All fiction! If you are under the age of eighteen, please navigate away from this page or don't tell me. Also, I use my imagination, and maybe tidbits of other flavor I find in movies, stories and life. Everything I make up along the way is to bring you to the characters. I am not a lawyer; a cop, a doctor, a therapist and I have never been involved in the BDSM lifestyle and don't know anyone who is. J I am here to tell a story between two lovers who "fit" each other.
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This story belongs to Evago X. Rush, do not distribute it elsewhere without my permission.
Ten months or so after they carried Micah out of the precinct on a stretcher the captain gave me a leave of absence after I punched out my partner Marcus Trent. We were riding in an elevator downtown when he asked me, point blank, "Did you fuck that kid?" I didn't know my fist could do that kind of damage. Shit, he went down and out. He was pretty mad when I visited him in the hospital. But, he was also sorry.
I answered his question. "Yes, I did." He nodded at me, and this time looked understanding instead of cocky. Of course his eye was swollen shut and his cheek was black all the way to his ear.
"He put a password on that file." By this time everyone knew the FM files, each file had numbers and letters, of each `asset.' The FM file was the fuck me file. The one that recorded the deflowering of every slave sold. Micah's FM file was the only one with an unbreakable password. "Did you know he was eighteen?" These were the hard questions, the ones that could end my career.
It really didn't matter. I am 35. Even 19 is a child. "No, I thought he was fourteen."
"Jon, the other files show the caliber of the coercion. When are you going to stop beating yourself up for this?" He shocked me by asking. Okay, he wanted the truth so he could dismiss it. Prick.
It worked sort of. "The three fifty seven caliber?"
"Exactly. What would have been accomplished by NOT fucking him?" Okay, I know all this shit, but it doesn't make it easy to hear. "Did you really hurt him?"
"No." So, this is the point where a less astute man would feel satisfied. But, Marcus and I have been partners for six years. He is big, black and badass.
"So, you liked it." He said smugly.
"Fuck you." I said softly, "I loved it. I had sex with him the next day too, and I didn't just like it. It was unforgettable."
"I wanna introduce you to my wife's cousin Tayson." He said calmly, "You owe me." He said to head off my argument.
It occurred to me that he meant for me to hit him. "I am not looking for sex." I argued.
"Nor am I trying to hook you up. Your break up with Angela was long overdue. You and I BOTH know it. You don't understand what happened to you. Let me help you deal with that. You have six weeks off."
Wow. I never use that word. But wow. I could spend six weeks in therapy. But it only took one evening with Tayson. (More accurately it took meeting Jacob Keller-but that was later in the evening) A part of me worried that I might be hated by these people. Every slave I met, every bottom, every submissive was willing. Had chosen for whatever reason to submit their ego and their will. But Wow. I do mean wow.
He took me on a tour. Introduced me to his household. His four willing adult slaves. They, to a one, were adjusted and content human beings. He took me to a nightclub, the shock of it nearly had me lose my lunch but I managed to get past the shocking aspects that I had difficulty accepting. This wasn't for me. But finally, he took me to midnight coffee house, where in a private room he introduced me to Jacob and Steve.
Jacob was an older man, close to six feet tall, a little round in the belly but handsome with his graying goatee. His eyes were smiling and his voice soft. But Steven was also handsome. And young. He looked like a naked college student. That's right, naked. Except for the chastity belt. I had seen this before. And it hurt me to see it now. He sat quietly, on his knees his bottom braced between his calves. He looked comfortable and relaxed. A collar was around his neck, and a chain dangled over his chest. He was at least six inches taller than Jacob and nearly as big as me. But, the serene expression on his face made him look so young.
Tayson explained earlier that I was not to speak to the slaves or the subs unless their masters gave permission. So, initially he introduced me to Jacob and ignored the slave.
It became readily apparent that Jacob had been expecting me. I felt like I was meeting the Oracle at Delphi. He even took my hand and held it gently, turning it in his palm and stroking his thumb over it. I didn't pull away, just smiled. He nodded and let go.
"Hello, Jon." He said, "I am very pleased to meet you." This is where he actually reached into his pocket and took out his business card, "I hope to answer anything you need to know tonight, but I highly doubt I can manage that in one evening. But, this one is on me." I looked at the card. Psychiatrist. He was a fucking shrink. I felt instantly uneasy. What is it about them?
Anyway, "I think maybe I should have planned this visit better. I didn't come with questions. Just with curiosity."
He tilted his head at me, and immediately I knew it wasn't true. Hell. He was good. Made Greta look like a 900 number. "His name is Steve." The slave didn't move.
Okay, he was a mind reader too. "How old is he?" You know, it goes to show how far I was willing to accept this stuff that I NEVER asked to speak to Steve. Consciously, I was concerned for his well being but sub consciously I had already decided he was fine.
"Twenty-one." I got the feeling he was going to put up with only a few of these technical questions.
"How long has he been yours?" Okay here it is again, my comprehension. I didn't ask how long have you two been together. That got me a nod of approval.
"Two-years. And, I trained him myself. He is willing and able to walk away at any time." Okay he swept past that stuff. Now what? "Tell me about the ring, Jon."
Oh dear god. My mouth grew dry. Again, with the mind reading. He gestured and Steve poured me a glass of ice tea. I drank deeply from the tea and from the gentle look Steve gave me. The look that said, it is all right, we have you. "I am a narcotics detective." I offered albeit awkwardly. "I often work outside of Seattle in other jurisdictions undercover. I was undercover." I drank more tea, the ice clicking and the cool sweetness soothing me. "XTC is popular in the sex trade. So is Meth. I was moving XTC. Meth is too risky but follow the E and you can find crank. I'd been on it for six months, when I accidentally crossed paths with another buyer. He had a woman with him, naked as Steve here, but woman is a term I use loosely. She looked fifteen. He was angry the dealer had caused us to meet. So, I complimented the man on his fashion sense. Made some shitty small talk. My California casual, the Mercedes and my disdain for his temper...I am not sure what it was? But he offered her to me for the night. I declined, saying the first thing to come to mind, `not my flavor."
To my surprise he merely smiled and said, "I suspect your flavor is out of your price range. We don't rent."
Jacob scowled. I felt guilty.
"Look, I am a cop!"
"Relax, Jon. I am not angry with you. This sort of thing hurts us all. I am not a cruel man. Pain has its place. But so does love." Steve didn't move, not a muscle but his eyes glowed on that word. I mean I saw it. He felt loved. When was the last time I felt loved? Micah.
I stared at Steve. He didn't flinch.
"So, you found yourself following the path that this man laid out for you. How strange he would randomly choose you." Jacob mused.
He was right. How did Galforino decide to sell his product to me? Well, maybe that is just it, Jacob knew. I knew. "He saw something in me."
"Likely. Some people have the eye for such things. Most people can't see in themselves what they see in others. Can you tell a junkie from a clean kid if nothing shows on the outside? Can you tell a career offender from a punk kid?"
"It was your male curiosity that drew you to the ring, not your cops intuition." He surmised and it was my turn to flinch. He was right. I wasn't attracted to the girl. She was young. I was attracted to the idea of her. Just like I liked Steve beside Jacob.
"But, I never lost sight of the fact that I am a cop."
"Of course not. But, now that is not why you are here, tonight. The cop did his job; the man is still looking for answers. Where is Micah, Jon?"
That is the million-dollar question. Not a single day goes by that I don't feel cheated. Bereft.
"I ...am not sure. He was in therapy. The agency he worked for took care of him." I tried to be casual.
"Just letting them worry about him, eh?" Fuck! "Not your problem." Goddamit.
"NO. Yes! Fuck, Jacob." I growled. "Steve chose this. Micah did not."
"True. But, Micah wasn't a child when he was conditioned. Young, yes. Too young I will even allow. He never had the normal childhood experiences a boy might have. He advanced too quickly through school. I suspect his only sexual activity was being a operative. Yes, I know all about Micah. I have done work for the prosecutor's office, Jon. He won't see me."
I sank back in the chair. This wasn't a social call. This was serious business. "Where is he?" I asked. Maybe insisted.
"I can't give you that information, yet." He answered. "Tell me what happened after you paid for Micah."
"I fucked him and we left." Wow, brutal son of a bitch eh? Steve's chin dipped a little, just a hair. But Jacob didn't rise to the bait. Why would he? It was lame.
"When they insisted you fuck him, held a gun to your head, were you angry?" He had me. He wasn't even working hard at it. I wanted to talk.
"No. I was afraid."
"Afraid they would find -"
"Afraid I wanted it." I didn't really want to waste time when we both knew where I was going. "And I found out pretty quickly that I did. But it still BOTHERED me that he was so young. More than bothered me, it enraged me. I had no idea he was eighteen. I'd like to say I did. And while it mattered, it didn't. He was beautiful. Tall. And mine."
Jacob gestured for me to stop. I held my breath. Funny how he could do that, words didn't quiet me, but his gesture cut me off. "There it is, Jon. Not his age, not his gender. Once you bought him, he called you Master and he was yours. Yours."
"I just wanted to get him out of there."
"You were afraid they would hurt him." Jacob's fingers touched Steven gently, tracing a line down his arm. A shudder washed over Steven and he relaxed. His eyes fluttered. The gesture comforted him. Steven was having a hard time with this story. What pained him, how they treated Micah or how I did? I suspected the latter.
"Yes I was afraid they would find me out and I would lose him."
"Do you understand how he was trained, Jon?"
"No, I have no idea. I know he was beaten, tortured." I swallowed. This hurt me.
"Hm, well pain has reward. But emptiness, loss of self is agony. It is the wrenching horror that human beings must face at some time in their life. Some people believe the submissive who chose their role are the most enlightened of us all. Let me describe to you the end of Micah." He didn't wait for my acknowledgement. I was enthralled. " They took his clothing, shaved him, brushed his teeth and scrubbed his entire body. Then the locked him in dark featureless cell. Where he remained for days on end. Then they began to wake him at half hour intervals. For a few more days. In exhaustion he began to beg. Beg for anything. Something. What he got was a voice. Just a few minutes a day. A man would read to him. Instructions on how he was expected to behave. Of course, the more Micah argued with the words the less he would get. The quieter he became the longer he was read to. More reward was offered for repeating key words." Jacob was really petting Steven and the young man had tears on his cheeks. I wondered if he suffered when he was trained. How right can it be?
"You are hurting him." I said.
"No, I am not. He is hurting for Micah. Not because he commiserates with what he went through in his training but because of his loss now. So, lets get to that. Shall we? Micah spent 160 days becoming a slave. They left his ass virgin. Can you imagine the FEAR he associated with that singular value? How awful it would be to be penetrated there. They built it up in his mind. I can tell you, his courage for letting you fuck him was colossal. I do mean colossal."
I knew that. "He made it happen. He made sure we were successful. He told me the rules. Told me I couldn't back out now."
"He is brave and smart."
"And willing." This comment came from Steve. Wow.
Jacob blinked. And smiled. Steven didn't move. Not a muscle.
"With what choice?"
"He could fight you?"
"And die? And be punished?"
"You already admit he made choices. Why is it the easy choice was the only one he was capable of making? It wasn't. He made it. He was aware. But then... that wasn't when he chose you is it?"
I sucked in a breath. My chest ached. No, and we both knew it wasn't.
"You had him again."
"I was sorry for hurting him." I was pleading. My god, me distraught and begging, "I wanted to give him something better."
"FUCK! Yes!" Man, I was angry. I stood up and my body shook. God, Micah. I miss you. Tears were streaming down my face. In my mind I can see him, when he collapsed on the tile floor, his pale face looking like death. I can see him naked under me as I take him, aware every second of how I feel.
"Did you use keywords, Jon?" My god, this man knew everything.
"He chose you after he gave you his identity?"
"What are you doing here again?"
I wept. I mean I came undone. Steve shook, his body trembling so badly Jacob took him from the room. I am not sure how long I sat there. But Tayson didn't come back. In my pocket was Jacob's card. And somewhere was my Micah, my little man. Mine.
I wasn't ready by a long shot. But, Jacob sure knew how far to push. This was therapy. Not what Greta had offered by a long shot. She had forgiven me my sin. But, Jacob acknowledged I didn't feel like a sinner. He showed me that what I knew was true. I am not a bad person for wanting what I had with Micah. I have spent my life being a good guy and feeling guilty over something so deep inside of me that when Jacob showed me how he was gentle, kind and what he gave to Steve was so... beautiful that I felt inspired.
Micah is mine. And I am letting him down.
Still it took me two days to call Jacob. And he made me wait. This was it. I was being trained. I left him a message and he did the same.
Finally, late on July fifth he called me at home and asked me to meet him at the café. I was exhausted just before he called, and wide-awake after. Looking back, I see now that I knew he was offering me the chance to be a better master to Micah. Something I owed my lover. This is not about titles. It isn't a role we play and pretend to be. The terms are inadequate. Perhaps they apply to some.
He is mine. He deserves and needs my authority. My protection. My guidance. And what did I give in return? Well, it is apparent I don't know jack about anything. Why do I have to put words on everything?
What do I give him? Because I know what it does for me. Sex is something to do. Sex with Micah was like plugging into the universe. I was alive. The link between us was primal. I become the animal that guides my instincts and that is the instinct that keeps me alive. With Micah I don't wear a mask. It isn't macho. I don't need to show him off. I don't need a leash.
And that is the first thing I told Jacob. He undid me.
"He wears the leash for him. Not for me."
My chin popped up. "I don't..."
"It is a matter of pride. Let the world see whom he belongs to. That is his pride, not mine." He sounded so disgusted. This wasn't important. The water in my glass clinked as the ice floated to the surface. Steven wasn't here this time.
"Are you gay, Jon?" Okay, this one out of left field. I mean really. I had not given this a thought. When I decided I liked, wanted, desired and needed Micah, I didn't wonder at his plumbing. And, I don't give a fuck what other people might think.
"I want Micah. I only want Micah. Seriously. There was never a point in my life where I decided to be straight, to askew men. I find women attractive, and the real truth is I have found the occasional man attractive. I want Micah. If that means I am gay, then so be it." I must have been sincere enough, because Jacob shrugged, satisfied with my reply. OH, finally, I had the right answer to something.
"When you took Micah to the precinct, how did you feel when he hacked into the DoD and put on his show?" Jacob doesn't even have to beat around the bush with me. I wonder if he does with other clients. I wonder who his other clients are.
"Astonished. Horrified. Dismayed. Worried." Well that was easy.
"Horrified?" Jacob leaned back, propping his knee up as he rested his ankle on his other leg. His arm crossed the back of the bench. He sat on the bench seat, I sat in the narrow chair. He was shorter than I, and yet he dominated the room. A position I am used to.
"The ring files were there, and on display for everyone to see. I was shocked that he would so casually... expose himself that way." It was hard to explain. Micah opened the box and inside lay my shame. But, it was exposing him that scared me. I didn't want anyone to see him.
"Afraid to be seen fucking him? The fourteen year old boy?" Jacob knew better. So what is he getting at?
"No. Afraid they will see him."
"It wasn't his fault though, was it?" Fingers teased the seam on the leather bench, pulling on a frayed string, stroking the supple worn material.
"Of course not."
"How can there be shame in it? He was a victim. Yes, it was personal for him, but why did you feel shame?" My god. Why did I?
"I don't know." I really didn't. I tried to understand it. But, I just couldn't.
"I do." He smiled, and his smile really is that gentle. That. ...knowing pisses me off. "When do you know you wanted it to be real? Think hard. When did your body tell you that Micah could give you what you were searching for?"
"When I touched him. Maybe not that second. But when he begged me to punish him for just whimpering. When his fear hit me, when he reached out to me." That was it. When he reached out to me. "When he thought I might not want him." That is when I did want him. "Before that it was adrenalin. But when he thought I might abandon him, he defied everything he knew about obedience and begged me to punish him."
"He would suffer anything for you not to leave him. Even though at your hands was the thing he had to fear the most. Explain to me how this could be logic. Explain how he could fear not facing his fear." Jacob's words were arousing. How strange. Maybe it wasn't his words so much as it was thinking of Micah.
"He had a great deal of power in the situation. Now, did he know you were a cop before he begged you to punish him? Not- did he believe it. Because we both know he didn't believe it right off. But, did you tell him?"
"So, this is where your complication lies isn't it, Jon? Did he give over to you because subconsciously he knew you were his salvation? And therefore for him it never was real. It was survival."
"But that wasn't when he gave over to me. That was when..." The skies open up and thunder crashes. I gave myself to Micah first. I gave over to him. Choices. My cop self might say I could not have done anything else. But, I could have. I had options. I could have at any time expressed discomfort, buyer's remorse. They would not have killed me. I was valuable. It would have been touch and go maybe. I could have been back within a matter of hours to rescue him with a fucking swat team. I chose to go through with the buy, and all it's requirements. Not because I could not leave him there because I did not want to.
Whatever else it was, I needed the ritual for myself to absolve my desire. I tied myself up a long time ago. This gave me permission. He gave me permission.
"Was Micah ready to be yours when you took him to the precinct?" Big question. Wrong question.
"I wasn't ready."
"We already know that. But, was he?" How can I answer this? Was he? No. Wait. Yes. If I had known then...or maybe if I had just taken control. Would Micah have been safe, content. Yes. The answer is yes. He sure as hell isn't safe and content now. I've read the psychologists report too. Micah was drinking and going to parties and just aimless and distracted. He was heading for a crash.
"What if Micah finds another lover?" Wow, lightening rod to my cock. It jumped. Angrily. Holy fuck.
"No." I said.
"No? He could."
"I asked to meet with him, Jon. Yesterday." Jacob sat calmly, a smirk on his face, and I tried hard not to get angry. Really hard. I managed to not move, but I am fairly sure my jealousy dripped green fire from my eyeballs. He was a doctor, and a good one and capable of helping Micah. But he was also like me. And I could feel his lure, Micah would respond to it.
"He spoke to me for thirty seconds. Long enough to back out the door and tell me if I wanted to keep my nice tidy financial life I would stay away from him."
Took me a bit, but I caught up. "Yesterday? I spoke to you yesterday. You were here."
"Right, so was he. Right there in that doorway."
I didn't stay seated. "YOU know where he is!" I accused. My god, I had tried everything, and the FBI wouldn't budge. The prosecutor's office refused to return my calls.
"When he testifies against Galforino, the attorney is a Master, some of the witnesses are as well. They are going to try to crucify him. And if he doesn't understand that you are behind him, supporting him, he will crumble. Michael Church. That is his name. He is living right here, under your nose. He is taking some basic courses at Seattle Central Community College. Partying with the art school crowd on weekends. Be ready for others to not understand, Jon." I sat in stunned silence as he passed me a slip of paper with a cell phone number and an address. "And he has had nearly a year to grow afraid of you."
Okay, that hurt.
"Call me if you need me." And Jacob left me again. Wrecked. I went straight to the college admissions office the next day. Flashed my badge, did some persuading. His summer courses were so beneath him. Really what was he doing here? Passing the time?
About That Word
I saw him first. He was standing in the shadow of the main campus building. I was walking my bike, having come down Broadway from the store. I had come up the back way today to get tea. Facing away from me, Jon was watching the trickle of summer students as they made their way in and out of the building. Not thirty feet away. He looked menacing. His blond hair was longer, and he had at least a day's growth of beard. People shifted uneasily around him. The black shit kickers on his feet made him tower, and his broad shoulders were visible under the snug gray t-shirt. I shivered in spite of the warmth of the late morning.
"I still feel like I want to be his."
"Even if he wanted you, that would be a crutch. It is time for you to take responsibility for your life."
Why is he here? My therapist says I am doing well. Starting to behave like a normal person. I don't feel like myself, but he isn't sure whom I am talking about. He is just sure it is normal for a nineteen year old to be going to parties, getting stoned, wasting their life away. Fuck, I STILL have a headache from that fucking party two nights ago. Oh, shit, Jon is a Narc detective. Can he tell I have been smoking pot? Fuck him, I hope he can. I thought to myself defiantly.
I stood there staring at him long enough; he shifted off of the wall and turned towards me as if sensing it. Yeah, okay, I admit it. I waited for him to do that. The force of his gaze is like a physical touch. Maybe it wouldn't be if I saw him often. Every instinct I have says turn around and walk away except one. I shiver and fight it tightening my hands on my bike. He walked towards me, his expression inscrutable. In six weeks there will be a trial, maybe he just wants to...
Hello, little man.
"Why-what are you doing... here?" I finally manage. I am shivering as if I am cold. Clenching my teeth I try to stop it, but it is shock. How come I am so-
He touches me. His warm hand cups over mine on the bike and his other hand cups my elbow. "You're shaking." He says softly. Well, no shit! I didn't say anything. He sighed and put his arm around me. His heart, the sound of it hammering in his chest was so fucking beautiful. "Let's walk." He urged me, his arm around my waist. I didn't resist. I should have. One year of therapy and Jon had me with a single look.
"No!" Wow, where did that come from? Fear, no. Anger. Yeah.
But, he kept his arm around me and we kept walking, his body tightened and I wasn't really walking with him so much as being pulled along beside him. The pressure against my back was...exciting? Suddenly, I felt the sensation of my clothing rubbing against my skin, and it felt strange and alien. I tightened my grip on my bike. The metal became slick under my damp palm. His truck came into view a black Suburban. The image of me lying across his lap slammed into me with the force of a freight train and I gasped for air. He didn't stop.
I have a normal life that is a life without Jon. No net. Just me, in the world, invisible and safe! Okay, it isn't my life. It is Michael Church's life. But, there is no place for Jon in that life. I have spent a year getting over him! That should be your first clue, huh? Getting over him. Not getting over my captivity. Not getting over the torture. And who am I kidding? That tattoo says, "Property of Jon Cooper."
Oh god. He takes my bike and puts it in the back of the SUV, one handed. His other hand like a manacle is curled around my wrist. He is aware, every second, of my fight. But, he is gentle, just insistent.
"I am not getting in that car with you." Wow, words. I spoke a complete sentence.
He turned slowly, and cars drove by, the drone of traffic and the sounds of the city became white noise, my head spinning. "Let's talk about that word. No. It is yours to use, Micah. It always was. But, it is a powerful word." His thumb strokes the back of my hand, my wrist and the tattoo. "I will let you make that choice, use that word. Do you mean it?" The stroke of his thumb, the heat from his big body as he pulled me over to the passenger side, swinging open the door, robbed me of my strength. You know what I wanted to do? Grab him around the waist and bury my face in his chest. Scream his name. Hit him. I hiccupped. He picked me up and put me in the seat, buckling me efficiently in. Then he shut the door firmly and walked around the car. Waiting for traffic to pass so he could climb in.
I still don't have any idea what he is thinking. Why is he here? A tear splashes on my hand. Why am I crying? That really makes me mad. Why am I sitting here in this car? Get out! He climbs in beside me and slides the keys into the ignition. "Where?" I whisper hoarsely. It doesn't matter, his answer, but I am very confused.
"Home." He says that like it is my home. Not, let's go to my condo. We are going Home.
"I don't understand why I am freaking out." I finally gasp, almost a laugh.
"Still saying No?" He is relentless.. He maneuvers deftly amongst the city traffic.
"I'm not sure." I answer after a long interval. My eyes close, and the warmth of the car seeps into me. It is plain hot, but Jon doesn't turn on the AC and my shivering stops. . Jon is sitting beside me and I can smell him. That warm earthy scent. Honey and sand. His scent is pouring into me hot and earthy. Even as I try not to look at him, try to block him out. I taste him on my tongue. My ass tightens involuntarily as we take a corner and I am suddenly horny. My cock swells, and all I can think of is when I lay in the back seat of this truck. When his fingers slid that fucking anal plug out of my ass.
He must have noticed my sudden arousal. The savage. "What are you imagining?"
"Nothing." I mutter angrily. Oh he pisses me off. Why did he let me go before? What is he doing now?
He isn't so gentle removing me from the car. His nostrils are flaring and he looks angry. He's never been angry with me before. I don't have the sense god gave a butterfly. I am a moth, haplessly hurling myself towards the hot glass around a light bulb. Slamming my fragile self into it, over and over. Gimme the light. Ouch.
I don't recall the first time we walked up these stairs. Just being inside the door and ripping my clothes off. The stairs creak under Jon's weight and that makes me smile. I creak under his weight too. I laugh. He glares at me.
"Why are you so pissed off at me?" I ask casually as he pulls me inside. The door clicks closed behind me. My eyes adjust to the dimmer light, and automatically I want to strip. Wow. I have my sweatshirt off before he relaxes. He had opened his mouth as if to say something fierce and then when I reached down and grabbed the hem of my shirt his eyes widened. The truth is I still hate wearing clothing. But, I stop at the shirt. Making a point. His eyes narrowed.
"All of it." He says firmly. But he doesn't touch me. Okay, this is a test. Is he trying to see if I have recovered? Have my self-will back?
"Yes, Jon." When I said this, I said it cheekily. But, it didn't come out that way. It came out huskily and his eyes closed and he stepped forward but didn't touch me. Kicking off my shoes they thunk on the wood floor, but he stands silently, his fists clenched. "I am not sure if you want me to listen to you, or not, Jon. Am I supposed to prove to you I am recovered?" The zipper on my pants seems obscenely loud.
"What feels right to you, Micah?" His eyes pop open and he watches me. Unmoving. His stillness is unnerving.
Ignoring his question. I mean why not, he ignores mine, "Why are you so mad at me, Jon?" I try again. Somehow, this is important. My pants and underwear fall and I step free. My feet are already bare. So, there I am naked. My skin isn't so pale anymore, and I am still a little too thin, but I have gained fifteen pounds. My legs are stronger, Seattle is a city of hills and I ride my bike everywhere.
"Shower, then we will talk." He says softly and turns away.
Shower. Looking down at myself I frown. Am I dirty? Hmm. I do still have that fucking headache. That might be it. He is mad at me for smoking pot. I am positive my eyes are bloodshot. Well fuck him. The hot water seems to wash away some of the ache, and I imagine it washing away time, slipping down the drain and I slide backwards, to when I was closer to Jon. When I was his. I feel the tears on my cheeks like rivers, and no amount of drying stops them. I stand there in the bathroom until it makes me angry and I storm out, my damp feet slapping on the floor.
There is a glass of orange juice on the counter, and he is facing the window. "Drink the juice." God, I am thirsty. I drain it, rather noisily. Tears still fucking racing down my cheeks. I am not sobbing. Just the tears. Like the valve is on, and my body won't shut it off.
He moves over to the sofa, it has a wide seat, so when he sits in the middle of it, he sprawls. His legs open at the knees, and his arms outstretched over the back. "Come over here."
I move. I obey. Still, I am doing this for me. I expect him to get angry over it, honestly. My therapist is. My family is. They avoid it, but nothing changes the fact that I feel like imagining I belong to Jon. So, I steel these moments. He contacted me. When he pushes me away I will have these moments to replay in my mind. I still hesitate when I get close. I want to stand between his legs. But I don't. I stop a couple of feet away. Right here I can still pretend that I am just comfortable with my nudity, that there is not a bigger message in my actions.
"Do you want to stand over there?" He asks calmly.
"I want to know why you are so angry." But I move. I move because my body isn't listening until I am between his knees.
"Kneel." He answers. Dammit! No, this is not right. He is angry, and I am not going to -
I back away, ready to walk out when his arm comes around my waist and he pushes me down and I fight him. He catches my hands and locks them in one fist by the wrists. Then I am over his knee and the sting of his hand on my ass makes me scream. And sob. The tears are dripping from my face. He slaps me again. Hard. My dick jumps and fills with blood. His hand flies again and I jerk even before he hits me. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I knew you'd be mad. I wanted to make you angry. I thought I was thinking these words. But I guess I was yelling them. Slap! "The first time I smoked it, I knew you would be furious and I wanted you to be! I imagined you were mad at me, and I felt like saying Fuck you! Look at me, Jon! Can you see me?" He was just holding me now. His hand was soothing the sting on my ass and I groaned sliding my knees apart and wriggling my ass.
"Not yet, little man." He said softly. "Not yet." Slap! God! One more and ...Slap! I came. I cum when he kisses me, I cum when he spanks me. I cum just thinking of him. He exhales, and his hand pets me, between my legs teasing the last bit of my orgasm out of my nuts and I am panting, sobbing. His fingers are still gripping my wrists above my head on the couch; he twists, and is out from beneath me. I hear rather than see him stripping. Oh god, oh god.
"Jon..." I plead. Yes, I want him. But I need words. I need to understand. No more guessing.
"Shut up." He growls. I struggle with my emotion, my needing. It hurts. IT HURTS SO FUCKING MUCH. I lay there, trying to stifle my sobs until my throat aches with the need for it. He walks away. My body begins to stick to the leather, uncomfortably. But, can I move? Yes, I can move. I can leave. My muscles seem to be uncoordinated. I am shaking as I sit up. He has left the room. There is cum all over my stomach and the sofa. It bothers me. My vision is blurred but I manage to stand. Inhaling deeply I walk to the bathroom. My hands shake as I lean on the sink, trying to wash the cum off.
My god, I am so fucking embarrassed. I walked into his house, took off my clothes, begged him to spank me, came and have I learned nothing? Ugh. I return to the couch with the damp towel and I hear the shower turn on in the back bathroom. His bathroom.
I wipe off the couch. In no hurry I dress and picking his keys up off of the table I walk out the door.
Thanks for the brain fuck, Jon. I think to myself. It was nice.
Now, it is true that I do not have a drivers license. And also true that owning a car is probably not a good idea for me. But, I do know how to drive. I was trained at the FBI's agent training course. I can drive pretty well actually. But, I have zero respect for the law. But, I am not going far. Just back up the hill. It is Friday, and I have a party to go to. Whatever game Jon is playing, I am not going to bet my money on. I want him. I want to be his. But, he isn't perfect, and I deserve a little more clarity. Flipping open my cell phone I call Jacob.
"Micah." He is weird. How does he know it is me...oh yeah, cell id. Duh.
"Jon is confusing me. I know you all are concerned that I will fuck it up at trial. I won't." Yeah, that was clear wasn't it?
"How is he confusing you, Micah?" Wow, he sounds intently focused on me. How nice.
"That is the problem. I am not sure, but I am confused and I've tried asking questions. But..."
"He is answering with actions instead of words, isn't he Micah?" Ouch. Okay, yeah. But, that isn't enough.
"Yes. But, I am not an expert at Jon's actions. I don't understand. I'd just as soon not suffer through all this bullshit, if you don't mind." Click. Okay, I am running like hell.
So, if I am running why did I give the playbook to the enemy? Go figure. I want him. I want him to catch me. But, I also want him to love me. I am not willing to be a fantasy fuck. I am willing to belong to the Jon that loves me. That needs me.