Revelation
The brush glides across the tile floor, wet and foamy. I feel the cold of the soapy water on my knees. My arms burn from the repetition, but my body moves without thinking. Rhythm. Structure. Repetition.
I kneel with my knees spread wide, my butt raised, wearing only a jockstrap that leaves little to the imagination. A week ago, I would have been mortified. Now, all I feel is the slight, eternal tension in my lower abdomen. Not from shame. A warmer feeling.
A swish across my right buttock makes me jump. Not hard, not to really hurt, a loose, careless tap from a Dominant boy with a riding crop. I hear the leather slap softly against my skin. I don't need to look back to know that I'm being watched. It's been happening for three weeks.
It happens too often.
My muscles tense instinctively. Not in resistance, but in silent acceptance. The warmth lingers where the leather touched me. I swallow and continue scrubbing.
Three weeks. Three weeks ago, everything in me protested. My head was a storm, resisting as my muscles began to bend. But routine is a relentless master.
The first few days were hell. Waking up to the gong, leaving my room before I even realized it, kneeling, the corrections, eating without speaking, walking at a perfect pace without hesitation. Everything structured, everything controlled. My head had resisted, but my body... my body had adapted faster than I wanted to admit.
My body already knew what was expected of me.
The whip flicks again, a playful tap across both buttocks. My breathing hardly falters anymore. I breathe it in. My skin tingles. The first week, I had looked back in shock, my eyes full of resistance. Now I keep scrubbing, my back obediently hollow. My head nods silently in acceptance of what my body already knows: I belong here.
But it's not just obedience. It's my body warming up from the discipline. It's the way my cock starts throbbing when a Dominant boy lifts my chin to make me look at him. It's how my balls tighten when I hear a leather boot crack against the floor. It's how I whisper “Yes, Sir” and only later realize how natural it sounds.
And it's a problem that I have nowhere to release my excitement. There have been nights when I woke up half awake, my underwear wet, my cock still throbbing. There have been moments when I've tried to jerk off, but I couldn't. Not really. It felt... wrong. Forbidden. As if there was a line I wasn't allowed to cross.
A few times I had heard whispering in the corridors. Submissive boys who were only allowed to satisfy themselves when a Dominant boy allowed them to.
A thought that had made me shiver the first time. And now...
A third tap, this time a little harder. My skin tingles, the spot where the tip of the whip touched my butt cheek burns deliciously. The dominant boy says nothing. He has no reason to say anything. I know my place. My ass stays obediently in the air while I scrub. The shiny leather of my jockstrap only covers my erection, leaving my butt cheeks unprotected.
My breathing is deeper now. I don't know if it's because of the effort. Or horny expectations.
The routine has shaped me. My body has already surrendered. My head is still protesting. But not as loudly. Even that protest feels like a final, hollow echo, growing quieter with every tap of the whip on my ass.
“It's okay,” the Dominant's boyish voice sounds a little bored, ”get dressed, it's almost time for lunch.”
------
The dining hall is quiet and orderly, as it is every day. The food is excellent, as it is every day. I enjoy the steak with fried broccoli. Next to me sits a submissive boy staring at his food with a disgusted look on his face. I look at him in surprise.
“I hate broccoli!” he says with disgust in his voice. Everyone looks up in alarm. The Dominant boy on duty strides over to our table. It's that blond Dominant boy! He stands between us, right next to me. I can smell the leather of his pants. I hear him tapping the pad playfully in his hands.
“You know the rules,” says the blond Dominant boy. His voice is not loud, not angry. But the whole table feels the impact.
As he addresses the boy, I see his cock and balls clearly outlined in his tight leather uniform pants. I can't take my eyes off them.
The submissive boy with a broccoli aversion quickly bows his head. “I'm sorry, sir.”
The dominant boy stares at him for a moment, letting the tension hang in the air. Then he nods. ”Continue eating.”
He turns around, toward me. His crotch is right in front of my face. My breath catches. My whole body knows this is wrong. But it refuses to listen. The smell of leather and something refined and masculine assaults my nose.
He's warm. Close. Radiating control. He says nothing. Just lets me sit there. Lets it happen.A moment that stretches into forever, as if he's daring me to drink in every delicious detail of his dominant cock. I look. Too long. My cheeks grow warm.
He looks down at me with a small grin. “You too. Continue eating.”
------
In today's cooking class, Chef Simon has allowed me to work as a rôtisseur. It's a great honor. But then again, I have made progress since the first class.
It's not a complicated cut of meat where precision makes all the difference—like an entrecôte, which can easily be overcooked. Today, I'm keeping it simple. Sausages. But anyway, it's still all about technique. They have to cook slowly and be turned carefully without tearing open under the heat.
I carefully turn a sausage with tongs, feeling how the skin stays tight and how the heat is distributed. A good bratwurst should remain firm but also give way under pressure. It's going well. I've got it under control.
I hear a buzz in the background. I ignore it. My work has to be perfect. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I see Chef Simon walking toward the doorway. I glance over. The young blonde Dominant is standing there. For a moment, I forget about my sausages.
Simon bows briefly, “Mr. Milan...” So his name is Milan. The young blond Dominant, Milan, walks straight towards me. I quickly turn my attention back to my work. Fortunately, everything is still going well. I turn all the sausages over again. I can feel Milan looking over my shoulder.
“Neat. I can see you know exactly how to handle sausages,” Milan says it dead serious, as if it could in no way be taken the wrong way.
Yet there is snickering in the room. A stern look from the Chef immediately restores silence.
Milan walks silently to the middle of the room and leans casually against a table. With his arms crossed, he surveys the work in the kitchen.
The chef walks over to me. “Offer Sir Milan a glass of water. With the proper respect,” he whispers urgently. “I'll take the sausages from you.”
I fill a clean glass with cold water. I kneel in front of Milan, my hand holding the glass out to him. Milan stares at me for a few seconds, which seem like an eternity.
“Um... Here you are, sir...”
Only then does he take the glass from me. His fingers touch mine. He lets them rest there for a moment, longer than necessary.
Without saying another word, he drinks the glass in one gulp and puts it back in my hand, briefly folding his hands around mine.
“So obedient. So beautiful.”
I don't know what to do with myself and remain kneeling.
“Thank you, Jelte, you can go back to your sausages.”
I give a short nod. “Yes, sir.”
When Milan leaves the kitchen, there is a commotion. Restrained laughter, whispering. I hear it, I feel it, but I don't look up. It doesn't last long. A sharp glance from the Chef and the kitchen immediately returns to silence and discipline.
When the lesson is over, I nervously walk out of the kitchen. What I feared happens immediately. One of the boys from his class imitates Milan's voice in an exaggeratedly dramatic way: “So obedient. So beautiful.” There is loud snickering.
A boy with a sharp gaze leans against the wall and shakes his head with a grin. “I didn't know Milan had such a romantic side.” Still chuckling, Rik, a boy with whom I share several classes, calls out, “After he's prepared those bratwursts, he can prepare Milan's sausage.” Roaring laughter.
I laugh along, but it feels like a grimace. To be honest, I don't find the idea of ‘preparing’ Milan's sausage unappealing.
A boy with red hair and freckles says to me, “Some of us have to work really hard to get attention from a cute Dominant boy. All you have to do is kneel.” The kid is cute and endearing.
“Sorry...”
“Eh, you don't have to say sorry. I'm just a little jealous,” a broad smile appears on his cheerful face.
An older boy is leaning against the wall. ”Enjoy it while it lasts.”
------
When I return to Haukon and Ivar after dinner, I decide to tell them about what happened with Milan. Not just the cooking class, but also all his previous “flirting.”
Ivar is slouching lazily and coolly over the back of his chair. Haukon gives him an annoyed look, which he seems to ignore. “It's obvious!” he exclaims, “He’s staking his claim on you.”
“Ivar is right. Milan has laid claim to you,” Haukon's voice is calm, as always. “But remember, Jelte... you ultimately decide whether you want a Dominant and who that Dominant will be.”
Ivar whistles through his teeth, “You’ve caught the eye of one of the most desirable single Dominants around.” He stares at an imaginary point in space for a moment. “He's a really hot guy.”
Haukon glares at Ivar again, who ignores him once more. “Be that as it may, you'll see that the other Dominant boys will recognize Milan's claim on you.”
“Don’t I get a fucking say in this, by Donar?”
“Of course you do,” Haukon soothes him, “but if I were you, I'd give it a chance. Milan is a very suitable Dominant. And to use Ivar's words: he's 'a hot guy.'” With those last words, Haukon shoots another quasi-angry glance at Ivar, who smiles sheepishly.
“Yes, but maybe I still want Kasper!”
“Maybe. You’re nowhere near ready for Kasper. If you really want Kasper, we're here to prepare you for that.”
“Huh, so Milan is okay, but Kasper isn't?”
I see a sly smile on Haukon's face, “I don't think you're even ready for Milan yet.”
Haukon’s tone makes me feel like a child, “sure…” I grumble.
“Boy, do you even realize who you're dealing with, who Milan really is?” Haukon asks.
“How should I know...“
“Milan isn't just any Dominant. He was born at the top, into one of the most prominent families in Friesland. He is destined to rule.”
“What does he see in me?”
“Come on, Jelte, you’re hot,” Ivar says with a mischievous grin.
Haukon gives Ivar a stern look and says, “Milan doesn't choose just anyone. If he claims you, it's not impulsive. He sees something in you. Something you may not be ready to see yourself.”
I need to let this sink in.
Ivar gives me a firm punch on the arm. “Hey! Don't pout like that! Especially not when you're as beautiful as you are.”
Me, beautiful? I think, surprised.
Ivar looks at me with a smile and answers my silence, ”Yes, you, little submissive prince.”
I punch Ivar back. Ivar just laughs.
------
It's already been a week since Milan came to see me in the kitchen and “claimed” me. My life hasn’t exactly gotten any more exciting. Milan flirts with me much less now and has even become distant, although he remains friendly.
Haukon was right when he said that the other Dominant boys would recognize Milan's claim on me. For days, I've been trying to get their attention by committing minor offenses in their vicinity. They simply ignore me! At most, I get a curt “Don't do that again, eh....” It's just frustrating.
And Milan himself? He watches. Sometimes. From a distance. He must know that I see him, that I need him. But he does nothing. His eyes catch mine for a fraction of a second, but he always looks away just a little too soon, as if he doesn't want to show that it affects him. As if he's waiting. For what? For me? For someone else? Or worse... maybe he's not waiting for anything at all. Maybe he's just forgotten me.
The brush scrapes across the tile floor, the foam seems to have lost its power. I feel the cold water rising in my knees. The rhythm, the structure, and the repetition aren't helping me get into the flow today. The taps that the Dominant boys on duty are giving me on my butt with their bar soaps are half-hearted, perfunctory, and uninterested.
TSSHTIK Ouch!
Finally! A slap on my ass that matters, a slap with a little spirit. I stick my ass up in the air lasciviously.
A soft hand caresses the spot on my butt where the whip just landed. “You have such a nice ass, boy,” his voice is soft, warm, sensual. It's the voice of the handsome Dominant boy with chestnut brown hair.
I arch my back, sticking my ass even further up, invitingly.
“Not your territory, Dorian!” another Dominant boy shouts shrillly.
Dorian leans over me for a moment. “Too bad…” he whispers in my ear. I get another little farewell flick on my right buttock... and that's it.
FUCK!… FUCK!… FUCK Milan.
------
After lunch, I head back to my room, restless and wound up. The tension in my body is unbearable, nothing I do helps. Even when I jerk off until I’m seeing stars, it leaves me empty.
If only some horny Dominant would just take me.
Like Kasper.
…Kasper?
There he is, standing in front of me in the hallway. We are the only ones in this hallway. Me and Kasper are alone. I walk up to him and kneel in front of him.
“Sir Kasper.”
I know it's against the rules for a submissive boy to approach a Dominant on his own initiative, but then he can punish me for it.
Kasper looks down at me with sad eyes, “Jelte...”
With his strong arms, he helps me to my feet. We stand close together, looking each other straight in the eyes. Pity! It's damn pity I see in his eyes.
“Poor boy...”
He gives me a tender kiss, turns around and walks away.
I continue on my way to my room, even more worked up than before. My steps are furious. I stare at the ground in front of me as I walk. My body automatically carries me to my room.
I want to open the door to my room when I hear Ivar's voice.
“Don't we say hello anymore?”
I look up. Ivar is leaning against the wall with his usual nonchalance. “Ivar, not right now. Leave me alone.”
“Tsssk, tssssk.” Ivar shakes his head disapprovingly. “What did Haukon tell you to do when you need to let off some steam?”
Does he really expect an answer?
“You report to us!” Ivar answers his own question, ”For a much-needed spanking.”
“Ivar, you can't be serious. I don't have time for this right now.”
He says nothing and just walks with me into my room. I look at him furiously. He doesn't care. He stoically takes a seat on my bed.
“Pants down, bare ass. You know you need it, Jelte. You're craving it.”
I look Ivar in the eyes. He doesn't look stern, but determined. I realize now that he's right. I drop my pants, exposing my butt.
“That's right, boy. Come over my lap. You'll see that it'll make you feel better.”
When I'm draped over his lap, he kneads my buttocks with a firm hand. It feels good. I feel some of the tension in my body already flowing away.
“Tell me, sweetheart, what's bothering you?”
“That fucking Milan, he's nothing but a cockblocker.”
“Don't the other dominant guys want anything to do with you anymore?”
SMACK... SMACK...
A comforting warmth spreads through my buttocks.
“No...”
SMACK... SMACK...
“And Milan?”
SMACK... SMACK...
“Mmmhhmm...” It's starting to glow nicely. ”No, Millan doesn't do a fuck.”
SMACK... SMACK...
“Have you been to Milan yourself?“ Ivar sounds a little more insistent.
SMACK... SMACK... SLAP... SLAP... SMACK... SMACK...
“Ouch!” I try to shield my buttocks with my hand, but Ivar continues relentlessly.
SMACK... SMACK... SLAP... SLAP... SMACK... SMACK...
“Well?“ Ivar asks impatiently.
“That bastard is just playing games with me!” I almost shout.
Ivar stops hitting me for a moment and gently strokes my burning buttocks. “Yes, boy. That's how dominant boys can be.” He takes a moment to let me calm down.
smack... smack...
He starts again with gentle taps.
“But what do you want?”
SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK...
“OW! Ivar!” My eyes start to water. ”I don't know!"
SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK...
The intense pain in my buttocks leaves me almost no room to think.
Ivar stops again and strokes my overheated buttocks. When I can catch my breath again, he says softly, “You do know, Jelte.”
SMACK... SMACK...
“Say it.”
“Mmmhhpff”
SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK...
Tears roll down my cheeks.
“Say it. Say it out loud, Jelte. What do you want?”
SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK... SMACK...
“I WANT FUCKING MILAN!”
Ivar stops the spanking abruptly and strokes my back while I lie across his lap, sobbing.
“That's what I wanted to hear, sweetheart,“ Ivar says softly.
“But... but I don't dare,” I manage to say through my sobs.
Ivar helps me up again. “There's no rush, we'll get there together.”
I nod, still hiccuping
When I look in the mirror a moment later, I wipe the last damp traces from my cheeks.
------
The rest of the day, I’m walking on air. My mind feels clearer than it has in days. My step is light, and my ass is glowing with a delicious, horny warmth. Still buzzing, I stroll down the hallway and run into Rik. We’re heading to the same class.
Rik grins at me, wide and teasing. “Damn! Look at you! Did Milan finally give you a proper fuck?”
I smile. Rik never minces his words.
“No, not yet.”
“Oh, that's a shame. What happened? You look... relieved."
“Ivar gave me a much-needed reality check. And a red butt.”
Rik raises an eyebrow. “Ah. And Milan? Still as cold as ice?”
I open my mouth, but close it again.
Milan. A week ago, he claimed me. A week ago, he looked at me with that look that set me on fire. And now? Nothing. No words. No touch. Just that distant, elusive smile when he sees me struggling.
I chuckle wryly and shake my head. “He's here. But he's not doing anything.”
Rik laughs and shakes his head. ”Well, you know what they say about the most dangerous predators, right?”
“What's that?”
His grin widens. “They don't have to hunt. They let their prey come to them.”
My stomach tightens. Damn.
“I would have had 'prepared' that sausage of Milan ages ago.”
“You're impossible.”
I look at him and smile. I like that boy
------
After dinner, I head toward Haukon and Ivar’s apartment. On the way, I run into Haukon. He smiles, curious. “You look a lot happier, Jelte. How come?"
“Ivar gave me a hand this afternoon,” I say, genuinely grateful for what he did.
But Haukon's eyes narrow a little. “Oh? Ivar helped you? How?”
It’s a little embarrassing to say, but kind of thrilling too. I lower my voice. “I needed to let off some steam, and Ivar… gave me a spanking.”
Haukon’s face darkens. “He did what?”
I flinch at his reaction. “Yes… he did.”
Haukon grabs me by the wrist and takes me to his apartment. “We're going to have a serious talk with Ivar.”
“But Ivar didn't do anything wrong!“ I protest.
“That's for me to decide,” Haukon sounds really angry.
“He really helped me.”
Nothing helps. Haukon drags me at an unrelenting pace to his apartment.
When we arrive, we find Ivar in his characteristic pose: tough and relaxed in his armchair with his legs, shiny in his leather pants, hanging over the armrest.
“Hey, Haukon! Hey, Jelte.”
Haukon glares at Ivar with a deadly look. I see a little uncertainty in Ivar's eyes. But it quickly disappears.
“How nice! Did you bring him along to thank me, Haukon?”
Haukon lets go of my wrist. “You. Know. Very well...” With every word, Haukon points his finger at Ivar. “You know very well what the agreement is, Ivar!”
“But I was only helping the boy, Haukon,” Ivar says, a hint of indignation in his voice.
“What did I tell you? No corrections without my permission, Ivar!” Haukon stares at Ivar. There is an icy silence. “Did I give you permission to correct Jelte?” Haukon's voice is almost a whisper, but every syllable is threatening.
Ivar lowers his eyes. ”No, Haukon.”
Haukon pushes a dining chair into the middle of the room with a loud bang and sits down.
“You know what's going to happen now, Ivar. You know what you have to do.“
“Here? Now? With Jelte here?” Ivar's voice sounds very different, small and timid.
“I won't say it twice, Ivar.”
Ivar sighs deeply and then gets up from his lazy position. Still catlike and agile. He stands next to Haukon and pulls his tight leather pants down over his bare butt with a resolute movement. He lays himself across Haukon's lap. His beautiful creamy white buttocks stick up in the air.
I should have known... Why did Ivar lie to me?
Haukon runs his hand over Ivar's buttocks, inspecting them. “Nice color, Ivar. But not for much longer.” Ivar moans softly in anticipation.
Haukon looks at me, “Watch closely, boy. This is how a submissive boy is punished when he steps out of line.”
Haukon starts administering the discipline. No slow warm-up. This is pure discipline. Ivar is immediately spanked severely. The blows are mercilessly hard and are delivered at a rapid pace. Apart from occasionally grimacing or groaning, Ivar shows little reaction. He seems to accept his punishment completely.
“What did you do wrong, Ivar?”
SMACK. SMACK
“I spanked Jelte without permission, Haukon.”
SMACK. SMACK
“And who decides who gets spanked here?”
SMACK. SMACK
“You, Haukon.”
“And why is that, Ivar?”
SMACK. SMACK.
“Because you're the Dominant, Haukon.”
SMACK. SMACK.
“And what does that mean for you?"
“...That I have to obey.”
“And that's how it is!” Haukon's hand rests on Ivar's red-hot buttocks. His gaze returns to me. “Come closer.”
I walk towards Haukon. He takes my hand and places it on Ivar's overheated buttocks. “Feel,” he says curtly. My fingers tremble as they feel the intense heat radiating from Ivar's skin.
“Here you can feel the surrender of a proud, strong, and beautiful submissive boy.”
With awe, I caress Ivar's fiery red buttocks.
“Tell me what you feel, Jelte.” Haukon sounds stern.
I can't say anything, my world is turned upside down at this moment.
Ivar grins through the pain. ‘Well, Jelte?’ His voice is hoarse. ”Are you jealous?”
Haukon seems to confirm Ivar's question by looking at me questioningly with a smile.
The words come out of my mouth automatically. “It's beautiful, it's tough, it's terrifying, it's hot.” I take a deep breath, “But why did you lie to me, Ivar?
Haukon answers my question with a laugh. ”Ivar never lied to you. You saw in Ivar what you wanted to see in him.” He rubs Ivar's lower back affectionately. “Ivar is tough, confident, proud, sociable, horny... and a submissive boy.” A look of pride comes over his face. “My submissive boy.”
I swallow hard. Ivar isn't a Dominant. But why is he still so confident now that he's lying across Haukon's lap with his butt cheeks glowing red?
“Do you see now how Ivar isn't a bit less of a man?” Haukon asks softly, ‘How strong he is?”
“Yes,’ I admit reluctantly. I can no longer deny how hot this looks to me.
Haukon looks deep into my eyes. ‘And what do you think?”
“Hot,” I say briefly but honestly.
Haukon helps Ivar off his lap. Ivar staggers on his legs for a moment and sucks in air hissing as he rubs his buttocks. His eyes gleam, a mixture of pain and... excitement.
He gives Haukon a look that is somewhere between defiant and satisfied. “Donar be damned, Haukon.
Haukon raises an eyebrow. “If Donar had taken care of your ass, you would have been eating off your knees for three weeks, sweetheart.”
Ivar grins, despite himself. He massages his buttocks one more time demonstratively, as if to make his point, and then pulls up his pants.
“Ivar, dear, would you make us some tea?”
“Sure, Haukon.”
A little later, we are sitting in the living room. Ivar has made us some nice tea. Haukon is sitting in his armchair. I am sitting on the sofa next to Ivar. “That must have been quite a shock for you,” Haukon says in a gentle tone. “Have some tea, it's cooled down enough now.”
I shrug my shoulders defiantly and take a sip of my tea. I snuggle up to Ivar. His body is warm and smells of sweat from his recent exertions. It smells good, sexy, safe, strong. Ivar doesn't feel any less powerful as a submissive. He feels even more accessible. When I lay my head on his chest, he runs his fingers lightly through my hair.
“Is Ivar now allowed to spank me whenever he feels like it, Haukon?
Haukon laughs out loud. “Sure, because you asked so nicely.”
