Gilliflowers (46 page)

My mouth went bone dry while my palms broke a sweat. After breakfast action looked to be a certainty, but not the pleasurable kind I’d hoped for. The moment had arrived. I’d wanted it over and done with, but now I wanted it a million miles away again. I stared at Shane through a blur of moisture.

“You knew it was coming, Gilli.” Scraping back his chair he stood up and motioned me to do the same.

“What are you going to do, what is Dick setting out?”

“You’re due a caning.”

My knees went to jelly. “Shane.” I reached my arms around his body, bunching his shirt material in my hands, pressing my face against his chest.

He put a hand to my head, cupping it. “Hard limits are important in our lifestyle, Gilli. They’re vital both in play and everyday life. They’re about safety. They don’t exist to make you miserable. They exist to help keep you safe. You don’t break them.

You have epilepsy, a condition requiring management and it’s time for you to stop being wilfully blind to it. Do you really imagine it will go away if you ignore it long enough?”

“Yes!” I vehemently deposited the word into his tear damp chest. “I refuse to give in to it. I won’t stick epileptic as a label on the suitcase of my life. If I do it will be like giving it permission to have a permanent part in my life and I won’t do it, Shane.

I fucking won’t! It went away once and it will go away again.”

“It didn’t go away, petal. It was there, in a kind of remission perhaps, but still there. It’s back now and it’s worse and it has to be acknowledged and managed.”

Peeling me away from his body he took my face between his hands, saying fiercely, “and it will be, with or without your cooperation. Surely after that fall you have to admit how right it was for Dick and I to ban alcohol?”

“The problem was drinking too much after not drinking for ages. I’d have been all right if I’d stuck to a pint or a glass of wine. I still don’t see why I can’t have the odd tipple, even if it’s just a glass of champagne on special occasions.”

He let go of my face so he could use his hands to style his hair in a coiffure of despair. “If you were a haemophiliac you’d have bled to death by now as a result of jumping off cliffs without so much as a fucking Elastoplast in your pocket.”

He grasped my shoulders. “Listen to me, you infuriating, perverse young man.

Alcohol is a hard limit, medicine is a hard limit and they will remain so. Breach them and you will be punished each and every time. I’m going to cane you this morning and then you’re going to put this sorry episode behind you and get on with life as a teetotaller.”

Turning me round he gave my backside a smart slap. “Discipline will take place in the single room. Go on up.”

I did as I was told, walking with leaden steps. He followed close behind, shutting the bedroom door behind us. The single room is cool, calm and spacious with minimal furniture, which is probably why he chose it, but at that moment it felt as confining as a cage. My heart hammered against the walls of my chest. There was a pillow folded over the low rail at the foot of the bed and on the bed itself were two canes, a robust junior and a longer thicker senior cane. Two canes! My palms released another burst of sweat. I was going to be punished with two canes.

“Where’s Dick?” I demanded, tearfully querulous. “I want him.”

“Stop it. You’re not inveigling Dick into the role of rescuer. You’re going to take what you’ve earned so let’s get it over with.” He reached for the button on my jeans.

I blocked his hand. “Can’t I keep them on, Daddy, please?”

“No.”

He pushed my hand away and briskly undid them, tugging them down along with my briefs, making me step out of them.

“I want to see what I’m doing. Besides a caning can hurt more over clothing and it can do serious damage. Bare flesh compresses under the stroke and forms a cushion.

If I really wanted to be cruel and make you suffer I’d cane you over thin tight trousers so you got the full impact of the stick.”

Taking my arm he positioned me over the pillow. I instinctively resisted, giving a squawk of shock as his hand struck the centre of my buttocks with a resounding smack. His voice also shocked with a harsh tone that made me quail.

“No more stalling! Bend over and stay over! Keep your legs straight, knees together, bottom presented. No wriggling about. I mean it, boy. Do not try and get up.

You stay over the pillow and you keep your hands out in front of you. If you move out of position at any time during discipline I will spank you and then we’ll start over.”

He picked up the junior cane and showed it to me. “Six full cuts.” He touched my shoulder and then moved away from me.

Oh God. I closed my eyes tight, my entire body stiffening in anticipation of the stroke. The air stirred and then lightening struck the lower quadrant of my buttocks. It was so intense that for a moment it rendered me unable to utter a sound, but only for a moment. I roared at the top of my lungs as the fire took hold and began to burn and build. I knew without a doubt I had received the first genuine cane stroke of my life.

Nothing that had gone before compared to it. The nursery caning diminished to a tickling.

Jesus Christ Almighty! I screeched and clutched the bedcover, tears spurting from my eyes as the cane struck my flesh again feeling like steel cable. Shane was using his full strength and expertise to advantage, delivering fierce strokes. Six might not be a great number, but he was ensuring I felt every single one of them. I wanted to jump up and beg him to stop, but I knew it would do nothing other than prolong the hell. I stayed in place, praying for it to be over.

He didn’t draw out the punishment, but there was a brief pause between each stroke as he inspected my backside and looked to see where to land the next one. By the time the sixth powerful lash landed I was a sobbing snotty mess. There is nothing more horrible than real cane pain. My cock and balls had all but drawn up inside my body, shrivelled by the severity of it.

“I was going to give you a deterrent stroke with the senior cane, so you’d know what to expect if you break the rule again, but I think you’ve had enough.” He tossed the cane on the bed and then helped me to a standing position. “Come to Daddy. It’s over now. Calm down.” Drawing me into his arms he held me until I regained some semblance of control. “That was a proper punishment, Gilli, and you deserved it.” He pushed a hand through my sweat damp hair. “You broke an important rule and you broke trust with Dick and me. Do it again, my boy, and you’ll get a set with the senior cane and it will hurt a lot more, understand?”

“Yes, Daddy,” I wiped my snotty nose with the back of my hand. “I understand.”

“Good. Now let’s get on with our day. I think I can sense Dick hovering on the landing. Judging from the racket you made he probably thinks I’ve maimed you for life.”

“It feels like you have.”

Stripping off his tear and snot stained top he added to its accumulations by wiping my eyes and nose with it before tossing it aside. “There’s no blood, no broken skin.

You have a good even set of stripes that will make sitting down painful today. You’ll be sore for a few days to follow and tender for a few more after that, but you’re far from maimed. You’ve got a well padded behind. It will soon absorb the marks and recover.”

There was a knock on the door and Dick’s voice sounded. “May I come in?”

Shane pulled open the door. “He’s fine, Dick. See to him. He needs a cool shower and some loose pants. Don’t salve his bottom. I want him to feel those stripes and remember why he has them. I’ll apply salve later if he behaves himself.”

They kissed and Shane went to put on a fresh shirt leaving me alone with Dick.

He held out his arms and I flew into his embrace.

“It was agony, Dick. It hurt even more than I imagined it would. It’s still agony.

My arse is on fire.”

“My poor lamb.” He cuddled me. “You’re shaking from head to foot. I warned you time and again, didn’t I? I told you that you haven’t had the worst from Shane.

You’ve just had a taste of what he’s really capable of. He might have used the junior cane, but he gave you a man’s set of six with it.”

“Does it look as bad as it feels?”

“It’s pretty impressive. Want to look?”

I nodded. Taking my hand he led me over to the wardrobe mirror. My entire backside felt like it was ablaze, but the cane marked area was relatively small. I was astonished by how neatly he’d layered each stroke, one below the other across the plumpest part of both buttocks, which Dick claimed, with no sense of irony, was the mark of an expert caner. Inexperienced caners tended to mark one buttock more than the other.

“When will it stop hurting?” I risked a light touch to the ugly hot purple ridges, wincing.

“The pain will blossom for a while yet I’m afraid. Come on, honey. Let’s get you sorted out and settled down.”

After showering I put on a pair of soft sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. My bottom was painful, but at least my conscience was clear. I felt washed out, but in a relieved calm after the storm way.

Shane went into the study to do some work, leaving me in Dick’s care. He set up a comfy sun lounger in his studio for me to lie on. Curled on my side I watched as he sat at his drawing desk, pleased to note he was using the pencils I’d bought him for his birthday. I asked what he was working on.

“A set of drawings.”

“What of? Show me.”

“You’ll see them when they’re finished and not before. They’re for Shane for Christmas.”

“Christmas.” I pulled a face. “I’m not looking forward to Christmas this year. I won’t…”

“Don’t you dare say it, Gil, don’t you dare or I swear I’ll wash your mouth out.

It’s been a tense and emotional year for all of us with some tough things to adapt to.

It’s time to simmer down, put all the drama behind us and see out the rest of this year with some semblance of quiet dignity.”

“Is that your way of telling me to shut the fuck up and chill the fuck out?”

He glared at me over the top of his drawing board. “Do you want me to call Shane and his cane in here?”

“No thank you.”

“Then stop cussing and be quiet. Have a nap.”

I grinned and did as told, closing my eyes. I drifted to sleep listening to the yielding graze of pencil on paper and the sound of Dick softly humming ‘Forever in Blue Jeans’ as he sketched away. It seems an apt tune to bring these scenes in this boy’s life story to a close. It’s Dick and Shane’s song, but I don’t think it totally precludes me. I’m there too, pencilled into the canvas of their lives.

When Shane sings the song to Dick he’s letting him know that he means far more to him than wealth. I’m the same. I wouldn’t care if Dick or him were as poor as church mice. I’d still love them and want to be with them.

They need and deserve their unique moments of togetherness so for once I’m going to sit this one out with good grace and give the floor to Dick and Shane -

forever in blue jeans.

Dear Diary,

The year is fast drawing to a close and as I read over what I’ve written in you this far I can see that, as Dick said, it’s been an emotional roller coaster year for all of us in many respects. It’s time to take a deep breath and try to get on with the remainder of the year in a calm and rational fashion, well as calm and rational as IEM ever gets.

I woke up to find myself in Zit City this morning. The evil bastard Spot Fairy paid a visit overnight and sprinkled my mush with custard filled pustules. I bet if you photographed my face from above it would look like an aerial view of the Himalayas, all bumps, lumps, peaks and troughs. There’s probably a Yeti wandering around in there somewhere. The higher dose of medication is playing havoc with my skin.

Dick claims I have a distorted view of my spots and they’re nowhere near as bad as I think they are. It’s easy for him to say, he doesn’t have to walk around wearing them. He has perfect skin, so does Shane. The only thing that erupts through their epidermis is tasteful designer stubble.

At breakfast time I had a mature and rational discussion with Shane on the subject of my medicine telling him I wanted a break from taking it so my skin could recover.

(Lie detector snorts, did you bollocks have a rational discussion.) Oh all right it wasn’t exactly rational. In fact it didn’t happen, not in so many words. I was tempted to broach the subject as I got my meds out of the kitchen drawer, but I didn’t dare. I knew at best it would be ignored and at worst I’d be disciplined for mentioning it. I’d get a hard reminder about hard limits followed by a hard hand across my backside.

He noticed me hesitating, packet in hand, and sharply told me to get on with taking it, reminding me I needed to be extra careful about timing the doses because of the clocks going back. My temper flared. I drop kicked the box across the kitchen, telling him he ought to have a turn at taking it and see how he liked having pus filled mountains erupting on his fucking face. After making me pick up the box and take my tablet he sent me back to bed to sort out my shitty attitude.

I was allowed up to make Sunday lunch. Yeah, I know, they’re all heart my two.

By way of protest at the lack of sensitivity shown to my facial crisis I cut the carrots into big chunky rings instead of the skinny julienne strips Shane favours. I also made thick dark gravy. Both my men prefer gravy to be of a less glutinous consistency and a paler hue. Complaints were made to the chef who in turn complained about the lack of appreciation shown for his fair efforts. The chef’s bolshy arse dodged several swipes with the agility of an Olympian gymnast.

When lunch was over and I’d cleared away I left the disgruntled diners in the sitting room with a pot of fresh coffee while I headed off to conquer a few mountains (squeeze my spots) Looking in the bathroom mirror was a depressing exercise. It did nothing to lift my mood. I’d milked a few of the choicer blemishes when the phone rang in the hall downstairs and as per usual a chorus of ‘Gilli! Phone!’ rang through the rafters.

Storming downstairs I snatched the receiver up only to hear the tinny automated voice of a public service call. My temper erupted yet again. I vented by yelling
‘oh
fuck off’
into the receiver before slamming it down. The boyfriends were on scene in seconds. Both looked shocked and demanded to know who I’d been speaking to.