by Kris Ripper
“We have thirty minutes before dinner,” Josh said, enunciating each word.
Keith turned. “Oh. Um.”
“I think the couch will work to show Cam what we didn’t show him last time. You ready?”
This was unexpected. Thirty minutes—I figured we’d make small talk, or even serious talk, but I didn’t figure on whatever was happening now, or Josh’s voice dropping a register.
“Okay. I mean, I thought we’d probably wait until after dinner. Um.”
Josh pointed at the floor in front of his feet, and Keith, with a split-second glance at me, went to stand there. “It’s so much more fun when I surprise you, though.” He put his hands on Keith’s shoulders. “Babe, yes or no?”
“Yes. I’m still worried about all the same stuff, but yes.”
“Cam’s going to think what I think.”
Keith rolled his eyes. “You think I’m hot and amazing.”
“You are hot and amazing. How much time left now, Cam?”
I’d almost forgotten I was there. I fought a sense of discombobulation and sighted the timer. “Twenty-five minutes, forty-three seconds.”
“I’m going to spank you for the next twenty-five minutes and Cam’s gonna watch, babe. You’re not allowed to come.”
The words replayed in my head after a hiccup during which I couldn’t take in sound: I’m going to spank you for the next twenty-five minutes and Cam’s gonna watch.
“Oh my god,” Keith whispered. “Okay.”
“I want your jeans all the way off. Keep the jock on. Is that okay for you?”
“I said it was.”
“I know. I’m asking again.”
“I’m fucking scared, but yeah, that’s how I want to do it. As long as it’s okay with Cam.”
“I’ll check in with him for a minute. Backwards on the couch. And be quick so I have all the time I want.” Then he kissed Keith, and what began as a press of lips against lips became something deeper, without ever moving beyond a little play of tongues. Josh commanded intimacy as if he was born to it, with no need for drama or pageantry.
When he turned to me, as Keith obeyed orders, I caught my breath. I was attracted to the man who could smile and shake hands and sit with Merin at a table, containing all of his fear and sadness without doing more than leaning a bit forward. But the man who ordered Keith to disrobe without blinking, whose effortless self-possession made him the focal point of the room—he was riveting. I was riveted.
“Follow my lead. Say ‘red’ if you need what we’re doing to stop or ‘yellow’ if you want to pause.” His hand waved in front of his eyes. “And tell me if the black-and-white thing happens. And Cam?”
I gulped. “Yes?”
“Thanks for making us feel safe. This is crazy hot right now, and he’s wanted it for years.”
“Oh. Yes, of course. Anytime.”
He flashed the cheeky grin. “I’ll definitely hold you to that. I want you to start by standing right there, on the far side of the coffee table. I may ask you to come closer, or touch, and if you don’t want to, say ‘yellow’ and we’ll move on. Got it?”
“I have it.”
“Sweet. I gotta get to beating some ass over here. Babe, I don’t know how I always forget how fucking pale you are, but I do. Look at your skin. Mm.”
And oh—oh—Keith, skin from the waist down save for his socks, was bent over the back of the sofa with his knees pressing into the red velvet seat. His thighs were squeezed tightly together and the jockstrap perfectly framed his ass.
Good lord, there was a nearly naked man in my apartment. My heart was pounding. My cock was fighting its containment. I adjusted myself before walking over to the spot Josh had indicated, and stood there, breathing fast, simultaneously wanting it to begin and wanting to draw out the bliss of anticipation.
Josh knelt beside Keith, one hand on his upper back, pushing his head to the top of the sofa. The other hand smoothed over his legs and thighs, up and down. I held my breath as it went higher, over the plump globes of butt cheeks. He tugged on a strap and let it snap back into place. Then he did it again.
“I could tease you for hours. I almost want to tie you up and make you wait while we eat, tease you the whole time.”
Keith’s back rose and fell. He buried his eyes in his arm.
“Babe, you can talk. Do what we usually do. That’s what we should be showing him. Not you trying to pretend like this isn’t moving you at all.”
“’M not. I just—I just—” The rhythmic rise and fall lulled me. He was breathing so fast. “It’s harder than I thought, Josh.”
“Bummer for you. My thing is way easier. I thought it’d feel weird doing this in front of someone, but it doesn’t feel weird doing it in front of Cam.” He pulled back and smacked one side of Keith’s ass. “Feels pretty good, actually.” Then the other one.
“Oh god,” Keith whispered, pushing back. “It’s not enough time.”
“I know.”
If you’d told me I could watch twenty solid minutes of one man spanking another, I would have told you that sounded boring. That I wasn’t interested, and I didn’t find spanking the least bit sexy. I would have pictured it as an arm raising up, then coming down, then raising up, then coming down. I wouldn’t have known how much variety there could be within the word spank, or how many times Josh would pause to rub over the skin he made pink and red, how many times he would lick his fingers and draw symbols on Keith’s skin, making him writhe.
How many times his thumbs peeled apart Keith’s cheeks so he could blow warm air over him.
If you’d told me about all that, I would have imagined a sweet, sensual spanking. Something that didn’t contain more than perhaps a brief sting, immediately soothed by a lover’s hand. But this wasn’t that, either. Josh’s blows rained down on Keith, and Keith’s legs strained, holding him up. After a while, he began to flinch away, even though it was clear he wasn’t really resisting. From light slaps to meaty thuds, I could sometimes tell by the sound how hard the impact had been. Or by Keith’s grunts.
Josh began with smacks in a wide area, all over Keith’s cheeks, his thighs. But as they kept going, he tightened the impact zone until he was nailing the same spots again and again, intensity rising, only broken when he let Keith breathe while he brushed his palm over the deeper-looking marks.
He glanced up. The timer. Both of us could see it from where we were. Only Keith, eyes still buried, had no idea how much longer this would continue.
Two minutes twenty-nine seconds. Twenty-eight. Twenty-seven.
This time there was no break. This time Josh’s arm, yes, raised and lowered, and he bent over to marshal more force, and I breathed shallowly, as if I were running and couldn’t suck in enough air to suit my lungs, not quite gasping at the same sound, again and again, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap.
I was desperate for it to stop. Keith was beginning to thrash a little, and Josh flattened his forearm across Keith’s upper back, keeping him down, never stopping in the constant blows.
The timer went off.
Josh stopped, and Keith launched into him, tumbling them over on the sofa. I thought he was laughing at first, but a minute later I realized he was sobbing, pummeling Josh’s chest with soft fists, his ass red and undoubtedly sore, waving in the air.
“Baby,” Josh said. “Angel.”
Keith stilled.
“You are so fucking beautiful. You have no idea how hot you are.”
“Shut up. Josh . . .”
It should have been a moment only for them. I should have eased away, gone to check the casserole. But I found my legs moving me closer, lowering so I could sit on the edge of the coffee table beside them.
The center of Keith’s back felt safe. In between the protective grip of both of Josh’s hands. I pressed my palm over the loose shirt, and Keith inhaled deeply.
I had no idea what I should say, but I needed to try. I needed to let them know I was there with them, that I’d borne witn
ess. “Thank you so much. Did you want me to pull him off you? Because it was a near thing at the end there.”
Josh’s lips turned up in a soft, tired smile.
“No,” Keith mumbled. “No, he was good, I just didn’t realize we were going that far tonight, and it wasn’t—it’s a lot more intense than it usually is. That’s totally not Josh at his most extreme.”
“Really?”
“Oh god. Cam.” He sniffled and pushed up to sit with his legs over Josh’s, still pinning him. “That wasn’t even a taste of Josh at his most extreme.”
The timer in the kitchen went off again.
“I’m so messed up now.” Keith slugged Josh in the arm. “You messed me up before we started dinner.”
“I knew you thought we were waiting, so I kind of had to. C’mere.”
Keith sighed, and allowed himself to be pulled to Josh’s chest. “Thanks.”
“You know I’m good for it.”
“I know you’re good for me. Did we totally freak Cam out?”
“I am not freaked out,” I said, affronted.
Josh laughed. “Nah. He was solid. He couldn’t stop looking at how beautiful you were.”
“Shut it with the bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I protested. “It’s not bullshit at all. You are. And I was serious before. If you ever want me to pull Josh off because he’s taking it too far, let me know, okay? I was so uncomfortable at the end.”
Keith turned his head so he could look at me. “Aw, Cam. That was a baby spanking because we only had a few minutes. It wasn’t nearly extreme enough for me.”
“But don’t worry.” Josh’s smile acquired a slightly predatory edge. “We’ll be gentle and lead you in slowly.”
They weren’t kidding. I could see that. But it was hard to accept that something I thought was severe wasn’t even scratching the surface of what they did.
“And that was only my hand,” Josh added. “We change it up a lot more than that when we’re really going down deep.”
“But I— You don’t need me to do that. To go that . . . deep. Right?”
Both of them shook their heads.
“We don’t even need to do it with you, if you don’t want us to. No worries, Cam.” The timer went off for a third time, and Keith levered himself up, tugging his pants back on. “Can I help with dinner?”
“Shouldn’t you be on a swooning couch somewhere?”
“Oh, a swooning couch! We should get a swooning couch, Josh!”
“Yeah, okay. We’ll run right over to Ikea’s swooning-couch section and pick one up.”
“Hey, that’s not a bad idea. Ikea should totally have a swooning-couch section.” Keith walked into my kitchen as if he was perfectly used to it, as if he spent time there frequently, and grabbed an oven mitt out of the drawer beside the oven.
“Cam.”
I looked at Josh.
“You’re good, right?” He held up a hand. “Really think about it for a minute, don’t just answer.”
It didn’t take long. Yes, I’d been shocked, but I wasn’t out of my depth by any means. And although I’d tried not to be aroused, there was that, too.
“I’m good. I’m honored. That you invited me in. That you trust me.” I glanced up over his head at Keith. “That he does. Thank you, Josh.”
“All the thanks are on our side. I could have gone easier on him, but he was right: that was a fraction of us in a typical scene. I had to know you could roll with it. It’s not the kind of thing you can come out and ask a guy, you know?”
“I’m starting to work that out.”
“We have dinner!” Keith called. “Also, we need one of these. Josh, Cam’s got a digital thermometer. I’ve been telling you how much we need one, and we so totally do.”
Josh groaned and got to his feet. “Don’t encourage Keith about kitchen appliances. He doesn’t cook and yet he wants all this stuff.”
“The tuna drainer isn’t about cooking, it’s about making tuna sandwiches. Or tuna salad. Tuna noodle casserole!” Keith covered his mouth with the hand that still had on my old Goonies oven mitt. “Sorry I’m goofy.”
Josh rolled his eyes. “You hear anyone complaining? You want me to bring the plates up, or do you want to bring the casserole down?”
Now both of them were acting at home in my kitchen. I decided I liked it.
“Cam, do you have a trivet or something? Or no, I think we should serve ourselves, then foil the casserole and leave it in the oven with the heat low in case we want seconds.”
“Sounds good to me.” Josh gathered our dinner plates from the table, and I opened a bottle of wine.
Dinner was excellent. I didn’t eat cheese much, but I’d bought some fancy cheddar for the casserole, along with ham, red peppers, and figs. It was my first experiment with fruit in a savory casserole, but it ended up surprisingly delicious.
This time when they left, each of them kissed me on the cheek. I felt the lingering impression of their lips until I drifted off to sleep.
Keith: Come to Club Fred’s with us tonight?
Cameron: I’m off at eight.
Keith: We’ll pick you up. We can’t be out too late, but we kind of feel like we want to give Fredi some money since it’s not her fault some asshole chose her place to stalk people.
Keith: You good for an early night?
Keith: If not, we can meet there and you can stay later.
Cameron: Early night sounds fine.
Keith: We’ll be there nine fifteen-ish. I’ll text and you can come down.
Cameron: Sounds good.
Keith: See you then! Yay! Club Fred’s date!
Cameron: :-) (Did I use that right? It’s a happy face, isn’t it?)
Keith: :-o
Cameron: Why are you yelling at me?
Keith: It’s an excited face. :-P
Cameron: Oh. In that case: :-o
Keith: ;-)
Cameron: :-)
Keith: Josh is laughing at both of us now. See you in a few hours, Cam!
Cameron: See you soon.
I finished at work, went upstairs, and grabbed my camel hair coat (possibly overkill, but it was chilly, and you never knew where you’d have to park to get to Club Fred’s; Steerage was notorious for having no parking). I waited for a while in the apartment, but even after I went back to the theater, I still had about half an hour before they were supposed to pick me up, so I went and fired up the secondary computer in the corner of the ticket booth, keeping well out of the clerk’s way.
No one liked being in the booth with me, a fact I used to take personally until my dad pointed out that it probably felt like close supervision to the rest of the staff. I’d never thought much about us owning the theater and other people only working there. We’d had a core group of employees for most of my childhood, whom I’d considered family; I must have been sixteen or seventeen before I realized that newer employees deferred to me in a way that wasn’t solely because I knew the workings of the theater inside and out.
I made myself as small as possible and turned all the way toward the little alcove where the extra computer was tucked. The booth was eight and a half feet long, but felt smaller when you were sharing it with another person.
Since technically the Cary Grant Film Festival was a promotion, I needed to be able to analyze it to see if it had been successful. It was exactly half over, and so far I couldn’t see any patterns emerging. Attendance on Saturday nights had naturally spiked over the last six weeks, but I needed the habit of going to the theater to spread out over the rest of the week, even in small ways. We were seating a slightly higher average in the beginning of the week—Mondays and Tuesdays had always been our slowest days, though Wednesdays were usually steady—but that could be explained by the recent cold weather, or the stresses of the incoming holiday season, or any number of other things I couldn’t account for without digging into last year’s sales.
I was still staring at my numbers when I got a text f
rom Keith to say they had arrived. Before I could text back, Iliana, who’d been selling tickets, said, “Um, Cameron? I think there are people here trying to get your attention.”
Keith was grinning and waving from the far side of the windows. I waved back and glanced over Iliana’s shoulder at the monitor. The movie had begun and everything looked harmonious.
“You can go ahead and start the closing stuff,” I told her.
“Thanks.” She offered a little smile. “They seem nice.”
“They are. Thanks, Iliana. If you need anything, call me.”
“Sure. We won’t, though. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
I let her out and Josh and Keith in. “I need to shut down my computer and I’ll be ready to go. You can wait here, or if you want to cram in, you can—”
“Oh my god, we can go in the ticket booth? Pinch me, Josh.”
“Don’t tempt me.” Despite the attempt to play it cool, Josh looked kind of excited, too.
“It’s not that big a deal. It’s just the ticket booth.”
“Just the ticket booth?” Keith shook his head. “You have no appreciation for the total awesomeness of this moment, none. Can we go in the booth? Please, Cam?”
I opened the door with a flourish and gestured them in. Keith was the more boggle-eyed, but Josh was definitely restraining a grin, which I still didn’t understand. “It’s really just—”
“You hush. Don’t let the ticket booth hear you talk about it like that. Oh man. This is so cool. It’s like being inside a legend!”
I closed the door and stood against it. Keith touched everything: discarded misprint tickets, torn stubs for the last show, schedules for movies, work schedules, phone lists for distributors. His fingers traced the edges of the little awards in the window, which I supposed he’d only ever seen from the other side. Best Movie Theater for most of the eighties and nineties, though I only kept up the last ten years of awards. These days they called us the Best Independent Theater so we wouldn’t have to compete with IMAX up at the Cinema 18.
“Hey, do you mind if I look at this?” Josh sat down at the secondary computer. “We don’t have a decent accounting program and we need one.”
