by J. A. Rock
Keaton unsnap his fly and remove his pants. Keaton
ripped open the condom package and uncapped the
lube. “Come here,” he ordered. Aiden turned and
walked unsteadily to the table. Keaton stood and drew
one of the cushioned chairs back from the table. “Kneel,”
he said, patting the cushion. “You can grab on to the
back of the chair.”
Aiden knelt on the edge of the seat, slowly moving
forward, gripping the rungs of the chair back. Keaton
wondered for a second if the boy’s pants would split,
they were stretched so tight across his buttocks. Keaton
reached under Aiden and undid the fly, pulling his pants
down and off.
Aiden wore light blue briefs, and Keaton could see
red splotches from the spatula on the backs of his thighs,
disappearing under the fabric. He stretched the
waistband of Aiden’s briefs, then let it snap. Aiden’s
breath caught. “I’m going to take you, Aiden. Exactly as I
want to take you.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Keaton,” he corrected.
“Yes, Keaton.”
“And I want you to enjoy it.”
“Yes,” Aiden said softly.
“I’d like to hear you beg for it.”
Aiden moaned. Keaton hooked his fingers under
the waistband of Aiden’s briefs and peeled them down,
exposing the pink and white flesh beneath. “Mmm,”
Keaton said, palming Aiden’s left cheek, rubbing it
slowly, firmly. “Such nice color.”
Keaton stepped over to the counter and picked up
the rubber spatula. “I might need this again,” he said,
cracking it against his hand. He loved how Aiden’s
buttocks clenched at the sound. “What do you want,
Aiden?”
“F-for you to fuck me. Please. Please, Keaton.”
“When do you want your fucking?”
“Now!” Aiden begged. “Please.”
Keaton chuckled and picked up the lube. He
spread Aiden’s cheeks and greased the boy’s hole, giving
Aiden a light slap when he flinched from the cold.
Keaton slipped a finger into the tight opening. Aiden
struggled to breathe, his knuckles white as he gripped
the chair rungs. Keaton slowly moved his finger in and
out, swirling it around the tight channel, loving the little
hitches in Aiden’s breathing. Keaton added a second
finger. Aiden groaned. “Please, please I can’t take it
anymore.”
“What can’t you take?” Keaton asked.
“Teasing. Please just fuck me!”
“Teasing. Please just fuck me!”
“Oh I’m going to tease you awhile,” Keaton said
smugly. He thrust his fingers, drawing groans and pleas
from Aiden. Then he added a third finger and began
brushing the boy’s prostate as he finger fucked him.
“Oh,” Aiden cried. “Oh oh oh!”
With his free hand, Keaton pinched the undercurve
of Aiden’s right cheek hard. Aiden squealed and rocked
against Keaton’s fingers. Keaton began a pattern,
pinching a spot on Aiden’s bottom, creating a sharp,
concentrated pain, then delivering a sound slap to
spread the pain out. All the while, he drove the cone of
his fingers into the boy’s ass. He even gave a light pinch
to the back of the boy’s balls, which produced such a
lovely moan that Keaton flicked the heavy sac with his
forefinger. “Ow! Oh! Please, please, please… ”
“What do you want?”
“You… in me… now.” Aiden panted.
Keaton withdrew his fingers. He slicked himself
and drove in without preamble. He fucked the boy’s
tight, hot passage, reaching around to palm Aiden’s
chest, rubbing and pinching his nipples.
“Oh!” Aiden yelled. “Yes! Oh God, stop! Please,
don’t stop. Ow, yes, please… ”
Keaton reached over and picked up the spatula,
and, like a jockey in the backstretch, began walloping
whatever parts of Aiden’s rump he could reach as he
raced toward his own orgasm. Aiden cried out and
rocked on the edge of the chair, his face pressed against
the rungs.
“Come on, boy,” Keaton ordered. “Bring me
home.”
Aiden clenched his ass around Keaton’s cock, and
Keaton shot his load into the condom with a shout. He
almost collapsed against the boy’s back, but with a last
reserve of strength, he stood up straight, grabbed Aiden,
and laid him faceup on the kitchen table. He pulled the
boy’s legs apart and took the hard, bobbing cock into his
mouth. Aiden writhed, his fists clenching and
unclenching. Keaton sucked the shaft, swallowing
around it, then lapped at the head. He withdrew, and
Aiden moaned, “No. No, no, please… ”
“Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes!”
“What is it?”
Aiden could barely find breath to answer. “That
dressing naughty gets me two orgasms.”
Keaton laughed. “Who said anything about two?”
“Oh please… ” Aiden’s back arched.
“Dressing naughty gets you paddled, and”—
Keaton licked the slit of the boy’s cock—“teased.”
Aiden let out a groan of frustration, gyrating his
hips, trying to get more contact. “I’ll be good,” he
whimpered. “Really. Just please, please let me come.”
“How do you think it’ll feel to have those tight
pants stretched across your sore ass all day?”
Aiden keened. “I don’t knoooooowwwwww.”
“You should have thought of that before you wore
those in front of me.” With a grin, he went down on
Aiden once more, taking him all the way into his throat.
Aiden came hard, then went completely limp.
Keaton wiped his mouth, leaned across the table,
and kissed the boy. “Naughty boy. You’re all worn-out.”
Aiden’s eyes fluttered, and he nodded.
“Maybe you should lie down awhile.”
Aiden didn’t protest. Keaton scooped him up and
carried him to the living room, depositing him gently on
the couch, facedown, and spreading a blanket over him.
Aiden sighed and arched his back, pushing his ass
into the air. Keaton gave it a couple of firm pats through
the blanket.
“Owwwww,
no,
I’m
being
good,”
Aiden
murmured, eyes closed.
“You are,” Keaton agreed. “I just can’t resist.”
Aiden smiled. “Love you,” he said.
“Love you too.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Aiden woke up, dark thoughts crawling inside him.
He didn’t know what had caused the shift in his mood.
Had he had a nightmare? He grabbed his phone from the
coffee table to check the time and saw he had two new
texts. From Scott.
Party @ Obey 2night. Brng boyfriend. Or don’t. New toys
to show you. Hot. Hard-core.
The second text read:
I miss you.
Aiden shook his head. Scott Runge was a
manipulative, arrogant bastard. He ought to text Scott
back and tell him to fuck off. Except that heat surged
through him at the thought of a party in Obey’s basement
dungeon and at the idea of new toys and a hard-core
scene. He’d loved what he and Keaton had done this
morning, but part of him still missed hard-core play—the
costumes, the equipment, the real, lasting pain.
He shifted and winced as his sore butt made contact
with the couch. Talk about lasting pain. Another text came
through from Scott.
Pick u up @ 9.
Shit. No way did Scott mean it. He wasn’t going to
come here to pick Aiden up. Aiden forced himself to
breathe. There was a good chance he and Keaton would
still be at Hera’s at nine. Scott could wait as long as he
wanted. Aiden already had plans.
What if Scott did wait?
What if he was in the driveway when Aiden and
Keaton got home?
Aiden’s heart jumped anxiously, and he willed it to
be calm. It was two thirty-two. He wasn’t sure where
Keaton was. He decided to go to the gym for an hour,
then come back and get ready for dinner.
The exercise made him feel a little better—until he
got home and checked the mail and found an envelope
from UC Irvine. He tore it open and scanned the letter.
They had rejected him.
He stuffed the letter back in the envelope. No big
deal. One school out of three. He hadn’t really expected
to get in. But a second later, his chest tightened and he
had to fight back tears. No one would want him. He’d be
stuck in this town forever, tossing pizza dough at
Zippy’s, appearing in the occasional community theater
production.
At least he’d have Keaton.
But was that enough? There was more to life than
being in love. What about his own future, his own goals?
He opened his car and threw the letter inside, then
decided to go for a quick walk around the block to clear
his head. There was still a cold anxiety gnawing his
stomach as he returned to the house and found Keaton
putting together a salad.
“Hey,” Keaton said. “How’s your ass?”
“You shouldn’t have let me sleep so long,” Aiden
said. “I already slept in this morning.”
“You needed a nap after what we did.”
“You always know best,” Aiden muttered.
“You okay?”
“Perfect. I’m gonna go shower.”
Aiden went upstairs and showered. His butt was
still bright red. He rubbed it, trying to take some comfort
from the pain. His cargo pants had been folded neatly
and placed on the bed, but he ignored them, putting on a
pair of jeans and a nice button-down.
He spent most of dinner angry at himself for not
being in a better mood. It was hard to hold up his end of
the conversation with his mind on Irvine’s rejection and
Scott’s invitation – and the promise that he’d show up at
Keaton’s to pick Aiden up.
“Yoo-hoo. Aiden.”
He looked up.
Hera waved at him. “I was just saying how Rim
Job”—she glanced at Keaton—“sorry, Rima said she
liked my hair.” Hera had buzzed one side of her head
and shaved the initials FU into the fuzz. “I thought she’d
freak. Maybe she’s edgier than we gave her credit for. Or
she just doesn’t get it.”
Aiden tried to smile. “Yeah.” He picked at his
shrimp curry. Hera had cooked tonight instead of Kim,
and the quality of the fare was disappointing. But Aiden
had a feeling that even if he had one of Kim’s vegan
dishes in front of him, he wouldn’t have been able to eat.
“Come on, it’s not that bad,” Hera said, watching
him.
“It’s fine,” Aiden said. “I’m just not that hungry.”
The conversation continued around him, and Aiden
suddenly wanted to scream. Wasn’t anyone else in this
room confused, lost, or worried? How were they all
blissfully enjoying this silly dinner when the future was
so unstable? You could love somebody and lose them.
You could want something and never get it. You could
work hard and still end up miserable. Who cared about a
new haircut, or shrimp curry, or eating three meals a day
and sleeping eight hours? No matter what precautions
you took, what defenses you put up, what friends you
surrounded yourself with, life would find a way to hurt
you.
He glanced at his phone. Eight o’clock. In another
hour, Scott would pull up in front of Keaton’s house.
“It’s already dead,” Keaton said, watching him stab
a piece of shrimp with his fork. “Just eat it.”
“I don’t want to,” Aiden replied.
“Are you sick?”
“No, I just don’t fucking want to! How hard is that
to understand?”
Hera and Sloane looked up. Only Kim continued
eating her salad as though nothing was happening.
Keaton put a discreet hand on Aiden’s back,
rubbing small circles. “I hear you,” he said quietly. “But
we have a rule.”
“I don’t care. I’m a grown-up. I’m a guest here. I
don’t feel like eating, and what the hell are you going to
do about it?”
It felt good to make a scene, at least for a few
seconds. Then shame flared in him, and the anxiety in his
stomach turned to pure dread. Whatever was going on in
his mind, he couldn’t handle it.
Hera nudged Keaton. “We have a spare room if
you need to take him somewhere and beat his ass.”
Sloane laughed.
Aiden fled the table.
He went to the front bathroom and shut himself
inside, locking the door. He took a deep breath, trying to
steady himself.
I need you, Keaton. I don’t want to, but I do. I need you to
help me, even though you don’t know what’s going on.
But right now, Keaton was the problem. His
levelheadedness that made it impossible to do what
Aiden wanted to do—fight. Aiden didn’t need kindness
right now; he didn’t need patience, understanding,
guidance. He needed humiliation, pain. Resistance.
And he knew where he could get that.
* * * *
Keaton wiped his mouth with his napkin and
pushed back his chair. “I apologize,” he said. “I’ll just go
see… ”
“No apology necessary,” Hera said. “Aiden has
always been… passionate.”
“You mean a total drama queen,” Sloane muttered.
Keaton managed a weak smile. “Be back in a few
minutes,” he said. “I wouldn’t miss dessert for the
world.”
He walked out into the foyer and knocked softly on
the door to the bathroom. “Aiden?” No answer. He tried
the knob. Locked. “Aiden. Open up, please.”
“I’m in the bathroom!” Aiden shouted. “Can’t I get
some privacy?”
“Afraid not.” Keaton waited. “You can’t hide i
n
there all night.”
“Watch me.”
Keaton leaned against the door. “You’re not being
very polite.”
“Neither are you.”
Keaton went back to the kitchen. “Do you have a
key to the bathroom?” he asked Hera quietly.
“Sure.” She went into the hall and returned with a
key, then made herself scarce. Keaton unlocked the
bathroom door. He started to open it, but Aiden pushed
it shut from the other side. It was no contest; Keaton was
larger and stronger, and he forced his way in. Aiden
retreated to the corner and huddled by the shower,
eyeing Keaton warily.
Keaton shut the door behind him. “What’s all this
about?”
“Why does it always have to be ‘about’ something?
Why can’t I just be in a bad mood without you picking
apart my brain trying to figure out what’s wrong?”
“Because I’m in charge, and it’s my job to pick apart
your brain. Now tell me what’s going on.”
Aiden scowled. “Now you want to talk.”
Keaton waited, confused.
“You want to talk about how I’m fucking up. You
want to talk about what I’m doing wrong. But you don’t
ever want to talk about what’s important.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“No. Why would it matter to you what happens if I
go off to school somewhere, or you get a job somewhere
else? I must be the only one stupid enough to worry
about that.”
“Ah,” Keaton said, something clicking.
“Ah?
You
think
you
fucking
understand
everything?”
Aiden was as furious as Keaton had ever seen him.
If they’d been at home, Keaton would have let the boy
shout himself out. But they were guests, and it seemed
wrong to be having this discussion in their hosts’
bathroom.
“I think I understand,” Keaton said. “But I don’t
think this is the time or the place to talk about it.”
“When are we going to talk about it?” Aiden
demanded. “Ever since we said we loved each other, I
haven’t heard anything from you about what that means.
How long we’ll stay together. You tricked me into
needing you, and now I’m this fucking codependent
wimp… ”
His brat was spiraling. Keaton needed to put the
brakes on this fast, get Aiden through dessert, and then
they could talk things over at home. Keaton put out his
