and without any thrill. He washed his hands and stared at himself in the mirror above the sink. Ordinary, boring, useless, coward. He was a coward. His brown eyes leered back at him; his lips twisted into the word. Coward.

Mike forced himself from the bathroom. Milton was stretched out on the bed, another book in his hand. He rolled over and smiled at Mike, a small uncomplicated smile full of sympathy that Mike didn’t want.

“I’m fine,” Mike snarled.

“You aren’t. Come lie down with me.” Milton patted the striped blanket.

“Leave me alone.” It was a colossally stupid thing to say in front of a man like Milton. It would guarantee that Milton would never leave him alone. Mike wasn’t a novice at this; he’d seen the results of those words with the other boys.

“Mike, come lie down.” Milton’s hand again patted the blanket. 

“I don’t need this.”

“It’s not about need; it’s about want.” Milton rolled to a sitting position, his chin propped on his hand. “You’re very submissive. Let yourself have it. It doesn’t make you weak or needy or whatever other vile word you want to attach to it. I will play all the games you want to play, but you will also submit to me. It’s that simple. Now come here.”

Mike shuffled forward, wanting but not wanting. “You safeworded for me,” he said, still hovering out of reach.

“Yes, you weren’t ready; it was more control and humiliation than you wanted. You’re happy to have me flay the skin off your back, but you aren’t happy for me to control you that intimately. We’ll work on it. It’s not a failure; it’s just a delay. Now don’t make me beat you before you’ll get comfortable on the bed.” Milton half rose to his feet and caught Mike’s wrist.

Mike should have remembered that Milton was quick. He tumbled forward, landing on the bed. He tried to buck away, but Milton now had superior leverage and easily and rapidly arranged Mike over his knees. Milton’s hand stroked Mike’s tender flesh, a reminder of his capability to hurt. Mike shuddered and lay still.

“Good boy, my beautiful and spirited boy. You’re lovely sprawled over my knee, your skin quivering at my touch.”

Mike fisted the blankets and willed himself to survive the onslaught. He’d provoked another beating. Stupid! Fucking stupid! 

“Relax. I’m only admiring my beautiful prize.”

Mike snorted. Relax while hanging over someone’s knees. Milton was insane.

Milton’s hand traced down Mike’s thigh. It kneaded the bruised flesh, the pressure gentle. It moved upward, running parallel to Mike’s spine. The pressure grew over his shoulders and softened near his flamed ass.

“Better,” Milton said gently, his hand continuing its ministrations. 

How long had Milton been at his impromptu massage? Mike sighed softly at the touch. He couldn’t move now if a grizzly jumped out of the closet; his muscles were all lulled into some sort of trance. 

“This is submission. It can be about pain, but it can also be about pleasure, and harder for you it can be about control. I know you’re not Sheldon or Austin. I won’t organize your lunch or harass you about mowing the lawn. You’re not that sort of boy, and I won’t try to make you that sort of boy. We can have a great deal of fun together, but you will also learn to submit to me, not just during a scene or in role play, but for real. You live with us; you’re not meeting me at a club. I love you. You are my boy. You belong to this family, and you will learn that lesson. I will not give up.”