"Jack" Series, Part 3: Jack Accepts

2. Work/Life

I still had breakfast at the main house a few times a week. It was a good time to catch Tiran and compare notes for the day. Most times it was just me and the people who lived at the house – Tiran, Gabe, Rocky and Rusty – and occasionally one or two others. The full gang only tended to show up on special occasions, I realized now – like my arrival, or when Tiran came back from a long trip.

This morning I got there before Tiran arrived, so it was just me and Rocky at breakfast. Rusty was in trouble as usual, so he was doing an early morning shift in the fields. Rocky, on the other hand, generally wasn’t in the doghouse quite as much these days; maybe it was harder for me to find infractions, or maybe I just wasn’t trying as hard. Sometimes I felt like we’d reached an uneasy truce.

That didn’t mean I liked socializing with him, though, especially first thing in the morning, so I usually ignored him at the table. He didn’t return the favour – as always, he was on his feet instantly, fetching and pouring and asking what he could get me. These days I often let him go ahead with it; I could see that the boys tended to fuss around Tiran so treating me in the same way seemed appropriate enough.

Still, Rocky knew better than to try and make conversation with me, so once I had everything I needed he just sat down and went back to his breakfast. We ate in silence for a while, until Tiran made his appearance with Gabe behind him.

"Rocky," Tiran said immediately, even before greeting me, and I could see he was upset about something. "You need to come to Palmetto with me next week."

"What?" Rocky said in surprise. "I can’t, Ti, I have plans."

"I don’t care." Tiran sat down at the table and seemed to see me for the first time. "Morning, Jack. Everything okay?"

I nodded. Clearly everything wasn’t okay for him. "What’s wrong?" I asked him.

Tiran looked irritably around for his coffee, which Gabe was just pouring. "Fucking Armstrong. He talked me into making an appearance at his conference next week – and now he tells me he can’t go."

"He can’t?" Rocky asked sharply. "Why not? That whole conference is his baby. How can he possibly not be there?"

I was a little behind. "Paul Armstrong? What conference?"

Tiran waved dismissively. "It’s something to do with the foundation."

"The annual event," Rocky explained to me. "Donors, officials, NGOs … it’s a big deal. Why on earth can’t he go, Ti?"

"Some crisis in Kinshasha," Tiran said with annoyance. Rebels might be attacking innocent civilians in refugee camps but clearly from Tiran’s perspective the only significant factor was his inconvenience. "Paul says he’ll have to be there for a week."

Rocky nodded. "To set up the clearances, I suppose. That’s unfortunate timing."

"He says I still have to make my appearance," Tiran said, focused on the main issue. "I can’t stand those things, I only agreed to go because he’d be there. You’ll have to come with me, Rocky – I can’t get through it otherwise."

"I can‘t, Ti." Rocky didn’t seem to be negotiating. "What about Mike Armstrong? He’s not too far from there; he could get you through it."

Tiran seemed to hear Rocky for the first time. He stopped, and looked at him intently. "No," he said pointedly. "Mike can’t. You can."

"I have plans," Rocky repeated patiently. "We’ll figure something else out."

"There’s nothing to figure out, Van. You’re coming with me. Cancel your plans." Tiran produced his mobile and held it out to Rocky challengingly.

Rocky looked at the phone, and I could see him thinking, trying to find an out. I even caught him shooting me a quick, considering look. "I’m sorry, Ti. Look, give me a couple of days and I’ll find someone for you, okay? When is it exactly?"

Tiran shook his head and I saw his face growing dark with anger. It wasn’t one of those moments of fleeting, capricious wrath that would pass in a moment. If anything, he was still trying to keep a reign on his rage, which was probably a testament to his regard for Rocky. "What are your plans?" Tiran asked, and I could hear the tension in his voice.

Rocky looked at Tiran for a moment, as though he was still calculating his options. I didn’t see that he had any. "I’m going up to Roman’s place with Ric and Jimmy," he said finally.

Tiran rolled his eyes. "You can do that anytime. I’ll smooth it over with them if you want."

That sounded like a pretty good offer to me. If Rocky was smart, he’d take it. But when I looked over at him, he didn’t seem to be caving. "Can we talk about it later, please, Tiran?" he asked, trying to keep his voice polite. "I really want to go next week."

But Tiran was reaching the end of his patience. "There’s nothing to talk about," he said brusquely. "And how long were you planning to go for anyway? Why were you making plans to leave town without telling me?"

"You haven’t been around much; I didn’t think you’d care," Rocky said unapologetically.

I didn’t care for Rocky’s tone. I was ready to step in, but I saw the look on Tiran’s face and figured he might as well have first dibs.

"Look," Rocky added quickly. "I’ll talk to Mike. He can keep you company at the convention and I’ll pick you up there on my way back. Okay?"

"No," said Tiran, sounding disbelieving. "It’s not okay. You’re coming with me, not Mike."

"Why does it have to be me?" Rocky asked, and now his voice held a sullenness I hadn’t heard from him before.

"Van Valkenburg," I began, warningly.

"Because I said so," Tiran snapped. "You’re walking on very thin ground, Van. Now make that call."

He held the phone out again, and Rocky looked at it consideringly, as though still debating whether or not to obey.

That was enough for me. I got to my feet. "Get up," I ordered.

Rocky looked at me, and this time there was no debate. He stood up, and I slapped him hard, once, across his face. He went down instantly, though I think it was more the surprise than the force of the blow. "That was a direct order, Van Valkenburg," I said icily, standing over him. He scrambled quickly to his knees, facing me. I put my hand on the back of his neck and forced him around to face Tiran. "Get down. Down," I repeated, as he hesitated. I felt his lingering reluctance as he bent forward and pressed his forehead to the floor. I left him there for a moment, and looked at Tiran.

Tiran gave me a tight smile. "Thanks, Jack," he said.

"I’ll be happy to kick his ass for you," I offered, restraining myself with difficulty.

Tiran cocked his head. "There you go, Rocky," he said pleasantly. "You can do what I said now, or you can do it with Jack’s boot up your ass."

Rocky held himself still, and I gave him a moment to consider the options, then reached down for a handful of hair and yanked his head up. I looked into his eyes, and now I saw the defiance melting away. Tiran still held his phone out invitingly, but at this point I wasn’t inclined to make it easy for Rocky.

"What’s it going to be?" I asked in a low voice.

Rocky swallowed awkwardly, his head forced up while his body was bent over. "I’ll call Ric," he said indistinctly.

"Not so fast." I took the phone from Tiran and gave another tug on Rocky’s hair. "I think you have something to say to Tiran first."

There was a pause, and I watched closely as Rocky took a quick breath. He shut his eyes, then opened them and lowered his gaze. "I’m sorry, Tiran," he said with enough humility to satisfy me for now. "I had no business arguing with you."

I looked at Tiran to see whether he would accept that. "You’re right," Tiran said coolly, to Rocky. "You didn’t. I think Jack will make sure you remember that." He nodded at me, and I smiled at the authorization.

I released Rocky and watched him drop his forehead to the ground again as I sat back in my chair behind him. "When Tiran first told you what he wanted, he would have allowed you to postpone your plans with Roman," I observed. "But you didn’t take that offer. So now you’ll cancel them instead. That means no re-scheduling, Van," I warned him. "No visit to Roman. Ever. And I didn’t appreciate your tone when Tiran asked why you were making plans without consulting him. So you’re losing that privilege. From now on, you don’t leave the estate overnight without Tiran’s explicit permission, or mine. Is that clear?"

Rocky tried to nod, then said as clearly as he could in his current position, "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"Don’t thank me," I replied curtly. "That’s not your punishment. It’s just the consequences of your behaviour. Do you understand?"

This time Rocky paused slightly before he said quietly, "Yes, sir, I understand."

"We’ll deal with your punishment at the next meeting," I added. I handed Rocky the phone. "Now call Ric."

I looked over Rocky’s head as he took the phone and sat up on his knees, eyes still lowered, to make the phone call. Tiran caught my eye and gave me an amused look. I returned it with a small, satisfied smile. And that’s how it’s done, I thought to myself.

Rocky tried to speak to me during my office hours later, but I sent him off without hearing him out. I told him I had nothing to say to him until he’d earned Tiran’s forgiveness. I didn’t see him again till the next meeting.


**********


By this time I was pretty much resigned to spending time with Rocky as well as Tiran. Tiran seemed to like having both of us with him as much as possible. I told myself that he brought Rocky along instead of Gabe, to act as a kind of valet, but I couldn’t really make myself believe it. Most of the time he didn’t treat Rocky anything like he treated Gabe. I still found it annoying.

We decided at lunch one day to head into town to meet some friends. Tiran didn’t seem to be in a very good mood but he invited Rocky along as usual and the three of us walked over to the garage after lunch to get the cars. Tiran takes his cars very seriously – it’s one of his little billionaire quirks. Having never really been able to afford more than one serviceable method of transportation at any given moment, I didn’t share his obsession; I just wanted to get from point A to point B and didn’t care how we did it. So generally when we travelled together, Tiran would pick out something from his fleet that suited his mood, I’d go with him, and Rocky would take something nice but less ostentatious for himself.

Tiran was still cranky as he selected his ride, complaining about the state of various cars and having to pass on a couple of his first choices because they weren’t ready for him. He spoke sharply to the head mechanic, sent an irate message to Gabe telling him to get things under control, and finally picked out a small sports coupe of some kind for himself. I went around to the passenger side and Rocky was heading over towards the cars on the b-list when Tiran suddenly called out to him.

"Where you going, Van?"

Rocky stopped and gestured vaguely towards the other cars. "Just getting my ride …"

"What do you need another car for?" Tiran said coolly. "You can go in the back of this one."

Even I was a bit taken aback by that. I glanced at the tiny back seat of the coupe and then over at Rocky’s large frame. Rocky had stopped in his tracks and was now looking back at Tiran dispassionately. He didn’t speak, and a moment later Tiran said, this time with a slightly malicious edge to his voice, "You have a problem with that?"

Rocky held Tiran’s gaze for a moment, then began walking back toward us. "No."

It was a two-door, so I waited till Rocky came over and crammed himself into the back seat before I got in. Tiran got in the driver’s side and we headed out, Tiran and I chatting and Rocky silent in the back.

After we’d been driving for a while, there was a lull in our conversation, and Rocky spoke up quietly. "Did I do something, Tiry?" he asked evenly.

"No." Tiran glanced into the rear-view mirror and laughed a little. "Wow, you’re really jammed in back there, aren’t you."

"Yeah. It’s not that comfortable," Rocky agreed. "So - was there a problem with me taking another car?"

"I just didn’t want you to today," Tiran said casually.

There was a slight pause, then Rocky went on. "OK. You say you’re not mad at me but you just went out of your way to make sure I’m uncomfortable for no good reason. You want to tell me what’s going on, Ti?"

Tiran shrugged slightly, giving me a little smile. I frowned, debating whether I should intervene to shut Rocky up.

"Did you do it just because you can?" Rocky continued from the back seat. "Because you’re in a bad mood and you want to take it out on me?"

I looked out the window, wondering how much Tiran was going to take. It seemed inappropriate to jump in when Tiran was perfectly capable of defending himself. But I’d be there to follow through as soon as he’d had enough.

Tiran didn’t seem too bothered yet. "Pretty much," he agreed cheerfully, though I could hear a note of warning in his voice.

For a minute Rocky didn’t answer, and I thought he might have wised up. But then he said, in the same quiet voice, "You know you can do that, Tiran. You can do whatever you want and you know I’ll take it. You don’t really need to test that, do you?"

Tiran didn’t respond this time. I stole a quick look at him and he was watching the road with an expression I couldn’t quite read.

"So what’s bothering you today? What’s so bad that you need to make me suffer so you can feel better?" Rocky went on. The way he kept after Tiran was annoying, but his tone was conversational, as though he really wanted to know these things. "Everything okay with Dusty?"

I glanced over at Tiran, curious myself. At first I thought he wasn’t going to answer; he just kept looking at the road in front of him. Then I saw his eyes flicker toward the rear-view mirror. "Therese won’t come to Europe with me this summer," he said finally.

Therese was the cook. Tiran had been trying to persuade her to work for him during an extended stay he was planning in Italy and France.

"You’re doing this to me because you’re pissed off at the hired help?" Rocky said a little incredulously. "Come on, Ti, why do you have to be such a prick?"

I would have back-handed Rocky if I could reach him at that moment. I saw Tiran’s shoulders stiffen, so I waited, poised for action, to see if he wanted me to handle it.

I guess Rocky saw Tiran’s reaction, because despite his cramped position he managed to drape an arm over the car seat and run his hand across Tiran’s chest soothingly. But he didn’t back off. "You know you can do whatever you want to me, I’ll put up with anything," he said again. "But don’t I – don’t I deserve a little better than that? Don’t I do my best for you most of the time? Do you really need to treat me like crap for such a petty reason?"

I couldn’t keep quiet any longer. "How dare you speak to Tiran that way?" I asked Rocky, my voice low with repressed anger.

Rocky turned toward me with a measured look. "I’m sorry, sir," he said to me. He wasn’t apologizing to Tiran.

I looked at Tiran, expecting him to stop the car so I could take Rocky outside and deal with him. But far from provoked, Tiran seemed almost sheepish. He was studying the road with a furrowed brow, and as I watched he shifted his gaze to the rear-view mirror again thoughtfully.

I heard Rocky sigh a little in the back seat. Even now he wasn’t quite done. "I’m not saying don’t kick me around a little, Tiry," he went on, and now he was almost cajoling. "I know it can make you feel better. But it’s not like it never hurts me. Don’t you think you could ask yourself if it’s really worth it, once in a while?"

I looked at Tiran to see how he was taking this before I jumped in. He still seemed to be mulling it all over. After a moment he smiled faintly, and then I saw him put his hand over Rocky’s, where it was still resting on his chest. "All right," he said quietly. "Point taken."

Fucking Tiran. I kept my mouth shut and turned to the window. Neither of them said anything after that, and we were soon at our destination. Tiran parked the car and I got out and waited while Rocky climbed out of the back seat. When he was out, Rocky looked up and blanched when he saw my expression. I took a step closer to him and he dropped to his knees instantly.

"No one," I began, in a steely voice. "No one I’m responsible speaks to his master that way."

Rocky nodded rapidly. "Yes, sir."

Tiran was watching us from the other side of the car. "Jackie … " he began, sounding concerned.

But Rocky spoke up again quickly. "I understand I need to be punished," he said to me. "I appreciate your vigilance, sir."

I had the feeling his words were for Tiran’s benefit as much as mine. I looked over at Tiran and saw his expression change slowly as he watched us. "Yeah," he agreed sternly after a minute, and I heard a trace of amusement in his voice. "Good thing I have Jack here to look after that."

Was he being facetious? "I’ll deal with it at our next meeting," I told Tiran, challenging him to call me off.

But he didn’t; he just smiled at me and headed into the restaurant. Rocky kept quiet after Tiran left; I looked down at him for a moment and he waited silently, eyes on the ground.

"Tiran may tolerate your attitude," I growled, warningly, "But I don’t. You watch yourself."

Rocky nodded again and murmured "Yes, sir," without looking up. I had nothing else to say to him, so I followed Tiran inside.

I added the incident to Rocky’s list for that week. But as usual, he came to see me before the meeting – the next morning, during my office hours. I was starting to notice that he always did this when he feared he had angered me. He didn’t use the visits to make excuses or try to pre-empt the regular weekly discipline, though he often asked if I had anything additional for him. He seemed to just want a chance to offer his submission, and maybe take the edge off the worst of my anger. It was as though he couldn’t stand the idea of me being mad at him.


**********


I was hanging out at Tiran’s one afternoon, in the big back room at the main house. That’s the room at the centre of the universe as far as Tiran is concerned – where everyone congregates and all the action happens. There’s a small mat in a corner that’s home base to whichever of the boys is on duty; whenever they have no other orders to follow, they go there to await further instructions.

Today Tiran was there, along with Paul and a couple of others. Pat, who was on duty, was kept hopping, filling up drinks, emptying ashtrays, running errands. Paul had Tom with him so Pat didn’t have to wait on him. I sometimes wondered about the dynamics of Paul being a free man while his "brothers", Pat and Rocky, served Tiran; not to mention all of them seeing their sons owned by other men.

Everyone was in a fine mood at first, with the alcohol and stimulants flowing. The video screen was on in the background but no one was paying attention. Until someone said, "There’s Dusty," and there was a pause as we all glanced at the screen.

Dusty had been away for a few days or maybe a week, promoting his latest film. He was often away when he was working or auditioning or networking with people in the industry. But promotion was the most dangerous territory, as far as Tiran was concerned: the parties, the attention, the adulation made it very difficult for Dusty to follow narrow orders, so Tiran had to give him general instructions and limits and then grill him afterwards to find out how closely he’d followed them.

The story on the screen was an innocuous feature about the new movie Dusty was appearing in and the actors who were in it. We went back to our conversations and drinks, half-watching shots of Dusty posing with the bigger stars and going about to various clubs and events. Until suddenly, we all saw it – a shot of Dusty entering a New York club called Iniquity. Iniquity was the hottest and most infamous party palace in the country these days, a place where temptation ruled and all normal inhibitions were removed. Tiran himself attended regularly, which may have been why he was so familiar with its depravities. In any case, he had expressly, and forcefully, forbidden Dusty from ever going into it, under any circumstances. And there we were, watching in alarm as the gossip channel’s cameras followed Dusty inside.

Tiran’s mood reversed instantly. He went from sunny and light-hearted to black as night. The whole room grew quiet and a nervous silence fell; then people began leaving, quickly. There was obviously trouble ahead, and no one wanted to be in the line of fire if they didn’t have to be. Even Paul, never one to admit to any fear of Tiran, made his excuses and left with Tom – probably to protect Tom, I thought.

Soon, only Pat and I were left with Tiran. Poor Pat was terrified; he darted around the room, cleaning up after the departing guests and trying to look after Tiran’s needs without attracting any attention to himself. Tiran himself had done only one thing since that fateful moment on the screen – sent Gabe to find Blackie. Gabe had set off at a run, and Tiran stayed where he was on the couch, staring unseeing at the screen and taking drags from his cigarette.

"I’ll take care of Dusty when he’s back," I offered finally.

Tiran glanced at me, blankly at first; then his expression turned sardonic. "Thanks Jackie, but I think … I’ll be taking the first kick at that can."

I raised my eyebrows, wondering what kind of shape Dusty would be in when Tiran had finished him.

Dusty called, even before Blackie got to the room in response to Tiran’s summons. I could hear Dusty’s voice, anxious but open, from across the room. He was full of apologies and regrets, taking responsibility while simultaneously trying to explain how he’d been caught up in the moment, his judgment impaired, his trust in the p.r. assistant to lead him in the right direction. It might have been more effective if he’d called directly after his error, rather than after it had been shown on national television.

The call didn’t do much to improve Tiran’s mood. He gave Dusty a curt order not to leave his room until Blackie arrived, and hung up. When Blackie showed up, flushed and nervous, Tiran gave step by step instructions to get to Dusty’s hotel in New York, retrieve Dusty, and escort him home instantly, without letting him out of sight. Blackie nodded his obedience without question and headed out immediately. Once Blackie was gone, Tiran got on the phone again: first he fired the assistant who’d been out with Dusty, the booking agent, and the publicity firm; then he called a v-p at the film’s production company and told her Dusty would never work with them again; and then he called Dusty’s agent and tore a strip off him.

Even I was slightly breathless as I listened to Tiran deliver all of these messages. At one point I offered a half-hearted observation that this was going to hurt Dusty’s career, and Tiran gave me a look that said Dusty would be lucky to have a life left after tonight, let alone a career.

By the time Tiran had finished with the calls, it was early evening. Pat asked nervously if he wanted dinner yet and Tiran shook his head dourly.

A quiet voice came from the back of the room. "How about a little squash, Tiry?"

I looked around in surprise to see that Rocky had slipped into the room unnoticed. He must have been filled in by someone since he wasn’t asking any questions, and his suggestion was clearly strategic – a chance for Tiran to blow off some steam.

Tiran looked at him for a moment, then ground out his cigarette grimly and nodded. "You too, Jackie – ?" he said to me, remembering at the last minute to make it a question rather than an order.

It was fine with me. The three of us walked over to the gym, Rocky asking quiet, practical questions – what flight Blackie was on, when Dusty would be home, who the publicity firm had been. I wondered if Rocky was going to veto any of the instructions Tiran had issued that afternoon; but when Tiran stopped for a minute to answer a call, I asked Rocky and he shook his head. "No, sir," he said. "From what I understand, Tiran hasn’t done anything that will hurt him or put him at risk."

"Maybe not him, but Dusty … " I suggested.

"He’s entitled to do what he wants to Dusty," Rocky answered mildly.

"He could be destroying Dusty’s whole career," I protested.

Rocky looked at me and lifted a shoulder. "That’s his right, sir," he said respectfully but firmly. "My veto is to protect Tiran, not anyone he owns."

Tiran re-joined us then, and we went on to the gym. We had a short warm-up and began playing. Tiran was still morose and lost in thought, and Rocky seemed to keep a sympathetic silence. But I soon realized that Rocky’s idea had been a good one; Tiran was definitely using the game to vent his rage. He was much more aggressive than usual, putting all of his pent-up anger and frustration into his swing, so his play was fierce but not especially effective. I’m usually about evenly matched with Tiran but tonight I won most of our games; he was forceful when he connected but his focus was off and he missed more often than usual.

At first it struck me as strange that despite his unfocused play, Tiran seemed to be beating Rocky more than he generally did when they played. Rocky is clearly the stronger athlete of the two, and it seemed odd for Tiran to make such a good showing today, when I knew his game was off.

Then it hit me. Of course – Rocky was letting Tiran win. Once it occurred to me, I could see how Rocky was pulling back and letting Tiran’s most ferocious shots go unanswered, so as to increase the satisfaction Tiran got from them. For a moment I was almost impressed; but then I realized something else – Tiran had noticed too.

For a moment we all hung teetering in that tension – the edge of knowing something that hasn’t been admitted, and knowing that the others know, but not wanting to be the one to acknowledge it and destroy the fragile equilibrium.

It was Tiran who broke the balance. In the middle of a game with Rocky, he suddenly threw his racquet onto the ground in disgust and stalked over to the door.

"Go take Rocky to your dungeon, Jack," he ordered acidly. "He obviously wants to be beaten tonight."

I heard Rocky take in his breath. "I’m sorry, Ti – " he implored quickly. "Come back – I’ll … "

"You’ll take what Jack gives you. Did you think patronizing me was going to help?" Tiran demanded contemptuously. He walked out without a backward glance and I stared after him for a moment, then turned to look at Rocky.

But Rocky was already on his knees in front of me. "The whip," he was saying urgently. "Please, sir! I’ll record it – send the file to Tiran. Please."

And with that he was gone, running almost, in the direction of the dungeon.

For the second time I was left staring at the door. My mind whirled, but I caught up with Rocky soon enough.

By the time I got over to the space Tiran calls my dungeon, Rocky had positioned himself over the whipping bench, bare-assed, restraints closed around his ankles and ready around his wrists. I took in the sight for a moment, then looked up and saw a red light blinking from the camera above the bench. I walked over quietly and snapped the wrist cuffs shut.

"Thank you, sir," Rocky whispered.

I needed to select a tool. I didn’t use whips with Rocky much anymore, since that time I’d lost my control with him. These days I stuck with floggers and the occasional belt or paddle, with lots of hard labour and workouts for long-term impact. My heart actually pounded a little as I stood at my implement cupboard and tried to decide what to use. I forced myself to wait until my breathing calmed and my heart rate slowed; this time, I wanted to be sure I was in control. Finally I chose a light cat that I knew would look and sound worse than it felt.

By the time I got back to Rocky I was cool and collected, with a plan. "How many strokes, Rocky?" I asked him. I wanted to be able to pace myself, and this would also heighten the show for Tiran.

But I hadn’t done this with Rocky before, and he caught his breath, not knowing how to respond. "Wh—whatever you think is best, sir," he said, taking the inevitable easy way out.

Even in a scene that was primarily for show, I wasn’t about to accept that. I ran the tails over his back lightly, reminding him of the taste. I didn’t want him to make an unrealistic suggestion. "How many do you deserve?" I prompted him.

"Uhh … " He hesitated, then suggested tentatively, "Fifteen, please, sir?"

That was a good, safe number. It gave me a little latitude, since I knew he could take more. I began laying down the fifteen lashes without further ado, not overly harsh but not sparing him either; I wanted this convincing for the camera. Rocky shuddered with each stroke but didn’t cry out, and I remembered how stoic he could be.

By the end of the fifteenth stroke Rocky was writhing in the restraints, and I gave him a minute to compose himself before I spoke again.

"Now … " I asked calmly, when he was ready. "How many more do you want – to please Tiran?"*

I saw his head jerk in surprise. He definitely hadn’t been expecting that. It took him a moment to respond. Finally, he whispered faintly, "Fifteen, sir." He stopped and cleared his throat, then tried again, loud enough for the camera to pick up his voice. "Another fifteen, please … for Tiran."

Good boy. I trailed the cat tails over his back gently. "Count them out," I ordered.

The counting helped us both pace ourselves. I went more slowly at first, knowing this set would be hard for him; towards the end I picked up the pace to get it over for him before the full effects set in. He whimpered quietly at first, then more loudly, but he managed to get out the count for each stroke.

Finally, we were finished. Rocky lay limply over the bench, quieting slowly. I walked around to where he could see me and turned off the camera. The red light went out. I moved over to the screen and typed a few words, pushed a few buttons. Rocky raised his head slightly and watched as I sent the message with the recording to Tiran.

When that was done, I turned around and met Rocky’s gaze evenly. I made sure he could see me as I picked up the whip again, then walked around behind him one more time. "Now," I said, feeling my breath catch a little in my throat. "How many more do you want … to please me?"

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* For this section, I owe inspiration to a story (that I loved) at nifty.org called "Pool Table and My Balls" (specifically Chapter 41: "’How many do you think you still owe me?’ … ‘"How many do you want to take to please me?’") But it needs MAJOR WARNINGS for EXTREME GRAPHIC DISTURBING descriptions including violence/torture/S&M, humiliation, bestiality, scat and just about every other bad thing you can think of.