His Boy Next Door: #7

Punishment

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 #7

Jack knows Channon never meant to be disobedient, but he has to punish him for it. Actually, Jack's been waiting for any excuse to paddle Channon raw, and as soon as he gets the chance he takes gleeful advantage of it. Channon, however, is full of surprises.

This book is episode 7 in an ongoing series, and contains acts of a sexual and kinky nature. Read at your own risk.

Punishment

For Jack, waking up to the sight of a beautiful young man naked in his bed was something of an unexpected luxury. And in sleep Channon truly was beautiful, his eyelashes dark against his cheek, mouth rosy with the night's kisses. He was curled up, half rolled over on his belly, one hand splayed out pale on the pillow. Jack slid the sheet down to admire the curve of Channon's spine, the swell of his buttocks. He was so beautifully muscular, six feet of eighteen-year-old running back, soft with youth but already shaping into a man. And Jack's to play with however he wanted.

For now, he reminded himself. He'd only be in town another six weeks, and then it was back to the city. Six weeks wasn't nearly long enough to do all the things to Channon he wanted.

Could he take Channon with him? There was certainly nothing keeping him here. Jack grimaced at the thought of it: Channon's mom, who thought so little of him; his dad, who didn't seem to want him; his friends, who he hardly saw. The ex-girlfriend, maybe, but Jack had severed that tie already (quite literally) and, anyway, she was headed to college soon, leaving Channon behind, alone. All Channon seemed to have was Jack. No wonder he was so eager to please.

So would it be a bad thing for Jack to scoop him up and carry him off like a spoil of war, take him home and keep him? He pictured Channon face-down on the rug in his living room, arms bound behind his back in a lattice of black jute cord, imagined driving down into him as Channon's moans echoed off the walls. Yes. That. He should definitely do that, he decided.

He trailed his fingers down Channon's spine, watching his skin tense and shiver. Channon didn't stir, not when Jack tugged the covers down to his thighs, not until Jack slipped a hand in between them and slid up to finger his balls. Jack stilled as Channon came awake, blinking sleepy green eyes over his shoulder.

"Good morning," Jack said, propping himself up on one elbow.

Channon seemed confused for all of a moment, then his expression softened. "Sir," he managed, thick-voiced with sleep.

"Time to wake up," Jack said, teasing up behind Channon's balls. Channon made a sound of protest, blinking heavily. Jack could feel his mouth tugging into a smile. God, Channon, you adorable little puppy. "Or shall I fuck you awake?"

The sound Channon made was sleepy, which could have been a yes. Jack needed more than that, though. "Channon?" He slid a finger between Channon's buttocks, gently investigating his entrance. Channon breathed in, but he didn't sound hurt, maybe only startled. "Tender?"

"Mmmph," Channon said, which wasn't particularly helpful, so Jack pinched his ass cheek. He got a yelp, and a startled look, and then—"Sir?"

"Are you tender?" Jack asked again, fingering his rim. "Here."

Channon swallowed, still fighting his eyelids that clearly wanted to close. "...a bit, sir."

"Only a bit?"

"Yeah. I..." He hesitated, eyes flickering to Jack's for just a moment. "That feels nice, though."

"Yeah? I'm going to put these," and he pressed two fingertips against Channon's hole, "inside you. You have to tell me if it hurts. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," Channon said, in that low breathy voice Jack had come to enjoy so much. Channon pulled one knee up, giving Jack better access, displaying himself shamelessly. Ah, how sweet he was, big eager obedient boy who seemed so completely unaware of his own loveliness.

Jack teased with his fingertips, just toying with him, tracing lightly around the rim. Channon sighed, breath hitching when Jack applied a little pressure. He was still a little slick, but definitely not slick enough. Jack reached for the lube, dripped it directly into the crack of Channon's ass, watching a fat drop of gel roll down over Channon's asshole. Channon made a small sound, almost a protest, but then he canted his hips up and back like he was asking for more.

God, Channon. Jack trailed a finger through the slick, pressing it up into Channon's asshole, and the sweet little gasp Channon made was just perfect.

One finger slid in easily, Channon's greedy flesh opening up for him wonderfully. Jack teased him, listening to the hitch of his breath, the small sounds he couldn't help bubbling up out of his throat, watching the flex of his flesh as he squirmed. Trying to be a good boy, again, as though Jack would be displeased with him if he didn't keep still and quiet.

But Jack didn't want him still and quiet, he wanted to open him up, see him messy and ruined. So when he drew his finger back, this time he added a second. Channon keened, turning his face against the pillow to muffle himself. He had his arms wrapped around it, great handfuls of it clutched in his fingers, and when Jack crooked his fingers he was delighted to see Channon shudder, moaning into the pillow.

So far, the most fun Jack had had with Channon was in testing his endurance. He was so good, tried so hard to please, and Jack liked teasing him, drawing him out until he couldn't stand it anymore. They hadn't got anywhere near Channon's limits yet, he was sure of it, but they might have started to feel around them, finding the shape they occupied in his brain. So. Jack carefully and deliberately set about driving Channon out of his mind.

It didn't take long. Channon was still so eager for penetration, so easy for it, and so sensitive too. Jack's fingertips on his prostate made him twitch and tense, breathing hard. So Jack tortured him, stroking him inside until he was sobbing in wet messy lungfuls, knuckles gone white on the pillow.

And then his gasps turned sharp, pitching up, and he broke, clenching and shuddering around Jack's fingers.

It happened too quickly for Jack to stop it, and for a moment he cursed himself for not catching it in time, but then...

Oh, this was an opportunity.

"Channon," he said, pressing on Channon's prostate until the boy tried to squirm away. "Did I give you permission to come?"

"No, sir," Channon gasped. He sounded horrified, as if he couldn't believe what had just happened. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't—"

"Hold still," Jack ordered, and Channon did so immediately, every line of him gone tense with anticipation. Jack bracketed Channon with his body, pressing him down into the mattress and putting his mouth up behind the boy's ear. "That was bad of you. I believe that deserves punishment. What do you think?"

Channon swallowed, but he nodded a little, stiff against the pillow. "Yes, sir."

"Yes what, Channon?"

Channon licked his lips. "Yes, I deserve a punishment, sir."

God, he sounded terrified. No, that was wrong. Jack didn't want that. He slid his fingers carefully free, and palmed Channon's ass, squeezing him. "I'm not angry with you. Once you've taken your punishment you'll be forgiven. How does that sound?"

The relief in his face was so obvious. "Good, sir," he said, relaxing a little, though he was still wide-eyed, attentive, waiting for his cue.

Ah, Channon. Jack had such an unreasonable fondness for him, had from the moment he'd caught Channon trespassing in his yard, healthy, vigorous, and red-kissed by the sun. He'd looked so caught, so instantly contrite. And then he'd called Jack 'sir' and Jack...well. It would be ludicrous to call it 'smitten' but he'd definitely been something about Channon after that. Keen. Inclined, maybe. Willing to take a risk.

And how well his risk had paid off. He smacked Channon on the rear and sat up.

"Come here." Jack hauled Channon over his lap, pinning him in place. "This isn't your punishment," he said, stroking Channon's thighs. "This is just something to sting."

The slap of flesh made his palm sting too, but he knew it hurt Channon more, could hear it in his hitches and gasps, could feel it in the way Channon tensed, the way he began to writhe away and then went limp under Jack's steadying hand. Trying to be good. Taking his licks like a good boy.

It was just a warm-up, so Jack marked up Channon's ass until it was warm and rosy, and then stroked over the red prints of his hands, revelling in the freedom to do this, finally, to someone so eager to please. When he was done Channon was breathing fast and shallow, blinking eyes gone suspiciously bright.

"That's enough for now. Up you get." He helped Channon to his feet, watching the younger man's flushed face, the way one hand went automatically to rub his rear. Ah. None of that. "Go face the corner. Hands on the wall," he added, and Channon glanced up at him long enough to nod and mumble a 'yes, sir' before doing exactly as ordered. Jack eyed him for a long moment, all that smooth pale skin taut over young muscle, the perfect lines of his back, his waist, his runner's thighs, his calves. That perfect ass, kissed now with a rosy blush to match the flush spilling down his throat. Jack could eat him. Or, at least, keep him.

Definitely keeping him.

Jack smiled. And then wiped the smile away so it wouldn't tinge his voice. "Stay there, Channon. I'm going to shower, and when I'm done I want to see that you haven't moved."

"Yes, sir," Channon mumbled, still as a statue. Perfect.

So Jack left him there, washed quickly, toweled off, and went back out to see that Channon really hadn't moved at all, still stood up against the wall staring at the backs of his hands, ass red as a strawberry.

"I'm glad you didn't disappoint me, Channon."

Channon twitched, almost a shudder. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and then—"Sir," he said. It was noncommital but Jack didn't mind. He pulled on boxers and a t-shirt, more for a layer of authority than anything else. Plus, it wasn't pleasant to stick to furniture. And they were almost certainly going to end up sticky.

"Go shower, now. Don't get dressed afterwards, just come down to the kitchen. Understand?"

"Yes, sir." He sounded more confident now, with some concrete instructions, a little direction.

"Go on, then."

When Channon had disappeared into the en suite, Jack went out to set up, and by the time Channon came down Jack was reading, the day's paper spread out on the breakfast bar.

Normally he read the news online, his feed carefully aggregated and curated to maximise reputability and detail, minimise sensationalism and gossip, but the newspaper was in this case psychological. Jack knew exactly how it looked, caught the way Channon stopped in the doorway and stared at him.

Jack glanced at him over the rim of his reading glasses. They were also psychological, and working very well by the look of things. "All right, Channon?"

He nodded, glancing away shyly. "Yes, sir."

"Good. I want you to cook for me. Can you do that?"

And now he looked panicked. "I...maybe, sir?"

"Just pancakes," Jack reassured him and, ah, there, confidence back. "And a pot of coffee. Coffee first, I think," he added, and Channon nodded, coming all the way in and brushing past Jack on his way to the cupboard. Jack caught him by the wrist and he froze at once, eyes cutting back to meet Jack's, wide with surprise. "You'll need this, since you're frying things."

He handed over a roll of black fabric, and Channon took it, unrolled it gingerly, and then blinked down at the thing in his hands. "An apron?"

"You're naked," Jack said, smiling. He let go of Channon's wrist to brush his fingers over a sharp exposed hip. "You don't want to burn anything important, do you?"

Channon shook his head, and breathed out, ducking to pull the top loop over his head. It was a simple enough cotton thing, no frills or decoration, but stylishly cut, in Jack's opinion. He caught the trailing ties and tugged them into place, tying a neat bow in back above the curve of Channon's ass. The effect was pretty much exactly what he'd wanted, black cotton drill framing pale skin tinged with pink. Sweet.

Channon didn't seem to agree, peeking over his shoulder and blushing with embarrassment, and it made Jack want to tug him into his lap and kiss him until his mouth was a red ruin and his cheeks burned with something else entirely. But. "Very nice," he said, and pointed at the coffee machine. Channon took the hint and went over.

Jack watched him fuss with the machine until he had it running. It was surprisingly satisfying, watching Channon frown and puzzle his way through the buttons. The view of him from behind didn't hurt, reddened cheeks peeking out from the curtain of cloth. He was so well-made, healthy and vigorous and Jack's, it was perfect. So Jack watched him with a particular proud possessiveness as Channon triumphed over the coffee machine, looking justifiably pleased with himself.

Then he started with the pancake mix. Jack had set everything out for him already so all he had to do was follow the packet instructions, but Jack watched him anyway, lazily turning the pages of his newspaper and skimming the headlines for anything vaguely interesting.

By the time the coffee was ready, Channon had a plate of silver dollar pancakes topped with banana slices and maple syrup, and he shyly set it down on the breakfast bar with a fork. Jack got him to fetch the coffee pot and one of the double-walled glass cups, set up the pot on a trivet within arm's reach with the sugar bowl and a jug of creamer, and then Jack tugged at Channon's apron strings, untying him again. He put the apron aside and held up the red cushion from the play room, dropping it on the floor beside his stool.

"I think you know what to do with that," Jack said, cocking his head at Channon and grinning, and Channon took a deep breath, sinking down on his knees. Jack stroked his hair, watching how it made Channon's eyes flutter shut, his lashes inky black against his cheek. Good boy.

The pancakes were good, actually. The coffee too, but that was mostly the beans and the machine. The pancakes, though? Surprisingly well-executed. Jack hand-fed half of them to Channon—Channon blushed terribly, but licked Jack's fingers for him, sucking syrup from his knuckles with his face turned up to meet Jack's eye.

When the pancakes were gone Jack topped up his coffee, dosed it liberally with cream and sugar, and held it down at knee-height. "Hands," he prompted, and Channon took the cup in his palms, gulping the coffee down gratefully.

Jack put the cup back, and reached down to smudge some syrup off Channon's cheek.

"Did you like that?"

Channon nodded, closing his eyes. Jack let him lay his head against Jack's knee, let him rest there still and content, feeling a familiar warm affection overtake them both.

"Cooking for me? Or letting me feed you?"

Channon hummed, nuzzling Jack's thigh. "Both, sir." He sounded relaxed and happy, and Jack couldn't help smiling down at the top of his head.

"That's good. So. Do you think you've been punished yet?" Channon turned his face up, blinking owlishly. "Since you enjoyed it so much."

He watched Channon contemplate it, and the small crease that bloomed between his brows. "No, sir. I...it wasn't punishment."

"Then, do you think I should punish you properly?"

Channon looked up, his expression was a mix of determination and certainty. "Yes, sir."

"Okay." Jack stood up, beckoned for Channon to follow. "Let's get this over with."

Not that he wanted it to be over—this was going to be fun, after all. But Channon didn't really know what he was in for, and as much as Jack wanted to take him apart at the seams, remake him into something shiny and new, he was going to have to go easy. Just enough for a taste, just enough to see how he could take it, if he really wanted it. And even then, Channon was probably going to beg him to stop at some point. Best to make sure he knew that he could.

Channon had stopped just inside the door, taking in the paddle and the glove laid out on the bed. Now his eyes flickered up to catch Jack's. He put his shoulders back and then, surprisingly, he went to his knees at Jack's feet.

"Sir," he said.

Jack had to take a moment to compose himself. The slope of Channon's shoulders, of his spine, the curve of his neck as he bowed his head...I'm going to teach you to be perfect, he thought. My God, I want to show everyone how perfect you are.

"Look at me," he said.

Channon looked up. He didn't look frightened. That was good. He did look apprehensive, but the awful terror that had stained his voice when he thought Jack was angry with him, that was gone. His eyes were clear, beautifully green. If anything, he looked determined. And that made Jack so very pleased.

"You know I'm not angry with you. Understand?"

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I'm not disappointed, either. You've been very good. I'm pleased with you."

He could see how the praise lifted Channon's chin, put strength into his spine. He bloomed under it, and that made Jack extraordinarily happy.

"So, we've done a bit of this before. It's going to be more intense this time. I need to know you understand that I'll stop if it's too much for you, but you have to tell me. Okay?"

Channon hesitated. "Like...the traffic light colors thing?"

"You've been on the internet," Jack said, amused. "You can use those, if you want. Or you can say, 'Please, sir, stop,' if you'd rather. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now. I'm going to give you a choice. Either we can do this with the paddle or the glove. If we use the glove, it's going to last longer, but it won't hurt as much. If we use the paddle, it'll hurt a lot more, but it'll be over sooner." He ran his fingers through Channon's hair, watching him process that. "It's up to you."

Channon didn't think long about it. "The paddle, please. Sir."

Ah. That made sense. "Good." Jack picked it up. It was new, bought with Channon in mind—dark leather, springy, ten inches long and round hairbrush-style. "On your feet, Channon." He scrambled to comply, eyes tracking the paddle as he did. "Up on the bed." Channon did that too, accepting the pillows Jack offered him and letting Jack position them under his hips, weight forward on his chest, head turned to one side. "Knees wider."

Channon spread them, presenting himself. He was soft still, nestled against the pillows, balls settled loose between his thighs. The sight of him made Jack stop, inhale, exhale, just admiring the smooth ripple of muscle under his skin, the pattern of dark moles gracing his back, the sleek lines of him, organic and alive and real.

Jack ran his free hand down Channon's back, watching the shift and shudder of his skin. "All right," he said, by way of warning, and then he began.

He took his time warming Channon up, and Channon tolerated it fairly well, holding still and breathing evenly. He didn't seem to mind it overmuch, not until the first really hard smack, which had his eyes flying open, but he held still all the same, exhaled hard but didn't make a sound.

Well. That wouldn't last. Jack kept an eye on him, noting the tension in his jaw, the tightness around his eyes, and set about painting his ass red.

God, he took it so well, so stoically. His breathing began to labour, hitching on each strike. The silence filled with it, the slap of leather on flesh, the ragged drag of breath, and then, sweet as honey, the unmistakable break of a sob.

Good. Jack eased off, brought him down a little with gentler pats and presses, teasing Channon's sore skin with his fingers, stroking him firmly, admiring him. "Good boy," he said, and Channon breathed out in a long sigh, so Jack added, "But we're not done yet."

Channon bit his lip, nodded, and turned his face down against the covers. Hiding, Jack thought. Well, let him hide, this once. Jack could see plenty of him anyway, spread open and rosy. He was hard now, which was interesting, balls drawn up snug. When Jack dragged fingernails over the bloom of his ass, Channon pushed up into it, making himself accessible.

Channon. You're enjoying this.

It was a heady feeling, dizzying, to know that this was working, that Channon might like it, want more of it. Jack patted him, feeling smug and possessive, and began again.

This time it was easier, Channon already so sensitive, and in no time he was shuddering, gasping with each strike, quietly sobbing between them. Jack pushed him this time, bringing him up with deliberate, merciless strokes.

"Channon?" He smoothed the flat of the paddle over Channon's ass. "You okay?"

He got a mumble in return. Not good enough.

He tapped Channon with the paddle. "I need a 'yes, sir' or a 'no, sir' or a color. Are you okay?"

Channon lifted his head enough to croak out, "Yes, sir."

"Good." Jack ran his hand up Channon's back, feeling the tightening of muscle as he punished Channon's ass, heard the heartfelt groan tear itself from Channon's throat as Jack smacked him hard right on the sweet spot.

Every sound Channon made went straight to his cock, thickening him up hard 'til he was like a steel rod in his shorts. Suffused with the monstrous thrill of having Channon here under his hand, pliant and obedient and needy, he wanted fiercely to drop the paddle and take Channon now, fuck him into the mattress while he wailed and sobbed. He imagined it, sliding into the tightness of Channon's flesh, gripping bruises into his hips and having him. Spilling into him, marking him like territory, feeling the clench of muscle as Channon lost control.

But Channon was tender and Jack had restraint. This, pleasant as it is, wasn't just about what he wanted. It had to be about what Channon needed, too, otherwise it would be pointless.

And what Channon needed was a lesson.

He was gasping on the bed now, jerking away from every strike, his feet kicking up off the mattress and his knuckles white where his hands fisted the covers. Jack took pity on him, easing off, stroking his back as he relaxed. Channon's breath was thick and heavy, long shuddering inhalations that shook him like a fever.

"Channon," he prompted, palm skimming Channon's shoulder. "All right?"

"Y-yes, sir." The words came out thick and wet, but he said them, and he tilted his head a little, glancing up at Jack before squeezing his eyes shut. So Jack believed him.

"I think that's just about enough punishment. We can stop here. Or," he added, keeping his tone level because he wanted to see what Channon would do, "I think you could take another round. If you want one. What do you think?"

Channon shuddered, his shoulders hunching up, and Jack could see the heavy muscle cording beneath his smooth skin. The tension in Channon's body was exquisite, all of him rippling with it. He was clearly struggling for an answer, so Jack stroked his hair.

"It's all right if you want to stop. You've been a very good boy."

Maybe that was what tipped him over into a decision. Channon dragged in a breath, scrubbing his face against the covers. "Sir. I can...I can take more. If you want me to."

Jack smiled, though Channon couldn't see it. "All right." He'd hoped as much. And Channon's innate desire to please and be pleasing pushed him naturally toward whatever he thought Jack wanted of him.

He was, he realised, going to have to be careful with Channon. It would be easy for him to think he had to do something or endure something simply because it would make Jack happy, and normally it would. But Channon wasn't confident enough to say 'no' to things he really didn't want, and that would have to change.

Confidence they could work on. For now, Channon just needed to let go.

This time, Jack got right down to it. He smacked Channon hard, and Channon gasped. He did it again and Channon choked out a sob. And then, with each stroke of the paddle Channon started to come apart. Jack could see it begin, the judder of his flesh, the slump to his shoulders, the way he buried his face in the bedcovers, hands gone loose in them, no longer holding on, until finally he was shaking all over, weeping into the coverlet, a sore red mess.

There. That's what Jack had wanted, to strip him back until he lost focus on pleasing, no room left in him for anything except feeling.

Jack slowed and stopped. He put the paddle down and knelt up on the bed. He ran his hands up Channon's back, brushing his fingers through Channon's dark silky hair. "There," he said, "there. You're done. Channon, you did so well."

Channon made wet sounds against the covers, so Jack tried swiping broad arcs across Channon's skin with his fingertips, gentling him, reaching down to brush over the crimson evidence of Channon's punishment, to make him quiver.

"Come up here," Jack suggested, and Channon came up, wild-eyed, his face wet. He was unsteady, bleary and wrecked, and for a heartbeat Jack wondered if he'd gone too far too fast, but then Channon flung both arms around Jack's neck, clung to him desperately, face buried in his shoulder. "Good boy," Jack said, kissing his hair and petting him. "You're all right. Just relax, and let it go."

Channon went limp as a wet rag, sagging into Jack's arms and trembling. Jack held him up, breathing into his hair, quieting him with gentle caresses. God, he was lovely like this, a wrung out mess, shaking and ragged—And mine, all mine.

Channon made a weak noise against the cloth of Jack's t-shirt, fingers flexing on Jack's back, and then he hugged himself up tight to Jack's chest.

"It's all right, Channon. Relax. You've earned it." He leaned his cheek against Channon's head. "Breathe with me, nice and slow." Channon did, matching himself to Jack, and for a while Jack just held on to him. But then Channon twitched, tensing up, and Jack had to reassure him again. "You should feel good, now it's over. Just let it happen."

And Channon relaxed again, lay there obediently, and bit by bit he seemed to come back to himself.

Jack waited until he was sure Channon wasn't twitching from unwanted adrenaline but fidgeting because he felt awkward, and then he nuzzled Channon's cheek. "Feeling better?"

Channon swallowed, but he managed to look up, and the red rims of his eyes made the irises stand out shockingly green. "Yes, sir." He licked his lips, hesitant. "Thank-you, sir," he said, voice still thick with emotion but steady now.

Jack felt his mouth twitch into a smile. "You've been very, very good. I'm going to take care of you, now. If there's anything you need, anything that might make you feel safe and comfortable and relaxed, I want you to tell me. Do you understand that?"

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir."

So Jack turned him onto his front again, spreading him out with long, smooth strokes until he was quite flat, and then rubbed lotion into the red marks he'd left on Channon's skin. Channon hissed at the pressure, but he held still, stayed limp and pliable, head twisted to one side to watch Jack out of the corner of his eye.

After that, Jack got up to wash his hands and brought back an ice-pack. "This is going to bruise," he said lightly, applying the pack to Channon's sore flesh, "but we'll do our best to make sure it doesn't bruise too badly."

"I'm used to bruises," Channon said, settling one arm under his cheek.

Jack eyed him. That sounded ominous. "Oh?"

"Football," Channon explained, which made sense.

"Do you like football?"

"I guess. I mean," and he hesitated, thinking carefully about his answer. "I like it when coach says I did good. Or when the guys are excited, when we win."

"You don't like winning?"

"Uh...I mean, I like it, sir." Channon shrugged, wriggling his toes a bit. "I mean...it's good to win. But I like it better when I play good. Even if we lose. Winning isn't...it doesn't matter much, if I'm no good."

It made sense. Channon needed to know he was appreciated. "You must like football enough to have started playing in the first place."

Channon went quiet. Jack let the silence stretch out, wondering if he would get anything in return, and eventually Channon said, "My dad wanted me to."

Ah. Jack schooled his expression and his tone, not wanting Channon to see or hear anything like disgust in him. "And you wanted to make him proud."

Channon's expression screwed up into hurt, and Jack hated Mr Beaumont for it. "Yeah. I mean, yes, sir, I did. He...wasn't really, though. He never came to my games, after the first year."

Jack had to take a deep breath and let it out before he trusted himself not to let on exactly how much that angered him. He didn't want Channon to think Jack was angry with him after all.

When he was calm, he said, "But you kept playing."

"It would have been harder to quit," Channon said quietly. "Anyway, after he left...whenever he calls he asks about it. 'How's football? Going to win state this year?'" Jack heard him swallow, saw the bitter twist of his mouth as he closed his eyes and said, "He wanted me to play at college. When I told him that I wasn't going, he...he was pretty angry."

Jack wasn't surprised. "How long did it take him to get over it?"

"I don't know, sir. I haven't talked to him since."

He sounded so resigned. It went straight to Jack's gut, a sharp stab of anger. He made himself shift the ice-pack, pressing it down carefully and holding it there.

"That sounds like his loss, Channon," he said evenly. Then—"Okay, I think you're good. Come on." He held out a hand for Channon to pull himself up, mouth twitching at the sharp intake of breath as Channon leaned on his bruises. He got Channon up on his feet, wrapping him up in both arms, and leaned down to kiss him gently on the mouth. "We're going downstairs to relax. Maybe watch a movie. I'll let you pick."

For a moment Channon stared at him. Then his mouth widened into something gleefully wicked. "You mean like...Netflix and chill?"

Jack arched an eyebrow at him. "Why do I get the feeling that means something other than what I think it does?"

Channon snickered, biting his lip. "Sir." His expression shifted into something wistful. "Can...can I kiss you?"

It was sweet. Jack couldn't help his grin. "You may."

The kiss was sweet too, a little hesitant at first, but then Channon sighed, relaxing against him and nipping at his lip. When Jack pulled away Channon's eyes were closed, eyelashes fluttering dark on his cheek. He opened his eyes, green and clear as glass.

"Good?"

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir. Perfect."

* * *

"I meant," Jack said evenly, leaning on the breakfast bar to watch Channon inhale a BLT sub with teenage gusto, "to talk to you today about what we're doing."

Channon froze, eyes gone wide. He finished chewing his mouthful and swallowed it, licking mayonnaise out of the corner of his mouth before saying, "Sir?" very hesitantly.

"Don't look so nervous," Jack chided, swiping his fingers up Channon's arm to tug the sleeve of his borrowed t-shirt. "We just need to talk about it. Where this is going. What you want to do." He smiled, hoping it would give Channon some nerve back. "I've already told you what I want to do. Some of it, anyway."

Channon put down his sandwich carefully, and looked up at Jack with a solemn expression. "I want to do all those things," Channon said quietly. "Even...I don't know. If you really wanted to...um." He took a breath, blushing all the way down his neck. "If you wanted to, to show me off."

That was a welcome surprise. Jack schooled his expression to one of polite interest. "Really? You'd like it if I had you in front of people you don't even know?"

Channon's blush intensified, blotchy and red, but he nodded. "Yes, sir."

He was so fucking adorable. Jack considered pushing him a little, and decided in favour. "What if I wanted to share you?"

"Sir?" He looked confused, and then a little shocked. "I don't understand."

Jack was pretty sure he did. Still, it was best to be explicit about it. "If I wanted to let someone else play with you. Would you kneel for him, Channon? Suck him off, if I told you to? Would you like that?"

Channon was red as a tomato now, and his breath came short and shallow. But what he said was, "I don't think you'd order me to do that for anyone...anyone you didn't trust."

It was true, and Jack was glad to hear it. "Absolutely not. I would never let someone I didn't trust lay a hand on you, let alone play with you. I will always be looking out for your best interests, Channon. Don't forget that."

Channon nodded. "Yes, sir." He looked relieved.

"So, would you like that?" Jack prompted, and Channon nodded again.

"I think so, sir."

"All right. Good to know." He smiled, reaching up to tousle Channon's hair. "There's something else I want to ask you. I know you don't like discussing the future," and he saw the way Channon tensed at that, eyes skittering away nervously, but they did need to talk about it, and he was fairly sure that putting it off would only make Channon anxious. "We've talked a bit about your plans. And I respect your decision not to apply to college. You have good reasons and it shows a certain level of maturity that you've actually considered it so thoroughly."

Channon relaxed in his seat, eyes cutting up to Jack's all innocence and trust. "Sir."

"I've been thinking," Jack said carefully, "about taking you with me when I go back to the city."

Instantly, Channon went stiff as a board, gaze riveted to Jack's face. "Sir," he breathed, and it sounded pained, but that was all he said, trapping his lip between his teeth and worrying it brutally.

Jack cleared his throat. "I'm not sure if you like the idea or hate it."

Channon shook his head, something miserable in his face. "I don't hate it. I just..." and he looked away, clearly conflicted about something, though Jack had no idea what.

"Go on. I won't be angry."

Channon breathed in, mouth wrenched into a downturn, and his hands curled around the lip of the bar tight enough his knuckles blushed pale. "I don't want to...I don't want you to have to..."

"Have to what?"

"Pay for me all the time," Channon said, awkward but honest. "I don't...it's expensive, in the city. I don't have a job, and...I mean, there's nothing I know how to do, so...I think it'd be hard to find one? I don't want to be a burden," he said, that last all in a rush, down low, like he was ashamed of himself.

Ah. Jack took one of Channon's hands, cradling it in his own, rubbing his thumbs over Channon's knuckles. "I hope you know that I like paying for you. I want to buy you things, dress you the way I like, take you to nice places and show you a good time. I'd never expect you to pay for anything I wanted. And I've got money to burn, so I don't want you to worry about it."

Channon still looked conflicted, kind of awful, really, so Jack went on, rubbing smooth circles into Channon's palm to calm him.

"The things I want to buy for you aside, I agree with you. If you come with me, you'll need a job. And a place to live, eventually. So. Here's my proposal." Channon looked up, blinking those black lashes, eyes wide and worried. "If you come with me, then I'll find you a job. Something that suits your talents and interests, and that you can make a career out of in the long run." He smiled, squeezing Channon's hand. "How does that sound?"

Channon glanced at their linked hands, his mouth turning down with worry, though Jack had no idea why. "It sounds good, but..."

"But what?"

When he looked up he looked wretched, almost ashamed. "My mom said...she told me to be nice to you. She said you might help me get a job."

It was...well, it was a reasonable thing for her to say, but it chilled Jack's gut to think that...but Channon wouldn't have done all this just because his mother told him to play nice with the neighbour. Surely not. "When was that?"

"When you had us around for dinner. I mean, after, when we got home." Jack breathed out, relieved. They'd been well underway by then, Channon already delightfully obedient. And now he looked miserable. "I didn't, though. I wasn't...that's not why I did any of it, sir, I promise."

So that was why he was so upset. Because he thought Jack would think Channon had been using him to get something. And that was understandable too, but so unnecessary.

"Thank-you for telling me. I appreciate your honesty." He lifted Channon's hand from the table, held it in his palms. "So. Do you want to come with me when I go?"

Channon just stared at him for a couple of heartbeats, and then, painfully grateful, he nodded. "Yes please, sir."

"All right." Jack let himself grin, glad of it, and kissed Channon's knuckles. "Let's do that, then."

* * *

Jack was gentle with Channon for the whole of the next week, relaxing the prohibition against Channon touching himself, making sure that Channon knew he could call if he felt strange or upset, or just wanted to hear Jack's voice. That he did was encouraging—Jack was so busy he didn't have time for much more than a few quick catch-ups, and he liked it very much when Channon called to complain about his day, or to gloat over his bruises. They didn't last long. Channon healed fast, it seemed, and didn't sound particularly happy about that when he sighed and confessed they'd faded to little more than shadows.

Not seeing him was something of a frustration, but Jack had always felt that patience was a virtue, and that rewards tasted sweeter when they were duly earned. So, he invited Channon over for Saturday, and let himself simmer in the interim.

He hadn't planned anything much, just dinner, a little coddling. A bath for Channon, maybe. Jack liked the idea of washing him, shampooing his hair, rubbing him down with a towel. Massaging lotion into his skin, every inch of it, until he was a loose, limp, helpless tangle of limbs. And then sliding into him slow and gentle, making sweetly vanilla love to him. Because Jack could, because Channon was his. Wonderful.

He was working when he heard the pool-side door open and close downstairs. Channon had obviously come over the fence again, which was kind of adorable but also ridiculous. There was no need for them to sneak around. In fact, if Channon was coming with him they needed to have a chat with Mrs Beaumont, explain a little (not all) of their relationship. If she disapproved then, well, she disapproved. But Channon shouldn't feel he had to hide anything. He wasn't a dirty secret. Jack was, after all, very proud of him.

"Sir?"

Jack called back, "In the study, Channon!"

There was a thud of sock-clad feet on the stairs, and then nothing for a few minutes. Jack smiled. Channon must have gone straight to the play room to undress, as per Jack's standing order. Excellent.

And yes, when Channon padded into the study he was naked. Jack watched him come in out of the corner of his eye, otherwise making no indication that he knew Channon was there, curious how Channon would behave.

Much to his pleased surprise, Channon came over without hesitation, dropping the red slave cushion on the carpet at Jack's feet and kneeling down on it. Jack hid his smile, and reached out without turning from his laptop to run his fingers through Channon's hair. Channon leaned into it a little, then rested his head against Jack's thigh.

It was a lovely quiet moment, and Jack liked it too much to interrupt it too soon. He rubbed his fingertips against Channon's scalp, heard his boy sigh with contentment, and let himself enjoy it.

After a few minutes, though, he tangled his hand purposefully in Channon's hair. "The sun's still up. You don't seem upset about the open blinds, though."

"The window's tinted, sir. I checked. No-one can see in."

Clever boy. Jack grinned, pleased, and tightened his grip. "I thought you didn't mind if anyone saw."

Channon made a small sound, and when Jack looked down he saw Channon's eyes were closed, his expression smoothly content, lips parted and pink as though he'd been licking them.

"If you want, sir, for whoever you want."

He was so good—it gave Jack a not insignificant thrill to think how obedient and eager Channon was, taking to this so well, as if he'd been waiting for this all his life. Waiting for Jack.

But he was young, inexperienced, and one day he might decide it was the lifestyle, not Jack, that he wanted. They'd cross that bridge when they came to it, though, so Jack put it out of his mind, closing his laptop and giving Channon his full attention.

Which was when he saw the book on the floor by Channon's knee, the journal Jack had given him to record his fantasies.

What are you about, Channon? He couldn't deny he was pleased to see it, curious to know what was written inside.

"I didn't tell you to bring your journal," he said, taking care to sound amused and not disapproving.

Channon twitched, looking down under cover of his eyelashes. "I wanted to show you. Is that okay, sir?"

"Absolutely." Jack let go of Channon's hair to hold out his hand. "Give it to me."

Channon did so, holding it up with both hands, so shy about it Jack wanted to kiss him. But. He took the book and flipped it open on the desk, anchoring it with his left hand while his right went back to Channon's hair.

He was struck at once by the neatness of Channon's handwriting, not the illegible scrawl of a schoolboy but the careful script of a young man who took care in the things that mattered. The words themselves were simple, direct, nothing flowery. The first few entries were short, quick little notes along the lines of: I think of him all the time. I wish it was his hands on me, and, It's not the same by myself anymore. Nothing feels right.

The latest, though, was longer. Jack carded his fingers through Channon's hair as he read, savouring the slip of silky strands between his fingers.

It was supposed to be a punishment. I don't know if it worked. It hurt, but I liked it too much. So much, when he spanked me. I can't believe how much I liked it. I shouldn't, probably. I got so hard I thought I'd die. God, I want him to do it again. I couldn't stop thinking about him fucking me. I want him to fuck me again. I don't want to be bad but I want him to do it to me, spank me and fuck me while I'm still sore. Not a punishment.

Sir, I can't stop thinking about it.

Jack realised he was holding his breath, and let it out slowly. Channon had gone very quiet and still, leaning against Jack's thigh with his eyes downcast. The sunlight limned him in gold, his skin creamy beneath it, the blackness of his hair like ink.

And he wanted the same things Jack wanted. Incredible.

Jack closed the book. "You know, I shouldn't let you manipulate me. I don't want you to fall into bad habits." He felt Channon tremble beneath his hand, and rubbed him gently, reassuring. "But I'm pleased with you, for writing in your journal, and for being brave enough to show me. So I'll indulge you, this time. And," he added, letting a smile warm his voice, "I really do want to fuck you, exactly like that."

Channon went stiff with tension, and then he sighed, turning his face against Jack's thigh. "Sir," he groaned, low and full of feeling. "Thank-you."

The low simmer in Jack's gut deepened as he got Channon to his feet, ushering him out into the play room. Channon had a look about him, a kind of fierce elation, heightened by the pink in his cheeks, the way he kept wetting his lip with the tip of his tongue. It made Jack want him more, want more of him, made him think so many sharp dark thoughts about how that he had to remind himself to breathe. Next time, and the next. For now, just this, just the way he fantasised.

Or, not quite. Channon was Jack's toy, after all.

"Hands on the chest. Brace yourself." Channon did as he was told, bending over the chest of drawers and resting his weight on his forearms. "Feet a little wider."

Channon spread them, presenting himself. He was already half-hard, anticipation swelling him, head peeking out from beneath the shelter of his foreskin. Jack reached between his legs to cup him, fondling his balls and the soft feather of new hair, teasing the skin of his cock back to reveal him. Channon's breath hitched, but he said nothing, made no noise. It was almost as if he already understood that this, his body, was no longer his, was Jack's instead.

Jack opened up a drawer. He saw Channon's eyes flicker to it, saw them widen at the implements laid out there, light and heavy, leather and wood, saw Channon shudder.

"I let you choose last time," Jack said, hovering a hand over the hairbrush paddle. "What would you choose this time, if I let you again?"

It took a long moment of silence, Channon's tongue darting out over his lip. "Whatever you wanted, sir. You know best."

Jack couldn't help smiling. "I do. And I'll always do what's best for you," he added, leaning down to kiss Channon's shoulder. "I promise."

Continued in His Boy Next Door: #8 Submission

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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.

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