sexually or let him touch you. You stopped the
whipping before it got too far underway. As long as I get
a promise, in writing, copied out a few hundred times,
that you will never go anywhere with that man again—I’d
say we’re all right on that front.”
Aiden shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel all right.
How are you going to punish me? I mean, you spank me
when I bite my nails. How are you supposed to punish
me when I fucking ruin everything?”
Keaton shook his head. “You didn’t ‘ruin
everything.’ You put yourself in danger. It’s the same
principle—you do something that endangers your health
or your safety, you get spanked.”
“So you’re just going to spank me? Keaton, that’s
not good enough!”
“Why not?”
Aiden shifted, agitated, not sure how to make
Keaton understand. “It won’t hurt enough. I’ll still feel
guilty. Use something harder than your hand, at least.”
“What do you recommend?” Keaton asked.
“Your belt,” Aiden replied, even though the
thought sent a spike of fear through him. “You should
whip me. I deserve it.”
Keaton stood up. Aiden tensed, afraid Keaton
meant to take his suggestion here and now. Keaton stood
behind his chair. “Take your shirt off.”
Aiden swallowed and removed his T-shirt. He
shivered a little as Keaton’s hand brushed his shoulder,
tracing the swollen weal where Scott’s first stroke had
landed. Keaton moved his hand lower, dragging the heat
of his palm over the welt on the middle of Aiden’s back.
He pressed just hard enough that Aiden’s nerves
jumped, the lingering ache spreading from his flesh to
his brain. “Like this?” Keaton asked. “Is this how you
deserve to hurt?”
Aiden shuddered as Keaton touched the lowest cut,
the one that snaked down around his hip, disappearing
under the waistband of his pants. Aiden nodded. “Yes.”
“It doesn’t scare you? The thought of me whipping
you, leaving marks like this?”
“I deserve to be scared.”
“Is that how this works?” Keaton asked, touching
the bruised hollow at the base of Aiden’s spine, his
fingertips playing so lightly over the sore flesh that
Aiden arched into the dual sensation—pain and
pleasure. “I use discipline to scare you into behaving? I
use pain to keep you under my control?” He moved his
hand to a patch of unmarked flesh on Aiden’s back and
stroked.
“You should,” Aiden said bitterly.
“I won’t,” Keaton said simply. “Ever.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aiden put the pen down and flexed his hand. He
didn’t even want to think about what it would be like
writing lines later, with his butt sore and his hand
already tired from this writing assignment. Keaton had
asked him to make a list of events, reasons, and feelings
that had led to his decision to meet Scott at Obey last
night. His list was now three pages long and included
twenty-three items, and he’d tried to explicate each one
as thoroughly as possible.
His stomach grumbled contentedly. Keaton had
hovered over him while Aiden ate every last bite of what
had to be the World’s Most Balanced Lunch. He felt
good, comfortable, except for the cramp in his hand. He
frowned at the list. These all looked like excuses. He
didn’t understand how Keaton could forgive him. Maybe
he wouldn’t. Maybe he would pretend to, but this would
always be between them, eating away at their
relationship.
Aiden knew his guilt would linger long after
Keaton was done spanking him. A hand spanking wasn’t
going to make him feel he’d paid for his mistake. Which
fueled his worry that Keaton would always be too
gentle, too kind to convince Aiden to stop acting out.
He could tell Keaton that.
The idea was novel, frightening, and perfect.
He took the list and went to the living room, where
Keaton was reading on the couch. “I’m done,” he said.
Keaton closed his book. “How do you feel?”
to talk to you.”
Keaton patted the couch beside him. Aiden sat
down, a little stiff and uncertain, but Keaton put an arm
around him and drew him close, and they sat just as they
always had, Aiden’s head resting on Keaton’s shoulder,
Keaton’s hand rubbing circles on his back. “What’s on
your mind?”
“I’m worried this punishment won’t—won’t make
me feel like I’ve paid for what I did. And I’m worried
you won’t really forgive me, either. You might say you
do, and you might believe it, but what if you never can?”
Keaton’s fingertips trailed up and down his spine.
“That’s something we’ll deal with if it comes up. I’ll try
to be as open and honest with you as I expect you to be
with me. But Aiden, I’m not angry with you. That may be
hard for you to believe, but I’m not. I was angry last
night, and afraid. It upset me to learn that you’d been
dealing with your feelings alone. But that’s as much my
fault as it is yours.”
Aiden sat up. “Are you crazy?”
“You tried to talk to me last night.”
“I was being a total asshole. You were right; that
wasn’t the time or the place to talk about it.”
“But you needed to talk then. I shouldn’t have
brushed you off.”
“Don’t you dare. If you start blaming yourself, I
swear, I’m not going to stay in this room with you.”
“Part of the job of the dominant partner in a
discipline relationship is to pick up on signs that a sub
needs help but isn’t sure how to ask for it.”
“I didn’t even know how bad I was getting. How
the hell could you have known?” Aiden demanded.
“We both have responsibilities in this relationship.
I’m willing to forgive you if you’re willing to forgive
me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Aiden said angrily.
“None of this is your fault at all.”
Keaton ruffled his hair. “I can’t take your guilt
away. It’s a natural consequence of your mistake and
may not disappear just because you were punished. But
I will help you through it.”
Aiden rubbed his cheek against Keaton’s shoulder.
“I know you’re worried about scaring me or whatever.
But I’m not delicate. I can take a lot.”
“I know that. But your job is to accept what I give
you.”
The words hit Aiden hard. It was as though he
understood—truly
understood—his
role
in
this
relationship for the first time. Keaton was in charge.
Keaton decided what punishments were appropriate.
Keaton exerted control, not through brutality, but
through doing things on his own terms, quietly confident
that he knew what Aiden needed. And he usually did—
better than Aiden knew himself.
“Yes, Sir,” he said softly, hoping Keaton wouldn’t
correct his use of “Sir.” He needed to say it.
Keaton seemed to understand. “Good boy,” he
said. He gave Aiden’s shoulders a last squeeze. “If
you’re ready, you can stand up and take your jeans
down.”
Shit. Somehow time always sped up in the seconds
before a punishment. Aiden stood, unbuttoned his jeans,
and struggled to get his breathing and heart rate in order
as Keaton took his wrist and guided him over his lap.
Aiden wriggled forward, making sure his torso was
properly supported by the couch, but this sent his
bottom high into the air. Keaton wasted no time, sliding
Aiden’s briefs down to midthigh and raising his own
knee to tilt Aiden’s rear higher still.
“Are you comfortable?” Keaton asked.
Aiden shut his eyes. He hated that question. Of
course he wasn’t comfortable.
“This isn’t going to be quick.”
“I’m fine,” Aiden said. And really he was. His heart
thudded, his butt was naked and high in the air, and his
throat was tight with anticipation—but he was all right.
Everything here was familiar—the couch, Keaton’s lap,
his acute sense of awkwardness and dread… He was
going to come out of this sore but in one piece. There
was a rustle of paper as Keaton took Aiden’s list and set
it on the couch, in Aiden’s line of view.
Keaton rested his hand on Aiden’s rump, rubbing a
gentle circle on the tense flesh. “What is this spanking
for?” he asked.
Another question Aiden hated. He closed his eyes
again. “Because I’m an idiot,” he mumbled.
Keaton patted his bottom. “Try again.”
Aiden didn’t respond, hoping Keaton would get
frustrated and start swatting.
Keaton gave him a brisk rub and another pat. “This
happens on my terms, not yours, young man,” he said.
Aiden winced. Why was this concept so hard for
him? Keaton was in charge. Aiden needed to submit.
“Because I went with Scott,” he said.
“That’s part of it,” Keaton said. “Meeting with Scott
was dangerous. This punishment isn’t for any of the
feelings that led you to that decision. This punishment is
for breaking rule number five. I’m not a mind reader.
You need to tell me when something’s bothering you.
Scott harassing you isn’t something you should have
kept from me. Same with your concerns about our
relationship.”
“I know,” Aiden said. “I’m sorry.”
Keaton lifted his palm and brought it down hard.
He did it again, and again.
Shit! Aiden never remembered how much Keaton’s
hand hurt. He clenched his teeth and tried not to buck as
Keaton covered his butt with a hail of sharp swats. How
did I ever think this wouldn’t hurt enough?
Keaton’s second circuit left Aiden breathless. Aiden
dug his fingers into the upholstery of the couch. He
promised himself he wasn’t going to beg, wasn’t going to
squirm. He took a breath and held it, then was forced to
let it out when a third round of swats brought tears to his
eyes. He reminded himself that he deserved every
smack, and willed himself not to plead out loud for
Keaton to lessen the severity of the blows.
“Let it out,” Keaton urged, pausing for a few
seconds to rub the small of Aiden’s back.
Aiden choked back a sob and shook his head.
Keaton resumed the spanking. Aiden tried to block
out the memories of last night, but they came too fast—
the rejection from Irvine, his brattiness at dinner, the way
he’d talked to Keaton in the bathroom. The feeling of
desperate energy that had propelled him to Obey, the
desolation and hopelessness he’d felt as Scott dragged
him into the house… He wriggled slightly, trying to get
Keaton’s palm to stop smacking his sit spots. Keaton’s
arm was secure around him, holding him in place. With
a sigh, he surrendered, sagging across Keaton’s lap while
Keaton continued to blister his butt.
Finally Keaton stopped. Is that it? Aiden wondered,
half-hopeful, half-disappointed. His butt was on fire; he
wouldn’t be able to take much more without breaking
down. At the same time, he didn’t feel the punishment
was at all proportional to the transgression. He deserved
much, much worse.
“Pick up that list,” Keaton said. Aiden grabbed the
list, pulling it toward him. He tried to twist and hand it
to Keaton, but Keaton said, “Read me the first item on
there.”
Aiden placed the list in front of him and supported
himself on his elbows so he could see it. He gulped,
trying to get his voice under control, and read, “‘I got
rejected from UC Irvine. It made me feel like a loser, like
I’d never be good enough to be an actor. Like I’d be stuck
forever making pizza.’”
“Why did it make you feel that way?”
“I don’t know. I was just being stupid.”
Keaton smacked Aiden’s butt so hard that Aiden
reared up.
“Jesus!”
“That is the last time you’ll use that word to
describe yourself. Understood?”
“Yeah.” Aiden squirmed, trying to lessen the sting.
“Tell me why the rejection made you feel like a
loser.”
Keaton made him talk through what he’d written,
made Aiden tell him why he wanted a graduate degree,
what he liked about Irvine in particular, and why the
school’s decision made him question his own abilities as
an actor and as a student. At first Aiden felt
uncomfortable having this conversation facedown over
Keaton’s lap, but after a few minutes he relaxed,
answering Keaton’s questions as honestly and
thoroughly as he could.
Keaton mostly listened but offered some input and
reassurance, and by the time they’d exhausted the topic,
Aiden felt much less discouraged about the rejection.
When they were done, Keaton lifted his hand and
delivered a hard swat across the center of both of Aiden’s
cheeks.
They went through all twenty-three items on the list
this way. When they completed each item, Keaton gave
him a single, full-force swat in exactly the same place.
Aiden reached a point where he could no longer take the
swats quietly, kicking, yelping, and eventually begging
with each one. There was plenty of time between each to
recover, but the accumulated soreness made each new
layer of pain almost unbearable.
When they finished the list, Aiden’s voice was
hoarse from talking. He’d been crying for about the last
twenty minutes, but he didn’t feel embarrassed. Keaton
hadn’t rushed him, letting hi
m speak at his own pace,
waiting for him to get control of himself and his thoughts
before asking him to continue. The final swat was every
bit as hard as the first, and after it Keaton completed
three more circuits of spanks across the entirety of
Aiden’s bottom, until Aiden couldn’t hear anything
above the sound of his own choked sobs or feel anything
besides the scalding pain in his butt.
Keaton rubbed the sore flesh, kneading the sharp
sting into a more manageable ache. He moved his hand
to Aiden’s lower back, rubbing while Aiden lay across
his lap, too exhausted to continue crying. They stayed
like that a long time before Aiden had the energy to
struggle up and throw his arms around Keaton.
“Good boy,” Keaton murmured. “That’s right,
you’re okay. I’ve got you.”
“I love you,” Aiden said. He caught sight of
Keaton’s palm. It was as red and swollen as Aiden
imagined his butt must be. He took it in his own hands
and kissed it.
Keaton stroked Aiden’s face, letting him feel the
heat from his palm. “I love you too.”
Aiden curled against Keaton, holding tight. He was
never, never going to let this man go.
* * * *
Keaton entered the kitchen later that evening.
Aiden was at the table writing lines. He set Aiden’s
phone down in front of him. “You have a new voice
mail,” Keaton said. “I listened to it when I checked your
texts last night, just in case it offered some clue as to
your whereabouts.”
Aiden looked at him. “Who’s it from?”
“You should listen.”
Aiden picked up the phone and dialed his mailbox.
One saved message. A familiar voice introduced itself as
the director of Case Western’s MFA program in Theater
Arts and congratulated Aiden on being offered a spot in
the incoming class. Aiden barely heard the rest of the
message, which asked Aiden to return the call at some
point with any questions he needed answered before he
decided whether or not to accept the offer. Aiden put
down the phone and stared at Keaton.
“You heard this?”
“I did.”
Aiden stood up and flung himself at Keaton,
socking the man squarely—though admittedly not very
hard—in the chest. “And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t
think maybe that was something I’d want to know? You
let me ramble on in there about Irvine and what a loser I