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Prologue
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Autumn 1991
Luke
Ihadn’t plannedto take on another boy. Not right now anyway. Maybe not ever.
But somehow here I was, barefoot in just a pair of jeans, standing in my basement dungeon with a fidgety, snarling, and naked submissive kneeling at my feet. The boy looked as if he might get up, grab his clothes from where they were folded on the chair in the corner, and run away.
IhopedI could be what he needed, but I wasn’t sure. He wasn’t either, as was evident by the angry, doubtful glances he sent up to me before jerking his eyes to the concrete floor again. He shifted from knee to knee.
“Do you know why you’re here?” I asked, reaching out to slide a hand over his silky, white-blond hair, down his freshly shaven jawline, to tilt his chin up so he was forced to meet my eyes.
“Yes,” he bit out.
“Tell me.”
“I’m here to get hurt.”
My lips twitched and so did my dick. “Yes, but what else?”
His eyes skipped away from mine. I gripped his chin, and he swiveled his gaze back up again, gulping quickly. “I don’t know,” he whispered.
That sexy, wavering uncertainty crept over his features again, giving me a glimpse of the creature he truly was beneath his tough exterior. He pushed his hard shell to the surface again, covering the softness up. “I mean, I don’t know,Sir.”
“Good. Remember you can call me Sir, Master, or…” I smirked. “If you’re feeling especially needy, Daddy.”
He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, the flinty hardness was back. “Yes, Sir.”
“And I’ll call you Mitchell.”
He stiffened, trying to jerk his chin out of my grip. I held him fast, tightly enough I could leave bruises. It’d been a long time since I had a boy fight me at all. It was an intriguing and arousing challenge.
“No, Sir,” he said. “I’m Minty.”
“The name your mother gave you was Mitchell.”
He swallowed again, clenching his jaw, before muttering, “How do you know that?”
“You put it on the form I had you fill out for me, remember? Along with all the kinks you thought you’d enjoy, and questions about your health and past kink experiences. Did you forget?”
“It also asked me what name I prefer to be called, and I put down ‘Minty.’”
“Sir,” I reminded him.
“I put down ‘Minty,’ Sir,” he gritted out.
He was still thinking of running from me. It was there in his tense shoulders, his toes turned under to push into the floor and rise, the expression on his face. It wasn’t because he didn’t want the pain I planned to give him, but because he didn’t know if it would be enough.
My lack of compromise with his name during a scene was the start ofthe enoughhe truly wanted. He just didn’t know that yet.
“Here are your options: I call you Mitchell, and we go on withthis scene today, or you can use your safe word—poodle, correct?—and we end for today with no hard feelings. We’ll talk it out so I understand why this is a hard boundary for you and, in a few days’ time, after we’ve let this settle, we’ll renegotiate another meeting.”
“But why, Sir?” His trembling lips were plush. Perfect for cocksucking. I hoped I got a chance to feel them on my dick today. “Why does it matter what you call me?”
“Because Mitchell is what Iwantto call you,” I told him. “That’s all that matters. I could call you Shit Stain, and you’d agree. Understood?” I gripped his jaw again, squeezing until he winced and tears rose. I wasn’t sure if they were due to how rough I was being, or if he really objected to the name. He had his safe word. We’d see if he used it.
