19980812

August 12, 1998

Randy: Saturday. I lived for them, any more. At one time, I'd have said weekends were just another couple of days, filled with things to make me forget I was actually lonely. Now, though, I found myself looking forward to weekends, especially the ones that didn't have any outside commitments--for either of us--scheduled.

I still did my hospice work, and still met the guys every couple of weeks to play basketball. Michael spent the last two afternoons when I'd played out to Sheila's communing with Murphy. And last weekend, we'd snuck in an entire day out on the waves, part of it sailing, the rest of it anchored offshore, doing a little nude sunbathing.

I wasn't sure what we were going to do today; it was unexpectedly dreary outside. A 'soft day', as Sarah would say sometimes. Irish weather--which also happens to be San Francisco weather an awful lot. Michael was still in the shower, puttering around under the hot water. He'd come home yesterday muttering something about racquetballs and stupid courts, and rolled his shoulders and head the whole time. It hadn't slowed him down when he decided to fuck me senseless, but afterward he'd winced whenever he moved abruptly. I made him tea--he had to talk me through it--then settled him in bed with cup, Advil, and me. We'd spent part of the evening just cuddling and talking, a very quiet one for us, and all the more welcome for it. He was leaving again in a week, to go to England for several days. I tried not to think about it, concentrating instead on the car trip coming up at the end of the month. I'd been to Arizona exactly once, years before, for a conference, and I'd gone by train. Even given the reason we were going, I was looking forward to it. Most of the time.

The bites he'd left on my chest itched and I reached down to scratch lightly, remembering the heat in his eyes last night when he'd said "Per sempre" just before biting me--hard enough to make me yell. I still couldn't believe I'd told him...that I'd said it. It didn't make it any less true, but I couldn't imagine where my brain was that night. Well, obviously, completely shorted out. But aside from that...

I grinned and shook my head. I did love him. It still made me uncomfortable, all squirmy inside, when I analyzed it too much--it made me feel as though I were too dependent on him, needing him too much--so I tried not to do that, tried to just accept the feelings and roll with them. We had time. Forever was workable.

The shower still hadn't switched off, which made me wonder how big of a hot water heater he had for this place, then I shrugged. I could lie here in the buff and hope to tempt him when he got out, or--if we were going to get anything accomplished today--I could at least put shorts on.

The phone rang as soon as I walked into the closet, and I stepped out and stared at it. Most of the people who needed to call me called on my cell. Which didn't mean the caller *couldn't* be for me; Josh and his folks had this number, as did a couple others. But it was unlikely in the extreme it was either of them at eight forty-five on a Saturday morning. It rang twice more and I shrugged and walked around to his side of the bed. "Hello?"

"Mike! How are you, love?" A female voice calling for Michael--I supposed. Though I couldn't in this lifetime imagine calling him 'Mike'.

"Excuse me? Who're you calling for?"

There was a slight pause. "Oh, bloody hell. I'm *so* sorry. What time is it there, anyway? I'm calling for Mike." She laughed wickedly. "Damage is done, I suppose. Wake up the lazy bugger and tell him his beautiful, intelligent, *successful* sister Liz wants to talk with him."

Liz? Lizzie, the baby sister? Michael had pictures scattered about the condo, and I knew who she was, of course. A very attractive woman, though in a rather severe way; she looked almost exactly like Michael, right down the dark hair and cool grey eyes. Her accent was incredibly crisp, very British, and it made me aware of how soft Michael's was. I laughed. "He's awake, Liz. He's just in the shower right now. It's nearly nine here; I'm not sure he'd know how to be in bed at this hour." I nearly bit my tongue at that; there'd been numerous Saturdays we'd lounged in bed until well *past* nine. "Ah, this is Randy, by the way. Nice to--meet you."

She laughed again, a little warmer than wicked. "Hullo, Randy. What a lovely accent you have. You sound just as he said. I suspected it was you, but then one does hate to assume such things." Her tone seemed to imply she'd made the mistake of calling the wrong name before, though she didn't seem overly concerned about it.

"Easier to call me by his name and not risk it, eh?" I felt a grin spreading across my face. I wondered how many of Michael's lovers Liz had spoken to over the years, then dismissed that thought. I was going to have to get past that; he was mine. I was his. Whatever--you didn't say "I love you" to someone unless the feelings were at least fairly strong. At least I didn't. And Michael didn't strike me as the type to go around saying things he didn't mean. "Are you calling from England, Liz? The shower's just switched off; I can go get him, or have him call you back."

"I suppose it depends," she said, her voice turning sly. "If you go to get him, will I be left hanging on line, forgotten?"

My mouth dropped open; I could feel it. I suppose it wasn't completely unexpected, but then, I wasn't used to my lovers having family who knew what they were--or who they were with. And certainly Bran's mother hadn't ever teased me like this. Something very undignified, and close to a snort escaped me, then became full-fledged laughter. When I could speak again I shook my head at the phone. "No, because you'd probably enjoy the chance to listen in."

Her laughter rolled out, low and full and delighted. "I probably would," she agreed without shame. "Best become accustomed to me--I'm not like our sister Sarah. She'd *never* say such things, being the proper miss she is. I, on the other hand, have absolutely no shame at all."

"So I've noticed," I managed dryly. "Neither does your brother."

I didn't hear her reply to that since Michael appeared then, a towel wrapped snugly around his waist, one eyebrow raised questioningly. I doubled over laughing again; maybe it was just the timing, but like Quent, Michael could do the Mister Spock thing just all too well. When I could manage coherent speech again, I held the phone out to him. "It's your sister--Liz," I added, remembering he had more than one. "She's been entertaining me."

Michael: "Of that, I have no doubt," I replied wryly. I rotated my shoulder again, and then took the phone from him. "Liz," I said warmly. "How are you?"

"Ooh, he sounds delicious," Liz replied, and I could practically see her raising her brows in a lascivious look. I glanced over at Randy, and replied, "Oh, he is," just to hear him laugh. "Quite delicious."

Randy: "No wonder she's incorrigible; she gets it from you." I patted his ass and headed back toward the closet to retrieve my shorts. He snickered and made a rude gesture in my direction. I flipped him off--invitation, definitely--then turned the light on. The closet was close to cavernous; I'd asked Michael once if he'd ever gotten lost in here.

Michael: I grinned at Randy, then turned my attention back to the phone. "So, what makes my little sister call at this hour of the morning?"

"Well, you know I'm hopelessly confused about the time changes over there...."

I snorted; Liz was as sharp as a saber; few things escaped her, especially something as simple as figuring the differences between time in England and America. "Don't give me that. What's the reason you called?"

She laughed again, and I wondered if she'd been drinking a bit; she was naturally more exuberant than myself, but I thought she had a slight hesitancy in her phrasing that only one who knew her as well as I did could catch.

"Oh, Mikey...it's *lovely* news---you're speaking with the newest doctor on staff at the Benedict-Pelham Children's Clinic!"

Her voice was full of happiness, and it was infectious. I couldn't help but smile in return. Benedict-Pelham was a new doctor's dream--a newly opened clinic filled with state of the art equipment and an integrated research facility. Randy would find it intriguing, I knew. "Oh, Liz...I'm so happy for you. I know you've been wanting to get a position there."

She let out an undignified, girlish squeal. "Yes, yes, yes! All that hard work! I'm so excited. Evan and I have already started celebrating."

"I thought as much," I said with a laugh. "I'll wager Mother and Nonna are proud of you."

"Evan and I are going home for the weekend, and we'll celebrate even more then." I could hear the murmur of a male voice in the background; Evan Westbrook, her latest beau. I remembered him from my last visit home, a genial, gentle fellow with red-blond hair and kind brown eyes.

"We're going out to dinner and dancing now, so I'd best ring off and make myself gorgeous. But I had to call you and tell you the good news." I could almost see her bounce in place, and smiled.

"I'm very proud of you, Liz. We always knew you'd do well. I'll be over next week, and I can congratulate you in person."

"Oh, will you? That's wonderful! You can take me to dinner and buy me something outrageously expensive, then."

I laughed. "It's a date, then. Have a lovely time celebrating. Tell Evan hullo for me."

"I shall--bye, big brother!"

"Bye, Dr. Pierson," I replied. Her pleased laughter wrapped warmly about me, and then she rang off.

Randy: I waited 'til he'd hung the phone up to wrap my arms around him and pull him back against me, my mouth going automatically for that spot on the side of his neck that I was knew was hypersensitive. "Doctor, huh?" I whispered the words against his skin and laughed when he shivered against me. "What's she a doctor of, darlin'?"

Michael: I tilted my head to the side to give him better access, and he didn't disappoint me. His lips were warm and soft against my skin, and I made a pleased sound as he licked just beneath my ear. "Pediatrics," I managed. "She's newly graduated, and has been accepted by a prestigious children's clinic." I smiled. "She's the first Pierson in a couple of generations to become a doctor. We're terribly proud of her."

Randy: "With good reason, it sounds like. She's finished her residency, then?" I kissed him again, scraping my teeth lightly against the soft skin. He made some sort of strangled noise, then nodded. I laughed and bit lightly again. "I'll send her a card of congratulations, if that's okay with you." He made another strangled sound, and I let my hands slide down the warm expanse of his chest, the soft hair there tickling my fingertips. I paused at his waist, rubbing lightly, restlessly. "What'm I going to find if I go lower?"

Michael: I couldn't help but laugh. "You should be intimately acquainted by now with what lies beneath the towel," I said with an edge of snarkiness to my tone.

He laughed in return against the side of my neck, his fingers dancing against the top edge of the towel. Pressing even closer to me, I could feel him, hard, beneath the soft, clingy material of his shorts. Lovely. I turned and gave him a little shove, and he landed on the bed. Almost before he had a chance to bounce, I pounced and sat on him, astride his thighs, grinning down at him. The front of his shorts swelled outward, inviting touch, but I bypassed that pleasure for the moment, running my hands up his strong arms, pushing them up, pinning them slightly above his head. I smiled down at him, and his eyes gleamed up at me in return. "You look good like this," I murmured. "I rather like seeing you in this position."

Randy: "You could see me in it as often as you'd like, darlin'. You know I want it. I know you're interested." I shifted experimentally beneath him and his fingers tightened on my wrists. My breath caught in my chest and my belly tightened. I looked up at him, still smiling, but deadly serious behind it. "I know you said we have to trust each other, Michael. Get to know each other. Build a base before anything else." I wiggled again and his fingers tightened like a vise, relaxing slightly when I settled down again. I stared him straight in the eye. "I trust you."

Michael: "I'm interested," I said, my thumbs rubbing across the tender skin of his inner wrists. "It's been a very long time since I've played at anything more than the odd game of slap and tickle. I've not played seriously for years." I leaned in and nosed the center of his chest, inhaling his warm clean scent. Up over the perfect arch of collarbones, to the little notch where I could feel his pulse beating, slow and steady, beneath his soft skin. I tasted him there; slightly salty. "Nicole definitely did not like games like that, and I don't care to purchase my playmates for that particular pleasure. You can't trust them to be honest with you---even the best trained will harbor some thought they owe you more than they're truly willing to give because you've paid them. I'd much prefer to have a partner I can wholly trust." I nipped at his chin a little, and his lush mouth parted in a sigh. "Like you," I said, and covered his mouth with my own.

Randy: Somehow, hearing him tell me he trusted me was one of the most erotic things he'd ever said, and my heart beat a little faster for it. I returned his kiss, chasing his tongue with mine, nipping at his lips. He pulled back then with a grin, thumbs teasing lightly over my wrists. I pushed gently; I could break free of him if I truly wished, but why? I was where I wanted to be. I met his gaze, held it for a long, silent moment. "I have a lot of questions, Michael. About your history playing, about what we would...might...do. But I offer you this." I tipped my head back and exposed my throat to him, my belly tightening with anticipation, with a primal fear that comes to even the most modern man when he makes himself vulnerable.

Michael: My blood sang through my veins at the sight of him offering himself, of the long, clean line of his throat bared in submission. Excitement curled down my spine and into my belly, and my flesh rose and throbbed beneath the confines of the towel. With a pleased, hungry sound, I leaned in and licked over the bump of his Adam's apple. My body wanted more, but my mind acknowledged that sitting astride him, both of us half-naked, was not the time to have this conversation with him. I kissed his throat, then slowly and reluctantly, released his wrists and sat up straight. He lay still beneath me, unmoving save for the rise and fall of his broad chest with his breathing, his wrists still crossed above him. He was the very picture of strength and vulnerability, wholly arousing, and my body responded with a sharp, fierce rush of passion.

But not now. With a sigh, I slid from him, stopping only to press a kiss to his navel before standing up at the side of the bed. He was as hard as I was, the soft grey material of his shorts stretched with the fullness of his cock. I had an urge to pull those indecently thin shorts from him and devour him, but knew if I allowed myself to be sidetracked, we'd never get to this much-needed conversation. I held out my hand to him to help him up. "I can't talk with you beneath me. Let's have a bit of something to eat, and you can ask your questions."

Randy: I took his hand, let him tug before I sat up. "Turn-about is fair play, Pierson. It's not exactly easy to talk while *under* you, either. My body thinks other things are a lot more appealing than talking." I rubbed myself and grinned ruefully. "Y'know, I used to think I was in control of my body, that I'd outgrown the hormonal stage. Apparently I was sadly mistaken."

He snorted at me, then disappeared into the depths of the closet, returning in short order dressed in a pair of sweats and faded UCLA t-shirt I recognized as one of mine. I finished pulling on the mate to that, laughing when I saw it. "What're you doing, stealing all my clothes?" He grinned and flipped me off, then picked up his towel and headed for the bathroom. I smoothed the coverlet on the bed down--Miles didn't come near the place on the weekends, unless he knew we were gone--and headed for the kitchen. Scrambled eggs with onion, ham and cheese, and toasted bagels. Sounded damn near perfect. And I could have it pretty much ready by the time Michael got his grapefruit dissected.

Michael: By the time I'd made my way to the dining room, Randy had gotten breakfast almost finished. I'd been somewhat surprised to find that he was actually a very good cook, and fairly inventive. I shouldn't have been surprised, I suppose, as he'd always had to fend for himself, unlike me, who had always had, save my time at university, someone to take care of such things. We'd settled into a routine of sorts; he cooked at night, and I cleaned up, not a hard task, as he generally cleaned up as he cooked. It seemed to please him, so I said nothing. The few times we'd gone out--generally, out of town--he'd insisted on paying for dinner, and I didn't argue about it. I thought perhaps he needed to show he wasn't wholly dependent upon me, so I never contradicted him when he paid for this or for that, though I had far more than he did. He was a proud man, and I knew my wealth made him uncomfortable upon occasion.

I sat down and began to carve my grapefruit as he brought in two platters heaping with eggs and meat and cheese. One more trip to the kitchen, and he emerged with a plate of bagels. I took a sip of my juice, and spread a bit of preserves on a bagel.

"Much more civilized," I said, and flashed him a grin. "It's difficult to have a serious conversation whilst in the nude with you."

Randy: "Hah." I poured myself another cup of coffee, then slid into the chair beside him. "We've had plenty of serious conversations nude. But maybe talking in our sleep doesn't count?" I spread cheddar and chive cream cheese on my bagel, then salted and peppered my eggs. Michael was picking apart his grapefruit, and a shudder tripped up and down my spine. I ate them, on occasion, but grapefruit was far too sour for my tastes. Give me oranges or tangerines or pineapple any day. I watched him for a minute, then took a few bites of my eggs. Maybe I'd do Huevos Rancheros for us tomorrow; I was in the mood for spicy. "Ready for the Q and A session?" Michael nodded and I nodded in return, then studied my cup for a long moment, considering what I wanted to ask. "You've told me before you have a fairly extensive history with playing--how extensive? How long? What have you done?"

Michael: I ate a couple of sections of grapefruit before answering. "Recently? Scarcely any at all. A bit of slap and tickle with a willing partner once in a great while, if he or she was inclined. Nothing serious, nothing intent. Two years ago, whilst I was in England at Christmas, I went to visit a friend in London for a couple of days, and he gave me the opportunity to play with one of his...protégés." Alain had been beautiful, as all Julian's pets were, slim and fair, with curly black hair, perfect pale skin, and wide, deceptively innocent blue eyes. He'd also had an appetite that matched my own, and a most willing, submissive nature. It had been a strenuous, though lovely two days, and I'd returned home calm and serene afterward.

I tried the eggs; delicious. "I began playing whilst at university. I think I was perhaps twenty-one or so." I flashed him a smile. "Quite arrogant and full of myself, I might add."

Randy: I snorted; he hadn't really changed a lot from that, that I could see. Another couple of bites, the rest of my coffee. "Do you switch?" I couldn't see Michael as sub at all, but I'd learned over the years not to make assumptions. He struck me as...ultra Dom, but again, that could just be me seeing what I wanted to see.

Michael: It was a perfectly innocent, legitimate question, but still, my throat closed up for a second. I took a sip of juice, and forced it down. "Not anymore," I answered, and realized how harsh and unyielding I sounded. "I once did," I said, deliberately smoothing my voice. "But not now."

Randy: It seemed that was a sore spot, and right now didn't appear to be the time to pursue it. I nodded in acknowledgment, then picked up my juice glass and rolled it between my palms carefully before taking a sip. "What do you expect in a sub?"

Michael: "What do I expect in a sub?" I pushed my eggs around with my fork as I thought. "Strength. Self-knowledge. Intelligence. The capacity to know his own limits, to understand that I, too, have limits. The ability to communicate what he wants, what he needs, what works what doesn't work for him. The desire to meet my needs, whether sexual or not." I glanced up at him. "I'm from the time where sex and scenes were bound together, so to speak---it's only been in the past few years that I've learned some of the most intense scenes aren't necessarily the ones involving sex." I took a sip of juice. "I require utter honesty. Part of my obligation to a sub is to be observant, to judge what he needs or wants, but until I see how you react, to learn your own patterns, I need for you to tell me if something works or doesn't. And I will not ever play without a safeword. That's non-negotiable."

Randy: It was interesting, refreshing, to listen to Michael. I knew who had the experience between the two of us--and while I wasn't completely a novice, a lot of my experience was nullified by the situation I'd lived with Bran. Not exactly safe, sane and consensual. I got up and refilled my coffee cup and brought it and the pitcher of juice back to the table. "Two words. One to slow down, one to stop." I took a sip of coffee, then looked at him over the rim of my cup. "I don't really know what my limits are. I know what I'd like to explore--things I'd like to try. There are some things I know I won't do, so I'll guess those would be at least the basis of my limits. What about limits for you--do you have them?"

Michael: "Yes, I have limits. No scat---it's utterly revolting. No blood play. No piercing or cutting. No mummification. No electrical or breath play. No animals. I won't switch. Almost everything else is subject to discussion, but not those." I smiled at him. "I prefer to start small, and then build, as we see what we like, what we prefer, what works for us."

Randy: I nodded, considering his limits and how they meshed with mine--surprisingly well, actually. A few things I wanted to get clarification on, but all in all, a pretty good match. "Small is good. As my cousin Sarah is fond of saying, 'Rome wasn't built in a day'." I smiled at Michael. "She used to say that a lot when I was still on crutches and fussed and whined about wanting to move around." Michael had spent the better part of one evening last week, tracing over the scars on my left leg, listening to me talk about my time in the hospital. It still amazed me how much I'd told him.

Or maybe it didn't, actually. I was starting to accept I'd actually found my soul mate, if I were inclined to believe in that. I cleared my throat. "One question about the blood play--what if blood is drawn during something else, like a whipping. Is that just incidental and taken in stride? And...if down the road, I wanted a piercing--would you allow me to have it done, professionally?"

Michael: I wondered what kind of relationship he'd had before that he would even need to ask me about a piercing. "I don't live the lifestyle. What you do outside of a scene is entirely your own business. If you wish a piercing, then have one done---for yourself. I won't say I won't enjoy it or reap benefits from it, but it is your body, and you do with it as you wish. Although you have such beautiful skin I'd hate to see you put a tattoo on it." And he did have the loveliest skin; I loved to touch him, to stroke his surprising softness, to revel in the difference between our skin tones. "As for blood drawn by accident, it is only that. I won't draw it intentionally, if that's what you're asking."

Randy: "That was what I was asking--thank you." I pushed aside my plate, mostly clean now but for a few scraps. Michael was still playing with his fork, pushing it around, and I hated to deprive him of his toy, so figured I would wait to clear the table off. No rush; we had all day to sit here and talk, if we wanted to. "I don't plan on getting any tattoos, so don't worry about it. I'm not big on having a bunch of needles shoved into my skin. But I've always thought a nipple ring might be kind of cool." I grinned at the expression that flashed across his face--relief? Surprise?--then sobered. "There's something you need to know, about the time I spent with Bran. After a while…he was incapable of separating reality from fantasy. He wanted absolute control over me, over everything I did, or said. It was…it *wasn't* a Dom/sub relationship, at all. More like--emotional abuse. Strangulation. So if I seem a little obtuse on some of the finer points… in a lot of ways, a lot of this is new to me. Though I have done extensive research now, on the web."

Michael: I pushed away my plate, half full; he always made too much for me. Well. Little wonder I thought him a bit skittish; he was, and justifiably so, if this Bran had treated him so. He sounded like a right nutter, as Clara would have said. "It isn't like that," I said gently. "It's something far different. It's respect, and trust in one another." He looked uncomfortable, and so I refrained from asking him about Bran. I knew all about abuse, first hand, and ruthlessly pushed that memory aside. "So, how much experience do you actually have? I know you have the desire, but what have you done?"

Randy: "Well." I settled Michael's plate on mine, wondering how long it would take me to adjust to feeding someone with a smaller appetite than mine. I turned my juice glass around in a circle, considering. "Bondage. A lot of bondage, actually. Ropes, cuffs, scarves, handcuffs--I liked it. Um...spanking, barehanded, toy play--some dildoes and plugs. A lot of attitude on...on his part; like I said, after a while he would forget the scene ended...and it just kind of...toward the end it was almost constantly 'Yes, Sir'... I seldom told him no on anything." I found the ring of moisture from my juice glass fascinating, and drew my finger through it, playing with the cool drops briefly before looking back up at Michael. "I don't want it as a lifestyle, particularly. But what I would like...is to get comfortable enough, eventually, that it's a fluid thing we can slip in and out of when we want to."

Michael: I heaved a sigh and ran my fingers through my hair. "That's so wrong, in so many fundamental ways. I will never, ever do that to you. Never. I know when a scene ends. I know when real life begins again. I don't mix the two."

Randy: I frowned and flicked the droplets of moisture off my fingertips. "Do you want concrete boundaries between sceneing, or would more...fluid work for you?" I met Michael's eyes and sighed. "I'm not talking about eschewing reality here, Michael. And I don't want a 24/7--I couldn't handle it. But I...there are times I want to...touch you...to..." I rolled my eyes and sighed again. "Some things are just easier for me to do...to *give*...from that part of me, if that makes any sort of sense."

Michael: I reached out and stroked the tops of his knuckles. "If you wish for fluid, I'm perfectly capable of that, as long as you understand and accept my list of absolutes. As I said before, I'll work with anything else. We start with what your comfort levels dictate. What would you like to start out doing?"

Randy: I laughed out loud. This was going to take some work, some adjustment. I'd never had anyone ask me what I was comfortable doing, what I wanted to do. Not in terms of bdsm games, at any rate. I shrugged. "Like I said, I like bondage. Spankings. I like things rough--" I grinned when his eyebrow went up again. "You keep doing that, I'm going to start calling you 'Mister Spock', darlin'. As I was saying, I like rough...I like the bits of pain I've had so far. Pinches, bites, stuff like that." I paused, then shrugged. In for a penny... "I want to serve you. Take care of you."

Michael: "Don't look so uncomfortable. It isn't a defect. It's a desire, and one I'm honored to accept. I've not been served or taken care of for quite awhile, and I'll be pleased to have you do it." I leaned forward and propped my chin in my hand. "Tell me. Do you like role-playing?"

Randy: Well. Nice to know I wasn't defective. I had to force my brain away from delicious images of what *taking care of* could mean. His last words penetrated, and I frowned at him. Role-playing? "I'm not really sure what you mean. Role-playing--what?"

Michael: I felt a slow grin curve my mouth. "Playing at being other people. Headmaster and recalcitrant pupil. Roman lord and slave. Policeman and suspect. That sort of thing. It's quite...freeing, actually."

Randy: I blinked a couple of times at him--at the grin spreading across his face, actually. "Um--I've never done that before--any of it. Obviously." The look on his face was enough to make me snicker, which made him laugh. After a moment of trying to hold back, I let go, feeling a little of the tension gathering in my neck and belly dissipate. When I could control myself again I took a long drink of juice, then tried words. "Isn't that...I mean, you enjoy it?"

Michael: He looked more relaxed, which made me relax in turn. "Oh, yes. With an inventive, clever partner, it's quite enjoyable. I've played both sides of the equation, so I can say that if you're looking to serve, playing the part of a slave is a good introduction to it."

Randy: "Huh." I shook my head. "I bow to the Master--literally. You'll have to guide me on that one, darlin'. I've never done anything like *play* someone else. I've only ever been...me." A thought occurred to me then, and I shifted around, settling so I could lean on the table. "Have you ever trained a sub before? Because that's basically what we're talking here, Michael."

Michael: "No. I've been in training myself, and have played with many subs. I have that knowledge. But to actually train someone? No, I've not." I shrugged. "If you wish to trust me with it, then we'll work on it, or I can give you the name of someone who would give you excellent training. It is utterly your choice, Caro." I regarded him steadily, though a small spark of jealousy sprang into being at my own words. I knew there would be no sexual relationship with the trainer I had in mind, but a part of me wanted to experience his learning first hand, to share it with him, to relish the closeness it would bring. But after hearing of his relationship with Bran, I was determined that all possible choices would be his. If he wanted someone else, someone more experienced, to train him, then I would support his choice.

Randy: "I trust you, Michael." I reached out and gripped his hand, feeling the slickness of sweat there that matched mine. "I don't want anyone else doing it. This is..." I frowned, feeling my ears and neck heating up. Dammit. "It's...too personal. If I were just looking to get my rocks off once in a while...but...it's *us*, y'know?"

Michael: I smiled, even when his fingers gripped mine a little too hard. I rubbed them with my thumb, and slowly, they loosened a bit. "I understand very well." And I was relieved, on many levels. The little spark of jealousy faded, and went out. I wanted him to myself for a little bit longer. We were good together in so many ways that I wondered if we would be good together in this. I suspected we would be. "What is your safeword, and your slow down word?"

Randy: I squeezed his fingers once more, then released him, though I didn't move away. "Safeword is sailing. Slow down is ocean."

Michael: I couldn't help but laugh. "Now, how did I know that would be the case? Mine was 'steeplechase'. My slow down was 'hunter'. Things I could easily remember."

Randy: "Hunter?" I eyed him then shrugged. "Well, yes. Easy words to remember, but not something I'm likely to call out in the height of passion." I grinned, then took a deep breath. "You want honesty...I'm nervous, Michael. I want this so bad...it's been crawling around inside me, wanting out, for so long. I know what I had with Bran wasn't a D/s relationship...it was...well, like you said--wrong. And I--love you...I think this can only enrich what we already have." Wow. I said it in the daylight, and the sky didn't fall down.

Michael: "It's all right to want things, to seek them out. It's all right to be nervous. The first time I ever played, I was afraid and nervous and excited. When I presented to Julian for training, I was terrified." I smiled, remembering almost twenty years ago; Julian's long, curly blond hair, angelic face, possessed of the devil's own iron will. Even afterward, we'd remained friends, if not lovers. "Believe me, I understand. But this comes from a basis of love and trust, and I think that yes, it will eventually bring us closer together."

Randy: "Julian was your--trainer? Master?" Michael nodded. God, I still just couldn't wrap my mind around that. I knew most people had some of both--Dom and sub--in them; even me, once in a while, had the urge, though it never really went very far. It wasn't my preference, by a long shot. But... I shook my head. "What would you like to be called?"

Michael: "Oh, I think simply 'Sir' will do," I replied. "I don't believe in a lot of fanciful things distracting from the experience. I don't tog myself out in leather and buckles unless I have a notion for it myself. I've been to clubs where it's all flash and show, and I've simply never gone for it." I shrugged.

Randy: "Sometimes it's flash and show--sometimes not." I settled back in my chair, remembering some of the guys I'd seen down in the district; some of them were showing off, but a lot of them weren't. I smiled. "Even as out of the loop as I am, I could tell when a guy wore a brand new, shiny jacket and creased levis and so on, he probably was trying for a look more than anything. I don't...get that feel from you. You--know what it's about." I nodded my head and quirked a smile at him. "Nice to meet you, Sir."

Michael: I leaned back in my chair, and crossed my long legs. I looked at him seriously for a long moment, long enough to make him uncomfortable, to make the smile fade. I reached within me for Sir, and found him, pulling his aura on like a familiar shirt.

"Address me properly," I said. "Show me the proper respect."

Randy: "I apologize," I said softly, a little surprised. I hadn't been expecting to really *meet* "him", which was probably why he was here. I pushed the chair back and stood up, then knelt before Michael, crossing my arms behind my back, a rush of uncertainty and desire gathering in my belly. Not sexual desire, rather a desire to please. I bowed my head and lowered my eyes. "I'm pleased and honored to meet you, Sir. Thank you."

Michael: I stood up. "Come, attend me," I said, and strode off toward the main room, where we would have more space to play. I didn't look back; I knew he would follow.

And he did, a silent shadow. When I reached the center of the room and turned, he dropped instantly to his knees and bent his head, his hands behind his back. I circled slowly around him, observant. "Straighten your back. Widen your knees." He obeyed instantly, and it pleased me. I could see a fine tremor across his shoulders, the light flush that crept up his neck and into his cheeks. I bent and raised his face. He lowered his eyes, long eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, but I'd seen how dark his eyes had been; he wasn't in any distress, but rather, in the beginnings of arousal. I released his chin, and nudged his thighs apart a little wider, so he was fully exposed. Much better. "In this time, in this place, I am Sir. You exist to please me. Your purpose is to please me. I am your focus, your entire world. My will is all. Do you understand this, Pet?" I kept my voice soft, deceptively gentle; I had never been one to raise my voice; quiet, I'd found, was much more effective.

Randy: It was absolutely like Michael had disappeared, letting this other person take control of his body. He looked the same, superficially, but his eyes were darker, sharper, catching minute details that might've escaped even Michael's eagle eye. I wondered idly if 'Sir' ever lurked in the boardrooms before snapping my attention fully on him. I nodded once, slightly, difficult with his hand still holding my chin, then cleared my throat. "You are my focus, my entire world. My purpose, the reason I exist, is to please you. I understand, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

He smiled and released my chin, then leaned closer, his lips ghosting over my ear briefly. If he said anything, I couldn't have said what it was, I was trying hard not to tremble. Arousal warred with uncertainty; this was what I wanted, but it was still new, still unknown. But...it was still Michael. He wouldn't hurt me. I knew that. I relaxed a little, took a deep breath, and straightened my back. I wanted this. I wanted to give this to him.

Michael: "You please me," I whispered into his ear, then straightened and stepped around behind him again, trailing my fingertips over his shoulder, then up his neck into short thick hair. "Listen, and remember, Pet. Everything you have belongs to me. Sweat, tears, blood, seed...everything is mine. Your pleasure is mine, to give or withhold, as I see fit. You will not come until I give permission." I slid my finger down his neck, slowly, over each bump of vertebrae, and watched as he shivered, as gooseflesh rose. "You will obey without hesitation. You will use your safeword. You will not attempt to exceed your limitations. Is this perfectly clear?"

Randy: I could smell him as he passed around me to stand before me once more, and my body throbbed once, my nipples hard beneath my t-shirt, my cock just full enough to make me feel achy. I looked upward at him, peering beneath my lashes. "I understand you, Sir. Do you want me to repeat the rules back to you, Sir?" He made a quiet assenting noise, and I drew in a full breath. "Everything I have belongs to you. My pleasure is yours to give me or withhold from me. I'm not to come without permission from you. I will obey with hesitation; I will use my safeword, and I am not to attempt to exceed my limitations. Sir, if I may ask a question?"

Michael: I stopped in front of him, then reached down and plucked the gold-framed glasses from his nose, folded the earpieces, and slipped them into the pocket of my sweats. Without them, he looked very young, very vulnerable. "You may ask."

Randy: I stuttered once as he tucked my glasses away; maybe I needed to think about contacts, after all. When I realized he'd actually answered me, I swallowed. "Thank you, Sir. I...about limitations... will you allow me to stretch them, under your supervision?" I tilted my head back to look at him, hating the way he blurred without the lenses. "I want to learn and grow, Sir. I know not all at once...I know we'll go slow...but...eventually?"

Michael: I ran my thumb across one sharp cheekbone. His mouth looked soft and very tempting. "I've told you what I expect from you...now, here is what you may expect from me. When you hand over your trust, your body, to me, I shall care for it like the precious gift it is. I'll take good care of you. I'll teach you what I know. I'll give you the respect you deserve for offering me your trust. I will give you many, many opportunities to expand your horizons, to lead you into new sensations and new experiences. All you have to do is trust me, and a whole new world opens for you, Pet. I'll give you pleasure you've never before had."

Randy: I stared up at him, squinting slightly to bring him slightly more into focus, then realized he wasn't out of focus because I didn't have my glasses; he was out of focus because I had tears in my eyes. Heat climbed through my face again. I don't cry. I hadn't cried since I was thirteen. Not once that I could recall. But kneeling there in our living room, soft grey light filtering in through the blinds, with Michael's--no, *Sir's*--finger stroking over my face, telling me he would take care of me, would take me places I'd never been before, give me experiences I'd never had before...I shuddered once and blinked furiously, then nodded. My voice came out soft and a little hoarse. "I trust you, Sir. With all of me."

Michael: I smiled down at him, then unable to resist any longer, pressed my mouth over his. So soft, so tender, so accepting, so giving. I pulled back slightly; his breath was warm and moist on my mouth. "We will do wonderful things together, Pet. I won't betray that trust."

Randy: I whimpered softly when he pulled away, staying close enough for me to feel his breath on my lips, but denying me his mouth. "Thank you, Sir. I won't betray your trust in me, either." I practically purred when he stroked his fingers through my hair again, wanting nothing more than to rub myself all over him, just to touch...to connect. It was odd to realize I felt exhausted and energized, all at once, and wondered if it had anything to do with the adrenaline rush I'd had in the last half-hour.

Michael: "Very good, Pet," I praised, and watched the shiver of pleasure work over him at my words. The tips of his ears pinkened slightly. "Let's have a simple lesson, and then end this session." I stepped back, considering. "Take off your clothes, then resume this position."

Randy: "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir." If nothing else, that stuck. Always be respectful, proper. I climbed to my feet and pulled my t-shirt over my head, folding it neatly before dropping it onto the nearest chair. It was odd to be undressing like this, so calculated, in the midst of the living room. Not that we hadn't ever had sex there--far from it. But not quite like this. I dropped my shorts down, feeling the tinge of embarrassment heating my face when I bent over to pick them up. When they were folded neatly atop my shirt, I slipped to knees, making sure to keep them wide open as Sir had told me earlier.

Michael: Nicely done; he moved with a sure grace. Lovely to look upon, his skin lightly tanned to the color of pale honey save at his groin, where it was lighter; he was still somewhat leery of sunbathing completely nude. His cock was erect, full and heavy, arching out before him, the big plum-shaped head pink and shiny with his juices. I slicked my thumb over the wetness and popped it into my mouth for a taste, and he made a soft sound of need and frustration. I nudged his thighs slightly further apart, until the muscles in his thighs tightened, the pushed on his shoulder a bit more, until his back was military straight. "This is your basic position. When you kneel before me, assume this position. Understand, Pet?"

Randy: I wondered how long it would be before hearing 'Pet' ceased to have such an effect on me. It felt like fire raced from my ears all the way to my toes each time he said it. I nodded. "Yes, Sir. This position is my basic position."

Michael: I tapped his shoulder. "Position two...arms up, lock your fingers together behind your neck, elbows up and back." I waited until he had obeyed. It was a nice position; it showed off the breadth of shoulder and the depth of his chest to best advantage, and when I stepped behind him, the definition of his back. "Positions three and four are the standing variations of these---three is parade rest, four is standing with your hands like this. Assume number three, then four."

Randy: "Yes, Sir." It came out hoarsely, but I doubted Sir noticed, or minded if he did. It wasn't like he couldn't tell, looking at me, that I was beyond aroused. I got to my feet and stood, spreading my legs to shoulder's-width, then crossing my arms behind my back at my wrists. Michael moved around behind me and pushed on my shoulders, straightening my position a little. I shifted then when he nodded, and locked my fingers together behind my head. A blush burned through me at the same time arousal zinged; this position felt...lewd, almost. It left me exposed and vulnerable--and feeling more so since Sir was still completely clothed.

Michael: "I like to look at you, Pet---it gives me pleasure. I also like to touch." I put one hand in the center of his chest, fingers spread, palm against his breastbone. I could feel the patter of his heart. I let my hand slide over his chest, so smooth and warm, to one rosy-brown nipple. It was hard and puckered beneath my fingertip, and I scratched at it a little with my nail. He shuddered beneath me, and his cock twitched. "I also like to touch. I shall touch you as I wish, but you will touch me only with my permission."

Randy: He scratched at my nipple once again, his eyes dark with--something. Heat, but something more, as well. I nodded. "Thank you, Sir. May I...may I ask permission to touch you? Or will you tell me?" I felt stupid, felt like I should know these things...but how could I? Michael said he'd help me. Guide me. Train me.

Michael: "I will tell you when," I replied, and slowly trailed my fingers down his flat belly. The muscles shivered beneath his skin, and his whole body tightened. I stopped when the backs of my knuckles brushed against his cock, and pulled my hand away; he made a quiet sound of displeasure. "Position five," I said crisply, "is hands and knees. Assume it."

Randy: "Yes, Sir. Thank you." I had several email friends who practiced 24/7, and while I felt a little like a parrot saying the same thing over and over, I knew it would get beyond this; we would learn from one another and talk while playing--though I would always be respectful of Sir. Not the casual respect I gave Michael, but far deeper, more proper. And, I reminded myself sharply, *I wanted this*.

I knelt down then, and leaned forward to get on hands and knees, my cock throbbing uncomfortably when Michael moved behind me and pushed my thighs further apart. He ran his finger down my spine, then down my cleft, brushing very lightly over my hole. I shivered and curled my fingers against the carpet, wanting to move back against him but knowing that would *not* be a good thing to do.

Michael: I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from chuckling; he was so responsive, and he wanted to arch into my touch so badly. But my will reigned; he would respond at my direction, not his desire. I pressed my thumb against his opening, and he hissed as it went in. He was so hot inside, so silky-smooth. He tightened around me reflexively, and I pulled out.

Oh, he didn't like that; the sound he made was quite unhappy. He was so hard it must be painful; his cock swayed heavily beneath him, red and very wet. I slipped my hand beneath him, fingers dancing over his perineum before settling into a figure eight movement, pressing inward, massaging his prostate from without. His hips jerked, beyond his control, and his balls pulled up tightly. His face was scarlet, and his eyes closed in concentration as he fought the needs of his body. I reached forward, encircled his balls, and squeezed and tugged downward sharply. The sound that wrenched from him was quite unhappy, indeed. "Not without my permission," I reminded sternly. "No matter what, not without my permission."

Randy: "Yes, Sir." I panted softly, the urge to thrust forward, to stroke myself within his hand almost overwhelming. He held me thus, my balls pulled tight away from my body, while he went back to his teasing, rubbing and massaging me. I groaned and bit my lip as hunger ratcheted higher. "Please, Sir...may I come?"

Michael: "No. You may not." He nodded tightly, and when his face began to shift into uncomfortable lines, I released him. Pressing a kiss to the low curve of his spine, I sat back on my heels. "Position six. On your back, knees up and wide."

Randy: "Yes, Sir. Thank you." At least I wasn't likely to embarrass myself again--for a few minutes. As much as I ached, it wasn't any worse than usual during sex, and he wasn't touching me now. I shifted over onto my back then drew my legs up until my knees were bent, and my legs were spread widely. I laced my hands behind my head for good measure, because I wanted nothing better than to grab my cock and jerk myself 'til I came. Also not a good idea. Jesus, one training session and I was on fire. Discipline--of the internal, personal sort--would probably be a good idea.

Michael moved between my legs again, kneeling before me, and I shuddered at the...power gleaming in his eyes. He could do anything he wanted to, to me--make me do anything he wanted. I didn't distrust him; he would use his power conservatively, moderately. But it was incredible to see fully what I'd had hints of for nearly three months. I felt honored, truly, that he was showing me this. I shivered again, feeling suddenly incredibly exposed, and not just because of my position.

Michael: I ran my fingertips over the taut muscles of his inner thighs. "Learning these positions accomplishes two things. The first relates to my pleasure--as I've said before, I like to look at you. In any of them, I'm afforded complete access. Secondly, they reinforce your place before me." I leaned in and licked behind his left knee, and nipped at the tender flesh. His eyes were almost black from the hugeness of his pupils, and he was one small step from begging me to come. I smiled down at him. "You are very beautiful like this," I said softly. I ran a finger over his sac, which drew up tightly again. "There is yet one more position, but I think we shall save that for later." I rocked to my feet. "You have done very well. Kneel up, and I will reward you."

Randy: "Thank you, Sir." He smiled again at me, at the hoarseness of my voice. I wanted to touch him, to hold him, to come with him, but a little voice cautioned not to. This was still very much Sir's game; he was getting his pleasure, if a very different sort than I was used to. I shifted into a kneeling position and waited, my mouth dry, to see what my reward would be. I was torn between wanting to come, and wanting to touch him.

Michael: I ran my hand over myself. I'd grown hard and full whilst touching him, and my erection surged against the soft material of my sweats. I ran my thumb over the wet spot where I'd leaked a little. His eyes followed every movement I made, and my cock throbbed demandingly. "You may touch me with mouth and hands. Suck me. Do it well, and I may allow you to come."

Randy: *Yes.* God, that was what I wanted. Forget my own coming...well, not completely, but it was His I wanted. I nodded my head, wondered if what I was feeling showed in my eyes, then muttered softly, "Yes, Sir. Thank you!"

He made a soft strangled sound when I mouthed him through the cloth, and I felt his fingers grip my hair, holding tightly. I flashed back to the night under the dock and my whole body throbbed hotly, my balls drawing up tight against my body. I reached down and grasped myself, short-circuiting the need for a moment. When I saw sure I wasn't going to spurt randomly, I looked upward, caught the faint amusement in Michael's eyes. "I'm sorry, Sir. I'm just--" I shook my head, not sure I could put what I felt into words. He nodded once, and pushed my head toward his groin, a not very subtle reminder of what I was supposed to be doing. I reached out and tugged his sweats down until his cock was free, then leaned forward and licked him slowly before taking him fully in my mouth.

Michael: Perfect. He set to his task with a passion, fiery and uninhibited. His strong hands moved up my thighs and spread over my hips, thumbs massaging my hipbones as his fingers tightened on my arse. I liked the bite of his fingers, it made the pleasure of his mouth even more intense.

My own fingers tightened in his hair, slowing him down; he was so enthusiastic that it felt as if it would end too soon. And greedy bastard that I was, I wasn't ready for it to be over. Obediently, he slowed, and I wasn't certain that was much better; it gave him ample opportunity to use his wicked, clever tongue to best advantage. I found myself responding, thrusting to meet him, going deeply into his mouth and throat.

My fingers eased in his hair, turned into pets and caresses as he opened himself to me, gave himself over to my desires. There was something quite empowering about having a strong man's willing submission; it was heady, like fine strong wine. His eyes drifted open slowly and looked up at me, black and unfocused; he drifted in that place just before tipping over into the space some subs attained in intense scenes. If he could come so close to it in such a mild scene as this, then I could only imagine where I could lead him in a more intense one.

Randy: A small, detached part of me laughed as it watched, seeing me getting all drifty and warm just from this small act. But I loved sucking cock, and it was a chance to what I'd been longing for--to worship him, even a little bit. I could say the words, I could touch him and love him, but it was hard for me to demonstrate or express how deeply I felt; I wasn't sure I had words. Not in any language I knew. And actions were hard, sometimes. Guys just didn't *do* some things. Like emote. But here, in this place, in this space, I could. No one judged us but ourselves, and Michael wanted it as much as I did, if for different reasons.

I let him slide partway out of my mouth, and then worked my tongue around and over the tip of his cock, tasting the bitter-salt flavor of semen leaking out. He spread his legs a little wider, increasing his base, and I dropped one hand to cradle and cup his sac, rolling his balls gently, then more firmly when he groaned. His fingers tightened again in my hair as he thrust forward going

deeper. I opened my mouth and swallowed, taking him as far down as I could, firmly squelching any gag reflex, letting him have the smooth, slick tunnel of my throat to fuck. It was an odd place to be, in my mind; I'd done this before, of course. Given him head like this. But...it was turning myself over to his desires, to do whatever he wanted--it left me warm and tingling, trembling with emotions I'd never quite tapped into before. It was heady, to say the least.

Michael: When he opened to me, surrendering utterly, giving himself over, a wild exaltation swept through me. I took and he gave, and it was wonderful, glorious, as if a circuit had been joined. Give and take, dominance and submission. I hadn't felt so freed in a long, long time. My orgasm swept over me like an electrical storm, and my fingers tightened in his hair as I held him in place and I gave him everything, poured all my essence into him, a cry of completion and triumph escaping me as I came.

Randy: He held himself in place, deep inside me while his cock pulsed, releasing his seed down my throat. I swallowed convulsively, missing the taste of it on my tongue, bitter and welcome. When he began to soften he started to pull back but I followed, licking and sucking, taking him back inside me, my nose pressing against the crisp wiry hair of his groin. He pulled back a second time and I shuddered, knowing I had to let him go. I could taste him on my tongue now and it completed the moment, the harsh flavor spreading over my taste buds. I sat back on my heels and crossed my arms behind me. My erection throbbed and pulsated in time with the blood pounding through my veins, but it seemed secondary, almost, in comparison to what I'd felt, hovering just within that place where I would do anything for Michael. I licked my lips and murmured, "Thank you, Sir."

Michael: His breath sounded as harsh as mine, his chest rising and falling as quickly as did mine. My blood sang in my veins, a song of completion and satisfaction. I tugged up my sweats, clamping down on the minute trembling of my hands. He should have tucked me back in, but I wouldn't reprimand him for it now.

I reached down and tipped up his face. His mouth was red and swollen, and a fine trickle of my seed had escaped one corner; I smoothed it off.

"Very good, Pet," I said softly. "You've done very well today. I'm pleased. I think we will have a very good time together."

Randy: "Thank you, Sir. I think so--too." I relaxed a little, taking care to keep my shoulders and back straight and firm, but not rigidly tense. My cock stood up straight between my thighs; I was very aware of it now, aching and hard, wanting relief. I wasn't sure if I should ask, or just wait; he'd said it was his choice to give me pleasure or not, but he'd also said if I did a good job he'd reward me. I didn't want to appear impatient or questioning. Maybe this was a test? To see if I trusted him to follow through? I sighed raggedly, unsure of myself and the situation. When in doubt, ask. I swallowed and tilted my head up minutely. "Permission to ask a question, Sir?"

Michael: I ran my fingers through my hair, and then stretched expansively. Satiation hummed through me, making me feel pleased and mellow. "You may ask, though I may not answer."

Randy: I was going to make a list of questions to ask him at some point when we were talking. I swallowed again. "Meaning no disrespect, Sir, but I don't know...what I should do. If I should do anything." He looked at me, eyes a little puzzled, and I wanted to frown. I was usually a *lot* better at communicating than this. "I know there isn't a handbook of rules for...this. But...do I...wait, now? On your pleasure? You said I'd be rewarded...and...sucking you was...wonderful. Do I ask? Or remind you? Or...just...wait?"

Michael: I reminded myself that even though he'd played, albeit in a skewed sort of way, he'd never had any sort of formal training. He was still too focused on his own needs, impatient, wanting to come. He'd need to learn that in this, those needs were secondary to mine, and that in pushing for his own release, he'd forgotten that my needs/wants/desires were paramount. In a trained sub, I'd come down hard for such impatience and forgetfulness of the rules; he was new, so I would be lenient. Once.

I squatted down in front of him so our faces were level. "First of all, save such questions for a time outside of this one." My voice was mild, though it brooked no argument. "I explained the rules at the outset, but evidently, you've forgotten them. Perhaps you need to be study them a bit more."

I rose and went to the study, picking up a pen and one of his yellow legal pads. I dropped them to the floor beneath his widespread knees. "Recall the rules I gave you at the beginning. Write each one fifty times. Perhaps that will help you to remember them." The corner of my mouth quirked. "It will, at least, temper your impatience a bit. When you are finished, you may tell me."

Ignoring his look of disbelief, I turned calmly, went to my chair, and picked up the novel I'd been reading the night before, and settled in comfortably.

Randy: I stared after him, my brain buzzing furiously. I could feel the heat in my face; it was a combination of embarrassment and fury--how dare he treat me like a child?! I was willing to bet my memory was a thousand times better than his ever would be. I drew myself up, ready to say something, anything, that would end this--and then sat back again, staring at the paper in front of me.

*I* asked for this. I wanted to serve, to submit, to give myself to him. He was interested, yes. More than interested. But I'd initiated it, I'd been the one to push the discussion, I'd been the one who wanted to learn. To grow. And I was impatient. I always had been; it was, Sarah liked to tell me, somewhat the curse of an overly inquisitive brain. In my quest to learn as much as I could, I sometimes skipped steps--or tried to. Walking before crawling, that sort of thing. But skipping steps here wouldn't do me any good, because--by my choice--I had to answer to someone else. In this place, in this time, *I had to answer to Michael.*

I thought back to what he'd said, the points he'd outlined both in our discussion, then once he had me on my knees. D/s, it seemed, wasn't just about leather and pleasure, it was about discipline--inward, personal discipline, as well as being disciplined by someone else. And it seemed it wasn't just about someone taking a strap to my ass--discipline apparently came in many, many different forms. 'Pride goeth before a fall,' was how the quote went, and Michael saw mine and decided to take it down a couple of notches. My mouth quirked slightly; it was sure as hell working. I picked up the pen and pad, and shifted slightly to hold them better, then began to write.

Michael: Although I pretended to read, and even turned pages, my attention was wholly upon Randy---Pet. I didn't need to be a mind reader to know what went on inside his head; his thoughts were quite clear by the tense set of his shoulders and the tic of the muscle in his jaw. He was a prideful man, and I'd sharply pricked that pride by treating him as a schoolboy. But in this, no matter how intelligent he was, he *was* a student. And sometimes the old ways were the most effective.

And as prideful as he was, he was also impatient, never a virtue, but even less so in this game. We would need to work on that, but we had time.

When he finally reached forward and picked up the paper, I smiled inwardly.

Randy: Halfway through the writing I had to stop and switch hands. Writing with my left never looked quite as neat--if that word could even remotely be attached to my handwriting--as with my right, but it would do. I'd forced myself to learn to be ambidextrous years ago when I realized I was going to be forever taking notes on anything and everything. It helped cut down on muscle cramps and spasms.

It seemed to take hours to get the points--rules--written out. Fifty times each. Made me wonder how often Michael got in trouble in school, actually. I'd have to ask him sometime. I knew it wasn't as long as it seemed; maybe an hour, if that. At last I was able to set the pad back on the floor, my hands cramping and my knees complaining about the length of time spent kneeling, but my temper cooled and settled as well. No big surprise my erection was gone completely, too. I sighed, but shrugged mentally; my own fault. I should have waited. If nothing else, maybe I'd learn to be patient--even if it killed me.

I rolled my shoulders once, then sighed again and called out softly, "I'm finished, Sir."

Michael: "Are you now?" I closed my book and set it back on the table beside the chair. "Bring it to me, and let me see."

He scooted forward and handed me the tablet. Pages of writing, in his bold, scrawled hand. The first pages were legible; the second half less so. I'd seen him switch hands about halfway through, so I wasn't surprised by the decline in neatness. I was impressed that he was ambidextrous; I'd never noticed before. He had numbered each rule, from one to fifty so that I could easily see he'd done his work. I appreciated that.

I set the tablet atop my book. "I will keep this for you. I suspect that in the future, we may need to refer to it, and perhaps repeat the exercise."

His mouth firmed somewhat at that, but he lowered his eyes respectfully. I leaned forward and cupped his chin, my face close to his.

"Remember, Pet. Your pleasure is mine, to give or withhold. In this game, it no longer belongs to you. It is not your focus. I am your focus. Are we clear upon this point?"

Randy: I nodded shortly, wanting to pull away but reminding myself again I *wanted* to be there. It was like anything else, there was always a good side and a bad side. In this case, I'd likely be hyperaware of both. "Very clear, Sir. And--" I swallowed hard, then muttered, "thank you...for correcting me, Sir."

Michael: "It is one of my duties to correct you when it is appropriate."

I didn't think him very pleased, though I gave him points for maintaining his submissive role. It was, as in everything else, something to be learned. And he would learn; he wanted this so very much, and would be a good pupil.

"Now then. Kiss me, and then you may dress, and the session will be ended."

Randy: "Yes, Sir. Thank you." I said the words softly, my mouth already close to his. I wasn't sure what sort of a kiss was appropriate--and at this point I sure as hell wasn't about to ask--so just leaned forward. Michael's mouth was soft, but firm, and wonderful to kiss. It was one of the things I loved to do most, to spend a lot of time kissing him. He didn't control the kiss at all, but rather seemed to relax back and see what I would do. That was my first clue not to push this too far--*I* loved to kiss him, but this wasn't about me. It was his pleasure, still. I tasted him very briefly then pulled back.

Michael: "Nicely done, my Pet," I murmured, pleased. I meant it; though he had tripped up, I'd corrected him, and it was finished, as far as I was concerned. No more penalties, no recriminations. I slid my hands over his shoulders and up his neck, cradling his face in my hands, and leaned in and kissed his forehead, damp with sweat. Julian had always kissed me thusly when we ended a session, and the sweetness and kindness of it had always made me feel warm and treasured. I hoped to pass that feeling to Randy, as I did treasure him, far more than ever he would expect.

Randy: "Thanks." The kiss on the forehead was--different. Not sexual at *all*; rather, it made me feel...cared for. Cherished? I actually felt so many things inside just then it was hard to sort them all out into anything resembling coherency. I settled for leaning against him, savoring his warmth for a moment, before drawing back to look at him. "I think I have more questions now than I had before. And I think I *really* need to be dressed to ask them." I hesitated, then smiled grudgingly. "I didn't realize it would be so...difficult."

Michael: "Movies and books and such make it seem so simple. A strap to the arse, some bits of leather and silver...it's far more than that. We'll explore it together, I promise. Nothing too difficult, but then again, nothing too easy, either." I smiled at him, and leaned back in my chair as he rose to dress.

Randy: I