By His Rules Read online

  sexually or let him touch you. You stopped the

  whipping before it got too far underway. As long as I get

  a promise, in writing, copied out a few hundred times,

  that you will never go anywhere with that man again—I’d

  say we’re all right on that front.”

  Aiden shook his head. “I wouldn’t feel all right.

  How are you going to punish me? I mean, you spank me

  when I bite my nails. How are you supposed to punish

  me when I fucking ruin everything?”

  Keaton shook his head. “You didn’t ‘ruin

  everything.’ You put yourself in danger. It’s the same

  principle—you do something that endangers your health

  or your safety, you get spanked.”

  “So you’re just going to spank me? Keaton, that’s

  not good enough!”

  “Why not?”

  Aiden shifted, agitated, not sure how to make

  Keaton understand. “It won’t hurt enough. I’ll still feel

  guilty. Use something harder than your hand, at least.”

  “What do you recommend?” Keaton asked.

  “Your belt,” Aiden replied, even though the

  thought sent a spike of fear through him. “You should

  whip me. I deserve it.”

  Keaton stood up. Aiden tensed, afraid Keaton

  meant to take his suggestion here and now. Keaton stood

  behind his chair. “Take your shirt off.”

  Aiden swallowed and removed his T-shirt. He

  shivered a little as Keaton’s hand brushed his shoulder,

  tracing the swollen weal where Scott’s first stroke had

  landed. Keaton moved his hand lower, dragging the heat

  of his palm over the welt on the middle of Aiden’s back.

  He pressed just hard enough that Aiden’s nerves

  jumped, the lingering ache spreading from his flesh to

  his brain. “Like this?” Keaton asked. “Is this how you

  deserve to hurt?”

  Aiden shuddered as Keaton touched the lowest cut,

  the one that snaked down around his hip, disappearing

  under the waistband of his pants. Aiden nodded. “Yes.”

  “It doesn’t scare you? The thought of me whipping

  you, leaving marks like this?”

  “I deserve to be scared.”

  “Is that how this works?” Keaton asked, touching

  the bruised hollow at the base of Aiden’s spine, his

  fingertips playing so lightly over the sore flesh that

  Aiden arched into the dual sensation—pain and

  pleasure. “I use discipline to scare you into behaving? I

  use pain to keep you under my control?” He moved his

  hand to a patch of unmarked flesh on Aiden’s back and

  stroked.

  “You should,” Aiden said bitterly.

  “I won’t,” Keaton said simply. “Ever.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Aiden put the pen down and flexed his hand. He

  didn’t even want to think about what it would be like

  writing lines later, with his butt sore and his hand

  already tired from this writing assignment. Keaton had

  asked him to make a list of events, reasons, and feelings

  that had led to his decision to meet Scott at Obey last

  night. His list was now three pages long and included

  twenty-three items, and he’d tried to explicate each one

  as thoroughly as possible.

  His stomach grumbled contentedly. Keaton had

  hovered over him while Aiden ate every last bite of what

  had to be the World’s Most Balanced Lunch. He felt

  good, comfortable, except for the cramp in his hand. He

  frowned at the list. These all looked like excuses. He

  didn’t understand how Keaton could forgive him. Maybe

  he wouldn’t. Maybe he would pretend to, but this would

  always be between them, eating away at their

  relationship.

  Aiden knew his guilt would linger long after

  Keaton was done spanking him. A hand spanking wasn’t

  going to make him feel he’d paid for his mistake. Which

  fueled his worry that Keaton would always be too

  gentle, too kind to convince Aiden to stop acting out.

  He could tell Keaton that.

  The idea was novel, frightening, and perfect.

  He took the list and went to the living room, where

  Keaton was reading on the couch. “I’m done,” he said.

  Keaton closed his book. “How do you feel?”

  “Okay. I wanted to talk to you about—I just wanted

  to talk to you.”

  Keaton patted the couch beside him. Aiden sat

  down, a little stiff and uncertain, but Keaton put an arm

  around him and drew him close, and they sat just as they

  always had, Aiden’s head resting on Keaton’s shoulder,

  Keaton’s hand rubbing circles on his back. “What’s on

  your mind?”

  “I’m worried this punishment won’t—won’t make

  me feel like I’ve paid for what I did. And I’m worried

  you won’t really forgive me, either. You might say you

  do, and you might believe it, but what if you never can?”

  Keaton’s fingertips trailed up and down his spine.

  “That’s something we’ll deal with if it comes up. I’ll try

  to be as open and honest with you as I expect you to be

  with me. But Aiden, I’m not angry with you. That may be

  hard for you to believe, but I’m not. I was angry last

  night, and afraid. It upset me to learn that you’d been

  dealing with your feelings alone. But that’s as much my

  fault as it is yours.”

  Aiden sat up. “Are you crazy?”

  “You tried to talk to me last night.”

  “I was being a total asshole. You were right; that

  wasn’t the time or the place to talk about it.”

  “But you needed to talk then. I shouldn’t have

  brushed you off.”

  “Don’t you dare. If you start blaming yourself, I

  swear, I’m not going to stay in this room with you.”

  “Part of the job of the dominant partner in a

  discipline relationship is to pick up on signs that a sub

  needs help but isn’t sure how to ask for it.”

  “I didn’t even know how bad I was getting. How

  the hell could you have known?” Aiden demanded.

  “We both have responsibilities in this relationship.

  I’m willing to forgive you if you’re willing to forgive

  me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive,” Aiden said angrily.

  “None of this is your fault at all.”

  Keaton ruffled his hair. “I can’t take your guilt

  away. It’s a natural consequence of your mistake and

  may not disappear just because you were punished. But

  I will help you through it.”

  Aiden rubbed his cheek against Keaton’s shoulder.

  “I know you’re worried about scaring me or whatever.

  But I’m not delicate. I can take a lot.”

  “I know that. But your job is to accept what I give

  you.”

  The words hit Aiden hard. It was as though he

  understood—truly

  understood—his

  role

  in

  this

  relationship for the first time. Keaton was in charge.

  Keaton decided what punishments were appropriate.

  Keaton exerted control, not through brutality, but


  through doing things on his own terms, quietly confident

  that he knew what Aiden needed. And he usually did—

  better than Aiden knew himself.

  “Yes, Sir,” he said softly, hoping Keaton wouldn’t

  correct his use of “Sir.” He needed to say it.

  Keaton seemed to understand. “Good boy,” he

  said. He gave Aiden’s shoulders a last squeeze. “If

  you’re ready, you can stand up and take your jeans

  down.”

  Shit. Somehow time always sped up in the seconds

  before a punishment. Aiden stood, unbuttoned his jeans,

  and struggled to get his breathing and heart rate in order

  as Keaton took his wrist and guided him over his lap.

  Aiden wriggled forward, making sure his torso was

  properly supported by the couch, but this sent his

  bottom high into the air. Keaton wasted no time, sliding

  Aiden’s briefs down to midthigh and raising his own

  knee to tilt Aiden’s rear higher still.

  “Are you comfortable?” Keaton asked.

  Aiden shut his eyes. He hated that question. Of

  course he wasn’t comfortable.

  “This isn’t going to be quick.”

  “I’m fine,” Aiden said. And really he was. His heart

  thudded, his butt was naked and high in the air, and his

  throat was tight with anticipation—but he was all right.

  Everything here was familiar—the couch, Keaton’s lap,

  his acute sense of awkwardness and dread… He was

  going to come out of this sore but in one piece. There

  was a rustle of paper as Keaton took Aiden’s list and set

  it on the couch, in Aiden’s line of view.

  Keaton rested his hand on Aiden’s rump, rubbing a

  gentle circle on the tense flesh. “What is this spanking

  for?” he asked.

  Another question Aiden hated. He closed his eyes

  again. “Because I’m an idiot,” he mumbled.

  Keaton patted his bottom. “Try again.”

  Aiden didn’t respond, hoping Keaton would get

  frustrated and start swatting.

  Keaton gave him a brisk rub and another pat. “This

  happens on my terms, not yours, young man,” he said.

  Aiden winced. Why was this concept so hard for

  him? Keaton was in charge. Aiden needed to submit.

  “Because I went with Scott,” he said.

  “That’s part of it,” Keaton said. “Meeting with Scott

  was dangerous. This punishment isn’t for any of the

  feelings that led you to that decision. This punishment is

  for breaking rule number five. I’m not a mind reader.

  You need to tell me when something’s bothering you.

  Scott harassing you isn’t something you should have

  kept from me. Same with your concerns about our

  relationship.”

  “I know,” Aiden said. “I’m sorry.”

  Keaton lifted his palm and brought it down hard.

  He did it again, and again.

  Shit! Aiden never remembered how much Keaton’s

  hand hurt. He clenched his teeth and tried not to buck as

  Keaton covered his butt with a hail of sharp swats. How

  did I ever think this wouldn’t hurt enough?

  Keaton’s second circuit left Aiden breathless. Aiden

  dug his fingers into the upholstery of the couch. He

  promised himself he wasn’t going to beg, wasn’t going to

  squirm. He took a breath and held it, then was forced to

  let it out when a third round of swats brought tears to his

  eyes. He reminded himself that he deserved every

  smack, and willed himself not to plead out loud for

  Keaton to lessen the severity of the blows.

  “Let it out,” Keaton urged, pausing for a few

  seconds to rub the small of Aiden’s back.

  Aiden choked back a sob and shook his head.

  Keaton resumed the spanking. Aiden tried to block

  out the memories of last night, but they came too fast—

  the rejection from Irvine, his brattiness at dinner, the way

  he’d talked to Keaton in the bathroom. The feeling of

  desperate energy that had propelled him to Obey, the

  desolation and hopelessness he’d felt as Scott dragged

  him into the house… He wriggled slightly, trying to get

  Keaton’s palm to stop smacking his sit spots. Keaton’s

  arm was secure around him, holding him in place. With

  a sigh, he surrendered, sagging across Keaton’s lap while

  Keaton continued to blister his butt.

  Finally Keaton stopped. Is that it? Aiden wondered,

  half-hopeful, half-disappointed. His butt was on fire; he

  wouldn’t be able to take much more without breaking

  down. At the same time, he didn’t feel the punishment

  was at all proportional to the transgression. He deserved

  much, much worse.

  “Pick up that list,” Keaton said. Aiden grabbed the

  list, pulling it toward him. He tried to twist and hand it

  to Keaton, but Keaton said, “Read me the first item on

  there.”

  Aiden placed the list in front of him and supported

  himself on his elbows so he could see it. He gulped,

  trying to get his voice under control, and read, “‘I got

  rejected from UC Irvine. It made me feel like a loser, like

  I’d never be good enough to be an actor. Like I’d be stuck

  forever making pizza.’”

  “Why did it make you feel that way?”

  “I don’t know. I was just being stupid.”

  Keaton smacked Aiden’s butt so hard that Aiden

  reared up.

  “Jesus!”

  “That is the last time you’ll use that word to

  describe yourself. Understood?”

  “Yeah.” Aiden squirmed, trying to lessen the sting.

  “Tell me why the rejection made you feel like a

  loser.”

  Keaton made him talk through what he’d written,

  made Aiden tell him why he wanted a graduate degree,

  what he liked about Irvine in particular, and why the

  school’s decision made him question his own abilities as

  an actor and as a student. At first Aiden felt

  uncomfortable having this conversation facedown over

  Keaton’s lap, but after a few minutes he relaxed,

  answering Keaton’s questions as honestly and

  thoroughly as he could.

  Keaton mostly listened but offered some input and

  reassurance, and by the time they’d exhausted the topic,

  Aiden felt much less discouraged about the rejection.

  When they were done, Keaton lifted his hand and

  delivered a hard swat across the center of both of Aiden’s

  cheeks.

  They went through all twenty-three items on the list

  this way. When they completed each item, Keaton gave

  him a single, full-force swat in exactly the same place.

  Aiden reached a point where he could no longer take the

  swats quietly, kicking, yelping, and eventually begging

  with each one. There was plenty of time between each to

  recover, but the accumulated soreness made each new

  layer of pain almost unbearable.

  When they finished the list, Aiden’s voice was

  hoarse from talking. He’d been crying for about the last

  twenty minutes, but he didn’t feel embarrassed. Keaton

  hadn’t rushed him, letting hi
m speak at his own pace,

  waiting for him to get control of himself and his thoughts

  before asking him to continue. The final swat was every

  bit as hard as the first, and after it Keaton completed

  three more circuits of spanks across the entirety of

  Aiden’s bottom, until Aiden couldn’t hear anything

  above the sound of his own choked sobs or feel anything

  besides the scalding pain in his butt.

  Keaton rubbed the sore flesh, kneading the sharp

  sting into a more manageable ache. He moved his hand

  to Aiden’s lower back, rubbing while Aiden lay across

  his lap, too exhausted to continue crying. They stayed

  like that a long time before Aiden had the energy to

  struggle up and throw his arms around Keaton.

  “Good boy,” Keaton murmured. “That’s right,

  you’re okay. I’ve got you.”

  “I love you,” Aiden said. He caught sight of

  Keaton’s palm. It was as red and swollen as Aiden

  imagined his butt must be. He took it in his own hands

  and kissed it.

  Keaton stroked Aiden’s face, letting him feel the

  heat from his palm. “I love you too.”

  Aiden curled against Keaton, holding tight. He was

  never, never going to let this man go.

  * * * *

  Keaton entered the kitchen later that evening.

  Aiden was at the table writing lines. He set Aiden’s

  phone down in front of him. “You have a new voice

  mail,” Keaton said. “I listened to it when I checked your

  texts last night, just in case it offered some clue as to

  your whereabouts.”

  Aiden looked at him. “Who’s it from?”

  “You should listen.”

  Aiden picked up the phone and dialed his mailbox.

  One saved message. A familiar voice introduced itself as

  the director of Case Western’s MFA program in Theater

  Arts and congratulated Aiden on being offered a spot in

  the incoming class. Aiden barely heard the rest of the

  message, which asked Aiden to return the call at some

  point with any questions he needed answered before he

  decided whether or not to accept the offer. Aiden put

  down the phone and stared at Keaton.

  “You heard this?”

  “I did.”

  Aiden stood up and flung himself at Keaton,

  socking the man squarely—though admittedly not very

  hard—in the chest. “And you didn’t tell me? You didn’t

  think maybe that was something I’d want to know? You

  let me ramble on in there about Irvine and what a loser I