Alone again
I'm still on cloud nine when I stand in front of Haukon and Ivar's apartment. The trial week with Milan was everything I had hoped for: he was dominant, strict, warm, caring, and so incredibly hot. He took me deep into subspace and made me soar higher than I could ever have without him. But now it's over. Milan said he'll be distant again from now on. His words kept ringing in my ears: If you submit to me for good, you'll get the Milan from the trial week back. And more.
My fingers tremble a little as I ring the doorbell. My ass is still glowing softly under the leather of my pants, as if Milan has left his mark. It takes longer than I'm used to before the door opens. When it finally does, it's not Ivar, but Haukon who appears in the doorway. His usually perfectly styled hair is tousled, his shirt hangs casually over his pants, and a reddish blush colors his cheeks. His gaze rests on me for a moment, a fraction longer than usual.
“Hi, Jelte. You're back,” he says with a small smile. His voice is warm and unhurried, as if he has just emerged from deep concentration.
I open my mouth to reply, but he beats me to it. “Ivar isn't able to open the door right now.” A short pause. A subtle smile, almost apologetic. “We're actually in a session.”
His words hit me, but not in the way I expected. I feel no shock, no sudden transition, more like a strange kind of continuity. The atmosphere around him, his slight nonchalance... it fits effortlessly into what I have just left behind. The tone may be different, Haukon's energy more earthy, more steadfast than Milan's subtle but tight control, the undercurrent is the same.
He seems to hesitate, but then he says, “Come on in. After this week, I'm sure you won't see anything you haven't seen before.” There's a playful undertone in his voice, as if he's testing whether I take his words at face value.
I step over the threshold. The warmth of the apartment, the smell of leather and wood, the quiet tension in the air. In the living room, Ivar kneels next to an empty armchair. His posture is perfectly calm: back straight, hands on his thighs, head slightly bowed. His eyes are glassy, as if he is somewhere far away. His lips are red and swollen, probably from serving Haukon.
Haukon walks slowly to the armchair and sits down. Before he is fully seated, Ivar instinctively moves with him, as if there is an invisible cord between them. He lays his head in Haukon's lap with an almost devout naturalness. Haukon strokes Ivar's hair languidly, his thumb sliding along his temple in a tender, possessive movement.
“My love, Jelte is here.” His voice is low, warm.
Ivar barely moves. Only his breathing changes slightly, a fraction deeper, as if he has to make himself aware of my presence. Slowly, he opens his eyes and looks at me. He gives me a sleepy, contented grin.
I feel it now: how seamlessly everything fits together. The week with Milan, how he guided me, how my body molded itself to him, it flows effortlessly into this moment. Haukon and Milan are not the same, but the world they inhabit is. This is where I am now. Where I belong.
My shoulders relax without me noticing at first. My smile comes naturally.
Ivar slowly regains consciousness, safe in Haukon's arms. His head rests against his chest, his breathing still deep and slow, as if clinging to the rhythm of Haukon's heartbeat. After a while, Ivar lifts his head. His eyes are still glassy, but I can see his familiar alertness slowly returning. “Jelte.” His voice is still a little sluggish, but his gaze finds mine. “Glad you're back.” A short pause, an almost playful twinkle in his eyes. “Did Milan give you what you needed?”
A moment later, Haukon places two steaming mugs of tea on the coffee table for us. Ivar holds the mug with both hands as he drinks slowly, as if absorbing the warmth completely. He drinks the tea with quiet attention, an almost meditative calm surrounding him. I see how Haukon continues to observe him attentively.
When Ivar puts the mug down again, the sparkle has returned to his eyes. With his familiar enthusiasm, he asks me, “So how was it? Tell me everything!”
Haukon looks at Ivar with an approving glance. “I'll leave you boys alone. I'm sure you have a lot to talk about.”
As Haukon walks out of the room, Ivar watches him with a loving gaze. “What a man, huh?” He turns back to me and looks at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “But tell me, how was it with your man-to-be?”
I feel my cheeks getting warm. “Don't exaggerate, Ivar, we're not there yet... But it was fantastic.”
Ivar's eyes light up playfully. “Oh yeah? How fantastic exactly?”
I pull a face. “You know how it works.”
Ivar smiles, takes a sip of his tea, and leans back, relaxed. “I thought so.” Without warning, he gives me a playful push on the shoulder. “You're still glowing, boy. Might as well have ‘Property of Milan’ stamped across your forehead.”
I sigh exaggeratedly and take a sip of my tea to hide my smile. But Ivar sees it anyway. His gaze softens, almost content. “I remember well how I felt truly submissive to Haukon for the first time.”
Ivar turns his mug in his hands. “It's funny,” he says. “How you think you know what submission means... until one day you realize that your body has long since accepted it, while your head is still trying to fight it.”
I swallow and look at him sharply. I feel that this is something important.
Ivar sighs briefly and glances at me. “For me, it didn't come gradually. I fought it. I didn't want to accept it.” He slides his fingers over the rim of his mug. “I let it get so far that Haukon didn't give me a choice. And you know what the most fucked up part was?” His lips twist into a faint, self-deprecating smile. “I hated him. And I wanted him to never stop.”
My stomach clenches. “What... what did he do?” I have to ask him.
Ivar takes a slow sip of his tea and then puts the mug down. “Haukon doesn't punish me often,” he says thoughtfully. “Not really. He's patient. But that day...” He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “Not that day. He was done with my bullshit.”
I wait.
He looks up, his eyes darkening for a moment. “He stripped me naked in a fetish shop and led me to a spanking bench and placed me on it. My wrists and ankles were tied down, my ass up in the air.” He pauses, as if checking to see if I can still follow. “Then he whipped my ass with a tawse in a way I'll never forget. Six hard blows. And he did it in front of everyone.”
My heart pounds in my chest. “Wodan,” I whisper.
Ivar smiles briefly, almost mockingly. “That's what I thought, yes.”
I don't know what to say. My head is spinning at the idea that Ivar - rebellious, confident Ivar - had let himself be broken like that. “What did that do to you?”
He looks at me sharply. “It destroyed me,” he says softly. “I thought I couldn't handle it. I was furious, humiliated...” He pauses for a moment. “And I was horny. Horny as hell.
My breathing falters. I feel my face get hot.
Ivar's gaze softens. “That's the confusing thing about it, Jelte. The moment you hate it, that’s also the moment it all starts to make sense..” He looks me in the eyes. “I know what you're thinking right now. ‘This isn't how it's supposed to be. This isn't who you are.’ Believe me... I thought the same thing.”
I can't take my eyes off him. “And then?” I ask, hoarsely.
Ivar leans forward slightly, his tone softer. “Then, on the train, I was lying with my head in Haukon's lap. My butt was burning, my pride was in tatters.” He pauses briefly. “And I felt... good. Safe. Completely at home with Haukon.”
He grins, mischievous and confident. “And completely horny.” He lets the words hang for a moment, his gaze challenging. A mocking twitch plays around his mouth. “Haukon too, by the way, let's be honest.”
He looks at me for a long time, but says nothing more. He doesn't need to say anything. I feel his story hit me like a blow. My head is pounding. My body knows what he means. But my head is still resisting.
Ivar smiles and leans back in his chair. “So,” he says casually, as if he hasn't just shaken my entire foundation. “You thought Milan let you down hard? Just wait until you make Haukon angry and your butt gets to meet the tawse.”
My skin feels warm, as if Ivar's words have lodged themselves in it. The image of him, tied up, his back arched and tense, his buttocks raised, vulnerable, while Haukon stands behind him with the tawse in his hand. I force myself to push it away, but it echoes in my mind.
When I look up, Ivar is still watching me. His gaze is amused, but sharp. As if he knows exactly where my mind is right now.
I quickly look away. My tea has gone cold. Milan knows I’ve got this kind of desire.
Ivar has already moved on to lighter topics. “Your tea has gone cold. Shall I make you some more?"
Before I can answer, Haukon enters the room with fresh cups of tea. “I thought so: you boys just let your tea get cold.” He places the fresh cups on the table and gives Ivar a quick kiss on the forehead.
“We're going home soon,” he says calmly. “To the House of Loving Authority.”
His gaze rests on me. “I want you to come with us, Jelte. As part of our circle. Until you commit yourself to a Dominant.” He looks at me with a smile. “Probably Milan.”
There is a moment of silence.
Ivar places his hand on my knee. His eyes are warm. “You belong with us.”
I feel honored. My answer forms before I even realize it. “Yes,” I say. “I would like that.”
------
The car hums softly along the highway. Ivar sits in the front seat with his feet up on the dashboard, his head leaning back against the headrest. He plays with one of the belts of his leather jacket, his eyes half closed, as if he's asleep. But as soon as I look at him, he turns around and says, “You're staring.”
“No, I'm not,” I mumble.
“Yes, you are.” He stretches like a cat. “What's on your mind, Jelte? Still thinking about Milan?”
I don't say anything.
Behind the wheel, Haukon raises one eyebrow, but his eyes remain fixed on the road. His hands rest loosely on the steering wheel. Calm control. “Leave him alone,” he says finally.
“No, it's okay,” I say. “I'm just thinking.”
“That's fine,” says Haukon. “That's what this drive is for.” There is silence for a moment, only the soft hum of the engine filling the space.
“Do you guys go back to your house in the village often?” I ask.
Ivar laughs softly. “The House of Loving Authority, Jelte. Give it the credit it deserves.” He leans back slightly, turning a little in his seat so he can look at me more easily. “It's warm, cozy, and loving, yes. But everything there exudes order, dedication...”
“And Authority,” I mutter.
“Above all Authority,” says Ivar with twinkling eyes. “And believe me: the submissive boys regularly get their lessons spelled out to them on their backsides.”
My cheeks glow.
Haukon glances at me briefly in the rearview mirror. “I want you to look at it without prejudice, Jelte. Every couple in that house has their own style. Their own rhythm. You don't have to judge. Just see what resonates with you, what feels right for you.”
Ivar nods. “Take Ries and Lars, for example. They are... well, almost sacred together. Everything is slow and serene. Ries has now graduated as a priest of Balder. He is now completely available to Lars. It's such a calm, deep devotion. It always makes me feel a bit zen, until I get bored and Haukon drags me by the scruff of my neck to our room.”
“Didn't you used to dominate Lars?” I ask.
Ivar glances briefly at Haukon, then back at me. His tone becomes a little more serious. “Yes. When Ries was still studying. It was temporary. Lars needed someone to keep him in his place. But that time is over,” says Ivar. “And that's good. I've found my place again; with Haukon, where I belong.”
Haukon's voice is soft, almost intimate despite the distance. “You never really left.” He looks at Ivar in a way only Haukon can: calm, controlled, but also in love.
There is a brief silence. Ivar looks outside, but his shoulders slump a little, as if something inside him is relaxing.
“Then there's Remco and Jorn,” Ivar continues, his voice now a little softer. “Those two...” He smiles. “They bicker like an old married couple, but it works. Remco may officially be the Dominant, but they really decide everything together.”
Haukon nods. “Proof that you don't have to choose between equality and commitment.”
“If you're mature enough,” Ivar adds with a meaningful look at me.
He leans back further, his elbow casually resting on the back of the chair. “But Sil and Jens, those young guys? Totally different. Sil is a firecracker and Jens...” He shakes his head. “Too nice for his own good.”
Something in his tone makes me curious. “What do you mean?”
Ivar's grin widens. “Jens wonders with every slap on Sil's butt if he's crossing the line, while Sil wants a firm hand.” He laughs softly. “That's why he provokes him. Sticks his tongue out at him, walks around naked without permission...”
He glances over his shoulder, mischievously. “And believe me, that boy craves being spanked. It's just that Jens doesn't always want to give in.” He grins. “Sil knows what he wants, that's clear.”
I raise an eyebrow. “And that's okay?”
“They're growing up,” Haukon says calmly. “Not every couple starts out in balance. Sometimes boys have to get lost first to find their way together.”
“And getting lost in lust is the best kind,” Ivar remarks dryly. “Sil knows exactly where he wants to go. Jens is still hobbling along behind him.”
His words linger between us. The silence that follows is not uncomfortable, but it lingers.
I stare at the landscape outside. Everything in me pulls me toward Milan. Toward his voice, his hand, his scent. But somewhere, deep down, there's also a little voice whispering: What if this is it? What if you never get to look around again? “Do I have to decide quickly?” I blurt out without thinking.
“No,” Haukon says softly. “Not yet. But you have your desires. You know how you feel about Milan. And now you know what it could be. That's a lot. It’s enough for the moment.”
Ivar turns back to face me, rests his head against the window and says more softly: “You miss him. Milan. How he touched you. How he looked at you. His voice when you came out from under his hand.”
I swallow. My body remembers everything. My head tries to keep it at bay for a moment. “I don't know if I'm ready to commit,” I whisper.
“You don't have to be,” says Haukon. “Just keep looking at what's out there. Keep learning. Eventually, you'll get to the point where you no longer have any doubts about what you want.”
“That's why you're taking me with you,” I say.
“Exactly.” He glances in the mirror, as if gauging what I can handle. “And sometimes... you only really learn what you desire when someone holds you. Live in your body, not in your head. Be somewhere where you can surrender; without it having to be permanent.”
I look outside, but my thoughts remain with Milan. Milan, who is now in Groningen, while I'm sitting here, on my way to a place where he isn't. “Milan isn't in the Village...” The words escape me softly.
Haukon catches my gaze in the rearview mirror. His eyes are warm, understanding. “Milan knows exactly where I'm taking you, Jelte,” he says calmly. “He understands that you need this. Time to see, to feel, to discover. At your own pace.”
“He's patient,” Ivar adds, and for once he doesn't sound teasing. “Good Dominants know when to give space.”
Haukon nods. “When you're ready, he'll be there for you. You know that.”
I let his words sink in. The thought that Milan is allowing all this, that he is waiting while I find my way, gives me a warm feeling and reassures me somewhat. But how much patience will Milan have? Do I deserve Milan's patience?
------
The highway towards Sneek gives way to smaller roads as we enter Friesland. The landscape changes; the cityscapes of Groningen make way for vast meadows, interrupted here and there by small villages with their characteristic temple towers rising above the horizon.
“Almost home,” says Haukon as he takes the exit to the provincial road near Sneek.
It is quieter on this road. To the left and right, I see typical Frisian farms with their characteristic high roofs, surrounded by rolling green plains where black and white cows graze. The sky is wide here, unlike in the city.
“I need to pay attention,” says Ivar, sitting up straight and peering out the window. “We have to take the next exit.”
Haukon nods. “The village isn't big, but the house is just outside it. Hidden away.”
We leave the provincial road and drive into the village on a narrow road. The village is small and picturesque, with old houses along the main road and the imposing temple dominating the center. There is a serene tranquility about the village, so different from the hustle and bustle of Groningen.
After the center, we turn onto an even narrower road that leads out of the village. The road is lined with tall trees that filter the sunlight. After a bend, I finally see it: a stately old country house, somewhat hidden behind a row of old oak trees.
“Here we are,” says Haukon, steering the car onto the gravel path that leads to the house. The crunching of the stones under the tires has something reassuring about it. “The House of Loving Authority.”
The building is larger than I had imagined. Reddish-brown Frisian bricks, tall windows with wooden frames, and a wide front door under a brick arch. It has the appearance of an old country house that once belonged to an important family- stately, but without pretension. It fits perfectly into this landscape - a little secluded, but not completely isolated.
“Be warned,” says Ivar with a grin as he gets out and stretches in the fresh Frisian air. “Once you step inside, it feels like you've entered another world.”
I grab my weekend bag from the trunk and follow them down the gravel path to the front door. Haukon pulls out an old key, but before he can put it in the lock, the door swings open.
A young man with chestnut brown hair and a calm demeanor opens the door. He is wearing a cozy baggy sweater over worn jeans; no leather, no collar, just a regular guy. He leans against the doorframe for a moment and smiles. “You must be Jelte.”
I had expected something... tougher. Leather, perhaps. A look that makes you go quiet. After all the stories Ivar has told me, I expected something more fitting for the name “House of Authority.” But this boy looks like he just walked out of a college classroom. A small sigh of relief escapes me.
“I'm Remco,” he says, shaking my hand. His handshake is firm but relaxed. “Welcome.” His eyes glance briefly at Haukon and Ivar. “Did you have a good trip?”
Haukon nods. “Smooth and no traffic.”
“Come in,” says Remco, stepping aside. “The others are already here.”
I follow him inside, still a little taken aback. If this is what one of the Dominants looks like, what else can I expect? Maybe this whole house is different from what I imagined.
The hall we enter is spacious, with a high ceiling and a wooden floor that creaks under our feet. The interior is a mixture of old and new, antique furniture stands next to modern design pieces, but everything fits together surprisingly well. The walls are whitewashed and there are a few abstract paintings that give the space a fresh look.
“Let me take your coats,” says Remco, pointing to an antique coat rack next to the door.
As Haukon and Ivar take off their coats, I hear voices coming from an adjoining room. Laughter, the clatter of cutlery on crockery.
“Most of them are in the living room,” Remco explains as he hangs up our coats. “We were just having coffee.” He nods at me. “Go ahead, I'll be right there.”
Haukon walks ahead of me, followed by Ivar, who suddenly seems much calmer than he did in the car. When we enter the living room, the buzz of conversation falls silent for a moment.
The room is warm and inviting. A large window offers a view of a lush garden, and a fireplace, now unlit, forms the centerpiece of a sitting area with two large sofas and a few armchairs. Four young men are sitting around a coffee table with a plate of cookies and a teapot.
Haukon puts his hand on my shoulder. “Everyone, this is Jelte. Jelte, this is...” He points to a man with medium-length, dark blond hair and a peaceful demeanor, “Ries.”
Ries is wearing a simple black shirt. He nods at me kindly. “Welcome to our home.”
Next to him sits a boy with a fade cut and alert eyes. He wears a simple T-shirt over leather pants. “This is Lars,” Haukon continues.
Lars smiles shyly at me, but his eyes immediately seek out Ries', as if seeking reassurance. Ries' hand automatically rests on Lars's, a gesture that is both protective and loving.
“And there's Jorn,” Haukon points to a young man with a friendly face sitting on the couch opposite them. Jorn has a casual air about him, with his plaid shirt and jeans. He holds out his hand to me and I shake it.
“Welcome,” he says. “Haukon has already told us a few things about you.”
Before I can ask what exactly Haukon has said, we are interrupted by two new faces entering the living room from what appears to be the kitchen.
“These are Jens and Sil,” Haukon introduces them.
Jens enters with a tray full of cups. His rugged leather pants contrast with the neat polo shirt he is wearing. His hair is well-groomed, his smile shy but engaging. “Hi,” he says softly.
Sil, right behind him, is the opposite, energetic, with tousled hair and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. He's wearing tight jeans and a T-shirt that shows just a little too much of his midriff when he bends over to refill the cookies on the table. He looks at me curiously.
“Jelte!” he says, as if we are old acquaintances. “Finally, someone else under the age of twenty-three in this house.” He dramatically extends his hand. “Save me.”
“Sil,” Jens warns, his voice soft but with an undertone I can't quite place.
Sil looks indignant but smiles playfully. “Sorry, Sir,” he says, but it sounds anything but remorseful.
An awkward silence falls, broken by Remco entering the room with an extra chair. “Here, Jelte, so you can sit down too.
As I take my seat, Ivar sits down on the floor without hesitation, at the foot of the armchair where Haukon has sat down. The gesture surprises me, but no one else in the room seems to notice. It's part of how things work here, I realize.
“Tea?” Ries offers, lifting the pot.
I nod, suddenly shy with all the attention.
“You may be wondering how things work here,” says Haukon, as Ries pours tea for me. “Every couple in this house has its own dynamics, its own rules. But we all share the fundamental values of respect, consent, and care for one another.”
“And discipline,” Sil adds with a grin, causing Jens to sigh softly.
“It's not all like in porn movies,” says Jorn with a wink. “Although Sil does his best to perpetuate that idea.”
There is laughter, even Sil grins. The tension I felt begins to slowly ebb away. These people, as different as they are, form a community. Almost a family.
“The House of Loving Authority,” says Ries, his voice soft but clear, “is not so much a place as an idea. The idea that love, authority and discipline can go hand in hand. That surrender and authority can be different expressions of the same connection.”
He looks at me with eyes that are both friendly and penetrating. “You're here to learn, aren't you? To understand what you feel for Milan, and what that might mean?”
The name Milan makes my heart skip a beat. I didn't expect him to mention it so directly, and I find myself blushing.
“It's okay,” Lars says, his voice softer than I expected. “We've all been through that phase. The doubts. The questions. The fear that you want something others would find strange.”
Remco nods. “Society isn't always understanding about what we share here. But within these walls, you don't have to be ashamed of what you feel.”
I take a sip of my tea, still a little overwhelmed by it all. By the openness, the directness with which they talk about these things.
“Take your time,” says Haukon. “You're here to experience, to learn. No pressure, no expectations.”
Ivar looks up at me from his spot on the floor, his eyes clear. “Except that we do expect you to be honest. Especially with yourself.”
And that's what it's all about, I realize. Honesty. Admitting to myself what I feel, what I want. What Milan means to me, and whether I'm ready for what he can offer me.
I look around the circle: this strange, diverse group of young men. I feel a sense of peace. “Thank you,” I say finally. “I'm glad to be here.”
Haukon nods contentedly. “Welcome to the family, Jelte.”
------
Dinner is served in the kitchen, where there is a long, weathered wooden table. The table is lavishly set. There are jugs of water and bottles of light beer, which everyone can help themselves to. There is soup in bowls, a large dish of fragrant stew, crispy bacon bits in a separate bowl, and a salad that has clearly been prepared with love.
Everyone is seated. Haukon at the head, Ivar diagonally next to him. Ries sits opposite Haukon, with Lars again diagonally next to his Dominant. Remco and Jorn sit close together: not conspicuously intimate, but in everything an extension of each other. Jens sits further away, Sil slouched next to him, his feet propped up on an empty chair.
“Who's the salad for?” Jorn asks as he passes a bowl.
“I'll skip it,” says Jens.
“But it's so good for you,” Sil says immediately. “And for your potency."
Ivar lowers his spoon and says dryly, “Careful, Sil. You know what they say about cheeky boys and their bare bottoms.”
Jens takes a sip of water, puts his glass down and says calmly, “Do you want me to put you over my knee, Sil?”
Sil's grin freezes for a split second. He looks at Jens and then says in a slightly softer voice, “No, sir.” His voice is controlled, just formal enough not to raise any doubts, as if he is aware that openly admitting what he really feels would not be appropriate at the dinner table.
I see Lars looking concerned. Ries briefly places his hand on Lars's forearm, who visibly relaxes again. It's as if everything in his body sinks as soon as he feels that touch. They talk little, but communicate with glances and silences.
“Who cooked?” I ask, partly to break the silence.
“Remco and I,” says Jorn, with a smile.
“Jorn cooked, I tasted it,” adds Remco.
“And approved it,” says Jorn cheerfully.
“Of course,” says Remco, and they exchange a glance that says so much I can hardly follow it. Partners who understand each other perfectly.
As the buzz at the table picks up again and the soup bowl is passed around, I lean back slightly. I take in the boys, the rhythms between them, the silences and the glances. They are all so attuned to each other; something that existed long before I arrived, and which I may now also be allowed to become a part of.
------
After dinner, Haukon asks if I would like to come with him. Jens walks silently alongside us. He doesn't say anything, but his presence is noticeable. Those tight leather pants fit him surprisingly well: cool, but not over the top. It contrasts strangely with his shy smile, which only makes him seem more charming.
We take a seat in a small room at the end of the hallway. A low bench, a wooden table, soft lighting. The window overlooks the garden, where twilight settles between the trees. The room feels quiet and deliberately simple; here, only what really matters is discussed.
When all three of us are seated, Haukon gets straight to the point. “Every submissive boy in this house has a Dominant,” he says. “Not because they have to, but because it helps. It provides direction, security, structure."
I nod slowly. I've already felt that today. All these boys seem so... grounded. As if they belong somewhere.
“If you stay here without a Dominant, Jelte,” he continues, “it could become a problem in the long run. For you, because you lack direction. But also for the balance in the house: you're not invisible, and your needs impact the dynamics.” His voice sounds mild, but he speaks clearly from experience. Not to pressure me, but rather to open something up for me.
“That's why we want to make you a suggestion,” he says. “A temporary situation, no obligation. If you want, Jens could be your Dominant for a while.”
I feel my heartbeat quicken. Jens says nothing. I feel his gaze on me, waiting, but not uncertain. He lets Haukon set the pace.
“It would be educational for Jens to work with someone like you,” Haukon says. “You're different from Sil. Calmer, gentler, perhaps. And it's important for you to remain under the guidance of a Dominant.”
I look at Jens only after Haukon has finished speaking. He nods.
“Only if you want to,” Jens says softly. “There's no pressure, but I want to do this for you.”
I open my mouth, but hesitate for a moment. “And Sil?” I ask. “What does he think about this?”
Jens looks at Haukon, who just nods encouragingly. “We've talked about it,” Jens says. “I told him you're here, and that Haukon might suggest that I become your Dominant temporarily.”
I swallow. Jens continues calmly. “Sil is fine with it. He said, ‘If Jelte needs that, you should do it.’” Jens smiles softly, with an affectionate look in his eyes. “ And after that: ‘You’re still mine, you know. And I want to hear all the details later.’” He’s still a brat... But he also knows that this is very different from what we have together.”
I feel myself relax a little. “Thank you,” I say softly. “It's important for me to know what Sil thinks.” I don't immediately know what to say next. On the one hand, the proposal doesn't surprise me, and yet... Jens is not Milan. But maybe Haukon is right. In this house, I need a Dominant.
Haukon smiles. “You don't have to decide now. Think about it. I think it's a good idea for you to be under Jens' guidance. If you're open to it, you can work out something together.”
They stand up. Haukon briefly places a hand on my shoulder, warm and reassuring.
When the door closes and I'm left alone, I feel the silence in the room. My head is spinning. But somewhere, deep inside, something is glowing that I can no longer ignore. Jens is attractive. The idea of being under his authority, for now at least, is... not unattractive.
------
The morning sun shines through the curtains as I walk down the hallway toward Jens and Sil’s room. My heart is pounding, not just from excitement, but also from anticipation. This isn't an obligation. This is my choice. Haukon said we had to figure this out ourselves, and that's exactly what I'm about to do.
I hesitate at the door for a moment. Then I knock. There is silence for a moment. Then I hear movement. The door swings open.
Sil, with sleepy hair and wearing only a thin shirt, looks at me with a crooked grin. “Well... that didn't take long."
I blush. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” he says, stepping aside. “But if you make Jens grumpy, it's your problem.” It sounds like a threat, but there is warmth in his voice.
Inside, Jens is sitting on the bed, his hair still messy, a cup of tea in his hands. As soon as he sees me, he smiles, cautiously but sincerely.
“Good morning,” he says. “Have you decided?”
I nod slowly. “I want to submit. To you as my Dominant. For now.”
There is a moment of silence. Then Jens puts down his cup of tea and nods. “Good. From now on you’re my submissive.”
Sil sighs exaggeratedly. “Good. Then I just want to make it official that I want a journal. Daily reports. In detail.”
Jens throws a pillow at him. “Sil.”
Sil ducks away, laughing, and calls out to Jens: “What? You told me I have a say in this!” He puts on a quasi-indignant face and then winks at me. “My fellow house boy.”
Jens holds my gaze for a moment. No words are necessary. This is real. I am now under his authority. And that feels... surprisingly good.
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