Aiden made a face. “Okay. Bye.”
Keaton was making him keep track of every meal
he ate in a food diary. Aiden had tried to express the
foolishness of the idea in what he’d thought was a
perfectly reasonable manner—by hurling the diary
across the kitchen—and had ended up red-tailed and
repentant. Well, temporarily repentant. He still thought
the diary was stupid. He just wasn’t in any hurry to fling
it again.
It seemed like he’d spent more time over Keaton’s
lap in the last two weeks than he had on his feet, but he
had to admit, the butt-to-brain connection was working.
His nails weren’t bitten to the quick, his cuticles were
smooth. He wasn’t throwing up after meals—to the
contrary, he’d been constipated for the last three days.
Not something he was eager to share with Keaton. It was
still tempting to skip meals, though somehow Keaton
knew instantly when he did. Keaton didn’t need
gingerroot to torture a confession out of Aiden—he had a
grim, unyielding look that made Aiden spill instantly.
Getting eight hours of sleep each night was hard,
especially with auditions on his mind. He wasn’t having
as many nightmares now that he slept beside Keaton, but
he was having a hard time falling asleep. He didn’t see
what the big deal was if he got up at three to check his e-
mail or run his monologues in a whisper in the living
room. But Keaton inevitably found him out, upended
him, and delivered a rapid spanking that effectively
demonstrated his displeasure at having to get up in the
middle of the night. Pointing out that Keaton didn’t
technically “have to” only made him spank harder.
Aiden had felt better the last couple of weeks than
he had in a long time. He wasn’t sure how that worked.
He spent a good deal of time sobbing apologies over
Keaton’s knee, or else writing out a broken rule two
hundred times—and somehow this translated into a
feeling of contentment? He’d had a couple of job
interviews late last week, and was still waiting to hear
back. He had another one tomorrow at a local pizza
parlor.
He heard a knock on the front door and hurried
upstairs, curious. Even if it was a couple of Jehovah’s
Witnesses, Aiden could use a distraction from his
disastrous monologues. He opened the door and was so
surprised that it was a few seconds before fear set in.
Scott Runge stood on the porch, wearing jeans and a
black jacket and holding a small box.
“Hey,” Scott said.
“Hey,” Aiden said, heart pounding. Scott looked as
sexy as ever, but his presence here seemed like
something out of one of Aiden’s nightmares.
“You left some stuff at my place.” Scott handed him
the box.
“How did you know I—”
“Someone at the club said he’d seen you cruising
Keaton Hughes a while back. Then I ended up in line
behind your girlfriend at the coffee shop and heard her
on the phone talking about ‘stopping by Aiden and
Keaton’s’ on her way home. So I figured you and Mr.
Hughes must have shacked up.” He peered around
Aiden, into the foyer. “Nice place. You gonna invite me
in for a drink?”
“No,” Aiden said.
“Oh come on. I came all the way out here to give
you your stuff, and you won’t even give me a glass of
water?” He stepped past Aiden and into the house.
“Hey,” Aiden protested, following Scott to the
kitchen.
“You really didn’t do too bad for yourself, did
you?”
“You should go.”
“Please? I’m thirsty.”
Aiden grabbed a glass and filled it in the sink.
“Here.”
“Got any ice?” Scott went to the freezer. As he
pulled the door open, a magnet clattered to the floor, and
the piece of paper that had hung on the side of the fridge
facing the wall fluttered down. Scott reached around the
side of the fridge and retrieved the paper. Held it up.
“‘The Rules,’” he read.
“Stop—” Aiden rushed over.
“One.” Scott jerked the paper out of Aiden’s reach.
“I will behave respectfully and maturely at all times.”
“I’m serious. Put that down and get out.”
Scot shook Aiden off and read through the list,
laughing. “This is too cute. Three balanced meals a
day?” Scott reached out and pinched Aiden’s stomach.
Aiden jerked away. “How’s that working out?”
“Get the fuck out of my house. I’m warning you.”
“Your house? Do you pay rent? A mortgage? Or are
you freeloading?”
Aiden flushed. “Just leave.”
“I didn’t know you were into this shit. So what,
does he stand you in the corner and put you over his
knee when you’re naughty?”
Aiden grabbed Scott’s arm and tried to haul him
out of the room.
“All right, all right. I’m going.” Scott shook Aiden
off as though Aiden were no more than a pesky bug, and
headed for the foyer. “But if you ever get tired of being
Daddy’s boy and want to do something real again—call
me.”
“Get lost.”
“Or I guess the more likely scenario is that Daddy’ll
get sick of you.”
“Why is that more likely?” Aiden demanded.
“Haven’t you heard the rumors about Keaton
Hughes? Goes through boys like condoms. And
someone like you—spoiled, willful, needy—I doubt he’ll
be able to keep his patience with you for long.”
Aiden wished he could fly at Scott, pummel him,
scream at him. But he was shocked by what Scott said
about Keaton.
Scott gave him a smile and a wave. “Wouldn’t want
to keep you up past your bedtime.” He left.
Aiden fumed. The rules he followed really were
ridiculous, childish. But they
helped
. Now he felt like an
idiot for needing that kind of guidance.
Who cares what Scott thinks? He’s an asshole and a
sadist.
Who knows where I live.
Aiden tried to imagine telling Keaton what had
happened. Keaton would probably be pissed he’d let
Scott in—might even punish him. And there was nothing
Keaton could do about the situation. Scott probably
wouldn’t be back, anyway, now that he’d given Aiden
his stuff.
Aiden opened the box, curious as to what he’d left
at Scott’s. He pulled out a couple of shirts, a book, and
his 365 Shakespeare Quotes calendar. He paused. At the
bottom of the box was the wide leather collar Scott had
often made him wear. He lifted it out, the leather heavy,
stiff in his hand. The two large steel rings flipped back
and forth. He inhaled it briefly. Why had Scott given it to
him? Why not keep it for some other poor sub who had
the misfortune to go home with Scott Runge?
He went to his and Keaton’s bedroom, put the
shirts in a drawer, and stuffed the book and calendar
onto a shelf. He hesitated with the collar in his hand,
finally placing it back in the box and taking the box to the
guest room, where he shoved it under the bed. Then he
went downstairs and ate lunch.
That night Aiden had terrible dreams. He woke at
two a.m., Keaton snoring softly beside him. He got up
and went downstairs, where he watched infomercials on
the couch, waiting for Keaton to come down and wallop
him. Keaton never came. Aiden felt disappointed, alone.
He didn’t like being spanked, but he hated getting away
with breaking the rules. You just want attention, he told
himself. Like Scott said, you’re needy. Finally he went
back to bed, drifting into an uneasy sleep.
He woke to a hand shaking his shoulder. He
murmured and buried his face in his pillow. “Rise and
shine, sleepyhead.”
“Go away.”
“You’ve got an interview this morning.”
Fuck. The pizza place.
Keaton left the room. Aiden went back to sleep,
only to be roused what seemed like seconds later. “Hey,
kiddo. Up,” Keaton said.
“Fuck off.”
“Fuck off.”
“Excuse me?”
Excuse you is right. I’m not your kiddo. I’m sick of you
acting like I can’t take care of myself. I managed just fine before
you
or
Scott.
“I said leave me alone.” Aiden rolled onto his side.
“Rough night?”
“It was fine. But I’d like to sleep a few more
minutes, if that’s all right with Your Majesty. I’ll get to
the damned interview on time.”
“You still have to eat breakfast,” Keaton said,
ignoring Aiden’s rudeness.
“Not hungry.”
“You still have to eat.”
“Fuck you! I’m an adult. I know when I’m goddamn
hungry.”
“Last warning. Lose that attitude. Get up.”
“I’m not your fucking slave, you—” He didn’t get a
chance to tell Keaton Hughes what he was, because
Keaton took him by the ear and pulled him out of bed.
Aiden twisted, using both of his hands to try to remove
Keaton’s, but it didn’t work. “Ow! Let
go
!”
Keaton swatted him smartly across the seat of his
pajamas. “That’s quite enough. Come on.”
Aiden didn’t move, so Keaton swatted him again
and continued to swat him into the bathroom, Aiden
fighting every step of the way. He finally let go of
Aiden’s ear, and Aiden rubbed his ear with one hand, his
butt with the other. Keaton opened the cabinet above the
sink. While he was occupied, Aiden attempted to leave
the bathroom, but Keaton turned and effortlessly caught
his wrist, bending him over one arm and giving him half
a dozen sound smacks on the butt. “Don’t move,” Keaton
instructed.
Aiden stood in the bathroom, fuming, while Keaton
retrieved a bar of soap from the cabinet and unwrapped
it. He ran the bar under the water for a few seconds,
rubbing it until it began to lather. Aiden’s stomach sank.
Surely Keaton wasn’t going to…
“Rule number one,” Keaton said, his tone mild,
practically cheerful. “Behave respectfully and maturely
at all times. That means no cursing at me.”
“I’m sorry,” Aiden muttered. “I really didn’t mean
to curse
at
you. I was just pissed off.”
“Words like that hurt, whether you mean them or
not.”
Aiden flushed and stared at the floor. He glanced
up every few seconds to see what Keaton was doing. The
bar of soap was slick and foamy. Aiden remembered
Keaton had said something about mouth soaping as a
punishment, but Aiden had thought that was more of a
joke than a credible threat. He’d never had his mouth
washed out before, even in role-play. It hadn’t sounded
like a big deal when Keaton mentioned it, but now,
looking at the bar of soap, Aiden felt his stomach twist.
Keaton
turned
toward
him,
and
Aiden
automatically stepped back. “Hold this in your mouth
for five minutes,” Keaton said. “You can stand here,
unless you prefer a corner.”
“Fuck no,” Aiden said, aware he was digging
himself deeper. Yesterday had been such a rotten day,
with Scott’s visit and the lousy monologue practice, then
not sleeping, and now this interview… Not to mention
the fact that he was
still
constipated, and every time he
moved he felt the weight inside him. It wasn’t his fault
he’d lost his temper.
But he couldn’t tell Keaton about Scott, and he
couldn’t blame anyone but himself for being a shitty
actor. And this interview was at a pizza parlor, for God’s
sake—why was he so stressed about it?
“Open your mouth, please.”
Aiden debated another refusal. Or possibly a full-
scale tantrum. He glared at Keaton, then opened his
mouth. Keaton put the bar in.
“Bite down.”
Aiden did. It wasn’t so awful at first—the taste of
the soap was bitter but not unbearable. The bubbles
seemed to multiply by the second, clinging to his teeth,
his tongue, the roof of his mouth. The foam mixed with
his saliva, and he wanted to swallow but couldn’t. He
felt a moment of panic, which quickly turned to anger.
He lunged forward and spat the bar into the sink,
spitting foam after it. Keaton quickly and efficiently
turned him around and delivered another six whacks to
the seat of his pajamas. Aiden hissed, shifting his weight
in an effort to lessen the sting as Keaton retrieved the bar