by R. J. Moray
So, fucking aside, what else was there? Punishment—or rather, funishment—couldn’t be stretched out for hours every day. And it wasn’t fun if it happened all the time. Familiarity robbed scenes of their thrill. They became just…noise.
Jack refused to be that to Channon, background radiation in his life. He wanted Channon’s focus, his worship, his love. He wanted it intensely, in concentrated doses. He wanted Channon to notice when he walked into a room, to turn toward him like a plant seeking sunlight. Channon’s attention—he wanted all of it.
What did Channon want?
The nature of the game was that Jack couldn’t ask him, though he wanted to. Would it break immersion too much to take a time out? Would that ruin the whole thing?
Jack decided that it shouldn’t, and even if it did, it was worth it to find out what, exactly, Channon wanted. They could always try again another time, with a little more planning.
Determined, he got up, pulled on a pair of sweats and his dressing gown, and sat on the end of the bed to wait.
When Channon came back in, he was naked, his collar in one hand. He stopped when he saw Jack sitting up, and then he came over to kneel at Jack’s feet. He offered his collar with both hands, his eyes flickering upward to catch Jack’s before glancing away. Jack felt it hard, this certainty that Channon was trying but that this? This thing they were doing? Wasn’t right for him.
“Channon,” he said.
Channon looked up, his eyes wide. “Sir,” he said, and then he corrected himself. “Master.”
It was such a potent word, and right now Jack didn’t want it. He wanted Channon, his boy. He missed him powerfully, so he said, “Time out, Channon. Let’s take a break.” Channon stared at him like he didn’t get it, so Jack held up a hand. “Yellow,” he said.
Channon’s eyes went very wide, then his shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry, Sir,” he said.
He sounded miserable. Jack didn’t like that at all. “For what?”
“Ruining it for you.” He frowned at the collar in his palms as though it was personally responsible, and Jack decided then and there that he was done with this game. This time they’d got it wrong. Next time, he’d work out the kinks.
A week had been ambitious. A day or two would have been a better first try. Live and learn.
Jack got up to shrug out of his dressing gown and knelt to drape it around Channon’s shoulders. “You didn’t ruin anything for me,” he said, his skin quivering with the sudden change in temperature.
Channon hunched. “I’m sorry.”
“No apologizing for the next ten minutes,” Jack said, because it was no use telling Channon he had nothing to apologize for. “Are you hungry? I’m going to make grilled cheese.”
Channon seemed doubtful, but he followed Jack downstairs and watched as he pulled ingredients out of the fridge, arms wrapped around himself. Disallowed from apologizing, he didn’t seem to know what to do, and eventually he came up behind Jack and leaned gently into Jack’s bare back. “Will you tell me what I did wrong and how to do it better, Sir?”
“There’s nothing,” Jack said. “Oh, you did things wrong, but that was the point. You know I didn’t expect you to be perfect all the time, right?”
“I know. But you wanted to stop. So I must have—”
“No,” Jack told him, twisting around to catch Channon by the chin and hold him still. “No, Channon. You can’t blame yourself for it because it’s not your fault. It just didn’t work out. And that’s probably my fault, but I’m choosing to think of it as a learning experience.”
Channon didn’t seem to know what to do with this. “Will you tell me why, Sir?”
It was, Jack thought, a fair enough question. Jack let him go and picked up the spatula. “It was too much. A whole week, Channon. We’re only on day three and I’m running out of steam. That’s not your fault.”
Channon was quiet, and then— “Is that all?”
“I suspected you weren’t really enjoying all of it,” Jack admitted. He glanced at Channon, and found him pensive, his lip caught in his teeth. “Was I right?”
Channon hitched a shoulder up, all shy reluctance. “I wanted you to like it, though.”
“So you weren’t enjoying it?”
Channon shook his head. “Not all of it. Not really.”
“Why’s that?”
“I just…” He breathed out and moved toward the coffee machine. “When you did things to me, I liked it. If I could concentrate on you then…then it was good. It feels right,” he said softly, fingering the handle of a mug before putting it in the machine. “But the other stuff, it’s just…it seems pointless.”
“What’s pointless about it?”
Channon thought about this, taking his time while the coffee machine gurgled and the cheese melted. Jack used two kinds of cheese and some grainy mustard—the way his father liked grilled cheese, he realized. He really was turning into his dad.
Eventually, Channon said, “I like doing things to make your life easier. I don’t like it when it’s…like you’re just making work for me. And like you don’t care.”
Ah. “Busywork, with no satisfaction.” Channon nodded. “That makes total sense.”
Channon let out a sigh. “I wanted to do things that made you happy and they didn’t seem to. Not really.”
“But you did them anyway.”
Channon’s eyes were so green, and wide in the warm kitchen light. “Of course I did.”
“Because you wanted me to enjoy it.” Channon nodded. Jack smiled and touched Channon’s smooth-shaven cheek. “Well, I wanted you to enjoy it. But you didn’t, at least not all of it. Tell me about the parts you did like.” Jack slid the sandwiches onto a plate and cut them into triangles. “Did you like it when I fed you on the floor?” Channon nodded, and Jack couldn’t help grinning at him. “Do you want me to feed you this morning?”
“Please?” Channon begged, his eyes gone puppy-soft and pleading.
So they did that. Jack sat at the table, Channon kneeling at his feet as Jack fed him pieces of grilled cheese sandwich from his fingers. And they talked, the way they should have talked the first night, the way Jack felt they ought to always talk about things, only Channon had never seemed to need it. Jack felt strongly that he should have insisted. Well, they were talking now, at least.
Channon confessed to liking the parts where he was furniture or Jack simply used him without explanation. He liked the valet parts—dressing and undressing Jack, hanging up his clothes, shining his shoes. Making him breakfast, too, and while he’d disliked cleaning the playroom, he understood the necessity. But picking up after Jack had been disagreeable to him, because, “It didn’t seem like you, Sir. You’re never messy.”
“I mess you up sometimes,” Jack said, and Channon blushed, his mouth quirking into a smile.
“That’s different. That’s dirty.”
It made sense. “You didn’t like it because it felt fake. Fair enough. What else?”
Channon looked away. “Nothing, just…”
“Channon,” Jack chided. “Tell me.”
“I get…when you leave me to kneel for you and I don’t know how long it’s going to be, it…stresses me out.”
Because, Jack realized with a jolt, he’d forgotten Channon once. And how many times had Channon’s dad forgotten him? Too many. Jack stroked Channon’s hair and wished he’d never made that particular mistake.
Now wasn’t the time to try and teach Channon that he could trust Jack, rely on him not to forget him again. Another time.
“Let’s not do that, then,” Jack said.
Channon worried his lip. “You don’t mind, Sir?”
“I love the idea of you waiting for me,” Jack clarified, “but only if it means you’re working yourself up into arousal. I want you anxiously waiting for me because you’re too eager to sit still, like it’s a torture for you to wait because you’re so hungry for it you’re practically starving for me. Not anxious out of worry. The good kind.”
Channon nodded slowly, and a small smile bloomed on his face. “The good kind. Like the good humiliation.”
“Yeah.” Or the good pain, the good denial, the good control. There was, for everyone, a good kind and a bad kind. You just had to work out where that line was drawn and stay on the right side of it.
For Channon, he needed to know that Jack was definitely coming back. And they could work on that, another day.
“What about ‘evening discipline’?” Jack asked.
Channon wrinkled his nose, but he was trying to hide a smirk. “You liked it.”
“I did. Did you?”
“I liked it because you liked it,” Channon said simply, laying his head on Jack’s knee.
That was it, wasn’t it? The things that hadn’t worked were the things where Channon didn’t care for it himself and couldn’t tell if Jack was enjoying it.
“You know what I think?” Jack asked, tracing Channon’s lip with his thumb. Channon shook his head and let his tongue out to lick across Jack’s knuckle. Jack pushed his thumb into Channon’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue. “I think we should go for a drive down the coast today. There’s a place in Bronwyn Bay that serves a cioppino to die for.”
Channon sucked thoughtfully on Jack’s thumb, and Jack thought about having him here, now, on the floor. Delightful. But more delightful, perhaps, in that he could save it for later.
Because that was something Jack enjoyed more than anything, saving things for later. Denying himself to make something sweeter, or sharper, or more urgent. And that, when he thought about it, was where the fantasy had gone wrong.
He wanted to be able to use Channon however he wished, whenever he wished. And ‘whenever he wished’ meant sometimes storing it up, not screwing him three times a day just because he could. The imposition of it, feeling obligated to do so, that was what had ruined it for Jack. He wanted to be master of himself, and thus he wanted to master Channon at his own leisure.
And for Channon to squirm in his waiting. Yes. That was it. Anticipation and desire, restraint and release. A careful balance that Jack wanted to be completely in control of.
“Is that a yes, sweetheart?”
Channon nodded, licking the underside of Jack’s thumb before letting it go with a wet pop. “Yes, Sir. If you want to.”
Jack smoothed his hand up Channon’s jaw and around to grip the hair at the base of his skull. “And when we get home, I’m going to fuck you, just the way I want to.”
Channon shuddered, a full-body vibration that shook the last of his tension out of him. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes, Sir.”
Day Four: Thursday
“Sir,” Channon said, resting his chin on Jack’s knee. “Can I ask you something?”
The automatic, You just did, rose like bile in Jack’s throat. Surely he was too young for dad jokes. “Sure, sweetheart,” he said instead, running his fingers through Channon’s hair. “Go ahead.”
His boy looked content, flush with health after a punishing workout first thing in the morning, his belly full of fruit-and-coconut-yogurt smoothie. Now, in the grey mid-morning light streaming through tall, wide windows, Channon leaned his head in Jack’s lap and asked, “What did you invite Nate over for? Tomorrow, I mean. You said…and I wondered.”
Jack’s smile was impossible to keep to himself. “Oh, that. I was going to have some friends over and let them use you, one after the other. That’s all.”
Channon’s face went absolutely crimson. He hid it behind Jack’s thigh, until he was just wide eyes, staring wildly at Jack as if he’d just invited Channon to a gang bang. Which, of course, he had.
“You like the sound of that, huh.”
Jack smoothed Channon’s hair away from his brow. It had been intended as a reward for being good all week, because Jack had known Channon would be good. And while Jack had been meaning to call it off, he’d procrastinated making those calls for some reason. Reluctance. He didn’t want to let go of that particular fantasy.
Maybe he didn’t have to. “We could do that, if you wanted. Or I can cancel.”
Channon’s face was priceless. He wriggled deliciously, pressing his face into Jack’s leg and making a small sound in his throat. “You don’t have to cancel, Sir.” He was breathless, his face so red, and Jack chuckled, running a thumb over the shell of his ear.
“No? You want me to have people over to have you? Right here on the floor, where everyone can see?”
Channon moaned, the tips of his ears gone red with embarrassment.
“Yeah, you like that,” Jack said, stroking Channon’s hair as he warmed to the subject. “Do you want to know who I had in mind?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
“Mmm. Maybe I’ll keep some of them a surprise. But,” and he felt his mouth stretch into an evil grin, “Tom Lockwood said he wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
It was amazing, both how Channon shuddered from head to toe, and how thoroughly un-jealous Jack was about it. He knew Channon had a thing for Tom’s dick, but it was largely because of the size. So Jack wasn’t jealous, because Channon liking Tom’s dick didn’t mean anything more than exactly that. And Jack wanted to give him that dick, like a gift.
“I’m going to let them fuck you, Channon. Stuff you with cock and fill you up with come until you’re dripping with it. Does that sound good?”
“Yes, Sir,” Channon whimpered. He looked up with eyes gone lusty and dark. “Um. Is Mr Ruiz coming? Is that what you were talking about on Tuesday?”
Ah. That was a bolt of jealousy, such a surprise that Jack took a moment to react. “Would you like Victor to fuck you?”
Channon shrugged. “I just…you were inside me when you talked to him. I figured. I mean, I don’t know if you trust him.”
“You find him attractive.”
“I don’t know.” Channon seemed to think about it. “He’s hot, I guess. He just looks at me sometimes, and I wondered if he knew.”
“Not about kink, I don’t think.” Jack licked his lips, wondering if Channon’s instincts were on the right track. “He might be up for a threesome, but I have a feeling we’d freak him out if we invited him to a gang bang.”
Channon shuddered. “Is this…is it okay, Sir?”
“Is what okay?”
“The gang bang.” He swallowed, looking ashamed of himself. “It’s…slutty.”
“I thought you liked feeling slutty,” Jack said, tugging him up until Channon clambered into his lap. “I figured you’d love taking all those dicks, one after the other.”
“I want it,” Channon mumbled, sounding sweetly uncertain. “If you want it.”
“Ah, but I don’t want it if you don’t want it,” Jack teased, and kissed his nose. “So I guess we’re at an impasse.”
Channon hunched his shoulders. “I do want it,” he said quietly.
“Oh, I don’t think I heard you right. Can you say that for me again?”
Channon sighed, his face outrageously pink. “I do want it, Sir.”
“I think you’re going to have to say it out loud.”
“I want all those dicks,” Channon said, squirming with embarrassment. “Please, will you make me, Sir?”
Jack grinned and kissed him on the mouth. “Sure thing, sweetheart. I can’t wait.”
Day Five: Friday
By the time the intercom chimed for attention, Channon’s nerves were wound so tight that he nearly tripped over his own feet. He had to grab the back of the sofa for support and clung to it, his heart thundering wildly.
A hand on his hip bled warmth into his skin. “Sweetheart,” Jack said, “are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” Channon told him, trying to sound certain. “Just nerves.”
Jack hummed, sliding his hand up to rest between Channon’s shoulder blades. He crossed the room to depress the intercom. “One minute,” he said, before coming back to wrap Channon in his arms. Channon went gratefully, his pulse still racing, but calmed by Jack’s
presence, the weight of his chest something solid to cling to.
Jack smelled good, woody and spicy with a faint hint of fresh tobacco in his cologne. It was comforting, masculine, familiar. Channon buried his nose in Jack’s neck to breathe him in, letting himself wallow in this contact while he still could.
“You don’t have to worry. I trust each of these men implicitly. I wouldn’t be letting them fuck you bare if I wasn’t sure it was safe.”
Channon shivered, turned on at the thought of it even as it made his nerves ping. “I know, Sir.”
“If you’re having second thoughts,” Jack murmured, “you can say so. No one’s going to be upset with you if you decide you want some or all of them to use protection, or even if you wanna call it all off. We can eat snacks and chat. It’s okay, I promise.”
“I know, Sir. I want to.” He tried to sound decisive, because he really did want to. “You said I could and it wouldn’t be wrong. I want to do it.” He lifted his head to look Jack in the eye. “Please, Sir?”
Jack’s expression was soft, his mouth a gentle curve that made Channon want to kiss him. “You,” he said gently, “are so incredibly lovely, Channon. You’re a delight. And I’m really looking forward to seeing you have fun tonight, so I need you to promise me that if anything gets too much, if you stop having a good time, you’re going to give me a color. Okay?” Jack brushed his fingers over Channon’s shoulder blades, soft and gentle. “I need to know you’re having a good time, or I can’t enjoy it too. Do you understand?”
Channon nodded. “I understand, Sir. I promise.”
“Good.” Jack kissed him, just once and almost chaste. “Go kneel down. And remember what we talked about.”
Channon went to the cushion Jack had left for him by the privacy-fogged windows and knelt, still nervous but less anxious. He was naked, of course, except for the collar Jack had put on him only minutes ago and the delicate lace panties Jack had made him pick out for the occasion. The panties were humiliating, in their way, but Channon had grown used to that. It no longer made him feel like an object of mockery, but instead it made him feel kind of…sexy. The way Jack looked at him when he was wearing them definitely helped. And the fact that Jack had told him over and over there was nothing wrong with wearing panties—or lipstick, or dresses, or even high heels—if he wanted to wear them. Or if Jack wanted him to.
