Rite of Surrender
When I walk into the kitchen in the morning, Jens and Sil are already busy making breakfast. Jens hands me a fresh cup of coffee and gestures to one of the kitchen chairs.
“Today is the big day,” he says as soon as I sit down. “Sil will help you get ready for Milan.”
“I can do that myself,” I protest.
Jens says nothing but looks at me sternly. I lower my eyes; his authority is clear.
“Sil is good at what he does,” he says, his voice warmer. “You have to look your best for Milan. And Sil knows how to soothe your nerves.”
“I'll transform you into the sexiest twink around,” Sil says cheerfully beside me. “And that's saying something, because I walk around here myself.” He takes me by the arm and leads me to the bathroom. Once there, he turns on the shower and checks with one hand to see if the water is comfortably warm. “Get undressed,” he says curtly.
I do as he says and step into the shower. Sil immediately starts soaping me up with a sponge.
“Hey! I can do that myself.”
“Shut up,” Sil says with a grin. “You heard Jens. I'm in charge now.”
I pull a hurt face, which Sil immediately seizes upon to wash me thoroughly. His sponge lingers on my cock, balls, and between my cheeks. It gives me an erection, which I try to hide with my hands.
Sil pushes my hands away decisively and then teasingly strokes my hard cock. “It's actually handy when you're hard. It makes it easier for me to shave that area.”
“Shave?!” My voice sounds more panicked than I want it to.
“Yes,” Sil says sternly. “A submissive boy can't have a jungle between his legs on his first night with his Dominant.”
A moment later, I'm lying on the bed with my legs spread wide and a bath towel under me. Sil is sitting between my legs, carefully shaving my cock and balls with a steady hand. It feels surprisingly soothing.
Every now and then, he strokes my cock, pretending to keep me hard, even though that's not really necessary. “You have a beautiful cock, Jelte,” he says softly, almost admiringly. “And when I'm done, it'll look even better.” He sighs deeply. “Milan is lucky.”
With a warm, wet cloth, he wipes the last traces of soap from my crotch. “Turn around,” he says in a bossy tone.
“Eh! Since when are you Dominant?” But I do as he says.
When my butt crack is also free of hair, I want to get up. However, Sil gives me a slap on the buttocks.
“Stay down.”
“Yes, sir.” My voice drips with sarcasm.
In response, I feel a cold liquid on my back as Sil squirts a dollop of lotion over it. He starts massaging me. Jens was right, Sil is good at this.
“You're ready, you know that?” Sil says a moment later, sooner than I would have liked. His voice sounds softer now. “I can see it in you.”
Sil puts a hand on my shoulder. “Go sit down.” He walks to the chair by the sink and picks up a linen bag. The same one Ivar gave me yesterday. Carefully, he unties the cord and takes out the pants.
“There,” he murmurs admiringly. “What a beautiful piece of Ivar’s craftsmanship..”
He holds up the shiny leather, letting it rustle between his hands. “These pants say, ‘I belong to a Dominant.’ And not just any Dominant.”
I feel my heartbeat quicken.
“Stand up.”
I get to my feet, naked and still a little dazed from the massage.
“Foot,” Sil says, as if talking to a lapdog. I chuckle but obey. He pulls first one leg, then the other through the narrow leather.
“So tight,” he whispers as he slowly pulls it up, over my thighs, my buttocks, my crotch. His fingers glide over my skin as if by themselves, just a little longer than strictly necessary.
“Look,” he says. “It’s like it was made for you.”
I hardly dare breathe. Nevertheless, the intoxicating smell of new leather fills my nose. A smell, thick and saturated, with hints of dried tobacco, warm animal musk and that distinctive bite of fresh tanning agents. The pants fit like a second skin. It shows off every detail. The leather creaks softly and sensually with every movement I make. The leather's polished surface gleams, smooth beneath my fingers; while inside it hugs my skin like comforting velvet.
Before Sil picks up my shirt, he first takes an elegant-looking bottle of perfume from the shelf. He opens the bottle and holds it to my nose. "I want to see you in your submissive role, Jelte, I want to immerse you in it completely. The perfume I picked out for you is exactly what you need, a little refinement, a little femininity, and a lot of sensuality.“
”But... it's a women's perfume,“ I grumble.
”It's not just feminine, it represents obedience," Sil replies, his gaze unwavering. “And I say you should wear it. Jelte. It will make it easier for you to submit to Milan. Let me help you push your boundaries a little.”
I'm still a little unsure, but Sil is so sure of himself that it reassures me. And I want to be submissive to Milan. “I don't know, but if you say so...”
“You'll like it. Now stop talking and let me do my thing,” Sil says sharply, spraying the perfume into the air. He sprays some on my chest, my neck, and my wrists. “Can you feel how sexy and submissive you're starting to feel?”
Sil picks up a crisp white, light linen shirt. He holds it open for me. I put my arms in, letting him pull the fabric over my shoulders. He buttons it carefully, from bottom to top. His fingers brush my chest each time.
“Almost done,” he whispers. “You look like a precious gift.” He smoothes the shirt over my chest, placing his hand on my heart for a moment.
A short silence. “And later... you'll kneel before him.”
I swallow when I picture myself kneeling for Milan.
Sil takes my hand. “Come with me.” He leads me to the mirror by the wardrobe and turns me to face it. For a moment, I don't know where to look. Then he stands behind me, his hands on my hips. “Look,” he says.
I look. And I'm shocked.
The boy in the mirror is slim, smooth, his excitement easily betrayed by the visible erection through the tight leather of his pants. His cream-colored shirt falls softly over his chest, contrasting with the tightness of his pants. His neck is still bare, but it's clear what it's meant for.
I can't believe my eyes. “This can't be me,” I whisper.
“Yes, it is,” Sil says, his voice softer. “This is exactly who you are. This is how Milan will see you soon.”
My cheeks flush. I want to look away, but Sil won't let me. He pushes me a little closer to the mirror.
“Look closely. Soft, obedient, horny. Everything about you says you're ready.”
I feel my breathing change. The scent of the perfume hangs around me like a reminder of the role I'm about to fulfill for Milan. I feel my cock straining against the leather..
Sil grins. “Tell me... what Dominant could say no to this?”
I know the answer. But I don't dare say it out loud yet.
Sil says, suddenly a little more serious, “Are you ready?”
I nod.
“Just wait until he sees you,” Sil says. “For the first time, Milan won’t know what hit him.”
There's a knock on the door and Haukon walks into the room. He stands still for a moment and looks at me with admiration. “Sil... You've outdone yourself.”
Haukon smiles at me, warm and proud. “Milan is waiting for you downstairs. Are you coming, boy?”
------
Haukon gently places his hand on my back. “Come,” he says.
Together we descend the stairs. Slowly. My leather pants creak with every step. I hear my breath, hear my heart, nothing else. No words. No footsteps above. Only the soft tapping of my boots on wood, and Haukon beside me, like a calm wave carrying me along.
Downstairs, a large room opens up. The morning sun shines through the windows. It smells of leather, wood, masculine aftershave. And something else, clinging to my skin: Sil’s perfume. My submissive role.
Milan is already there. Silent. Standing straight. His hands on his back, his gaze on me. He says nothing. He doesn't need to say anything.
Behind him, at some distance, stand the others. Sil. Jens. Lars. Ries. Ivar. Remco and Jorn. Some are wearing their collars, others are not. But they are all looking at me with a solemn expression. They are witnesses. This moment is bigger than Milan and me alone.
I remain standing, just over the threshold. I hold my breath for a moment.
Haukon turns slightly toward me. His voice is low, almost hoarse. “Now is your moment, boy. You know what you want. Show him.”
I look at Milan. He still isn't moving. But everything about him exudes expectation.
My legs feel heavy and my throat is dry. But I take a step forward. And another. When I reach Milan, my body sinks down on its own.
My knees touch the floor. I bow my head. All I can see are Milan's boots. But I can feel Milan's presence, smell it: leather, his aftershave. I hear the silence. And in that silence, I know: I belong with him.
I remain kneeling, the world reduced to this one moment. My breathing seems to slow down, my heartbeat calms down now that I am where I need to be.
Milan's boots move closer. I keep looking down. Then I feel his hand, warm and strong, under my chin. He lifts my face up, forcing me to look at him.
His eyes find mine. Besides dominance and strength, I see warmth. A flash of pride.
“There you are at last,” he says softly, almost whispering, but loud enough for me to hear. His voice penetrates my entire body. “I've been waiting for you.” His hand slides from my chin to my cheek. A touch that is both possessive and tender. “You’ve made a brave choice, boy.” Milan slides his thumb over my lower lip. An intimate gesture that makes me shiver. “Not everyone has the strength to surrender.”
He leans toward me and I feel his warmth, smell his scent. Stronger now. More earthy. His hand slides to my neck, fingers closing around my throat, like a claim.
“This is where you belong,” he says, and his voice carries a certainty that allows no doubt. “With me.” Milan shows me a small black leather band. A collar. My collar, with his name on it in silver. “If you say yes now, this is how it will be between us.”
His hand still rests on my neck, his warmth penetrating deep inside me. I look up at him and see not only the stern Dominant, but also the man I long for, who knows what I need.
“This is how you can be free. With me, under my authority.”
The others stand still as statues, but I feel their approval, their encouragement. This is a moment they all know very well.
“What do you say, Jelte? Are you ready to come home?”
The words leave my lips without me having to think about them, soft but determined: “Yes, Sir. I'm home.”
Milan's face softens, a smile reaching his eyes. With slow, almost ceremonial movements, he places the collar around my neck. The leather strap feels cool against my skin but quickly warms up. Its weight is strange but comforting.
He closes the clasp and I hear a small click. A definitive sound. A connection forged.
“My boy,” he says, and there is a new tone in his voice. Possession. Responsibility. Care.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the others relax, some even smiling. Ries nods at me, a small confirmation.
Milan helps me to my feet, his hands firmly under my arms. When I'm standing, he holds me for a moment, looking at me with that mixture of dominance and warmth that makes me dizzy.
“Welcome home,” he says simply. In those two words, I hear everything he promises me. Safety. Structure. The boundaries I need. Sex. And within that: freedom.
I instinctively touch the collar. My collar. The proof that I belong to him.
Milan takes my hand and leads me through the room. The others come up to us one by one, congratulate us, pat me on the shoulder. But it's Milan I feel, his hand warm in mine, his presence like an anchor.
I'm home.
------
A little later, we are sitting in the living room. Everything radiates tranquility: the leather armchairs, the wooden bookshelves, the submissive boys quietly resting beside their Dominants.
I am sitting on the rug, at Milan's feet. His hand rests loosely in my hair. Sometimes his fingers slide down to my neck, playing with my collar for a moment. Then they wander back to the top of my head, as if he wants to feel that I am really there.
I close my eyes and lean against his leg. I feel his presence in every fiber of my body. His scent, his warmth, his weight. And that of the collar, the soft pressure around my neck is constant, comforting.
The others are scattered around the room. Lars is lying with his head on Ries' lap, laughing at something Ivar said. Sil is hanging in Jens' arms, his legs draped over his lap. It's intimate without being intrusive; a house full of couples, familiar with each other.
Occasionally, glances wander my way, often accompanied by a smile. I belong here. Not just as an individual, but as Milan's partner.
He squeezes my shoulder briefly in confirmation. I press my face against the leather of his pants and breathe deeply. I feel my cock throbbing in my tight pants. Not necessarily out of lust, more because of the intense feeling of security.
I look up at Milan. Without saying a word, he responds with a smile full of satisfaction.
In the distance, I hear the clinking of dishes. Jens stands up and stretches. “Dinner in half an hour,” he says casually, as if there weren't all kinds of dignitaries invited.
Milan moves for the first time. He slides his foot forward slightly, tapping my thigh gently with his shoe.
“Come on,” he says. “Let's go steal the show.”
------
“I've hired catering for tonight's dinner,” says Haukon, looking down at Ivar with a friendly smile. “That way, you submissive guys can get some rest.”
We walk to the hall, Milan's hand possessively on my butt. That certainly doesn't help the hard-on I've been carrying around with me almost all day.
“Our guests from the Temple will be arriving shortly,” says Haukon, his tone becoming serious. “Important guests, including Henrik, the High Priest of Balder.” He points to the wall of the hall. “I want you submissive boys to kneel there, with your eyes cast down in piety.”
“As if you're always so pious,” Ivar grumbles.
He immediately receives a firm slap on his ass. Not playful. Corrective. “You just do as I tell you.”
Ivar mutters softly, just loud enough to be heard. But underneath it all, you can sense that he's enjoying it. As always.
All the submissive boys, including Ivar, follow the instructions. I kneel with Lars to my left and Sil to my right. Our hands folded, our eyes downcast. The leather of my pants creaks softly. My collar closes warmly around my neck.
And despite everything, or perhaps because of it, I feel connected. Connected to the others. To Milan. To myself.
It doesn't really help against my hard-on.
Milan glances at me, and for a moment I'm afraid he sees it. He does. But all he does is give me a warm smile. I hope the Friiö will be as forgiving as Milan.
Soon we hear the gravel crunching on the driveway, signaling that a car has arrived. Haukon, as head of the household, opens the door and greets the guests, who have now stepped out of the car.
“Welcome to our House of Loving Authority, Your Excellency. We are honored by your presence.”
Henrik Ydema, High Priest of the Order of Balder, guardian of the Temple, nods graciously to Haukon. “It is our pleasure, Sir Schonewille.”
Henrik is followed by a tall, slender man carrying the luggage. Several other guests now also get out of the car. When the High Priest enters the hall, he walks past us, the row of kneeling, submissive boys. As if he were a drill sergeant inspecting his troops.
I try to focus my thoughts on something boring, something practical. But I can't. Every second I spend on my knees, every glance that passes over me, reminds me of my place. And the more I am aware of my submissive position, the harder my cock presses against the tight leather of my pants.
Henrik pauses briefly at Ivar. “So, you are finally submissive?” There is a teasing tone in his voice.
“Always, Your Excellency.” Ivar can't hide a subtle tone of mockery in his voice.
Henrik just laughs. “Brats...” he sighs softly. He walks over to me, looks at me and then at Milan. “Ah, Milan, now I understand why you chose a boy from the common people, they kneel with such hunger.” He looks at me again, searching. “He's a beautiful young man.”
He looks at my crotch. I still have an erection and I feel the blood rushing to my cheeks with discomfort and embarrassment. But beneath that insecurity, something else glows, a primal satisfaction, because he sees my excitement. An excitement that only grows because of his gaze. I have been chosen. Approved. Desired. And that realization only makes me harder.
He gives me a look that shows amusement, even approval. “Jelte is your name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Honor, I am Jelte Visser.”
“You will have a strict but good Dominant in Milan, Jelte Visser.”
“Thank you, Your Honor. I will obey Milan.” The words leave my lips, and as I speak them, I feel them only intensify my sexual excitement. Here, on my knees, declaring to the highest authorities that I will obey Milan, I paradoxically feel more powerful than ever. Not because I am in control, but because I know that I am exactly where I need to be, doing what my deepest desires tell me to do. The formality of it all, the ritual, the witnesses: it reinforces what exists between Milan and me, makes it real, makes it sacred... and makes me horny as hell.
For the occasion, Jorn is also kneeling, even though he is clearly not used to it. Still, Henrik is lenient when he reaches him. “I appreciate your willingness to adapt,” is his brief statement.
“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Jorn's voice sounds small.
Remco looks a little worried at his partner, which earns him a stern look from Henrik.
After the High Priest, a younger man, also in priestly garb, follows. He greets Haukon formally but warmly. Ivar only gets a nod.
He greets Milan. “Mister Valkema.”
“Friiö Westerhof,” Milan confirms.
The Friiö points at me. “This is your humble boy?”
“Yes,” there is undisguised pride in Milan's voice, “this is Jelte, my partner in betrothal.”
The Friiö now turns to me. “I am Bastiaan Westerhof, the Friiö of this village. I think we should get to know each other better later.” He smiles warmly, “For now, congratulations on your submission to Milan.”
“Thank you, Reverend.”
Right behind the Friiö, an old man with a friendly face and a warm aura enters. He embraces Haukon like an intimate friend. “Good to have you back in the village.” He now turns to Ivar. “And it's good to see you again, Ivar.”
“The pleasure is all mine Friiö Dijkstra,” says Ivar with sincere enthusiasm.
“Oh, boy, I remember how angry you were about your classification as a submissive.”
“Yes,” says Haukon in a cheerful tone. “It turned out, you were right. But back then I didn't know there was a Dominant like Haukon around.”
“I wasn't right, Ivar, Lord Balder was right. And it's so good to see that you haven't lost any of your fire.”
“My fire always burns for Haukon.”
Friiö Dijkstra laughs out loud. He walks over to me and stops in front of me. “You must be Jelte. It's brave of you to submit to a Dominant from such a powerful family, young man.”
Before I can say anything, Milan speaks. “With all due respect, Friiö, my family is my concern. Jelte doesn't need to worry about that.”
Friiö Dijkstra's eyes twinkle for a moment. He looks from Milan to me and back again, as if he sees something others might miss. “Of course, Milan,” he says with a mild smile. “Protective as always. That's to your credit.” He places his hand on Milan's shoulder in a fatherly gesture. “Don’t forget, Milan, sometimes a submissive boy’s strength shows itself when he faces what you cannot shield him from. Don't forget that a true bond between Dominant and submissive grows stronger when both are aware of all the... challenges.” He looks directly at me. “Jelte seems more than capable to me.”
Milan's face tenses for a moment, almost imperceptible to someone who doesn't know him well. But I feel the tension in his body increase. He waits until Dijkstra has finished speaking, then makes a subtle hand gesture toward me, something between a stop sign and a reassurance. “Thank you for your wisdom, Friiö Dijkstra,” Milan says in a voice that is polite but unmistakably cold. “Indeed, Jelte is extremely capable.” He looks at me briefly, his eyes warm but determined. “That is exactly why I chose him.”
Then he turns back to Dijkstra, standing straighter than before. “But it is up to me to decide when and how my boy will be... challenged.”
Dijkstra waits for a tiny moment, just long enough to make his point without being rude. Then he turns to Haukon. “Haukon, I suggest we let the boys stand up.”
Haukon nods, a flash of approval in his eyes for how Milan is handling the situation. Milan looks at me. “Jelte,” he says soft but firmly, “stand up and come with me to the dining room.”
The tension in my body is as tight as the leather of my pants around my ass. I stand up as Milan wants me to; I don't care about my hard-on anymore. Everyone can see how much I love to obey Milan.
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