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.