by Jay Lygon
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Personal Demons
TOP SHELF
An imprint of Torquere Press Publishers
PO Box 2545
Round Rock, TX 78680
Copyright 2009 by Jay Lygon
Cover illustration by Rose Lenoir
Published with permission
ISBN: 978-1-60370-664-3, 1-60370-664-X
www.torquerepress.com
All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78680.
First Torquere Press Printing: March 2009
Printed in the USA
Chapter 1
September was when the honeymoon ended. There were warning signs before then, of course, but as usual, I didn’t see them. Hector always said I floated along in a little bubble in my own fantasy world, willfully oblivious to what was going on around me. Maybe I did. In September, though, that bubble burst.
Sure, Hector and I had some rough patches before that. He could be a bit possessive, but he was working on it. At least he promised me he was, and that was good enough for me. Deep down, he had to know that I never wanted to be the God of Sex. It just happened. People were drawn to my power and before I could stop them, they were touching me or trying to lead me off to a secluded corner. That drove Hector insane. I don’t know. Maybe I could have tried harder to discourage them. My therapist kept saying I had a right to talk to anyone I wanted to, but the thing was that I didn’t want that kind of attention. If I could have wished my power away, I would have.
After Beltane, though, most of our troubles seemed past us. My new job as a film critic for Park Avenue Magazine was going well. Their checks came on time and didn’t bounce. That was pretty much my definition of a good writing gig. Hector had been the top salesman of oil drilling equipment for three years in a row and would probably do it again. Our friends were reasonably happy, except Brett, but his unhappiness was self-generated, so it was nothing new. My psycho-ex, Master Marcus, the God of Fear, seemed to have disappeared. My family finally met, and adored, Hector. Hector seemed satisfied that I’d finally grown up a bit. I was getting help for my depression. The mistakes I’d made had been forgiven. All the misunderstandings were cleared up. More importantly, I was back home with Hector. Life couldn’t have been any better for us.
Except…
Well…
Looking back, maybe July was when the fireworks began.
Thanks to a curse from the Goddess of Eternal Youth, I’d suddenly outgrown all my clothes. Hector couldn’t have been happier. It was an excuse to drag me out shopping. Gods knew I had enough quirks to keep my therapist busy scribbling notes, but Hector put up with my faults, so I should have humored his. Within a month I think I owned everything Dolce and Gabbana sold off the rack. Don’t even get me started on my shoe collection. A closet and a half full of the best of everything seemed like more than enough, though, so when Hector decided I needed a new tuxedo, I got stubborn.
Granted, because of my job as a film critic, and because we went to a lot of charity galas for the GLBT community, I wore my tux at least twice a month. He seemed to think I needed more than one so that it didn’t look like I was always wearing the same thing. “No one notices,” I grumbled as we walked down Rodeo Drive. I’d been glowering ever since he told me to dress up for our shopping trip.
Hector ignored me as he checked out an incredibly ugly silver platter in a shop window. I shoved my hands in my pockets and stared at the yellow Ferrari parked at the curb.
An older man wearing a leather sport jacket walked over to me. “It’s hot, isn’t it?” He nodded to the car.
“Um.” I cast a glance over my shoulder at Hector. He’d moved over to the other window to look at a huge, porcelain elephant. Rich people sure bought weird stuff to put in their houses.
The man followed me across the sidewalk when I backed away from him. “Have you ever ridden in one?”
Heat rushed up the back of my neck.
“Would you like to?” The stranger dangled keys in my face.
The hairs on my arms rose. Hector spun around. “No, he wouldn’t.” He took my hand and led me down the street.
My therapist always pursed his lips when I admitted how much it turned me on when Hector got territorial. It sent a thrill down my spine when he got all big, bad-ass leather-daddy and made it clear I was his property. My therapist also made faces when I called myself property, but his sexual hang-ups weren’t my problem. The thick metal collar on my neck and the brand on my ass marked me as Hector’s, and I was proud to wear both.
Hector’s sexy, rolling stride reminded me of a cop sauntering up to a car he’d pulled over for speeding. His hand sat lightly on the nape of my neck as he steered me down the sidewalk. When we got to the Armani boutique, he opened the door for me and followed me in.
How pathetic was it that I knew to go up the marble stairs to the men’s department without being told? As soon as we set foot in the swanky salon, a short, slim sales clerk hustled over. His skin was so shiny around his eyes that I suspected a recent chemical peel. While his gaze lingered over me, he spoke to Hector. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, gentlemen. What can I show you today? We just received the summer line.”
Hector put his hand on my shoulder so that I wouldn’t wander off. “Sam needs another tuxedo. He’s going to the Venice Film Festival and the one in Toronto this summer.”
“Many of our clients do.” The clerk tapped his bottom lip as if this request presented a perplexing problem. He went over to a wall rack of black jackets and flipped through them. “I believe that he currently has this one, correct? With this shirt? And the onyx studs?”
Okay, so that was a little impressive.
“How many parties do you think he’ll attend in Venice? It’s very warm there in September,” the clerk said.
“None,” I said. Everyone ignored me.
“I think this summer-weight wool would be best. Two suits and several shirts should be enough for the week, unless he goes out to a formal event every night.” He piled clothes into the waiting arms of a second clerk. “That’s a start. Would Sir like to go into the dressing room? Our tailor will be along to mark up the hem. Did you bring the shoes?”
I held up a pair of boots. The clerk winced. Funny, I did the same thing when I saw the seven hundred dollar price tag on them. Hector hadn’t batted an eye, of course.
“Sam hates the shiny shoes, and in this case, I have to agree with him.”
The clerk tapped his lip again. Then he brightened. “I have just the thing.” He scurried away.
Hector sank into a black leather club chair outside the dressing room. “Go try on the tux, Sam.”
“I put your things in the last room, Sir,” the second clerk told me. He turned to Hector. “Would you care for water or an espresso while you wait?”
Why was it that he got the refreshments when I was the one suffering? Probably because he was the one who paid. I stomped off to the dressing room. A black suit was a black suit. Why did it matter if I wore the same one each time? It was clean.
I dumped my clothes in a pile in the middle of the floor and pulled on the pants. At least the new pair didn’t have that stupid stripe down the leg. The shirt looked crisp, but it had a soft, almost velvety texture that felt good against my skin. I drew on the jacket. It was a little tight a
cross my shoulders, and the sleeves hung down too far, but it fit nice everywhere else. I pulled on my boots and went out to face the critics.
The clerk rushed forward, beaming. He fussed with the jacket while he talked to Hector. “Only a man with his build can wear a double-breasted suit.”
Resigned to my fate, I went to the dais in front of the three-way mirror. Everywhere my gaze went, there I was. Ugh. The Filipino tailor knelt at my feet. His hand slid up the inside of my thigh with the measuring tape. From the way his hand trembled, I was sure he remembered Hector growling at him the last time we were there.
Still glowering, I told Hector, “All I need is a different tie to wear with my old tux, and voila new outfit.”
“You’re getting this tuxedo, Sam.” Hector took a coffee cup from the second clerk. “Let’s see that gray linen suit on him, too. He needs something nice to wear during the day.”
“Very good, Sir. With the plum shirt? Or the lime one?” the head clerk asked. No doubt visions of dollar signs were dancing in his head.
“Lime is too trendy. That yellow is nice, though.”
The second clerk rushed off to grab more clothes. They laid them on a table near Hector and tucked one after another under the lapel. “The stripe or the solid?”
Hector pointed. “That one. It makes the color of his eyes stand out.” He set his coffee aside.
My mouth set into a hard line as they headed for the dressing room with the shirts.
“On second thought, have him try on all of them.” Hector settled back in the club chair with an evil grin on his face. He casually crossed his legs while I fumed.
I tried on the damn gray suit. I even modeled two of the shirts, but the next time I came out of the dressing room, I was in my street clothes. “I’m done,” I said.
“You’re not done, Boy, until I say you are.”
The clerk and the tailor exchanged a glance. Backing away, they muttered excuses to leave us alone.
Hector’s brand on my butt cheek seared. I swore I could feel the exact outline of the capital H. That was more warning than I usually got, so I should have backed down. No, I should have crawled across the floor to his feet and begged forgiveness. Instead, my lips twitched a little into a sneer and then my chin lifted. The next thing I knew, Hector was out of that chair with his hand on my upper arm.
“Sam and I are going to have a little chat,” he told the clerk through gritted teeth. “I’ll be out to pay for all that in a moment.”
They rushed to collect the clothes I’d tried on. Hector dragged me back into a dressing room and slammed the door shut. He sat on the cushioned bench and yanked me over his lap. “Bare that ass, Boy.”
My cock was already getting hard. I hoped he’d use his leather belt. I shoved my jeans down to my knees and settled across his thighs.
“You like being spanked too much, you brat. This time, Papi is going to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.” He forced my ass cheeks apart. I felt a rush of God power as he summoned something. Lubed fingers shoved into my hole. “You act like a spoiled little boy, so I’m going to treat you like one.”
What did he have? A butt plug? I hated them, but having to wear one wasn’t much of a punishment. I tried to glance over my shoulder to see what he was doing, but he pushed my head down.
Something hard and cold pushed into my hole. It felt sort of like a thin dildo. But then, oh Gods, I felt pressure in my bowels. I squirmed. “What is that?”
“You seem to have something up your ass, Sam, and Papi is going to help you get it out.”
The pressure kept growing. So did my panic. “What do you mean? What are you doing to me?”
“Giving you an enema.”
I yelped. “Here? Now?” I squirmed, but he forced me to stay in place.
“I can’t think of a better time.”
Oh man. My face went red as I wondered if there were security cameras in the dressing room. I imagined the clerk and tailor staring wide-eyed at a monitor as they watched Hector squeeze the enema into my ass.
Hector leaned closer to my ear. “Now, I’m going to slowly pull the nozzle out of your bottom. Unless you want to have an accident, you better hold onto every drop of it. Do you understand me, Boy?”
I gulped and nodded.
He slapped my ass. “I asked you a question.”
“Yes, Sir.” As he withdrew the bottle, my muscles clamped down. Mortified beyond words at what was going on inside me, I bit down on my trembling bottom lip.
“Stand up. Put your hands behind your neck.”
Getting onto my feet sent the pressure inside me to a new, uncomfortable place. Fighting gravity and the urgency in my bowels, I stood in the center of the dressing room and clasped my hands behind my neck. “I need to use the bathroom, Sir.”
Hector shook his head sadly. I almost believed that he felt sorry for me. “You’re going to hold that in until you’ve learned your lesson.”
My face went scarlet. I was sweating and shaking as I held the enema in as tight as I could. My head bowed.
He was right. It was a lesson I’d never forget. I was so humiliated that I prayed some God would show me mercy and strike me dead. I would have settled for the ground opening up and swallowing me. Anything would be better than having to say what he wanted me to. My desperate prayers went unanswered. “I really have to go, Hector,” I finally blurted out.
“I’ll bet you do.”
Hector made me stand there for an eternity. Maybe it was only five minutes, long enough to die a thousand small deaths from humiliation.
Hector put his hand on my shoulder. “Do we have an understanding? Are you going to obey me?”
My throat was raw. “I’ll never talk back again, Sir. I swear it.”
From the way Hector smiled, I don’t think he believed me, but he finally nodded. “Pull up your pants. You can use the bathroom when we get home.”
“But, Sir!”
All it took was the raise of an eyebrow and my mouth snapped shut. A new wave of heat rushed through my face as my stomach cramped.
Hector watched me go through the agonizing act of reaching down for the waistband of my jeans and oh so carefully rising with a weary expression. My ass cheeks were losing the fight to stay clenched tight.
“I’m going to go pay for your new clothes. You can take a moment to compose yourself if you need it, but I expect you to come out fully dressed before they finish ringing up the sale.”
Tears streamed down my face. I glanced at the door. A wave of nausea swept over me. “Please, Papi, please. Don’t make me face them. I can’t bear it. They know,” I whispered. Trembling, I pleaded. “Please. I’m begging you. Don’t humiliate me. I can’t take it. I’ll do anything. Make me sleep on the punishment cot for a week. Take away all my privileges. Don’t let me come for a month. Anything.”
Hector frowned as he caressed my cheek. He drew me into his arms. “Hush, Sam. It’s all right. I won’t make you face the clerks if it’s too much for you. I won’t push you more than you can take. Okay?” He pulled back and looked into my eyes with such concern and love that my heart melted. “Do you want to phase out of here and wait for me in the truck?”
Sniffling, I nodded.
He smiled at me, that really nice smile where his eyes crinkled up at the corners. “It’s all right, Baby. Go wait in the car. Papi will be there soon.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” I kissed his hands. “Thank you.”
***
Being Gods, we didn’t have to drive from Beverly Hills to Long Beach. Oh sure, if Hector had been feeling particularly sadistic, he could have made me hold that enema while he took the freeway, but I think he knew what a mess I was. When he came to the truck, I had my hands over my face as I writhed. So as soon as we pulled out of the parking lot in Beverly Hills, we phased to our driveway in Long Beach.
“You can run along to the bathroom, Sam. I’ll get the bags.”
“Thank you, Sir.” I don’t think I’d ever bee
n that grateful for anything in my life. I didn’t even bother to unlock the front door. I phased right into the bathroom and yanked my pants down.
Fifteen minutes later, I staggered out of the bathroom one very contrite boy. Hector was sitting on the couch in the living room. He peered over his reading glasses at me. I crawled across the floor and rested my cheek on the toe of his shoe.
“I’m sorry I misbehaved today, Sir.”
He cupped my chin in his hand and pulled up until I was kneeling. “I think I’ve finally found a punishment that will work on you. Next time you start to get your testosterone up, just remember that no matter where we are, Papi will pull down your pants and give you an enema. I don’t care who knows that you’re being punished. I saved you from facing the clerks today, but in the future, I may not be as lenient.”