Sunday morning. The cottage was quiet, the only sound the rhythmic thud of heavy shoes against the hardwood floor. Duncan was up. He had already showered and dressed with deliberate precision. He wore a long-sleeve black compression shirt that clung to his shoulders and chest, black slim jeans that accentuated his legs, and heavy Doc Martin shoes. He looked like a man who was ready to command a room.
He stood over the bed, looking down at Jake’s sleeping form. Jake didn't stir.
Duncan lifted his foot and stomped it firmly onto the floorboards right next to the bed. The sound was sharp and commanding.
"Up and at it BOY!" Duncan shouted, his voice echoing in the quiet room.
Jake jolted awake, scrambling to sit up, panic flaring in his eyes for a split second before he registered the voice.
"Get up!" Duncan barked. "We need to have a serious conversation, so go take a shower, dry yourself off completely, DO NOT DRESS, drink a protein shake, and report to me in the front room in twenty minutes."
"Yes, Sir," Jake mumbled, rubbing his face, moving instantly to obey without question.
He scrambled out of bed, his movements efficient and eager to please. Duncan watched him go, the satisfied smirk returning to his lips.
Twenty minutes later. Jake stood in the front room. He was clean, his skin slightly flushing from the hot water. He was, as commanded, naked. He stood at rigid attention, waiting for Duncan to acknowledge him.
Duncan was sitting in the armchair, sipping a coffee, looking at Jake with a heavy, assessing gaze.
"You're early by thirty seconds," Duncan said, his tone flat.
"I apologize, Sir," Jake said, his head bowed.
"Good," Duncan said, setting the coffee down. He leaned forward, the casual mask slipping away to reveal the seriousness beneath. "Now, let’s talk about the reality."
Duncan gestured for Jake to kneel in front of him.
"A week from tomorrow classes start for you. Two weeks from tomorrow I start classes three hours away from here. I’ll be gone then. I don't know how often I’ll be able to get back here, you there."
The room fell silent. The implications hung heavy in the air.
Duncan continued, his voice hardening. "This isn't just a vacation. This is the test. We need to discuss the 'new normal' of our relationship. Cal’s advice is still fresh in my mind."
He stood up and walked toward Jake, looming over him. "We need to formalize what we are. You need to understand exactly what I expect from you when I'm not here to see it."
Duncan didn't ask for Jake's input. He had already thought through the logistics of their separation and the necessary protocols to maintain control from a distance. He looked down at the naked boy kneeling before him and began to enumerate the rules, his voice flat and final.
"Every morning, you text me your schedule for the day," Duncan began, his eyes scanning Jake's face. "You must note the blocks of time you are free to take a call or facetime. If you don't have any free time, you must tell me that specifically."
Jake stayed silent, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, absorbing the order.
"You keep this place spotless," Duncan continued, stepping closer. "Cal will swing by periodically as my proxy. He will inspect the work, and as my proxy, he will correct you as he sees fit. If he finds a speck of dust, you will answer to him."
"Yes, Sir," Jake breathed.
"Every other Saturday, I will be here for the night," Duncan said, his hand coming up to rest on Jake's shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise. "We will alternate going to Cal's or having them here, although I foresee us always going to Cal's. You will pack accordingly. You will not complain."
"I understand, Sir."
"Good," Duncan said, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "That is how it will be. Now, do you have any questions?"
"No, Sir.”
"Good," Duncan said, "You did well at dinner last night. You were composed. You listened. You didn't stumble over your words."
Jake nodded, a flush of pride rising in his cheeks.
"However, there is one correction to be made. You poured your own water at dinner. That is not your job. Bobby serves the table. A boy does not take initiative; a boy accepts what is offered."
"For this transgression, you will receive five strokes of the paddle. Stand up, over to the stocks!” Duncan commanded.
Duncan reached into the drawer and pulled out the flexible leather paddle. He held it up for a moment, the light catching the smooth surface.
"For this transgression, you will receive five strokes of the paddle. Stand up, over to the stocks!"
Jake scrambled to obey. He scrambled up from his kneeling position, his heart hammering against his ribs, and moved quickly across the small living room. He approached the heavy wooden frame standing in the corner—simple, sturdy, and designed for restraint.
He stepped up to it, positioning his hands and forearms through the notches, gripping the wood tightly. He bent his knees slightly, lowering his torso, and presented his backside to Duncan.
Duncan walked over to the heavy wooden frame standing in the corner. He grasped the top bar and tilted it downward, sliding it into the locking mechanism with a heavy, metallic click. The hinged wooden boards clicked shut, securing the captive's arms and head in place.
Duncan didn't strike immediately. He stood behind Jake, the paddle resting lightly against the curve of Jake's lower back. He traced the line of the spine with the handle, a slow, deliberate drag of leather against skin that made Jake shiver.
"You're tense," Duncan murmured. "Relax. You need to learn to receive, not just take."
He moved the paddle lower, teasing the sensitive skin on the thighs, tapping it lightly, waiting for a flinch. Then, he moved back to the target.
"One."
The paddle descended with a sharp *crack*, the leather singing through the air before connecting with firm force. Jake gasped, his body jerking instinctively against the restraints.
”Two."
The second stroke landed a little higher, matching the first. The sting began to bloom, a hot, radiating heat that made Jake bite his lip.
"Three."
Duncan threw the blows harder now, a rhythmic thudding that echoed in the small room. The skin began to turn a dark, angry red.
"Four."
Jake was breathing raggedly now, sweat gathering on his brow.
"Time for the last one."
Duncan brought the paddle back, winding his arm for the final strike. "Five."
*CRACK.*
The final blow landed with resounding force. Duncan let the paddle fall to his side, panting slightly from the exertion. He waited a moment for the last echo of the strike to fade. "Good boy.”
“Thank you, Sir!” Jake replied from his bound position.
Duncan walked around and released Jake from the pillory. “Are you ready to go have a peaceful Sunday morning getting lovingly fucked by your boyfriend in bed?”
Jake smiled, “If I must, yes Sir.”
The adrenaline from the paddling had faded, leaving behind a sated lethargy in the small bedroom. The sheets were tangled around them, the air thick with the scent of sex and sweat. The red marks on Jake’s ass were a sharp contrast to the pale skin, a physical map of Duncan’s ownership.
Jake shifted, his muscles still sore but the sting dulling to a pleasant throb. He propped himself up on one elbow, reaching out with his free hand to trace a lazy circle around Duncan’s chest, his fingertip stopping at the pebbled nipple.
"I need to call my mom," Jake murmured, his voice raspy and deep with fatigue.
Duncan opened one eye, looking up at him lazily. "Yeah?"
“Yeah. I need to get out there. It’s been a while." Jake shifted closer, nuzzling into Duncan’s neck. "Would you be up for going to dinner with me and her tonight? I need to come out to her, and I want her to meet my boyfriend. You know the one that's giving me use of a luxury home closer to school?”
Jake reached for his phone on the nightstand, scrolling to his mother's name. Duncan, apparently deciding that Jake's nakedness was an open invitation, immediately began poking at his ribs.
Jake swatted his hand away, suppressing a grin. The line rang twice.
"Hey Mom, it's me."
"Jacob! I was wondering when I'd hear from you." Her voice was warm and immediate.
Duncan's fingers found the soft skin just below Jake's ribs and pinched. Jake flinched, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep from making a sound.
"Yeah, sorry, it's been a busy week. Hey, so I wanted to come take you out for that dinner we talked about. If you're still up for it?"
"Oh, sweetie, of course! Zach's home too, so it'll be the three of us—"
Duncan's thumb found his nipple. Jake grabbed his wrist without looking at him, holding it firmly.
“That’s cool! Actually, Mom, I’m bringing someone. A friend. Someone I've been seeing."
A beat of silence. Then, carefully, "Seeing?"
"You know him actually. It's Duncan Smythe."
The silence on the other end seemed to Jake to be longer than the three seconds it was.
"I can't say I didn't see that coming."
Jake let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Beside him, Duncan raised both eyebrows.
"Yeah," Jake said. "See you tonight, Mom.”
Later, as Duncan piloted his SUV through the early evening traffic, "We should make a reservation somewhere—"
"Olive Garden," Jake interrupted.
Duncan paused. "I was thinking—"
"Olive Garden, Duncan. To my mom that's already too extravagant. And the Garden of Olives almost busts my budget as it is. My treat means my treat."
Duncan was quiet for a moment. "Wow, I've never been there."
"My little brother is coming too," Jake said, staring out the window. "I don't know what to expect from him."
Duncan was quiet for a moment, his eyes on the road. "Zach. That little emo twerp. Looked just like you but with your mom's eyes, or maybe it was just her makeup."
Jake snorted despite himself. "He grew out of the eyeliner."
"Shame," Duncan said. "He'll give me a hard time. Let him. By the end of the night he'll have decided I'm acceptable." He glanced over briefly. "Seventeen year old boys are easy. You just have to not be boring."
Jake looked at him. "You're very confident for someone who's never eaten at an Olive Garden."
Duncan smiled, his eyes back on the road. "I'll manage.”
The waiting area was a narrow cattle pen of humanity, the smell of breadsticks and garlic butter drifting out every time the dining room door swung open. Jake's mother stood close to Duncan, her purse held in both hands, doing the polite smile of a woman who was reserving judgment. Duncan stood straight, his hands clasped behind his back, looking like a man who had never waited for anything in his life but was determined to do it correctly.
Zach leaned against the wall, scrolling his phone, already bored. After a few minutes he straightened, pulled a vape pen from his jacket pocket, and jerked his head toward the door with the universal teenage signal for I'm going outside.
Jake pressed the beeper into Duncan's hand. "I'll be right back." And followed Zach out.
Duncan took it, looked down at the plastic device, and said nothing.
The parking lot was warm, the last of the evening light fading over the strip mall. Zach took a long pull on the vape pen and exhaled slowly, the cloud dissolving in the air between them.
They stood in silence for a moment, the way brothers do when one of them is working up to something.
"So," Zach said finally, not looking at him. "What's it like? Fucking a guy more girlie than any of the girls you've ever hooked up with?"
Jake looked at his brother for a long moment.
"First of all, you're a pig," he said, his voice completely level. "Second, a gentleman never answers a question like that." He paused, letting that land. "And finally, don't knock it until you've tried it."
Zach's head turned sharply. "I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant," Jake said. "Come on. They'll call the table without us."
Inside, the waiting pen had thinned slightly. Duncan was standing beside Mrs. Samuels, the beeper held carefully in one hand like a small explosive device he'd been trusted not to detonate.
"So," Mrs. Samuels said, her voice pleasant and completely unreadable. "When do your classes start, Duncan?"
"Two weeks, Mrs. Samuels," Duncan said. "I'm back at Alderton."
"That's a good school," she said, nodding once. The way she said it suggested she knew exactly how much it cost and exactly who paid for it.
"Yes ma'am."
Another beat of silence. Mrs. Samuels looked down at the beeper, then back up at Duncan. "Jacob tells me you two went to school together."
"Yes ma'am. From the beginning."
She looked at him with the calm, measuring gaze of a woman who had raised four boys and was not easily impressed. "I remember you," she said simply.
Duncan held her gaze. "Yes ma'am."
She nodded slowly, as if confirming something she'd already decided. "You were not always kind to my son, Duncan."
"No ma'am," Duncan said. "I was not."
The beeper buzzed violently in his hand. He looked down at it, startled.
Mrs. Samuels allowed herself a small smile. "That'll be our table."
Jake and Zach pushed through the door just in time to see Duncan holding the buzzing beeper at arm's length like it had bitten him.
"Table's ready," Duncan said, recovering smoothly.
Jake looked at his mother. His mother looked at Jake. Something passed between them that needed no words.
The four of them settled into the booth, the laminated menus spread open between them. The dining room hummed with the comfortable noise of a Sunday evening — clinking glasses, distant laughter, the endless loop of Italian-American pop from the speakers overhead.
"So Zach," Duncan said, his eyes still moving down the menu with the focused attention of a man cataloguing a wine list. "Jacob tells me you just started a new job."
Zach looked up, slightly surprised to be addressed directly. "Yeah. Games and Lanes."
"The arcade gets top billing," Mrs. Samuels added, smiling.
"It's a bowling alley," Jake said.
"It's an entertainment complex," Zach corrected with the dignity of someone who had clearly said this before.
"What do you do there?" Duncan asked.
"Arcade mostly. Running the prize counter, keeping the machines from eating people's quarters." Zach shrugged. "It's fine. The discount on bowling lanes is sick though."
Duncan nodded as though this was entirely reasonable information.
The server appeared, a young woman with a practiced smile and a notepad. She looked around the table.
Mrs. Samuels waved a hand at the menu. "Just a small salad for me, I think—"
"Mom." Jake didn't look up from his menu. "Get the Linguini Alfredo."
"Jacob, I don't need—"
"It's your favorite and it's my treat." He looked up. "Linguini Alfredo."
Mrs. Samuels pressed her lips together in the particular way of a mother who knew when she'd lost. "Linguini Alfredo," she told the server.
"Spaghetti and meatballs," Jake said.
"Same," said Zach.
The server turned to Duncan, who closed his menu with a quiet snap.
"The Lobster Ravioli, please," he said pleasantly. "And could you tell me if the lobster is fresh or frozen?"
The server blinked. "I... honestly don't know, sir."
"That's alright," Duncan said, handing the menu back with a smile. "I'll have it either way."
Jake stared at the tablecloth.
Zach stared at Duncan.
Mrs. Samuels took a long, slow sip of her water.
