by Quin Perin
But when he shifted with the intent to stand, Eduardo dug his fingers in a little deeper, a soft tch coming from under his breath. It was no more than that, no formal acknowledgement of his presence, but somehow it was enough. Rebellion died away again, and there was only this.
He hardly noticed when the friend took off except that Eduardo tapped himself on the chest in a way that meant come up. Jake went up higher on his knees, bringing his head to rest on Eduardo’s abdomen. Eduardo ran his hands lightly through his hair, rubbing the shell of his ear and letting his nails scratch lightly over Jake’s skin.
“How was that?”
Jake found himself nodding, a little too deep under to make words happen. Once he’d stopped thinking about how much he didn’t want to stay still, the staying still had come easy, and now it was as hard to move as it’d been not to before. Eduardo took his nod as an answer, continuing to stroke him gently but firmly and regarding him with approving dark eyes.
“You did very well. I’m pleased.”
The flush of pride that went through him almost did him in. No Dom had ever been pleased with him at the end of a scene, only sometimes at the very beginning, before things got away from him.
Except, wait—
This wasn’t the end of the scene, was it? They hadn’t even done anything. But Eduardo was tugging him up onto his feet and handling him dexterously onto a bar stool. He asked Andi for a glass of water and a scotch on the rocks.
“The drink is for me, though you can have one once you’re feeling more yourself.”
“Are we done?” Jake couldn’t help allowing some petulance to slip into his voice.
“For today.”
“But we didn’t do anything.”
“We did plenty. We got to know each other. We had a little scene, which we hadn’t negotiated, but I think we worked through it well. What do you think?”
Andi came back with the water, and Eduardo held the glass up for him, guiding it up to his mouth and tipping it up until he wrenched it away.
“It was all right.” He put the glass down, mostly empty. He’d definitely been thirsty.
Eduardo waved to Andi for another, then sipped at his own drink with a look that suggested he was waiting for Jake to go on.
“I liked being at your feet. It felt like a start.”
“It was an excellent start.”
“But not enough.” He was caught between an endorphin haze and dissatisfaction. He wanted to get beaten or something, to have a proper scene. That was why he’d come to the club tonight. Not to spend an hour doing nothing but kneeling.
“That’s for me to decide.” Eduardo reached into his back pocket and handed over a business card. “I’m not a fan of long conversations immediately prior to a scene, but I am a fan of not doing something to someone they haven’t consented to, so fill out one of those kink checklists you can find online and email it to me. Once I’ve had a chance to review it, we can set up a second session.”
“But—”
“Or you can find a different Dom. I won’t negotiate with you. I’ll respect your boundaries, but I won’t negotiate. That’s all you need to know about what kind of Dom I am. Understand?”
Jake understood. He wasn’t going to get his way tonight. If Eduardo could be believed, he wasn’t going to get his way ever. Which, if that were true, was exactly what he wanted.
So why did he feel so angry?
It wasn’t fair, that was all. He deserved a scene.
“We don’t have to negotiate anything,” he suggested. “We could scene, and you could just do whatever. I don’t have boundaries.”
“But I do. And I just gave them to you.” Eduardo threw back the rest of his scotch. “Since you’ve recovered enough to be difficult, I believe we’re officially done. Think about it, Jake.” He tapped Jake on the nose like he was a misbehaving puppy and walked off in a flourish of masculine grace.
Jake put the card in his pocket and finished his water. Then he ordered a drink. He wasn’t scening tonight apparently. He’d been given his orders.
Two
Kink lists were stupid. They were stupid because they were full of things Jake was supposed to like or not like or not like but be willing to do, and what Jake really wanted was to not decide any of that.
He knew what he liked in a general sort of way. He liked spankings. That was, he liked the idea of them. But he wanted the spanking to be something he didn’t want, for it to not be about him rubbing off on someone and them rubbing off on him while both of them pretended it was for discipline when really it was for getting off.
He did get off on being spanked, sort of, but once he started getting off on it and noticing how the guy spanking him was getting off on it too, the whole thing got ruined. He would start fighting, the guy spanking him would ask for a color, and the phoniness would grow until the only real part was the part where he was fighting—disobeying because his Dom couldn’t make him obey.
He didn’t care about the trappings of it all—what position he was in or whether he had a gag or a butt plug. Whatever his Dom wanted, as long as his Dom wanted it and chose it and made him take it. All he cared about was that it be real, not a game whose rules they’d agreed to beforehand. And that seemed impossible to convey using a list that’d been specifically designed for agreeing to the rules beforehand.
He’d been trying for two weeks now—pencil in hand—marking and then erasing and then marking again, writing something next to it to try to explain, and then crossing the explanation out so hard no one would ever be able to read it.
He was about to print out a fresh list so he could start again when the uselessness of it all hit him. If it hadn’t been Eduardo, he wouldn’t have tried so hard, would’ve just randomly checked boxes for things he didn’t hate too much, or things he particularly did hate, and handed it over without giving a fuck. But he’d liked that hour he’d spent at Eduardo’s feet, liked the way Eduardo talked about Earl and how he’d tamed him, how he’d made Earl docile and content, and so Jake tried, really tried, to get the paper filled out right.
But it wasn’t ever going to be right. He couldn’t do a kink list just like he couldn’t do anything else. He drew an X through the page and wrote EARL across the top in big block letters, then folded the list down into a little square so he wouldn’t have to look at it again.
Instead of emailing it to Eduardo as instructed, he stalked the club where they’d met, tipping Andi extra to keep her eyes out for him. When she finally pointed him out, he was in the middle of the club floor chatting with a woman dressed like a sub. Seeing him with yet another sub made Jake so furious he stormed over and shoved the square of paper into his chest without so much as an excuse me.
Eduardo caught his wrist before he could stalk away. He didn’t say anything—just pointed to his feet with an arched eyebrow.
Jake wanted to kill him. Just, really, what the fuck? Did this guy think he could get away with that after he’d spent two weeks trying to fill out that fucking form? Did he really think Jake was going to kneel at his feet because he pointed to them?
The woman in her dainty ruffles smirked at him, and Jake thought fuck you, he’s mine, and dropped to his knees so hard that his kneecaps cracked against the tile. Let her compete with that. Eduardo nodded at him approvingly, then went back to the woman.
“As I was saying, Rebecca, you’ll find a crate improves his behavior considerably.”
Rebecca didn’t look like a Domme. Must be a switch. Well, whatever she was, she should go find whoever needed to be put in a crate and put him there. Leave Eduardo alone.
Would Eduardo put Jake in a crate? He might not mind having a place he could go if he was feeling ragey, where he wouldn’t be able to break anything or scare anyone. He was conflicted about restraints in general. They were a way for his partner to maintain control despite a size discrepancy, but when his body was restrained, his mouth usually got worse. And when that got restrained too? Then he flipped out comple
tely and Doms told him “it stopped being fun.”
Jake sighed. He was a loser, and this whole thing was pointless. The trouble wasn’t the Doms he played with. The trouble was him.
He started to get to his feet, but Eduardo said settle, so he settled. He’d chased Eduardo down to shove a list in his face. He could wait until it got read.
Rebecca went away—thank you, Rebecca. Eduardo took his hand off Jake’s head to unfold his kink list then put it right back on there, scratching mindlessly as he read. Jake kept his eyes lowered. A minute ago he’d been mad, but now he was embarrassed about having body slammed Eduardo with a messy piece of paper that had another sub’s name written across it.
“Do you know who Earl is?” Eduardo asked.
“Your sub?”
“What makes you think so?”
“I heard you talking that day—about Earl and what he needed from you.”
“Structure? Sternness?”
Jake nodded yes to all that.
“I didn’t say anything about punishing Earl. I don’t punish Earl. Not in any way you’d find on this paper.”
“Because Earl behaves himself all the time like a fucking pussy?”
A sharp rap landed on Jake’s nose. “That is a word you won’t be using. You will not denigrate women, gay men, or anyone else for that matter. Is that understood?”
Jake grumbled something that was almost a yes and received another sharp rap for it.
“Yes, okay? I know I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Better. Now, to get back to my point. I believe you do want to be punished.”
“I’ll deserve it. Even if Earl doesn’t.” He already did, apparently.
“Oh? You’re planning to disobey, are you?”
“Can’t help it.” There, he’d told Eduardo the truth. “I’ll do the same to you as I do to anyone. Ask around. They’ll tell you.”
“I have, and they did.” Eduardo crouched down next to him. “Is it for show, or would you really assault me?”
“Neither. I don’t do it on purpose. I just get...”
“You go into combat mode.”
“Yeah. But I wouldn’t hurt you, wouldn’t touch you. I’ve never done that.”
“So I’ve learned. Very well. I believe we understand each other.”
They did? That was a surprise to Jake who didn’t even understand himself. He’d agreed he wouldn’t hurt Eduardo, but what else had he agreed to? Somehow Eduardo had gotten more out of that paper than he’d expected.
He felt a little panicked. He’d checked some of those boxes out of a sort of contrariness, which didn’t seem very smart now, but then it never was. That was exactly how he got himself into these messes. He acted out in a fit of temper, did something completely counterproductive to his own best interests, and then slogged through the resultant shitstorm knowing he deserved it.
Just once, just for sometimes, he’d like to not live in the middle of a shitstorm.
Eduardo stood up, his knees making little popping noises as he did. “I could never be a submissive. My knees wouldn’t bear it. But you do beautifully on your knees, don’t you, big guy?”
He pulled Jake’s face into his crotch like he had the other night, and Jake went willingly, taking deep breaths to find the scent that’d haunted him these last two weeks. It was there—subtle but reassuring. He’d knelt for Eduardo before, and Eduardo had said he’d done good after. He could do this.
Above him, Eduardo had his phone in hand. “I’d like to start a regular regime. Consistency is the key, I find. What time do you get out of work?”
Jake gave him his hours and Eduardo typed them in.
“All right then. Tomorrow night, I want you to go home, eat, shower, and be at my place at seven.”
“Your place?” Jake rocked his head back to look up at the smiling Dom who ruffled a hand through his hair.
“Yeah, my place. You’re going to need to meet Earl.”
So Earl got to live with him, huh? Lucky Earl.
Or maybe not. Maybe Eduardo was hell to live with. Jake sure was. He’d never had a roomie the whole time he’d been in the Marines who could stand him. Sure, he seemed like an okay guy at first—quiet and clean without being obsessive about either—but eventually something would go wrong and he’d get in a mood, and then it’d be pushups and jumping jacks and hour-long showers and day-long naps. Or worse.
The holes in the walls. The yelling.
He always hated himself for it after, and it wasn’t as if guys in the service had the most even tempers. They looked the other way on a lot of shit from each other, knowing sometimes you had to get your rage out. But eventually it always got to be too much for his roommates, and they bailed. Put in for another housing assignment or moved off base. Whatever they had to do to get away from him.
Fucking Earl, though, who never needed to be punished. No one bailed on him, Jake would bet. Apparently this guy was so goody-goody he didn’t even realize he ought to be pissed about his Dom bringing another sub home. No way Jake would let his Dom get away with that shit. He’d be out of there in a flash. Even the idea of sharing Eduardo with someone who had dibs on him didn’t sit well. Earl better not be watching their scene, that was for sure. Watching and judging his perfect, smart ass off. If Jake heard one comment out of him—
He rang Eduardo’s doorbell with one foot already pointed away from the door. The cozy bungalow wasn’t what he’d been expecting. Too small and cute. He was surprised Eduardo hadn’t whipped its crooked corners into a uniform compliancy, hadn’t made the building stand up straighter, not allowing it to slouch into the shrubbery where it blended into the hodgepodge of blooming plants surrounding it.
Daylight was beginning to fade, and Jake lost a little of his glower as he surveyed the honeysuckle twining over the door mantle. He half-expected Little Red Riding Hood’s grandmother to answer the door, but it was Eduardo.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet here.” Eduardo ushered Jake into a small foyer tiled in dark brown. “I wouldn’t have asked if you weren’t big enough to take care of yourself, but I think we’ll be more comfortable here, and I always prefer privacy for punishment.”
He was being punished already? “I haven’t done anything wrong,” he complained as he toed off his shoes in response to Eduardo’s gesture.
“You don’t think so? Well, we’ll discuss that, amongst other things. All your clothes off, please. I keep the house at a temperature warm enough to allow it.”
As if Jake needed it to be eighty to get naked. He was a fucking Marine. But that explained why Eduardo was only wearing a pair of grey athletic shorts and a navy t-shirt.
“Today, please,” Eduardo drawled when Jake hesitated after folding his shirt into a tidy rectangle and leaving it on the bench at the side of the foyer.
It wasn’t the temperature that had him hesitating, nor was it any fear about how he looked naked. He looked good naked, and he damn well knew it. He flexed his pecs, but that failed to either impress Eduardo or distract him.
“I gotta meet Earl naked?” A man wanted to be clothed to meet his rival. And he didn’t want to play with Earl. He should’ve put that on his form when he’d had the chance. No outside parties, no spectators.
“Of course. Earl.” Eduardo smiled a smile that didn’t make any sense. “How could I have forgotten?” He put his fingers between his lips and gave a high whistle. The responding clatter of claws tipped Jake off even before a Doberman came careening around the corner.
Earl was a big one, all right, but he went right up to Eduardo to sit obediently at his feet, his head tilted to suggest he was keeping an eye on the stranger. Eduardo put a hand on Earl’s head and presented him proudly.
“He’s a beauty, isn’t he? A rescue with a problematic past. He had a hard time adjusting, but I think he’s settled in now. Just needed a firm hand and a little positive correction, didn’t you, boy?” Eduardo crouched down and gave Earl his face to nuzzle. “Come on down here and meet
him. You okay with dogs?”
“Love them.” He got down next to Eduardo on the tile floor and let Earl smell him. Earl was dark all over except for caramel feet and a matching snout. “How long have you had him?”
“About six weeks now. He was a mess when he came here—alternately skittish and aggressive—but he’s a fine dog now. I’d trust him with my life.” Eduardo rose. “Go to your bed, Earl. Bed.”
The dog hesitated, obviously preferring to remain with the two of them. Maybe Eduardo didn’t have Earl as well trained as he thought. But then Earl turned and trotted off as commanded.
Well, damn. So Earl really was perfectly behaved. And here Jake had already been sentenced to punishment when he hadn’t done more than set foot in the house. He took off the rest of his clothes before Eduardo could reiterate the order and was told to kneel.
“We’re going into the living room. I want you to stay on your knees and follow me. You’re familiar with the command heel?”
“I’m not crawling along after you like a fucking dog. I’m not into that.”
“Then you should’ve written that down. You can crawl or not, your choice. But you’re to stay on your knees and follow at my heel.” Eduardo strode off as if he didn’t need to look to know Jake would follow, and after a moment of internal warfare, Jake followed. Not on his hands and knees like a dog, because fuck that, but up on his knees like a man. Like a man who was walking on his knees, whatever the hell that meant.
The tile, which hurt, gave way to wood, which also hurt. His knees were already bruised from that swan dive yesterday and now every ounce of his two hundred and sixty pounds drove them like a pile driver into the unyielding surface beneath him. And all the while, Eduardo walked on, not quicker than Jake could manage to keep up but not checking on him either, just a sedate stroll towards an unknown stopping point.
Wood gave way to rug—soft and black, high-piled like shag, a rectangle of it, on which rested a glass coffee table and a dark brown leather couch. Eduardo seated himself on the couch and patted his inner thigh to bring Jake closer. Jake’s knees throbbed. He’d been a fool to abuse them when he didn’t know how much time he was about to spend on them.
