by Jodi Payne
“Well, that unfortunate error brings me to what I had next planned for us. Rules.” He paced away, rather pleased that the boy had made that mistake, as it provided him with a springboard. “I’d like you to start addressing me as ‘Sir.’ From this point forward, every answer you give to a direct question will be followed by Sir. If you wish to get my attention, you will use Sir or Master, your choice for the time being. When we’re in this club, anywhere, I’m Sir. You’re not to use my name. Am I clear?” He could set that question as a trap, but that seemed unfair for the boy’s first time-out. “Answer ‘yes, Sir’ or ‘no, Sir.’ ”
“Yes, Sir.” Sam didn’t look too worried; he nodded, licked his lips, but that was it.
“Good boy. Any questions?”
“No, Sir. I’m pretty well-raised. I can ma’am and sir with the best of ’em.” The words could have been glib if the tone had been, but Sam didn’t sound flip in the slightest. He had to grin, though. It went a bit further than just being polite. The boy would make that leap on his own eventually.
“Good to know. However, the next time I ask a ‘yes or no’ question, a simple ‘yes’ or ‘no’ will do unless I require something more.”
He took a few steps, letting Sam hear them. “The next rule is also simple. You don’t do anything unless I’ve given you an order or you have requested permission. Opening your eyes is a good example. Needing to use the restroom is another. If you need something—something hurts, you’re cold, you need to change position or walk, if you feel unsafe or panicked—I want you to speak up. I will always see to your needs unless I have a good reason not to, and I will be very clear why if that is the case. If you feel the need to speak more freely than I otherwise allow, you may ask permission. Everything you do will need an order or my permission. Do you understand? You may also ask questions at this point if you wish.”
He could almost see Sam sorting through information, responses, worries, questions, all behind those closed eyes.
“I’ve confused you, have I?” He slipped his hands into Sam’s. “Open your eyes.”
Sam opened up, meeting his gaze. “This is tough.”
“It is.” Clearly the boy wasn’t ready for the rule about not meeting his eyes; he’d let that one go another session or two. Or maybe forever, he reminded himself. New boy, new rules. “Why do you think I’m asking it of you?”
Sam held on to his fingers, squeezing them. “I have a few answers to that question. The first instinct is you think I’m stupid, but that doesn’t make sense. You don’t think badly of me.” Another squeeze. “After that it’s muddier. Because you want to, because that’s the rules of the game, because you want me to pay attention?” Each answer was ticked off in Sam’s hands.
Inside he had to cheer a little because Sam hadn’t panicked about being confused and instead had offered him thoughtful, honest answers. He thought about how to reward the boy as he spoke. “I hold you in the highest respect, boy. You are not stupid. All of those other reasons you mention have some merit. Let’s concentrate on the last thing you said, that I want you to pay attention. Staying present, in the moment, keeping your mind actively focused isn’t easy, is it?”
“No, Sir. God, no.” The relief in Sam’s voice was a very real thing. “Everything starts to zoom and…” Sam shrugged, holding his hands tight.
He stayed steady and still, returning the boy’s grip with a reassuring squeeze. “Obedience will be a good exercise for you, then. You’ll have to keep your thoughts ordered, keep your focus on me and whatever I’ve asked of you. You’ll have to anticipate your own needs and make sure you articulate them. You’ll have plenty to think about.”
He lifted their clasped hands into Sam’s line of vision. “Is this simple reassurance, or are you trying to tell me you’re losing your footing?”
“My balance is fine. It helps.” Sam sighed softly. “It’s like we’re together in this.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He smiled and kissed each of his boy’s hands in turn. “It’s not like we are together in this. We are together in this. I am thinking about you every second you are in this club. Whether you find yourself holding my hands, halfway across the room, at the receiving end of my flogger, or getting me a drink at the bar, you are my focus. I’m simply asking the same of you.”
“That’s fair.”
That was his boy—a novel worth of thought and two words slipping free.
“So, am I to trust that you understand the rule, then?”
“Yes, Sir. I—” Sam gripped him tight. “You know that I’ll fuck up sometimes, right? Not out of meanness.”
“Of course. Quite a lot in the beginning, I expect. I’m not concerned with how often you slip. I’m much more focused on whether you’re trying and what you learn when you make a mistake. That applies to everything, boy. Mistakes are simply human. It’s how you handle yourself that matters.”
He decided they’d discussed that long enough and didn’t offer Sam an opportunity to reply. He’d let the boy think about it.
He looked at their hands, then into Sam’s eyes again. “I want you to know that you can ask me for reassurance any time, but you have to start relying on your trust in me too. You’re not giving it a chance to work for you. I can’t imagine you know what I mean, but you will. Before you seek reassurance, take a second to see if you can summon that trust and let your worry go.”
That would be a big step for the boy, he knew, and not an easy one.
Sam dipped his chin, the nod sure, sharp. Sam never looked away from him, trusting him to read those cues.
Surprises at every turn. The boy’s reply left him breathless. Thomas squeezed Sam’s fingers and returned the nod, then pulled out the most coveted reward he had in his arsenal and kissed his boy. Nod, open the gate, and ride.
He was so proud of Sam, but eventually he had to reel it back in, end the kiss. He knew that Sam’s conviction would be tested, that it would falter now and then, and if he built this victory up too high, it could be a very long fall.
Sam blinked, swayed the tiniest bit, and he got a blinding smile. “Thank you, Sir.”
“You’re welcome, my boy. I’m proud of you.” Gently, he released Sam’s hands, put them at the boy’s sides, and stepped away again. “Why don’t you stretch? Move around a bit. I need a moment to order my thoughts.”
Thomas knew his next move was important, knew they needed to be done talking or poor Sam’s head would explode. Sam needed different input, something physical to keep his attention so he didn’t have to work so hard at it for a while.
He knew he was right when he turned and saw Sam bent in half, his upper body swaying in broad motions. Oh. That was lovely.
So. Physical work, push the boy toward the right headspace. Subspace. And if the work gave him an excuse to put his hands on Sam, so much the better. He pulled his deerskin flogger out of his kit, picked up a chair, and placed it in the center of the room. “You were stiff, hm? Feel better?”
“Yes, Sir. I was fixin’ to get caught up.” Sam rolled up to standing, hips swaying side to side.
“Don’t wait that long next time, boy. That’s what your safe word is for. Use it. We’ll talk about what you need and make sure you’re comfortable. Don’t make it even more difficult to concentrate, all right? Give me your safe word again.”
“Revolver.”
Excellent—that was sure, firm, no hesitation—just like the nod Thomas had gotten. He was making a connection here that he hadn’t before. Sam’s eyes were on him, curious, interested, hungry even.
“Revolver.” He walked to the far side of the chair. “Come sit. Backward.”
“Yes, Sir.” Sam settled easily, arms draped across the back. He could see the top of Sam’s ink, the knotted rope attaching the barbed wire to the skin.
“Perfect. This is a deerskin flogger.” He draped the soft falls across Sam’s spine as he spoke, running them lightly over the boy’s skin. “It’s very soft, there’s no snap, and the falls are wid
e, so the most you’ll get from it is a solid thud. It won’t hurt; it’s not designed to. This one is a beginner instrument, meant for sensation and sound, not sting.”
He rolled his wrist and let the flogger fall lightly on Sam. “Any questions? I’ll allow them now, but not again until I’m done unless you use your safe word.”
Sam shook his head, even as he leaned toward the flogger’s touch. “No, Sir. I’m good.”
“Very well. Like earlier, when you were concentrating on my steps, I want you to focus on the sound, the sensation. I’d like you to keep your eyes closed. If you think that will be difficult, I can get you a blindfold. Can you manage it? Just a yes or no, please.”
“Yes.” Sam closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and settled deeper into the chair.
So far, so good. He found a comfortable stance he could hold for a while and let the room go silent. He didn’t want even the sound of his boots to distract the boy from the sound of the flogger. He continued to roll his wrist for a bit, letting the flogger just fall on its own, moving from one shoulder to the other and down Sam’s back, covering as much skin as he could.
He liked this flogger as a sensation tool because he didn’t have to worry about sensitive spots like Sam’s scar. He could bring it down heavy if he wanted to, and it would make a lovely sound, but it didn’t hit that hard.
He waited for the boy’s skin to pink, then traded the flogger for his fingers, running them over the warmed skin from the boy’s shoulders to his hips.
Sam’s moan filled the air like a gift, Sam arching for his touch in a slow, lazy motion.
Rather than words of praise, he answered his boy with a hum of approval, low and gentle to match Sam’s lovely display. Then he tugged the flogger from under his arm and began again, this time using the lower part of his arm to bring the flogger down, making that wonderful solid sound each time it fell.
Sam began to breathe with the blows, with him. Every so often Thomas would adjust where the flogger fell, find a new pattern, and Sam would shift, tense, then shiver. Then Sam would find his rhythm again and sink deeper.
He would be able to keep this pace up for a long while if he wanted to, but he knew what the endgame was this time. He wanted Sam deep, but not so blissed out that the boy couldn’t reply to a question. Of course, it should be simple for Sam, because he was going to give the boy the answers first.
He slowed the blows and tucked the flogger under his arm, admiring the bright color coming up across Sam’s skin. Placing his hands on Sam’s back this time was a bit more risky, so he went with just the tips of his fingers at first to see how sensitive the boy was.
Sam gave a soft gasp, and his legs tensed, he went up on tiptoe for a second before settling down. His boy didn’t pull away from him, though.
“Good boy,” he whispered, leaning close to Sam’s ear. “You are mine, boy. Mine. My boy, my submissive.” He slid his fingers off Sam’s shoulders and around to settle on muscled arms, speaking louder this time. “My boy, my sub. Mine.”
“Yours.” The response was immediate. No worry. No censoring. No choosing the right words.
No, it was simply—“Yours.”
“Yes. Good boy.” He stepped back and pulled out the flogger, draping the falls across Sam’s back. “More? Or have you had enough?”
“I don’t know how to tell.”
That was answer enough for him. Sam was much too coherent to have had enough. “You’ll know. Use your safe word if you need it. I’m going to continue.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, but loud enough for Sam to hear. One more round, just a little heavier, and that should do it. He brought the flogger down, using more of his arm, and raised the stakes for Sam. He called out questions between each blow, each one more intense than the one before. Whose boy are you? Who is your Master? Are you a submissive? Questions meant to push as much as to reinforce, to raise emotion. And just as he’d decided that the boy had taken enough, one final order.
“Tell me that you’re mine.”
Sam’s eyes flew open. “I swear, I’m yours! I have to…up. Revolver! I got to move!”
Timing was everything. He dropped his flogger and hooked an arm under Sam’s to steady him. “All right. Up. Come on.”
Sam took a few unsteady steps, chest working like a bellows. “Goddamn.”
“Breathe, sweetheart. Talk to me.” He wasn’t worried. He’d been watching Sam carefully. He only wished the boy hadn’t waited so long. He pulled two bottles of water from a small cooler in the corner and held one out to Sam. “You may speak freely.”
“Jesus. That’s like…” Sam took the water. “Thank you. Damn.” He sucked the bottle back. “Adrenaline rush.”
He shook out his arm, making sure he hadn’t overdone it. It felt damn good. “I’m not going anywhere. Take your time, boy. Breathe. I should tell you, your back is beautifully warmed. It has a very nice, deep blush.” He grinned and leaned against the wall, drinking his water and staying out of Sam’s way.
“It feels awake.” Sam walked himself out, pacing before he plopped down on the floor and sat. “Damn.”
Thomas watched Sam for a moment, thinking about the boy’s choice of words. He was learning that Sam chose them carefully, and that the boy found it difficult to wrestle what was in a wild mind and heart into conventional conversation.
“Awake.” He repeated the word out loud, thinking about it and what it might mean for Sam while he tidied up the room, put the chair and his flogger away, and got them each a second bottle of water. “Can you tell me more, sweetheart?”
He set the water bottle down on the floor in front of Sam and paced away, giving the boy a good look at his boots, but not his eyes.
“I know you don’t fight, but you have ink—it’s like that. Tender and lit up, like everything’s woke and clear.”
Clarity. Something complicated and rare for Sam. It wasn’t the headspace he’d envisioned for the boy, but it was valid and more than acceptable. For all he knew, this was the boy’s own version of peace. Time and more work would tell.
“How do you feel?”
“Happy.” That was just as simple and honest as anything, even if Sam blushed as soon as he said it, hiding in his water bottle.
“I’m very pleased, boy. You should be proud of your accomplishment today. I’m glad you’re happy. Of all the goals we’ll work toward, that is the most important one of all, isn’t it?”
Sam gave him a half smile. “What about you? How do you feel?”
It was so tempting to answer that question honestly, completely. Certainly there was a piece of Sam that deserved to know. But this session couldn’t end like the last one had. His boy needed to understand that his responsibilities continued even though their session was coming to an end.
This wasn’t pillow talk. It was aftercare.
“I’ve already told you I am very pleased and proud of you. However, if you wish to ask a question, boy, you need my permission. Also, you’ve forgotten your…manners. Hm?”
Sam tilted his head, lips tightening for a fraction of a second. Then he nodded and finished his second bottle of water.
Thomas watched Sam again, reading the boy’s body language. The rules were new and difficult for Sam. He understood.
“While I appreciate the acknowledgment, if you forget a rule, boy, an apology is in order.” He crossed his arms and waited, standing less than a foot from his boy. “Respectfully.”
Sam stood up, unfolding himself from the floor with impressive ease. Sam stared him right in the eyes, gaze sure and direct, straightforward and stony. “My apologies, Sir.”
His mind raced through the scenario while he returned Sam’s stare, doing his best not to reflect what was in his boy’s eyes but defuse it. He’d offended Sam, which was no surprise. What was surprising was how quickly Sam’s mind-set had changed. In just that quick exchange, Sam had gone from happy to angry, without so much as a breath to consider who he was talking to. As much as
he hated to admit it, this wasn’t a contest either of them was going to win. In fact, it couldn’t be a contest at all if they were both going to step away with their dignity intact.
“Apology accepted,” he said calmly, gently. “Thank you.”
“No worries. My bad.”
Thomas could hear the echo of hurt in those words, but the icy fury had faded. Sam nodded before stepping to the side and throwing the empty water bottles away.
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, thinking perhaps he preferred the fury.
“Was it?”
“Pardon?” Sam turned to face him, face a study in confusion.
“You were very quick to anger and even quicker to challenge me, so was it your bad? Or was it mine? Be honest.”
“Jesus Christ, what the fuck do you want? You say ‘speak freely,’ then you get onto me for doing it. I ask after you—your feelings, just because I care about you and whether you’re okay, and that’s breaking the rules. You accuse me of being rude and disrespectful, and I’m not. I apologized. I meant it. I won’t ask after you again. What else do you want?”
The benefit of the doubt? For your trust to extend to my intention? Perhaps an acknowledgment that I’m human too? But of course none of that addressed the actual fact that he’d made a mistake. And he couldn’t expect that from someone riding the wave that Sam had been on. Had been, before he let it crash.
Fuck. Even an honest mistake was still a mistake.
“You’re right. I did give you permission to speak freely. My…previous sub and I had an understanding about speaking freely and more personal questions. We had a…a line we didn’t cross in this setting. I was holding you to an unreasonable standard, and I apologize.”
Sam stared at him for a second, then walked right up to him and hugged him, hard. “I hear you. James was good at being different people when he was supposed to. Me? Not so much. I’ll get it. I promise. Just be patient with me.”
He accepted the embrace because he needed it and let the strength soothe him. But Sam’s words made him uneasy, and he needed the boy to know that. He pulled away finally, taking the boy by the shoulders and making sure to catch those eyes. “I needed that hug, thank you. So much. But please believe me when I say that I don’t need you to get it. I don’t even want you to try. You’re not James. You’re nothing like him. I need you to be yourself, be Sam, and help me learn how this works for you. For us. I need you to be patient with me.”