Rules to Live By

by Lisa Henry

  “I’ll bet he never had time for you, did he?”

  “So what?”

  “I’ve been doing this job for some long years now. See your type through here all the time. Rich, spoiled little boys who think they own the world just because they have a piece of Daddy’s money. Except it’s less ‘Daddy’ and more ‘Bank of Daddy,’ and that’s where I come in. I’m no overworked, underinvested loan officer.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean I’ll give you what your daddy should have. You need discipline. You need to learn respect. Boys need boundaries.”

  Tad had heard that one a lot growing up, that his parents were doing him some kind of disservice by not being hard enough on him. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I didn’t get spanked enough and now you’re the man to make up for that?”

  “Children don’t need spankings to grow up right. Boys old enough to vote and drink, go to college, and drive a car, on the other hand . . .”

  “I don’t want you to spank me!”

  “Not yet, you don’t. By the end of tonight, though, you’ll wish I had.” He squeezed Tad’s balls again, slower than last time. Tighter too, until Tad was squirming against him and trying to escape the pain. “You need to learn some humility, boy, and guess what? I’ve got just the thing for that.”

  Was that a threat?

  Red for stop.

  Except before he could say it, he was released. He stepped away immediately, cupping his balls protectively through his khakis. “Thanks, you know, for the Psych 101, but it’s not what I signed up for.”

  “Walk away, then.”

  Tad glared at him, but didn’t move. Wouldn’t.

  “Take your clothes off for Daddy.”

  Once, Tad had been skydiving. For his sixteenth birthday. His dad had been planning on coming along, but cancelled at the last minute for a work thing—chickenshit—and he’d asked one of his friend’s sons to go instead. His friend’s son who didn’t even like Tad and taunted him for being nervous.

  That fear and humiliation—the sensation of his stomach dropping as he leaped—was nothing compared to how he was feeling now.

  “Do you have to say it like that? ‘For Daddy,’” he elaborated. “Can’t you just say, ‘Take your clothes off,’ like a normal person?”

  “One day maybe I will. But right now, you need to hear it as reinforcement of our roles. Boundaries, remember?”

  Tad shook his head.

  “Be a good boy, Tad.” He smiled. Smirked. “Take your clothes off like Daddy says.”

  Those words had him hypnotized—almost. “You’re not my daddy,” he snapped.

  “I’m not your father, but tonight I’m your Daddy.”

  Why that line worked when everything before it hadn’t, Tad couldn’t say. Or maybe he had it all wrong. Maybe it had been working the whole time, but Tad just hadn’t . . . realized. He’d already jumped, was plummeting to earth, but his animal brain still hadn’t kicked in with the fear.

  Whatever the case, he pulled his shirt over his head, and dropped it on the floor. Toed off his shoes and popped the button on his khakis. Peeled them off with his underwear. Stood there and waited for the guy—for Daddy—to smile in approval. Tad had a nice body, so that was always what happened to him. He’d been on the swim team back in high school and still swam, although not competitively anymore. He was lean and well muscled. Guys liked that. So did girls. A part of him wanted Daddy to like it as well.

  Daddy looked him up and down, expressionless, and it reminded Tad of how he’d sized up the other man downstairs. How he’d sneered. Anxiety washed over him, and he fought the urge to cover himself with his cupped hands.

  Still, the man said nothing.

  “Um.” Tad swallowed. “D-Daddy?”

  Daddy arched a brow.

  “Is it . . . Am I okay?” There it was again, that childish need for approval Tad thought he’d left behind. Thought he was too smart to feel, too clever to give a fuck about.

  “Hmm.” Daddy smiled, and relief flooded through Tad. “I was just wondering when my baby boy grew up so much.”

  The words shouldn’t have meant anything. They were meaningless, even in the context of whatever weird game this was, but Tad could have burst with pride. His chest puffed out.

  “Are you ready to let your Daddy teach you some manners now?”

  “Yes.” The word was as soft as a breath, and for a moment Tad teetered on the edge of indecision again. He didn’t know this guy, couldn’t trust him. But whatever this was, he wanted to see it through. It was more than his stubbornness now. Maybe it had been more than stubbornness from the beginning.

  Daddy stood up and crossed the floor. Walked around him like some drill sergeant from a movie. “You know how this ends, right, baby boy?”

  “How?”

  Daddy slapped his ass. It stung, and the sound was sharp and shocking. “I fuck you until you can’t move.”

  “Y-yes, Daddy.” Tad tried to swallow down his fear. His stomach clenched. Fuck him. Daddy wanted to fuck him. He’d known. God, he’d known, but the word itself was so stark. And the roles Daddy had chosen for them . . . “That’s not, um, that’s not weird?”

  Yeah, because everything that’s happened so far tonight has been completely normal.

  “Go with it, kid.” Daddy ran his big palm over Tad’s stinging ass cheek. “This is about a man telling you what to do, and you doing it because you’ve learned your place. And you’ll fucking love it, too. I’m not going to go easy on you, because that’s not what you want. I will make you work for my approval. You understand?”

  “I think so.” No. Not at all.

  “Good boy. Get on your hands and knees.”

  Tad dropped to the floor. This was fucking crazy. Why wasn’t he even fighting this guy anymore? He was just doing exactly as he was told, no questions asked.

  “Feels good to have a strong hand guiding you, doesn’t it, baby boy?”

  Yes. No. He mutely shook his head.

  “I don’t think you mean that. Or maybe it’s just something you need to get used to. On the surface, having nobody care enough to discipline you feels nice, but you’re in free fall. You’ll feel so much better when I’m done with you.” He slapped Tad’s other ass cheek, drawing out a yelp. “Or maybe you won’t.” He chuckled. “Not sure you should, honestly. Not sure you deserve to. I heard what you did last time you were here. You’re a vindictive, awful little brat, aren’t you? I bet you pulled the wings off flies as a kid. Bet there was nobody there to stop you doing it, either. Bet you thought that was pretty great.”

  Tad burned with humiliation. He hadn’t done anything like that—preferred to focus his sadism on people his own size—but somehow that knowledge didn’t make him feel any better.

  “But it wasn’t great, was it? Freedom ain’t worth much if it comes at the cost of having nobody to take an interest in you.”

  Tad’s hands curled into fists on the unforgiving hardwood floor. “Just shut up and hit me if that’s what you want to do. If I wanted a therapist, I’d get my mother to hire me one.” He heard the slide and snick of a drawer—the desk?—but when he got the guts to look up, his Daddy was already walking around behind him again.

  “You don’t need a therapist, baby. There’s nothing wrong with you that a little discipline can’t fix.”

  Tad jerked forward as his Daddy grabbed his balls again. Fucker had some kind of ball fetish. This time he pulled down on them sharply, and Tad’s stomach lurched. He wanted to squirm away, flatten himself against the floor, roll onto his side into the fetal position. But he couldn’t move, not if he didn’t want his ball sac ripped right off his body.

  “We do this again, I’m having you hairless,” Daddy commented offhand as he yanked Tad’s balls back between his legs.

  “What are you— Shit!” Tad twisted but couldn’t see what was going on there. Something pressed against his thighs, followed by another, longer tug on his balls. Then Daddy’s hands were on his
lower back, rubbing, but he could still feel the building pressure in his balls. He tried to straighten up, and pain tore through his stretched-taut sac. “What the hell is that?”

  Daddy laughed. “It’s called a humbler, baby. Appropriate, don’t you think?”

  “Can’t . . . think . . .” Tad puffed. He just knew his face was screwed up and red. “Please, take it off. Please.”

  Daddy moved around in front of him, and squatted down. “Come on now, boy. I thought you were gonna show me how tough you are.”

  Tad didn’t feel tough, but there was nothing mocking in Daddy’s tone. It almost seemed like the man was encouraging him. Telling him he could do this, even though he was the asshole who’d put him in this position to begin with. Tad sucked a breath in and held it. He rode the pain. As long as he stayed on his hands and knees, it didn’t get any worse. It was bearable. Maybe Tad could bear it. As long as he didn’t move.

  Daddy stood up and went back to his desk. Pulled one of the chairs out and turned it to face Tad. Sat in it, legs splayed. Tad wanted to be between them again. Wanted to be touched and stared at. Praised. He met Daddy’s gaze. Daddy smiled and patted his thigh gently.

  Shit.

  Crawling hurt like a motherfucker.

  So why’re you doing it, idiot?

  Because somehow he believed that the reward would be worth it.

  Because he’d convinced himself to go through with this, and he wasn’t about to only do it halfway.

  Because he wasn’t the worthless, spoiled brat they thought he was.

  Because he thought if he could do this thing, maybe it would all click into place. Maybe he’d understand why he was letting this happen. Why he wanted this. Why he was losing hold of everything he thought he was and stood for.

  Maybe he wasn’t losing himself so much as he was changing. Shedding pieces of himself like a snake sloughing off skin. No, like an insect breaking out of its cocoon. Transforming.

  Hadn’t he told himself this was just a game? That transformation wasn’t on the table?

  What was this man doing to him?

  Tad was crying by the time he reached Daddy.

  “Good boy,” Daddy said, leaning down to cup his cheek. “Such a good boy for Daddy.”

  “Why are you doing this?” he moaned, sniffling through his runny nose.

  Daddy ran his thumb under his eye, wiping a tear away. “Because you need this.”

  Tad opened his mouth to answer.

  A knock at the door cut him off.

  Caleb. Or Callum. Or Conor. Tad didn’t remember the little bitch’s name.

  Remembered calling him a little bitch though.

  He was a pretty thing. Blond. Thin. Almost elfin. He’d looked good sucking Tad’s dick, tears streaming down his face. And Tad didn’t kid himself that those tears had been because of his size. It’d been his insults choking the whore, nothing else.

  The role reversal didn’t feel so hot.

  “Conor,” Daddy said smoothly, as if there wasn’t a naked crying kid groveling at his feet. “Come in.”

  “I brought you the bottle of red you wanted.” Conor’s eyes were as big as saucers.

  Daddy took the bottle and set it on the desk. “You remember little Tad, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  Daddy pulled Conor into his lap, and put his chin on his shoulder. Tad burned with . . . not just humiliation, but jealousy. It rose in his gut, hot and uneasy. “Tad, do you have something to say to Conor?”

  Maybe if Tad’s balls weren’t in a vise, he wouldn’t have been so quick to capitulate. Maybe if he wasn’t on the floor like a worm, he’d have tried harder to maintain his pride.

  “I’m sorry,” he blurted out. “I’m really sorry!”

  “You were cruel to him,” Daddy said. “You said mean things.”

  Tad nodded. Was he a person, or a doll with a pull-string in his back? “I’m sorry.”

  The words were hollow, but he didn’t know how to make them real. He wanted Daddy to believe them so that he’d take the humbler off his balls, so that he’d reward him instead of punishing him, but there was a strange disconnect somewhere in his head. He could say the words, but he couldn’t feel them. And Daddy knew it.

  “Not yet, you’re not. But you’ve made good progress. I think if I’d have brought Conor in here earlier, you wouldn’t have been so quick to make your apologies. Already figuring out how this works, aren’t you baby boy?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know.”

  Daddy smiled a little. “You’re doing okay. I have high standards, but even I don’t expect you to figure it all out after a couple spanks.”

  Conor bit his lip and smiled. Wriggled a little in Daddy’s lap.

  Were they lovers, or were they just putting on a show? Was this all just a show? God, was Tad down here crying and hurting and being made to doubt his entire sense of self when for Daddy it was all just an act for the cash? Just a cruel game?

  Is that how Conor had felt last week?

  “Luckily not all clients are like you,” Daddy said, and the look of pure disgust that came over him when he said it—like you—caused a wave of shame to roll over Tad. “Isn’t that right, Conor?”

  “Most of them are gentlemen.” Conor beamed.

  “That’s because you’re a good boy, and good boys get treated right.” Daddy kissed Conor’s cheek, but his gaze never left Tad.

  Tad shifted, grunting as sharp pain tore through his balls. His back was starting to ache from holding himself hunched over on his hands and knees, but he didn’t dare try to stretch his spine. He glared at Conor, and at Daddy, hurting and jealous.

  “He looks like he thinks he didn’t earn this by his own actions,” Daddy commented.

  “I earned it, I did,” he protested. He’d have said anything just then, but he almost believed it now. His heart beat faster, and the nausea roiling in his gut wasn’t just from the pain in his balls. “It’s my fault. It is.”

  Daddy groped the bulge in Conor’s jeans. “What do you think, sweetheart? Is he sincere?”

  Conor twisted and whispered something in Daddy’s ear, then drew back, smiling.

  Whatever he’d said made Daddy laugh. He set Conor on his feet again, and slapped his ass gently. “Off you go.”

  Conor, giggling, closed the door behind him.

  Tad watched as Daddy’s smile faded.

  “How did it feel to apologize?”

  Tad shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “That’s because it wasn’t a proper apology. Never mind. We’ll get there. Maybe you should suck Conor’s dick while he pulls your hair and calls you a whore, hmm? While he asks you to spell out exactly how much of a disappointment you are to your parents.”

  Tad’s face burned.

  Earlier tonight, he’d been proud of what he’d done. What had happened to him?

  “Of course, for your parents to be disappointed in you, they’d have to give a shit about you first.”

  “They . . .” They do? No, they didn’t. They cared about the way he behaved, and the marks he got, and the sort of people he hung around with. Sort of. Okay, not at all. Mostly they cared about what people thought of him, and what impression he gave. But they didn’t care about him. Didn’t care about his hopes or his dreams, or the things he carried hidden in his heart. Fuck.

  They hadn’t cared, so Tad hadn’t either. Just sneered at the world, and was vaguely dissatisfied, without once suspecting how very much he was missing. He wanted—no, he craved Daddy’s approval. The harder it was to earn, the more he needed it. Needed someone to see that he was worth something. “You’re right, Daddy. I was mean to Conor, and I’m sorry, and my parents don’t give a shit about me.” The pain in his body sharpened the pain in his heart.

  Daddy frowned, but this time he didn’t look disapproving. He looked sad. Before Tad knew it, he was crouched at Tad’s level, cupping Tad’s cheek. “I know it hurts,” he said, and Tad just knew he wasn’t talking about
the so-called “humbler.” “But you know what else?”

  Tad didn’t know anything. He realized that now. He shook his head, miserable.

  Daddy took him by the chin, tilting his head up. Tad didn’t want to look him in the eyes, but he knew he had to.

  Daddy’s eyes were pale blue, like ice.

  But they weren’t cold.

  “I asked you a question, Tad,” he reminded him softly.

  “I—” He didn’t remember the question. He was lost.

  “Your parents don’t give enough of a shit about you, but you know what?”

  This time, when he paused, Tad knew what to say. “What, Daddy?” So easy to say those words.

  “For some godforsaken reason, I do give a shit about you. Your Daddy gives a shit about you.”

  His Daddy. His.

  Tad’s breath caught in his throat.

  Just a game.

  Red.

  No.

  Green.

  He tried to speak and a sob escaped him. Whimpering, trying to ignore the pain in his balls, he shuffled farther forward. Rubbed his face against his Daddy’s thigh.

  “That’s it,” Daddy said, his voice soothing. He shifted his weight forward onto his knees. “Show me what you can do for Daddy.” He curled his fingers in Tad’s hair and pushed his face into his groin. “Come on.”

  Tad shivered. His balls throbbed and ached. His dick hardened. He nuzzled at the denim pulled tight across his Daddy’s cock. He found the shape of it with his mouth, and inhaled deeply.

  “Don’t tease, baby boy.”

  “Sorry, Daddy.” He lifted his shaking hands to his Daddy’s fly, the stretch pulling through his entire body, through his balls. The pain was a constant now. He couldn’t remember what it felt like not to hurt in this way. The ache was almost sweet.

  The zip gave with a faint rasp.

  “Have you done this before, baby boy?”

  “Not in a while, Daddy.”

  “You should. A boy needs to know his place.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  He kept saying it. Over and over and over again. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy. The more he said it, the more intoxicating it felt. Like a spell, like he was hypnotizing himself.

  His eyelids felt heavy. His limbs, too. The pain pulsed and throbbed, mesmerizing.