By His Rules (5 page)

what
I
want—he expects whatever pleasure I get to come

from serving him. I’m going to see him three times a

week. He’s gonna train me.”

“So what, you’re like, his slave?”

“No. I’m his sub, but it’s… real. We’re not playing

around.” Aiden bit his lip, frustrated that he couldn’t

explain it better.

Hera put out her cigarette. “Well, hey, be careful,

all right?”

“Be careful,” Aiden mocked. “Jeez, does being

married to two people give you double the mom

syndrome?” It bothered him that he’d never really be

able to explain Scott to anyone. But maybe that was part

of what was so incredible about this experience—that it

was
his
experience and couldn’t be shared. Scott made

him feel alive, powerful, full of potential. Scott was

going to break him down and build him back up. No,

better, he was going to force Aiden to build
himself
back

up. That was the beauty of Scott, that he didn’t expect

Aiden to lie—or stand, or kneel, or crouch—passively

and take it. He expected active participation, honest

reactions. True obedience.

He held the door for Hera, and the two of them

entered the dim, red-white-and-wood guts of Joe’s

Steakhouse. Immediately Hera was sent to the tables,

and Aiden was told to roll silverware and refill ketchup

bottles. All he could think about was Monday night. And

Scott.

Except that thinking about Scott made his cock stir.

And there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn’t

touch himself for one week. Even if he made it through

the week, there was no guarantee Scott would allow him

release Monday night. Scott had said he didn’t care at all

about Aiden’s dick.

How would Scott possibly
know
? If Aiden jacked off

tonight, he could go the next six days without it and be

convincingly hungry and desperate by the time he got to

Scott’s on Monday.

It can’t be healthy, after being blue balled all night, to
not

get release.

He grew angrier at the injustice of it.

Who is Scott to try to run my life even when he’s not

around? He’s a bossy prick, no different from those doms he was

talking about who just want to feel powerful. What the hell right

does he have to call me Shithead or tell me I don’t know how to

suck dick?

Aiden was sure he was going to listen to the devil

on his shoulder and go home and jack off.

Then the angel started making its case.
I promised

him. He gave me an order, and I said I’d obey. He
is
a good top.

I’d never find anyone else like him around here in a million

years. He doesn’t baby me. He’s going to let me find out what

I’m really made of.

“Aiden?”

Rima’s voice startled him. He was grateful for the

apron he wore that covered his crotch.

“Section four. Now.”

He watched her hurry away.
If you had any idea what

I’m thinking about. What I do. Who I am. I’m not your little

slave boy. I am somebody’s slave boy, though. I’m so much more

than Joe’s, so much more than this town. I want to see more, do

more, experience more than anyone else. I want to know what it

means to be alive.

And I have someone who’s going to teach me.

* * * *

shirt and tossed it over a chair. He looked at the pile of

grad school applications on his desk. He’d been thinking

about getting his MFA in Theater for a while now. If he

got into a good program, like UC Irvine or Case Western,

he wouldn’t even have to pay for school—they’d cover

his tuition and give him a stipend. Plus he’d receive his

Actor’s Equity card as part of the degree. Pursuing a

master’s was a good move, one that would get him far

away from this dump of a town. He just couldn’t seem to

find the motivation to complete the applications.

Personal statements? CVs? Auditions, interviews? At

least most of the applications weren’t due until the end

of December. He still had three months.

He undid his belt, and the act sent a rush of heat to

his groin as he remembered Scott’s belt whistling

through the loops in his pants, then doubled in Scott’s

hand, then slamming against Aiden’s ass. If he stayed in

tonight, there was no way he’d be able to keep from

touching himself. The solution was to get out, stay busy.

He changed and headed for the gym, where he lifted

weights for over an hour.
You want me to bulk up, Scott?

All right
. At home, he showered with the water as cold as

he could stand it, then put on clean underwear and

climbed into bed.

Don’t think about Scott, don’t think about Scott, don’t

think about Scott…

Baseball. Howler monkeys. Rima Wells’s camel toe.

Don’t touch your dick, don’t touch your dick, don’t touch

your dick…

Rent due in a week. The Dow. Steve Buscemi in a

speedo.

Don’t think about…don’t touch…don’t want…

Buscemi in a G-string. Roadkill puppies. Linear

equations.

Don’t, don’t, don’t…

It was useless. His mind was strewed with Scott.

There’s no way he could know. No way. Unless you tell

him. So just do it. Just jerk off and don’t tell him.

He reached down and gave his dick an

experimental stroke.

He let out the breath he’d been holding for what felt

like all day.
Scott, Scott, Scott…
He stroked again, and the

tension left his neck and shoulders, his head. He

wrapped his fist around his dick and tugged, teasing the

head with his fingertips, thinking about the pulsing

veins in Scott’s cock, about tongue fucking Scott’s slit.

Scott’s deep voice ordering him to sit, stand, bend

over…

It only took a few seconds. He lay back on the bed,

relaxed and already half-asleep.

Scott never needed to know.

On Monday, Aiden woke at six a.m. even though he

didn’t have to be at work until ten. His cock was half-

hard. He didn’t touch it—hadn’t touched since that first

night.

It’s not like I really did anything wrong.

So why couldn’t he shake the guilt gnawing at him?

The fear that Scott really
would
be able to tell?

He dressed and went running. He liked what

running did for his mind, as well as for his ass and legs.

The world seemed to open up for him out here in the

chilly morning. His breath burst into the clear air in brief

clouds, and his footsteps echoed in the silent

neighborhood.

One application. That’s what he’d do before work,

complete one grad school application. It would help take

his mind off tonight.

Tonight.

His first night of training.

What would Scott do to him? What did “training”

entail?

I am a good sub, he thought. I do what I’m told. I

make my doms happy. I just… have never been pushed.

Never had to do anything difficult or unpleasant. I’ve

played the role of a submissive, but I’ve never truly

surrendered.

Aiden had had an acting professor at State

University who’d said an audience couldn’t tell on a

conscious level when you were phoning in a

performance. If you did everything technically right, the

audience would leave thinking you were a good actor.

But if you had what the professor had called “the

transcendent experience” of inhabiting your character,

totally immersing yourself in the story, living every

moment onstage as though it was a moment of your own

life—the audience would absorb that on a subconscious

level and leave the theater understanding that they’d

witnessed something divine.

Most tops couldn’t tell that Aiden was phoning it

in. They didn’t realize that, far from trusting them

enough to hand them his soul, Aiden held back his true

submissive self, offering instead a caricature of a sub

who knew his manners, who could assume all the

necessary positions, who was familiar with the requisite

toys and equipment. Scott knew Aiden was used to

faking. Scott knew, and he wasn’t going to allow it. Scott

made Aiden
want
to be more, to immerse himself in

submission. To create something divine.

Work passed in a daze. Aiden couldn’t eat anything

all day; his stomach was jumpy. He did as Scott had

ordered and drove straight to Scott’s house without

changing or showering—though he smelled like steak

sauce and felt oddly self-conscious in the tight black

work trousers that showcased his butt (he and Hera had

an ongoing argument over whose ass earned more tips),

and a black button-down shirt stained here and there

with horseradish sauce and barbecue.

He stood on Scott’s small, tidy porch and knocked

—then remembered Scott had told him to let himself in.

He turned the knob. Unlocked. He entered the unlit hall,

shutting the door behind him.

It was colder in the house than outside. He

shivered. No way could he take his clothes off—he’d

freeze. He stood for a moment in the dark, listening to

the hums and clicks of the house. A light was on in the

kitchen, but otherwise there was no sign that anyone was

home.

He started to call Scott’s name but stopped. Scott’s

instructions had been clear. He was to undress. Kneel.

And wait.

He removed his shoes and socks and placed them

by the door, then unbuttoned his shirt with trembling

fingers. He clenched his teeth, trying not to let them

chatter. Why would Scott have the AC on? Aiden’s

nipples stiffened as the cold air slammed his skin. He

folded his shirt and put it on a nearby table. He undid

his fly and slid his pants down, stepping out of them and

folding them. Even though he was alone, he hesitated

before pulling down his briefs. Once he took his

underwear off, he would be totally naked.

He closed his eyes and slid his briefs off. Put the

folded clothes with his shoes. Knelt.

After several minutes, the chill grew unbearable.

His knees ached, both from cold and from holding his

position. He shifted as much as he dared, trying to lessen

the strain on his leg muscles. His stomach growled.

He needed something else to concentrate on. The

floorboards. Spotlessly clean—he could tell even in the

dark; there was no grit under his feet.

The chattering of his teeth seemed horribly loud in

the silent house. He couldn’t stop digging at a hangnail

on his thumb. God, if Scott didn’t show up soon… He

thought about what Scott had said:
A pretty boy who calls

himself submissive, but only ever really thinks about his own

desires
. He couldn’t let that be true. He wanted nothing

more than to please Scott.

Kneeling with his legs spread made him aware of

how vulnerable he was. He thought about Scott’s cock

filling his opening, Scott’s body pressed against his,

warming him. His cock, which had shriveled from the

chill, hardened slightly.

He stopped moving and bowed his head,

surrendering both to his absent master and to the

understanding that his own needs didn’t matter, didn’t

exist
. He stopped shivering and held his position, feeling

neither discomfort nor resentment nor fear. After a few

moments, he heard footsteps approaching.

“Keep your eyes closed.” Scott’s voice was quiet

and sent a shiver through Aiden that had nothing to do

with the cold.

He could smell Scott in front of him—cologne,

soap, traces of sweat and arousal. Scott took his wrists

and pulled him up, made him stand with his arms out

like wings while he circled Aiden, silent, predatory.

Aiden inhaled as Scott’s fingertips ghosted the area

under his left armpit. Scott ran his fingers down Aiden’s

side to his hip, then moved behind him and placed both

palms under Aiden’s arms and rubbed firmly down his

sides. He grabbed Aiden’s ass and squeezed until Aiden

groaned.