This story and its characters are fictional and not based on any real people or situations. If you enjoy it, let me know at AuthorMB@protonmail.com. This part ran longer than I expected, but it felt better this way than breaking it up. Hopefully my readers will forgive me.

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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 * * *