His Boy Next Door: #3

Bad Decisions

by R.J. Moray

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright ©2015 R.J. Moray

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First Electronic Edition

About His Boy Next Door

An older man.

A submissive discovery.

Eighteen-year-old Channon Beaumont is a virgin in every sense of the word, and as vanilla as angel cake. But the moment he lays eyes on the dominant older man next-door, he knows he'll do anything he's ordered just for the chance to be with a man like that.

When he rented the house for the summer, billionaire entrepreneur Jonathan Nash never expected to find such a sweetly obedient youth in his backyard. Channon takes naturally to submission, so Jack decides to train his boy into the perfect submissive, willing to endure anything Jack demands of him and enjoying every second of it.

Channon finds himself sucked deep into a world of dominance and submission, pain and pleasure, and willing service to the only man he's ever wanted to call Sir. And Jack? Just might accidentally fall in love.

Episode #3

When Channon screws up, Jack's disappointment in him is awful. He's determined to earn back Jack's approval by submitting to whatever punishment Jack deems necessary. But Jack has plans of his own, and breaking his beautiful boy isn't one of them.

This book is episode 3 in an ongoing series, and contains acts of a sexual and kinky nature. Read at your own risk.

Bad Decisions

He wished he could blame Kim for this but really he had no-one to blame but himself.

Slouched in the gutter on the side of the road, the thought was in no way comforting and only made him feel worse. He stared miserably at his phone, vision swimming, and tried to make a decision.

Jack, or his mom? Both of them would come get him, both of them would be angry with him, his mom would probably ground him until the end of time and Jack...Jack might never want to see him again.

But of the two of them, it was Jack he wanted now, to come and rescue him.

So.

He dialed. Three rings. Four. Five. He was ready to hang up in despair when the connection went through. "Channon." He sounded exactly like always, not even a little surprised at a phone call past midnight.

Channon sucked in a breath, so grateful to heard his voice. "Sir," he said, but couldn't go any further.

Immediately Jack's tone changed. "What's wrong? Where are you?"

"I screwed up, I'm such a—"

"Where are you?"

"Across town. Um...Brandis Road near the reservoir?"

"Are you hurt? Are you in any danger?"

"No, I'm just...I'm drunk. I didn't mean to but...And Ben's gone and Kim...and I can't go home. My mom thinks I'm staying at Ben's. And I'm drunk."

There was a pause. "Are you outside?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's raining," Jack said.

"Yeah," Channon agreed, shivering. "It is."

"Find some shelter. I'll be right there. Do you need me to stay on the phone?"

"No, I'll be okay," Channon said, overwhelmed with gratitude, and then added, "Sir, thank-you."

"Don't thank me yet," Jack said, and he almost sounded amused.

Then it was just Channon, in the dark, alone.

He did as Jack said, found some shelter under the eaves of the boarded-up corner-store, and waited. It gave him more of a chance to dwell, and by the time a dark sedan purred around the corner and pulled up in front of him, Channon had managed to work himself up into a fury of guilt and self-hatred. Probably it didn't help that he was full of spiked punch, but still, he felt so worthless he could barely make himself reach for the door-handle. Still, he did it, because Jack was in there and maybe, just maybe he hadn't ruined everything in his life tonight.

"First of all," Jack said with a sternness Channon hadn't been expecting, "it's a bad idea to approach strange cars that pull up to you in the street."

Channon hesitated, not sure if he should get in, but the imperious flick of Jack's fingers had him scrambling into the passenger seat. And dripping on it. Ugh, Jack was going to be so mad at him...

"Second, it's a school night. What are you doing out here?"

He watched Channon fumble with his seat-belt, looking far too bright-eyed and together for someone who Channon had figured he'd got out of bed. He let the engine idle, examining Channon with a certainly stern cast to his features, but with none of the anger Channon had been expecting. Even now, when Channon was having trouble making his fingers do what he wanted, Jack was patient with him, waiting.

Channon let out a breath, resigned to sounding like an idiot. "Some girls Kim and Stacy know were having a party. And Ben was going so I...but Ben and Stacy don't know I broke up with Kim and she kept pretending we were still together, and..." he shook his head, miserable. "She tried to kiss to me. I didn't want to. So she left." And he felt bad about it, but worse about the rest of it. "And I already got in a fight with Ben."

Jack eyed him for a moment, expression unreadable. "Why did you fight with Ben?"

Ugh, it was stupid. "He called me gay for not doing shots."

"And you took it personally."

Channon nodded, turning his face to the window.

"Does he know you're interested in men?"

Channon shook his head, not looking up.

Jack sighed. "And now you're drunk. Are you going to throw up in my car?"

"I don't think so."

Jack pulled smoothly away from the curb, eyes fixed on the road. "I can tell how drunk you are by how much you seem to have forgotten to call me 'sir'," he said lightly, as if making conversation.

Channon, though, felt it like a slap in the face. "Sorry, sir," he slurred. "I'm sorry."

"I don't think I care much, since you're drunk. It doesn't mean anything." Jack was silent for a moment, and then—"You said Kim tried to kiss you."

"Yes, sir," Channon said wretchedly.

"Did she actually kiss you?"

Channon hesitated, but..."She did. I didn't kiss her back."

"I'm surprised you let her get close enough to try, after our chat the other day," Jack said, his voice very even, but Channon couldn't bear it.

"Are you angry with me, sir?" I know you are, just say it.

"No. You've been honest, and you called me when you were in distress. I'm disappointed about the illegal drinking. We may have to add some rules. But not tonight."

They drove in silence the rest of the way home, and then Jack had him out of the car and lurching into the house. Jack made him take off his shoes, and left him standing in the kitchen in his socks with instructions to stay put.

He felt wretched, alternately wallowing in how stupid he'd already been and anxious about what was going to happen next. He was wet and cold and miserable, and Jack...Jack didn't even seem annoyed but he was disappointed and, oh, Channon hadn't ever wanted to disappoint him.

"Get undressed," Jack said, coming up behind him. "Towel yourself off. Put your wet things here." He set a laundry basket down on the floor. "There's dry clothes for you." Sweats and a t-shirt by the look of it, and Channon felt inexpressibly glad.

He peeled off his sodden clothes and dried himself, acutely aware of Jack moving about the kitchen. His hair was soaked, but luckily too short to stay very wet for long, and when he realized Jack had included dry boxers with the clothes he gratefully took his clammy ones off. The sweats were too long and he had to tie them up at the waist, but they were warm and dry and smelled like Jack, and the t-shirt was worn soft with age.

Jack's clothes. Channon wrapped his arms around his midriff, hugging the t-shirt across his belly. And then he stayed where he was, because he didn't know what else to do.

Eventually, Jack set a bowl of microwaved soup and a plate of buttered toast on the breakfast bar. "Sit down," he said. "Eat all of that."

Channon eased himself up onto a stool and then grabbed the edge of the bar to make sure he didn't fall, but Jack was behind him, both hands settling solid on Channon's sides, smoothing down over his thighs. It was nice, protective, and just nice. Channon ate his toast and his soup, and let the warmth of Jack's body seep into him. When he was done, Jack helped him down off the stool and leaned him up against the bar, making Channon look him in the eye.

"Why did you drink so much?"

"I didn't mean to, sir. It was just punch." But his friends always made it out of box wine, or whatever else someone could get their older brother to buy. This time? "I didn't know there was all that vodka in it." Until it was too late and he'd already made an ass of himself.

Jack frowned. "All right. I want you to stay here tonight. What time do you have to be at school?"

"Eight thirty," Channon mumbled, and Jack nodded.

"I'll wake you at seven. Come on."

Jack walked him up the stairs and down a softly lit wood-paneled corridor. He opened a door one from the end, revealing a queen-sized bed made up in cream-and-chocolate, warmly polished wood furnishings and not much by way of personal decoration. It looked like a hotel room, and Channon glanced up at Jack, surprised. "Sir?"

"A spare room," Jack explained. He must have read Channon's dismay because he blinked. "Would you rather sleep with me?"

Channon nodded, but...but it seemed too good to be true. "I don't deserve it, sir," he said, miserable and drunk and just too pathetic for words.

The firm pressure of a hand smoothing up his spine made him sigh, arching into it. "You don't. But I'd like you close, tonight." Jack guided Channon down the hall, through another door and into a much larger room, all done up in red and bronze, warmly lit and scented with cedar and something that reminded Channon of fresh cigars.

It was a rich person's room, in this rich person's house, and made Channon feel shabby and small and clumsy. But Jack just pushed him firmly toward the bed, told him to get in, and disappeared back into the hall.

Channon tried to ignore the decor, tried to ignore the array of scent bottles and shiny watches lined up on a warm-waxed wooden dresser, the polished leather shoes racked against a wall. He took off Jack's sweatpants and gingerly turned back the covers, climbing in and sinking gratefully into the wonderland of cushions. It was like lying on a firm but welcoming cloud, everything fresh-scented and pleasant.

He hadn't realized he'd dozed off until the thunk of a glass on wood jerked him awake. He opened his eyes to see Jack looking down at him with an odd, fond expression. "Drink this. And here's a bucket, in case you do throw up."

Not sexy. Channon made a face, but he rolled onto his belly and dutifully sipped his cloudy, semi-sweet drink. He didn't like it at all—it tasted strange, but it helped the tablets Jack offered him go down, and he was hoping those were going to stave off the nightmare he'd face in the morning.

Jack sighed, running his fingers through Channon's hair. "You're so trusting. I worry about you. It would be so easy for someone unscrupulous to take advantage of you. Someone far worse than me."

Channon blinked at him, confused. "Sir?"

"Do you even know what I just gave you?"

Channon glanced at his half-empty glass. "A sports drink?"

"Coconut water, with vitamins," Jack corrected. "And some paracetamol. But it could easily have been something else."

Channon supposed he was right, but couldn't connect the idea of Jack with the idea of a man who would roofie him. "Sir," he said, feeling thick and heavy. "You wouldn't need to."

It made Jack smile, just a little, and then he was turning the light down low, and stripping out of his clothes. Channon watched him, marveling even through the fog of alcohol at how incredible Jack's body was, tall and broad and powerful, his muscles solid, rippling under his silky brown skin. The hair on his chest and arms was thick and dark, but confined to a lush pelt from elbow to wrist, to the triangle bound by his nipples and navel, down his belly to kiss the base of his cock. His back and shoulders were smooth and hairless, his cock and balls waxed clean. Channon sighed, admiring him helplessly, and saw Jack arch an eyebrow at him.

"You're not getting any of this, tonight," Jack said in warning, cupping a hand beneath his balls to display himself. He was soft now, still mouth-watering, and Channon wished he'd stayed home tonight and begged Jack to let him come over and practice swallowing Jack's cock instead of letting his so-called-friends talk him into going to the worst party of his life.

"Yes, sir," he sighed, unable to help the swipe of his tongue over his lower lip.

Jack caught that, his mouth curling into a smirk, and he released himself to come around the bed, stripping some of the pillows and climbing in at Channon's back.

"Finish your coconut water and go to sleep, Channon."

Channon did as he was told, or at least he tried. Despite his deep lethargy, he was too aware of the sound of Jack's breathing behind him, of the steady warmth radiating from his body. Jack was naked back there, completely naked. How easily he could roll over and push Channon down into the mattress, slide his cock up the cleft of Channon's ass and just fuck right into him. Channon pressed his lips together, trying not to groan out loud at the thought of it. Jack had told him to sleep, not lie there imagining Jack's hands squeezing bruises into his hips, the low purr of his voice as he told Channon exactly what he wanted Channon to do. On knees and elbows, ass in the air, and Jack just hammering him.

Okay, so Channon may have been making the whole 'no touching yourself without permission' situation of the last few days worse by watching gay anal clips on RedTube, sound turned down and sitting on his hands so he wouldn't break the rules. So, yeah, while they hadn't got that far and he had only a vague idea what it was going to actually feel like, he had a pretty detailed mental image of what it would look like when Jack finally fucked him. Hard. Rough. Possessive. And Channon would be helpless, he was pretty sure, just whimpering like, like a sex-crazed cock-slut, begging Jack to ride him through the mattress.

Thinking about it now was a torture. He shuddered, aching in his—no, in Jack's boxers, his dick hard and rubbing teasingly against the thin fabric.

There was no fucking way he was going to touch himself now. Jack was right there, Jack would know. Hell, Jack would probably know if he even thought about it, and—

Jack's hand settled warm and solid on Channon's hip, his thumb pressed against the strip of naked skin between his waistband and the hem of his t-shirt. "You're restless."

There, see? Jack knew everything. Channon cleared his throat. "Sorry, sir."

"Mmmm." Jack slid his hand over the front of Channon's boxers, fingers curling easily around the solid flesh beneath. "You know, I'm not going to let you come tonight. I can offer you a cold shower, though, if that will help you calm down."

Channon shook his head, not wanting to get up but also ashamed of himself. "Sorry, sir. I'll be good."

"I could ice your balls," Jack said, low in his ear. Channon wasn't sure if it was an offer or a threat, but it did nothing to help him calm down. "Freeze them up until you can't even shoot. Then I'd milk it out of you in slow dribbles, and you wouldn't even enjoy it. It would be the least satisfying orgasm of your life." He kissed the shell of Channon's ear, light and affectionate, as if he were only whispering endearments. "Would you like that? Do you want me to do that to you, Channon?"

It was so unfair. Channon took a breath, tried not to sound desperate. "If you want it, sir."

Maybe it was the right thing to say. In any case, Jack hummed, kissed the back of Channon's neck, and slid his hand up to rub comforting circles over Channon's chest, molding the hard length of his body against Channon's back. Channon could feel the flaccid weight of Jack's cock tucked up into the cleft of his ass, this great all-distracting alive thing just waiting to shove inside him.

"Go to sleep," Jack said, and this time Channon did exactly as he was told.

* * *

He woke groggy and gross, to the pleasure-pain of fingers alternately stroking through and tugging his hair. Everything was foggy and distant, his muscles hopelessly useless, and his head felt full of cotton but not, actually, sore. Except where his hair pulled sharply against his scalp, but that was less a hurt and more of a sting.

"Good morning," Jack said, and Channon came instantly awake, blinking blearily as the events of the night before thudded into him like a truck full of misery and regret. He groaned, ashamed of himself and so, so sorry. How stupid could he get?

Ugh, his mouth tasted like something died in it.

"Drink this," and Jack indicated the refilled glass, with a couple of tablets sitting next to it. "Take those. Paracetamol," he added, looking amused.

Channon tried to sit up. It was a partial success. He gulped down some coconut water and the tablets, and tried to avoid Jack's eye.

Jack was already dressed, in a deep blue suit that was somehow formal and casual at the same time, and looked like it probably cost more than everything Channon owned put together. From his neatly knotted tie to the polish of his shoes, Jack looked...grown up. Masculine. Wealthy. Powerful and important. And far, far too good for Channon.

Who was hunched hung-over in Jack's bed, in Jack's clothes, stinking of vodka. He shuddered.

"Are you nauseous?"

Channon shook his head. He just ached, was all. "No, sir."

"Go shower. Through there," and he pointed at a door that presumably led to an en suite. "There's a towel and toothbrush for you on the sink. Come down to the kitchen after. Don't take too long, or you'll miss breakfast."

And then he was gone, the heels of his expensive shoes ringing on the floor. Channon dropped his face into his hands, groaning in his head because this...this was not how he'd pictured waking up in Jack's bed.

But Jack had told him not to be long, so he couldn't wallow in it. He showered as quick as he could, trying not to gawk at the palatial fucking en suite—why did it need two sinks? two mirrors? a shower big enough for four people? a full-size bath?

When he went down, there was coffee waiting for him, another big glass of horrible coconut water, toast and scrambled eggs. Jack must have seen the face he made at the coconut water, because he smirked.

"It's good for you. Full of electrolytes. Drink it."

"Yes, sir, thank-you," Channon sighed, and then he sculled it, washing it down with a gulp of coffee.

Jack watched him eat, tipping more eggs onto his plate and toasting more toast as it vanished. Channon felt guilty about being so hungry, but then remembered Jack was loaded and probably didn't care how many eggs Channon ate. He worried that Jack might think he was greedy, but the way Jack was watching him suggested Jack was enjoying himself, that Channon's terrible teenage appetite appealed to him somehow. Or maybe he just liked the idea of Channon stuffing things into his mouth.

Eventually, Jack checked his watch. "Five to eight. Go home, get dressed, be back here in ten minutes. I'll drop you at school."

Channon gaped at him, and then—"Yes, sir," he said, scrambling out of his chair.

* * *

Back in Jack's car again, Channon couldn't help remembering how awful he'd been the night before. He tried not to fidget but clearly Jack wasn't stupid.

"You're worried I'm angry with you. Don't. I'm not. As I said, though perhaps you don't remember." He smiled a little, eyes cutting across to light on Channon. "Do you?"

"Yes, sir," Channon said, and he remembered but that didn't mean he believed it. "I remember you were disappointed."

"Underage drinking, Channon. Really? I shouldn't be surprised. But, I have a new rule for that. Nothing illegal. That means no drinking for you, and no recreational drugs. Do you understand?"

Channon blinked. "Yes, sir."

"Do you object?"

That was trickier. "Uh...for how long?"

Jack looked amused. "Until you're twenty-one, for the alcohol, and for the rest until they legalize it. Do you take drugs, Channon?"

"I...smoked pot, like, twice." Not that he'd enjoyed it much. The first time had just been weird and the second he'd been so hungry he'd eaten corn chips until his gut ached.

"Cigarettes?"

"Just one time." And never again. They were disgusting.

"All right. So, we've established that I'm not angry with you, that I was disappointed that you were drinking illegally, and that you won't do it again. Now. Explain to me what happened with Kim."

The change of direction took him by surprise. He opened his mouth to say he already had, but then... no, Jack wanted an explanation. "We were talking. She said...she said she wanted to try again. She wanted to make sure. And I didn't know what she meant, but—" except that wasn't true. He'd known. He'd just let himself act stupid because it was easy and by then he'd had way too much of the deceptively sweet punch. "No, I knew. I should have known she was going to do it. So when she kissed me...it was my fault."

There. Guilt. His fault. Jack was going to be so—

"Not that she kissed you," Jack said evenly. "She did that. And I'm not going to tell you that you led her on or anything like that. But do you think there's anything you could have done to avoid this?"

Channon thought about it. "Not been alone with her in the pool room?"

"Maybe not getting drunk at a party with your ex-girlfriend when you haven't told anyone you're broken up," Jack said, dry as dust. Still, not angry. "You made some poor decisions. Do you think you deserve punishment for that?"

The answer was obvious. "Yes, sir." And he meant it, though he had no idea what Jack was going to do.

Jack must have sensed his sincerity because he didn't question it. "Come over after school. And don't forget—you're still not allowed to get yourself off without permission." He grinned as he pulled up out the front of the high-school. "Text me if you're having trouble with that."

He was, Channon decided, awful. The rest of the morning all Channon could think about was Jack and the hand he'd had on Channon's dick last night. Part of him appreciated that Jack hadn't taken advantage of him while he was drunk but the rest of him was wound up tight. Between the last two days of enforced non-masturbation and the threat of whatever Jack was going to use to punish him, Channon felt like a coiled spring, or a balloon swelling up with water. He'd burst soon, and he wasn't sure if Jack wanted him to or wanted him not to.

Like...squirming in study period, thinking about how much he wanted Jack to hold him down and jerk him off again, hard as a rock in his shorts. Should he text Jack? Tell him how fucking hard he was, how much he just wanted to get a fist around his dick?

He did, in the end, as instructed. He texted, im thinking about what u said, surreptitiously under his desk, but he didn't expect the immediate answer.

Are you in class?

study period, he replied, and then added, Sir, because it felt right.

At once, his phone vibrated again. Go to the bathroom and call me.

Heart thudding in his throat, Channon considered the ramifications of not doing it. Because...he shouldn't, should he? He really shouldn't.

Five minutes later he was closing the door of the stall behind him, fingers shaking on the screen of his phone.

Jack picked up on the first ring. "Channon."

"Sir," Channon said, his pulse racing because...what was Jack going to do to him?

"Are you hard?"

"Yes, sir."

"I want you to take out your cock and jerk off for me. Slowly. Listen to me and don't say anything except 'yes' or 'no' unless you're about to come—and Channon, let me be perfectly clear, you are not to come, do you understand me? If you do say yes, and then be quiet."

Channon swallowed, fumbling open his belt one-handed. "Yes," he whispered and then he bit his lip, wrapping a hand around his cock.

"Good."

He heard a creak over the phone, and wondered. Was Jack at work? Wherever work was. Channon pictured him in an office, in a leather office chair. That creak had been the sound of it as Jack leaned back. Okay. He could do this.

"I bet it feels good, your hand. But I bet you'd rather it was mine. Rather I had you pinned against a wall, face-first, with your pants around your ankles. Ass bare. Glistening with lube. I'm so looking forward to slicking you up, Channon, getting you wet enough for my cock. I'm going to make you take all of it," he said, sounding almost fond, nostalgic for a thing that hadn't even happened yet.

The picture in Channon's head shifted. Instead of leaned up against the cubicle wall, stroking himself with his phone clamped to his ear, he was braced against it, forearms above his head, Jack's fingers in his ass working him open. He swallowed a moan, the smooth slide of his (Jack's, it was Jack's) hand on his cock teasing heat into his crotch until it radiated up his spine.

And Jack's voice, deep and dark, spurring him on. "I'm looking forward to fucking you. I know you're looking forward to it, Channon, I can see it in your eyes every time you think about it. Your cheeks blush beautifully red. You can't hide it from me, but it's so sweet when you try. And it's going to be so sweet when I'm buried in you, watching you squirm, watching you learn to love it."

It was too good. Channon bit his lip, pulled his foreskin over the head of his cock and just teased himself there, little gentle strokes that made everything feel broader but less focused Jack had said and, anyway, there was no way Jack would let him come now, not yet. It wasn't even punishment, this was just a game.

"Are you touching yourself, Channon?"

"Yes," Channon breathed.

"Are you going to come?"

"No," because Jack said.

But Jack tsked, and he said, "I want you as close to the edge as you can get without going over. Do you understand?"

Channon had to swallow a sob, because that was so cruel. "Yes," he managed, fingers running loose along his length in a kind of delicious torture. He breathed out, shaky and crazed, with the image behind his eyelids of Jack leaning into his ear and whispering all this filth against his skin while he teased Channon one-handed.

"You're so tight, you're going to feel so good when I fuck you."

God, if Jack was sinking into him right now. Even just his fingers, slick and insistent.

"I want you bare, Channon."

The thought of it surprised a moan from his throat. He wanted that too, suddenly and powerfully. Jack in him and nothing between their skin.

"I'm going to come inside you, and make you mine."

For a moment Channon thought he'd gone too far, tipped himself over, but he squeezed his balls hard and the pain drew him back from the so-tempting fall into bliss. Because...fuck, he wanted that. He felt floored by it, this revelation that he wanted Jack's come, on him, in him, down his throat, wanted Jack to fill him up with it and—

"Channon?"

"I can't, I'm so close," he sobbed, and he heard Jack's sigh of satisfaction.

"Good boy. Stop now."

It was a relief, and its own special kind of torture. Channon breathed out, heart thudding like a kick drum.

But Jack wasn't finished. "Are you thinking about me inside you?"

"Yes," Channon said, unable to deny it.

"I want you to think about it for the rest of the day. Every time you close your eyes I want that on your mind. Do you understand?"

Of course that was what Jack wanted. "Yes."

"Good boy. Now. Pull yourself together and get back to your study period. It's not too late to learn something today."

Yeah. Right. Because Channon could learn things when Jack was keeping him on a knife-blade like this. All he was learning was how to not look like he had an erection in public. Which, you know, useful but not exactly something that could go on his transcript.

Anyway, he was going to Jack's tonight for—he shuddered just thinking about it—punishment. How could he possibly concentrate on anything else?

* * *

"I've half a mind to burn all your clothes," Jack said, head cocked on one side as he looked Channon over. "Oh, that amuses you?"

Channon tried to smooth out his smirk. "Does that mean you want me naked, sir?"

"Usually, yes. But I'd also like to take you shopping." It sounded like a criticism, and Channon's expression must have reflected that because Jack smoothed a hand over his shoulder, possessive and reassuring. "Don't look like that. You're eighteen. No-one expects you to have everything sorted out yet. But you're going to need at least one suit and I'd like to make sure it's a good one."

"I have a suit, sir," Channon mumbled, still a bit embarrassed. He'd never given much thought to his clothes before, he'd let Kim battle that out with his mom, and now he realized he'd basically been letting himself be dressed by an eighteen-year-old girl. Which had been fine when he was dating an eighteen-year-old girl, but now...well.

"I'd like to see your suit," Jack said, smiling a little. "Wear it for me."

"Now?"

"No. Now I'd rather you were, in fact, naked."

Channon didn't need to be told twice. He skinned out of his clothes, piling them neatly on Jack's living-room floor. Being naked in Jack's house was still new, a thrill in the late afternoon with the sun up and the sound of traffic in the distance.

Jack watched, arms folded. He had his jacket off and the sleeves of his white button-up rolled to the elbow, and he was barefoot. Channon focused on his long toes with their perfectly trimmed nails, because now he was naked he couldn't quite summon the nerve to look Jack in the eye.

"Now. Do you know what's going to happen tonight?"

He sounded so stern. Channon nodded. "Yes, sir." When Jack said nothing, clearly waiting for him to elaborate, he added, "You're going to punish me."

Jack's expression gave away nothing. "What does 'punishment' mean to you?"

Channon bit his lip. "You're going to tan my ass with a paddle," he said, paraphrasing Jack's words back at him. "Or make me stand in a corner?"

For a long moment, Jack just looked at him. "Have you ever been paddled, Channon?"

"No, sir."

"Strapped with a belt? Spanked?"

Channon shook his head. "No, sir."

"What did your mom do when you were disobedient? Or were you always a perfectly behaved little boy?"

Mostly, he had been. But. "She grounds me. Or it's no car, no TV, no internet." He swallowed, unexpectedly nervous. "Or she says...that she's disappointed. That she expected better. Sir," he added, feeling suddenly a whole lot more naked than he had a moment ago.

"Ah. I see." Jack snapped his fingers—Channon's head jerked up almost by itself. Jack made a two-finger come-hither gesture, and turned away.

Channon followed. Jack led him to the spare bedroom with its cream-and-chocolate bed-covers. There was a chair there now, with a small red pillow on it. Jack took the pillow, sat down, and set the pillow at his feet. "Come. Kneel."

Channon went, kneeling down on the pillow. Looking up at Jack from the floor Channon felt so small. Jack leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His hazel eyes were bright and very stern.

God, he was handsome, with his steep cheekbones and expressive mouth. Currently that mouth was expressing...nothing. He wasn't angry, he wasn't upset, he was just blank, watching Channon intently.

Channon didn't know what to do. He looked down, face burning.

"Channon, look at me."

It wasn't fair. He made himself look up, despite the ache that bloomed in his chest. Jack caught him under his chin so he couldn't look away.

"Tell me why I should punish you."

"Because I disappointed you, sir." It made him feel weak and messy inside. He hated the feeling of failure, of disappointing someone who expected more.

Jack's fingers smoothed along his jaw, oddly gentle. "You didn't really break any rules, though. Did you?"

It was confusing. "I...but I let Kim..."

"Kim kissed you," Jack said, his voice too firm to argue against. "She did that to you. Maybe you could have avoided it by not being there, but I'm not blaming you for that. It's not your fault, do you understand?"

He...didn't. Not really. But. "Yes, sir," he said.

Jack frowned. "Channon," he warned. "Don't lie to me. Try again. Do you understand that you're not responsible for something someone else does to you?"

It didn't make any sense. How could he not be responsible? "I...no, sir."

For whatever reason, Jack seemed satisfied with this. He dropped a hand onto Channon's head, petting his hair. "Well, we'll have to work on that. For now, though, you should know that I'm not going to punish you. I think you've tortured yourself about this enough." He leaned back, fingers trailing across Channon's cheek. "I am going to spank you. I can call you a bad boy while I do it, if you like," and his mouth spread into a wicked grin, "but really, it's just because I want to. So, have you been a bad boy, Channon? Or are you going to let me spank you just because it pleases me?"

Channon's mouth was dry but the answer seemed obvious. "I want to please you, sir."

"Good. Stand up." Channon did, knees trembling. "Now. Bend over my lap."

It was awkward, but Channon did his best, settling belly-first over Jack's knees. It made him acutely aware of his nudity, of how fully dressed Jack still was, and then there was a warm hand settling onto his ass, squeezing him possessively.

"Good boy," Jack said, shifting a little until he was comfortable. He rubbed up the back of Channon's thigh, thumb dragging firm against his skin. "This is going to hurt," he said, his voice confusingly tender.

He caressed Channon with long, firm strokes, humming a little in his throat. Channon tried to relax, tried not to tense up, but every stroke of that hand only made him more sensitive, anticipating the pain. This is going to hurt, Jack had said, and Jack never lied to him, but the way he'd said it did something strange to Channon's gut, this weird blossom of warmth, and he wanted that, whatever it was.

I can take it, he told himself, whatever it is. I can.

"You have such a sweet ass," Jack said, conversationally. A sudden pinch made Channon suck in a breath, but then there were fingers smoothing over the hurt, a thumb slipping into his cleft to part his cheeks. "Makes me want to bite it like a peach."

The image of that coupled with the unexpected twist of Jack's fingers, gripping him sharply, made Channon jerk, head coming up. Then there was a hand on the back of his neck, easing him down again, and he tried once more to relax, letting his limbs go loose. The hand slid down to settle firmly just above the rise of his ass, holding him still. It was going to be fine. Actually, he wished Jack would get on with it, the anticipation was—

The sharp slap took him by surprise—he gasped, thighs tensing. Jack stroked over it, and then, there, another sharp slap on the other cheek. It stung, but it wasn't unbearable. Channon let his breath out, relieved, this really wasn't going to be so b—

Holy shit. That one hurt, but before he could really process it Jack was laying lighter smacks up under the meaty part of his ass, and they were...warm. Stinging. But not bad, not like when he revisited the harder slaps higher up, no, those fucking hurt.

Jack slipped his hand between Channon's thighs, easing them apart. "Good boy," he said, running the backs of his fingers up against Channon's balls. Channon squirmed, not sure how he felt about the combination of a sore ass and the pressure of a fingertip on his taint, but his cock didn't seem confused at all, swelling against Jack's thigh. He let his head drop down until his chin brushed his hands, curled around the underside of the chair-seat.

And Jack began again. It was worse, now, his flesh already hot and hurt, and every stroke Jack laid into his skin burned. He couldn't stop jerking away from it, his toes curled up, feet kicking helplessly off the floor. And he couldn't stop gasping, yelping, whimpering in protest at every sharp smack. It didn't help that sometimes the strikes were light as a feather, or just the palming of his abused flesh, a firm squeeze or rub. Not knowing what to expect was worse, had him shuddering, and then Jack would hum and stroke him gently and he couldn't bear it.

"You're doing so well," Jack said, and the pride in his voice lodged somewhere beneath Channon's ribs. "I think you can take a little more."

More? Channon opened his mouth to protest, hands now tight on the legs of the chair, but the sharp swat of Jack's palm forced the breath from his lungs and then—then—Jack punished him.

Channon tried to breathe, but he couldn't stop himself from crying out with each new hurt overlaid on the map of hot agony blooming across his backside. He writhed, jerking away from Jack's hand, each movement rubbing his cock against the fabric of Jack's pants. Everything stung or throbbed—everything that mattered. Everything else was too insignificant to notice. He could hear himself making desperate noises, not quite a 'please stop' but somewhere close to it, clinging to the chair like his life depended on it.

And then it was...less. Jack spent more time stroking than swatting, and even though that hurt like hell it was...better. Different. Channon shuddered under Jack's hand, sniffing though...he hadn't cried had he?

"Good boy," Jack said, rubbing his hand up Channon's spine. "You're such a good boy. Look," and he lifted Channon's chin, encouraging him to look back over his shoulder. "See how pretty you are."

There was a mirror against the wall, a full-length oval in a wooden frame, and in it Channon could see himself, legs shamefully spread, his ass blotched with pink and red from one side to the other. The sight of his balls between his thighs, his asshole exposed like that, dragged a hot feverish shudder over him. He should have been ashamed. Shouldn't he? Was that what this feeling was?

The Jack reflected in the glass smiled, trailing his fingers up the inside of Channon's leg, up his cleft, fingertips dancing across his hole. "Look at you, practically humping my leg." Which, Channon realized with a start, was absolutely true. "Do you want me to make you come, Channon?"

His neck was starting to ache from straining to look over his shoulder but he managed something that might pass for a nod. "Please. Sir."

Jack hummed, letting go of his chin and smoothing a palm down Channon's spine. "All right. Come up here."

His legs were rubbery and wrong, but Jack helped him up, pulling him over so that Channon was straddling his hips, arms looped around his neck. It was good, tipped forward to keep the weight off his burning ass, but it gave Jack full access to his sore buttocks and Jack kept palming them, stroking and squeezing, and it was gentle but it hurt, and Channon couldn't swallow all his sobs.

But then Jack was kissing him and his attention split between the gentle insistent torture below and the terrifying sweetness of Jack's tongue above.

Jack kissed him so gently, licking light across his lips and teasing with his teeth. Channon felt like his chest was filling up with honey, this slow warm trickle that made it hard to breathe, intoxicating. His cock dragged against Jack's shirt, even that fine fabric a torture. God, it had been days since Jack let him come. He might just spill over, too aroused to help himself.

And then Jack had a hand between them, curling around Channon's cock, and Channon moaned into his mouth because thank fuck. Immediately he thrust into it, hips jerking by themselves. He couldn't help it, too needy to care how desperate he seemed. Jack tightened his grip, sliding the length of Channon's cock, brushing his fingers across Channon's welts to make him buck, and Channon was caught between his hands, a live wire under his control.

"Close?" Jack demanded.

Channon couldn't speak, just nodded, gasping as Jack's hands drove him to the limit. Everything was wound up tight, ready to snap, too hot and too much to hold back. If Jack stopped him now, if he told him no, Channon would scream. He couldn't, God, he couldn't, it wasn't fair...

"Come for me, Channon."

It wasn't really obedience, it was just inevitable, the shattering of his control, the sounds that crowded his throat as Jack worked him over the edge. Spine arched, hips fucking up into Jack's hand, he could hardly breathe through the desperate noises torn out of him as he came all over the front of Jack's shirt. It seemed to last forever, come pumping out of him and over Jack's knuckles in hot heavy throbs until it was over. He felt weightless, empty, like the pleasure of orgasm had cored him out and left him a hollow nothing, like he could just float away.

Jack kissed his cheek, the scratch of his stubble helping him anchor himself. "Good boy."

It was too much. Channon tipped forward, buried his face in Jack's neck, and just shuddered there, helpless and hopeless as he coasted back down to earth.

"Hold on to me," Jack said, and he stood up, lifting Channon by his thighs. Channon clung to him like a sloth, and then Jack was sliding him onto the bed. Into it, actually, with the covers folded over. He ran his hands down Channon's back, petting him, spreading him out on his front. He pushed Channon's thighs apart and knelt between them, and Channon heard the jangle of his belt, the telltale zip of his fly.

Is this it? Is this when he fucks me?

But Jack didn't touch him. Channon heard the slap of flesh on flesh, the weight of Jack's breath, and he knew, he knew what Jack was doing. Then, Jack's groan and the hot splashes across his back, his ass, his thighs. Yeah, he knew.

After what felt like forever Jack sighed, stroking Channon's leg with one hand.

"I'll be right back, okay?"

Channon nodded, closing his eyes and trying to get his heart to settle. There was a weird tension in his chest, something lurking and waiting. It made him feel anxious. He didn't want that. Whatever it was it couldn't be good.

The warm press of Jack's fingers brought him back. He opened his eyes, looking up across the rise of the pillow. Jack was so tall, back-lit by the warmth of lamplight. He'd taken off his shirt, his trousers, the outline of his cock visible through his tight boxers, and he had a washcloth in one hand. "Hold still."

Easier said than done. The cloth was damp, warm, and that was fine on Channon's back but when Jack dragged it across his sore ass Channon flinched away with a gasp. Fuck, it burned, like the worst sunburn, and it took everything he had to hold himself still and just breathe through it.

Jack didn't seem annoyed by this, though, not if his satisfied smile was anything to go by. "There you go," he said, setting the washcloth in a bowl on the bedside table. Then he smoothed herbal scented cream over Channon's raw skin, his fingers gentle on the welts but still they stung so bad. When he was done he wiped his hands clean and climbed into bed, tugging Channon up onto his chest.

It was good. He felt so good, warm hands stroking Channon's back, petting him like a cat until he felt loose and lazy, warm and comfortable enough now that he had trouble staying awake.

Jack teased his fingers through Channon's hair. "All good?" he murmured.

Channon nodded, too bleary to speak.

"You took that beautifully. I'm so proud of you."

The praise melted some of the tight feeling in his chest, or maybe it was the rhythm of Jack's fingers on his scalp. He let out his breath in a long, contented sigh, which made Jack chuckle and kiss his hair.

"You like that, don't you? Being good for me."

"Yeah," Channon said, drowsy and content. "I like how you make me feel."

"Good." He sounded so pleased. "There's a lot of things I'd like to do to you. I'd like to keep you. Does that sound good to you? If I make you all mine? My good boy."

It sounded amazing. "Yes, sir," Channon said, opening his eyes to blink up at Jack in the dim lamplight. "I want that."

Jack smiled, running his fingers through Channon's hair. "Then we'll talk about it tomorrow," he said, and he made it sound like a promise.

Continued in His Boy Next Door #4: New Toys

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Also by the Author

Published as R.J. Moray

His Boy Next Door (Channon Beaumont) series

Season One

Volume One (1-3)

A New Discovery

Breaking In

Bad Decisions

Volume Two (4-6)

New Toys

Eating In

Staking Claims

Volume Three (7-9)

Punishment

Submission

Showing Off

Volume Four (10-12)

Shared Interests

Fears

Choices

Season Two

Members Only

Published as Robin Moray

Bonded to the Alpha series

Bonded to the Alpha

Loyal

Claimed

Mallory Witches series

Something Wicked

About the Author

R.J. Moray writes MM BDSM erotica for readers who like their Doms a little more tender, but just as dominant.

For novel-length MM erotic romance, check out the works of Robin Moray, who is exactly the same author in a slightly more elaborate hat.

You can follow the author on twitter @robinmoray or tumblr at robinmoray.tumblr.com, or email Robin via therobinmoray@gmail.com.

Interested in hearing about new releases from this author? Join the Robin Moray mailing list.

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