interrogated in front of Hera, who thrust her hand at
Scott.
“Hello, by the way. I’m Hera.”
“Scott.” Scott shook her hand, his attention still on
Aiden. “You’ll come home with me,” he said firmly.
“But it’s not my—” Aiden began.
“You’ll come home with me,” Scott repeated. His
tone left no room for argument.
“He’s my ride,” Hera said.
Scott glanced at Hera once again, as though she
were a slightly irritating pet. “Take her home,” he said to
Aiden. “Then come to my place.”
“He’s tired.” Hera put a hand on Aiden’s shoulder.
“I’m not,” Aiden said, shaking her off.
“You just told me you were.”
“I’m fine.”
Hera glared at Scott. “What do you want with
him?” she demanded.
“Hera—” Aiden warned.
Scott chuckled and said to Hera, “Aiden and I have
an arrangement.”
Hera looked from Aiden to Scott and back again.
“Are you seriously going with him?”
Aiden didn’t answer. Hera slung her bag over her
shoulder.
“I’ll take a cab home. You take the car. It’ll save you
some time.”
“Hera, wait… ” Aiden said. But she left the club
without looking back.
“Who’s she?” Scott asked.
“A friend.” Aiden stared at the door, wishing he
could run after Hera, apologize.
Scott followed his gaze. “I don’t want you talking to
her.”
Aiden looked at Scott. “What?”
“I worry her attitude toward our relationship will
have a negative effect on your training. Stop talking to
her.”
Aiden laughed.
Scott didn’t.
“You’re kidding, right?”
Scott just stared at him.
“For how long?”
“Until I give you permission to talk to her again.”
Aiden shook his head. “But that’s—she and I work
together. I can’t just—”
“You can and you will if you want to remain in my
service.”
Aiden did want to remain in Scott’s service. But he
was hardly going to throw away a friendship to do so.
“Scott, please… ”
“Is there something unclear about what I said?”
Scott’s voice was low and dangerous.
Aiden dropped his gaze. “No, Sir. I just—”
“Good.” Scott snapped his fingers. “Basement.
Now.”
In the basement, Scott found them a small room
with a spanking bench. He sat on the bench and hauled
Aiden over his knee. He delivered three blows to the seat
of Aiden’s jeans that even through the taut denim hurt
like hell. But Scott quickly seemed to lose interest in
spanking Aiden. He shoved Aiden off his lap, got up,
and ordered Aiden to sit on the bench, facing the wall.
Aiden did, anxious. Scott’s hard, frantic energy here was
much different than the deliciously cruel, seductive
confidence he projected at home.
Scott stood behind Aiden and started calling him
names. Softly at first, his voice growing louder as he
continued. Some of the words were exciting—Aiden
sometimes liked to be called “slut” or “whore” in the
bedroom. But Scott’s language grew fouler and more
explicit, and soon Aiden felt genuinely shaken, unsure if
Scott meant what he was saying or not.
Scott grabbed Aiden’s shirt, nearly tearing it as he
pulled it off him. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
he demanded, running his nails down Aiden’s chest,
leaving long scratch marks. “The boys I was talking to
upstairs have better bodies than you. Maybe I should
make you watch while I fuck one of them. Huh?”
Aiden felt his cock twitch, then shrink. He didn’t
know if he was aroused or upset by Scott’s belittling.
“Stand up,” Scott ordered.
Aiden obeyed.
Aiden stared at the floor, wishing he’d gone home
with Hera, wishing he hadn’t seen Scott here tonight. He
laced his fingers behind his head.
“You like this, don’t you?” Scott whispered,
running a hand over the front of Aiden’s pants. “You like
me talking to you like this?”
Aiden didn’t think he did. He didn’t answer, but
Scott didn’t seem to notice as he caressed Aiden’s cock
through his pants and said, “I could get everyone here to
come watch you. They’d all see what a slut you are. A
mindless whore who opens up on command.”
Aiden grew harder in spite of his anxiety. He
gasped and closed his eyes, moving with Scott’s hand.
“And not even a pretty one. Almost every boy here
has a better body than you. You pretend you’re a big
shot. You want to go off to school to get a fancy degree.
But you’re just a dumb cocksucker, aren’t you? Can’t get
a degree in cocksucking, can you?”
Scott rubbed harder, and Aiden rode his hand, the
words stinging, making him furious, making him wild.
He came, a long, quiet orgasm that brought him as much
shame as it did pleasure. Scott grabbed Aiden’s balls and
squeezed as Aiden finished. Aiden’s knees buckled, and
his mouth opened in a silent cry. Scott let go and shoved
him away. “Put your shirt on, so no one sees what I had
to settle for. We’re going home.”
* * * *
It wasn’t difficult for Aiden to avoid speaking to
Hera at Joe’s on Monday, because she refused to speak to
him. Every time Aiden came near her, she stalked off in
the other direction. They took their breaks separately.
Finally Aiden cornered her in the kitchen, by the cooler.
“Look. I’m sorry.” He didn’t care that Scott had
ordered him not to talk to her. There was still some part
of his life that Scott didn’t have control over, and this was
it.
“For what?”
“Last night.”
Hera shrugged. “None of my business what kind of
total fucking prick you go home with.”
“I’m sorry for ditching you.”
Hera didn’t speak for a moment, and she didn’t
look at Aiden. “Hope you had a good time, at least.
Though I don’t see how you could have.”
Aiden chewed his lip. “He’s not always that bad.”
“Not always?”
“All right, he’s kind of intense. He just gets in these
moods—”
“You need to drop that fucker.”
Aiden’s temper flared. He’d wanted to apologize,
not invite a lecture on how to live his life. “You barely
know him!”
“I know he sucks. And not the way you’d want him
to.”
“I don’t need your judgment. All I wanted was to
apologize.”
“Great, you did. Now I need to get back to work.”
“Well, so do I,” Aiden snapped.
“Then do it.” Hera slipped past him and into the
seating a
rea.
“Shit,” Aiden muttered. He winced as he walked
toward the kitchen. His back hurt. Scott had flogged him
last night with a heavy leather cat, nearly breaking the
skin in several places. Aiden had felt each blow,
subspace stubbornly eluding him. He was having a
harder time these days slipping into that perfect place
where pain melded into pleasure. Everything Scott did
hurt. Aiden knew it was mostly his own fault. He tensed
against the pain, fought it, anticipated it. Couldn’t relax.
He got nervous when Scott came near him—even Scott’s
kisses were brutal, painful.
Rima burst into the kitchen. “Cole! Table twelve is
waiting on refills.”
He’d totally forgotten about table twelve. “I’ll get
on it.”
“Hey?” Rima called. He turned, startled when he
saw how intently she was watching him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“All right,” Rima said uncertainly. “Then get to
work.”
Aiden hurried past her to table twelve.
Chapter Seven
Keaton Hughes walked to the faculty parking lot,
thinking about the Dutch illustrations of Juliette he’d
shown his class earlier that week. Beautiful, violent,
titillating, and repulsive. He always felt odd, showing
things like that to his students—as though a neon sign
hung over him, indicating that he was into BDSM.
He hadn’t been to Obey for a few weeks. There
didn’t seem to be much point in his going. The men there
were into the scene—costumes, role-play, toys, hookups,
“sir” and “ma’am”… Fun, Keaton agreed, but not what
he was looking for. The odds of finding a sub in Obey
whose interests matched Keaton’s were next to none.
Keaton had been in high school when he’d first
learned about domestic discipline. He’d found an article
in some trashy magazine, written by a middle-aged
woman who claimed her husband maintained domestic
order in their household by spanking her when she got
“too sassy.” She said it helped relax her to know he was
in control, and that her husband enjoyed being in charge.
The woman claimed her husband had guided her
through her return to college, helping her balance work,
school, and family life. He’d helped her curb her
smoking and her spending habits.
Keaton had been fascinated. He’d had no idea this
sort of thing could go on between adults. He thought any
hitting between partners constituted domestic abuse, and
he had been shocked to learn there was such a thing as
lovingly administered corporal discipline. The woman
described a typical punishment: an over-the-knee
spanking—sometimes
with
her
husband’s
hand,
sometimes with a hairbrush—after which she was
forgiven, taken into her husband’s arms, held, and
comforted.
Keaton became enchanted with the idea of having a
domestic discipline partnership. Not with a woman, of
course, but with a man. He just couldn’t imagine any
man being interested.
He did meet a few who were willing to give the
arrangement a try, but they never seemed to get it. They
treated it as a role-play, purposely leaving the house a
mess or back talking Keaton, as though their lines and
actions were scripted. They were turned on by spankings
—not their fault, but not what Keaton wanted. He didn’t
get off on having a boy bare bottomed over his lap, at his
mercy. What he craved was his partner’s trust, his
partner’s need for guidance. Try as he might, Keaton
couldn’t find a partner who was interested in a long-term
—and very real—domestic discipline relationship. And
Obey wasn’t the place to look.
There had been that boy. That beautiful boy who’d
watched Keaton from across the room. Keaton had asked
Daddy, one of the other tops at Obey, about him.
Apparently the kid, Aiden Cole, was in high demand. He
was a talented role-player, had a high pain threshold,
gave incredible head, and was—well, gorgeous. Not a
word Keaton used often, but one that fit Aiden Cole.
Right now the boy belonged to Scott Runge. Keaton
didn’t know Scott, but the rumors he’d heard were
unsettling. Scott played hard, pushing his subs to their
limits with little regard for their pleasure. He was sexy,
charismatic, but could be downright cruel. He was a fan
of toys and torture devices and wasn’t afraid of bruises—
or even blood. Scott didn’t usually take on subs for any
length of time, so his continued relationship with Aiden
was the subject of a lot of gossip around the club.
Aiden must be into the hard-core scenes, Keaton
told himself. Real pain. He’d never want what you want.
Anyway, he’s young and pretty—probably just another
superficial twink who’ll blow anything that moves.
Keaton couldn’t make himself believe it.
Who’s superficial? You’re the one who’s fantasizing about
him based solely on the fact that he’s gorgeous.
It wasn’t just that, though. There was something
else. Maybe he was deluding himself, thinking he could
tell anything about the boy’s soul based on a look
exchanged across the room. But Aiden’s eyes were those
of someone intelligent and creative, someone whose
mind was constantly active. There was a sense of shyness
about him as well—a delicate desire to please.
He’d smiled at Keaton—looking about seventeen
when he did—but there was something mature and
slightly melancholy in his expression, wise but a little
lost.
Stop it, Hughes. It was dark in the bar; you could barely
see.
Yet he’d seen enough to know he was intrigued by
the slender young man with chestnut hair and wide,
intelligent eyes.
He unlocked his dark blue Solara and threw his bag
into the backseat. Then he climbed in the front, put his
hands on the steering wheel, but left the car off. He
leaned back against the seat rest, closing his eyes. He
often felt out of place at S&M clubs like Obey (hence
bringing his journal as a buffer). He was looking for
something separate from the whips-and-chains motif. He
was looking for some one who wanted to be more than a
slave, who wanted to be guided, cared for, and truly
disciplined—no games.
But if he couldn’t have that, then maybe he ought to
think about finding a nice sub to do a scene with now
and then. Perhaps he could brave the music and the
chaps-and-chains crowd again this weekend at Obey and
look for Aiden Cole.
* * * *
Aiden’s alarm was going off, but he couldn’t make
his arm move to hit Snooze. So he let it ring. He’d been
having a hard time sleeping lately. His hours at the gym
left him wired in the evenings, so that it t
ook him a long
time to fall asleep. And when he finally drifted off, he
half expected, even at home in his own bed, to be shaken
awake in the middle of the night to be fucked or to give a
blowjob or take a beating.
With great effort, he opened his eyes: 9:15. He had
to be at work at ten. Just another five minutes… He slapped
the Snooze button and closed his eyes, falling back
asleep immediately.
When he woke again, it was almost noon and his
phone was ringing.
“Where the hell are you?” Hera demanded.
“Huh?”
“Rim Job’s having a fit. We’re slammed. Lunch
rush. Where are you?”
“Shit,” Aiden said, clambering out of bed. “Sorry,
shit. Tell her I’ll—”
“Were you sleeping?”
“No, I—Fuck, Hera, tell her I’ll be right there.”
Hera’s voice softened. “Why don’t I tell her you’re
sick?”
“No, don’t. I’m on my way.”
He hung up, threw on his work clothes, and hurried
out the door. When he got to Joe’s, he expected Rima to
chew him a new one. Instead she smiled at him a little
sadly and asked him to meet her in her office.
“Aiden.” Rima tapped her fingernails against her
desk. “There have been some issues with your job
performance lately.”
Aiden blushed. “I know. I’ll get it together, I
promise.”
“You’ve been a good employee. Joe’s really
appreciates the work you’ve put in this year. But we
have a strict tardiness policy. Three strikes and you’re
out. This is your strike three.”
“What? No—Can’t this just be a warning?”
“I warned you last week when you came in late. I
don’t know what’s going on with you lately, but frankly
I’m a little worried. Not just as your employer.”
“I’m fine,” Aiden snapped. “Or I’d be fine if
everyone would just back off.”
“Everyone?”
Aiden rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ve just
been stressed out. I didn’t realize I was in danger of—
Fuck.” He scrubbed his eyes with his fists.
“You don’t look good,” Rima said.
“Yeah, well, I just got fired.”
“It’s policy, Aiden. It’s in your handbook. I wish I
could make an exception, but I can’t.”
“Yeah, I get it.” Aiden didn’t care that he was being
rude. “I’ll go.”
“You can pick up your final paycheck next