Auld Lang Syne
 


Staying at Leo’s over the holiday weekend condensed the period between Christmas and the final end of year fling making New Year’s Eve loom sooner than I might have wished. While glad to see the back of the outgoing year, I was dreading the new one. Plus the men folk were getting on my wick. I usually enjoyed having them home over the holiday period, but not this year, not after the Christmas I’d had. I found myself wishing them back at work, mainly so I could express my irritation without being called on my attitude. Shane was watching me like a hawk waiting for a juicy mouse to break cover.

Lee unwittingly made things worse when he phoned the day before NYE and invited me to visit, as he hadn’t seen much of me of late. He had a yen for male company. We’d hit the town and I could stay over at his place. It would be fun. I made an excuse, fibbing about having visitors and being too busy. Besides, I doubt Shane would have allowed me to go anyway, not that I said so to Lee. He wouldn’t understand. I promised to catch up with him later in the New Year.

Lee’s invitation deepened my agitation, and not just because I sensed I’d let him down. Once, I would have jumped at the chance to kickback with a good mate, not now though. A night of drinking orange juice and cola while Lee drank beer would not be fun. It would be torture, not least because I’d have to fend off jibes about why I wasn’t drinking. Anger flared afresh at the restrictions imposed on me by the men I lived with. Shane had proclaimed the no alcohol rule would remain even if my epilepsy vanished.

Lifestyle Fact: it’s Shane’s prerogative to impose whatever restrictions he sees fit, and it’s my duty to accept them, part of the day-to-day yin yang of discipline relationships.
Houseboy Fact: sadly my yin was out of kilter with Shane’s yang, resulting in his broad back being subjected to many a dark look. Not a good state of affairs. 

On the morning of NYE I woke early, disturbed by a bad dream. The same one I’d had at Leo’s over Christmas, the one about my mother apparently being shot in the stomach. Her shouts and screams lingered in my mind. Weren’t recurring dreams supposed to mean something? I furrowed my brow as something came back to me, something not noticed the first time. Someone else had been there. FFS! I rolled my eyes in self-exasperation. It was hardly a revelation. Of course someone else had been there. My mother was unlikely to shout at herself. Recurring dreams are like any other dream, just the brain regurgitating a random blend of multiple experiences.

Moving with care, so as not to disturb the men folk, I got out of bed and went to water the trouser pup. When I’d done I washed my hands and then examined my face in the mirror. I’d been careful not to abuse it, treating it with tender care and cool water, but even so there were signs of inflammation around my nose, heralding new pimple eruptions. Brilliant just fucking, fucking brilliant! A pimply Christmas and a spotty New Year. Giving my face the finger I clicked off the bathroom light and returned to the bedroom, locating my bathrobe and slipping it on. There was no point going back to bed. Sleep had buggered off leaving me wide-awake.

I crept from the bedroom, pausing on the landing to cast a glance towards the stairs leading up to the den. It had become a habit since returning home. The memory box was calling me. I refused to heed it. 

Downstairs, I put the heating on low to take off the worst of the morning chill. Then I made a mug of tea and sat at the kitchen table trying to lose myself in one of the Sharpe novels Shane had given me for Crimbo. I pictured Sean Bean as Sharpe and tried to replicate his voice in my head as I read his dialogue. It was useless. The only voice I could hear was the voice of the box, calling me to unpack the memories my mother had stored there. I caved to pressure.

It was freezing in the den so I turned on the electric fire. The room soon warmed up, but still I shivered. I was afraid to open the box. It was stupid. What was I expecting to happen? Did I think Pandora’s evils would come tumbling out along with ‘It’, Stephen King’s terrifying alien clown or possibly even Noel Edmonds, demanding I choose deal or no deal? 

I muttered a few words of self-encouragement. “Strap some balls on, man, and open the fucking box.”

My hands shook a little as I removed the lid from the pretty box. My grandfather’s ring was on top, and the CD box and the photos of my Everly Brother summer. I set them aside as already viewed, selecting a package bound with thin blue ribbon. It turned out to be two items, one tissue wrapped and the other a white envelope. I unwrapped the small parcel first and unfolded the enclosed note, reading: ‘your first baby hat and bootees. I put them on you when I brought you home from the hospital. You were so adorable. I kept them in the hope one day you might have a child who could wear them. My own mother was never big on family tradition, so I wanted to start one.’

The sentimental words were like a hand squeezing my heart. Again I questioned, why hadn’t mum had another ‘normal’ child to give her the grandchildren she longed for? The white hat and bootees seemed impossibly tiny, hardly big enough for a doll. There was a faded Polaroid photo of a baby wearing the hat and probably the bootees too, though I couldn’t see as the baby was swaddled in a blue blanket leaving only a face on view.  Me, obviously. I’d been born in summer so I must have been sweltered. It would explain the red face. I thought mum said I was adorable. I frowned at the photo. They say a mother’s love is blind. My mum had clearly needed an eye test regarding the infant me. To my eyes I looked like a tiny wrinkled gnome. Shove a toy fishing rod in my hand and I’d have doubled as a garden ornament.

I re-wrapped the hat and bootees and set them aside before opening the envelope. Again there was a note enclosed and my Adam’s apple bobbed a little as I read it. ‘Your birth certificate and the wrist tag they put on you in hospital after you were born. I remember the moment they put you in my arms, my beautiful baby son.’

After composing myself I drew out the tag and marvelled at the size of it. I’d never been a big lad then. It wouldn’t fit around one of Shane’s fingers. The information on the tag was in minuscule script, but it leapt out at me like a boxing glove on a spring, making me reel. Jesus! Talk about being hit by the truth. I heard mum’s voice in my head regarding the bracelet and certificate, also recalling the look she had flicked at me. ‘You might want to put them somewhere safe.’ Why had it never registered before? She knew.

Shoving the bracelet and certificate to the bottom of the box I banged on the lid. It was nowhere near midnight and already I’d had enough of auld lang syne.

Switching off the fire I left the den, closing the door behind me, fleeing for the stairs as if ‘It’ was in pursuit, or worse, Noel Edmonds.

The door of the master bedroom opened just as I stepped onto the landing below.

“I thought I heard someone moving about. What were you doing up there at this hour?”
“Nothing, Dick.” I avoided his curious gaze. “Just putting some of my Christmas stuff away, books and such. Don’t want Shane complaining about my crap littering the place up. You know what he’s like.”
“It’s too early for housework, honey. How long have you been up?”
“Not long.”
“Come back to bed. It’s going to be a long day, you don’t want to be overtired before this evening’s revels.”

Mention of the impending party revived my irritation and provoked an unwise response. “Revels? Don’t make me laugh!” I gave a snort Shane would have been proud of. “For you maybe, not for me. Waste of fucking time. You can stuff New Year right up your Christmas jumper.”

Dick glanced over his shoulder and then stepped onto the landing, closing the bedroom door behind him. Grasping my arm he steered me along the landing. He spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “Don’t you dare, Gilli, don’t you dare start along that road again. We had enough of this attitude at Christmas and look how that played out. What is wrong with you?”
“I don’t know, Dick, maybe its something to do with the paranoia indicative of my class.”
I hadn’t thought of those words since the moment he said them to me and yet here they were spilling out of my mouth as if they’d been banked on my tongue waiting to be spat out like a bitter pill.

There was a moment of pure stillness; as if he were taken by complete surprise and then he let go of my arm. I staged my escape. “I need a warm drink, my throat is dry.”

Sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of fresh tea in front of me, I made pretence of reading, waiting for Dick to put in an appearance. He didn’t. I tried to drink my tea, but couldn’t swallow. My throat felt tight. Damn Dick, damn the man. I’d wanted him to follow me. I wanted a fight.

Getting up, I carried the tea over to the sink and tipped it out, watching it trickle down the plughole. The action released some tension in my throat, making me glad Dick had not facilitated my aggressive desire. It would have brought more grief my way and it would have been Shane shaped. He never shied from a challenge. He’d have put his dukes straight up and I’d have been dead. No thanks, ta very much.  I was no sling toting David and besides Goliath always won in our house.

I made busy with ironing in an effort to reduce the laundry pile accumulated since our return home. As I guided the steam iron through acres of shirt I found myself humming Auld Lang Syne, the signature song of NYE the world over. Fucking maudlin tune. I’d never get it out of my head now. I don’t like the song. I never have, no matter how it’s sung, either by tone-deaf drunks or by quality singers. It’s a reminder of time passing taking loved ones with it never to return. What was the fucking point of this thing called life if the only outcome was death? I didn’t get it. I didn’t understand why we were brought into the light only to be returned to the dark, and some sooner than others.

Holy Mother of salt water and snotty tissues! I was crying again. Dick’s favourite Fred Perry didn’t make it onto the ironing board. Giving my nose a final blow I dumped the soiled top in the dirty laundry basket to be rewashed.

Turning off the iron I plodded back to the kitchen, planning on making a mug of instant coffee. I was filling the kettle with water when I heard sounds of movement from above, followed by heavy footfall on the stairs. Shane. I tensed a little, wondering if Dick had mentioned our spat and I was about to be taken to task. It seemed not. Work was the only thing on his mind. On entering the kitchen he barked an order at me as if I were a McDonald’s employee.

“Coffee and scrambled eggs please, Gilli, quick as you like. I’m going into the office for a few hours.”

And that was it. He was gone again, presumably to shower and dress. I began stoking the coffee machine with fresh grounds. In happier circumstances his break with holiday protocol might have aggrieved me, but to be honest the thought of him being out of the house for a few hours brought a measure of relief. It meant breathing space.
He didn’t say why he was going into work on NYE and I didn’t ask. It was likely to do with the investment project he had mentioned over Christmas. Shane never likes grass to grow under his feet. He prefers to grind it to oblivion before sinking foundations and building a house or car park on top of it. He asked if I’d had my meds and then ate his breakfast in preoccupied silence. When he’d finished he pushed his chair back and stood up.

“I’m going.” He paused to give me a critical look, as if seeing me for the first time that morning. “You look tired, Gilli. How long have you been up?”
I shrugged, “not long.”
“Go back to bed, snuggle down with Dick for an hour or so.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I said, having no intention of doing so.
“Good grief.” He pressed his left palm to his chest in mock shock. “Acquiescence without argument. What brought about this meek conversion? Were you visited by three spirits in the night?”
“Ha-ha.” I pulled a sour face. “You’ll never make it as a script writer for Eddie Izzard with jokes like that.”
“There’s the Gilli I know, ever ready with a smart comeback. Go back to bed and rest, cheeky boy. I’ll see you later, around fourish. I’ll let you know if I’m going to be any later.”

I followed him to the door and waved him off, closing the door with a guilty sigh of relief as his bonds of strictness loosened a little.

Returning to Houseboy HQ, the kitchen, I cleared up Shane’s breakfast dishes and set the table ready for Dick’s morning meal, listening out for signs of movement. When they came they were more urgent than I expected them to be, as if he had suddenly jumped out of bed. Instinct told me I was rumbled regarding the photos I’d deleted from his mobile. He sometimes reached for his phone for a leisurely scroll before getting up on his days off work.  My stomach contracted as he strode into the kitchen, mobile phone in hand and a stern look on his face. Yep. I was rumbled. He forewent morning niceties and got straight to business, waving his phone under my nose.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to mess with my property. How dare you delete those photographs?”

I played dumb. “Photos? Dunno what you mean, Dick.”
“Vince’s photos. The one’s I took over Christmas. I went to review them, only they’re gone. It can’t be a phone fault or all the photos would have gone, not just his. It had to be you. It’s got your MO all over it. Shane wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing. You had no right snooping at my phone in the first place, let alone tampering with it. I’ve a good mind to discipline you.”

I gave up pretence of innocence, snapping, “Why take photos of poser boy Vince in the first place. He bragged about it, claimed you fancied him. Do you fancy him? Is he right up your posh street?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The photos were of his tattoos not him. I was interested in their artistry. You know I like to collect such things. I was planning on incorporating aspects into tiles I’m designing.”
“Tiles for what, a Goth torture chamber?”
“You’re beyond the pale at times. What makes you think it was acceptable behaviour to erase those pictures?”
“Lack of breeding I expect.” I meant the words to be cutting and sarcastic, but instead they sounded tearful. I turned away from him. “Sorry. I did it on impulse.”
“Jealous impulse. You childish little bugger.”
“Yeah, that’s me all over, childish, fucking childish, maybe because compared to you and Shane I am a child.”
“Don’t try to sidetrack me, Gilli. You had no business deleting my photos.”
 “Like I said, sorry. I’m sure Vince will happily flex his muscles for you again, including his cock if you ask him. If you ask nicely enough he might flex it down your throat.”
“Enough, stop it right now. You’re working yourself up into a jealous rage.”
I was on a roll. “I can’t stand the bloke. Smarmy git. He was mean to Genny and to Pat too.”
“I didn’t notice anything untoward. I’m sure Leo would have acted if he thought Vince was anything less than courteous to Pat.”
“He made sure to do it behind your backs, the sly bastard. Didn’t bother hiding it from me though. I’m not classy enough for him to waste pretence on, plus he sussed you lot were more likely to believe him than me.”
“That’s untrue, Gilli, unfair too.”
“No it isn’t. Do you want breakfast?”
He blew out his cheeks. “I can’t say I’ve got an appetite at the moment.”
“Fine. I’ll get dressed then.” With that I marched from the kitchen.

Dick followed me upstairs and we each set about our respective ablutions and all in a tense silence. I had a quick wash and toothbrush at the sink while he showered. He emerged from the bathroom just as I finished dressing, issuing a curt order.

“I’ll have breakfast now, tea and toast will do.”

I nodded and left the room. Tea and toast is a simple affair, but it doesn’t mean it has to be without ceremony. Plonking a tub of marge and a jar of jam on the table doesn’t cut it in our house. After curling butter into a small china dish I opened a new jar of marmalade, spooning some into a matching dish before setting both beside Dick’s plate ready for his toast. I made a pot of tea and left it stewing to his preferred strength, putting the toast on as soon as I heard his feet on the stairs. It was ready and racked before he took his seat at the table. I poured him a cup of tea. He said a clipped ‘thank you’ and took a piece of toast, spreading it liberally with butter and then marmalade before taking a bite - and then gurning in disgust.

“This marmalade is bitter.” He dropped the toast back onto his plate. “You know I prefer fine shred. This is thick peel, pithy too. It’s inedible.”

My temper launched into orbit. Steam all but rushed from my ears. Grabbing the marmalade jar I drew his attention to the label. “Fine shred, look, it says so on the label. It’s not my fault if it’s lying.”

Unscrewing the lid, I used my fingers to scoop marmalade from the dish back into the jar, stuffing it down. “I’ll take it back and demand a fucking refund along with compensation for the offence caused to your fussy taste buds. What is it with you and marmalade anyway? It’s never right: too thick, too thin, too sweet, too sour.” I banged the jar onto the table. “It gets on my tits. Try jam instead, or is it too low brow for your exalted palate.”

Dick stood up, looking every inch the aristocrat he is, his fine cheekbones highlighted with pink colour. “You’ve been snarling since the moment you clapped eyes on me this morning. I’ve had enough of your shitty attitude, you rude boy. I want you out of my sight.”

Grasping my arm he marched me out of the kitchen and along the hall, my feet stumbling over one another due to the pace he set. Opening the study door he sent me over the threshold with a monumental slap to my bottom.
“Find a corner to stand in and work on cooling your ire. I’ll deal with you when I feel less like taking a strap to your backside.”

The door closed with a sharp click, leaving silence for company. It acted like a fire blanket smothering angry flames. I felt a little shaky at the knees, and more than a little remorseful. I had been rude, mean too. I pictured Dick’s face as I ranted at him. He had been annoyed, certainly, but also disconcerted.

Sighing, I pushed my hand through my hair smearing it with the marmalade still coating my fingers. I sucked off the sticky residue, and shuddered. Dick hadn’t exaggerated. It was bitter, nasty in fact. It tasted like earwax. I made a mental note never to buy the brand again. It had been expensive too. Fucking rip off!

As bidden, I parked myself in a corner of the room. Instead of resenting and resisting Dick’s action, I embraced it. A lesson I’d learned is that time out is a useful device. It gives all parties breathing space. My mood had escalated out of control and isolation was needed to facilitate calm and turn me from attack dog back to houseboy.

I was almost sorry to hear the study door open, heralding an end to my solitude. I turned around, intending to apologise for my rabid outburst, only to be shushed.

“Be quiet and face the wall. I have something to say and I want you to listen without putting your smart mouth into action.”
He paused for a moment and then continued, speaking slowly, as if choosing words with care. “All of us, from whatever walk of life, have traits peculiar to our background. I know I have and you often poke fun at them. I could take offence, but I don’t because I recognise there’s no malice involved.”
“I’m just tease...”
“Shut up. I’m speaking. The point I’m trying to make is this - having class traits doesn’t make us less or better than one another. It’s who we are.”
He paused again and then cleared his throat. “The comment I made about your attitude being indicative of your class was a general observation, Gilli, not a personal put down. I was trying to make you view the situation from a different perspective. Not everyone is against you, though you often think they are. I didn’t mean to hurt or offend, though clearly I did both. I apologise for allowing tiredness to influence my temper and my choice of words. I don’t, and have never, considered myself better than you by virtue of social class.”

My body felt a little lighter, as if a weight had been lifted from it. I risked a peep over my shoulder. “It’s okay, Dick, I know I get the wrong end of the stick sometimes, especially when I’m strung out.”
“True,” he said. “Do you accept my apology, is the class war over?”
I nodded.
“Good.” He held out his hand. “Come here, baby.”

Leaving the corner, I walked over to him, taking his hand, expecting a kiss of reconciliation. Instead, I found myself with a bird’s eye view of my bare feet as he doubled me over, pinning my arm behind my back to anchor me. “Before we conclude peace talks, let’s clarify one other matter.”
I yelped like a pup with a trod on paw, as his right hand impacted the seat of my jeans with a resounding thwack and then some more.

“Interfere with my phone again, Gillibran Brown, and I will spank your backside until it shines brighter than a harvest moon. I don’t touch your phone so keep your sticky mitts off mine.” Pulling me upright he wagged a finger in my face. “Understood?”
“That was a bit mean. I was expecting a kiss not a hiding.”
“It was hardly a hiding so put the pout away, and you deserved it, you little brat. What’s on my phone belongs to me and has nothing to do with you. Understood?”
“Understood, Daddy.”
“Then we’ll keep this business between the two of us. Shane would be much less understanding of your jealous foibles, or your uncouth marmalade abuse.”

He would indeed. I gave my smarting bum a soothing rub before wrapping my arms around Dick’s waist. “You don’t fancy Vince, do you, Dick? He’s got designs on you.”
“The only designs of Vince’s I’m interested in are the ones on his body.”
“I could have him killed and skinned for you. I know people who’d do it for a tab and a can of Special Brew.”
“Behave, bad boy.” Dick gave a wide grin and tapped the end of my nose. “You don’t have to be best friends with Vince or Jak, you just have to be civil as and when appropriate. Is that such a big task?”
“I suppose not.”
“They’re part of Leo’s scene at the moment and therefore part of ours, you have to accept it. It’s not like they live with us.”

I changed subject. “When do you reckon Shane will ease up? He’s killing me. I can’t breathe without him jumping on me.”
“He’ll ease up when he thinks you’re ready for him to ease up.”
“It’s hell. I want to deck him sometimes.”
“That’s no way to talk about Daddy, and of course you do, but I wouldn’t try it, not if you want sitting down to be an aspect of life. Believe me, hun, I’ve been where you are now and I know how difficult it can be when he comes on strong.”
“He’s bloody impossible.”
“There are strategies. Pretend the situation is one of his affirming authority exercises. You like those, they turn you on.”
“It isn’t an exercise though, it’s real and I don’t like it.”
“Submit completely to his control instead of fighting it and you’ll find the sensuality in submission. I promise it’s there, even if you don’t feel like it is. Let go of what you want and pay attention to what he wants for you.”
“It’s hard when everyone around you is having a good time doing what they want.”
Pushing me away from his body he took hold of my hands.
“By that I’m guessing you mean tonight and the party. Listen, baby, you’re going. The taxi is booked and it will pick up three passengers, end of story. It’s up to you to find a way of enjoying the event, regardless of the restrictions imposed on you. Shane won’t hesitate to discipline you if you step out of line and he won’t care who sees.”
“He’s a sadistic brute.”
“Yes, and therein lies part of his attraction. Your trouble is you keep trying to cherry pick what elements of sadism you enjoy and want to accept, and you can’t, not in this relationship. Vanilla rules of engagement don’t apply. The head of household makes the rules and the rest of us obey them, even when we dislike them, that’s how it is.”

He raised my hands to his mouth and placed a grave little kiss on the back of each one. “Don’t court danger tonight, Gil, please, not unless you’re prepared to take the consequences. Remember, its not just you who suffers. Everyone gets caught in the fallout to some degree. Don’t spoil the party by souring the atmosphere, especially for Rob. He’s excited. He’s been planning for weeks and not for a spanking event with your bare bottom as the star attraction.”
“I never thought of it like that,” I said, suddenly ashamed of my selfishness. “I won’t spoil it, and I’m sorry for savaging you this morning, Dick. I was mean.”
“Yes, you were quite horrible, but I forgive you.” Drawing me against his body he cuddled me. “Now, I’d like nothing better than to whisk you upstairs, but I’m forbidden to fuck you without Daddy’s permission, so we’ll have to find some other means of passing time. Do you want me to run you over to your mother’s place? We could take her out for a drive, maybe some lunch?”
“It’s a nice idea, but she always spends New Year’s Eve with her friend Marie. They like to prowl the shops for post Christmas bargains.” A thought came unbidden, making my throat constrict and my eyes threaten to spring a leak. It would be a bittersweet event this year - the last time she and her friend would observe their little tradition, unless a miracle happened and in my experience they never did. Dick’s arms tightened around me, as if he’d read my thoughts.
“Then we’ll leave them in peace to enjoy their day and find something else to do, starting with you washing your hair. It’s sticky, what’s in it?”
“Marmalade. I thought it might improve the flavour if I rubbed it through my hair.”
“Silly boy. Come on, I’ll help you wash it out.”

Hair clean again, we ventured out for a walk around the park where Dick took a multitude of photographs of the winter landscape, and some of me too. We bought fish and chips to serve as lunch and headed home.

After eating our delicious greasy repast we slobbed out on the couch watching telly until Shane came home. He demanded coffee and a sandwich and then, to my chagrin, ordered me off to bed for a pre-party nap, before whisking Dick off to the study to talk about whatever he’d been doing at the office. His manner was uncompromising. He who must be obeyed was obeyed. I scooted upstairs without argument.

Lying down for a rest wasn’t a pleasant prospect. I knew it would encourage thoughts I didn’t want to dwell on. On the other hand, rustling around the bedroom when I was supposed to be napping would risk Shane’s displeasure and I’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.

Curling up in the middle of the bed I closed my eyes, determined not to allow my thoughts free rein. It took some doing. My wilful mind was determined to take me places I didn’t want to go. In the end I managed to shunt it down a siding, a sex siding, conjuring up a scene I could masturbate to in the hope release would bring about a genuine state of relaxation. Dick might have been forbidden to fuck me, but no one had said I couldn’t fuck myself.

The scene I opted for didn’t take much imagining. It was a replay of the events that had taken place in the bedroom at Leo’s on the morning of the BDSM party when Shane had tied me up and fucked me without mercy. My body was an object to be used for his pleasure without consideration for mine. At the time I had found it difficult to deal with, breaking into tears of relief when the gruelling ordeal was over. In retrospect it was much better. Remembering the way he had dominated me brought a powerful surge of arousal. Lying on my back, I undid the button and zipper on my jeans and then raised my hips to shuffle them down along with my underpants, unleashing and then grasping my erection.

Closing my eyes, I pictured every detail of the scene, recalling the way Dick had mounted me, and then the brutal thrust of Shane’s cock in my rectum, his heavy balls swinging against me, as I lay hogtied and helpless beneath him. He had ordered Dick to bring me to orgasm, not for my pleasure, but to facilitate his own by making my sphincter tighten around his cock, drawing his seed deep within me when he unloaded.

I bit my lip to contain a moan of ecstasy, re-imagining Dick with his fist jacketed around my penis, his thumb sliding across the sensitive tip. It had been the finale then and so it was now, the difference being I was in control of it. I arched my back, pleasure rippling my body, as semen spurted onto my stomach. I lay for a few moments catching my breath before getting up and going to the bathroom to clean myself.

My glorious and masterful self-abuse worked better than a sleeping draught. I fell straight to slumber, waking only when Shane shook my shoulder and informed me it was time to get ready for the party. He and Dick had obviously snuck into the room while I slept because they presented as fresh and party ready. Shane looked handsome in tailored black trousers and a loose white shirt, while Dick had chosen jeans and a smart blue polo shirt that flattered his lean figure.

While I showered, Shane laid out clothes for me to wear, a sign, if one were needed, that I was still under his control and denied the freedom of choice. The outfit was preferable to the one he’d laid out on Christmas Eve. I could live with skinny black chinos and a plain black t-shirt, both casual and comfortable. I liked the simplicity of the outfit, fancying it gave me an air of understated sexiness. Dick seemed to agree, giving me a smile of approval. He might have given me something else had not Shane slapped his hands away and reminded him I was off limits. Spoilsport.

Shane showed no signs of appreciation with regard to my person. The only thing I got from him was a set of stern instructions pertaining to the evening ahead. I was to circulate and be pleasant and courteous to all, including Jak and Vince. I was not to bait Leo. Any fireworks and my backside would suffer as a result. He would not tolerate sulking in any form. While he was on the subject of fireworks, I was to stay indoors and away from windows when the inevitable midnight sparks started flying. They’d be over in next to no time. Enjoying a brief display of pretty sparkles was not worth the risk of a fit, or his displeasure.

When he asked if he’d made himself clear, I responded, as expected, with a humble. “Yes, Daddy.”


~~~~

End of this preview chapter.
Copyright Gillibran Brown 2018.

 

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