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.”