By His Rules

by J. A. Rock

  then lubed Aiden’s entrance, making a soothing noise as

  Aiden winced from the cold. “Ready? I’m going to slide

  it in.” He positioned the small nozzle at Aiden’s opening

  and slipped it in. Aiden’s breath caught. Keaton rubbed

  Aiden’s back. “Doing fine. Okay, I’m going to start it

  flowing now. Deep breaths. Try to relax.”

  “Yeah, right,” Aiden muttered.

  Keaton unclipped the tube. There was a slight

  gurgling noise as the liquid passed through the tube.

  Aiden lay tense and trembling, then jerked suddenly as

  the first gush entered him. He was very quiet, making an

  effort to breathe deeply. Keaton rubbed his hip and

  murmured to him.

  “That’s too much,” Aiden said suddenly. “I’m full.”

  “About half to go.”

  “Keaton!”

  “Shh, kid. It’s all right.” He hated that Aiden was

  uncomfortable, but he loved that the boy inched closer to

  him, wanting his touch, his reassurance.

  The bag finally went flat, and Keaton removed the

  nozzle. A small amount of water spilled out of Aiden

  onto the towel, and Aiden mewled.

  “I’m sorry!”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong,” Keaton assured

  him. “That’s just what happens when the nozzle comes

  out.”

  “Now what?” Aiden asked in a small voice.

  “Hold it as long as you can.”

  “Shit. Fuck, it’s hurting. Keaton—”

  “Just a cramp. Breathe through it. It’ll pass.”

  Keaton rubbed circles on Aiden’s belly, easing the

  tight muscles.

  “I have to go,” Aiden whispered.

  “Can you hold it just a couple more minutes?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Breathe.” Aiden did. “Such a good boy.”

  “It’s cramping again.”

  Keaton rubbed his stomach until the cramp passed.

  Aiden shuddered.

  “I hate this.”

  “Is it really so bad?”

  Aiden nodded.

  “You’re being very brave.”

  “I’m a wimp.”

  “Cut it out.” Keaton tapped his hip. “Being

  respectful means respecting yourself—not just me.”

  Aiden ducked his head. “Keaton, don’t punish me

  now. It’s not fair; I already hurt so much.”

  Keaton frowned. His poor brat was lost somewhere.

  This experience—the discomfort, the intimacy, the

  humiliation were all too much. “Of course I’m not going

  to punish you. I just don’t want you attacking yourself.”

  “I have to go—really!”

  “All right. Let me help you up. Slowly. Moving

  quickly can make the cramps worse. That’s it—lean on

  me.” Keaton guided Aiden to the bathroom and lowered

  him onto the toilet.

  “Are you going to stay?” Aiden asked, looking

  panicked.

  “If you want me to, I will. If you want privacy, I’ll

  go.”

  “Privacy, please. I really appreciate—I just need—

  oh God.”

  “No problem. I’ll be out here when you’re done.”

  Keaton closed the bathroom door and went back to

  the bed to collect the equipment. He was surprised

  Aiden had found the experience so intense. Aiden had

  experience with many different elements of kink, and

  Keaton had assumed the boy had received an enema

  before.

  The toilet flushed. Keaton heard the shower go on.

  Ten minutes later, Aiden emerged from the bathroom,

  still pale and a little shaky. He tried to smile at Keaton.

  “I feel ten pounds lighter.” He got into bed and curled

  up next to Keaton. “I can’t believe you did that for me.”

  “Of course. I’ll always give you what you need.”

  “Always?” Aiden sounded confused.

  “As long as you’ll let me.”

  Aiden was silent for a while. “My subletter’s

  contract is up next week.”

  Keaton felt like a rock had been dropped down his

  throat into his stomach. “And you’re moving back?”

  “He asked if he could take over the contract and

  renew the lease.”

  “And you said—”

  “I don’t know. I can’t afford the place. But where

  else would I go?”

  “You could stay here,” Keaton suggested, trying to

  remember how to breathe.

  “For how long?”

  Forever would be nice. “As long as you want.”

  “I still don’t have a job.”

  “I still don’t care.”

  “Keaton.” Aiden sighed. “Don’t lie to me. Don’t

  you get pissed, having me mooch off you? And I’m

  really—I keep getting in trouble, and I’m needy and

  moody… ”

  “I want you here, Aiden. It’s as simple as that.”

  Aiden was quiet. “I like it here,” he said at last,

  very softly.

  “So stay. And we’ll figure things out from there.”

  Aiden yawned. “I’m too tired to argue with you.”

  “Good. Now go to sleep. We can talk in the

  morning.”

  Aiden obeyed, tucking his body against Keaton’s

  and closing his eyes. Keaton stroked his hair until the

  boy’s breathing deepened and he slept.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It had seemed like the perfect solution five minutes

  ago, but now Aiden sincerely doubted the wisdom of

  what he’d done.

  Yesterday he’d finally completed a draft of his

  personal statement that he felt satisfied with. Using

  Keaton’s prompts, he’d cobbled together a five-hundred-

  word overview of his past experiences, goals, and

  unique qualities that—while far from spectacular—was

  better than anything he’d have come up with on his own.

  But when he’d read over the statement today, he realized

  there was nothing good about it at all. It sounded

  cloying, clichéd, and no admissions director in his or her

  right mind would look twice at it.

  So he’d deleted the document from his computer

  and shredded his only hard copy. It was no worse a fate

  than the tripe deserved, except now he didn’t have a

  personal statement, and his applications were due in a

  week.

  He sighed. He didn’t want to tell Keaton. Really

  didn’t want to tell Keaton. But he felt confused and

  stressed and angry, and according to Rule Five, these

  were all conditions he was required to report.

  The lousy personal statement was partly Keaton’s

  fault. Aiden hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything

  in the last few days except his increasingly puzzling

  feelings for the man. They’d gone out to dinner last night

  to celebrate Aiden getting the job at Zippy’s Pizza, and

  Aiden had been unable to stop staring at Keaton,

  wondering at how Keaton could make getting hired at a

  crappy pizza chain feel like a real accomplishment.

  Aiden had found Keaton attractive from the

  moment he saw him, and he’d appreciated Keaton’s

  kindness in giving him a place to stay and distracting

  him from the memories of his traumatizing encounter
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  with Scott. The discipline relationship, silly as it had

  sounded at first to Aiden, ended up being exactly what

  he needed to get his life back on track. He owed Keaton a

  great deal, valued his friendship with the man, and was

  more than a little grateful to be having the best sex of his

  life.

  But lately his feelings had become even more

  complex. The idea of not having Keaton in his life was

  like a raw wound, too painful to touch. He felt a silly,

  fawning devotion when he looked at Keaton, and wanted

  to run to him, throw his arms around him, crawl inside of

  him, and live safely under his skin.

  Love.

  Was he in love with Keaton Hughes? He’d pushed

  the idea aside. Of course he wasn’t. He was overly reliant

  on Keaton’s guidance. He’d grown needy and clingy, to

  the point where he feared leaving the safety of Keaton’s

  house and the certainty of Keaton’s rules.

  But Aiden had a nagging suspicion that even if

  Keaton lived in a cardboard box on the street and had no

  clue how to administer a spanking, Aiden would still

  want to be with him.

  Don’t think he feels the same way about you, Aiden

  warned himself. You’re one boy out of dozens, maybe

  hundreds, he’s done this with. You have plans anyway—

  grad school, or else a move to a big city. It’s never going

  to end happily ever after. So why bother fantasizing?

  Aiden checked the Recycle Bin on his laptop one

  more time, in case by some miracle he hadn’t wiped his

  personal statement from the computer. No such luck. He

  shut the laptop and headed upstairs. Better get this over

  with. He had to be at Zippy’s in an hour, and his butt

  would need time to cool after Keaton was done with

  him.

  Keaton was in his studio, hands dark with clay,

  classical music playing on the radio. He wore an apron

  splattered like a butcher’s, but with gray instead of red.

  He didn’t hear Aiden come in, so Aiden waited by the

  door, watching him, a mix of tenderness and despair

  tightening his chest. Keaton was beautiful. So beautiful.

  So calm and confident and content. What did Aiden have

  to offer someone like Keaton?

  Keaton finally noticed him and smiled. “Hey,” he

  said, turning down the radio.

  “Hey.” Aiden went to him, threw his arms around

  him, and nuzzled the crook of Keaton’s neck and

  shoulder.

  “I’ll get clay on you,” Keaton warned.

  “I don’t care.”

  Keaton’s arms closed around him. Aiden savored

  the moment as long as he could, then pulled away.

  “I did something bad.”

  Keaton waited patiently.

  Aiden stared at his feet. “I deleted my personal

  statement from the computer. And I shredded my print

  copy.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was reading over it, and I just… hated it.”

  “I looked over the statement yesterday and thought

  it was great.”

  “Yeah, I thought it was okay. But it wasn’t.”

  “Do you think it might have been a good idea to

  talk to me before you deleted it?”

  Aiden flushed. “I didn’t know I was going to delete

  it—it just sort of happened.”

  “What are you going to do now? Write another

  one?”

  Aiden didn’t know whether to be relieved or

  frustrated that his foolishness hadn’t prompted

  immediate outrage on Keaton’s part. “I don’t know. Now

  I wish I still had the old one. It wasn’t that bad.” To his

  horror, he felt tears stinging his eyes. No way was he

  going to start crying over this. What was he, a little kid?

  Normal twenty-three-year-old men didn’t behave this

  way, he was sure of that.

  “No, it wasn’t,” Keaton agreed.

  “So what happens now?”

  “Well, you’ve got another—what, two weeks?—to

  write one you like better.”

  “Aren’t you going to punish me?”

  “We’ll deal with it when you get home from work.”

  “But that’s not fair! I can’t work for six hours with a

  spanking hanging over my head.”

  Keaton kissed his forehead. “Go on. Get ready.

  Don’t fret so much.”

  Well, this is a new one, Aiden thought as he left the

  studio. He’d expected Keaton to go ballistic—well,

  ballistic for Keaton. He’d anticipated a very thorough

  spanking, a lecture on not sabotaging himself, and

  possibly some time plaster gazing in his favorite corner.

  He suddenly grew suspicious—was Keaton going

  easy on him because his audition for Case was this

  weekend? He grumbled his way to work. Keaton didn’t

  have to baby him. He knew full well when he’d done

  something wrong, and what he deserved.

  Work passed slowly, and Aiden grew more upset

  about the essay. He really didn’t want to rewrite it.

  Maybe there was some way he could collect the pieces

  from the paper shredder. Ha. Not likely.

  He tossed pizza dough and tried to take some

  consolation in the fact that his audition might not be a

  complete disaster. He’d given in last week and let

  Keaton see his monologues. Keaton had been genuinely

  impressed—not the fake impressed you had to be when

  you didn’t want to hurt someone’s feelings. And it had

  helped Aiden to have someone to deliver the

  monologues to—especially his Shakespeare monologue,

  which dealt with the nature of love. Not that he loved

  Keaton. Nope. Not even a possibility.

  He arrived home, unsure what to expect. Keaton

  had salad, chicken, and rice on the table.

  “I ate at work,” Aiden said.

  “You sure about that?” Keaton asked cheerfully.

  “Fine.” Aiden grumbled, sitting down.

  “How’s your stomach been lately?”

  “Okay.”

  After dinner, Aiden did the dishes, wondering if

  they were, in fact, going to “deal with” this morning. He

  went to the bathroom, and when he returned to the

  kitchen, there was a typed copy of his personal statement

  on the table, along with a notebook and a pen.

  “You’re lucky,” Keaton said. “I printed out a copy

  when I read it yesterday.”

  Aiden eyed the notebook apprehensively. “That is

  lucky.”

  Keaton clapped him on the shoulder. “But just in

  case you should shred this one in a fit of pique, I’d like

  you to copy it out by hand, twenty-five times, please.”

  “The whole thing?” Aiden demanded.

  “The whole thing.”

  “That’ll take forever!”

  “Not only will you have twenty-five copies, but

  you’ll have it committed to memory. No danger of losing

  it again.”

  Aiden sat in the chair, dreading this as he’d

  dreaded little else in his life. A spanking would hurt, but

  at least it would be over quickly. Copying a five-

  hundred-word statement twenty-five times would take

  hou
rs. And he was already tired from work…

  Don’t act like you don’t 100 percent deserve this, he

  told himself, picking up the pen. He wrote out his own

  words, hating them, hating himself. But as he wrote, he

  found little corrections to make here and there. By the

  third copy, the statement sounded much better.

  Editing lost its novelty around copy four.

  By copy six, Aiden wanted to die.

  Copy ten. His hand was cramping and his eyes

  were blurring when Keaton entered the kitchen.

  “How’s it going?” Keaton asked.

  “Fine,” Aiden muttered, attacking the paper

  furiously with his pen, determined to get through this.

  “Why don’t you take a break?” Keaton said gently.

  Aiden glanced at him, incredulous. “A break? From

  a punishment? Doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?”

  Keaton took the pen from his hand. He sat down

  beside Aiden and massaged Aiden’s wrist. “You’ve done

  enough for tonight.”

  “I’m not even halfway through.”

  “You’re done for tonight,” Keaton repeated firmly,

  leading Aiden out of the kitchen and upstairs to the

  bedroom. He settled Aiden on the bed and retrieved

  something from the back of a dresser drawer. As Keaton

  approached the bed, Aiden saw that it was a large

  wooden hairbrush.

  “Jesus, Keaton.” Aiden sat up. Deleting the

  document hadn’t been that horrid of a crime. And he’d

  written the lines, just like Keaton had asked…

  “Shhh,” Keaton said. “Put your head in my lap.”

  Aiden did, heart pounding. Keaton ran the brush

  through his hair. The bristles were soft, scratching his

  scalp just enough to make his body tingle. He sighed

  and closed his eyes as Keaton brushed his hair using

  long, slow strokes. “I thought you were gonna spank me

  with that.”

  “I just thought this might feel nice,” Keaton said

  softly.

  “It does.” Aiden sighed. “You’re always nice to me,

  even when I’m bad.”

  “You’re not bad. Sometimes you make mistakes,

  and I correct you. But you’re not bad.”

  Aiden stretched and buried his face in Keaton’s

  thigh. “I love you,” he murmured.

  Keaton paused midstroke. “What did you say?”

  Aiden tensed. “I didn’t—I just meant… I really

  appreciate how good you are to me.” He raised his head.

  “I see.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” He tried desperately to

  read Keaton’s face. “I know there’s no way—I mean,