How to Train Your Dom in Five Easy Steps (6 page)

His body finally gave up holding itself upright, and Eddie flopped forward, catching hold of Jeff’s legs for support. It was like hugging a tree trunk or two. If they were rather short trees. Not that Eddie was exactly the tree-hugging type, despite a brief flirtation with vegetarianism in his teens.

But these trees shifted uncomfortably, and as Eddie pulled himself together, he remembered that he really didn’t want to spook the straight bloke. Not if he wanted another chance at that.

Which he did. Oh yeah.

Which was why he pushed himself back so he was sitting on his ankles, wobbling dangerously. “Now, this is the part where I should probably go through aftercare of your sub after an intense scene.”

Jeff looked down and frowned. “Never mind that. What about the aftercare of my rug and boots?”

Eddie blinked as he gathered his thoughts. He’d never have taken Jeff for being particularly house or clothing proud, but now he looked around, he could see that the place was well looked after. There wasn’t a great deal of furniture or ornamentation, but the pieces Jeff had were sturdy and comfortable, and everything looked clean enough to eat your dinner off.

Except the rug. “Don’t worry. Spunk cleans off easily enough. You must know that from washing your sheets, surely.”

Jeff shrugged. “Mum does my laundry. And she comes round to clean too. I can sort out the boots easily enough myself, but I don’t want her finding that on the rug. What’s she going to think?”

“I imagine she’ll think it’s yours, and that you’ve seduced some woman down in front of the fire.” Eddie pushed himself to his feet. Last thing he felt like doing right now, but since he didn’t want Jeff weirded out, he’d make a sacrifice. “If you’re not up to cleaning a small spot on your own rug”—and how pathetic was that?— “then you could always order me to clean it up for you.”

Jeff crossed his arms. The tough-guy look was kind of ridiculous with his spent dick hanging out of his jeans. “And would you?”

“Only one way to find out. But it’d be a pretty hard-line approach, and I wouldn’t recommend you try it with anyone else. Especially not a woman. They don’t usually take kindly to that kind of thing. Especially if they’re coming down off the high of a scene.”

Jeff scratched his neck. “Shit. Like you are. I’m not doing too good here, am I?”

Ooh, vulnerability. That was nice. Maybe Eddie could utilise it for a teaching moment. “After a scene, you generally want to spend some time with your sub, bringing them down gently. Cuddling and kissing is good, although obviously that’s out of the question here. But something like offering me a shower or a flannel to clean up with would be good. And then a warm blanket to wrap up in. And a cup of tea with two sugars. Builder’s strength.”

Jeff looked at him with something like respect. “Wouldn’t have had you down for drinking proper tea. Thought you’d have gone for that herbal muck.”

“Nope. I like my tea strong and sweet.” He bit back the urge to add that was just like Jeff, because he had a feeling the bloke wouldn’t be flattered by being called sweet. And Jeff probably wasn’t, by most people’s definitions, but there was a sweeter side buried under the gruffness, Eddie could see. It was intriguing. It would definitely make Jeff easier to get along with between scenes, because full-on testosterone-fuelled machismo could be tiring. Eddie had figured that out the last time he’d tried to have a romantic relationship with a Top.

Not that romance was ever going to be in the air for him and Jeff, but still. Friendship and occasional sex would be good. More than good, if he got more of that.

Jeff grunted as he tucked himself back into his trousers. “I’ll find you a cloth to clean up with.” He disappeared into the kitchen.

Great. So much for the sweetness. Jeff wanted a domestic slave after all.

When the wet dishcloth was handed to him, Eddie sighed and bent forward, scrubbing at the rug.

“What are you doing? That was for you. To clean up your face and…you know. Whatever else needs cleaning.”

“Oh.” Eddie’s heart warmed. “Thanks.”

Jeff shrugged awkwardly. “S’all right. I’ve got the kettle on. You want normal tea or decaf?”

“Normal, please. I’m going to need it to be able to concentrate on the drive home.” Then it struck Eddie. “Now I wouldn’t have had you down for a decaf man.”

“I’m not, but my dad is, so I keep it in for him.”

And there it was, another sign of Jeff’s innate sweetness.

Eddie cleaned up and got dressed again, all the while playing through his evening. Sometimes it could be hard to remember the details of a scene afterwards. Something about the endorphin haze made it tough to put together a narrative, but moments would leap out. Eddie found if he reviewed it soon enough and made some notes in his diary when he got home, it was easier to fix the good times in his memory. He sat on the sofa, strangely reluctant to follow Jeff into his kitchen. He didn’t want him to feel crowded.

But eventually Jeff came through with the tea.

“Cheers,” Eddie said. “Appreciate it.”

Jeff did that awkward shrug again. “Least I could do for you. After all that…you know.”

Eddie made an effort to shift back into trainer mode. “That’s great. You’ve helped me to clean up and given some refreshments. The only other thing that’s really important after a scene with a new playmate is to have a little chat about how things went.”

“Playmate.” Jeff frowned. “That sounds so childish.”

“There was nothing childish about what we just did.”

“No.” Jeff hesitated, something clearly on his mind. “But it was a bit like I was playing teacher or parent. You know, having you, erm, over my knee.”

“Did you feel like that was something you wanted to role-play? I’m not into doing incestuous scenes, but I don’t mind being a naughty schoolboy.”

“No! I don’t know. Maybe. It kind of… It stopped it feeling so gay.”

Eddie sipped his tea as Jeff paced back and forth. He had to handle this carefully. Casually. Not make a big deal out of it so Jeff could put it in perspective and not let it ruin his peace of mind.

“There wasn’t really anything gay about what you were doing.”

“I was touching your arse!”

“No, you were spanking my arse. Not that a bit of touching wouldn’t go amiss. When you do that with a girl, I’d suggest sometimes switching to stroking, rubbing, and even kissing the skin. The changing sensations make it all even more overwhelming.”

“But still. I got hard.”

“Yeah, but that’s not because you’re gay. That’s because you’re a sadist.”

Jeff looked glum. “I really am, aren’t I?”

“You’re making it sound like a bad thing.”

“It’s not exactly the done thing, though, is it? Admitting you get turned on by hurting people. My parents would think I’m a monster.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re hurting anyone against their will. Would you have enjoyed it if I hadn’t been enjoying myself?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think it’s more about having the control. About knowing you were putting up with it all for me. Because I wanted you to.”

“Well, there we go, then.” Eddie slurped the rest of his tea down in one. Although there was plenty more about the scene they could discuss—the whole condom issue, for a start—with Jeff’s brain fixated on the whole gay issue, he didn’t think the man would be taking any of it in. “Look, don’t overthink it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in being a pervert, and there’s no reason to go worrying about your sexuality just because you let me suck you off. Different rules apply in a scene. It’s like you take a step outside of your everyday reality. Your personality changes. It’s all fine. It doesn’t have to affect the rest of your life. You’re still exactly the same Jeff White you were earlier today.”

“You think?” The uncertainty dropped from Jeff’s expression, and his usual mulishness returned. “Yeah. You’re right. Of course I am. This was just an experiment. That’s all.”

“Exactly.” Eddie stood. “Now, I should be going. I’ll see myself out. And I’ll call you in a few days in case you have any questions about anything. And if you feel like it, maybe we can set up another session.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“No need to decide now. Just see how you feel.” Eddie darted out of the door before Jeff could say anything else to burst his bubble.

Chapter Seven

He wasn’t gay. Jeff had to keep telling himself that. He told himself first thing in the morning when he woke up with a stiffy, and he told himself last thing at night when he had his usual bedtime wank. He told himself all through the day too, constantly on guard against any behaviour that might mark him out as being anything other than a heterosexual man.

It was five o’clock—nearly teatime—so Jeff packed up his tools and headed back to the truck. It was like an oven inside, as there’d been no shade to park in at this client’s place. A particularly stinky oven. But it was a proper manly smell, Jeff told himself. Sweat and dirt. And something else. Something that turned his stomach. Jeff rooted around in the mess littering the passenger side foot well, trying to find the source of the stench. Eventually he found a plastic container with something vile-looking at the bottom. Rotting cabbage. Bloody hell, that had been his mum’s chicken pot pie. She’d shoved some greens in there too, even though she knew he hated cabbage. Jeff sighed and eyed the space under the rearview mirror where the cardboard pine air freshener had hung up until two days ago. He’d liked the smell of that thing, but then he’d decided that maybe it was just a touch too precious. Straight working-class men had no need for such fripperies. They didn’t even need to shower every day. Or wash their clothes all that often.

However, after a single day’s experiment with not washing, Jeff decided he wasn’t going to let his personal hygiene slip too. A smelly truck was one thing—it wasn’t like he had to be in there all day—but he had to live with his body odour all the time. And besides, he reckoned most straight working-class men didn’t sweat like pigs all day, rebuilding stone walls in the sweltering heat. Yeah, manual labourers were allowed to shower twice daily. It wasn’t like he used moisturiser afterwards or anything.

He wasn’t going to feel weird about showering when he got home. Showers were great after any kind of physical activity. Shit. Maybe he should have suggested Eddie had one instead of just throwing him a dishcloth. It had been a clean one out of the drawer, but Eddie probably didn’t know that. Or he could at least have gone upstairs for a proper flannel. Niall had been right. He really was a crap host.

Maybe that was why Eddie hadn’t called him back yet.

Not that he cared. Women always irritated him when they got clingy after sex, so he should be glad Eddie was just keeping it real. He was glad, wasn’t he? Jeff peered into the rearview mirror and faked a smile. Yeah, look at him being glad. For fuck’s sake.

Why hadn’t Eddie phoned? Jeff would do things better next time. He didn’t think he should be judged too harshly on his first time. Everyone had to start somewhere, right? And anyway, that wasn’t a proper first scene. It was just a practice experiment. A training session. Yeah. And nothing that happened in it counted. Eddie had made that really clear.

Jeff should probably check that. He should call Eddie. Make sure he was okay. That was the responsible Dom thing to do, wasn’t it? Eddie might have got himself in a stew over something. Were gay blokes like women, constantly overanalysing every last little thing Jeff said and did? He should explain himself, just in case Eddie had got the wrong end of the stick about something like Sarah always used to.

He pulled out his mobile before he could second-guess himself, and pressed Call.

“Hey, Jeff. Good to hear from you. How’s things?”

Jeff had been expecting standoffishness, so Eddie’s warm friendliness caught him off balance for a moment. “Me? Oh, you know. Working hard. Got food in the fridge and money in the bank. Can’t complain.”

Eddie chuckled. “I can see you’re a man of simple tastes.”

“Are you calling me common?”

“Simple pleasures, I meant. That was meant to be a compliment. I think people with simple tastes are generally the happiest. I’ve got pretty simple tastes myself, believe it or not.”

“Like M&S ready meals?”

“Okay, you’ve got me there.” Eddie chuckled again. It was a good sound. “But on the whole, I know you think I’m some posh wanker, but really, I’m pretty ordinary.”

“I don’t think you’re a wanker.” Jeff reconsidered that. He had ordered Eddie to toss himself off, after all. “I mean, no more than any other bloke is. You are a bit posh, though.”

“Ah, not that posh. There’s plenty posher than me. Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call? Fancy meeting up for a drink or something? We could talk through what happened. Make plans for next time.”

Next time? Jeff’s stomach gave a flip, and he sent Eddie a silent thank-you for not making him be the one to broach it. “Yeah. I s’pose we could.” He didn’t want to sound too keen.

“Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.” Yeah, Eddie could do sarcastic. Jeff had figured he probably would. Clever clogs types always did.

Jeff went for firm and challenging. Best way to meet sarcasm. “I just said we could, didn’t I?”

There was a huffing sound down the phone line. “Yes, you did. God, I hope you don’t treat women like this, that’s all I can say.”

“I don’t. I’m not trying to impress you, am I?”

“So I’m getting the real, uninhibited you, am I? I suppose I should be grateful for that.”

“You’re bloody right you should.”

For some reason, that seemed to cheer Eddie up, as he chuckled again. “Okay, then. No time like the present, so how about we meet after work? I’ll be finished up in half an hour or so, and I could swing by your neck of the woods on my way home.”

“Can’t do it today.” He wasn’t going to stand up his folks. And besides, he needed to get his head straight about a few things first. “How about tomorrow?”

They made arrangements to meet up at the Globetrotter again—Jeff didn’t want to do it anywhere too local in case people saw him with Eddie and wondered what he was doing. Or worse yet, came over for introductions. But Eddie didn’t seem to realise that was Jeff’s ulterior motive, and his “See you tomorrow, mate,” was perfectly cheerful.

There. That was a pretty successful phone call. Jeff hadn’t put his foot in it once. Not in a way that he hadn’t been able to get out of again, anyway. And that was pretty much the same thing anyway.

Jeff started the engine in a better mood than he’d been in all day. He wasn’t going to be inviting Eddie back again tomorrow—that’d look way too keen—but he’d make sure he was ready for next time and get tips on being a good host from his mum, right after he’d been back for a shower and a set of fresh clothes.

“There you are, love. We were wondering if you’d been held up with work. Doing the Allinson’s stone wall, aren’t you?”

“That’s right. It’s been hard work in this heat.” Jeff accepted his mum’s hug and kiss on the cheek before doing the mutual back-slapping thing with his dad. “I could murder a beer.”

His mum bustled off to fetch him one, and his dad limped his way back to the sofa. “Any news from the village, son?” he said after easing himself back into his chair with a groan.

“Reckon you probably know more than I do. I’ve been busy with work.” The village grapevine was clearly still thriving, as Jeff didn’t recall having told his parents anything about the job at the Allinson’s the last time he’d seen them. That was the trouble with living in a small place. Everyone knew everyone else’s business all the time. Thank fuck they hadn’t heard about Eddie calling round.

His mum came in with a can of Stella for him and a Diet Coke for his dad.

His dad scowled at the can. “Oh, come on, Mags. Let me have a beer too.”

“Not at this hour,” Jeff’s mum scolded. “You haven’t been busy toiling away all day and burning off the calories. You heard your GP as well as I did. You’ve got to watch what you eat. Can’t have you getting all lardy now just coz you can’t get about like you used to.”

Jeff’s dad waited until she was back in the kitchen before muttering that being fat and happy was better than skinny and miserable.

Jeff eyed his dad’s pot belly. He and his dad had always had similar builds—stocky and muscular—and seeing what had happened to the man since his accident was a warning to Jeff about keeping fit and eating well. “Dad, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not skinny.”

“What are you saying, boy?” His dad grumbled. “I ought to have you over my lap for that cheek.”

Oh God. What had they heard? Has his mum known from the smell in the room or something? Had Eddie left hairs in the carpet? Or a lipstick mark on his mug? Not that Eddie wore lipstick, but maybe there was some way Mags could tell that someone other than Jeff had drunk out of that one. Jeff pictured her as some kind of forensic specialist like on CSI, combing the room for evidence of her son’s sex life. She was certainly nosy enough to do that. That was why he kept his suitcase of kink on top of the wardrobe.

But no, that couldn’t be it. She came to clean on a Friday, and the place had been freshly done on the day Eddie came round.

Jeff took a swig of Stella, feeling liquid relaxation pouring down his gullet.

“So, how’s the Gherkin coming along?” His dad was building a scale model of the London skyscraper out of matchsticks. It was the kind of hobby he’d have scorned had Jeff ever taken it up as a teenager, but it seemed that early retirement and a gammy back had changed Bert White’s views on dainty handicrafts.

“Go take a look,” Bert said, looking rather smug. “On the home stretch now, my lad. I’m trying to decide whether I want to go for the Eiffel Tower or the Taj Mahal next.”

Jeff stepped over to the table in the chimney alcove and carefully removed the box his dad used to cover his creation. He hated doing that, always worried he’d do something stupidly clumsy and send the whole thing flying into pieces. Bert insisted the glue he used made it stronger than it looked, but still, Jeff didn’t like to take the chance. He’d been on the wrong end of his dad’s temper way too often as a child.

The model was incredibly intricate, and while it wasn’t exactly something he’d want to decorate his own house, Jeff had to admire the level of detail that had gone into it. He grunted his approval. “Don’t know how you do it,” he said, before carefully putting the box down over the top again. “Think I’d go nuts trying to do something like that.”

“You should give it a go. Reckon you’d do well, what with you being a builder too.”

“Nah, you’re all right.”

“Come on, lad. Everyone needs a hobby. You can’t just spend all your free time down the pub or watching telly.”

“Suited you well enough for most of your life.”

“Oi! You really aren’t too old for a clip round the ear.”

Jeff grinned because it sounded like the old man was joking, but he took a step back anyway. “Anyway, I don’t spend all my time down the pub and watching telly. I’ve been working in the garden most evenings.”

“Huh. You’d have thought you get enough of that during the day.” Bert White sniffed, reminding Jeff of the way he’d sneered when Jeff had first announced his plans to quit the building site and work on people’s gardens instead. What would the old man have to say if Jeff told him he was now starting to do proper gardening work too? Mowing lawns was one thing, but he had a feeling he knew what his father would say about men who spent their days sniffing roses.

“I’m building another shed,” he said. That much was true, although it was the vegetable garden that was taking up most of his time this year. “It’s not a prefab. I’m doing it all from scratch and laying on electricity and running water and all. It’s keeping me pretty busy.”

“Not that busy. You had some new friend round the other day, I heard.”

“Oh?” Jeff took another chug from his can, just to avoid answering that. But by the time he’d wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his old man was still staring at him. Fuck, his eyes were sharp. Like a bloody jackdaw’s, they were. You never could get one past him. “Yeah. Not a friend, though. A new client.” Jeff really didn’t feel like explaining his friendship with a man like Eddie, who his dad would no doubt hate on sight.

“They’re making house calls now? You should be the one going to them, you know.”

“He wanted to have a look at what I’d done in my garden. With the pond. Could be a big job if I land it.”

“One of them fish collectors, is he? Bunch of weirdoes. Heard he had a Jag. Some of those posh cunts have more money than sense. What’s the point in collecting a load of fish? You can’t stroke ’em or anything.”

“What’s the point in building a tower out of matchsticks?”

“Keeps my fingers working properly. The physio recommended I do something using fine motor skills, and I didn’t much fancy knitting.”

“Oh yeah. I remember.” But still, it was the principle of the thing. Jeff didn’t like hearing Eddie’s hobby criticised. Even if it was an imaginary hobby. Unless Eddie really did collect fish? But he didn’t have a garden, did he? Just a sad little balcony, by the sounds of it.

Jeff felt sorry for the bloke. Maybe he really should invite him round to see the garden. He could sunbathe a bit. Get a bit of colour to his skin. He was way too pale. The way Jeff’s hand had looked against Eddie’s pale arse… It was like they were different races or something.

Fuck. He wasn’t meant to find that memory a turn-on.

Jeff squirmed in his seat, willing his cock to calm the fuck down. Fortunately, just then his mum brought the tea things through, and the distraction of the teapot and slices of Battenberg was enough to lull his dick back to sleep.

“Here you go, love.” Mags handed out the plates of cakes, reminding Jeff about his plans to observe what a good host did.

He watched his mother closely, but it was no use. As far as he could tell, it was all about lining the plates with paper doilies and pouring tea for people. Somehow he couldn’t see that working for him and Eddie. He’d have to think of something else. Or ask someone else. Maybe Niall…

Or what about Eddie himself? Yeah, he could ask that tomorrow. Just come right out with it and ask him how to set up a scene and treat him right and all that.

It occurred to Jeff that that would be a bit like admitting he didn’t know what he was doing, but he smothered the doubts in another chunk of Batternberg washed down with a milky cuppa.