Becoming Owen

A Crisis

Things were quiet at work for Owen. His boss, Mr Lombardi, was busy with another case and Owen was assigned some routine work. He got through it quickly, and reordered his files because he needed something to do. He wondered what Adam would make of him re-arranging the office. It didn't seem very kinky. But Owen liked to have things in their places and ready to hand.

Clara, his boss's PA, sought him out: “Hi Owen. Mr Lombardi is sorry he doesn't have anything more interesting for you just now. But if you've got some time to spare, Mr Emerson wants some help with the Zachs case. Would you go down to his office and see what's needed?”

Mr Emerson had joined the firm a few months ago. Mr Emerson was also a Dom in Adam's close circle of BDSM friends. Owen had already encountered him at a party and had received a brutal throat fuck. He went cautiously to Mr Emerson's office.

As he went into the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to a painting on the wall. The swirls of paint in yellow, black and gray were instantly recognizable as the artist whose works hung on the wall of Adam's living room. Mark Emerson watched him carefully.

“You like the painting?” Mark said casually.

“I'm just curious,” Owen said. “Who is the painter?”

“A contemporary artist, Seth Bergman. Well, contemporary in a sense. He died two years ago.”

“Oh! Do you know …? I mean, how did he die?”

Mark Emerson watched the boy. For a split second he pitied the way Owen was falling into his hands. Then he said, “You should ask Mr Strickland. He's a well-known collector of Seth Bergman. Quite the specialist.”

“I've seen a couple like this in his apartment.”

“Just the two? He has a fine collection. I believe he keeps most of them in his study, quite unique examples. He has a few in Bergman's black and red style. They're very rare—the artist destroyed most of them. I'm surprised you haven't seen the whole collection yet. I know they're really very … important to Adam.” He lingered on the word important. “They tell you a lot about him, a great deal.”

Owen flushed. He wanted so much to know what was important to Adam. He was struggling to take in this information.

Mark Emerson continued, “I'm sure he'd show them to you—why don't you ask him?” Owen was pretty sure that Adam would not. In all the time that Owen had known Adam, the study had been out of bounds. He quickly asked how he could help Mr Emerson. It turned out to be a trivial case of some financial records. Owen said he'd scan the files, made his excuses and left Mr Emerson's office. Mark Emerson watched him go and smiled to himself.

In the days that followed, Owen couldn't stop thinking about his meeting with Mark Emerson. He was afraid of Mr Emerson after the way he had throat-fucked him so roughly that Owen had almost passed out. But he couldn't get out of his head that Mr Emerson had told him more than Adam ever had about the paintings. He had seen those characteristic gray and yellow patterns in Adam's office and his living room, but every time he had asked about them, Adam had changed the subject. Mr Emerson seemed to know about the role the paintings and their creator played in Adam's life. Owen's need to find out played on his mind more and more.

Adam had been very caught up in a difficult legal case and hadn't been able to find time to play with Owen. He was working long hours. He'd taken Owen out for a drink on a few occasions but had always seemed tired and preoccupied. Owen knew he had to wait. So he was overjoyed when a text arrived from Adam with a time and date.

Things were still quiet at work so he went home early to prepare himself and got the bus back into the city. As Owen was traveling, Adam texted him to say he was held up at his law offices. Owen's instructions were to go to Adam's building and the doorman would let him in.

Owen glowed with pride at the responsibility. He had never been alone in Adam's home before. The doorman opened the apartment for him and at the same moment a second text arrived from Adam. It read: “You have 20 minutes, boy. You will be on your knees and ready for me.” Owen read the message twice. He was so excited to be seeing Adam again—all he wanted was to be with him. Twenty minutes seemed a long time.

He looked up and his eyes met the pictures on the wall. He remembered what Mr Emerson had said about the paintings' importance to Adam. He felt that they might make him closer to Adam until he arrived in person. He touched the canvas with a cautious finger. The paint was rough against his touch. He could just make out the initials “S. B.” in the bottom corner. The paint felt alive beneath his fingers. Mr Emerson's words echoed in his mind. He looked towards the door of Adam's study.

It wouldn't take long, he thought; he would just put his head round the door. He would just look quickly at the rest of the paintings and that would be that. He walked slowly across the room. With his heart beating he tried the door handle. It was open. He told himself that if Adam hadn't wanted him to go into the study he would have kept it locked. He entered the room.

Every inch of the walls was covered with paintings. Many of them were the yellow, gray and black swirls that Owen had seen on the living room walls. But there were others too—angry red backgrounds with thick, black brush strokes slashed across them. As Owen stared he thought he could see the black lines forming into figures—contorted bodies, and mouths open in a scream. Owen found them difficult to look at. He turned his eyes downwards.

Owen hadn't switched on the room light, but a desk lamp was already turned on illuminating an inlaid wooden box. Adam's desk was as untidy as the rest of the study, but a space around the box was kept clear, resting in a pool of light. Owen found himself drawn to it. He traced his fingers across the lid's finely-wrought surface. Triangles of differently-colored wood formed an intricate diamond pattern. It was beautiful.

He opened the box. On a cushion of red velvet lay a collar. He picked it up. It was made of delicately-braided strands of a soft leather. Embedded at precise intervals, four stones shone brilliantly in the lamplight. Owen thought they must be diamonds. The collar was not fastened with a buckle like the one he wore when he played with Adam, but with a small, silver padlock. The key still lay in the bottom of the box.

Owen couldn't stop now. He picked up the collar and ran it through his fingers. The inside edge was worn and the leather was warm to the touch. He stood there for a long time, stroking the collar gently and turning it over in his hands.

Then he felt as if the room was growing cold. A long shiver ran through him as he sensed that something was different. He turned round. Adam was standing in the doorway.

Owen stood rooted to the spot as Adam came into the room, gently took the collar from Owen's hands and replaced it. He closed the box and set it back down on the desk. Then he went back to the door and held it open for Owen to walk through and back into the living room. Owen stood in the middle of the room and waited. His legs felt like water. Adam's silence was horrible.

Adam didn't look at him. He turned and left the living room, and when he came back he was holding Owen's own collar. For a moment Owen thought that it was going to be all right, that Adam was going to punish him and then everything would be all right again. But Adam didn't put the collar round his neck. He lifted Owen's hand, laid the collar on his palm and closed Owen's fingers over it.

Owen fell to his knees as he realized what Adam meant. A flood of emotion overwhelmed him. He clung to Adam's thighs, sobbing uncontrollably. “No! No! Please Adam! Please don't send me away.” He put his head on Adam's feet and held desperately onto his calves. “I'll do whatever you want. Please Adam, I need you, please punish me, let me do something to make it up ….”

Adam detached Owen from his legs and raised him up with that terrible calmness. His eyes were like ice.

“Go home, Owen,” he said in a monotone. “Our contract is over.”

The word “contract” ran through Owen like a knife.

“Please, Adam, I'll do whatever it takes. Please Sir, don't do this. Please! Please! Don't send me away!” His face was wet with tears. There had never been anything more important to him in his whole life.

Adam looked through him. He went to the apartment door and held it open. Owen felt his whole body go numb. He stuffed the collar into a pocket. He forced his legs to take him out of the apartment and took his solitary way back through the city.

* * *

The days that followed seemed like weeks for Owen. They weighed upon him with a terrible monotony. He went to work. Then he went home. The days passed. He felt as if he were invisible. But someone had seen him; Mark Emerson knew that his plan had worked.

Then Friday came. That was the day Adam usually played with him. He couldn't stop himself checking his phone for a text but he knew it was useless—Adam had returned his collar. All the joyful pleasure of his adventure with Adam had been drained out of him. He felt he would never live again.

He tried to concentrate at work but it was so hard. At the end of the day he was mechanically sorting out his files when someone came into the office. Owen looked up. It was Mr Emerson.

Mark Emerson stood in the center of the room and looked down at Owen sitting at his desk. There was a moment of silence. Then Mr Emerson said, “You need to be punished, don't you?” Owen nodded wordlessly. He didn't understand how, but he was sure Mr Emerson knew what had happened.

“Don't you?” Mr Emerson moved in closer.

“Yes,” said Owen, hesitantly.

“Yes, what?” Mr Emerson was leaning over him now

“Yes, Sir.”

“That's better.”

Something gave way in Owen. Maybe being punished would do something to fill the terrible void inside him. In a strange way he thought it might even make him feel close to Adam again.

He heard himself say: “I need you to punish me, Mr Emerson.”

“Good. You remember the address? Be there. 2.00 tomorrow.”

***

Phillip had been summoned. He knew that Master was planning something. Other people probably couldn't see it, but Phillip could. Phillip liked to observe people. Mr Strickland, for example, was very hot, but he was unpredictable. Master would always take Phillip where he wanted to go, however humiliating or painful that was. Master would make sure that Phillip gave everything he had.

And Master was so attractive too, of course. His body was hard and lean and Phillip worshipped it. It was a privilege to serve him. Master worked out religiously and he didn't like to drink as Mr Strickland did. Philip knew it wasn't really his place to compare Doms, but he allowed himself to do so now. It was a kind of homage to his beautiful, demanding Master.

There was a knock on the door and Master sent him to open it. Not much surprised Phillip, but he hadn't expected to see Mr Strickland's boy. Owen had seemed so devoted to his own Dom. He allowed himself a glance towards Master. He had sensed Master's rivalry with Mr Strickland. Now he knew Master was going to take what he wanted.

Mr Emerson put Owen on his knees. “So you've been a disobedient whore. Let's see if you n be a submissive one.” He cursorily gave Owen a safeword and then told him, “Here are the rules: I have no interest in anything you have to say. If you can't keep quiet, you'll be gagged. If you displease me, you'll be whipped. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” Owen whispered. He knew Adam loved the cries and moans he made when he was getting fucked or beaten. He tried not to think about that. He was here to be punished.

Mark Emerson congratulated himself on taking Owen from Adam. And now he wanted to take something from Owen. He pushed Owen's head down to the ground and pulled his arms back. Owen's wrists and ankles were locked together with a spreader-bar holding him open. His forehead was on the floor and his ass was raised.

“Let's see what you can take.” Emerson gestured to Phillip. “Bring me a cane.” Phillip obeyed. He knew that Master had made Owen come to him. He was always a little afraid of what Master could make a boy do, even when that boy was himself. Master caned Owen quickly and efficiently, striping the boy's ass. Phillip could see Owen struggling not to cry out.

“We'll find out if you've learned how to suck cock.” Mark Emerson pulled Owen back onto his knees. The boy's eyes were closed and his mouth was open to take Emerson's cock. His body strained in the stress position he was locked into.

Owen gagged continually as the dick brutally hit his throat. Mr Emerson was dissatisfied. He summoned Phillip over. “Give him some encouragement.” Phillip laid the cane again across Owen's ass. Master's eyes fixed onto Phillip's as his cock thrust in and out of Owen's mouth, making him part of Owen's punishment. Phillip's own cock got hard under his master's gaze.

“You want my cock in your ass, boy?” Master asked him. “First we'll see how you can perform with this worthless whore. Fuck him.”

Phillip moved round to Owen's ass and pushed at his entrance. Owen's whole body was rigid with the effort of sucking Master's cock. His hole was tight and unyielding. Phillip pushed harder and Owen screamed in pain.

Mark Emerson was irritated: “I'm tired of this whining. Shut him up.” Phillip fetched a ball-gag. As Owen mechanically raised his face to take it, Phillip saw for a moment into his eyes. They were filled with tears, but at that moment Phillip knew it was not just the physical pain. At the back of Owen's eyes there was a deep sorrow. Something changed in Phillip.

Mark Emerson was losing patience with the scene. It was not what he had hoped for. Mark was a sadist, but his pleasure lay in bringing a boy to him and taking him down to his own dark places of desire. It was why he had kept Phillip for so long—the boy willingly and needily submitted to Mark's severe discipline. Mark had no interest in forcing himself on a boy.

His cock was hard and he wanted to drive it into a boy's ass. He considered that Adam Strickland's training of his boy had been very poor. And now his own sub couldn't even get in Strickland's boy's ass. At least it gave him something to punish.

He picked up the cane and dealt some viscous blows to Phillip's buttocks. “What's the matter with you? I allow you to use your worthless cock and you can't even get it in that pathetic ass.” He kicked Owen to one side and pushed Phillip onto all fours. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he said sarcastically as he drove in his cock into Phillip. Phillip took it as he always did. The hard dick driving painfully into him was a punishment for what he was.

But this time, he couldn't quite descend into that dark space. Master had punished Owen for another reason. He knew that Owen would never be able to join him that black space of abjection. It occurred to him that Master was really trying to punish Mr Strickland.

Owen lay, trying curl into a ball. He heard the sounds of Mr Emerson's aggressive fucking of Phillip. He wished he was somewhere else but he didn't know where. All desire had been drained from him.

Mark Emerson came hard in his boy's ass. The scene was over too quickly. He freed Owen from his bondage without looking at him. “You can go,” he said dismissively. “I'll send for you if I want you.” Emerson would see how things were going with Adam. He wanted to make sure that Adam knew Mark had claimed his boy.

As he left, Owen felt a hand on his arm and he heard Phillip saying low and quickly in his ear, “Owen, this isn't for you. Don't come back.” It barely registered in his mind.

Phillip watched Owen go. Master had lost interest in him and was showering. Phillip went dutifully to clean up the scene. Master's cell phone lay on a chair. Something that had long been buried in Phillip awoke. Phillip picked up the phone and found the number he was looking for. He called it and spoke briefly to someone at the other end.

Five minutes later Mark Emerson returned. He stood there naked with the sexual confidence of a man who was used to getting what he wanted. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?” He grabbed the phone from Phillip's hand and looked at the last number called. “Oh, really?”

Phillip just stood there looking straight at him. Mark picked up a whip.

“Get on the floor, you little cunt, you're in real trouble.”

But Phillip remained standing. He took a step towards Mark, his Master, then another. Then he put his hand up to Mark's mouth and in the same instant—and for the first time in his life—he used his safeword. Mark stared at him in amazement. Phillip took away his hand and replaced it with his mouth to kiss Mark long and hard. Then he backed away.

It was hard to say which of the two was more surprised at what had just happened. The kiss had felt strangely exiting to both of them. Their hard bodies had instinctively moved together and they had felt the pressure of each other's cock. For the first time in a long time it there was an acknowledgment of their real sexual attraction for each other.

Phillip spoke first. “I'm going home now, Sir.”

Mark stared at him. “You'll be back. No one else can give you what you need. You'll always come back for more.”

Phillip said, “Yes, I think I will. But it'll be my choice.” And he left Mark's house.