Christmas At Leo's - Memoirs Of A Houseboy (33 page)

My mother wasn’t yet dead, but knowledge that her time was limited meant the mourning process had already begun. My feelings were rolling between anger, guilt and sorrow. I couldn’t get a handle on them at all.

I tried to slip out of bed, but Shane wasn’t as asleep as I thought he was. Crafty Daddy. He restrained me, speaking in a hushed voice so as not to disturb Dick.

“Do you need to use the toilet?”

“No.”

“Then why are you getting out of bed?”

“I can’t sleep. I thought I’d nip downstairs and read for a while.”

“Cultivate that mood you slipped into earlier you mean. I don’t think so, Gilli. You need to calm your mind. You need rest.”

“I won’t cultivate anything. I...”

He interrupted me. “I said no, and that’s an end to it.”

Tucking me against his body, he instructed me to close my eyes and do a mental countdown from one hundred. From the tone of his voice I suspected there was an ‘or else’ clause attached to the instruction. Knowing him, it would involve me counting forwards while his hand laid waste to my backside. Closing my eyes, I began the countdown, relaxing into his embrace as I did so. The last number I recalled before sleep claimed me was twenty-three.

Chapter Sixteen - Bondage Day

Next morning, I knew before even opening my eyes that I wasn’t in a good mood, not a bad mood exactly, just not a good one. IEM was hovering in the background waiting for a chance, or excuse, to take the helm.

I’m not keen on Boxing Day at the best of times. It’s imbued with a deep sense of anticlimax, almost betrayal, for me anyway. I always feel grieved, as if in mourning for the passing of Christmas Day. I wanted to retain it, to re-live it, not because I’d enjoyed it, but in the hope it would divvy up what I’d wanted it to divvy up, and not in a material sense. Material gifts are nice, but they don’t fill the hollow places within you. They can’t heal the painful nicks in your soul.

Red Alert:
the houseboy is about to spout one of his home grown philosophical theories:
religion and commerce have a lot to answer for. They’ve conspired to hype Christmas into a supernatural, magical event with the potential to create miracles and grant wishes, if only you pray or spend hard enough. It’s all complete and utter bollocks. No wonder it brings a sense of disappointment to so many people. You wake up on Boxing Day and realise that nothing has changed. You’re still the same and all the hurts you had before Christmas are still there, still intact. The only thing Christmas has done is to make you feel them ever more keenly.

Anticlimax aside, anxiety was also prevalent on this particular Boxing Day, or should I say Bondage Day, at least under Leo’s roof. It was the day of the BDSM party. Much of the population would be nursing hangovers and thinking of ways to use up leftovers from the two-ton turkey they dished up on Christmas Day, but not at Leo’s place. Leo’s place would be echoing to the squeak, shriek and groan of leather clad kinksters engaging in a pain and sex festival. Turkey sandwiches would be notable by their absence. Hellmann’s Mayonnaise was more likely to be used as a sex toy lubricant than a sandwich condiment.

I was worried. Would Shane really use me in a public spanking display, as he had threatened? I could have asked him. He was awake. I sensed it, even though I still had my eyes shut and my back to him. I didn’t ask, because given my mood, I knew it would sound like another assault on his authority. He would make known his intentions soon enough.

I opened my eyes, examining the darkness. I needed a pee, but couldn’t be bothered to move. Moving would insinuate I was ready and willing to face the day. I wasn’t.

Shane confirmed he was indeed awake and knew that I was awake by asking a question.

“What are you thinking about, Gilli?” He looped his arm over me.

It was a clear invitation to confide, but all I could find to say was, “my bladder. I need a pee.”

“Then you’d better ask my permission to go and relieve yourself.”

“I can’t be pestered.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Such was his tone that I made haste to elaborate. “To pee. I mean I can’t be pestered to pee.”

He spoke in a hard whisper, his breath heating the side of my face. “Go to the bathroom. Piss away that attitude while you’re at it, because I won’t be tolerating it today.”

I got up and hurried to the bathroom, closing the door behind me, leaning back against it, dismayed at being called on an attitude I had not consciously sought to display. It did not bode well for the day ahead. I’m crap at disguising my feelings. Though in my own defence, Shane is like a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out dissent of any kind.

I emptied my bladder and shook the pup, tucking it back into my shorts. I washed my hands. I then examined my face in the mirror, honing in on my snitch area, as was my habit, or my obsession. A few new spots had joined the old ones overnight, probably fertilised by all the rich food and copious amounts of chocolate I’d consumed the day before. I even had a couple on my forehead. The bastards had obtained passports and were travelling. I bet Vince and Jak, the BDSM string up boys, wouldn’t be waking up to plague faces. Lucky sods!

Getting out my cleansing pads, I wiped a couple over my skin, taking care not to rub too hard. I washed my hands again and dried them. It was cold in the bathroom, my breath visible in the air. It made the thought of returning to a warm bed a pleasant one, despite Shane being in it.

Fixing what I imagined was a neutral look on my face I opened the bathroom door and walked back into the bedroom. I was met with an atmosphere so dense it made my bowels knot like an illustration from an ad for IBS medicine. The air all but crackled with a dangerous tension.

Shane was no longer in bed. He was standing by the side of it. Dick was also up, but not standing. He was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed with his hands behind his back. The look on his face was suggestive of slight bewilderment. I guessed his awakening had fallen into the ‘rude’ category and had not been strictly voluntary. Unease prickled my skin. Something was afoot.

Shane motioned me towards him. I couldn’t move, my feet felt glued to the floor. I folded my arms across my chest, trying to appear calm and cool. My voice came out higher than I meant it to. I sounded like a helium addict. “What’s going on?”

There was a second of absolute stillness, broken when Shane dived for me. Thank heavens I’d emptied my bladder. If I hadn’t there would have been a mini flood on the floor. Hooking his arms around my body, he swung me off my feet and carried me over to the bed, dumping me on my back. I tried to sit up, but he pushed me down again, pinning my hands above my head. He leaned his face close to mine, looking meaner than I’d ever seen him, his stubble all but scraping my chin.

“You’re incapable of obeying even the simplest instruction without opening that big mouth of yours to question.”

I tried to twist my hands free. “What are you doing? Why are you being like this? What have I done?”

“There you go again, questioning, always questioning. You’re the boy who doesn’t know when to shut up.”

I gave a squeal of mingled fright and pain as he flipped me onto my front, as easily as if I were an egg in a frying pan. He issued a succession of slaps to the seat of my shorts.

“When I tell you to do something, you will do it, at the time I tell you to do it, and without comment.”

He turned me sunny side up again. I knew my eyes were already the size of saucers, so alarmed was I with the turn of events. They widened further at his next words.

“I’ve given this considerable thought. I believe you and Dick have unfinished business from the other morning. I think it needs to be finished as a point of principle.”

“What business?” I stared at him. “What do you mean?”

He pushed up his eyebrows. “More questions? Really?”

The slaps were harsher second time around. I was on the verge of tears when he turned me over to face him.

“Are you done flapping your mouth?”

I gave a vehement nod.

He continued. “In my opinion, this particular wave of moody defiance seems to have originated in bed and it’s going to end in bed, but not on your terms, and not under your control.”

What? I puzzled over his meaning, and then comprehension dawned. He was referring to the aborted intimacy between Dick and I on the day I went to visit my mother. I struggled, trying to free my hands from his. “If you think I’m in the mood for sex, you must be raving mad.”

He tightened his hold on me. “Your role is to serve Dick and I however and whenever we want, regardless of whether or not you’re in the mood. You’ve pushed us beyond patience with your behaviour over the past few days. I don’t blame you entirely. Dick allowed your mood to flourish on Tuesday morning, after you attempted to punish him for not being allowed to drink at the party the night before. He let you slip away before matters were properly concluded between you. Your moods rule our lives far too much. I think a lesson in sexual submission will help you remember your place and remind Dick of his duty to keep you in it.”

I struggled again, stating stubbornly. “I don’t want sex.”

“What
you
want is irrelevant.” He gave a sadistic little smile. “You’ve given us nothing but stress for weeks and now you’re going to give us pleasure, whether you want to or not. Your permission isn’t requested or required.”

My heart raced. I felt light-headed. Was he serious? Was this for real, or was it a power game engineered to set the stage for the day ahead? I enjoy ‘forced’ sex upon occasion. I love the sense of being conquered and owned. However, while rough sex as a game is bloody good fun, rough sex as a form of discipline certainly is not. I’d experienced the latter before and it had scared the hell out of me. Dick’s silence, his submissive stance and the bemused look I’d observed on his face, pointed towards it not being a game, not one he was in on anyway. I used his name as an appeal for enlightenment. “Dick?”

Shane replied on his behalf. “You’re not allowed to speak to him. If you must speak to me, then you’ll address me as Sir or Master.”

Rebellion flared. Game or discipline, I wasn’t going to submit meekly. “Screw you,
Sir
.” I squirmed furiously, succeeding in loosening his hold on my hands. Pulling them free, I threw myself sideways, aiming to roll off the other side of the king-sized bed.

He caught hold of my top, dragging me back towards him, ripping the material in the process.

“Bastard!” I lashed out with my feet, catching him a blow on the arm. It had zero effect. He overpowered me, wrestling me onto my stomach. Pulling my arms behind my back, he barked instructions at Dick.

“Get up! Fetch my rope and knife. They’re in the top drawer. Cut some wrist and ankle lengths. Be quick.”

I heard Dick scramble to obey. I was pinned so tight to the mattress I couldn’t move an inch. I felt as helpless as a flipperless seal. I had my mouth, though, and would have used it, if Shane hadn’t forestalled me.

Leaning down, he trickled words of warning in my ear. “You, my little spitfire, are not permitted to speak a word from this point on. I’m sick of the sound of your complaining voice. Utter so much as a syllable and I’ll punish you with a flogging you’ll never forget, and I’ll invite the rest of the household to witness it.”

I believed him.

I couldn’t see Dick, my face was turned away from him, but he had obviously fulfilled the order to cut lengths of the rope. Shane used one of them to bind my wrists behind me, twisting and knotting it with effortless efficiency. I tried to resist, but it was useless. He was too strong for me.

I whimpered as he tugged my shorts down and off, fearing another spanking. It didn’t materialise. Instead, he crossed my ankles and bound them together. Using the ropes like sack handles he positioned me in the middle of the bed.

“Up!”

He landed a searing smack to the centre of my bare bottom and then gripped my hips, roughly lifting and manoeuvring my lower body into a kneeling position, leaving my upper chest and the side of my face pressed into the mattress. It was a cruelly uncomfortable position.

“Get your pretty little arse up in the air and keep it there. Slide out of position and I’ll flay you alive.”

He moved away from the bed, ordering Dick to strip off.

I couldn’t see either of them, but I could hear their movements as they shed their sleep garb. I wanted to ask what the hell they were going to do to me, but I didn’t dare speak for fear of precipitating the threatened flogging. Anxious anticipation made me convulsively clench my arse cheeks. I felt exposed and vulnerable as never before.

I jumped, making a squawking sound when Shane’s fingers invaded the crease between my buttocks, smearing lavish globs of lube around my anus, poking it inside to grease my rectum. It felt freezing cold. Goosebumps sprinkled my body.

After wiping his lube sticky fingers in my hair, Shane leaned down, pushing his face close to mine. “You’re going to stay quiet and take what we give. Orgasm is not permitted. If you have the audacity to come without my permission I will punish you. Sex is for our pleasure, not yours.”