Even so, there was a barrier between him and Craig. A barrier that became, over the weeks, more and more of a problem for Logan. It felt like a high wall that blocked out the sun, leaving him shivering and cold.
He craved Craig's forgiveness like food or water or air.
Logan just wasn't sure he'd ever get it.
“Can I apologize?” he asked sometimes.
The answer was always a shaken head and, “No. Not yet.”
Logan thought he was well past ready, and that it was Craig who couldn't give ground. He wished he knew what would move Craig. The guilt he still felt threatened to bury him alive. All Logan wanted was for Craig to hear, “I'm sorry,” then accept it. Perhaps with a nod instead of his shaken head. And then Craig would draw Logan into his arms and tell him it was alright, that everything was forgiven, and then maybe Logan would get a full night's sleep.
Or more.
Logan ignored the intrusive thought. It was something he was getting good at.
4
Craig Is Irritated
Logan was the ideal houseguest until he wasn't.
The first few weeks, Logan did everything Craig required of him with no complaint. He ate the food Craig cooked, kept his room immaculately clean, and even did the exercises Craig insisted upon.
Craig wasn't terribly surprised. Logan had always been a good kid. Up until the end, that was, and even that had been, in retrospect, understandable. Craig didn't hold a grudge. Logan had been a teenager, and after his mother's response to finding that particular porn on Craig's computer, Craig knew exactly why the kid had kept his mouth shut.
He didn't condone Logan's behavior, but he understood it, which was why he'd been willing to let bygones be bygones, up to a point.
Then Logan started pushing Craig in little ways, and it had started just after Logan had stopped asking for forgiveness. At first, his defiance had been so subtle Craig had almost missed it. Then, when Craig didn't react, Logan escalated his actions.
Five minutes late to a meal became ten. Logan tried to skimp on housework. His tone lost its veneer of respect and became insolent. Then he broke the microwave, supposedly by accident, but Craig had his doubts, because the next day, the toilet had become clogged. Then the TV remote went missing. Then bleach somehow found its way into a load of Craig's clothes, ruining all of them.
And now, the kid was late. Beyond late. Locked-out-of-the-house late. And while he should be in bed, asleep, Craig was instead awake and full of a sour mix of worry and irritation.
It was like the kid wanted Craig to throw him out onto the street.
Or punish him, he thought. Rule forty-seven.
No, the kid couldn't possibly want… that.
Yes, he could. The videos. Remember?
Like Craig could ever forget. All those boys, and so young—although every one of the “boys” had turned out to be at least eighteen years old, thank God. They'd been so innocent and sweet in appearance, kneeling and bending over and submitting to men more than twice their age. At the time, it had made Craig disgusted and sick, and then the fallout had occurred. The accusations—completely unfounded, and he'd been cleared of all charges by the police—of child porn possession, child endangerment, child molestation, and statutory rape had haunted him for years, no matter that he'd been innocent of all of it.
A hell of a lot more innocent than Logan, who is still out past curfew and has neither called nor texted.
Craig looked at the clock on his phone, saw it was well past midnight, and there were still no messages from Logan. He went back to stewing while he sat at the kitchen table and waited for his errant boy.
Rule forty-seven.
Craig pushed the thought down and others roiled to the surface in its stead.
Six years ago, he had known, sketchily, that such websites like the ones that came up on his browser history existed, but Craig had never gone to any of them voluntarily. He'd always been pretty pedestrian in his taste in porn, never venturing beyond stuff that a friend had told him was pretty fucking vanilla.
Those videos on his computer, the images of all those kneeling and prostrate boys being violated in so many different ways, had burned themselves onto the backs of Craig's retinas and they wouldn't fade. Sometimes, when Craig jacked off, those memories came back with a vengeance, flooding him with equal amounts of shame and desire as his cock hardened and ached to the memory of spanking and tears and skin marked bright red. After coming hard, his pleasure always dissolved into confused regret. Then anger set in and he hated those videos, and Logan, and himself for being so weak. He didn't know why those fantasies intruded into his mind. He didn't know why they were so compelling.
He just knew he was close to the edge, and Logan's continued absence was not helping.
What if he's hurt? What if there was an accident? What if—
But no. Logan would come home, probably drunk, and smelling of another man.
That idea filled Craig with illogical rage. What did he care who the boy saw, or what he did, or how many men he fucked? It wasn't any of Craig's business, except—
He's living under my roof and he agreed to the rules.
Again, rule forty-seven mocked him.
I wonder if he'd kneel if I asked—no, ordered him to do it.
No. But Craig's dick had already gotten hard.
God, I swear I'm not gay. But if that was the case, why was he haunted by a vision of Logan on his knees, taking Craig's cock down his throat as tears squeezed out of his eyes?
None of it made any sense.
Images streamed through Craig's mind. All those boys, all those men, all the pain and pleasure and the wrongness that had come to feel right. Morbid curiosity and revulsion had grown into fascination, then desire, and now teetered toward obsession.
Craig wanted things he should not want, and that had been acceptable, if not okay, until Logan had dropped back into Craig's life like a ticking time bomb.
Dammit.
It probably wasn't surprising that Craig itched to grab Logan and spank the kid until he begged for mercy, or more, or—God help him—Craig's cock. Probably all the above.
Craig had hoped that over time, proximity with Logan would dampen down his attraction, but if anything, it became worse. Now, when he jacked off thinking about Logan, he knew the boy's room was only feet away. Craig didn't know why he wanted the kid. It had to be those damn videos. Prior to that, Craig had never wanted another man, let alone someone so young, but here he was, nearly shaking with need for a kid half his age.
It was insane.
Craig glanced at the wall clock again. It was nearly one. He picked up his phone to call Logan and hunt the boy down, something he'd promised himself he'd never do, when there was a rap on the kitchen door.
Craig's heart leaped, but he made himself stay seated.
The pounding grew louder.
Craig still sat.
Finally, his phone rang. “Yes?”
“Craig, look. I'm sorry. I can explain.”
“I doubt it.” Anger and anticipation filled Craig's chest like a toxic balloon.
“Are you gonna let me in? It's cold out.” Logan's teeth chattered.
“If I open that door, rule forty-seven starts. You were warned. Or you can stay safely outside and sleep on the porch. You won't freeze. Tomorrow we'll find you somewhere else to stay.”
“B-but,” the boy stammered.
“Yes, Logan? Have I been unfair? Am I being unfair now?”
“N-no.”
“Well, then. Decide.”
Logan took in a deep breath that hitched. “Please,” he said. “P-please let me in.”
5
Logan Gets What’s Coming to Him
“Get the fuck in here.” Craig's face was a summer thundercloud threatening one hell of a storm. The dark look filled Logan with equal parts fear and desire, and his dick started getting uncomfortable in his skin-tight jeans.
Take me hurt me make me feel so good and bad
. Please.
Then, he thought, stupid, stupid, stupid because life was not porn.
“You gonna lecture me?” Logan asked. “Make me write lines? Maybe stand in a corner? Maybe go to bed without supper? I'd apologize, but you won't let me, will you?”
Craig looked first surprised, then scowled harder than he had before. “If you behave like a child, brat, you'll be treated like a child.”
Except the look on Craig's face—dark and dangerous and needy—was not the look you'd give to a child.
Logan's heartbeat sped up. Is it my imagination, or—
Craig grabbed Logan's arm and dragged him across the kitchen. Abruptly, he sat on one of the kitchen chairs, then yanked Logan painfully down, capturing his wrists in one large hand, then bending Logan forward until he was sprawled over Craig's knees.
Logan's dick, which was already pretty hard from that look on Craig's face, stiffened further, becoming deliciously painful inside his overly-tight pants. He wiggled experimentally and found his cock could grind against Craig's muscular thigh, but that beyond that, he was pinned too securely to move.
“God, kid,” Craig muttered. “You are cruisin’ for a bruisin’ tonight, aren't you?”
Craig used to say that to Logan and his siblings when they'd acted out, but he'd never physically disciplined any of them, and it was just as well. Getting an erection because you were spanked at age twenty-two was kinky. Coming in your pants at thirteen while your stepfather took his belt to you—one of Logan's favorite wank fantasies—was probably a reason to seek out therapy.
Although Craig couldn't see it, Logan rolled his eyes. He didn't answer, but he did wiggle some more, mostly so he could feel Craig tighten his grip.
“You're hard,” Craig announced dispassionately, his hand idly stroking Logan's ass.
Omigod omigod omigod.
“Yeah,” Logan wheezed out. It wasn't easy to breathe in this position.
A blow fell onto the lower curve of Logan's ass.
“Yes, what?” Craig practically purred.
Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Is Craig into this? Is that possible?
The thought went right to Logan's groin, making his cock even harder and his balls begin to ache for release. This was every fantasy he'd ever had come astonishingly to life. He was afraid to speak and break the spell. Craig's hand came down again, harder this time, forcing a yelp out of Logan.
“Yes, what, Logan?”
Logan almost said the wrong thing, the absolute worst thing, but caught himself in time. “Yes, Sir,” he said, emphasizing the Sir.
Craig grunted and smacked Logan's ass again.
“Ow! What was that for?” Please, Sir, may I have another?
Another slap fell. “You know what it’s for. Count for me, Logan.”
“Count?” Logan's head felt dizzy and stupid, his ass already felt warm, and his cock throbbed painfully. He wasn't sure he was up to any kind of rational conversation. “What—”
Craig's hand came down in another heavy smack. “I said count.”
“One,” Logan breathed, and he settled. This wasn't his first spanking by a long shot, but so far, it was shaping up to be one of the best. Craig seemed to know exactly where the line was between “not enough” and “way too much” and straddled it with ease.
"Five." Logan wished Craig had stripped him bare before the spanking. The sensation was always so much better on naked skin, and the sound a million times hotter. Of course, if he'd been bare-assed, Logan would've probably already come. The painfully tight pants did serve another purpose beyond making his ass look almost great.
“Ten.” Logan started to float, feeling light enough to drift away on the cold night wind outside despite the heavy hand on him holding him down.
“Fifteen.” Logan rutted against Craig's leg, unable to help it any longer. Craig had to know what Logan was doing, had to feel it, but the older man said nothing.
“Twenty.” The blows came slower and harder. Each one jarred Logan's entire body, and his cock felt like it was going to explode, while tears leaked unchecked down his cheeks. Orgasm hovered just out of reach, and then it came in a hot rush that made Logan shout.
"Tw-twenty-five!" Logan counted through his sobs. He cried, and reveled in the sticky wet shame of coming in his pants, and rode the hot pain. It was utter bliss.
Thank you thank you fucking Jesus thank you.
“Thu-thirty,” he sighed, and collapsed. Craig loosened his grip and Logan slipped from his lap onto the floor in a boneless, gooey heap.
“Jesus,” Craig murmured, seemingly to himself, as he wrung his hand. “Jesus Christ. What the fuck was that?”
Logan, lying limp as a noodle on the floor, giggled, high as fuck on endorphins. “God, that was good.”
“Did I hurt you…never mind. Stupid question. Logan, I don't…”
Logan wasn’t sure how Craig was going to finish that statement, but he wasn’t going to let him pretend that none of it had happened. “Yeah, you do. You did. God. Did you ever.”
Craig looked confused. “What?”
“Yeah, you spanked me. Yeah, it was awesome. And yeah, no chance I’m gonna pretend that didn’t happen. It totally happened.”
“I'm…” Craig fell silent, so Logan opened his eyes to look at him. Craig looked shattered, and Logan pulled his body into a semblance of control and sat up.
“You okay?” Logan asked.
“No,” Craig choked out. “I am not okay. None of this is okay.”
Logan wasn't sure how to respond, so he sat there, mute, trying and failing to come up with the right words to say.
“You smell like sex,” Craig bit out.
“That's because I—” Before Logan could confess that he'd jizzed in his pants, Craig spoke over him.
“You smell like another man. His stink is all over you.”
Logan blinked. “There was nothing in the rules—” And even if there had been, Logan hadn’t been fucked by anyone in months. If he smelled like another man, it was just from proximity as he’d danced in the club, looking for something that had been waiting for him at home.
“Fuck the rules.” Craig ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Fuck all of this. I shouldn't have spanked you. I shouldn't care that you reek of another man that isn't me. Why do I care?” He leveled his gaze at Logan and repeated, “Why do I care?” It sounded like an accusation.
Logan shrugged, baffled. He didn't tend to find sex to be complicated. Bank interest and credit card terms and taxes were complicated. Getting off was easy, once you figured out what you liked. In Logan's experience, finding older men to spank then fuck him hadn't been much of a challenge, thanks to the internet and hook-up apps. What Logan really needed was an app like Grindr that hooked you up with a free financial counselor instead of a temporary Daddy.
But since that was impossible, or at least improbable, Logan gave Craig's question serious consideration, then asked a question of his own. “You bi?”
Craig blinked at him. “I—”
Logan gestured to Craig's tented pajama bottoms. “Because you are rocking a pretty big erection for a straight dude.”
“I don't know.” Craig sounded frustrated and unhappy.
Logan nodded. It probably sucked to find out at forty-five you had a freak flag to fly. He reached out toward Craig's erection, almost, but not quite, touching it. “What do you wanna do with that?”
Craig closed his eyes and looked pained.
“Come on, man,” Logan coaxed.
“It's wrong, it's—”
“Craig,” Logan barked, making the older man jump. “I just came in my pants dry humping your leg while you spanked me. I think we passed up right and wrong when you made me count.”
Craig looked away from Logan, staring at a point on the wall just above Logan’s head. “This is…this is crazy, but…”
Logan crawled a little closer. He sensed a storm raging inside of Craig and he wanted it to break all over him, to feel all
that glorious rage and power and control. Logan shivered.
“But, what, Sir?” Logan rasped. “What do you want to do, Sir?”
Craig drew in a shuddering breath. “You should stop, Logan. We should stop. We’ve already gone way too far, and I never meant…wanted…”
Logan pulled himself up on hands and knees and moved closer to Craig, crawling between his spread legs. He ran the tip of his nose along the length of Craig’s cotton-covered cock. There was a growing damp spot where his precum had soaked through the fabric of his sleep pants. Logan breathed in Craig’s scent of musk and arousal. It was making him hard again.
“Liar. You want something. I’m pretty sure it might be me. I mean, at least a little. Did you like hurting me?”
“No!” The response was short and shocked.
Damn. But Craig was erect, so he’d liked something about what they’d done. “Did you like disciplining me?”
Craig’s cock twitched. Yes! We have a winner! “I…”
“Do you like it when I call you Sir?”
“Yeah,” Craig confessed. “I think I do. God, this is so fucked up. What the hell are we doing, Logan?”
“Does it matter? You can use me, Sir. No one has to know. I don’t need you to hold my hand in public or call me sweetheart or fly a damn rainbow flag off the front porch.”
Craig eyed Logan speculatively. “What do you want?”
“You mean besides a paying job, to not be homeless, and for you to forgive me?”
“My forgiveness means that much to you?” Craig had the gall to look astonished.
“Christ, Craig, yes. When all that shit went down, I was old enough to know better and I was old enough to man up and accept responsibility. I didn't, and I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry Mom divorced you.”
That made Craig laugh. It lit up a little place of happy pleasure inside of Logan. “Yeah. Turns out, I'm not sorry about that, either.”
Rule 47 Page 2