No One's Boy
I stand in front of his room and knock on the door. Kasper opens it. He stays in the doorway, close to me. He has just come back from the gym. He’s shirtless and sweaty. I can smell him. He smells good.
“Jelte.” That is all he says.
“I... Uh,” I can hardly get the words out. Shit! Why can't I say something meaningful?
Kasper says nothing and pulls me inside, closing the door behind us. His movement is gentle but purposeful. He points to his bed. “Sit down,” he says, his voice hoarse. He sits down next to me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his body. He puts a hand on my thigh and remains silent.
I swallow. “Milan...”
Kasper looks at me, his eyes full of pain. “Milan has a claim on you,” he says finally. His thumb slides down my cheek, almost hesitantly. "But he's not doing anything about it... That hurts you, doesn't it?“ His tone is soft and comforting.
It does hurt. ”Asshole," I whisper, hissing with pent-up anger and frustration.
I hear Kasper exhale softly. He leans forward and kisses my cheek. Gently but warmly. “Hush, sweetheart,” he says and turns his head away again, looking ahead as he gently rubs my thigh.
Something changes. His grip on my thigh tightens. His thumb presses down, harder than necessary. His breathing deepens, as if he is suppressing an impulse.
“I remember how you looked at me for the first time on the bus.” His voice is lower, almost rough. “Such a beautiful boy... such an eager boy too.” He presses his fingers firmly into my thigh. His eyes are fixed on mine again. “You thought you knew what you wanted back then. But you had no idea, Jelte.”
I hold my breath. This. This is the fire I want.
Kasper grins, but it's not a happy smile. It's an old, dangerous ‘Kasper smile’. The Kasper from the past. “Your eyes practically begged for my cum.” His voice is soft, threatening. “My dick. That was all you could think about, wasn't it?”
I feel caught and excited at the same time. My throat feels dry and I'm hyper-aware of his hand on my thigh. More, more like this!
But just as quickly as he showed his old fire, he pulls back. His grip softens. The tension in his face disappears. His eyes soften. He lets his fingers slide over my thigh for a moment, a slow, almost apologetic caress. “But I was wrong,” he says softly. “You weren't ready.”
The fire is gone. The eager, relentless Kasper has disappeared. What remains is tenderness.
I feel a sickening frustration. Why is he stopping? Why isn't he holding me like he used to? Why is he doing this to me? I have to say something, do something. If I let him go now, it's really over. “Kasper...”
He looks at me, his gaze inscrutable. Not dismissive, but not yielding either.
I swallow. My hand rests on his forearm. “I want this,” I whisper
A brief silence. A small smile, barely noticeable at the corners of his mouth. “I know.”
I move closer, his warmth palpable. “Then take me.” My voice is soft, pleading. I hate myself for it.
Kasper sighs, as if he saw this coming. His fingers hook under my chin and he lifts my face slightly. “No, Jelte.”
Please! I feel my stomach contract.
He looks at me, a mixture of desire and tenderness, and caresses my cheek. “Not the way you want.”
This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Kasper smiles, but it's different than before. Less triumphant. Softer. “I'm not going to claim you, boy.” His voice is low, warm, without any mocking undertone. “You don't need that anymore.”
His words cut deeper than rejection. I want him. I want him to take me, force me, pull me out of my head like he used to. I want to feel his cock in my mouth. I want him to fuck me in the throat again, rough and relentless. But that's not what he's giving me.
Kasper lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles. His lips are warm, reassuring. “But if you want to say goodbye...” He lets the words hang for a moment. “Then I'll do it my way.”
A lump in my throat. This is my last chance. My fingers slide over his arm, up to his shoulder. “Please, Kasper.”
He kisses me. His lips touch mine, not hungry, not rough, but deliberate and soft. His hands slide to my hips, pulling me against him. Not with brute force.
My head is still screaming that this isn't what I want, but my body is already melting in his hands.
His fingers pull up my shirt, exploring me with a patience that drives me crazy. He pushes me back slowly, the gentleness of his movements overwhelming. This isn't the Kasper who took me over, who subdued me without warning. This is different. His lips wander to my neck as he slowly undresses me. Every touch feels electric, my body pulls toward him, craving something he won't give. I feel his warmth without him forcing me.
His hands wander over my stomach, along my hips. He takes control from my hands without subjugating me. I want to resist, want to force him to take me roughly, but I can't. He is tender. Gentle.
He gently sucks on one of my nipples and then slowly moves down. He kisses my belly button. And then, the unthinkable. He takes my cock in his mouth. This isn't how it's supposed to be.
But I can't escape. It feels too good, his mouth warm and moist, his tongue playing nimbly with my sensitive glans, his lips sucking gently. He moves slowly, exploring, as if challenging me to stop him. But I do nothing.
I can't. My head is still screaming that this is wrong, that he's the one who should be fucking my mouth. But my body revels in his touch. My back arches off the bed, my fingers find their way to his hair, pulling without strength. He's not fucking my mouth. He's fucking me with his mouth. And damn it, I can't help but take it.
A moan escapes me. Soft, broken.
Kasper sucks a little harder, pulling me deeper into the warmth of his mouth. My legs tense, my fingers grip his hair more tightly, but I have no control anymore. “No,” I whisper. But it means nothing. My hips tilt upward, seeking him out. I can't stop this anymore. His mouth is a damn horny trap, and I've fallen into it.
My breathing quickens, my muscles tense, pleasure overwhelms me. I don't resist anymore. I lose. I shoot my load into Kasper's mouth. And it feels damn good.
Kasper swallows everything. While I pant and slowly descend from the heights of my orgasm, he still cherishes my cock in his mouth.
He lazily sits up and kisses me. My mouth opens automatically, but not to speak. I taste myself on his lips. His voice is a whisper against my mouth. “You taste as good as you look.” His thumb slowly slides along my lower lip, a final, possessive caress.
“This is what you needed.
My breathing is still ragged, my skin clammy with sweat.
He stays lying there for a moment, resting his head just above my lower abdomen, swaying to my breathing. He presses one last, soft kiss on my lower abdomen before slowly sitting up.
My head is spinning. My muscles feel weak. This is wrong. This is everything I didn't want. But it feels so good.
His fingers slide languidly over my hip, as if he wants to feel me one last time. His eyes are soft, calm. No triumph, no regret.
I swallow. I don't know what to say. I could stay here. But that feels wrong. Slowly, I push myself up, searching for my clothes. I feel Kasper's gaze on my back as I pick up my shirt. I know he's watching, but he doesn't say anything. I pull up my pants. I want to say something. Something clever, something sharp, something that breaks the moment. But I can't think of anything.
I stand at the door, my hand on the handle. I turn halfway around. Waiting for something I don't know what it is.
His eyes meet mine. He leans back on his elbows, his chest still glistening with sweat. He smiles. “Are you having second thoughts now?”
I don't know whether to laugh or curse. I shake my head. “No.” My voice sounds hoarse. “I just didn't know this is how it would feel.”
Kasper nods slowly. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze resting on me for a moment. “Now you know what you need.” That's all he says.
I open the door and step into the hallway. The air feels too cold, the silence too oppressive. I close the door behind me.
------
I feel empty when I walk into my room. The room feels as empty as I feel. I stare at my bed as if it's a strange place. As if it's not really mine. As if I'm only now realizing that I'm lying here alone. Slowly, I sink down onto the edge of the mattress.
My fingers automatically search for my lower lip, where Kasper’s thumb last touched. The echo of his touch is still on my skin. His voice is still in my head. “You know what you need now.” A little acid rises in my stomach. I hate that he's right.
My gaze falls on the paddle on the nightstand. The leather catches the light from the skylight, its smooth surface seems to beckon me. I still crave discipline. Dominance, a strict Dominant who takes the paddle in hand. Kasper won't do that for me. Kasper never really wanted to claim me.
I bite my lip. I could take the paddle myself. Pull my pants down. Feel the leather of the paddle on my ass, as it's meant to be. But that's not it. My hands remain on my knees, stiffening there. What I need is Milan. Milan's strict hand. But Milan ignores me.
My head feels heavy. I know what I need, but the one who can give it to me isn't here. Why isn't he doing anything? Why is he staying away? Why is he ignoring me? I don't know how long I sit there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. But I know one thing: I don't want to wait any longer.
I close my eyes.
------
The first thing I feel when I wake up is emptiness. No warmth next to me. No touch to ground me. Just the cold sheets and the muffled silence of my room. My eyes open slowly. My head feels heavy. My body is relaxed, but my thoughts are not.
My gaze drifts to the bedside table. The paddle is still there, gleaming in the soft morning light. I haven’t touched it. But fuck, I want to feel its sting on my bare ass. I crave discipline. I want to feel my ass burning, raw and throbbing. I want to be paddled by a strict, unyielding Dominant. I want to be held down, corrected, claimed. But Kasper won’t give me that. He never truly wanted to own me.
Instead of the satisfying burn of a well-earned punishment, all I feel is the ache of denial. My ass clenches, not from impact, but from sheer, useless frustration. Milan is the one who should take control. Milan is the one who knows what I need. But Milan does nothing.
I take a deep breath, force myself to stand up. I have to do something. I can't stay here, alone in this room, alone with my thoughts. My feet touch the cold floor. My body moves on autopilot. I need a goal. I don't have to think long. Haukon. Ivar.
But what if Haukon and Ivar don't have time for me? What if I stand there, speechless, with no idea what I actually want to say? I shake the thought away. I'm already here. This is better than waiting. I arrive at their apartment and press the doorbell.
Ivar opens the door. His hair is tousled, his eyes clear and alert. He looks me over searchingly. I know he can see how I feel, how I look, how little I've slept.
The corners of his mouth slowly curl into a small, calculated smile. “Well, well. Look who's had a night of deep, philosophical insights.”
I sigh just a little too dramatically.
“Come in, Jelte,” says Ivar. His voice is warm. An invitation, but no option to say no.
I step inside.
Ivar closes the door behind me and walks ahead of me into the living room. The room feels cozier than I expected. The smell of coffee hangs in the air. It feels lively. Different from the suffocating silence of my own room.
Haukon is sitting in an armchair by the window, a mug in his hand. He looks at me as he always does, with that unfathomable, calm gaze that sees everything at once. “Jelte,” he says, as if my name is an observation in itself.
I swallow, no longer sure why I'm here.
Haukon puts his mug on the table and gestures to the sofa opposite him. “Sit down.” His tone is calm, neutral, but the expectation is clear.
Ivar casually plops down next to me as I sit down. His leg touches mine briefly, a subtle physical presence that reminds me I'm not alone here.
I stare at the floor, the words are on the tip of my tongue, but they won't fall into the right order.
Ivar lets the silence linger just long enough before cutting through it with a mocking grin. “So, what pushed you over the edge last night? Did you get yourself all tangled up in your own thoughts again?”
I want to ignore him, but he sees right through me.
Haukon interrupts him. “Leave him be.”
Seriously?
I look up. Haukon's gaze is patient. He's not going to force me to talk. But he does expect me to. My fingers automatically search for my lower lip, as if the memory of Kasper's thumb is still there. My throat feels dry. “I...” Why is it so hard to say anything?
Ivar leans his elbow on the armrest, observing me without embarrassment. “Did you say goodbye to Kasper?”
I startle and look at him sharply. His grin disappears. He already knew. Of course he knew. I nod. “Yes.”
Ivar whistles softly. “Shit. That must suck.”
I expected him to downplay it, to say something mocking, but he sounds sincere. And that makes it harder. I take a deep breath. “I thought I...” My shoulders tense. “I thought I wanted him to claim me. One more time.”
Ivar's eyes flash briefly to Haukon, but he says nothing.
I shake my head, as if that will untangle the knot in my stomach. “But he didn't.”
The silence between us grows tense. Haukon still says nothing.
I rub my hands over my face. “He gave me something else.
Ivar looks at me with genuine curiosity. “And you hate that, don't you?”
“No.” I know he can see it. My doubt. I know I'm lying. Or no, I don't really know whether I am.
Ivar leans toward me a little. “It sucks when someone gives you exactly what you need, but not what you thought you wanted.
My stomach tightens. Exactly that. That's exactly what's wrong.
Haukon finally lets out a sigh and picks up his mug again. He stares into it for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully. He looks at me again. “So, what do you know now?” His question is calm. Not demanding, but not noncommittal either.
“I know it wasn't enough,” I say slowly. “I know I still...” My gaze shifts to Ivar, but he says nothing. He waits. I swallow. “I know I need Milan.” The words are out of my mouth before I've thought them through. They hang heavily in the air.
Ivar doesn't even blink. “And?”
I frown. “And what?”
Ivar raises his eyebrow, as if I've asked the stupidest question ever. “And what are you going to do about it?”
“What can I do? He ignores me.”
Haukon sighs softly. “No, Jelte. He's waiting.”
My head shoots up. I stare at him. “Waiting?”
Haukon looks me straight in the eye, with that calm, penetrating gaze that always feels like he's looking right through me. “Milan claimed you a long time ago.” His voice is low, sure. “But he won't take what you're not willing to give him.”
Ivar lets out a short laugh. “Yes, Milan is not someone you can satisfy with half-hearted devotion.” His tone is light, but his gaze is sharp. “He wants everything or nothing.
I shake my head. This doesn't make sense. “But how am I supposed to...” My voice breaks.
Haukon puts down his mug and leans forward slightly. “You think submission is something you have to let happen, Jelte. But it's not.” He lets the silence fall, allowing the words to sink in. His gaze is unwavering. “Milan won't force you. He won't pull you, break you, or coerce you. If you get down on your knees for him, you have to do it yourself.”
My heart is pounding. That's exactly what I can't do.
The corners of Ivar's mouth curl up into a small grin. “You can do two things.” He counts on his fingers. “One: you can keep waiting for Milan to come get you. But that's not going to happen.”
My breathing quickens. I know he's right. Milan isn't like Kasper. He won't force me, he won't pull me; he'll wait until I come to him myself.
Ivar holds up a second finger. “Two: you go to him and give him what he wants.”
My throat feels dry. “But I don't know if I can do that.”
Haukon nods slowly. “That's the only thing you need to figure out right now.”
------
I feel the tension in my body as I walk through the corridors. I'm going to do this.
My conversation with Haukon and Ivar has put everything on edge. I can't wait any longer. I have to go to him. My steps quicken. My body moves as if it has already made up its mind. But deep down, something gnaws at me. What if I can't do it? What if he doesn't want me? What if... My thoughts freeze when I see him.
Milan.
He's standing in the hall, a few meters away from me, talking to someone I barely register. His posture is relaxed, his gaze sharp. He knows I'm there. His eyes find me. Cold. Waiting.
This is the moment. My heart is pounding in my chest as I take a step forward. My knees feel weak. Just do it. I lower myself. The floor feels cold beneath me. The floor is cold. My knees sink down; too slow, too hesitant. As if my body still wants to control what is happening. My hands slide down to my thighs.
My chest rises and falls too quickly. I try to control my breathing, but every breath is audible. I don't dare look at him right away. Even before he speaks, I know: this isn’t right. The silence stretches out. I feel his gaze on me.
“No.” One word.
My back stiffens. I force myself to look up.
Milan's expression is unmoved. Not angry. Not mocking. Just... calm. Uncompromising. “This isn’t you yet, Jelte.”
My throat tightens. “I...”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You're not sure you belong here. And if you don't know, why should I?” Milan doesn't blink. He lets the silence grow heavier. “Come back when you know what you want. I’ll be here.”
My mouth is dry. My heart is pounding against my ribs. I want to say something. But there is nothing. I have failed. I force myself to slowly get to my feet. My legs feel weak.
I turn around. I walk away. I feel humiliated: he knew before I did.
------
It's been going on for a few weeks now. Milan keeps ignoring me. Despite the fact that Milan ignores me, I'm still bothered by the cordon sanitaire, Milan's claim on me. No dominant guy wants to take me on. It's so frustrating. I'm on scrubbing duty again. Wearing only a jockstrap, I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor. I stick my ass up in the air like a whore, but it's no use. At most, I get a half-hearted swat with a riding crop, and it leaves me aching for more. So disappointing. Meanwhile, Dorian is flirting with Rik, who is on his hands and knees scrubbing next to me. Or is it Rik who is flirting with Dorian? It doesn't matter, Rik already has a red ass and together they are having the time of their lives. Fuck! I'm jealous.
“Sorry I'm late, it's my first scrubbing surveillance on Wednesday morning.”
“Eh Björn, that's okay,” says Dorian, “The riding crops are hanging on the wall. Grab one and join us."
I feel Björn coming my way.
TSSSJK
Ouch! Finally, a real slap on my butt.
“Thank you, Sir.” I stick my ass even higher in the air.
He now gives me soft taps on my balls with the whip. I want to moan, but I don't dare, afraid he'll stop.
“He belongs to Milan,” Dorian says curtly.
“I know,” says Björn, “I won't damage him, I promise.”
He gives me a few more blissful taps on my ass cheeks.
For the rest of the chores, Björn comes by and gives me some serious spanking. Not that annoying half-hearted stuff, but just right. When the chores are almost done, he comes to me again to give me a few nice, hard spanks.
“Thank you, Sir,” I say sincerely.
Björn leans over me and whispers in my ear, “I'll be on surveillance duty at lunch. If you want me to treat your ass with the paddle, knock over a cup when I come up behind you.”
I swallow and whisper, “Yes, Sir."
I get up to get dressed again. I am uncomfortably aware of the erection in my jockstrap. But when I look around, I see that most of the submissive boys have hard-ons. Rik stands there shamelessly. Still giggling about Dorian, his buttocks bright red, his glans even sticking out cheekily above his jockstrap. Fortunately, I don't have to worry about my own boner being noticed.
At lunch, I see Björn on patrol in the dining hall. He seems to ignore me. I eat a little slower, stretching out the time to give Björn a chance to make the first move. My heart is pounding in my throat when I see him walking toward my table. When I feel him behind me, I don't give myself time to hesitate. I knock over my cup.
Björn clears his throat, “Come with me,” he says in a stern tone.
I try to look shocked and frightened. I hope the other boys will interpret my horniness that way.
Björn gently takes me by the arm and leads me to the nearby room. Once there, he closes the door behind us and locks it.
“Take your clothes off.”
“All of them, Sir?” I ask, surprised. Usually, we only have to expose our buttocks.
But his impatient look leaves no room for doubt, and I do as he tells me. I fold my clothes neatly and place them on the chair.
“Bend over the table.” It sounds like a request, not an order. His voice sounds friendly.
When I bend over the table, he places a hand on my back. He is wearing leather gloves. The leather feels soft and sensual against my skin.
SMACK SMACK SMACK
The leather of the paddle lands on my bottom, soft but not too soft.
SMACK SMACK SMACK
A soothing warmth spreads through my buttocks.
SMACK SMACK SMACK
He didn't promise too much; this is pure indulgence.
SMACK SMACK SMACK
I moan and feel pre-cum dripping from my cock.
Björn stops and puts the paddle away. I want to get up, but he gently pushes me back down. “Stay like that for a moment.” With his other hand, leather gloved as well, he caresses my balls. I think I'm going crazy with lust. He wraps his gloved hand around my shaft, warm, firm, and smooth against my skin. I groan softly; it feels obscene how good it is.
Slowly, he jerks me off. He doesn't need long. I feel my body tremble. My balls tighten. I come with a jolt while he wraps his hand around my cock and holds me in place with his other hand. Still panting, he massages my neck for a while. When he sees that I've calmed down, he says, “Get dressed, boy.”
As I get dressed, I don't know how many times to thank him. “Thank you, Sir… Thank you so much. For everything.”
“You're welcome, boy. That's what Dominants are for, aren't we?”
------
I now have regular sessions with Björn, he's a real sweetheart. He gives me nice spankings and jerks me off. But after so many times, it becomes a predictable routine, it gets boring.
I'm still lying on my side, my face half pressed into the pillow. My body feels heavy, as if I'm stuck in the mattress. My head is throbbing with fatigue, but I can't sleep. My ass is still glowing from the spanking Björn gave me, but the warmth no longer does anything for me. I feel sluggish from cuming, but that too has lost its meaning.
The routine with Björn is safe. Careful. But every time I'm done, I feel it slip away immediately. The feeling of fulfillment, of surrender, doesn't linger. It's always the same. The same predictable build-up. The same way he holds me, caresses me, gives me what I want.
And yet... I don't want it anymore. I want Milan.
But I know he won't come for me. Not as long as I don't go to him. And I can't go to him. I'm too proud. Too afraid to truly submit. Too tired to take another step in his direction.
It's been like this for weeks now. And he knows it. He has to know. But he keeps ignoring me. He lets me drown in this emptiness. Meanwhile, his claim continues to suffocate me. No Dominant boy dares to really take me. Björn keeps it nice and friendly, and the others leave me alone. As if I'm contaminated. As if I'm no longer free.
I can't take it anymore.
A dull knock on the door. The door opens. “Jelte?” Ivar. His voice is softer than usual.
I don't respond. I don't want to respond. I hear Ivar walk into the room. I hear him pick up the paddle on the nightstand.
A soft whistling sound. “Are you thinking about giving yourself a good spanking?” Ivar asks casually.
“Maybe.” My voice is hoarse.
Ivar is silent for a moment. Then he pushes the chair next to the bed back and sits down. “That sucks, kid.”
“That sucks?” My own voice sounds strange to my ears, hoarse from not speaking. “That's your reaction?”
Ivar shrugs. “Well, I could also say, ‘Kasper is a jerk and Milan is a manipulative asshole and I understand why you feel that way.’ But I think you know that yourself.”
I close my eyes. Everything in him screams for distance. But another part, a weak, desperate part, wants Ivar to stay.
“Have you eaten?” Ivar asks.
I shake my head.
“Are you going to eat?”
I don't say anything, can't, don't want to.
A sigh. “Okay,” says Ivar. “Well, then I'll stay here until you do.”
Startled, I look at him. “You mean it.”
Ivar grins. “What are you going to do? Hit me with your paddle?”
His grip softens slightly, but he doesn't let go. “You've been lying here like this for days,” he says more softly. “Haukon saw it. Everyone saw it.” He pauses, his eyes piercing mine. “What's wrong with you, Jelte?”
I look away. “Nothing.”
A brief silence. Then, more softly: “Milan?”
The single word is enough to send waves of panic through my body.
“Jelte,” says Ivar, “you have to stop this.”
I sniffle. “Stop what?”
“This,” he says, gesturing toward the bed, the paddle, the way I'm shutting myself off more and more. “Pushing him away while you waste away in your own stubbornness.”
“He ignores me,” I snap, suddenly angry. “He's the one who...”
Ivar's gaze darkens. “Haukon is working on him.” He leans against the wall, his arms crossed. “I'm not the only one who sees it, Jelte. Haukon sees how you're falling apart. He's talking to Milan right now.”
A wave of emotion threatens to overwhelm me. Anger, fear. Relief.
“Milan is suffocating me.” My voice is little more than a whisper.
Ivar's gaze softens slightly. “Maybe... Or maybe he's waiting for you to decide to truly submit to him.” He pushes himself away from the wall and picks up the pad from the nightstand. He looks at it briefly, runs his fingers over the leather, then puts it back without a word. “Get up, Jelte,” he says calmly. “You're coming with me.”
I look at him questioningly. “Where?”
“First, we're going to eat.” His voice leaves no room for discussion. “And after that... just wait and see.”
My legs feel weak as I stand up. But at least I'm going to do something other than waste away in my own head.
