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The House Boy
Part 3
You know, I really
did start out with the best of intentions. That day, after breakfast, I'd
planned to get some clothes on, compose myself, and then find a way to get a
hold of Adrian's father and sort all this shit out. I was going to be
responsible.
It didn't take me
long to get sidetracked. I came out of the bedroom and abruptly remembered that
my meal had been composed of things Adrian had brought with him, and there
remained, as before, no food in the house. So, fully dressed, I decided that
the phone call could wait. I'd run out to get some groceries, so that whoever
was doing the cooking, neither of us would go hungry.
In defense of
myself here, it was probably the most adult decision I'd made all week.
Since Adrian was
apparently going to be my little chef, I asked him if there was anything in
particular he wanted me to buy, but of course his answer was "I'll be happy to
prepare whatever you provide, Master Scott." Which, considering Lisa used to do
all the groceries, wasn't a huge help, but what else could I say? So out
I went, coming back with an assortment of snacks, frozen pizzas, TV
dinners—single guy stuff, pretty much, although I was smart enough to grab some
staples like eggs, milk, bread, and juice.
I'll be honest, I
was already embarrassed with myself as I drove home. I came sheepishly in with
the bags, laying them on the kitchen counter before Adrian respectfully shooed
me over to the couch with a glass of water to take a load off. I sat there
relaxing, frequently turning to watch him putter around the kitchen putting
things away, before I just gave up and laid on the couch sideways so he could stay
in my field of view.
As I did so,
looking around, I realized he'd been busy while I was out. Everything looked
neat and tidy. Crap I'd left lying around was put neatly in its place, and
honestly, I wasn't sure how he'd managed that, because even I didn't
know what the right place was for half of it. Surfaces were wiped and dusted,
the rug in the living room was vacuumed. I was pretty sure he'd cleaned the
windows, too.
I hadn't even been
gone an hour, and he'd managed to do more housework than I'd typically work
myself up to do in the span of a month.
Adrian must have
seen me looking around, because he said, "is everything all right, Master
Scott?"
I glanced back his
way, giving him an approving nod. "The place looks good," I said. "Really
good."
He looked away and
down, almost bashfully but not quite. It was a gesture I was learning to
recognize as his way of modestly accepting praise. "I'm glad, Sir. I'll do your
bedroom next, but I'm not sure I have the supplies I need for the bathroom."
I groaned, leaning
my head back. "Dang. Should have gotten those while I was out." I stared at the
ceiling, mentally kicking myself, for a couple of seconds before I realized
that the room had gone silent. I lifted my head up a little, and a perplexed
frown crossed my face when I couldn't see the house boy in the kitchen.
"Adrian?"
"I'm sorry, Master
Scott."
I nearly jumped out
of my skin, swinging my head down to my right, in front of the couch, where
Adrian was on his knees, face to the floor, hands by his head. "Jesus, you can
be quiet when you wanna," I complained. "Sorry for what?"
His voice was a
little muffled. "It's my duty to anticipate your needs, Sir. I should have
brought supplies with me, or recommended them to you when you left."
"Oh—what? No." I
scoffed. "No, come on. It's not your fault. I'll just get some later."
"Still, I neglected
my duty. I'm sorry, Sir."
"Don't worry about
it." When he didn't get up, I leaned over a little. "Hey. You okay?"
He lifted his head
to look up at me. "You have to punish me, Master."
I nearly spilled my
water. "Punish you?"
"Yes, Sir."
I sat up, swinging
my feet back to the floor. "Okay, stop that. Come on, get up." Adrian
hesitated, but obeyed, although he avoided looking me in the eye. I sat back,
trying to ignore how tantalizingly near his naked body was to me, and asked,
"what's all this about? What makes you think I should punish you?"
He still wasn't
looking right at me, but his face had that same expression it always did when
he felt he was explaining something obvious. "I told you, Sir. I neglected my
duty to you as house boy. It's your right to punish me. It's...it's right
that you punish me."
I looked at my
water glass for a second, shifting in my seat. "Well, I'm...I'm not going to do
that. You didn't do anything wrong. That's my decision. All right?"
"But, Sir—"
"Adrian!" I said,
firmly.
He shut his mouth,
taking a small step back and bowing to me, his hands clasped in front of
himself. "Yes. Of course, Master Scott. Whatever you feel is best."
He turned to head
back to the kitchen, continuing to put things away, and I was left with the
vague feeling that I'd done something wrong. I took a sip of water and shook it
off. I wasn't gonna punish the kid because he didn't think to suggest
that I get cleaning supplies for him to clean my bathroom
with. It was absurd.
I leaned forward to
put my glass down on the coffee table, and then I inhaled sharply at the pain
in my shoulder, letting out a low groan. Adrian was just putting the pizzas in
the freezer and turned to me immediately. "Master? Is something wrong?"
I shook my head.
"Nah, it's—don't worry, I'm fine. Just pulled a shoulder muscle a while ago and
it likes to remind me now and then."
"Oh, I'm sorry,
Sir. Let me help you." He started to come around the counter toward the couch
again.
"I'm fine." I tried
to wave him off, but he was already behind the couch, cracking his knuckles.
"Please relax, Master," he said, and in a moment, I felt his hands on my
sensitive shoulder, gently beginning to rub and massage.
I stiffened a
little, acutely aware that before now, we hadn't had any physical contact. I
was crossing a line, now. Admittedly, that was a bit weak; for crying out loud,
the kid was doing my housework with his bits out, so a little massage was
hardly the biggest scandal of the day. And I couldn't deny, after a few moments
letting him work the muscles, that he knew what he was doing.
So I did start to
relax, easing back into the couch and closing my eyes. I let out a slight moan
of relief. "That feels good..."
"Thank you, Sir."
His fingers were surprisingly strong, yet delicate. They found the little knots
in my muscles and gently manipulated them out of their tangles. Or something.
I'm not an expert on anatomy and musculature, I just know it felt damned good.
That, plus my head was nice and close to his chest, and I could both hear and
feel his breathing as he stood there administering his treatment. The smooth
skin of his torso brushed against my head more than once, and now that he was
this close, his aroma was somewhat intoxicating.
"Was this part of
your training, too?" I asked, angling my head up toward him, past his nipples
and the curtain of hair.
He nodded, his eyes
focused on his task, but his expression gentle. "Yes, Sir. Most house boys
perform this kind of service often for their masters. At least, my dad says
so."
Like a bucket of
ice water, the mention of his dad made me tense up again, and I sat up a little
straighter. "That's, uh...enough."
His fingers stopped
mid-squeeze, hesitating. "Are you sure, Sir? It's only been a few minutes. It
would feel better with more time."
I nodded without
looking at him. "Yeah, I'm sure. That felt...perfect. Just what I needed."
"Y-yes, Master." I
felt his hands leave my shoulder as he stepped a pace back. "Thank you. I'll
finish in the kitchen now."
I stared at my
glass of water as he walked meekly away, and I mentally kicked myself. I
realized I was feeling guilty. Guilty. And not for the stuff I expected
to feel guilty about. Guilty for stopping the massage, and for—inexplicably—not
punishing him earlier. And for the life of me, I couldn't understand why. I
glanced over at him, busily putting away the last of the pathetic collection
that passed for my groceries, and again wondered just what the hell I was
doing. I shouldn't feel bad for setting appropriate boundaries, I
thought to myself.
And besides, if he
was here to serve me as a house boy, wasn't what I wanted the most
important part, at the end of the day? Wasn't I the one who was supposed to
make the decisions, the rules? Wasn't I the one in charge?
Adrian finished
putting the food away, stowing the plastic grocery bags with the rest of the
vast collection of them I'd amassed under the sink. I watched him, realizing I
couldn't put off the next step anymore. A naked boy was a tasty decoration to
have around the place, true, and he was such a sweet kid. But this wasn't
realistic. It couldn't go on.
As he left the
kitchen, clearly headed for the bedroom to continue his tidying, I stopped him.
"Adrian, come here a sec."
His bright eyes
turned to me, and he did as I said instantly, coming to stand by the arm of the
couch with his hands folded in front of him. "Yes, Master Scott?"
"I, uh..." I hesitated.
I knew what I should be saying. It's just Scott, not Master Scott. I can't have
you as my house boy. I would be in a whole lot of trouble just for having you
here. You need to be with your family and be a normal kid. "I need your dad's
phone number," I said instead.
He tilted his head.
"You want to talk to my dad, Sir?"
I nodded. "Yeah.
Just...to hear from him what all this is about. It's just...to help me understand,
that's all."
I'm not sure what I
expected. At the very least, I expected him to protest a little. Maybe to
insist I not call, confess to me that he'd get in trouble. But none of that
happened. Instead, he nodded almost immediately. "That's very wise, Sir. My dad
has been a house boy much longer than I have, and since he trained me, he could
share his experiences with you."
I blinked.
"Um...yeah. Exactly. So do you have a—"
"Of course, Sir."
He turned and crossed to the front door, where his backpack lay neatly beside
his shoes, and pulled out a very old flip-phone, the kind I hadn't seen in years.
"A house boy isn't usually given a way of contacting anyone outside the
household, but since I'm not quite finished my training yet, my dad said he
wanted to bend the rules." He flipped it open, scrolling through it for a
moment, before he returned to my side and held it out for me. "I'll go begin my
duties in the bedroom so that you have some privacy, Sir."
I wordlessly took
the phone and watched him as he disappeared from sight, politely closing the
door behind him as he went into the bedroom, leaving me alone. I looked at the
screen, the highlighted contact that said only "Dad". My thumb hovered over the
Call button for a very long time as I worked up the courage. What was I
going to say? How would I start this conversation? Hi, sir, your naked son
is in my bedroom right now so I thought it would be a good time to have a chat?
I sighed. Better to
rip off the band-aid. I pressed the button and brought the phone to my ear,
fidgeting nervously as I heard it ring. It rang once, twice, three times...and
then halfway through the fourth ring, a surprisingly deep and masculine voice
answered. "Hello? Adrian? Are you all right?"
It was the voice of
a concerned father, all right. I swallowed. "Uh, hi. Sorry, this isn't Adrian,
it's—"
"Master Scott," his
father finished for me, inadvertently answering several of my questions at
once. He still had an edge to his voice as he continued. "Is everything okay?
Is he hurt? What's wrong?"
"No, no! God, no,
sir, it's nothing like that." I massaged my forehead. "I was just calling to,
uh..." Blank. Total blank. "To, uh...well, to talk to you. About him. Generally."
There was a sigh of
relief from the other end, and a slight laugh. "Of course. I should have seen
this phone call coming. And please don't call me `sir,' Master Scott. I may not
be your house boy, but it's not my place. My name, if you feel you'd
like to use it, is Anthony. But it would be your right to address me as `boy,'
if you prefer."
Of the thousand
ways I imagined this phone call going, this was not even on the list. I swear,
I felt like I had transported to some parallel universe where literally nothing
in the world functioned the way I understood it. I cleared my throat. "Uh,
yeah. Okay. Anthony it is."
Anthony chuckled.
"What can I do for you, Sir? Has Adrian been adequately performing his duties?"
"Yeah. Yes.
Absolutely." Over and over again, the words fuck, it's real flew circles
around my head. "Actually, that's kind of what I wanted to ask you about.
See...I, uh...I'm..." Pause. Think. "I'm new to this whole house boy thing. I'm not
sure I really understand it. And it didn't seem like, uh...I mean it feels like
the kind of thing that's—I mean that might—"
"Get you in
trouble?" Anthony finished for me. "I understand. You're an outsider. We
usually only offer our services to people who are `in the know,' as it were. I
imagine you had many questions for Adrian before you agreed to accept him."
"Uh." I thought
about that last night in the sauna. "Honestly, I...don't think I really knew what
I was getting into. I mean," I hastily added, "no offense or anything."
"None taken," he
replied, "but I'm afraid I don't understand, Sir. Adrian explained what he
is—what we are—to you before he offered himself, didn't he?"
"Er, no. It was a
long time ago, but no, I think he...skipped that part."
"He what?"
Uh-oh. Maybe I was
getting him in trouble after all. "I didn't really ask, either," I quickly
said, hoping to do a little damage control. "And he gave me the sense that he
would be—how did he put it...taking care of my home. I just didn't really think
he meant it."
"Fuck," Andrew
swore, and I winced. He cleared his throat. "I...apologize for the outburst, Sir.
That wasn't my place. It's just that the part he `skipped' is perhaps the most
important one. If you'll permit me to speak with him, I believe I can
straighten this out and have him leave you in peace."
"Leave me in—you
mean, he'd go back home?"
"Of course, Sir.
Informed consent is vital to all our arrangements as house boys, and you were
put in a position of consenting without being properly informed. That was not
your fault, and I now understand very well why you've called me."
I felt a moment of
conflicted panic. I was being handed a solution to my dilemma on a silver
platter. If I passed the phone along to Adrian, it would be officially out of
my hands, and I could pretend the whole thing never happened. But, as I
suddenly realized, I didn't want to. The idea of seeing Adrian leave, so
soon after he'd arrived...
"That won't be
necessary," I said, knowing I was sinking my own lifeboat but unwilling to
leave the ship just yet. "It's not that I want him gone, it's just...maybe I need
a little more information."
There was a long sigh
from the other end. Eventually, Anthony said, "well, of course your wishes take
priority, Master Scott. This is, however, a very irregular set of
circumstances, especially given that you're an outsider to our way of life. We
need to protect ourselves, I'm sure you understand."
"Yeah. Of course."
"And he is
my son. Make no mistake, tradition aside, I will not be very accommodating if
he is harmed or abused by you in any way."
I gulped. "No,
I...I'm sure. I promise, that's the last—look, everything else aside, Anthony,
would I have called you so quickly if I wanted to hurt him?"
There was a brief
pause. "No, I—" He coughed. "No, of course. Please forgive my language, it was
most unbecoming."
"It was perfectly
becoming." I shrugged. "He's your kid. You were more `becoming' than I would
be, probably."
He gave me a dry
chuckle. "You're quite a unique master, I must say, Sir. If I may have a moment
to speak with Adrian, I do believe he needs some...reminders, let's say. But I
will tell him that you're permitting him to stay. After that, I would be happy
to answer questions for you."
Point of no return, I thought. "All right. Just a moment." I covered the phone with my
palm and glanced toward the bedroom. "Adrian?" I called out. "Your, uh...your dad
wants a word with you."
The bedroom door
opened almost right away, and Adrian stepped out of it, looking curious. I held
out the phone for him, giving him a half-sheepish, half-sympathetic smile. "I
might have gotten you in trouble," I whispered.
His eyes flicked
from me to the phone, and I could see a hint of apprehension. He accepted the
phone, bowing to me. "Thank you, Master. I know I should remain here but,
er...may I..." He glanced toward the bedroom.
I waved a hand.
"It's okay. Go talk to him. I'll be right here after."
"Thank you, Sir."
He averted his eyes and went back into the bedroom, gently closing the door
behind him. I turned and sat back, blowing out a breath and running a hand
along the scruff on my chin. I wasn't sure whether I was now feeling relieved
or just more confused. I honestly hadn't expected his dad to be as...accommodating
of all this as he had been. Maybe I'd wanted to believe it was all a story
Adrian was making up for my sake. But no...it was real. It was definitely real.
I had to admit,
though: Andrew's threat to me, regarding Adrian's safety, had perplexingly made
me feel better about the whole thing. I still thought he was insane, sending
his kid to live with, and serve, a complete stranger. But at the very least, it
sounded like there was genuine love there, and I could hear the protective
father in his voice. It was like he knew this was something expected of his
son, and of him by extension, and he was accepting it despite his fears.
Fucked up, but not
as fucked up as it could have been.
So that left me. I
had pretty much agreed to keep this going. I was committed. And now Adrian
would be in my care. Or I'd be in his. Maybe both. Maybe that was the point.
I was lost enough
in thought that I didn't notice how much time passed before Adrian emerged from
the bedroom. His face was redder than I'd ever seen it, but he was doing his
best to stay composed as he returned to me, holding the phone. "My dad would
like to speak to you again, Master Scott." I accepted the phone and he went
back into the bedroom, closing the door again. I felt a little pang watching
him.
I shook my head to
clear it and brought the phone back to my ear. "Hello?"
"Hello again,
Master Scott. Thank you for your patience. I believe I've set my son on the
right path for you, now."
I wondered for a
moment what that meant, but said, "okay. Well...thank you."
"No need." He
cleared his throat, a hint of uncertainty in his voice. "Sir, if I may...it's not
exactly my place, but I wonder if I might offer you some advice."
Thank fucking God, I thought to myself. Out loud, I said, "sure. Of course."
"Thank you, Sir."
It was so weird having this man—he sounded older than me—respond to me
the same way his son did. "If I may...Adrian was surprised, I think, that you
wanted him to stay. When I scolded him for not properly preparing you for his
arrival, he believed you were sending him away."
I felt my heart
break a little, looking at the bedroom door. "He thought I didn't want him?"
"It's not your
fault, Sir," Anthony hastened to add. "You see, Adrian has lived his whole life
around people who understand us, and the relationship we have with our masters
and households. He knows that you live outside that bubble, but he didn't fully
realize what that meant."
I leaned on my
knees, rubbing my left temple. "I'm not sure I follow."
"Well, for example,
he said you wouldn't punish him, Sir. Is that correct?"
I blinked. "You
mean the—you mean about the, um." I snapped my fingers, the right words failing
me for a second.
"The cleaning
supplies, Sir."
"Yeah, that. But
wait, you're saying...he thought I didn't want him, because I wouldn't punish
him? That wasn't even his fault."
"You don't
understand," Anthony said patiently. "You see punishment as...as being mean, I
suppose. As if you don't care about him or his feelings. What I'm saying is, to
Adrian, it's quite the opposite. He has been raised to understand that when a
master punishes him, it is because that master cares enough to help him serve
better. It's a sign that you believe in the relationship and want it to
improve. When you wouldn't punish him, he thought it meant he wasn't worth the
effort."
"Oh..." I felt like a
complete ass now. "I...I didn't know. I didn't realize."
"I know, Sir,"
Anthony said kindly.
"I just...I wouldn't
even know where to start with that. How does—I mean, how would a master
even...well, punish a house boy?"
"Of course that is
up to you, Sir," Anthony replied, "but house boys are raised with traditional
corporal discipline. Spankings, for example. You might start there. He would
find it familiar. It might help you bond with him."
I felt my dick
twitch at the word `spankings,' and silently told it, not now. I cleared
my throat a little. "I—sorry, you'd be...comfortable, with that?"
The question earned
me a chuckle. "If you're referring to what I said earlier, don't be nervous.
From what Adrian tells me, you are a kind man. I believe you would know where
to draw the line."
I'm pretty sure my
face looked like a tomato. I licked my lips. "Uh, yeah. For sure."
"He also said that
when he was massaging your shoulder, you asked him very quickly to stop."
"Right. Yeah." I
glanced at the door again. "But he always seems to think what I want is all
that matters. If I wanted him to stop, why would he take that as a bad sign?"
"Respectfully,
Sir...you didn't want him to stop. You believed he should stop. He can
tell the difference."
My face reddened
even further. "I...well, I—"
"Please don't be
embarrassed," Anthony said gently. "Again, this is where being an outsider is
letting you down a little. You worry about the appropriateness, I suppose, of
my son touching you. Let me assure you now, that is not only expected, but
encouraged. It's another thing that strengthens your bond with him, and lets
him serve you better."
I pursed my lips.
This was an opportune time, unfortunately, to bring up something else Anthony
had told me. "Sir—uh, Anthony, sorry—he...did bring up a house boy's duty to be,
uh...intimate."
"If a master or
household desires such things, of course," he said.
Wow. I stammered a little. "So—so wait, you're not—I mean, you're not
actually saying I..."
I trailed off, and
I heard a small sigh from the other end. "This is a significant reason we rarely
offer our services to outsiders. Our traditions were established long before
the world decided that the young could not decide for themselves what to do
with their bodies. It's a fine line, certainly, but—well, anyway, suffice it to
say that we don't expect you to completely understand or agree. That being
said, my Adrian has chosen you, Master Scott. That means he feels comfortable
enough with you that offering himself to you in that way would simply be
another manner for him to serve you, and he would enjoy doing it."
Well, there was no
denying my erection now. This man was giving me permission to have sex with his
son. What the fuck.
"Ultimately,"
Andrew continued, "what matters is that you are honest with yourself, as well
as with him. If you don't want something, of course he must respect that. But
if you do, please don't deny yourself, or him. There will be nobody to judge
you."
I thought I was
starting to understand. I was still very conflicted, though, and I wasn't sure
whether this conversation was making it easier. I found myself backtracking to
what he'd said earlier. My Adrian has chosen you. "Why?" I found myself
asking. "Why did he choose me?"
"Well..." I felt like
I could hear the coy smile on Anthony's face. "Begging your pardon,
Master Scott, but I believe there are some questions you should reserve for my
son."
I thought about
that and laughed a little. "Yeah...makes sense." I looked at the bedroom door
with a sigh. "I think maybe I should go back to him. We have some things to
talk about."
"Of course, Sir.
But if I may say one last thing?"
I nodded, then
remembered he couldn't see me. "Uh, yeah. Go ahead."
It sounded like he
hesitated slightly, but then he said, "I just want you to know how rare it is
that we allow our boys to serve those on the outside...and it is even rarer when
his training hasn't been completed and he isn't yet of the age. In fact, my
Adrian is the only boy I know personally to have been allowed."
I blinked a few
times. "Really?"
"Indeed, Sir. And
it was because he so desperately wanted it. He believed deeply that you were
the right master, and that this was the right time. Please remember that."
I felt my insides
swell a little. "Wow...I-I will. I'll remember that."
"Thank you, Sir."
He let out a breath. "With your permission, I'll leave you to it. But please
feel free to call again, if there's a need."
"Y-yeah. You have
my permission." It felt so odd, saying that to another adult, and yet...proper.
"This was very helpful. Thank you."
"I'm glad, Sir. I
believe you'll be fine."
We said our
goodbyes and hung up, and I slowly closed the phone in my hand, contemplating
it for a minute. The conversation was a game changer, no doubt. And I certainly
had a better idea, now, of what I had signed up for. But I couldn't live in the
No Man's Land of my own conscience anymore. According to Adrian's father, all
that mattered was that I cared.
And if that was
what it came down to, I couldn't lie to myself.
I got up, looking
down at the phone once more, and then paced over to the bedroom door, knocking
twice. "Adrian, I'm coming in." I opened the door, and blinked as I looked
around. Not that I wasn't expecting it, but the room was absolutely perfect.
The bed was made, my clothes were put away...it was clean, but soft, and
inviting. He had a touch, this boy. He had a touch I just didn't. Even Lisa
didn't.
Adrian knew how to
make a house—or an apartment—into a home.
He was kneeling
beside the bed, and looked up at me as I came in. It looked like he might have
been crying a little, but the expression on his face gave nothing away. I
wondered for a moment whether he'd been crying because of his father, or
because of me. Either way, it was time to put things right.
I walked to the bed
and sat down at the edge, looking down at the boy—my boy—on the floor to
my right, at my feet. There were so many things for both of us to say, but that
would come later. I felt very nervous, but I tried not to show it. "Adrian," I
said quietly.
His eyes never left
me. "Yes, Master?"
I shifted back a little
on the bed. "I need you to lie across my lap."
I saw a little
twinkle of something on his face. Hope. "Sir?" he prompted.
I nodded, patting
my leg. "Now."
My house boy
pressed his lips together, clearly trying desperately to contain himself, and
immediately stood, kneeling onto the bed and then laying across me, as I had
instructed. I felt his little penis nudging my lap as he laid his hips along
mine, the two perfect globes of his bum upraised, waiting. I looked along the
length of his body, the back of his legs, the smooth lines of his back, the
hair splayed to a side, his small hands clutching the bedspread.
I reached out, only
slightly hesitating, and laid a hand across the skin of his rear, rubbing it
for a moment, getting a feel for the softness of his skin. He trembled under my
touch; I felt his penis begin to move, and so did mine. "I need you to learn
your lesson," I said to him choosing my words carefully, hoping he was getting
the message. "I want you to be able to serve me very well. For a long time."
"Y-yes, Master."
His voice was very soft. Almost a whisper.
I looked at him,
and I could see both eyes now, his bangs cast aside. He looked down at me,
sharing my gaze, both of us knowing what our exchange had meant. "Can you count
for me? Like a good boy?"
He drew in a shaky
breath and nodded. "Yes, Sir. Of course."
I nodded back. Then
I let my own eyes drift back to the beautiful, perfect globes in front of me. A
prize I had been denying myself. Denying both of us.
Not anymore.
I lifted a hand,
hesitating only for a moment more, and then brought it down on his left cheek.
Smack.
He drew in a rapid
breath, his eyes widening a little. "One," he said. I raised my hand again.
Smack.
He hissed,
clutching the blankets. "Two."
Smack. This time on his right.
He let out a slight
whimper. His small penis was completely hard now, poking at my thigh through my
jeans. I was sure he could feel mine. "Th-three."
Smack. "Four." Smack. "F-five." Smack. "Ah—!...Six."
And so it went. Again,
and again. I didn't know how many times I would do it, just that I knew we
would both know when there had been enough. I went quickly; I went slowly. I
slapped hard; I was gentle. My left hand rubbed his back as he squirmed beneath
me, and when he faced my way, I eventually began to see tears falling. Somehow,
I knew that didn't mean to stop. It wasn't the sign. Those tears meant
something else. They were a release. And I felt that same release welling up in
me, leaving me through my hand the way it left him through his eyes.
Finally, I
delivered the last one. He let out a final cry, pitched just so, and I
knew it was the right time. I gently stroked his bum as he sniffled and
whispered, "thirty."
He shivered and
trembled beneath me. His bum was red, but it wouldn't stay that way for too
long. At least I didn't think so. And if it did...I didn't think it would matter.
I turned my head to look at him, to find him looking at me, his eyes wet, the
tears dampening the comforters, but with a smile of pure, unfiltered emotion on
his lips as he panted through them.
I reached my hand
up further, stroking his cheek, making him let out a shaky, contented sigh.
"Good boy," I whispered.
"Th-thank you,
Sir," he breathed.
I don't know why,
but I opened up my arms. It felt right. "Come here, Adrian," I said.
He didn't say
anything; he didn't have to. He just pushed himself up, turned over, and curled
up into my arms, laying his head against my chest, and silently let the
lingering tears fall. "I—" he started, taking another trembling breath. "I-I'm
yours, Master Scott."
I leaned down and
kissed the top of his head. "That's right."
For the moment,
neither of us needed to say anything else.
* * * To Be Continued * * *