Boys at the Seaside 5

Chapter V

Milton looked up from his truly awful detective novel. Sheldon was a wonderful man, everything Milton could ever dream of, but he had beyond awful taste in reading material. Sheldon had called it beach reaching as he’d taken Milton’s newest biography of George Washington from his hands.

“Vacation means you don’t work, Master.”

“I’m planning to lay out in the sun and watch my beautiful boys enjoy the surf.”

“You’re planning to read heavy literature and as a break contemplate the evils of the world. I can’t control your thoughts, but I can offer you alternative reading material.”

Milton was going to kill that boy. This wasn’t reading material. This was an environmental travesty that trees had been cut down to print the words on the page. Milton dropped the book into the sand and turned his eyes to the water. Austin and Sheldon were chasing each other in a game of tag with rules that changed by the minute. John, in all his massiveness, was home plate or the free zone or something. Austin kept skidding around behind him before launching himself at Sheldon with a bucket of sea water. Blade off and on joined the fray, but Milton couldn’t determine if he was with or against his brother. It probably changed by the moment.

Austin looked OK, at least at first glance. He was smiling and running about like a twenty-year-old should be at the beach with friends, but Milton hadn’t missed Austin’s quick glances to make sure his dominant was near or his gravitation toward John with his obvious ability to summarily destroy hostile forces. Austin had mumbled something incoherent when Milton had tried to talk to him this morning, and Milton had chosen not to push. The boy had seen enough of the world for one week. The Green Mountain Boys were protected space within the world of power exchanges, and being Milton’s youngest was probably the most protected space possible. Ryan, as safety officer, talked to every submissive and dominant about safety and understanding exactly the relationship each party was entering, but somehow that was remote from the terror Austin had felt yesterday. Austin, like many young submissives, was more afraid of being asked to go too far during a scene than the confusing mission creep, to use John’s term, that had occurred yesterday. 

Milton rubbed his eyes and cursed himself for forgetting his prescription sunglasses. His Austin had been so frightened. Milton never wanted to see that look in his cub’s eyes again. He never wanted to feel his cub cling to him in such desperation again. He’d have to spend hours explaining to Austin why that simple slap had triggered a visceral fear reaction. It had to do with consent; it had to do with the underlying sexuality which they sometimes didn’t overtly acknowledge; it had to do with an understanding or a rule being the dominant’s rule versus either being some sort of petty stupidity or an affirmation that the submissive was a lesser being. Milton wasn’t exactly sure if the swimming rule was a true belief that a man’s status as a submissive inherently made him a danger in the water or if it were potentially a throwback to a time when the rules had been more understood as a shade of dominant and submissive play. Rick had honed in on the most outrageous side of the rules, but Milton had been more troubled by the appendix suggesting that the top was by his very nature an expert in nutrition, medicine and exercise physiology and the rules that were disguised as directives in common sense.

Austin was significantly younger, and Milton bled the relationship into the role as mentor and friend as any halfway decent human being would when faced with a far younger partner. Did he go too far? He wasn’t entirely sure he’d been on the right side of the ethics with Luke and Mike. They’d dropped into Tilden’s and Milton’s lives completely unprepared for facing the adult world, and it had been easy to tip the first domino that would eventually lead to this travesty. Milton hadn’t clearly defined his role. Had he been merely a housemate and a friend who could offer guidance but should never have touched? Had he been a dominant training an inexperienced submissive who he never planned to take sexually? Had he just been too incompetent to see that the relationship was always sexual with only the most strictly defined sex acts excluded, as if somehow that made it not sexual?

Luke and Mike didn’t seem damaged, so either Milton was overly hard on himself or the boys were very resilient. Landon would say both, and Landon was the best judge of submissives that Milton had ever known. Landon and Gordon didn’t exactly oppose the use of the erotic power exchange to shape the lives of young men, but they recognized the dangers. Milton could still hear the words in his head; he’d heard them often enough in one form or another.

“Milton, we’re dominants. We enjoy being in control; we enjoy hurting our partners. We must always remember that we enjoy the act of striking our partner anytime we move beyond the mutually enjoyable impact play. Hitting is very self-rewarding for us, even more so than for the frustrated parent who clips his child’s ear for talking back or for my father who thought against all rational belief that he could beat me into his image. We must be afraid of turning into that monster, but we also must not be paralyzed by that fear. Play with a compatible partner you will find easy. The use of your dominance to bring your partner into headspace may take practice, but it will not make you fear yourself. The shift toward using your dominance and the use of physical force that comes with it in ways outside of the relationship should terrify you. If it doesn’t terrify you, I haven’t done my duty properly.” Gordon had bent forward and kissed Milton’s cheek, his dark eyes resting on Milton for a long moment. “I’m glad you’ve come home boy. It was too long.”

“Yes, sir.” Milton had shifted and almost dropped to his knees. It was such an automatic place to be when Gordon talked, the apprentice at the master’s feet. 

“I know Tilden isn’t comfortable with me. I know you stayed away for his sake, but your life is far more complicated now. You want to protect Luke and Mike. You cannot stop yourself. But, my lad, you must ask yourself what they understand and how they understand it. I do not doubt they are both submissives, but your relationship is deeper than they understand, than even you understand. Be careful. It’s not wrong to influence their lives. I did with you, but they must understand the well from which the power springs, and they must fully consent. Outside of the dungeon is fraught with danger. Sheldon is your boy; they are not, and they understand even less than Sheldon did when he first lowered eyes and acquiesced to a demand.”

Fraught with danger was a euphemistic way of putting it. Full scale circus with a never ending high wire act was more accurate. Milton had been over the line with Luke and Mike without a doubt. This delightful vacation only reinforced the good fortune that had gotten them all through that period in relative safety. Mike had found his place. He was brash and tough and more than a little wild. Milton had been more than relieved when a very wise Ryan had snatched him at breakfast for a hands on demonstration of impact play technique. Blade’s skin was too marked to be the demo boy, and Mike was more than happy to offer. Luke with his natural reserve and far less overt needs was the tougher one. His relationship with Tilden was solid, but the boy was a submissive, and Milton was a failure as his dominant. Milton wasn’t unaware. He’d seen the extremely late nights watching Russian films, long after Tilden tried to hassle Luke into bed. He’d seen the last minute dash to the train because Luke was late in the morning. Milton wasn’t a good dominant for Luke. His need for control ran too deep to handle the clear baiting without unleashing a beast that would batter Luke, not necessarily physically, but emotionally. Arranging bedtime was serious and demanding control. It was a loss of autonomy for a submissive beyond what many would ever desire or understand until the autonomy was gone and they were damaged.

Milton heard the bell for lunch. He wondered briefly if Mace and Trent would repeat their private coffee sale. This morning they’d had a busy concession with their newly purchased French presses in constant action. The money was being donated to the G&L charity for Texas, so even here they’d pretended not to see.

“Lunch. Let’s go.” Milton didn’t recognize the top on duty, who was trying his best to disperse people to lunch. He avoided Sheldon and Austin as he shooed others toward the hotel.

Taking pity on him, Milton called to his boys, “Lunch, guys. We’ve already disturbed the schedule.”

Milton’s foot had cleared the threshold, but his body was still half outside when a young waiter flew to his side. “Sir, we have boxed lunches for your party.”

Milton bit back his remark about contaminating the purity of the place. This was staff, young and nervous. Polite and respectful was the GMB way. 

“We thought you might wish to enjoy our gardens.”

Your boss wants to keep us out of sight, Milton thought, but nodded pleasantly. “As you wish.” Milton didn’t miss the look of relief on the young man’s face. “I try not to accost those who are merely doing their job.”

“Mr. Masters…” The young man started before thinking better of his words.

“Is not always polite,” Milton finished. “He is a man of strong opinions.”

“He’s a brat.”

“He’s a submissive, not what you would call a brat. He can be obnoxious at times.” Milton gave the waiter a tiny smile. “I’ve interrupted a few of his tirades. We do not always agree. Fortunately he and John are very happy together.”

“But…?”

“But I’m a dominant. I’m not his dominant, and he is not a Green Mountain Boy. I have only the authority he chooses to grant me which is not very much. In my house, I take more, but not here. I haven’t the right. John could grant me that right, depending on the specifics of his relationship with Rick without asking his boy, but I can’t take it. Remember we talked last night that’s it’s an agreed upon hierarchy, not a reflection of my better judgment or better ability to cope with life.”

****

“Why?” The stubborn tilt of Rick’s jaw made John want to groan.

“Rick, don’t start,” John put a strong warning tone in his words. He was not in the mood to start a fight with Rick. He’d spent a nice morning with Milton’s boys, serving as some kind of shield for them, and he had enjoyed the carefree fun and exuberance worthy of young colts those boys exuded. It was especially good to see Austin having fun despite what had happened the other day. He did notice Austin keeping closer to him and Milton, but other than that the boy was fine. The morning was a nice change of pace from the disastrous day they’d all survived. He most certainly wasn’t going to spoil it all by starting an argument with Rick.

“Well, I refuse to be sent to have my meal in the gardens, like I’m some kind of naughty child who can’t be trusted to behave in the company of civilized people,” Rick hissed with fury. “They thought I was being a terror before? Well, they haven’t seen half.” Rick finished hotly.

“Rick, move,” John tried once more.

“No,” Rick barked in a tone that suggested a battle cry of  the Spartans readying to defend their positions. “How could you people so meekly allow them to bully you?” Rick looked at Milton and then the rest of them. “I thought we were on the same page.” Rick’s eyes burned with passion as his gaze swept over them.

Milton narrowed his eyes slightly and looked at Rick, as if assessing him. His eyes shifted to John and after a brief moment where the two dominants gazes met, he started to gather his company and move them to the gardens, without any difficulty, much to John’s embarrassment.

“Milton has made a decision and you will abide by it,” John hissed, grabbing Rick by his shoulder.

“I don’t owe him any duty of obedience,” Rick’s chin jutted into the air, making John’s blood boil with annoyance.

“Yes, you do! You subscribed to his mission of educating these men about certain aspect of power play, as such you owe him a duty of submission. You can’t pick and choose what part of his plan you agree with and what you do not. We need to form a unanimous front, and you will play along or put your things together and go home. I’m not giving you a third choice.”

“No, I…” Rick’s tirade was interrupted by John putting his palm over his mouth.

“Rick, my words weren’t an opening for your arguments. I did not say I was interested in your reasoning or that you might take a shot at changing my mind. That was an order. Do as Milton says or pack your things. What’s it going to be?”

When he received no answer, John grabbed Rick by the wrist and pulled him toward the gardens, paying no attention to his struggles.

“Let go of me.” Rick tried to pull his wrist from John’s grip. Not succeeding he kicked his foot out, aiming for the back of John’s knees.

 John sidestepped the kick and turned to Rick, anger written on his face. Rick’s eyes turned into worried circles, color leaving his cheeks, as he realized that he had done the forbidden – hit John.

“Sorry,” he mumbled desperately. “Wait, wait,” he begged as John nearly cut off the blood circulation in his hand, turning his grasp into a death grip.

John hauled Rick after him, until they reached the gardens. There were several tables joined together to make one seating space for all of them. The tables were tastefully decorated, fitting nicely in the surrounding rustic gardens. If John had known they had this kind of gardens, they wouldn’t have needed to ask him to eat here. This was a place that both he and Rick would have chosen for having a meal over any stuffy and formal setting of a restaurant.     

“Excuse us for a second, gentlemen,” John addressed the rest of their party, who were slowly filling the chairs around the table. He needed to deal with Rick’s infraction. He had warned Rick that every time he tried to hit John that he was going to be punished.

“Please, Johnny,” Rick pleaded as John kept pulling him deeper into the garden for privacy.

“If you keep on fighting me, I will drop your pants right here and beat you in front of everyone, and while I’m at it, I will invite Milton to the party,” John barked, paying no attention to the stuff members, busy with bringing in their lunch. “Make no mistake, Rick, I can make beating pleasurable for you or very much unpleasant, but my pleasure doesn’t suffer from it,” John said angrily.

John caught sight of that obnoxious Robert, who had been supervising the staff from afar. He thought he saw a smug smile on the imbecile’s face, which made him want to let Rick go and march to that idiot for a chat, that was less then accepted by the standards of civilized interaction.  

Rick’s eyes threatened to overflow with tears as he looked into John’s eyes. There was real hurt in his boy’s eyes. “Please Johnny,” he insisted fervently, his lips trembling with effort not to cry. “I’m sorry. I got angry. But I’m not an unwanted child anymore to be shoved to the back of the room and or hidden in the rooms or gardens so no one would by chance notice me. I’m not that anymore. I earned my…” His voice trailed off, as he realized that he had said too much already.

John’s heart sank. This was an old wound for Rick, one that had been re-opened with that small and insignificant gesture of separating them from the other guests.

Rick didn’t talk much about his grandparents, but John knew that they had never acknowledged Rick as a child. While Rick’s cousins had been proudly paraded in high society and introduced to important people, Rick had been discreetly hidden from all eyes, as if he were some kind of a shameful secret. Eventually Rick’s father had had enough and taken Rick away from it all, but it had been enough for Rick to be offended for life. As Rick’s career had progressed and he had gained recognition, his grandparents started to show interest in him, but Rick ignored their efforts. Still, it was a wound for him that oozed blood even after many years.

John’s eyes softened and he pulled Rick in for a hug.

“Whatever you’re going through, hitting me is never acceptable, angel,” he murmured in Rick’s ear.

“I know.”

“Who’s the most important man for you?”

Rick raised his eyes and looked into John’s, giving him the answer.

“I love displaying you, beautiful. I love letting people know you’re mine,” Johnny smiled gently at his beautiful boy, looking at his eyes sparkled with understanding.

“Come, let’s eat,” Johnny pulled Rick after him to the table and his boy went obediently. “We apologize for the commotion,” he addressed to everyone seated around the table. “Although, I guess knowing our history, you weren’t expecting a calm meal with us at any rate.” He smiled at them as he sat down and pulled Rick after him.    

****

Milton pulled out his chair, glad to see his troops around him. He smiled at John and shot him a quick long suffering look. It wasn’t all that long ago that Sheldon was always the one to trigger a small volcano in any gathering.

“Are you glad to see I passed that job into other more capable hands?” Sheldon’s bright eyes and controlled smiled spoke far more than his words. “Rick is doing an admirable job.”

“His personality is different from yours.”

“Who should thank God for those small favors?”

“Be nice, boy.”

Sheldon lowered his eyes, but the expression, half hidden behind silky lashes, was anything but contrite. “He likes to cause trouble,” Sheldon said with a sly grin.

“And you don’t? I remember some unique entertainment at several dinner parties.”

Sheldon flushed. “I was playing. Rick…?”

“Rick is what? I trust and need you judgment on submissives.”

“It’s hard for him.”

“It’s hard for all submissives. Submission is a choice, a difficult choice.”

“Landon always made it look so easy.”

“We didn’t know Landon as a young man. I suspect Rick thinks you make it look easy.” Milton saw Rick’s head shoot up, and his eyes briefly met Milton’s and Sheldon’s.

“Easy and crazy. You live in a harem.”

“Rick,” John growled.

“I realize the intention was rude, but the statement was technically correct,” Milton said calmly. “Rick, do you want to pick a fight with me. I’m not sure it’s the type of demonstration which I prefer to give, but if you think it might be educational, I’m happy to participate.”

Rick hissed something under his breath, and his eyes spoke of fury. “I’m not part of your harem.”

“No, you’re not, but you may also not use me as your punching bag. Provocation isn’t free forever, and you know it. Eat your lunch.”

John pushed the fork into Rick’s hand, and his glare more than matched Rick’s in intensity. Milton couldn’t quite hear the mumbled words, but he was willing to imagine they were some sort of acquiescence.

“More salad, sir?” It was the same young man who had shown them to the garden. He’d clearly heard the conversation and most likely had seen the earlier altercation between Rick and John. He was doing an admirable job of disguising his feelings behind a bland professional mask, but Milton could see the the twitch in the corner of hie eye and the throbbing pulse in his neck.

“Please.”

The man bent down to add more salad. Close up his steadiness was evaporating, and his eyes cut to his boss Robert who was leaning against an iron trellis and supervising the lunch. Milton smiled. “I don’t routinely spank the waiters. It’s in bad taste.” Milton peered at the identification around the man’s neck. “Chad, did we scare you last night?”

“I’m not interested in BDSM games. I was disgusted. You beat Harry.”

Milton pushed his chair back slightly and faced Chad directly. “For your information, Harry requested I cane him which I did with his full understanding and with full safeguards. He was not assaulted. Lying to yourself and participating in a power exchange is dangerous and stupid. You work in a hotel where you can smack naughty brats’ asses all day long. I would call that BDSM games.”

“I would call it help.”

“Then you’re seriously deluded, young man.” Milton gave Chad the patient look that he reserved for hopelessly lost students. “I know it’s difficult to have your frame of reference turned upside down, but it’s more difficult to know you hurt someone, not in the pain a submissive wants, but true harm. You seem to be a nice young man. I don’t believe you get up every morning hoping to damage someone. There are sexual predators out there. Some of them hide under the cloak of BDSM, some of them stalk their prey in poorly lit alleys or lonely parking garages or worst of all playgrounds, and some of them come home drunk and bash their spouse with the excuse that the dishes weren’t washed properly. I am a dominant, and I practice consensual BDSM. Last night you were treated to a display of consensual BDSM. It wasn’t abusive or disgusting. It might not have been to your taste, but it wasn’t abuse. Now I have boys who it would have been abuse and coercion. They’re submissives, but they’re not masochist, and they’re not exhibitionist. It’s only consensual because it’s fully agreed upon by men capable of making that decision. You used the word help. If a boy needs help in the most basic patterns of life, he cannot consent to something as complicated as a power exchange. The way we live is not the place for the broken or the damaged.”

“He’s brainwashed, Master. You want miracles. You may be head of venerable Green Mountain Boys, but the miracle dust was all used up in the last century.”

“Who said the miracle dust was all used up?”

“Landon,” Sheldon and Milton said together.

“Bonjour, mes amis.”

“When did you get here?” Milton asked.

Landon glanced at his watch. “We’ve been on French soil for forty-five minutes. We needed to inspect our new property.”

“You bought the place?”

“It’s the easiest way to bring in new management, but we only own fifteen percent. We combined forces with Paul Jacobson. He held forty-five percent. You might remember him. Come.” Landon tugged impatiently at Milton’s elbow.

The foyer of the hall was anything but ordered. The quiet precision of the place had been transformed into a mass of confusion and fearful expectations. Gordon was standing on the third step on the grand staircase, a stooped white haired man leaning on a cane next to him. Landon shouldered through the crowd, pulling Milton and his party with him. Milton spotted Harry and his friend Danny in the melee and managed to convey an understood signal that they should join them.

“I see the cavalry made it,” Milton said with a grin as he mounted the steps.

“The men with the checkbooks,” Gordon said dryly. “Do you remember Paul?”

Milton searched his memory. He’d met many people at Gordon’s functions. This man’s steady gaze was memorable and despite the infirmities of old age his presence was considerable, but Milton couldn’t place him. 

“It was many years ago,” Paul said in a voice that had obviously once been a rich baritone and was now thin with age. “You were perhaps nineteen or twenty. My William was very taken with you.”

“William.” Milton rolled the name around in his brain. “He was a pilot in World War II?”

“Squadron commander,” Paul said proudly.

“He took me flying. I never thanked him properly.”

“You needed to get away for the day. I’m sure your smile was enough. He talked about you for days. I thought I was going to have to kidnap you from my friend.”

“And William now?” Milton remembered now. He hadn’t been nineteen; he’d been barely eighteen and feeling hard done. It had been his birthday the night before, and despite Landon with the cake, it hadn’t been celebratory, and his first day as an official adult was equally awful. Gordon had kept him close in insufferable meetings where he was supposed to be invisible unless someone wanted water or coffee. He’d hated to be inside when the sun shone outside, and high summer had been upon him. William had been in one of those meetings, doodling on a yellow pad and glancing at the sky with the same desperation as Milton. Sometime during a snack break, he’d accidentally bumped into Milton, sending tea sandwiches to the floor. In the mess of squashed chicken and cucumbers, he’d grabbed Milton with a wide boyish smile on his tanned and freckled face and spirited them both to the airstrip--sandwiches, tea, and awful meetings forgotten. Gordon had about killed Milton that evening, but it had been well worth it.

“He passed five years ago,” Paul said very quietly.

“I’m sorry.” Such words were always inadequate. The loss was clear on Paul’s face as if five years ago were only yesterday.

“We had many good years together and many good memories.” Paul’s face changed, a steel in his expression, a man rallying his troops to do battle. “This was his place. He loved it here. His memory will not be spoiled. He was an adventurer born with a recklessness which could only be satisfied by war or death defying expeditions. He would jump from the roofs or swim in the highest seas. The rules were for him; it was our game. He knew the danger; only he wanted to be reeled in by me. He wanted that little thrill of me chasing and catching him. At twenty-one, he’d had real danger with German antiaircraft guns and hundreds of men depending on his skill with a temperamental machine. As a staid executive of a plumbing company there wasn’t much excitement beyond a broken water main. This was our game, no different than the way Ryan or John played with their partners last night. William knew that hanging from the drainpipe and landing in the hedge would start the game. He wasn’t lacking in intelligence or the ability to survive in the world around him without a keeper. He enjoyed his form of games. The rules were never meant as some blueprint for a lifestyle or to be seen as real. Of course a grown man knows not to swing from drainpipes. He was my lover, not an idiot. Gordon, please tell them of our plans.” Paul withdrew a perfectly starched and ironed handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes.

“As of this moment, this hotel is under new management,” Gordon said calmly, a man used to taking charge and giving orders. “Senior management is dismissed. Staff and junior management will remain at our discretion. Ryan, please coordinate with the staff. With your experience at The Forest, you are temporarily in charge until we find a replacement.”

“I wish to take two young dominants back with me,” Milton said.

“Who?”

“Harry and Danny. With proper training, they could possibly enter management positions. They both hold much promise.”

“Consider it done,” Gordon said.

“You can’t just barge in and move me thousand of kilometers,” Danny shouted, pushing his way through Milton’s crowd. He took a deep breath and seemed to be trying to gauge Gordon and Paul in front of him. “No offense, but--” he started again.

“Boy,” Paul said, his voice stronger than earlier. “We own your ass now, so you go where we tell you.”

“You can’t–”

“We can. I am now controlling partner. You may either take one month’s pay and leave, or you submit to us. The choice is yours. Milton believes you show promise as a dominant, and I trust his judgment, but you must trust us also. Decide by tomorrow. I hope you’re on the plane.”

Danny swallowed. He was obviously trying to take everything in and process the sudden changes. He was remarkably steady, his expression almost closed, but Milton could see a flicker of perhaps longing or hope before his face returned to schooled blankness. “I see,” he said neutrally.

“Danny,” Milton said, “the choice is yours, but make it without the financial side.”

“How? I actually need a paycheck.”

“So I guessed. It was one of the ways to tie young dominants here who saw the charade for what it was. We pay for staff training, and as we are going to need dominants, it’s a good investment.”

“I’m in,” Danny said. “Please, let me not regret this.”

“I can only promise we’ll do our best. I can’t promise it will be right for you or any of the others. I’ve already promised the moon and stars to five of my own, so the promises cabinet is empty. Gentlemen,” Milton said, bowing slightly to Gordon and Paul, “I am going to return to my lunch and at least pretend I’m on vacation. Landon did promise me a vacation, and that is more reasonable than the moon and the stars.”

Boys at the Seaside 4

Chapter IV

Harry flinched as the shower water hit his very sore arse. Each stripe ached, and they would be purple by morning. They were already a lovely shade of red. Those men. He shivered under the warm spray at that thought. The boy with the eyes that had swum with hurt and horror was a jewel that he’d tarnished with his own idiocy. Milton was a dominant who spoke of everything that Harry had always imagined in a dominant, a man of obvious contradiction even in the mere few hours that Harry had known him. His love for his submissives was blinding in its obviousness along with a fierceness that rolled off him in magnificent glory. But he’d also been alone and staring into the countryside, contemplative and quiet.

Harry snapped off the taps and dried himself with the towel. He shouldered into an oversized white T-shirt, not bothering with his shorts and threw himself face down on the bed. Resting his chin on his folded hands, he looked blankly at the glimpse of sky he could see through the mostly drawn curtains. This morning had begun normally with a day at the shore watching the young and sometimes foolish frolic in the blue water. Austin had seemed like most of the brats here: young, shy, and desperate for approval. He’d thought the defiance was merely the usual ploy for attention; instead, the boy had panicked and raced for protection, and Harry’s world had been turned upside down.

“Hey, mate. Did you hear about the ruckus? Oh, shit!”

“Danny,” Harry said with a smile. “I was the ruckus.”

“Who whipped you?”

“Caned. The head of the Green Mountain Boys.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” Danny bent down and kissed Harry’s mouth, a quick peck before staring unabashedly at the marks. “Jesus, dude, I didn’t think you were hard core.”

“I learned something about myself today. I’m going back with them.”

“Harry?!” Danny flopped down on the bed, his shirt shedding flecks of hay from the stables. He ran his rough fingers through Harry’s hair. “You’re going to leave me with all these crazies all by my lonesome.”

“Come with me. I’m sure they’d take you. They’re in crusade mood.”

“I have obligations.”

That was Danny’s way of saying that financially he didn’t have the freedom of Harry. This job had been a much needed safety net for Danny. For all his pretense of surfer dude, Danny was a desperate recently qualified graduate in French literature with few job prospects and heavy debt. They were paid for their loyalty, and Danny needed every Euro.

“I have enough to get us by.”

“I can’t. Don’t ask.” Danny stood up and started to shed his clothes. He was unselfconscious as his pants and shirt fell to the floor, exposing his lean torso and faint wisps of fair hair that matched his even faired hair on his head.  “You need to get your lazy ass out of bed. Cooper and Robert want everybody on the floor. Your new hero is giving a seminar and a demonstration, and we’ve been told to expect trouble. Up now.” Danny pulled Harry from the bed. “Dress.”

“Aye, sir,” Harry said with an easy grin.

The largest conference room was already seething with people. Harry braced himself as the wave of energy hit him. Groups of the braver brats were chatting loudly and galloping around the room like young colts just let out to pasture. Several of the tops, who Harry recognized from repeat visits, had their brats firmly in hand as they pushed forward to the front of the room.

“Andy, don’t run,” Danny said in his automatic voice of authority. “You’ll fall.”

“You’ve heard, haven’t you? It’s going to be exciting. I want a prime view.” Andy bounced up and down, a wide smile on his face.

“Where’s Camden?” Danny asked as he caught Andy’s elbow. “I can’t imagine he wants you here by yourself.”

“I want to see. I don’t care,” Andy said with a full pout.

“You need to go back upstairs. You know the rules.”

“Danny,” Andy whined. “It’s a once in a lifetime chance.”

“Upstairs, little boy.” Danny dusted his hand over Andy’s hip. “You don’t want to push me.”

“Danny!”

“Let him stay,” Harry said. “It’s not as if he’s trying to drive under the influence. He is an adult.”

“Harry? It’s our job.”

“I’m not doing it, mate. You’re on your own here.”

“Danny?” Andy questioned.

Danny shrugged. “Stay out of trouble.”

“Thanks, man.” Andy disappeared into the crowd.

“You’re some help,” Danny said, turning on his friend. “We’re supposed to create a uniform front.”

“I told you I’m not doing it. You’ll see.”

Harry found a place against the wall where he could see Milton who stood in front of a whiteboard as if he was holding court to the crowd around him. His submissives were clustered at the first table, looking calm and relaxed despite the palpable hostility of the crowd.

“As I understand it you believe we are abusive bastards,” a heavy set man with a brusque voice and a pugnacious jawline demanded.

“Some believe the Green Mountain Boys are abusive,” Milton said diplomatically. “We believe the definition of abuse hinges on consent and knowledge, both which seem lacking here. Perhaps we should start this conversation on the topic of consent. How would you define consent?” Milton looked out into the crowd which was surprisingly silent. “Austin, will you start us off as the crowd has developed acute laryngitis.”

“Safeword,” Austin murmured, a flush rising on his cheeks.

“I agree a safeword is vital for proper consent.”

“For play,” someone said in the back. “We are talking about apples and oranges. I do not play with my partner. I provide my protection and guidance. We do not need safewords.”

“Protection and guidance that felt like assault to my boy. Are you sure your boy understands it as protection and guidance? Are you sure you believe it’s protection and guidance. Will you pretend that you have no arousal when a beautiful boy is naked and ass up over your knees? Does your boy ever actually learn from this protection and guidance? The evidence is overwhelming that corporal punishment retards learning, not enhances it. As dominants, especially as dominants, who take the relationship out of the playroom and the bedroom, we must be aware of such studies. To use corporal punishment, without an overt and fully understood erotic overlay of dominance and submission is foolish and most likely criminal.”

“So you never punish your boys?” a dominant from the back row asked.

“Within the confines of the relationship–yes. In the more general definition of punishment–the way you want to define it–occasionally.” Milton said slowly. “Can I say it was just–I don’t know. Sheldon,” Milton said, standing directly behind his slave and looping an arm around his neck, “I punished you for drunk driving, real punishment.”

“Master, I never saw it as abuse. I hated it, but it did what you wished. I don’t drink and drive.”

“I also made you permanently fearful of the belt, and you no longer drink at all. Is that fallout each and every one of you is willing to inflict on your lover, someone you should protect and cherish? It is an ethical dilemma that must never be ignored. Real punishment, real discipline, whatever you want to call it is dangerous. I’m not a perfect enough dominant to tell you that it should never occur, but I will tell you it is the most difficult and dangerous part of any relationship with a submissive. To pretend what you do here is the simple or the easy option is shameful. Your little smacks, your little rules, your belief in guidance of the weak or the boy in the wrong is dominance and submission at its most difficult, at its most dangerous, and you deny it entirely. I fear for how many boys you have injured.” Milton kissed Sheldon’s hair and fingered the thin leather collar. “We have a demonstration planned. Please make your way outside.”

****

Blade stood in the light of the setting western sun. He watched the crowd gather and look up at their improvised whipping post and stage. Ryan was behind him: tall, handsome, and looking as bad ass as possible. He was dressed in nothing but khaki shorts and had oiled his chest to outline each muscle. He held the bullwhip loosely in his hand. Blade smiled at his partner and licked his lips. This was going to be fun.

“You ready, boy?”

“Yes, Ryan.” Blade slid his white shirt off and tossed it over the pool fence railing. He stroked his hand down his chest and tugged the gold ring in his right nipple. He groaned and wiggled his hips. He had the crowd now. He could feel their eyes on him. He strutted over to Ryan and stood with his hands planted on his hips. “Big boy, do you know how to use that thing, or is it just decoration?”

“So you want to play, little boy? Can you play with a real man?”

“Real man,” Blade laughed. “I think you spend your days admiring yourself in the mirror.”

“Really.” Ryan fisted the bright red hair and pulled Blade’s head back. He sealed their lips together in a fierce kiss. “Is that real man enough for you?”

“You can kiss.” Blade wiped his hand over his mouth. “But can you do anything else?”

Ryan grinned and unfurled the whip. “I can do this.” The whip arced across the air with a loud crack. He flicked the whip and let only the lash trace its way down Blade’s chest. He coiled the whip back in his hand and stared at Blade. “Is that enough?”

“Pretty tricks. Let’s see more.”

“You want more?” Ryan caught Blade’s wrist and pulled their bodies against each other. His lips rested against Blade’s ear. “Still good?” he whispered. 

Blade nodded and smiled, all challenge and sex. Ryan always checked. It didn’t matter how often they did some variation of this game, Ryan always checked.

“You want more,” Ryan said silkily, his smile the smile of a lion in front of a delicious steak. He skimmed the billowing white shorts from his boy’s body and landed two slaps on the tender pale skin of the thighs. “You’ll give it all to me. You’ll scream and beg and bleed for me. Never will you tease again.” Ryan grabbed Blade’s hand and dragged him to the improvised whipping post. “Now for my pleasure.”

Ryan’s hands traced over Blade’s back and ass. This was his ritual before he swung the whip. This was the last tactile reassurance. 

Without boots, there were no footsteps as Ryan strode away, only silence until the crack of the whip and the lash warm on Blade’s shoulders. Blade flinched at the noise; he always did for the first few strokes. The lash fell in a languid rhythm, hot and somehow soothing despite the pain that was beginning to build over his skin. Blade breathed deeply and let the fire of the whip consume him. It was only Ryan and the whip. His nerves sung, his muscles heaved and swayed without command. He knew he was moaning and screaming now, both begging for it to stop and for it to never end. The strokes were shortening. Suddenly Ryan’s hand was on Blade’s shoulder. His breath blew across the welts. A wet tongue skimmed his hypersensitive skin of his back.

“Come for me.”

No hands. No direct stimulation. Blade arched and shot a spew of sticky white. He sagged against Ryan, trusting in everything, boneless and spent, a plaything for his man.

*****

John’s hands massaged Rick’s neck and shoulders, chasing away the stiffness. This was hard for Rick. His boy looked both apprehensive and aroused. John had Rick do a warm up and stretching. For what he had in mind, he needed Rick’s muscles prepared. Rick was bare from the waist up. It was all John was ready to allow for other’s view. Rick’s lithe body was covered with a thin layer of sweat, and tiny tremors racked his muscles under John’s hands. Rick was gorgeous, but when pushed out of his comfort zone, Rick looked stunning. There were no other words for it. John’s heart boiled both with pride and jealousy. Soon dozens of people would see Rick at his most vulnerable, a dazzling beauty that was usually reserved for John alone.

He undid Rick’s braid and gathering his loose hair in his hand, arranged it over Rick’s left shoulder. He looked into Rick’s emerald eyes and leaned forward to place a kiss to his forehead.

“Ready, angel?”

Rick shook his head, his eyes going larger, looking like a spooked deer caught in the headlights. Ryan and Blade were finished, and Ryan was caring for his boy. They were still on the stage, Ryan’s attention captivated by his boy, while Milton addressed several words to the crowd, explaining the just finished scene. Rick’s eyes roamed over them and then back to Johnny. They were pleading with Johnny, Rick’s hands clutching at John’s biceps.

“Angel,” Johnny captured Rick’s face between his large hands and kissed Rick gently on the lips. “It’s only me. There is no one but me. Concentrate on me.”  

Rick bobbed his head, eyes transfixed on John. He tilted his head slightly, clearly begging for a kiss and John gave him that.

“Mine?” he asked, tracing Rick’s face with his finger.

“Yours, Master,” Rick murmured, his entire attention zeroed in on John.

Rick was already slipping into that place where he existed for his dominant. John had deliberately driven him there since the moment the decision of displaying their play was made. He had pushed and twisted Rick until his public persona was shuttered and all that remained was John’s Rick. It had bordered on brutal at times, but it was better than having his boy come apart on the stage in front of others.

John assessed Rick once more, to make sure the glimpses of desire for display he had seen a day ago when Rick had knelt for him in the hotel restaurant, wasn’t the fruit of his imagination. This was something Rick wanted to do, but was afraid to take the final step. John had pushed enough young recruits out of a plane for their first parachuting experience to know that sometimes helping meant pushing. He smiled at Rick gently and pulled him toward his chest.

“I need you to trust me, Ricky. I’m going to do some things that are new to you.” Rick had wanted to show Harry the power a dominant held over his submissive. Now they had a lot larger audience, but the message they needed to deliver didn’t change. John wanted to show them what it meant to wield that kind of power over another being, what a dominant could do to his submissive, how much a submissive was ready to invest in his dominant.

Rick slowly nodded his head.

“Do what you will. I trust you, Master.” That one word told John Rick was there.  

John kissed him once more – a short peck. He turned Rick around and pressed Rick’s back against his chest, his hands roaming over Rick’s chest and abdomen, arousing him further.

“I’m going to blindfold you now, beautiful.”

Rick hissed and jerked, trying to turn around, but John pressed at his shoulders, forcing him to stay where he was.

“Don’t Rick,” the order was soft, yet it carried all the authority John could muster. “I don’t give you reasons, Rick. I give you orders,” he hissed in his boy’s ear, his hand kneading the soft skin of Rick’s abdomen with a punishing harshness. “This one time I will give you my reason. The blindfold will help you concentrate on me.” He turned Rick around and forced his face up, to look him in the eyes. “I will not suffer any further disobedience, Rick.”   

“Forgive me, Master,” Rick uttered, lowering his eyes, the lush eyelashes casting long shadows over his delicate cheeks, making Rick look like a beautiful and fragile figurine made of porcelain.

John nodded and turning Rick around put the blindfold over his eyes. He led Rick to the makeshift stage Ryan had organized for the purpose of the demonstration and waited for Mike to bring the tools he was going to need.

“Your safeword is Orion,” John spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. It was for their benefit anyway; Rick knew his safeword. “Use it and I will stop,” he said the words with heavy emphasis. “Perseus is for slowing down. Use it if you need me to go back down, but don’t want me to stop entirely.” His voice carried over the gathered masses and John hoped that it reached at least some of the ears.

From that point the crowd ceased to exist for John. His whole attention was concentrated on Rick. He gathered Rick in his arms and swayed with him slightly, kissing his neck and shoulders until he felt Rick relax and separate from the surrounding world, his attention training on John. When he knew his had all of his boy, John led him to the whipping post. He tied Rick’s hands and pulled the bindings, making Rick’s arm stretch over his head. Rick took a sharp intake of breath and shuddered in John’s arms. Bondage was hard for Rick, even if he thrived in the constraints of bindings. John’s hands played with Rick’s body, caressing, stroking, pinching and prodding him, until his ministrations focused on Rick’s nipples, making Rick writhe under his hands.

“Don’t you dare come without my permission,” John barked, squeezing his nipples hard enough for Rick to yell with pain.

John reached for Rick’s feet and hoisted his lower body up, resting Rick’s weight against his hips. He bound Rick’s ankles and adjusted the bindings, so that Rick was suspended in the air, but his ankle bindings were providing enough purchase, so that his shoulders would not carry all the pressure. He put his hands under Rick’s knees and pulled them apart, opening Rick so wide it was almost humanly impossible. Rick was very limber and flexible, but it was too much for him also, tearing a desperate cry out of his throat as his muscles popped and strained. Rick was a sight to behold when he suffered. John could get drunk on his cries and whimpers. He held Rick’s knees open in that painful position as Rick bucked and twisted, whimpering with pain; his cheeks already flushed with pain and arousal. John regretted the blindfold. He would love to see the green eyes shining with tears, as his ivory cheeks were being painted in tears, the tip of his nose turning bright red, completing the picture of misery.

Finally he let Rick go and went for his implements. The knife was ice cold, taken out of freezer right before being brought to him. He touched it to Rick’s back and pressed down, dragging it around, while his other hand drizzled warm water on the blade which then ran down Rick’s back in small rivulets. Rick screamed, not from pain, but from shock. To Rick’s heightened senses the cold blade was cutting sharp, the dripping water creating the impression that he was being cut open. Rick’s hands wound tight in the ropes, and his body turned rigid. Words tumbled off his lips in a litany of pleas. For a second Johnny thought Rick might safeword, but he hung on and didn’t utter a word beyond a soft “please, please.” John gentled his hands over Rick’s flanks and played with his nipples some more; the knife abandoned. He pinched and twisted Rick’s nipples before putting some ice on them, forcing Rick to shriek in shock. When Rick finally went limp in his bondage, John went back to the knives. He alternated with heated and frozen blades, until Rick was practically incoherent, spicing it all up with hot wax and ice cubes.

There was no place on Rick’s torso that was untouched or unclaimed. Rick was a mess. He was crying continuously and freely, begging Johnny to let him go and to hold him tight. Rick was rock hard and only John’s continued commands to not come kept him from shooting in his pants.

Finally, John went for the strap. He unbound Rick’s ankles, letting him hang from his wrists, which got him a long and suffering moan from his boy. In the state of his utter arousal, Rick went wild as John started the beating. It looked like Rick sought out every strike, arching toward John, trying to guess where the next blow would land, so he could rush toward it. John brought the strap down, alternating between Rick’s back and his ass, delivering several well placed licks to his abdomen and chest. Rick jolted and kicked his feet, his body trembling and twisting. Rick’s hips were moving in a frantic and instinctive motion, all too familiar to Johnny. Rick was seconds away from disobeying him. John grabbed him from behind, held his waist and growled once more.

“Do not come. Don’t you dare disobey me,” he roared in Rick’s ear.

Rick froze, his body obeying immediately. The jerking movement of his hips stilled, and Rick let his head fall back against John.

Johnny took the blindfold off Rick’s eyes and cut Rick down from the post. Rick’s green pools focused on John immediately, and it was clear they reflected nothing but John. As soon as John let Rick go, his boy slid down to his knees and touched his forehead to John’s feet. John bent down and gathered Rick in his arms. Austin ran to them with a quilt that John wrapped around Rick.

Clutching Rick to his chest, he looked around at their audience for the first time since the scene started. They looked captivated and enthralled, even those who desperately tried to look disgusted and bothered. Rick was gorgeous in his submission. There was no one with dominant tendency in the world who would not get aroused by the sight of his submission.

“You saw how deep the control a dominant wields can run. It’s enthralling and empowering to have a submissive yield to you like that, and if any of you don’t feel at least the slightest of worry and fear over what you have just witnessed than you have no business in dominating someone,” he said shortly, before he turned his attention to Rick once more.

He deliberately stayed on the stage, letting everyone see how he was bringing Rick down from his high. Soon Rick was asleep in his arms, and Ryan walked to him to take the boy from his hands. He reluctantly let go of Rick, realizing that his own arousal had made him shaky, his muscles unreliable.

*****

Milton stood and strode to the performance area. He wasn’t an exhibitionist. It was something he’d endured a few times with Landon and Gordon, but he didn’t consider it pleasurable. Blade and Ryan reveled in their display. They were both beautiful men supremely confidant in their roles and their relationship together. They were one when Ryan held the whip or when Blade sank to his knees. It was very different than watching Landon and Gordon or John and Rick. Landon was a beautiful submissive and devoted to Gordon, but there wasn’t the abandonment of Blade who stood firmly and untouchably as a submissive. Landon lived in both realms. His mind, at least in public displays, was always three steps ahead, calculating what the audience would see and what Gordon would desire. In private he was different, freer with his submission, more true to the call of his heart. Rick fought his man. Submission, no matter how much desired, was never going to be simple or uncomplicated for Rick. It was only with difficulty that Rick separated his identity as Richard Masters, hotshot attorney and man who bent to no one’s will from the boy who craved John at his most dramatically dominant.

“John, your services pleases.” Milton shed his shirt, tossing it into the pile with the other clothes and drew his belt from his pants. “Twenty please.”

Blue eyes met brown, a slow appraising gaze. John understood. He silently nodded toward the post. Milton grasped the handholds and concentrated on his breathing. It had been years since he’d absorbed such a beating. He knew John wouldn’t hold back. This would not be pretend. 

John’s hand touched Milton’s shoulder, and heavy fingers traced Milton’s muscles and palpated each lump of his spine as if they wanted to memorize each bump and curve. “Are there any injuries or limitations I should know about?”

“No.”

“If you lower your hands or say red I will stop. Brace yourself.”

Milton knew it would be only a few seconds before the belt would leave a line of fire across his shoulders. John had stepped away. He would be tucking the buckle safely in his hand and mapping each strike on the tempting flesh.

Milton hissed and lurched forward at the first crack of the leather against his skin. It had been too long; he’d forgotten the fire. He drew a deep breath, braced again, and searched in his mind for the place that made whippings tolerable. Gordon could get Milton into subspace, but it could take days, but there was another spot, a spot where the pain both burned and soothed, where he could think of nothing but each stripe as it bit into his flesh, a spot where all this craziness would melt into a haze that didn’t need his attention for a few minutes.

Milton lost count somewhere between twelve and fifteen. All he knew was that his body burned. The flames had escaped his mere skin and now scorched through his body with cleansing fire. He didn’t try to hide the silent tears that dripped onto his cheeks or mask the grunt at each blow.

Milton hadn’t noticed that no new thousand stings landed on his abused flesh. He stumbled forward as he felt a hand on the back of his neck.

“Steady. Give yourself a minute.”

“Mine.” Sheldon’s voice said sharply. “This is my duty and my honor.” Milton didn’t hear John’s words, but in the corner of his eye he saw the retreating figure. Sheldon held a bottle to Milton’s lips. “Slowly, Master. May I say I think you’re an idiot.”

“Most likely.” Milton took a small swallow. He swished the liquid around in his mouth and let it dribble down his throat. “Get my shirt,” he croaked. The cloth over his back was excruciating; maybe worse than the actual blows. Focus, he demanded of himself as he reached for Sheldon’s hand. “Thank you.”

“As always, Master, but you will hear my opinion of this foolishness.”

“I would expect no less.” Milton drew a long breath and let it out slowly. He stared into the crowd, now lost in the evening shadows. “Never ask of your boys something you don’t understand yourself. You ask your boys to live under silly and ridiculous rules and call it healthy. I know none of you who consider yourself tops feel the need to remind yourself not to jump off roofs or drown in knee deep water. Think about it, gentlemen.” Throwing his arm around Sheldon’s shoulders, Milton walked from the stage.

****

Milton slid out of bed, swallowing the hiss as his muscles screamed over the abuse last night. He stepped out onto the balcony and let the cool air drive the sludge of sleep and pain from his head. The first rays of the sun were just breaking the horizon and lighting the sky and sea in a thin grey mixed with a few streaks of red. He braced himself against the balcony railing and watched the tide come in. Directly below he could see the first stirrings of guest services. They were spreading tablecloths and laying out a continental breakfast for the earliest risers of the patio area. Milton wondered rather naughtily if someone had been sent out for coffee. 

Milton smiled to himself. If he were a cruel man, he could enjoy the upheaval they’d created. Perhaps he was cruel, but not in this sort of way. These men, who regularly came here, would think he was cruel. He was a dominant in all the ways they rejected and found repulsive. He’d been trained to be a dominant from almost the earliest stirrings of his hormones, and he believed with all his heart that what he was seeing here was a gross distortion of the sacred trust between a dominant and a submissive; he believed this was nothing but abuse, an ugly word for sure, disguised in a pretty wrapper of phony concern and caring. Milton enjoyed pulling his boys over his knee and turning their flesh a gorgeous crimson. He enjoyed the control he exercised over his boys. He enjoyed the lowered lashes and the demure flush on his boys’ cheeks. He didn’t enjoy real punishment. He’d been trained to fear the abuse of power. What made his choices better than his submissives? What gave him the right to hit in the name of training or guidance?

Milton rolled his shoulders and stretched slowly, feeling the pull across his abused muscles and skin. The cold towels and the liberal application of aloe had helped, but he was sore. He wasn't twenty-five anymore as Sheldon had pointed out. Sheldon had been annoyed last night, calling Milton's action needless bravado.

"Getting yourself beat raw isn't going to make them see. They're invested in this pretense. We just look even more crazy to them," Sheldon had said.

"You don't ask your boy to do what you can't give yourself."

"I know." Sheldon had kissed the back of Milton's neck. "I also know if you only reach Harry and Danny you will consider it a success. It doesn't mean I have to enjoy someone else touching you in that way. You are my master."

Milton walked soundlessly back into the room. By some silent agreement to which Milton hadn't been privy, only Sheldon had come back with him last night. He'd have to talk with all of them today. Austin was so young. This was the darker side of their world, a part of their life from which Milton shielded his youngest. Tilden had looked pale and had been clutching Luke's hand, and Mike would be higher than a kite. Milton wasn't sure he had the energy to take Mike down today, but maybe Ryan could.

Milton pulled on his swim trunks and carefully arranged a cotton shirt over his battered skin. A swim and a run on the beach would loosen his muscles and make him fit for human company. 

The beach was deserted, and the few hotel minions carefully avoided him. The water stung as it rose above his waist. He dove under the silly barricade and concentrated on the evenness of his strokes. He swam steadily; the quiet broken only by the occasional gull screaming for a handout. Switching from the crawl to the breaststroke, he retraced his path. 

The shore was no longer empty. Tilden jogged over the sand, the water lapping around his ankles. He stopped and called as he spotted the swimmer in the sea. Milton headed toward shore. Shaking the water from his hair, he joined Tilden at a steady jog.

"Are you all right?" Milton asked as they continued to jog. Tilden's feet were nearly silent in the sand, his eyes followed the waves, seemingly desperate not to meet Milton's.   

"I didn't like last night." Tilden continued to run, his strides rhythmical across the sand. "I know you."

"I frighten you," Milton said.

"That frightens me."

"Would you prefer I pretend that you're incompetent or stupid or whatever else they pretend? It's about power and sex."

"I prefer not to see a man I love get beat raw. You didn't enjoy it."

"It was necessary."

"You're an articulate man. You didn't need to sacrifice yourself."

"I did. Words would have been inadequate. My skin and muscles will heal. The damage they are doing to those boys may never heal."

Tilden stopped, bent down, and picked up a shell which he tossed into the waves. "Does it have to be so brutal?"

Milton reached for Tilden's hand and kissed the palm. "You're a submissive, and you're not like that. Is that the question?"

"I don't want bound and beaten to ribbons."

"You don't even want to think I'm capable of it, but I am. I control the darkness, the horrible creature that demands to be fed by embracing all that I am. I know what it is. I don't pretend it's benign or altruistic. I hit those whom I love, even you, my friend."

Tilden nodded, his vivid eyes resting on the sea. "I like it when you spank me. I would hate the whip."

"I know, and I don't do it with you. I tame my fire; I fear my fire. These fools do none of that."

"You wouldn't take me as a lover because you were afraid of what's inside yourself."

"Yes," Milton said softly. "I'm still afraid. I am the extreme. I am dangerous."

Tilden turned and drew a soft finger down Milton's cheek. "I trust you. I'm yours, sir." Tilden dropped to one knee and pressed against Milton's leg.

"My beautiful one. You don't need to. I only ask what you're comfortable giving. Up, now."

They ran back together, strides matched in perfect synchrony.

Boys at the Seaside 3

Chapter III

Milton stared out the high windows to the distant green of the French countryside. The sea was closer from the other windows, but the green reminded him of home in high summer. He imagined somewhere there were cows grazing and tractors winding down rutted country lanes. He hugged his knees and continued to stare into the distant farmland. He’d almost lost it today. Robert and his willful ignorance was beyond infuriating. Cooper he had no read on; the man had merely seemed dim, and poor Harry had been drowning in a sea in which he wasn’t equipped to swim. Harry was as much of a victim as Austin, and he had none of the support around him.

Milton had shed his boys for a few hours. Sheldon had known. He’d grabbed Austin’s hand and must have diverted everyone else at some point. No one had come looking for him, not even Tilden whose calm gentleness would be a welcome balm against Milton’s crashing anger. 

Luke had tried to explain the appeal of this craziness on their morning walk. His explanation had been halting and fragmented, and at least to Milton had seemed woefully fantastical. Milton understood the ideals of protection; he understood the allure of spanking from both sides, but a submissive held enormous power in this relationship. They weren’t victims or permanently infantile or incapable and indecisive adults. What was the appeal of being treated as such? Luke could be shy, but he was brilliant and successful. Where was his confidence in himself? How was weakening his own confidence and strengthening the ties of dependance through deception going to make life better? This discipline as these people liked to call it was clearly a deception. Could they not see that themselves? Even if Milton could swallow the idea that corporal punishment was a real tool in non erotic behavioral modification, there was still the blatant proof in all directions that it wasn’t working. No sane and competent adult could repeatedly make the same often infantile mistake unless the punishment was anything but punishing. No dominant should ever place himself on a pedestal where he knew best. Milton didn’t know how to navigate life better than his submissives and to pretend otherwise was dangerous and foolhardy. These men wanted something, that like Luke, they weren’t understanding or accepting. Give Luke time in the reality of the real world versus the fantasy of his mind,  and he would see it also. The travesty wasn’t with the submissives; it was with the dominants who should have fled in horror at these deceptions. Dominance wasn’t a benign and saintly power.

This wasn’t the planned bratting of a younger Sheldon or the occasional catastrophe that pushed everyone against the edges of contemplating the truly disastrous. This was the systematic use of force to control and subjugate a population. Milton raked his fingers through his hair. Maybe he was exaggerating; maybe he was seeing everything out of proportion. Maybe they were so deep in the fantasy they forgot to correctly articulate the fantasy elements to strangers. Playing at discipline wasn’t evil; he enjoyed it with Sheldon–the game of catch me if you can. He’d used some similar rules training unfamiliar submissives, stupid and ridiculous rules to emphasize sacrifice and submission; only he’d made that clear. They didn’t make it clear here. In fact they intentionally hid it behind pretty words about guidance and boundaries and loving correction. Milton was Gordon trained. The power that surged through Milton’s veins, that drove his dominant instincts was to be respected, to even be feared; it wasn’t to be disguised under the seal of good housekeeping. It wasn’t some benign force to guide the weak and the lost. Consent must always be granted with knowledge and strength. They had strayed far too close to a whirlpool of danger with Luke and Mike at the beginning, but these men were up to their necks and paddling deeper. 

“Sir.” The voice interrupted Milton’s dark reverie. He turned his head to see Harry hovering in the doorframe.

“Harry,” Milton said, trying his best not to look like the next most likely serial killer. “May I help you?”

“Sir, I should go.”

“No, you took the trouble to find me. I thought I was well hidden.”

“It’s my favorite spot also. I thought you might be here. It felt like you,” Harry said with a smile that would be beautiful if the boy wasn’t poised to flee.

“Harry, why were you looking for me?”

“Cane me.”

Milton studied the man in front of him. The eyes were wide, but the set of the jaw was determined. This wasn’t a fly by night boy. There was something real about young Harry, a promise that lay under the tarnished surface.

“Have you ever been caned?”

“No, sir. Caning was outlawed in schools, and my parents didn’t believe in corporal punishment. You said you’d cane a dominant for violating a safeword.”

“At the least, but you didn’t know. It’s hardly fair to subject you to a ritual punishment for a violation you didn’t understand.”

“I want to understand. I’m a dominant; I must understand.”

“Yes, you must.”

“I googled you. You could train me.”

“I have five submissives. I hardly have the time to train a dominant.”

“You’re a Green Mountain Boy. I want to learn from the best. I never again want to see what I saw on your beautiful boy’s face. It was wrong.”

“Very.”

“Please.” Harry dropped to one knee, his eyes pleading. His long limbs surprisingly wispy in the position of submission, almost like a young deer hidden in a thicket, still all legs and soft eyes.

“We are not kind and gentle.”

“In your own way, I think you are both, but I am prepared.”

“You can never be prepared. I lived through it. It is far worse than you can imagine.”

“To be half the dominant you are, I would live through anything.”

“You have no frame of reference to judge my ability as a dominant.”

“Teach me. I beg of you.”

“You are nor broken enough to beg; that will come. I will cane you, and then I will ask again. Come, boy. Off your knees and be grateful to stand.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry took Milton’s outstretched hand. Milton felt the slight shudder, even though the grip was firm.

“Be brave.” Milton dropped a chaste kiss on the blond hair.  “We never abandon our own.” 

Milton didn’t have a cane in his luggage; it wasn’t something he’d take through airport security, but John had come across the Chunnel. With a boy like Rick, Milton was sure John would have come prepared.

The halls were remarkably deserted, the few guests he saw cast a suspicious glance at Milton and busied themselves with their door locks or scurried out of sight. “I see my reputation has spread.”

“Rick had an interesting and very public meeting with our lawyers. Gossip spreads quickly here,” Harry said.

“I see. I assume Rick threatened everything from financial ruin to criminal prosecution. He does nothing in small doses.”

“He did.” Harry hesitated, a question clear in his very expressive eyes.

“Ask what you want to ask. Your thoughts are mine.” Milton saw Harry swallow as the implications of those four words hit his brain. “You are correct. You will be entitled to no privacy.”

“Safety?” Harry asked, the unformed question clear to Milton.

“Yes.” Milton pulled Harry into an alcove and pressed the lean body that still smelled of salt and sand into the wall, fencing in the boy with his arms. “I will demand everything. I will hurt you. I will scare you. Sometimes I may terrorize you. I must know everything, or I could damage you. My goal is not to damage you. Now what did you want to ask?”

“Rick–he doesn’t seem submissive. I see it in Austin. I can see it a little in Sheldon, but I see nothing in Rick.”

“Austin’s and Sheldon’s submission lies closer to the limited model you were taught to recognize. Rick is a submissive, strongly submissive, but he is not a man who desires a care taker or a guardian in any fashion, and he is a man who is not always comfortable with the public persona of submission. My boys are acclimatized to public gatherings. As the harem of the head of the Green Mountain Boys, they have no choice but to accept a public role. Sheldon is the spearhead of that role, but none of us are ever entirely out of the public eye.”

“Harem?”

“I have five. What else would you have me call it?”

“I’ve never been asked such a question.”

“Partners or lovers are the terms I more commonly use. Rick favors the term harem, and he is technically correct. I am a greedy bastard. Those five are mine, and each is loved to the best of my ability.” Milton grabbed Harry’s wrist and pulled him from the sheltered corner in a casual display of dominance that the boy would have to learn to accept.

****

John startled at the sharp knock. Rick was sprawled across the bed, covered only by one of John’s oversized shirts. John cracked the door open, not welcoming guests at this moment.

“Are we disturbing something?” Milton asked curtly, his eyes taking in the situation in John’s room, lingering just for a second over Rick’s body sprawled on the bed. Milton’s companion’s eyes stayed on Rick slightly longer, making John debate his calmer mood.

“No.” John’s kept his eyes on Harry, still assessing the boy. He was just a boy, now that John was looking at him through eyes not clouded with rage. A boy who looked both guilty and confused. A boy who looked to be very much in need of a helping hand.  

“He’s trying, John. I came to ask for a cane.” Milton obviously read John’s hard stare quite well.

“Which one?”

“The nursery and the senior.”

“First time?” John knew Milton was safe and that he knew what he was doing, but the questions stumbled off his tongue all the same.

“Yes. Send Ryan to check on us in thirty minutes. He deserves that protection.” Milton was easy, never offended by other’s need to ascertain the safety. That was what made John admire the man so much. Well, that and the fact that the man managed five submissives without either killing himself or becoming randomly murderous.

“Where will you be?”

“Is there someplace private and relatively soundproof?” Milton turned slightly to address Harry.

“There are discussion rooms in the basement. I’m assigned the yellow one.”

“Send Ryan to the yellow room,” Milton said.

John went to the closet and quickly looked for the needed canes. “The senior will hurt,” he said more for Harry’s knowledge. The boy didn’t look to know much about anything.

“I’ll be careful, John.”

“Do you want to do this?” John asked, addressing Harry directly for the first time.

“I requested it, sir.”

 John nodded his head. It would be good for the boy to do this. “I’ll send Ryan in thirty minutes.”

John shut the door behind them and cast a quick glance at the bedside clock to time the thirty minutes.

“Invite that boy to see us play.” Rick’s voice was raspy and barely audible.

John turned around, training his gaze on Rick, doing his utmost to keep the surprise off his face. He had thought Rick was sleeping; he obviously wasn’t sleeping, neither was he so far gone to not hear the exchange.

Rick had turned his head and was looking at John now. He had folded his hands under his chin and had his head resting against his hands. His green eyes were clear and serene.

“He needs to see the good side also. He needs to see a submissive enjoying himself,” Rick pushed himself off the bed and sat up, swinging his legs down the bed. “Giving himself willingly to his dominant’s pleasure, surrendering to his will. Not because he has to, or because it’s the right thing or any other morally uptight facade of reason, but because of his desires and his acknowledgment of those.” Rick stood and walked slowly to John, holding his gaze. “He needs to see a dominant controlling the scene, yet following his submissive’s lead, reading him and cherishing his gift.” He put his hands around John’s shoulders and climbed on his toes to be closer to John’s face. “Who can show him all that better than you? Johnny, if we can save even one of them, we have won,” he finished softly.

Johnny bent his head down and took a long drink of the fountain of strength that was Rick.

****

The yellow room wasn’t actually yellow. It was cream with two utilitarian chairs a slightly battered table and a leather covered sofa. A notebook and several pens sat on the table along with a small bowl of hard candies and a pitcher of ice water.

“Are the candies your touch?” Milton asked.

“Yes, a brat–should I call them brats?–is usually nervous if I bring them down here,” Harry said, his eyes darting around the barren room.

“Are you nervous now?”

Harry hesitated and then nodded. “It is perhaps beyond nervous.”

“Do you know anything about canes?”

“What I’ve read in books.”

“A young English dominant with no knowledge of a historic tool–a travesty.”

“My mother is American.”

“Ah, a secret barbarian from the colonies.”

Harry smiled slightly and rubbed his hand across his khaki shorts.

“Better. Slightly less stiff. I’ve chosen the nursery cane and the senior cane. This will hurt, but I will not flay you alive. I will not draw blood. My plan is six with the senior cane across your shorts and one with the nursery cane across your hands. Does that sound survivable?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Your safeword is red to stop and yellow to slow down. Repeat those for me.”

“Red to stop, yellow to slow down.” Harry’s voice was faintly hoarse, but the words were clear, and his breathing was relatively steady.

The best place will be across the table. Move the glass bowl and the chairs and lean across the table. You will want to hang onto the edges. You do not want me to catch your fingers with a senior cane. Go on now. Get ready.”

Harry moved the furniture and bowl and leaned across the table. His breathing was faster now, and Milton could see a slight sheen of sweat on Harry’s forehead.”

“What is your safeword?”

“Red to stop, yellow to slow down.”

“Good.” Milton laid his hand on Harry’s back and felt a distinct shudder. “I have to touch you. Breathe for me.”

“Trying.”

“You’re doing fine. This is never easy.” Milton raised the cane and brought the first stroke down hard across the presented buttocks. The thin shorts would provide no real protection; this would hurt. Harry lurched forward and grunted, his hands slipping from the table edge. “Do not reach back, boy. I’ll spank you and start again.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry’s grip was white against the brown of the table. He clawed the edges desperate for purchase on the slick surface.

Milton swung quickly, letting the cane bite directly below the last stroke. The grunt was louder this time, and Harry’s body bucked sharply. The third stroke drew the first muted cry.

“That was three. Do I continue? There is no disgrace in safewording.”

“Go on. You said six.”

Milton placed the last three strokes with biting force. By the fifth, Harry was silently crying, and at the sixth, which landed at the tender junction of thighs and buttocks, Harry shuddered and a choked sob escaped.

“Easy. Brave boy.” Milton stroked the shaking back and kissed the tangle of mussed, sandy hair. 

“They used to do this to school children,” Harry choked out after a moment, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“Not that hard. I’m a sadist, Harry. I was trained to swing the cane by another sadist. It will hurt when I do this. Now stand up. You are still owed one across your palms. You do not touch what is mine.”

Harry struggled upright and faced Milton. His eyes were red, and his face was streaked with tears. He was a beautiful boy, all disheveled and in pain. Milton swallowed thoughts that were highly inappropriate in a relationship that must stay as close to platonic as possible.

“Your right hand.” 

Harry yelped this time. The red wheal was instantly visible.

“Other hand.”

The eyes were pleading, almost desperate. Harry shivered, and his hands stayed clutched together. A tear dripped down his cheek.

“What is your safeword?”

“Red.”

“Give me your hand.”

“It hurts. I’m…”

“I know, Harry, it hurts, not just the physical unpleasantness, but the mental turmoil. You gave me this permission earlier, but now I’m forcing your submission. I’m demanding you yield entirely. It’s very frightening, and as a dominant it’s not natural for you. You have a safeword.”

“No.” Harry pushed his hand forward.

Milton didn’t check the stroke. Harry screamed this time, a full throated cry, and doubled over, clutching his marked palm. 

“All over. Come here.” Milton wrapped his arms around Harry and hung on. “Settle for me. I didn’t kill you.”

Harry didn’t stay long in Milton’s arms. He grabbed a stack of tissues and mopped his face. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I couldn’t take it.”

“Harry, you took it. You stood there and willingly let a near stranger beat you. There is no reason for you to be sorry. If I hadn’t made you cry and scream, I wouldn’t have been doing it properly.”

“Does it ever get any easier?”

“Not really. You know what to expect now, so maybe that is easier, but sometimes that knowledge makes it worse.”

“Your boys do this.”

“Some. Caning doesn’t work for everyone. I used it with you because it’s often highly symbolic for the English, and it’s effective with your clothes on. You will at some point get a taste of everything. You can let me know what is your nemesis.”

“Worse than this?”

“Worse is such a subjective word. Pleasure and pain are such confusing inputs for the brain. I wasn’t trying to give you pleasure today, but six with the cane for the right boy in the right mindset can be intense pleasure. This was meant to hurt. This was meant to punish. This was meant to make you think twice about the request you made earlier. Do you still want to be trained as a dominant? This was but a taste.”

“Yes, I can’t stay here. I’m not them.”

“No, I don’t think so, but we are not easy.”

“I know.” Harry rubbed his hand over his backside. “How long will these hurt?”

“A few days. Ice helps.”

“What do I do now?”

“My young Austin would say you should just chill. What do you do with a young man after you spank him?”

“Sit with him until he’s not upset. Explain how to prevent the need for a repetition of the spanking. Comfort him.”

“What do you think I do?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I don’t impress you as warm and cuddly.”

“Sir?”

Milton wrapped his arm around Harry and pulled him close. “I can do cuddly, but you don’t know me. I can also be difficult and put a submissive in a corner and admire the lovely red stripes on his ass. Every dominant is different as is every submissive. As a dominant, you’ll need to learn what works for your submissive. There is no formula.”

The knock was short and sharp with no wait for a response. Ryan strode into the room. He was dressed for the beach in shorts and a loose fitting shirt. His hair was tousled from the sea breezes, and suntan lotion was smeared across the back of his neck. 

“Everyone OK?”

“Yes,” Milton said.

“Harry needs to answer also? Harry you live through it, or should I arrest Milton for misconduct?”

“It was interesting.”

“Harry, I’m your check in. I don’t need neutral and careful. Oh, by the way I’m Ryan. I’ll answer to Ryan or Ry. I prefer not to  be called sir. I’m our safety officer, so you find me if things don’t feel right. I even have power over Milton on issues of safety.”

“He does,” Milton said and nodded. “Ryan, why don’t you do a formal check and verify our encounter.  It was his first time, and it would be good for him to understand the safeguards.”

“Harry, are you up to answering a few questions for me?” Ryan straddled one of the hard chairs and gave Harry one of his trademark blinding smiles. “The questions can be intrusive. I won’t be insulted if you tell me where to go over some of them. I’d be pretty insistent if I thought you were in distress, but you look in one piece to me. I assume you have some impressive stripes?”

“I haven’t looked yet.”

“How many?” 

“Six of the best, I believe, is the traditional way to refer to it and one across each hand.”

“Ouch. Bare or dressed?”

“Dressed.” Harry flushed, a pretty pink rising up his neck.

“He belted my ass naked once if that makes you feel any better.”

Harry swallowed, seeming to ingest that new piece of information. “Sounds difficult.”

“Hurt like hell. At least he was kind enough to feed me some aspirin before sending me off to bed. Getting up the next morning was a new kind of torture–definitely against the Geneva Convention.”

“You about put my head through a cabinet, so I think we’re equal,” Milton said with a flash of a smile.

“Ah, Milton, now we’re scaring the wee young dominant. We really aren’t insane, or at least not all the time.”

“Speak for yourself. I have five submissives; I think that fits the definition of insanity.”

“Greedy, not insane. Harry, do you hurt anywhere? Sharp pains? Feel nauseous or dizzy?”

Ryan was good at this. Harry had relaxed during Ryan’s banter and was now leaning against the sofa, a brightness back in his eyes that wasn’t tears. He rubbed his backside again and then studied the red line across his right palm.

“Bloody hurt, but I’ll live.”

“That a boy.” Ryan reached for the bowl of candy at his feet, popped one in his mouth, and tossed a green one to Harry and a blue one to Milton. “Do these have a flavor besides sugar?”

“No,” Harry said with a smile. “What’s wrong with sugar?”

“In moderation. I was hoping red was watermelon or cherry. No such luck.” Ryan sucked loudly at the candy. “Did Milton discuss safewords?”

Milton leaned against the wall and stayed silent. Ryan absolutely knew they would have been discussed, but this was protocol, and Ryan was a teacher. He’d be good with this young dominant.

“Yes, sir. He gave me red and yellow.”

“Good. I prefer ‘yes, Ryan’ if you want to be formal. I’m not a stickler about protocol, but Gordon is. You’ll figure that out soon enough. Did at anytime you feel that your safeword might not be honored?”

“No, Ryan.”

“Were you at any time gagged where you couldn’t utter your safeword?”

“No, Ryan.”

“Did you feel mentally or physically at risk at anytime?”

“No, Ryan.”

“Milton, is there anything you’d like to add?”

“I wasn’t entirely satisfied with my ability to provide aftercare for Harry. I wouldn’t generally choose a cane for a first encounter with me, and this showed in the support I was able to provide him afterward. I hope Harry will become comfortable with one of us so that we will be able to provide better care after a scene. He was restrained about physical contact and quickly tried to maintain a physical distance from me.”

“Harry what Milton’s saying in his round about formal way is that you got your ass thoroughly beat and it would be more than OK if you wanted to lean on him and cry as long and as hard as you wanted. He’s not going to think you’re a wimp for showing a little emotion. Stiff upper lip doesn’t go over well with us.” Ryan caught Harry’s wrist and pulled him into a crushing hug. “This is more our style. Welcome aboard, kid.”

Harry stepped away and straightened his shirt. He gave Ryan a crooked smile. “I prefer to breathe during any hugging activities. Is that too much to ask?”

Ryan laughed and half swatted the back of Harry’s head. “Milton, only you could find a dominant who can brat. You’re going to kill me.”

“I’ll think you’ll live,” Milton said dryly.

“Only with much pain and suffering.” Ryan kissed Harry’s forehead and mussed his hair further with his fingers. “Are we good here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to lick your wounds in peace, or would you like one of us to come?”

“Alone, please.”

“This time,” Ryan said, giving Harry a steady look, “but I expect you not to hide, and if you need anything you come get one of us, or I’ll have your ass. I hit just as hard as Milton. Don’t test me by doing silent and suffering. It won’t fly with me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ryan. No wailing and gnashing my teeth alone. I promise to find you if I need to wail or gnash. I’d like a shower and to find some of the ice Milton recommended.”

“Go then,” Ryan said. “Be good and no hiding.”

“Roger.” Harry gave a little wave and slipped out the door.

“So which one of us is going to draw the short straw and have the chat with him about honesty?” Milton asked after the door closed.

“He’s your project, and you’re the big chief. I think you drew that straw.” 

“Great,” Milton groaned.

Ryan smiled. “Well, clearly you were getting bored with only five people in your orbit. You might as well make it an even half dozen.”

“Oh no you don’t New rule–all baby dominant training is a group experience. It will foster community bonding.”

“You’ve been reading too much of this hotel’s literature. It’s more likely to foster community head bashing.”

“We can all bond over the headaches.” Milton shook his head and rubbed a hand over the back of his own neck. “Harry’s a good kid. You should have seen his eyes when he realized his mistake with Austin. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“Of course not.” Ryan looped an arm around Milton’s neck in friendly affection. “You wouldn’t be Milton if you’d just left him. The boy will do fine. I’ll prod him for you if I need to, but I think with time he’ll come around. He’s feeling shocked. Give him a few days. I’m young enough to remember the entire experience in Technicolor instead of warm shades of rose. It’s hard. He’ll come around.”

****

Rick did everything fast. One minute he was sitting across from John and listening to him give Rick the information he had managed to gather and a second later he was already in the negotiation room with the lawyers and the senior management.

From the moment Austin had run into his arms, John had started to seriously gather information on this place. He was behind enemy lines, and he wasn’t going to be caught dumb and blind. Milton’s men had done the same with an efficiency matching the most prized intelligence organizations. Luke and Tilden, with a dozen languages between them, had inserted themselves or eaves dropped on countless conversation. Mike had swapped identity from Milton’s submissive to a young and restless dominant, a role he played remarkably well. Sheldon and Blade had merely smiled brightly and looked impossibly brat-like for these types to resist. John had made several international phone calls. The names Gordon Lewis and Landon Graves opened doors that most people would never have found let alone have opened wide with at least a pretense of welcome. The information had been sobering and frightening.

Now, Rick was urgently gathering their entire party in Milton’s room.

“All right! So I have forced their hand into agreeing to organize a workshop for you guys.” He looked at Milton and Ryan. “To talk about the lifestyle and safety measures. You also are welcomed to do a demonstration. No limits, everything is entirely up to you.” He finished beaming proudly. “Oh, and the participation for the staff is mandatory; the guests will be strongly encouraged to participate,” he chirped, looking around at everybody.

“May I ask how you achieved this?” Milton asked, his intense eyes trained on Rick. John wasn’t sure how to read those eyes, there was an edge to them that he couldn’t decipher.

“I told them I will not pursue them - criminal prosecution or a civil claim.” Rick’s eyes shone with mischief. Milton straightened his frame in a way which suggested that such a decision was not Rick’s and that he should have been consulted first. Rick let out a short laugh and shook his head. “I can’t believe how easy they are. It’s like taking candy away from a child.”

“Easy? You gave them–” Milton didn’t get to finish.

“Nothing! I gave them nothing! I said I will not pursue them,” Rick said, accentuating the word and ignoring Milton’s displeasure over being interrupted. “I never said anything about Austin, who has the most legitimate claim. Unbelievable,” Rick snorted aloud.

Austin who was sitting on the floor near the sofa raised his eyes abruptly to look at Rick at the mention of his name, his eyes remaining on Rick for a while –studying him.  

“You tricked them?” John asked incredulously.

“Hello,” Rick said, walking closer to John and extending his hand for a handshake. “My name is Richard Masters, and I have no moral limits,” he said brightly.

Johnny shook his head and kept his arms crossed over his chest.

“Impossible,” he muttered under his breath. He caught Sheldon’s mischievous smile directed at his brother, who grinned at him, both imps clearly approving of Rick’s approach.  

“It’s customary to defer these matters to me, Rick,” Milton said in a grave voice.

 “Oh, get over yourself,” Rick rolled his eyes.

“Rick,” John barked the warning before Milton would decide to take offense at Rick’s flippant words.

“I’m sorry,” Rick immediately amended, leaving out the ‘Sir’ that John would have demanded. “But this is not some harmless or unintentional confusion we have stumbled upon.” Rick’s face became serious, any trace of naughtiness disappearing. “Johnny has gathered some intel on this place, rather on the people who are behind this little charade. Harry is not a singular case of misguidance. They systematically sought out young men with dominant tendencies to involve them in this parody.” Rick paused and took a deep breath. “What we have seen in the brochures is nothing compared with what they advocate in face to face interactions. They are pressuring young dominants to regard their desires as depraved and morally unacceptable. The number they do on the submissives...” Rick waved his hand and trailed off. His jaw was twitching with suppressed anger. John could relate to it. He was homicidal after the first seconds of the stories he’d heard. Only the control learned during his service made him maintain a smile on his face and keep on with his task.

“Right,” Milton said, clasping his hands together. “It seems the path we must take is quite clear. Ryan.” He turned slightly, so he could face Ryan who was seated in an armchair, with his boy sitting on the floor between his legs. “You and your boy will do the demonstration.” The command was positively regal.

Ryan nodded, his eyes never leaving Blade, as he played with the red hair of his gorgeous boy. Blade gave a radiant smile that suggested the boy was itching to do what he was ordered.

“Rick, you will too.”

John’s head jerked up at the announcement. Milton’s tone suggested no room for argument.

“You can’t order me about,” Rick protested immediately.

“But I can,” John spoke softly closing in on Rick. “We will be there,” he addressed Milton.

“No, I–” Rick was in full fighting mode, so John grabbed him by his chin and jerked him up, making his feet shuffle for purchase.

“You will do what I say, boy. It’s not wise to disobey me now.”

Rick reacted to the command in John’s voice, his body melting from defiance to demure acceptance. When John let go of his chin and Rick once again gained use of his jaw, he whispered shyly, “Yes, Sir.”

John walked closer to Rick, so that he was practically standing on Rick’s toes.

“You were the one who said we should show what we are capable of doing,” Johnny murmured in his ear.

“For Harry,” Rick mumbled meekly, his eyes still fixed on the floor.

John forced Rick’s face up and studied his eyes. There was turmoil, conflict and excitement.

“You love being on display, showing your worth. You will shine under my force tonight.”

“Yes, Sir,” Rick’s voice trembled and his eyes swam with tears. Submission was still hard for Rick, but he was learning remarkably fast.