Cold Blood, page 20
Using the spatula, Harlan reached out and slammed the fridge closed. The smell didn’t go away, not completely, but they could breathe again and at least no more was coming out.
Charles went around opening windows while Harlan, after pulling on some underwear, watched gratefully and tried to convince his stomach contents to stay put. This was definitely a dick-covered situation.
“Whew,” Charles said, returning to the kitchen. He kept one wary eye on the fridge. “I know you sometimes skip a meal or two when I’m not around, but this…!”
Harlan shook his head. He felt pale and shaky, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the lingering smell or what he was beginning to suspect had happened. “I bought those groceries last week, and I cleaned out the fridge when I brought them home.”
“You might want to switch grocery stores.”
“No, I don’t think it’s that. Let me check something.” He grabbed one of his Centre mediumship textbooks—the only books that hadn’t been in the apartment when he moved in—and flipped through it. “Ah, here it is.” He closed it decisively.
“Gonna share with the class?” Charles laughed humorlessly.
“Sorry. I’ve never seen it in person, but I remembered reading about it. Um, basically, some ghosts can contaminate or rot food. They can even—” He took a deep breath, immediately regretted it and opened the fridge again. Yep. Maggots.
“Garbage bag?” he wheezed, trying not to look too closely at the foul, writhing mass inside.
Charles passed him not only two trash bags, one inside the other, but a pair of rubber dish gloves. It took another double bag, but they got the whole mess, maggots and all, wrapped up. Holding them at arm’s length, Harlan ran down the stairs and out to the dumpster. He didn’t want to get that smell in the elevator. He caught his neighbour, the one Charles said was into him, giving him some major stink eye.
Not that he could blame him.
He threw out the gloves for good measure, ran back upstairs and frantically washed his hands.
Charles had Febrezed the shit out of the kitchen, to the point that it was probably more aerosol than air, but between that and the open windows, the stench was contained.
“It must have been that ghost from the other night,” Harlan said apologetically. “One last ‘fuck you’, I guess.” He glanced around the kitchen, looking for inspiration and trying not to think about whatever yummy thing Charles would have made. “Um, oatmeal?” he offered. He wasn’t really hungry anymore, and he doubted Charles was either, but Charles was right. He did need to eat before he had his pills, and it was already later in the day than he was supposed to take them.
“Sure.”
Harlan opened the cupboard a little cautiously, but everything inside looked normal. He picked up a box of oatmeal packets and shook it. It sounded normal. He tore just the corner off one of them, then recoiled. “Oh, come on!” The oats were black and crumbly like they’d been hit by one of the plagues of Egypt. The smell wasn’t as bad as the meat and vegetables in the fridge, but it seemed to coat the inside of his nostrils. He had a feeling he’d be smelling it for a month. Hopefully none of his neighbours would complain. He was tempted to get some plastic sheets and just seal off the whole kitchen indefinitely.
The sugar was crawling with maggots, and even the honey was black and putrid.
He’d thought honey and sugar couldn’t go bad. Hadn’t they found some honey in the pyramids that was still edible? Why couldn’t the pyramids be haunted instead of his apartment?
Charles was right there with another garbage bag. They didn’t bother checking anything else, just shoved every scrap of food into bags and took them downstairs immediately.
He had to go to the store, talk to people and buy groceries less than a week after going through all that already! And he’d have to buy everything, not just a few staples. He groaned.
“Hey.” Charles took his hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I guess we’re going out for breakfast.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Despite thinking that he’d never want to eat again, Harlan enjoyed their brunch of waffles and bacon, and he was feeling a lot better by the time they got back to his apartment. The smell seemed to be gone, but he couldn’t bring himself to even look in the direction of the kitchen.
“Ready for your surprise?” Charles asked.
Harlan blinked, then grinned. “Oh, right!” The day had got off to a weird start, but he thought that brunch, combined with whatever Charles had planned, would be enough to turn it around.
“The toy bag is already in the bedroom.”
Harlan gave him a light swat on the butt. “Let’s go to the bedroom, then.” He’d meant to sound sexy and dominant, but he wasn’t sure he’d pulled it off.
Charles skipped ahead of him and was already halfway undressed by the time Harlan caught up.
“Because we enjoyed it so much last time, when I was first introducing you to toys, I picked out one toy from each of the main food groups—a flogger, a crop, a paddle and a cane—to try. I mean, for the club to try, of course.” Charles grinned, then rummaged in the bag he’d brought and set four toys on the bed.
Harlan walked over to look at them. The last time they’d played this game, he’d never held a BDSM toy before, but he’d got a lot of experience since then. He still felt a little nervous at first, but they were all similar to toys he’d used before. There was nothing too difficult or strange, nothing that made him worry he’d hurt Charles for real before he’d tried it a few times—not that Charles would want those sorts of toys in his club. People were free to bring in their own, but most of Rattling Chains’ toys were pretty basic. Charles also had to be able to disinfect all of them, which narrowed his options.
The paddle was rectangular and made of red leather. The flogger was also red leather, with wide, flat falls with rounded tips. The cane was black, basically a riding crop without a tab at the end. The actual crop looked a little more unusual.
“What’s this one?” he asked Charles.
Charles grinned. “That’s a jockey bat. It’s one of my favourite toys, so I thought I’d try one out and see if the club likes it.”
“The club selection committee that’s just you and me?” Harlan teased.
“Yep!”
Harlan picked up the jockey bat. The handle and flat piece at the end were more or less the same as other riding crops he’d used, except that the tip was firm instead of just being a folded-over piece of leather. The shaft was very different. It was made of flexible rubber in a candy-cane-stripe pattern of red and black. He gave it a gentle swish through the air. It was much heavier than a normal riding crop, and the rubber made it more flexible. He could make a much larger arc using the same amount of swing.
Once he was satisfied with his equipment, he turned back to Charles. He tapped two places on the end of the bed with the tip of the crop. They were far apart and would put Charles off balance. “Put one hand there and the other there.” To make it even more difficult, he indicated two more places for Charles’ feet where they’d be spread nice and wide.
Charles obeyed without question, grinning and eager.
Harlan laid out the ground rules. “Ten strikes with each toy, each strike harder than the last. I want you to count each strike out loud. After every toy, I want a ‘yes, Sir’ or a ‘no, Sir.’ Or a ‘maybe’, I guess.” Rats… He’d lost his Dom role for a moment there. “Understood?” he added firmly.
“Yes, Sir,” Charles purred, raising his ass invitingly.
“Mmm.” Harlan couldn’t help taking a second to just appreciate the view—Charles’ well-furred, muscular ass cheeks, with just a teasing peek of what hid between them, and the dark shadow of his heavy balls underneath. Maybe one day he’d get used to seeing all of Charles laid out in front of him—just for him—but so far he was still in awe each time he saw Charles naked.
He couldn’t decide between starting with the flogger or the paddle, so he gave in and played eenie-meenie-minie-moe. He landed on the paddle. It had grooves in the handle that fit his hand nicely, and he gently stroked Charles’ left cheek with one edge. He was delighted when Charles’ skin immediately got goosebumps.
A long shiver rolled down Charles’ spine, and he let out a soft, “Ohhhh.”
Harlan waited until Charles was nice and relaxed again before lifting the paddle for his first strike.
Charles let out a breathy shout, his whole body rocking with the impact, even though it hadn’t been that hard. He immediately shifted his ass back towards Harlan, offering himself for another strike.
“Well?” Harlan asked softly, grinning to himself.
“‘Well’?” Charles repeated. “Oh! One, Sir.”
“That’s better.” He hadn’t asked Charles to call him ‘Sir’ after each blow, only after each toy, but he had to admit he liked it.
Harlan stroked Charles’ ass cheek with his free hand, lingering on the slightly red mark the paddle had left. He could already feel Charles’ skin getting hot.
He rewarded Charles with a second blow on the same spot as the first—but harder, as he’d promised.
Charles waited just long enough to take a breath before saying, “Two, Sir.”
A third strike, and this one was a little above the last two. Harlan decided that he’d use the paddle on one cheek and switch back and forth for the other toys, so he wouldn’t overwhelm either side of Charles’ ass and he’d be able to see the marks each toy made. After all, they were at least pretending to choose toys, not just playing for fun.
He gave another few blows, one after the other, barely giving Charles time to call out the number before the next one landed. Harlan was hitting a little harder each time, and Charles’ ass was getting nice and pink, but Harlan wasn’t anywhere near going all out. They still had three more toys to go.
“Ten! Sir!” Charles called out proudly, turning to grin at Harlan before sinking a little farther forward on his elbows. “And that one is a ‘yes’, Sir.”
“Good,” Harlan praised him, lightly stroking his extra-warm ass cheek. He set the paddle down and picked up the flogger. “Ready?”
“Yes, Sir.” Charles settled himself, his ass raised as high as it could go.
Harlan hated not being able to keep touching Charles, but he had to take a step back so he could swing the flogger and not hit both cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to keep a hand on Charles with the next two toys, either, but he could always give him a stroke in between.
He snapped the flogger in the air a few times, getting used to its weight and the length of its falls.
Charles let out a little moan every time he heard it crack.
When he was ready, Harlan brought it down on Charles’ right cheek.
Charles cried out, spreading his legs wider to brace himself—and, Harlan thought, to give more of his ass for him to hit.
Harlan waited a moment, then cleared his throat just as Charles said, “Two, Sir.”
He swung three times without pausing between them, not giving Charles time to count.
“Six, Sir?” Charles asked after Harlan lowered the flogger.
Harlan grinned and shook his head. “Nope, that was only five. Should we start over?” It was up to Charles—if he wanted to just keep going from where they’d left off, that was fine with Harlan.
Charles thought a moment, then said, “Yes, Sir.”
“All right.” Harlan stepped closer so he could stroke Charles’ lower back, feeling Charles shiver with happiness beneath him, then lined up to flog him again. This time he had mercy and gave Charles plenty of time to answer between swings.
Charles hissed softly and pulled away at the tenth strike, but he quickly said, “Ten, Sir.”
“Sorry, was that too much?” Harlan hadn’t been swinging full force even at the end, but it was still ten—no, fifteen—blows pretty much on top of each other. He ran a hand over Charles’ hot skin. There were a few darker spots of colour—not quite welts, but close.
Charles shook his head without lifting it from the mattress. “No. No. The last one just wrapped a bit.”
Harlan winced. “Ooh, I’m sorry!” ‘Wrapping’ was when a flogger’s falls went around the curve of a hip or other body part and struck extra hard on the other side. He looked, and there were a few small welts on Charles’ thigh. “Do you want to stop?”
“No way. Not yet. Not until we’ve tried all of these,” Charles insisted. His voice already sounded a little dreamy, and Harlan was pretty sure he’d be in subspace by the time he was finished with Charles. Charles was adorable when he was in subspace. “That one’s also a ‘yes’, Sir.”
“All right.” Harlan stroked Charles’ ass a little longer, giving him time to recover before putting the flogger down. “Which toy next?”
“Cane,” Charles answered immediately.
Harlan grinned as he picked it up. “That didn’t take you long.”
“Canes sting, and I like jockey bats. I’m saving the best for last.”
“Oh, you’ve used a jockey bat?” Harlan teased. “I guess we don’t have to try this one today.”
“No! It’s different!” Charles insisted.
Harlan was tempted to ask how—in detail—it was different, but he took mercy on Charles again…in a manner of speaking.
He quickly drew back the cane and lashed Charles’ left cheek.
Charles cried out and rocked forward again, but before Harlan could even raise the cane a second time Charles was back in place. “One, Sir,” he said breathlessly.
“Good,” Harlan told him, then brought the cane down again. Normally he liked to layer his cane-marks on top of each other and see how clean he could make a single line, but he’d already used the paddle on this cheek, and it was still pretty red. He spaced his cane-marks out, leaving a series of pink stripes while Charles counted. Charles gasped and moaned, getting Harlan more and more excited. He couldn’t resist hitting almost full force with his tenth strike. There was only one toy left, and it would be on the other cheek. He knew Charles could take it.
“Ten!” Charles panted, shifting his knees and elbows to get comfortable again.
“Ten,” Harlan agreed. He didn’t scold Charles for not saying ‘Sir’ after the number, since it was something Charles had started doing on his own, after all, not something Harlan had asked him to do—otherwise, he would have insisted.
If he’d remembered, in his own excitement.
Charles didn’t give his opinion of the toy, so Harlan gently prompted him, “What did you think of that one?”
“Mm-m? Oh! ‘Yes’, Sir.”
“Good. Ready?” Harlan picked up the jockey bat.
Charles nodded, keeping his head low.
It was a good thing it was the last toy. Charles seemed close to his limit and Harlan was getting tired too. Impact play was surprisingly exhausting for both people.
He rubbed Charles’ ass in slow circles with his hand, wandering his fingers across both cheeks. “The left is so much warmer,” he murmured, sliding his palm from one cheek to the other.
“We’ll just have to even them out, won’t we?” Charles laughed.
“Yes, we will.” Harlan grinned. “That sounds like someone who’s ready for the next toy.” He took a reluctant step back, lightly stroking Charles’ ass with the tip of the jockey bat. He knew it was much cooler than his hand on Charles’ flushed skin, and he liked watching Charles shiver a little.
“Ready?” he asked again, waiting for Charles’ nod before taking his first swing.
It left a perfect rectangular mark that quickly faded into the redness of Charles’ ass.
“One, Sir!”
“Good. You’re taking it so well,” Harlan praised him. He struck again, then twice more, but he left Charles enough time to count in between. He fell into a steady rhythm, and only Charles saying, “Nine, Sir,” reminded him that they were almost done.
“Last one. This’ll be the hardest,” Harlan warned him, also giving Charles a chance to tell him if he wanted something different. “Ready?”
Charles nodded, his head barely moving, then added, “Yes, Sir.”
Harlan lined himself up carefully, aiming for a part of Charles’ ass that didn’t have a rectangle yet. He didn’t hit as hard as he could, but it was the hardest of the day. He shivered with pleasure at the solid smack! and the way the impact vibrated back up the rubber shaft of the toy into his hand.
Charles cried out, his body tensing then going completely limp, with only his knees and elbows supporting him—and they looked like they might give out at any moment. “Ten, Sir,” he sighed. “And also very much ‘yes’, Sir.”
Harlan grinned down at his sweaty back. “That was amazing.” He’d momentarily forgot that he’d asked Charles to give him a yes or no after each toy. He was impressed that Charles had remembered.
He helped Charles roll onto his back, then sit against the headboard.
“So, which ones are you going to get for the club?” Harlan teased. “I’m pretty sure I heard four yeses.”
Charles groaned, his head loose on his neck. “All of them,” he drawled, grinning.
“Yeah, I thought that’s what you’d say.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Harlan let out a little needy moan, reaching for him.
Charles laughed but shook his head firmly. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He returned with a chocolate bar for each of them that he’d got from his bag and two glasses of water. “Don’t worry. I filled them from the bathroom sink, not the kitchen.”
Usually this was Harlan’s job after they played—the only time he fed Charles, rather than the other way around—but he was glad he hadn’t had to go into the kitchen.
Harlan always meant to have drinks and snacks ready before they started playing, but they usually got too excited and forgot.
“Which one was your favourite?” Harlan asked, once they’d both eaten and had some water and he’d got Charles tucked in. He sat on the edge of the bed beside Charles, stroking Charles’ thick chest hair.
“The jockey bat.”
“Right, you said that already.”
Charles went around opening windows while Harlan, after pulling on some underwear, watched gratefully and tried to convince his stomach contents to stay put. This was definitely a dick-covered situation.
“Whew,” Charles said, returning to the kitchen. He kept one wary eye on the fridge. “I know you sometimes skip a meal or two when I’m not around, but this…!”
Harlan shook his head. He felt pale and shaky, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the lingering smell or what he was beginning to suspect had happened. “I bought those groceries last week, and I cleaned out the fridge when I brought them home.”
“You might want to switch grocery stores.”
“No, I don’t think it’s that. Let me check something.” He grabbed one of his Centre mediumship textbooks—the only books that hadn’t been in the apartment when he moved in—and flipped through it. “Ah, here it is.” He closed it decisively.
“Gonna share with the class?” Charles laughed humorlessly.
“Sorry. I’ve never seen it in person, but I remembered reading about it. Um, basically, some ghosts can contaminate or rot food. They can even—” He took a deep breath, immediately regretted it and opened the fridge again. Yep. Maggots.
“Garbage bag?” he wheezed, trying not to look too closely at the foul, writhing mass inside.
Charles passed him not only two trash bags, one inside the other, but a pair of rubber dish gloves. It took another double bag, but they got the whole mess, maggots and all, wrapped up. Holding them at arm’s length, Harlan ran down the stairs and out to the dumpster. He didn’t want to get that smell in the elevator. He caught his neighbour, the one Charles said was into him, giving him some major stink eye.
Not that he could blame him.
He threw out the gloves for good measure, ran back upstairs and frantically washed his hands.
Charles had Febrezed the shit out of the kitchen, to the point that it was probably more aerosol than air, but between that and the open windows, the stench was contained.
“It must have been that ghost from the other night,” Harlan said apologetically. “One last ‘fuck you’, I guess.” He glanced around the kitchen, looking for inspiration and trying not to think about whatever yummy thing Charles would have made. “Um, oatmeal?” he offered. He wasn’t really hungry anymore, and he doubted Charles was either, but Charles was right. He did need to eat before he had his pills, and it was already later in the day than he was supposed to take them.
“Sure.”
Harlan opened the cupboard a little cautiously, but everything inside looked normal. He picked up a box of oatmeal packets and shook it. It sounded normal. He tore just the corner off one of them, then recoiled. “Oh, come on!” The oats were black and crumbly like they’d been hit by one of the plagues of Egypt. The smell wasn’t as bad as the meat and vegetables in the fridge, but it seemed to coat the inside of his nostrils. He had a feeling he’d be smelling it for a month. Hopefully none of his neighbours would complain. He was tempted to get some plastic sheets and just seal off the whole kitchen indefinitely.
The sugar was crawling with maggots, and even the honey was black and putrid.
He’d thought honey and sugar couldn’t go bad. Hadn’t they found some honey in the pyramids that was still edible? Why couldn’t the pyramids be haunted instead of his apartment?
Charles was right there with another garbage bag. They didn’t bother checking anything else, just shoved every scrap of food into bags and took them downstairs immediately.
He had to go to the store, talk to people and buy groceries less than a week after going through all that already! And he’d have to buy everything, not just a few staples. He groaned.
“Hey.” Charles took his hand and gave it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “I guess we’re going out for breakfast.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Despite thinking that he’d never want to eat again, Harlan enjoyed their brunch of waffles and bacon, and he was feeling a lot better by the time they got back to his apartment. The smell seemed to be gone, but he couldn’t bring himself to even look in the direction of the kitchen.
“Ready for your surprise?” Charles asked.
Harlan blinked, then grinned. “Oh, right!” The day had got off to a weird start, but he thought that brunch, combined with whatever Charles had planned, would be enough to turn it around.
“The toy bag is already in the bedroom.”
Harlan gave him a light swat on the butt. “Let’s go to the bedroom, then.” He’d meant to sound sexy and dominant, but he wasn’t sure he’d pulled it off.
Charles skipped ahead of him and was already halfway undressed by the time Harlan caught up.
“Because we enjoyed it so much last time, when I was first introducing you to toys, I picked out one toy from each of the main food groups—a flogger, a crop, a paddle and a cane—to try. I mean, for the club to try, of course.” Charles grinned, then rummaged in the bag he’d brought and set four toys on the bed.
Harlan walked over to look at them. The last time they’d played this game, he’d never held a BDSM toy before, but he’d got a lot of experience since then. He still felt a little nervous at first, but they were all similar to toys he’d used before. There was nothing too difficult or strange, nothing that made him worry he’d hurt Charles for real before he’d tried it a few times—not that Charles would want those sorts of toys in his club. People were free to bring in their own, but most of Rattling Chains’ toys were pretty basic. Charles also had to be able to disinfect all of them, which narrowed his options.
The paddle was rectangular and made of red leather. The flogger was also red leather, with wide, flat falls with rounded tips. The cane was black, basically a riding crop without a tab at the end. The actual crop looked a little more unusual.
“What’s this one?” he asked Charles.
Charles grinned. “That’s a jockey bat. It’s one of my favourite toys, so I thought I’d try one out and see if the club likes it.”
“The club selection committee that’s just you and me?” Harlan teased.
“Yep!”
Harlan picked up the jockey bat. The handle and flat piece at the end were more or less the same as other riding crops he’d used, except that the tip was firm instead of just being a folded-over piece of leather. The shaft was very different. It was made of flexible rubber in a candy-cane-stripe pattern of red and black. He gave it a gentle swish through the air. It was much heavier than a normal riding crop, and the rubber made it more flexible. He could make a much larger arc using the same amount of swing.
Once he was satisfied with his equipment, he turned back to Charles. He tapped two places on the end of the bed with the tip of the crop. They were far apart and would put Charles off balance. “Put one hand there and the other there.” To make it even more difficult, he indicated two more places for Charles’ feet where they’d be spread nice and wide.
Charles obeyed without question, grinning and eager.
Harlan laid out the ground rules. “Ten strikes with each toy, each strike harder than the last. I want you to count each strike out loud. After every toy, I want a ‘yes, Sir’ or a ‘no, Sir.’ Or a ‘maybe’, I guess.” Rats… He’d lost his Dom role for a moment there. “Understood?” he added firmly.
“Yes, Sir,” Charles purred, raising his ass invitingly.
“Mmm.” Harlan couldn’t help taking a second to just appreciate the view—Charles’ well-furred, muscular ass cheeks, with just a teasing peek of what hid between them, and the dark shadow of his heavy balls underneath. Maybe one day he’d get used to seeing all of Charles laid out in front of him—just for him—but so far he was still in awe each time he saw Charles naked.
He couldn’t decide between starting with the flogger or the paddle, so he gave in and played eenie-meenie-minie-moe. He landed on the paddle. It had grooves in the handle that fit his hand nicely, and he gently stroked Charles’ left cheek with one edge. He was delighted when Charles’ skin immediately got goosebumps.
A long shiver rolled down Charles’ spine, and he let out a soft, “Ohhhh.”
Harlan waited until Charles was nice and relaxed again before lifting the paddle for his first strike.
Charles let out a breathy shout, his whole body rocking with the impact, even though it hadn’t been that hard. He immediately shifted his ass back towards Harlan, offering himself for another strike.
“Well?” Harlan asked softly, grinning to himself.
“‘Well’?” Charles repeated. “Oh! One, Sir.”
“That’s better.” He hadn’t asked Charles to call him ‘Sir’ after each blow, only after each toy, but he had to admit he liked it.
Harlan stroked Charles’ ass cheek with his free hand, lingering on the slightly red mark the paddle had left. He could already feel Charles’ skin getting hot.
He rewarded Charles with a second blow on the same spot as the first—but harder, as he’d promised.
Charles waited just long enough to take a breath before saying, “Two, Sir.”
A third strike, and this one was a little above the last two. Harlan decided that he’d use the paddle on one cheek and switch back and forth for the other toys, so he wouldn’t overwhelm either side of Charles’ ass and he’d be able to see the marks each toy made. After all, they were at least pretending to choose toys, not just playing for fun.
He gave another few blows, one after the other, barely giving Charles time to call out the number before the next one landed. Harlan was hitting a little harder each time, and Charles’ ass was getting nice and pink, but Harlan wasn’t anywhere near going all out. They still had three more toys to go.
“Ten! Sir!” Charles called out proudly, turning to grin at Harlan before sinking a little farther forward on his elbows. “And that one is a ‘yes’, Sir.”
“Good,” Harlan praised him, lightly stroking his extra-warm ass cheek. He set the paddle down and picked up the flogger. “Ready?”
“Yes, Sir.” Charles settled himself, his ass raised as high as it could go.
Harlan hated not being able to keep touching Charles, but he had to take a step back so he could swing the flogger and not hit both cheeks. He wouldn’t be able to keep a hand on Charles with the next two toys, either, but he could always give him a stroke in between.
He snapped the flogger in the air a few times, getting used to its weight and the length of its falls.
Charles let out a little moan every time he heard it crack.
When he was ready, Harlan brought it down on Charles’ right cheek.
Charles cried out, spreading his legs wider to brace himself—and, Harlan thought, to give more of his ass for him to hit.
Harlan waited a moment, then cleared his throat just as Charles said, “Two, Sir.”
He swung three times without pausing between them, not giving Charles time to count.
“Six, Sir?” Charles asked after Harlan lowered the flogger.
Harlan grinned and shook his head. “Nope, that was only five. Should we start over?” It was up to Charles—if he wanted to just keep going from where they’d left off, that was fine with Harlan.
Charles thought a moment, then said, “Yes, Sir.”
“All right.” Harlan stepped closer so he could stroke Charles’ lower back, feeling Charles shiver with happiness beneath him, then lined up to flog him again. This time he had mercy and gave Charles plenty of time to answer between swings.
Charles hissed softly and pulled away at the tenth strike, but he quickly said, “Ten, Sir.”
“Sorry, was that too much?” Harlan hadn’t been swinging full force even at the end, but it was still ten—no, fifteen—blows pretty much on top of each other. He ran a hand over Charles’ hot skin. There were a few darker spots of colour—not quite welts, but close.
Charles shook his head without lifting it from the mattress. “No. No. The last one just wrapped a bit.”
Harlan winced. “Ooh, I’m sorry!” ‘Wrapping’ was when a flogger’s falls went around the curve of a hip or other body part and struck extra hard on the other side. He looked, and there were a few small welts on Charles’ thigh. “Do you want to stop?”
“No way. Not yet. Not until we’ve tried all of these,” Charles insisted. His voice already sounded a little dreamy, and Harlan was pretty sure he’d be in subspace by the time he was finished with Charles. Charles was adorable when he was in subspace. “That one’s also a ‘yes’, Sir.”
“All right.” Harlan stroked Charles’ ass a little longer, giving him time to recover before putting the flogger down. “Which toy next?”
“Cane,” Charles answered immediately.
Harlan grinned as he picked it up. “That didn’t take you long.”
“Canes sting, and I like jockey bats. I’m saving the best for last.”
“Oh, you’ve used a jockey bat?” Harlan teased. “I guess we don’t have to try this one today.”
“No! It’s different!” Charles insisted.
Harlan was tempted to ask how—in detail—it was different, but he took mercy on Charles again…in a manner of speaking.
He quickly drew back the cane and lashed Charles’ left cheek.
Charles cried out and rocked forward again, but before Harlan could even raise the cane a second time Charles was back in place. “One, Sir,” he said breathlessly.
“Good,” Harlan told him, then brought the cane down again. Normally he liked to layer his cane-marks on top of each other and see how clean he could make a single line, but he’d already used the paddle on this cheek, and it was still pretty red. He spaced his cane-marks out, leaving a series of pink stripes while Charles counted. Charles gasped and moaned, getting Harlan more and more excited. He couldn’t resist hitting almost full force with his tenth strike. There was only one toy left, and it would be on the other cheek. He knew Charles could take it.
“Ten!” Charles panted, shifting his knees and elbows to get comfortable again.
“Ten,” Harlan agreed. He didn’t scold Charles for not saying ‘Sir’ after the number, since it was something Charles had started doing on his own, after all, not something Harlan had asked him to do—otherwise, he would have insisted.
If he’d remembered, in his own excitement.
Charles didn’t give his opinion of the toy, so Harlan gently prompted him, “What did you think of that one?”
“Mm-m? Oh! ‘Yes’, Sir.”
“Good. Ready?” Harlan picked up the jockey bat.
Charles nodded, keeping his head low.
It was a good thing it was the last toy. Charles seemed close to his limit and Harlan was getting tired too. Impact play was surprisingly exhausting for both people.
He rubbed Charles’ ass in slow circles with his hand, wandering his fingers across both cheeks. “The left is so much warmer,” he murmured, sliding his palm from one cheek to the other.
“We’ll just have to even them out, won’t we?” Charles laughed.
“Yes, we will.” Harlan grinned. “That sounds like someone who’s ready for the next toy.” He took a reluctant step back, lightly stroking Charles’ ass with the tip of the jockey bat. He knew it was much cooler than his hand on Charles’ flushed skin, and he liked watching Charles shiver a little.
“Ready?” he asked again, waiting for Charles’ nod before taking his first swing.
It left a perfect rectangular mark that quickly faded into the redness of Charles’ ass.
“One, Sir!”
“Good. You’re taking it so well,” Harlan praised him. He struck again, then twice more, but he left Charles enough time to count in between. He fell into a steady rhythm, and only Charles saying, “Nine, Sir,” reminded him that they were almost done.
“Last one. This’ll be the hardest,” Harlan warned him, also giving Charles a chance to tell him if he wanted something different. “Ready?”
Charles nodded, his head barely moving, then added, “Yes, Sir.”
Harlan lined himself up carefully, aiming for a part of Charles’ ass that didn’t have a rectangle yet. He didn’t hit as hard as he could, but it was the hardest of the day. He shivered with pleasure at the solid smack! and the way the impact vibrated back up the rubber shaft of the toy into his hand.
Charles cried out, his body tensing then going completely limp, with only his knees and elbows supporting him—and they looked like they might give out at any moment. “Ten, Sir,” he sighed. “And also very much ‘yes’, Sir.”
Harlan grinned down at his sweaty back. “That was amazing.” He’d momentarily forgot that he’d asked Charles to give him a yes or no after each toy. He was impressed that Charles had remembered.
He helped Charles roll onto his back, then sit against the headboard.
“So, which ones are you going to get for the club?” Harlan teased. “I’m pretty sure I heard four yeses.”
Charles groaned, his head loose on his neck. “All of them,” he drawled, grinning.
“Yeah, I thought that’s what you’d say.”
“I’ll be right back.”
Harlan let out a little needy moan, reaching for him.
Charles laughed but shook his head firmly. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He returned with a chocolate bar for each of them that he’d got from his bag and two glasses of water. “Don’t worry. I filled them from the bathroom sink, not the kitchen.”
Usually this was Harlan’s job after they played—the only time he fed Charles, rather than the other way around—but he was glad he hadn’t had to go into the kitchen.
Harlan always meant to have drinks and snacks ready before they started playing, but they usually got too excited and forgot.
“Which one was your favourite?” Harlan asked, once they’d both eaten and had some water and he’d got Charles tucked in. He sat on the edge of the bed beside Charles, stroking Charles’ thick chest hair.
“The jockey bat.”
“Right, you said that already.”
