Syndicate Stories

Chapter 2


Over the last four years, Mikhail had learned the art of being stoic in the face of impending doom, but it still took a great deal of courage to open the door to Logan’s study and step inside without falling to the floor and apologizing. The man inside the room only fractionally looked up at him before turning his gaze back to the letter he was reading. Mikhail shut the door behind himself and walked over to stand in front of the desk, obediently waiting for Logan to acknowledge him.

Logan himself was leaning against one of the bookshelves to the side of the room and Mikhail grimaced a little and steeled himself for what was to come. He apparently kept the man waiting long enough that Logan had time to start looking through his paperwork and unopened mail. Taking a deep breath and pressing his lips together, Mikhail stood in front of the desk and said nothing. Though he found his gaze traveling to watch Logan from the corner of his eye.

The older man was only wearing dress slacks, the belt and button undone so they hung low on his hips. Mikhail swallowed hard at the scent of sex that lingered in the air and shifted just a little as he watched his boss.

Logan was Mikhail’s ideal of an attractive man; over six feet tall with broad shoulders and a muscular body that was well maintained through training bouts with Cain and Nate’s superior cooking skills. His skin was a dusty color and his hair jet black, earned from a Mediterranean mother. The blue eyes and height were from his Scandinavian father. Scars from knives and bullets and over excited lovers shown on his chest and arms. There was one scar on his back that ran from his tailbone, up along his spine, and then jerked abruptly toward his left should, that Mikhail had always wondered about and never dared ask.

Mikhail turned his gaze back to the desk and stared hard down at it as he realized Logan was no longer reading the letter, but staring back at him instead. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused me?” Logan asked, his deep voice resonating around in Mikhail’s skull as the papers Logan had been holding were tossed on to the desk. The question was obviously rhetorical, so Mikhail continued looking down at the desk as he listened to Logan’s bare feet against the hardwood floor as he walked behind Mikhail.

“I thought we dealt with this little defiant streak when you did that whore that was selling out secrets,” Logan’s voice said from behind, gradually becoming lower and more dangerous. Mikhail could not help the unconscious shiver that ran up his spine. “You are to do your job the way I lay the Syndicate orders it done! What part of that do you not understand? What do I have to do to get through to you the importance of being my boy?”

Logan’s hand wrapped around the back of his neck and the desk rushed up toward him. Mikhail barley managed to throw his hands out in front of his face to keep his nose from being bashed into the hard oak as Logan bent him over the desk, his hand tight on Mikhail’s neck as he held him there.

“This was not a job from me, Mikhail. It was from the Syndicate,” he continued speaking, pressing down on Mikhail’s neck whenever he felt extra emphasis was needed for his words. “You clearly have no idea how your actions reflect on me. It looks like I don’t have control over my men, that I can’t be trusted with a simple assassination.”

The hand pulled away from his neck, but Mikhail knew better than to try and stand up again. “Drop your pants,” Logan ordered with a resigned sigh, and Mikhail did as he was told. Reaching between his body and the desk to undo his jeans and push them and his underwear to pool around his ankles. Then he raised his arms and gripped the edge of the desk, bracing himself with his hips painful positioned on the ledge of the desk as he waited.

There were times when Mikhail wondered if he was the reason Logan bought the desk three years ago. It was the perfect height for him to bend over with his feet still on the ground and the top was just long enough that he had to stretch completely over it to grip the other edge. If that theory was true, it was a good investment from the amount of times Mikhail found himself in this position.

The blows began without a warning. Mikhail heard the sound of leather against flesh before he felt the sting radiating through his body and clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. He knew what his punishment was going to entail the moment he saw the belt hanging from Logan’s waist.

What Logan punished him with was a good way of figuring out exactly how mad the man was. His hand meant only a passing annoyance, but something that needed to be addressed. The belt usually meant Mikhail had crossed not only him, but also the Syndicate, and the punishment was a lesson for his own good. Then there was the rod, when Logan was furious beyond reason. Mikhail only earned that once, when he was seventeen and tried to run away. Cain had to hold him up halfway through the punishment. It was the only time he ever saw the bodyguard wince in sympathy. By the time Logan was finished, Mikhail could not walk, let alone run for nearly a month.

The belt struck him at uneven intervals and never hit the same place long enough for him to become accustomed to the pain. Mikhail could feel the welts rising on his thighs, buttocks, and even his lower back when the belt came crashing down with a little extra gravity behind it. His skin split open in a few places where the blow was especially hard or had been struck multiple times, there was a sticky feel of blood trickling from the lacerations. Mikhail managed only to grunt, a scream would be a disappointment to Logan, and he did not want to make the man any more disappointed.

Logan’s voice was low and clear as he spoke while landing one blow after another, rebuking Mikhail for his recent faults and explaining the importance of his position. Mikhail knew that he should be listening more intently, but between his white-knuckled grip on the desk and clenched teeth to keep from crying out and the growing erection he was trying to ignore as it butted up underneath the hard ledge of the desk, it was difficult.

It embarrassed Mikhail that he was so aroused when Logan treated him this way, but his body responded without consulting him first. Nate once asked if Mikhail considered himself a masochist, leading to the only physical fight he ever had with Nate; and a severe beating from Logan for attacking the code-bearer. Mikhail actually came during that beating, and only his jeans and the fact Logan left him lying in a heap let him save face.

Counting the seconds helped to keep from crying out during the punishment Logan gave out. It let Mikhail focus on something other than the intense pain of the belt abusing his flesh and the erection uncomfortably crammed under the ledge of the desk. It also allowed him an idea of how long he endured the belt. When the last blow finally came down hard against his buttock, he was up to five thousand thirty nine, which meant Logan had been at it for nearly ten minutes. A new record.

“I’d love to fuck you right now, Mikhail,” Logan said, his voice almost soft as he kicked Mikhail’s ankles, forcing him to step out of his jeans and brace his legs farther apart. The belt caressed his inner thighs before falling to the ground. “You’d like if I fucked you, wouldn’t you, Mikhail?”

His knees threatened to betray him at the thought of Logan on top of him, thrusting in side him, his beaten body forcibly coming into contact with Logan’s hard body again and again. His erection became even more painful at the thought. Mikhail opened his mouth and almost found himself asking to be fucked, but he closed his mouth again quickly. This was punishment, not foreplay.

Logan’s hand moved between Mikhail’s thighs, causing an abrupt intake of breath and the hands to clench the far edge of the desk even tighter, as his fingers pressed and fondled a place just behind Mikhail’s balls and touched the silver bar that pierced the tender flesh. It was Logan’s mark of ownership, proof that Mikhail belonged to him. He pierced Mikhail himself on the second anniversary of his coming into Logan’s service.

“I know you want to be fucked, Mikhail,” Logan said in a low, seductive voice as he reached up and ran the fingers of his free hand through Mikhail’s long blond hair. “Do you deserve it?”

“No, sir,” Mikhail replied in a quiet voice as he pleaded with his body not to give into the tender ministrations of Logan’s fingers toying with the intimate piercing. No matter how Logan was treating him or where he was touching him, it would be no excuse if he came without permission when he was being punished for disobedience.

“You don’t deserve it?” Logan asked, leaning forward as he continued to fondle the piercing with two fingers as his thumb stroked teasingly at the crack of Mikhail’s ass.

Mikhail closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had played this game long enough that he knew what Logan wanted to hear; he just needed his body to play along until he was dismissed and could deal with the erection himself.

“I was bad and disobeyed and d -- ,” he faltered a moment as Logan’s fingers slipped forward and briefly lingered on his balls, but he managed to recover. “I don’t deserve your cock, sir.”

“No, you don’t,” Logan agreed as the tormenting hand finally pulled away, but not before delivering a playful slap to the abused buttocks. Mikhail let out a little choking sound. “Pull yourself together. I’m done with you for now. “

It took Mikhail a moment to convince his hands to release the desk and push himself up. His legs did not like his weight, but they did not buckle as he stood up and pulled on his underwear and jeans with a hissing noise.

He kept his back to Logan the entire time, trying to hide his erection from the man as he zipped up his jeans, but he could feel Logan’s bright blue eyes on his back the entire time. Until the cellphone rang, and Mikhail was relieved for less than a minute when he realized the person on the other side was not giving Logan the chance to say a word and Logan was taking the treatment. There was a beep as Logan hung up the phone and Mikhail trembled, unwilling to look over his shoulder.

“Looks like you’ve managed to get me in more trouble than even I expected,” Logan said, his voice taking on a tone that chilled Mikhail to the bone. A hand grabbed his upper arm and swung him around, throwing him down to sit on a wooden chair that was uncomfortable at the best of times, but against his abused body it caused him to actually scream.

“What are you, Mikhail?” Logan demanded in the cold, calm tone that terrified Mikhail. He grabbed his belt off the floor and yanked Mikhail’s arms around the back of the chair and used it to bind his wrists together. “Well?”

“Cock slut, sir,” Mikhail answered, deciding it was better to just say whatever Logan wanted rather than avoiding it the way he usually did.

“Very good,” Logan said, his voice still cold as he crouched down in front of Mikhail and looked up at him. “You know what else you are?”

Mikhail blinked and slowly shook his head.

“You know. You don’t think you know, but you know,” Logan said, putting his hands on Mikhail’s thighs to add just a little extra weight as he leaned close. “Every time I beat your ass bloody you get the hardest fucking hard-ons of your life. What’s that make you, Mikhail?”

“I don’t know,” Mikhail said in a trembling voice as he quickly added, “sir.”

Logan shook his head, pushing hard on Mikhail’s thighs and causing a groan of agony as he looked up at his boss. “Pain slut, is the answer, Mikhail. You are a fucking cock slut and a pain slut.”

Mikhail bristled to argue, before the pain of his body reminding him he was going to agree with whatever Logan said to him. He hung his head instead.

“You deserve more punishment than this, Mikhail. But I have to get on a plain and meet with the Shadow Board thanks to this debacle,” Logan said, reaching out and stroking Mikhail’s cheek gently. “I’m fond of you, Mikhail, my little cock slut. I won’t let the Syndicate do anything to you, even though you deserve a great deal more punishment for what you’ve done. You’ll stay in this chair for the next hour to think about what you’ve done. Nate’ll untie you later.” He kissed Mikhail’s forehead, causing the younger man to tremble. Logan never did anything like that before. “Don’t leave the apartment until I give you permission to do so again. I’ll have Ollie bring you and Nate whatever you need. Now, tell me what you are.”

“Pain slut,” Mikhail whispered, unsure of how Logan was using this sweet act against him, but absolutely terrified by it.

“Good boy,” Logan said back, brushing the blond hair back over his shoulder. “Good boy.”

Logan left the study without another word, slamming the door behind himself.

Mikhail wasn’t sure how long he sat there until Nate came into the study, but he had more than enough time to think of what he’d done. Logan was right; he needed to do the jobs the way they were outlined. It was just difficult. What really concerned him was the tenderness Logan showed him. It always scared the hell out of him when Logan was sweet to him, especially after his punishments.

“Logan’s gone,” Nate said as he closed the door again behind him. As Mikhail watched Nate walk over to the desk and easily jump up to sit on it, he again reflected that it had to be meant for him. Nate’s legs were too long for him to be comfortably be bent over it. “I got the medical kit out for when I can untie you. You’ve got about twenty minutes left.”

“I don’t need your help,” Mikhail said muttered into his chest.

“I could hear him hitting you without listening at the door,” Nate replied, picking up some of the paperwork on the desk and glancing it over, collating as he went. He looked over at Mikhail again after a moment and nodded toward the bulge in his jeans. “Want me to help you deal with that?”

“No, I’m fine,” Mikhail grit out. He liked Nate under most circumstances, but he wanted to be left alone to think the way Logan told him.

Nate seemed to pick up on the thought, nodding as he set aside the papers. “I’ll be back in twenty, and you’re going to let me take care of your backside.”

The door closed again and Mikhail closed his eyes as he thought about the job he botched. It was another case of someone thinking they could sell Syndicate secrets and get away with it. Mikhail had no patience for people that tried such things and took a great deal of pride in silencing them. The problem was the conditions he was supposed to follow during the job.

Orders had been explicit when he received them, that he was to grab the man’s children and tie them up to watch as he executed their father before he killed them as well. He managed to tie the feisty teenage girl to a chair, but when he found her six-year-old brother he froze. His mind became fixated on the horrible moment when he was seven and his father strangled his mother on orders of the Syndicate.

The girl was surprisingly quick when he untied her wrists, body checking him against the wall with her short form and hitting him with the chair before grabbing her brother and running. It would have been easy for Mikhail to grab the gun he’d been supplied and shoot them in the back. Instead, he just sat and waited for their father to get home and slit the man’s throat. He was supposed to shoot him, but knives were Mikhail’s style.

It was the loose ends that the Syndicate hated, but Mikhail could not imagine there was much the girl and her brother could do.

“Times up,” Nate said, coming into the study again. Mikhail looked up and nodded as Nate rounded the chair and undid the belt that was cutting into his wrists. “Christ, you’re already bleeding through your jeans,” he exclaimed as Mikhail stood up. “How are you feeling?”

“I deserved it,” Mikhail muttered, the memories of the terrified eyes of the six year old boy and the defiant glare of his sister effectively deflated his erection. He would have to remember that image for the future when he wanted to keep from being aroused.

The room suddenly spun and Mikhail collapsed to his knees as Nate yelled and tried to catch him. Mikhail tried to swat Nate away as the other man fussed over him and somehow managed to drag him to his bedroom, strip him, and lay him out on his stomach to treat the welts and places where Logan broke skin. The antiseptic cream was cold and stung, and Mikhail clenched his fists in anger as his body became aroused by the sensation. He finally fell asleep to the sound of Nate muttering the seven rules of the Syndicate.

TBC...


[Comments very much appreciated. Is the story enjoyable so far?]