In answer, Steve had picked up a flogger, hauled back his arm, and whaled on the post with enough force to make it shudder.
Dropping the implement in his own hand, Chenco stepped back, eyes wide. That had been intense. Was this how Steve would hit him?
Of course it was. It was what he’d asked to see.
It was awfully intense.
Steve’s hand came to rest on Chenco’s shoulder, making him jump. “You okay, baby?”
Chenco didn’t trust himself to speak, so he waited a minute. “That would hurt.”
“That’s the point.”
It was, wasn’t it? Jesus, suddenly it all seemed so serious.
They hadn’t done anything more during the session, which made Chenco feel like a failure. He sulked all through work that night. When he got home at eleven, Sam was in Steve’s room, waiting for him.
“Hey.” He smiled nervously. “So, um, this is awkward, but I’ve been sent to talk to you about the flogging thing.”
“Steve sent you?” Jesus, how badly had he messed this up?
“No—not Steve. Randy.” Sam gave a helpless shrug. “He might be talking shit, but he says he’s been watching you, and he thinks you’re nervous. He says he’d just scare you more, but he thought I should talk to you. So here I am, talking.”
Sam didn’t look like someone who wanted to talk. “You don’t have to do this.”
Now Sam looked annoyed. “So Randy’s full of shit? God, I’m gonna kill him.”
“Well…no, he’s not full of shit, not on this score. But you still don’t have to do this.”
“Oh?” Sam brightened. “Don’t worry about it. God, he was right? Damn. He’ll be smug as fuck. Okay.” He rubbed his hands together. “What do you want to talk about? What are you nervous about?”
Chenco sat across from Sam. “I don’t know. He showed me how hard he was going to hit me, and it freaked me out.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Sam tucked his feet underneath his body as he sat on the bed. “I don’t go for implements so much. I’d rather have a paddle than a flogger, but honestly, mostly I prefer a guy’s hand.”
“Hand?”
“Yeah. Spanking. It’s…kind of my thing. I like hands because you can feel the guy working you. I can tell if it’s Mitch or Randy or Ethan even when I’m blindfolded—” Sam cut himself off, his whole body blushing now. “Oh God. I hadn’t meant to tell you about that.”
Chenco had kind of figured there was something going on with Randy and Sam, the way the guy was always after Sam’s ass, but he hadn’t known all four of them were into each other. He didn’t want to make Sam feel awkward, though, especially when he was being so open to ease Chenco. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not judging here.”
“Yeah, well…I don’t want you to think I’m some kind of whore. Well—I am, I guess. But not a bad whore.” He rolled his eyes at himself and cleared his throat. “Anyway. I don’t think you need to be scared, not unless you’re going to be dumb and not tell Steve if you don’t like something.”
Here they were, at the heart of it all. “What if he wants to do something and I don’t?”
“Then you don’t.” Sam’s tone brooked no argument. “I get what you’re afraid of, but trust me, you don’t screw around here. He’d be a whole lot more upset with you if you let him do something you didn’t want than if you told him no. Here’s the thing it took me a while to truly understand—letting him do something to you isn’t proving you care for him. He wants to share this with you, not force it on you. And maybe there are some things you don’t want to try today but do in the future.”
“Have you ever told Mitch no?”
Sam hesitated. “Mitch seems to read my mind. Randy, I tell no to at least once a week. It’s kind of who we are. Mitch wants to protect me, and so does Randy, but Randy likes to challenge me.” He bit his lip. “Is it…is this okay how we’re talking about how I sleep with more guys than just your brother? He’s down with it, I swear.”
“It’s very okay.” Chenco smiled to show he meant it, but he didn’t wait long to go back to questioning Sam. “Have you ever been flogged? You said you didn’t like it, but…have you been?”
“Oh yeah. I’m better at doing it than I am taking it, though I’ve only ever done Randy.” He shifted his feet around on the bed. “You want to know how it feels. Obviously it hurts, but a lot of things do. I would say flogging hurts a lot like a spanking, but spankings have a different kind of force, plus there’s so much about shame with a spanking—which is why I enjoy it. Flogging is about enduring. I never cared for it because I feel too disconnected. Randy loves it. He loves to be whaled on, and he loves to whale back. He says he wants the challenge of it, like he’s duking it out with the pain.”
Chenco considered this. “I think what I’m most nervous about is Steve wants to do it until I break down. I can’t duke it out. He’s going to make me lose.”
“Oh, Randy usually ends up swearing and screaming and sobbing by the end. He says it’s an emotional enema.” Sam shrugged. “I don’t play that fiddle. I like to float into subspace and hang out, let myself be a slut and nobody can look down on me for it. In fact, they tend to tell me I’m beautiful for doing it. There’s not a lot to let go of there.”
No, Sam wouldn’t have a lot to let go of, period. He’d heard Mitch call Sam Sunshine, and he didn’t have to ask why.
“Anyway.” Sam slid to the edge of the bed. “That’s about it. Don’t do something you don’t want to. If you’re not ready, say so. Steve hasn’t dated in forever as far as I understand, so you’re special. He’ll wait for you. What he won’t do is put up with someone who won’t tell him the truth about when they’re ready.”
“I think I am ready.” Chenco rubbed his arms as he leaned against the wall by the door. “I mean, we’ve done plenty. But I can tell he’s been holding back. At this point I’m scared, but I want to take it to the next level. If it’s too far, I have to try it to find out.”
“Then tell him so.”
Chenco promised he would.
CHENCO DIDN’T SAY anything right away because he wanted to be sure. It wasn’t until a week before the South Padre show, while he and Steve sat out on the patio. Steve commented on how tense he looked, how he thought Chenco needed a release. That was when Chenco realized an emotional enema was exactly what he wanted.
He turned to Steve, looked him in the eye. “When we play tonight, could we…would you flog me? For real?”
Steve’s eyes lit with delight, but his reply was measured. “You mean you want me to flog you until you break down, until you cry?”
“Yes.” Chenco was nervous, but he didn’t falter. “It’s what I want. In fact, I think it might be what I need right now.”
Smiling, Steve brushed a kiss across Chenco’s forehead. “You’ll tell me when it’s too much.” It wasn’t a question.
Chenco nodded.
Taking Chenco by the hand, Steve led him through the main floor and down the hall to the master bedroom suite. The hacienda wasn’t some modern remake but the real deal, full of nooks and hallways and chunky add-ons. It had a second floor, but not much of one—it seemed to have been where the children were stowed back in the day. Now it was full of guests, Sam and Mitch in one room, Ethan and Randy in another, Crabtree at the end of the hall.
Steve’s bedroom was on the main floor, past the great room and kitchen and dining room, down its own hallway and spilling out behind the garage. It was a suite, not just one room—Steve’s bed was in the first space and the room beyond it was the playroom. The playroom, however, could also be accessed from the garage.
Tonight Steve led Chenco through to the playroom, but he didn’t order him to his knees. “We’ll start with a full massage, on the table and everything, like I told you about.” At a cabinet, he picked up a jar of oil and offered it to Chenco, indicating he should sniff. The oil smelled faintly of eucalyptus or spearmint. Maybe both.
“Nice,” Chenco offered.
Steve set the oil on a shelf and went to a closet behind the St. Andrew’s cross, digging inside before returning bearing a folded blue massage table. With deft motions, he assembled it, tested it, and nodded at Chenco.
“Strip and climb on, facedown first.”
He went back to the closet and came out with a set of sheets as Chenco complied with the order. A fitted one went on the main table, a special small thing covered the face rest, and a flat sheet went over it all, followed by a thin white cotton blanket before Steve tucked the whole business away. The freshly made massage bed looked so inviting and cozy, Chenco got undressed faster.
“Have you ever had a massage before, like this?” Steve asked as Chenco climbed coltishly aboard.
“No,” Chenco confessed. “It always sounded nice though.”
Steve directed him into place, making sure the headrest was comfortable, tucking him beneath the blanket. “The general result of this is going to be increased blood flow and a more direct release of toxins. Given we intend to add pain play to this scene, I’m going to make sure you drink a lot of water, stick to your usual healthy diet, and rest. Serious aftercare is coming your way. If you try and skip any of it, I’m going to get very bitchy.”
“Yes, sir. I mean, I’ll do as you say.” Chenco was glad his face was buried because it meant he could smile and have whatever ridiculous expression he wanted. He loved aftercare. It was when Steve held him and coddled him and petted him and told him how strong and brave he was. Even when their scenes weren’t super intense, Steve always loved him up afterwards. The idea he’d be getting more aftercare made Chenco more eager to please Steve, to make him proud, and he vowed to take all the pain he could, to give him all the noises and sobs he craved.
Noises turned out not to be any kind of a problem. As soon as Steve put his oily hands on Chenco’s body, Chenco started to moan.
“Oh my God, it feels so good.” Chenco’s eyes fell shut, his words slurred, and he felt himself sliding into headspace without so much as a whiff of pain.
“You’re very tense,” Steve said, and his tone made it clear he didn’t care for this state of affairs.
“I’m so nervous about the show.”
Steve’s thumbs slid along the line of his shoulders, forcing the muscles to relax. Chenco took a breath, let it out, and his body surrendered to Steve’s ministrations.
“You’re not nervous about the show. You’re nervous about what the show will mean, what it might change. You’re worried it won’t change anything or that it will change everything.” He moved his hands lower and kneaded insistently against Chenco’s shoulder blades. “Holding your tension in won’t keep you safe. You need to let it go.”
Let it go? How could he? What if he didn’t impress Crabtree? What if he did? Would he and Booker go on the road? Did he want to go? Would he have to leave Steve just as things were getting good?
Chenco drew in another breath, but this one couldn’t go as deeply since his nerves were up again. “It’s tough. I feel so vulnerable.”
“You are vulnerable. But being on guard makes it worse, not better. Let go.” He increased the pressure of his massage, so hard it edged toward the pleasure-pain barrier, making Chenco moan more. “Let go with your body. We’ll loosen it up first. Then we’ll take you over to the bench and free your mind as well.”
Chenco tried to let go with his mind right then too—his muscles couldn’t stand up to Steve’s manipulations, turning to limp noodles with every pass on his back, his legs, his arms. He’d half expected the massage to become a seduction—it was, but not in the way he’d anticipated. Steve lured Chenco’s body into relaxation, coaxing it, luring it then demanding it yield to him. If only Chenco’s mind would have come along for the ride.
All through the massage, Chenco did his best to stop thinking about the future, but it yawed before him like a terrible, sharp-toothed thing, ready to devour him if he went the wrong way. He worried about disappointing Mitch and Randy and Ethan and Sam, he worried about disappointing Crabtree and Booker—he ached at the idea of not being what Steve wanted him to be. There were so many ways to fail.
When Steve flipped him over to work his neck, Chenco tried to keep his face clear, not let his rabbit brain show in his expression. His body was loose, but his mind was a tougher sell. Steve sat him up and gave him a big glass of water, and Chenco was surprised to find an hour had gone by—and he was chagrined at how little progress he had made with his internal struggles.
Steve stood in front of Chenco, bare-chested, smiling wryly as he threaded his thick fingers through Chenco’s hair. “Quit yelling at yourself for not being able to shut off your head. That’s my job, to turn it off. I can tell already it’s going to be a hell of a scene, baby.”
Chenco leaned into Steve’s chest, opening his lips over those familiar muscles. “I’m scared.” His hands went to Steve’s waist, holding on. “Of the show. Of the scene. Of letting go. Of everything.”
The hand at the back of Chenco’s hair kneaded gently. “Scared of me?”
Chenco shook his head. “No. I’m not afraid of you.”
“Then forget everything but me. I’m the only thing that matters for the next twenty-four hours. You listen to me, you obey me, you please me. I’m canceling everything I have until this time tomorrow night, including a project for work. Everything is for you—if you’re willing to give everything else up for one spin of the sun. We have a deal?”
Chenco nodded and clutched at Steve’s waistband. A whole day with Steve, in submission, in freedom. “Yes, sir.”
“Excellent.” His hand slid to Chenco’s naked ass and pinched it. “Head to the cross. I’m going to strap you down and flog every last bit of nervousness right out of your head.”
Chapter Thirteen
IT HAD BEEN a long, long time since Steve had flogged a lover.
Tightening the last of the leather cuffs, Steve scanned Chenco’s restraints then checked them again. He knew the cross was properly anchored and stable enough to handle the most violent recoils, but the compulsion to be completely sure was too strong to do anything else. They’d done extended play, they’d done rough play, but they hadn’t yet done both together. Tonight this would change.
After making one final round of checks, when he knew his boy was as safe and secure as could be, Steve admired the beauty of the young man spread open and naked before him.
God, but Chenco was gorgeous. He still had the youthful, rangy appearance saying boy, but naked and exposed like this, Steve could see this was a man before him, not a child. The latter wasn’t an appearance as much as a carriage, a self-possession flickering against the backdrop of insecurity. He didn’t cringe from it, though—he faced it boldly, shoving his unease aside.
The idea of tearing down the fragile wall, of stripping Chenco down to raw—of watching him surrender to pain for real, being part of his transformation—the thought alone made Steve hard.
Steve took a swig of water and examined Chenco’s naked back, trying to decide if he wanted to blindfold him. Probably best to do so, he decided, and fished a mask out of the drawer. He knew a fleeting yearning for a cigar as he spied them on a shelf—normally he would indulge during a scene, but Chenco took health so seriously, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to poison the playroom’s air. It was a consideration he would only give Chenco, he acknowledged, as he tied the leather mask into place.
Once he’d secured it, he examined the scene one last time and went to his flogger cupboard.
Steve weighed his options as he took in the racks of carefully stored and meticulously cared-for implements. Chain was out, as was rubber. He wanted some thud, wanted to knock Chenco so hard if he wasn’t secured, he’d go across the room. At the same time, he wanted a stinger handy. Something to hold in reserve, so when Chenco was used to the big blows, a new sensation would come at him. That’s when he’d come undone, when there’d be nothing between them but the pain. It had to be good. It had to be perfect.
Moving silently, he stepped closer to Chenco, took aim, and thudded the right cheek of that beautiful, bare brown ass.
Chenco yelped and jerked. Steve grinned and enjoyed the shock as it moved through his bottom’s body like liquid silver. Yeah, it hurt different than anybody thought. Not as bad and yet worse at the same time. Steve had put a lot of work into getting the trick of it. The right implement helped, but there was a skill about the wrist, the shoulder, the timing.
This is just a taste of what I can give you, baby, he thought, and hit him again.
Chenco was fun to torture—he clung so nobly to composure before folding with the grace of a queen. Steve could knock him off balance in thirty seconds, reduce him to sobs and begging and pleading, but he liked to draw things out, to toy with his prey and really mindfuck them. Liked to let them think they might make it, run them out to the edge of endurance, and then up the ante with the clear message he had hours of torture ahead.
He could also drive someone into their safe word, and after a solid two weeks of learning Chenco’s limits, he knew exactly where the boundary lay. Sadism wasn’t about taking people too far. It was about taking them almost too far. It was about not asking for but assuming control. It was about being strong and sure, a huge wall of absolute his sub crumbled against. It was about getting another human being to voluntarily submit to his will, knowing they could trust him with it. It was about, for an hour or two, playing God.
Tough Love Page 17