Clean Living

Clean Living, 4/?
by Scribe

One month before the convention...

There had been some discussion between Chloe and Clive as to whether they should each sit with their respective submissives, or allow 'the brats' to sit together. "We might as well let them sit together," sighed Clive. "If not they'll drive us crazy talking over the seat backs."

"I suppose so," said Chloe. "And she's been behaving like an absolute sweetheart ever since we were appointed. I swear, sometimes I'm tempted to feel her forehead to see if she has a fever."

Clive nodded. "I can relate to that. It's when they DON'T cause mischief that you get worried about them."

They were all having dinner at Lavender's Green. Clyde had already accepted rolls of coins from Tinkerbelle and Toddy, with the promise to run them through a slot machine and bring back any winnings over the original sum. They'd asked Trenton first, but Clive had reminded them all firmly that gambling was illegal before the age of twenty-one, and Trenton had not yet attained that venerable age. "I'm not even sure they'll allow him into the gambling rooms," said Clive. "He may very well be restricted to the conference rooms and restaurant, and such." Trenton grumbled. "What was that, pet?"

"I was just saying," said Trenton, "that it makes no sense for me to be old enough to drink, but not old enough to gamble."

"Sweetie, since when have you ever expected logic from any form of government?" said Clive. "And if I catch you entering one of the gaming rooms for any reason other than to give CPR to someone who's collapsed, you know what to expect."

Mathilda, who was sitting across from Trenton, stuck her tongue out at him. "I had my birthday last month. I'm le-gal. That means that -I- can gamble." She caught the look Chloe was giving her. "That is if Mommy says it's all right."

"We'll see," said Chloe. Mathilda squirmed happily. If Chloe didn't just automatically say no there was a good chance that she'd be given permission.

"Chloe," said Clive, "did you get the convention literature."

"Oh, yes. Just a moment." She opened her purse and pulled out a handful of papers and brouchures, handing them over. "I really like the package they got for us. For the fee they're charging we get the rooms and two meals a day--and with the formal ones planned by the committees and all the free snacks they serve, that means you could probably go the entire convention without having to shell out. As guests of the hotel we'll have access to all the facilities--gym... sauna. They have cable television in every room, and broadband internet hook-ups on request."

"Sounds good." Clive was studying the material. "You'll like this, Trent. They have an Olympic sized pool."

"Great!" said Trent. "I was thinking that since we were going to be staying a whole week I'd have to look up a public pool. Then I thought 'duh, they wouldn't stick us at a place so cheap that it didn't have a pool'."

"No, indeed. According to this brouchure this is quite a nice establishment. It's called 'The Oceania', and it has an acquatic theme. You should be right at home."

Tinkerbelle was picking up their plates. She said curiously, "Acquatic theme?"

"Yes, dear," said Clive. "Many, many of the establishments in Vegas are themed. There's Ceasars--Roman theme." He arched an eyebrow at Trenton. "I almost wish we were going there. You'd fit right in with your slave boy costume, and I'd get a chance to get more use out of that gladiator armor you talked me into--and out of. Then there's Circus, Circus. They have big top decorations, and I believe their stage shows run heavily toward acrobats and trapeze artists..." Trenton opened his mouth and Clive said, "Before you make a dirty comment about trapeze acts remember that there are ladies present, and I get serious when you embarrass me in public." Trenton closed his mouth. "I THINK The Mirage is Egyptian themed. You know, this seems to be a very nice place. How did we manage to get the accomodations? I mean, I know that money changed hands, but let's be frank--we aren't exactly a convention of hardware salesmen."

"Simple," said Chloe. "The man owning the largest percentage is a member. Clyde, I read the information from the national headquarters. Each contingency is urged to present a scene. It's left up to the individual, but since we're using private chambers, everything up to and including full penetration is allowed. I was wondering..."

Clive smiled at her. "You're going to ask again about having Tilda and Trent in a scene together."

Chloe shrugged almost sheepishly. "I can't help it. I want so badly to see him in a pair of short pants."

Trent, not at all offended, said curiously, "But you've seen me in a lot less than that."

"You know very well that's not the point, lamb," said Clive. "It would be a costume, and costume puts things on another plane." Clive looked thoughtful. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"Two students get caught doing something naughty, and have to be punished," she said promptly.

Clive laughed. "You've been thinking about this."

"I won't deny it. And Clive, I'd like for you to participate, too." Clive arched an eyebrow at her. "Don't try to go shy on me. You've done scenes with Trent at the club meetings before. Like I said, it doesn't have to be full on sex unless you want it to be. But..." She trailed off.

"What? Why are you hesitating now?"

"I'm not sure how you'll take what I have to say next. I think it would be good if we traded off--you discipline Tilda, and I discipline Trent."

The rest of the table went silent, regarding her. Finally Clive pointed at Mathilda, who was smiling at him coyly. "I believe she wouldn't have any objection." Clive looked at Trenton. "You've never submitted to anyone else in a public scene--and never a woman. How do you feel about it, pet?"

Trenton bit his lip thoughtfully, and Chloe said, "Child, I don't want you to go into this unless you're sure. If you like there'll be nothing more than spankies with your underwear still on. I'm asking mainly because I want to get you in an English school uniform, and let you play a little with Mathilda." She gave her girl a smile. "She's become very fond of you, you know, and I want whatever makes my girl happy."

Trenton nodded. "I think that would be kind of cool." He smiled. "It it isn't TOO big of a crowd, I'll even strip. But... well... No offense, but I might not be... um..."

"You might not get excited--at least physically," Chloe completed the sentance for him. "Don't apologize, Trent. Sexuality is different for everyone. It's easy to see that with you it's bound up with your emotions. You need to care for someone to really be into it, and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that."

"Okay." He grinned at Mathilda. "You're not fooling me, Tilda. You just suggested this because you hope you'll get spankies from Clive."

Mathilda stuck her tongue out at him. "I admit that's partially true. But you're so much fun to play with, Trent." She giggled. "And the thought of how hot we can make all the curious vanilla people in the audience just by kissing and groping a little... Mommy, if I'm going to be showing my knickers to people, I need some new ones. Special ones?"

Clive drawled, "I've seen your panties on many occasions, sweetie, and I've never noticed anything other than white cotton. Does that require an entire shopping expidition?"

"She doesn't go the Frederick's of Hollywood or Victoria's Secret route," said Chloe, "but she likes to feel dainty sometimes." She reached over and pinched one of Mathilda's blonde curls. "What do you want this time, dear? Pink? Daisies?"

Chloe gave her a demure smile. "I saw some lavender ones printed with teeny violets."

Mock sarcastic, Trent said, "You're such a GIRL."

"Shut up, or I'll try to talk Clive into making you wear some."

Trenton snorted. "Like he would." He looked at Clive doubtfully.

"Don't even pretend you believe that," said Clive. He leaned over and kissed Trenton. "I have no desire to feminize you, precious. I love you just as you are."

"Thank goodness," said Trent. "Because pink is SO not my color."

Clive's hand slid down to rest just above Trent's ass. "Only in clothing. When you wear it more intimately, it suits you beautifully." Trenton knew that Clive was refering to the flush he often raised on Trenton's buttocks with the flat of his hand when they played. "Oh, and he's blushing now. You see what I mean, Chloe? We'll need to do a little shopping, too. We can both use a little more summer clothes." He rubbed Trenton's side. "If you're good I'll kick in the rest of the cost of those obscenely over priced athletic shoes you've been wanting." He looked at Chloe. "I swear, I feel old sometimes. The ones he want cost more than I paid for my first car. I wouldn't be so dubious if they were made out of actual leather."

They talked for a while longer, then went their seperate ways. Back at Clive's place they paused in the downstairs hall to check the mail. While Clive was opening the box, the door to Mrs. Havasnark's apartment opened. There was the usual stream of cats, followed by the usual tiny, bright-haired old layd. This time Havasnark's dressing gown was gold crushed velvet trimmed around the neck and wrists with white maribou feathers. "Hello, bubbies. Have you eaten?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Trenton.

"Drat. You have room for cookies, don't you?"

Before Trenton could answer, Clive said, "No, he doesn't. He had his own dessert and half of mine at Lavender's Green, and you know Elise's idea of a portion." He heard both Trent and Mrs. Havasnark sigh, and smiled, knowing that they couldn't see. "However we have a cookie jar, and they will keep till tomorrow."

"Yes!" Havasnark's tone was the vocal equivalent of someone rubbing their hands together. "I've got some Citrus Snaps AND peanut-butter with chocolate chunks. I'll get some for you, and Trent--pet those cats before they beat themselves to death against your shins."

As she went back into her apartment, Trenton bent down and started distributing strokes to the cats. "Anything interesting in the mail?"

"Several coupons for pizza and auto window tinting," said Clive. He dropped some paper into the wastebasket kept beside the wall mail boxes for exactly that purpose. "We'll save the pizza ones for when you don't feel like cooking."

"You know, your car would look cool with..."

"No. Trenton, there's a kitten trying to climb my leg. Remove it, please."

The kitten hadn't made it past Clive's ankle, but it was striving mightily. Trent picked it up, murmuring, "Give it up, kitty. Your claws aren't strong enough yet to deal with leather. And when they DO get strong enough, I advise you to rethink it." He cuddled the kitten up under his chin, saying, "Anything else?"

"An invitation to be a judge at a cosmotology competition in the fall. Hm... Maybe, but we get dreadfully busy right before the holidays. Bill. Bill. One for you from the Olympic's committee."

Trenton didn't drop the kitten, but he set it down swiftly enough to make the little animal complain lustily. Trenton ripped the envelope open and scanned the contents eagerly. He crowed, "It's instructions. It's a time table of what I need to have done by when if I'm going, and a list of required and suggested things to take along." He frowned. "Asperin? Don't the Japanese HAVE asperin?"

"I believe that they're more concerned with keeping you from toddling away from the Olympic area any more than is strictly necessary. We also have..." Clive waved a flat envelope. It was one of the kinds made from a sheet of paper that had been printed on both sides, ripped off a roll, then fastened into an envelope by pre-applied adhesive.

Trenton froze. "My grades." Clive nodded. Trenton had been told, in no uncertain terms, that if he didn't keep a B average he was staying home and studying instead of going to Vegas. There was only one course that had Trenton worried--biology. He THOUGHT he'd done well enough on the final to bring his grade up to an acceptable level, but he wasn't sure. "I can't look. You open it."

Clive ripped the envelope open and scanned the page. Some people would have tortured their lover by pretending disaster, or at least making them wait for an answer. Not Clive. He smiled at Trenton. "B+. Well done, precious." Trenton whooped and jumped, sending cats hissing and flying in every direction.

Mrs. Havasnark was returning with a sealed container that looked big enough to hold a Girl Scout bake sale. "Trent, what are you doing, scaring the babies?"

He swooped on her, giving her a hug, then started to waltz with her around the hall. "I did it, I did it, I did it!"

Mrs. Havasnark knew what he was talking about. "Sweetie!" As short as she was, she managed to shift the dance into a tango, and dipped the taller boy. "I'm so proud!"

"We all are," said Clive. "A 3.59 average. Havasnark, dear, let him up before you throw his back out." Mrs. Havasnark let Trent rise into a verticle position again.

"Wow, Snarky," said Trenton. "I didn't know you could tango."

"Can tango?" She sounded indignant. "Bubbelah, I taught at an Arthur Murray's for a year."

"Of course you did," said Clive, kissing her on the cheek. "Do you want help getting the cats back into your apartment?"

"Only all I can get," she replied.

"Allow me." Clive got the plastic bag off the mail boxes, removed a few of the liver treats, waved them at the cats, saying, "Nummies!" and tossed them into the apartment. Cat stampeded. "You know, Havasnark, those cats lie about you. They pretend that you never feed them."

"All babies do that. Night, boys," she said dismissively, going back into the apartment and shutting the door.

They went upstairs. Most people who weren't well versed in the D/s lifestyle would believe that a submissive always trailed his Dom. True, there were some relationships like that. Clive would have allowed it, reluctantly, if it was what Trenton wanted, but he much preferred having Trenton by his side. ("We are partners, after all.") But there was at least one instance where Clive usually directed Trenton to lead the way--that was going upstairs. The sight of his boy's ass flexing at almost eye level as he mounted the steps was simply too delicious to give up.

Upstairs Clive paused to lock the door, then dropped his keys on the doorside table. Not even looking around he said, "Stop staring at those cookies. You may have one--and I MEAN one--of each. Put the rest in the jar so we can return the container tomorrow."

"Yes, sir!" Trenton pressed a kiss just behind Clive's ear and went into the kitchen.

Clive went to the desk beside the bedroom door, sitting before the computer. As he booted it up he called, "And bring me the same, with some milk."

A minute later Trenton emerged from the kitchen carrying a plate and glass of milk, chewing contentedly. He pulled a sliding tray out of the slot over the desk's drawers and settled his burden on it. "Mild and cookies at nine o'clock," he warned. "Whatcha doing?"

Clyde was typing. "Spreading the good word. Scribe would spank me with one of my own belts if I didn't tell her."

"Bryant?"

"Trenton, Bryant is living in one of the ground floor apartments. Emailing him is a little silly."

"But fun. You can use lots of exclamation points and smiley faces."

"You can--I can't. Not if I ever want to be taken seriously again. If you must, you can do it when I'm finished. Which is..." He clicked the mouse. "Now. I certainly hope she's going to be able to get away and come see you in Japan. I've already reserved her accomodations and tickets."

"I hope so, too, but if she can't, you won't have any problems scalping them. I understand that people will pay outrageous prices."

"I wouldn't mind a decent profit," said Clive, "But I wouldn't want to take advantage of anyone. I've heard of how difficult it is to get rooms in the cities that host the Olympics. I'm glad that they set aside an allottment for the contestants' families."

"Scribe's a friend. She's not technically family."

"You bite your tongue, young man. That woman would donate a kidney for you, and you know it. And if anyone tries to make a fuss that she's not related--as far as anyone is concerned, she'll be your Auntie Fannie." He stood up and kissed Trent on the forehead. "I'm off to bed. Don't be too long, sweetums."

Trenton quickly wrote Bryant the email. He noticed that a couple of his friends were online, and was tempted to chat for a few minutes, but he knew himself well enough not to get started. *Besides,* he thought, shutting off the computer. *There's nothing on line as tempting or exciting as what I've got in my own bedroom.*

He turned off the living room light and stepped into the bedroom. He froze just inside the door. He'd expected Clive to already be in bed, or at the very least to have stripped. No, he was fully clothed--but not as he had been when he'd entered the bedroom. He was wearing one of their costumes--the one they used when he needed a quasi-uniform look. He was wearing the billed policeman-style cap, and a nightstick and a set of handcuffs dangled from his thick leather belt. He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed casually, but his eyes had been fixed on the door. When he saw Trenton he straightened up and said, "Mister Vittelli? I suppose you're wondering why we asked you to step out of line. Don't worry--it'll be a little while before your flight leaves, and I'm sure we can clear up this little matter in plenty of time."

*What did I ever do to deserve such a good life?* Trenton's demeanor became a touch defensive. "What's the problem?" He smiled nervously. "I'm not trying to smuggle fruit or plants across state lines."

"No need to be worried, I'm sure." Clive's voice was professional and smooth. "It's just that we occasionally pull a passenger randomly." He smiled. "Worries the bad guys."

"Do I look like a hijacker?"

"Not at all, but that's one reason why you were chosen." He made a face. "We have to be so careful that we're not accused of profiling. And you are exactly the opposite of what most people would assume we'd be looking for. And..." he hesitated. "Well, there was a small question about the contents of your suitcase. Some of the reading material is... borderline."

Trenton gasped. "That's private! What I read is none of your business."

"It is if it violates federal statutes." Clive held up a glossy magazine. Trenton recognized it as one they'd only acquired a month ago, but had quickly become a favorite. It was called Bare Boys. It featured photos of young models who were completely sans body hair, and they weren't just posing. There was some very active activity going on. In other words, it was hard core.

"All right," said Trenton uncomfortably. "It's not mainstream, but I bought it legally, and I'm not going to be taking it to any grade school. You have a problem with it?"

"Personally? Not at all." Clive riffled the pages, his eyes flicking over them with definite interest. Then he closed the magazine and folded it, then tapped it in his palm. "But how am I to know if all these models are over eighteen?"

"I... you..." Trenton's voice died. "Hell, man, how can anyone tell? They don't really look underage, even if they are smooth, and they have all that legal fine print on the cover."

"Maybe. I've had one of the other guards try to contact the publishers for confirmation."

"You're kidding."

Clive was suddenly right in his face, growling, "Do I LOOK like I'm playing with you, boy?"

"I... no."

"No what?"

"No..." Trenton's jaw hardened stubbornly. "Forget it. I only say 'sir' to people I respect."

Clive smiled faintly, and it sent a shiver down Trenton's spine. It was a shiver of delight, but if he hadn't known Clive as well as he did, it would have been a shiver of apprehension. "All right, but that goes two ways. You haven't done anything to win MY respect, Mister Vittelli. We're going to be stuck here in this room together for awhile. Rules state that for both of our safety I need to pat you down for weapons."

"This is ridi..."

"You're not going to be difficult about this, are you?" said Clive softly. He was fingering his handcuffs.

"What do I do?" said Trenton sullenly.

Clive took a step back and crooked his finger. "Come farther in, and shut that door." Trenton obeyed. "Lock it." Again he smiled. "Must protect your privacy. Now, hold out your arms at your side, then spread your legs." Trenton shifted. "Farther." He shifted again. "Father."

"I'll fall."

"No, you won't. Do it." Trenton obeyed, and this left him doing a standing spread eagle. Clive moved around behind him. "If I tickle, just tell me." He ran his hands slowly over Trent's shoulders. "And I'll make my touch more firm." He ran both hands down Trenton's left arm, starting at the arm pit, feeling the entire circumfrance. "You feel like you're in pretty good shape. Do you work out?"

"I..."

"Quiet." He repeated the action with Trent's right arm, then ran his hands over Trent's back. "I know this is annoying you, but it's required. If I ever let up and let a criminal slip through the process he could hurt you or your loved ones, so you DO realize this is for your own good?"

"I guess..."

Clive suddenly grabbed the back of his neck, drawing a gasp from the boy, and hissed, "I said QUIET! I don't want to have to tell you again." He reached around Trenton, running his hands sensuously over Trent's chest. Clive could feel the points of Trenton's nipples thrusting against the fabric of his shirt, and bit back a chuckle, thinking, *God, darling, you're such a responsive little thing, and you have such a wonderfully dirty imagination.* "What's that?" he said, sounding suddenly alert and stern. He grabbed the edges of the shirt and jerked hard. Buttons sprayed, and he quickly had his hand inside the material, fingers fastened on the hard buds of Trent's nipples, squeezing. Trenton moaned. "Oh. I felt something hard, and thought it might be a weapon." He rubbed gently. "Sorry. Clasp your hands behind your neck, please." When Trent hesitated he said firmly, "I'm going to do your legs now, and I want to know exactly where those hands are." Trent obeyed, then Clive clasped his hands around Trent's left ankle. "Try not to jump."

Slowly, slowly, he gave Trenton's legs the same treatment he'd given his arms--feeling, almost massaging them in a leisurly way. He spent a long time kneading the muscles of Trent's inner thighs, and he could feel the strong, toned muscles trembling. "You seem nervouse, son," he said, voice silky. "Do I make you nervous?" Trent said nothing. "Good." He stood. "We're almost done. Now, this may seem a little personal to you, but it has to be done." He gripped Trenton's ass firmly, and squeezed. "Oh, you DO work out." He kneaded sensuously, then gripped the globes through Trent's trousers and pulled, spreading them slightly, fingers pressing the cloth into the crack. Trenton gasped, and Clive quickly slid his hands around to the front, covering his straining crotch and squeezing roughly.

Trent reacted as Clive had known he would. He yelped, and the movement he made might have been an attempt to escape, or it might have been trying to push his cock deeper into Clive's grip. "What are you...?"

Clive moved swiftly. He kept one hand clamped firmly on Trent's fly, but the other arm looped quickly around his neck, jerking the boy back against his body. "WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT STAYING QUIET?"

"I'm sorry!"

"Too late for that."

Clive moved. Trenton had kept his hands behind his neck, and now he suddenly felt chilly metal snap around one wrist. "Oh, God!" His arm was jerked down to the small of his back, the free hand was pulled down, and he quickly found his hands shackled together. Clive wrapped his fist in the back of Trenton's shirt and swung him around. He maneuvered Trent up to their dresser, then pushed him down till he was bent over the side edge, his upper body supported. "I wasn't going to do this." Clive reached around Trent again and began to unbuckle his pants. His lips very close to Trent's ear, he whispered, "But you just HAD to push me."

"What are you gonna do? What are you gonna DO?" Trent's voice was almost frantic.

Clive jerked the boy's zipper down. "Guess." He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of Trent's underwear and jerked them and the trousers down in one move. Trent's cock, stiff, wavered below his belly. "Oo, well, well. You WERE hiding a weapon." Clive wrapped his hand around Trent's shaft, squeezing and stroking. "Nice caliber, too."

"Don't do this," gasped Trenton.

Clive kept stroking. "I'm sorry, but I have to complete the protocol." He stood up. He squeezed trent's ass with one hand, and reached into his own pocket with the other, pulling out a tube of lubricant. "I'm going to have to do a body cavity search." Trenton yelled and tried to stand up straight. Clive controled him easily by putting a firm hand at the small of his back and pinning him down. He hissed, "You just calm down, young man, and this won't be more than a momentary inconvenience. In fact, I can make it a pretty pleasant experience--if--you--don't--fight it. Now, be still." He let go, and nodded in satisfaction when Trent didn't try to move again, only shivered. "Good boy." He opened the lube and squeezed a thick smear onto the three middle fingers of his right hand, coating them. He gripped Trenton's hip with his left hand, using his long fingers to pry aside one buttock, spreading the crease and exposing his ass hole.

Trenton was breathing hard as Clive wiped the ointment down his crease, then started to massage the slickness around his anus. Clive squeezed his hip in a reassuring gesture, saying, "Come on, now, this won't be so bad. You've had a finger up there before. Had prostate exams, haven't you?"

"This is NOT the same thing."

"You got that right." Clive centered his finger, then pushed slowly. "I'm going to treat you a LOT better than any of them ever did." Trenton sucked in a deep breath. "Breathe, kid. Breathe." He twisted his finger, pulling it out a little.

"That's it?" Trent's voice trembled. Clive knew it was supposed to be nerves and embarrassment, but he knew his lover, and knew it was rising lust.

"Oh, we're just getting started. I have to be THOROUGH." He pushed in again, deeper this time, twisting and wiggling. "You okay? Too much?"

"I can take it."

"I'm glad to hear that, because it's about to get more intense." Clive had pulled out. Now he pressed two fingers together and slid them in.

"Oh, SHIT! I don't believe this."

"Good, isn't it?"

"You are SO going up on charges, man. I'll have your job. I'll have your FREEDOM! I'll see that you're put in a place where big guys with tattoos do this to YOU."

"Kid, you ever heard the saying 'might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb'?" Clive stood up.

Trenton stiffened--his spine and his cock--as he heard the sound of a zipper coming down. "No!"

"Yes." Clive grabbed Trent's hips again and entered him in one long, hard stroke.

Trenton's eyelids fluttererd in pleasure as the hot, hard length of his lover filled him, sliding over his prostate. It was all he could do to keep from bucking back into the thrust, but he wanted to maintain the illusion for a little longer. "This is rape," he gasped.

"Then yell, kid." Clive thrust again, strong enough to move Trent along the dresser surface. "Go on. Yell loud enough and that lock won't keep them out. My fellow guards will be here, ready to break down the door." He pumped several times, hard and fast. "Hey, I'll bet this will make the evening news." Thrust. "Of course they'll have to be really discreet in their language, but the tabloids probably won't be so demure." Clive was fucking steadily now. "Just relax and this will be over quickly. I'm close. Then you can zip up and get on your flight, and forget this ever happened." He gave a particularly sharp shove, making Trenton grunt. "Of course it may be a little uncomfortable to sit on your flight."

"Bastard," Trenton whispered. But he was pushing back to meet Clive as he said it.

"Never denied it." Clive reached under Trenton with one hand and gripped the young man's cock, starting to masturbate him. "But I guess you like bastards." He jerked his hips hard. "Or maybe just this particular bastard." With a sound deep in his chest he rammed in as hard as he could and came. Trenton closed his eyes in ecstacy, relishing the intimacy of taking his lover's essence into him. He went limp as Clive finished stroking him to completion. It was almost as if the climax was less than the climax of the act. The physical release was good, very good, but just being with Clive was the best part.

Clive stroked Trenton till he felt the boy shudder and coat his hands with warm release. Then he kissed the back of Trenton's neck and said, "I don't think I want to send you off to wherever you were going. I think I want to keep you. What say?"

Trenton could tell by his tone that the scene was over, and he was just as glad. It was always hard for him to keep it up after the peak. He laughed breathlessly. "I won't have to live in this room, will I? Can't I at least be in the employee lounge? You gotta have a fridge and a teevee in there."

Clive nipped his ear, then pulled out of the embrace of Trent's body. Before he did anything else he unlocked and removed the handcuffs. Then he gripped Trent's shoulders, helping him stand upright, and started rubbing his shoulders. "How's your circulation, pet?"

It was a standard question after Trenton had been restrained. "Great." He wiggled his fingers in demonstration.

"Good." Clive stepped back and slapped Trenton's ass. "Go shower quickly, then bring me a damp cloth when you're done and clean me up." Trenton started for the bathroom, and Clive called after him. "Choose an oil and I'll give you a nice massage." Pant's still open, he reclined on the bed, putting his hands behind his head. "You were at an awkward angle, and we don't want you to get any kinks." He chuckled, closing his eyes. "Not PHYSICAL ones, anyway."