“Me, hopefully,” Tristan panted.
“Me, hopefully, sir,” Michael corrected, struggling to suppress the chuckle at Tristan’s comment. Judith wasn’t as restrained, and her laugh tinkled through the playroom.
“Me, hopefully, sir.”
“You have been a good boy,” Michael agreed. He looked down at Judith’s smiling face. “Undo it.”
She reached for his belt, and his cock, hard for the last forty-five minutes, threatened to erupt. She pulled the leather through buckle and loops, until eventually she’d freed it and folded it double. Michael offered her a hand up, and when she stood, he glanced at Tristan. “Now offer the belt to your husband; he can kiss the leather – before the leather kisses his ass.”
Tristan’s eyes met and held his, as Judith held the leather up to her husband’s lips. He kissed the leather, never taking his eyes off Michael. “Thank you, sir,” Tristan said.
Michael walked around to behind Tristan again, doubling the leather over in his hand and holding the buckle safely in his hand. “Judith,” don’t kneel again; I don’t want your face anywhere near the level of this belt. However, you may play with your husband’s cock. Let’s see if he lasts the full ten lashes before he comes.”
“He likes that idea,” Judith murmured glancing down at Tristan’s dick, and Michael smiled.
“I know.”
The first lash had Tristan up on his toes, his back arching. Michael waited as Tristan panted through the sensation, then watched Judith stroke his cock. Back and forth, Michael and Judith alternated pain and pleasure.
By the eighth lash, Tristan was flying. He was reduced to sensation. Michael nodded to Judith in a non-verbal message to finish him, and giving the last two lashes in quick succession, Tristan came in long, hard pulses.
“Wait, don’t yet,” Michael said when it looked like Judith wanted to undo the cuffs. “He can’t stand on his own. Wait for me.” He went to the cupboard and retrieved a warmed fleece throw, then returned to where his subs waited.
Supporting Tristan’s weight with one arm, he reached up and unclipped the cuffs from the chain, then wrapped the throw around Tristan’s shoulders. Between him and Judith, they helped him to one of the couches, but when Michael wanted to sit on the couch with them for aftercare, Tristan shied away and pushed Michael away from him.
Michael tried to hide the devastation and rejection he felt, so just turned away to give him space. He busied himself by tidying the scene area, putting away the equipment, picking up clothes, hiding his hurt. When he finally felt as if he could at least project a calm front, he returned to the couch and crouched before them. “Tristan, you need aftercare.”
“No,” he said stubbornly.
Michael turned to Judith, who looked like she wanted to cry. “Judith, sit with him quietly and keep him calm and warm. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He went over to the cabinet and grabbed three bottles of water and the large slab of chocolate he’d left there earlier.
“Here,” he said quietly, handing Judith one of the bottles. “You should both have something to drink.”
She took the water from him, opened one of the bottles for Tristan, and after helping him to drink about half the bottle, she drank the rest. He opened the slab and handed her a piece, which she also shared with her husband.
Over the next half hour, he sat perched on the armrest beside Judith, feeding them chocolate, making them drink water, and feeling sorry for himself. To have Tristan’s submission – his total submission – and have it ripped away from him right at the end, shredded his heart, and just reminded him why he didn’t take subs.
Why he didn’t date.
It hurt too much.
He couldn’t do it.
His heart couldn’t take it.
He couldn’t have them; it was foolish to want them in the first place.
“I think you’ll both be alright,” Michael finally said after they’d consumed the whole slab among the three of them. “Once he’s in a state where he can walk, you can sleep in the bed down here. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Where are you going?” Judith asked softly.
Michael smiled sadly. “To bed; sleep well.”
~*~
Chapter 7
Judith’s phone squawked on the bedside table, and she cracked an eye open to see unfamiliar surroundings. Tristan was wrapped around her so tight, she couldn’t move, and she had to pry him off her before she could silence the phone.
He’d been particularly clingy after the night before, and normally Judith would bask in the cuddling and intimacy, but this time she was furious with him. Tristan had been too drunk on subspace the night before to notice, but Judith had seen Michael’s face when Tristan had rejected his touch for aftercare. The Dom had been devastated, and hadn’t hidden that from her as well as he’d thought.
She’d have had to be blind not to notice Michael’s arousal during their play. Perhaps it was because she was so tuned in to Michael as a result of their play, but she’d noticed his attraction to both of them.
And Tristan might deny it, but he didn’t fool her; he was more attracted to Michael than he’d care to admit.
The smell of fresh coffee filtered into the basement, and Judith noticed the door to the dungeon was ajar. She also saw that Michael must have brought their overnight bag in while they were sleeping, because it had been placed on the couch facing the bed. For that matter, she couldn’t remember bringing her cell phone downstairs last night either. He must have brought all of this down last night while they were sleeping.
She showered quickly and dressed in her work clothes, then leaving her sleeping husband behind, she followed her nose to the kitchen.
Michael was standing at the kitchen counter, putting together a tray. He was dressed in a pair of dark slacks, and leather shoes. His dark hair was wet and dripping into the collar of his navy button up shirt.
“Good morning,” Judith said. Michael smiled at her over his shoulder, but something was different.
“Good morning,” Michael said, then turned back to the counter. From the overhead cabinet, he removed three small bowls and placed them on the tray before him, then filled them with rusks from three different airtight containers.”
Judith searched for something to lighten the atmosphere. “The coffee smells divine,” she moved to stand beside him.
“Thank you,” he said. The coffee machine had stopped gurgling, and he poured coffee in three mugs. “Care to fix yours and Tristan’s coffee?”
Judith added sugar and milk to two of the mugs then carried it to the breakfast nook in the kitchen.
Judith could hear the shower turning on downstairs. Tristan must be up.
They sat kitty corner from each other at the table, and Judith reached for a buttermilk rusk. “Are you okay?” She asked gently. She dipped her rusk in her coffee. “After last night.”
“I’m fine,” Michael said, but he kept his eyes on his own coffee.
“Are you sure?”
“Of course,” he insisted, but when he looked up, his eyes were distant. “Are you okay? After last night?”
“I’m great, thank you,” she searched his eyes, but the Dominant from the night before was gone, and in his place was a distant stranger.
“And between you and Tristan? I imagine having… a third… in the bedroom can put strain on a marriage.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Judith said.
Judith heard footsteps on the wooden stairs from the playroom. And moments later, Tristan entered, dressed for the day, their overnight bag in hand.
“Good morning,” he said awkwardly, and Judith noticed he was also not looking anyone in the eye.
“Good morning,” Michael said, looking up warily. “I normally leave the full English breakfast for weekends, but there’s coffee and rusks.”
“Thanks,” Tristan muttered and sat on Judith’s other side. She passed him his coffee, and Michael pushed the tray nearer to hi
m.
Michael cleared his throat. “I’m afraid I can’t continue with our arrangement.”
Tristan’s head jerked up, but he didn’t answer.
“Why?” Judith asked softly.
“I can’t mentor you in such an intimate setting,” Michael said. “If you need me to refer you to another Dominant, or perhaps suggest a class at Angelus –”
“Yesterday you said you’d done this for years,” Tristan said.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “I can’t.” He stood from the table, more than half his coffee still in the mug. “I’m afraid I’m running behind. I’ll have to be a terribly rude host, and ask you to see yourself out.”
Michael left the room without looking back, leaving Judith and Tristan to stare after him. Judith’s eyes burned, and her appetite had gone. Tristan just stared after him.
~*~
The car doors slammed, and Tristan turned the key in the ignition. Judith didn’t say anything, just looked out the window. Tristan drove slowly up the driveway to the motorized gate, and paused to punch in the code in the keypad.
He’d first drop Judith at work, then proceed on to school; he’d have to make a detour to pick her up again that afternoon.
The silence in the car grew thicker, but he didn’t turn on the car radio.
“We hurt him,” Judith said softly.
“What?”
“We hurt him,” Judith repeated, folding her arms over her chest.
“If I recall, he’s the one who held the whip.” And the belt.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Tristan. The man is obviously attracted to you, and you rejected him.”
Tristan stared at his wife, mouth agape.
“Watch where you’re going!” Judith screamed. Tristan’s eyes snapped back to the road, and he stomped on the brake.
“We’re married,” Tristan said, easing off the clutch when traffic moved forward again. “We’re not supposed to be sleeping with anyone else.”
“Not to mention that you’re not gay; you reminded us of that every chance you got.”
“I’m not!”
“I believe you,” Judith said; out loud, anyway. Her tone suggested she didn’t, but Tristan didn’t contradict her.
“Is it because I was watching?” Judith asked.
“What?”
“Were you self-conscious because I was with you?”
“I don’t even know how to answer that.”
“Do you think less of me because I was also there? That I was also attracted to him? Naked with the two of you?”
“You were attracted to him?” Tristan asked softly.
“I’m not dead or blind, Tristan. Of course I was attracted to him. And silly me – because of your participation, I thought you were okay with it. That we were all enjoying it. So were you? Enjoying it?”
“Judith…”
“Don’t ‘Judith’ me. Did you enjoy it? The truth.”
Tristan considered a lie, but Judith knew him too well. “Yes.”
“Think on that, Mr Bennett,” Judith said, turning back to the window.
Discussion: Over, apparently.
~*~
Tuesday
ME: Michael, are you okay?
10:01√√
DR McIAN: Of course.
10:05√√
ME: No you’re not. The truth.
10:05√√
DR McIAN: I’m fine. Really.
10:06√√
ME: Then you wouldn’t mind seeing us again.
10:08√√
DR McIAN: It won’t work.
10:09√√
ME: We hurt you. :-(
10:11√√
DR McIAN: No, you didn’t.
10:12√√
ME: Alright then – Tristan hurt you. I saw your face when he pushed you away.
10:14√√
DR McIAN: << Ø This message was erased. >>
10:15
ME: No, what were you going to say? Don’t just erase messages – it’s rude.
10:15√√
ME: Michael?
10:20√√
DR McIAN: I should just let you go before any of us get hurt.
10:25√√
ME: You mean, ‘get hurt further’.
10:27√√
ME: I’m sorry.
10:42√√
DR McIAN: Me too.
10:43√√
~*~
Tuesday
JUDITH: He’s not okay.
10:45√√
ME: Who?
10:50√√
JUDITH: You know who. This is your fault.
10:52√√
ME: Mine!
10:53√√
JUDITH: He’s not okay. You didn’t see his face.
10:55√√
JUDITH: Fix it. You owe him an apology.
10:55√√
~*~
Tuesday
ME: Michael – I’m sorry. I was an ass.
13:00√√
ME: << Ø You deleted this message. >>
13:02
ME: Could I take you out for a beer? I’d like to apologize in person.
13:05√√
Wednesday
ME: Michael – are you busy, or are you still pissed? I’m sorry.
10:12√√
ME: Judith won’t forgive me either.
13:13√√
ME: Please talk to me.
15:02√√
~*~
Michael pushed his chair away from his desk, and removing his anti-glare glasses and placing them upside down on his desk, he rubbed his eyes. It had been four days since the disastrous night in his playroom, and his concentration had been non-existent.
His phone dinged again; probably another concerned text by Derek, inviting him to Angelus, but after the blow to his heart on Monday night, he couldn’t summon the enthusiasm to watch other Dominants and submissives. And his friend would want to dig into why he was in a funk.
His last text from Tristan had been the day before. It had been difficult to ignore them, but he knew that giving in would mean more hurt later. Eventually he’d go away.
A knock on the open door caught his attention, and he looked up to see Maris leaning against the door frame. “Doctor, there is a patient in the nurses’ station for a wound check. He says that you’re the doctor who treated him initially, but insists the wound has gotten infected.”
“Oh,” Michael said, standing. Yes, thanks – a distraction would be welcome. His back creaked, and he massaged a twinge in his thigh muscle. “What do you think? Does it look infected?”
“It looks fine to me; he probably just needs the man with the medical degree to tell him it’s his imagination.”
Michael snorted. On his desk was a slogan mug Maris had given him one Christmas, with a Google search bar, and a caption that said ‘don’t mistake Google for my Medical degree.’ She knew how he felt about it when patients came into his office and told him what was wrong with them. “Come,” he said, grabbing his white coat and slipping his stethoscope around his neck. “Let’s go have a look.”
“There; cubicle four,” Maris said, rounding the desk at the nurses’ station and handing him a file. Michael glanced at the file. Bennett, Tristan.
He slapped the file back onto the desk. “No. Ask someone else.”
Maris raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“I can’t be his doctor. Ask someone else.”
“And why not?”
Shit.
“Stop being such a baby, and go see the patient. He’s taking up space in my infirmary.”
Leaving the file on the desk, Michael headed for Bed four. Tristan sat on the bed, hands gripping the edge of the mattress on either side of his knees. He looked up at Michael’s approach and sat up, looking him in the eye.
It was obvious that he’d been sleeping badly; there were dark circles under his eyes. It was also glaringly obvious that the cut above his eye wasn’t infected.
Michael crossed his arms and just barely refrained from tapping his foot. He raised an eyebrow. “What seems to be the problem?”
Michael pointed at his eyebrow. “I think my eye is infected, Doc,” he said.
“Do you now?” Michael stepped closer and touched the neatly-healed scar. “It looks fine to me.”
“No, it’s not,” Tristan argued. He swallowed and connected with Michael’s gaze. “I feel terrible.”
Michael looked away, but Tristan caught his elbow. “Please, Michael,” he said softly. “Let me buy you a drink.”
Michael took a deep breath and gave a short nod.
“Thanks. I mean it. Shall I meet you at that little pub in The Village? The one on Racecourse road.”
“Okay,” Michael nodded. “Give me fifteen.”
~*~
Twenty minutes later, Michael stepped onto the rooftop pub, and scanning the seated crowd, he saw Tristan sitting in the corner. The evening had turned chilly, and Tristan had donned a denim jacket, that along with his dark hair, edged his sex-appeal from merely ‘hot’ to ‘dangerous’.
Michael took a seat across from him, and a waitress appeared at his elbow with a menu. Tristan ordered a beer and a basket of fish and chips, and Michael ordered wings and a cider. After the waitress left, Tristan leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table in front of him.
“I’m sorry. I behaved badly during our scene. Hell, Judith is still pissed with me. And you have more than enough reason to be angry with me too. I was having trouble accepting this new aspect of myself, and I took it out on you.”
“What aspect is that?” Michael asked. They fell silent as the waitress arrived with their drinks, then left.
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