Ambush

The following fictional story deals with sex among males. If you are offended by such material, are too young, or reside in an area where it is not allowed, depart. Though not always observed in this story, care enough about yourself and humankind to practice safe sex.

The author retains all rights. No reproductions or links to other sites are allowed without the author's consent.

EBradley33@Excite.com

Chapter 6

In Bondage to the Velvet Glove

I was bouncing my butt around in the seat of my Saturn as I drove to school, mirroring a rippling rhythm from the Women's Chorus at the beginning of Verdi's "Otello." "Boy, Evan," I thought to myself, "you certainly are getting caught up in these happy rhythms." I was also remembering Robert's long cock up my ass from the last ambush a few nights previous. My ass was still happy.

I drove into the school's northern parking lot, halting my car in an area where no cars were sitting. I alighted, opening the back door as I pulled out my attache, placing the strap over my shoulder. As I reached down for my little lunch bag, I saw Troy Morgan shoot into the lot. He started to turn right until he saw me. Quickly reversing his direction, he shot into the space beside my car. By that time I was locking the back door and preparing to walk to the school. Troy hopped out, hailing me: "Hey, Mr. Halsey, nice day."

"Yes, it is."

"You have a minute? I'd like to talk to you," he said as he ambled over, his muscular thighs jiggling slightly in his jeans. It was a good thing I couldn't see his ass. I'd probably melt on the spot. He leaned against the back of my car, flashing those dimples at me in the midst of a heart-stopping smile. His nipples made such sexy distortions in the surface of his tight tee shirt that I had to look away, for my breathing rate was increasing.

"Yeah, you want to talk as we walk to the building?" I asked as I started toward the building.

The smile left his face. "If you don't mind, could we talk here? If we go inside, I know someone will butt in to talk to you."

A little smile played across my face; he was being politic-it was far more probable that one of his many friends would butt in to talk to him, for he was a popular jock. But he didn't want to seem conceited, so he shifted the likelihood to me. The man had sensibilities and a quick mind. I chalked up a couple of marks for him. "Okay. Shoot."

"I guess you know that ever since you put Susan and me in a group in class, we clicked."

"Yeah, I noticed. I liked what I saw."

"You did?"

My head cocked about ten degrees to the side as it does when I hear something I'm not expecting. "Why would you think I wouldn't like it?"

"Wel-l-l-l," he said, "Susan and you have this special relationship. We all saw it in class the other day when you were acting strange. She came up later and put her hand on yours. Stuff like that makes me think you see me as horning in."

"Damnation," I thought. "I suppose they've all had a chat about that day." "Well, Evan, what do you expect," said that interior voice. You were acting outside your normal patterns." I thought, "It's more likely, Troy Morgan, that you perceived me as horning in."

I chuckled. "I'm not so hard up, Troy, that I have to imagine romance with one of my students."

"Oh, no sir," he quickly added, flipping his hand up at the wrist slightly in a gesture of reassurance. He was suddenly aware that his comment about Susan and me was replete with possible messages in the subtext. "I didn't mean to imply anything bad . . . about either of you."

"Good save there at the end," I thought. "But you still gave your real feelings away. The old 'Susan is too young for an old guy like you' line of thought," I observed in my mind. I suddenly realized that, on this occasion, I didn't like looking way up into tall Troy's face the way I did Robert's.

I laughed. "Troy, you'd better get to your point before you dig a deeper hole for yourself." He blushed. So damned cute. "I care a lot about Susan, sir. I want our interest in each other to grow into something bigger than friendship. And it has been moving along well on one level. But I'm afraid I'm about to hit a wall.

My brow knitted. "Oh? What wall?"

"What I want for us can't be built on just physical attributes and a physical relationship alone." He blushed again, realizing that he had said more than he intended.

I choked back a smile. He was having a difficult enough time getting this out, which told me that he had conceived the idea of talking to me only very recently but hadn't really thought it out yet. It must be important for him to have jumped into it nearly the second he saw a chance in the parking lot. Susan's putting her hand over mine had clearly bothered him.

"You know, like we are one of the best looking couples in the school?" I shook my head in understanding. "I have seen such relationships in this school continue long past the point that they are dead just because the couple is living up to other people's expectations that good-looking couples have it all put together. . . . But after the good looks, they couldn't find anything else to build on."

"I'm understanding you so far, but you still haven't told me about this wall that's looming ahead."

"Mr. Halsey, you know what a brain Susan is. She's soon going to figure out how limited I am that way. Susan is such a total package that I know she won't stay involved with a dumb jock like me. I have fallen into powerful feelings for Susan.

"What an "ah-gee," old-fashioned way of expressing his attraction to Susan," I thought.

"I am even looking ahead to where our relationship could go long term," he continued. "I don't want to kill it at this point just because I'm so limited. I was hoping you could give me some advice on how not to disappoint her that way."

I couldn't help it. I broke out into laughter. He looked offended. "Oh, Troy, I'm not laughing at you; I'm laughing about this "limited" crap I'm hearing from you. Where is that coming from?"

He stared at me for several moments. I just waited. He needed to enunciate it if he was ever going to deal with the fear it was causing.

"You know that people think of me as just a dumb jock."

"Troy, there are many jocks who are anything but dumb. Sounds to me that you have fallen victim to the either-or fallacy. You have also fallen victim to your own perception of yourself."

"Either-or fallacy? You haven't talked about that in class."

"Either you are a dumb stud jock or you are an intelligent . . . what? Nerd? I don't know what term you would use there. The point is, that it isn't actually one or the other extreme; many possibilities lie in between. How can you be a dumb jock when you are earning a low B in my course? I NEVER give people grades, you know. My students EARN their grades."

"Yeah, Mr. Halsey, everyone knows you don't give grades to people based on anything other than their work," he agreed grimly. "My coach reminds me of that fairly often when we talk about my grades."

"Hm-m-m-m-m-m. I wonder what that reaction's all about," I thought. "You could earn higher grades from me if you applied yourself. Sorry, the teacher in me had to make that observation."

He smiled a little. "Yeah, I wish I had done that now."

"It isn't too late, Troy. The point is that if you were a dumb jock, you wouldn't be earning a B in my class. You ARE intelligent. You just haven't been pushing it, haven't been using that attribute to define yourself to yourself. If you had valued your intelligence more, it would have figured in your goals."

"I'll admit: I've been coasting a little."

"You've been satisfied with just jock popularity. But Susan's intelligence combined with your interest in a relationship with her challenged you [I suddenly had flashes of memory of my discussion with Jarod Paine]. So rise to the challenge."

"I don't think I know how to rise to the challenge."

I snorted in derision. "You're a winning jock. What's this stuff about not knowing how to meet the challenge."

"Mr. Halsey, I'm talking about academics, not sports."

"There you go again with that "Either-or" thinking, Troy."

He blushed. His facial capillaries were really getting a workout. "So you are saying that what I know about sports will help me in academics."

"Exactly!"

He thought for a moment, and I shut my mouth.

"Sir, going in for a lay-up is not like passing one of your tests."

I ignored the either-or implication in his rejoinder. "Why did you decide to discuss this issue with me? Your coach would have been a more likely choice, or one of your buds."

"I wanted to talk to you because you and Susan have this special understanding. If I get advice from you, I may deal with my problem better."

"I see: you examined alternatives, determined which was more favored by probability, and then reached a decision based on that. That sound like a limited jock to you?"

He just stared at me as though I were speaking a Martian dialect.

"Okay. Let's work through this. What was your age when you started throwing that ball up at the hoop? Basketball is your sport, if I'm correct?"

"Yeah. I was three and a half or four. My dad got me one of those short Fisher-Price basketball goals. But I was about tall enough that I could just hand it in. I wasn't satisfied with that. So I'd go outside to the real basketball hoop my dad had put up for him over the garage door."

"I want you to envision yourself standing under that basket, trying to put that ball up to the hoop. Tell me when you have a clear, active image of that in your mind."

"Active? You mean like I'm playing a tape of it."

"Yes."

After a few moments, he said, "Okay."

"Describe for me how you were holding the ball."

A few moments, then "Like all little kids do at first. I have my hands on either side of the ball, moving it down between my legs and hurling it up at the basket."

"Do you hit the rim?"

"Eventually."

"Are you happy."

More moments. "No."

"Why?"

Silence. "Because it isn't the way the big guys do it."

"So what do you do?"

"I shift my hands on the ball the way the big guys do it-a hand underneath and one at the back to push it to the basket instead of hurling it. Eventually, my hand on the back of the ball becomes my fingertips."

"Why is that change in positioning of your hands important?"

He looked at me a bit. "It gives me more control over the ball. It allows me to aim at the basket better."

"Do you hit the rim of the basket right away?"

He chuckled. "No, I am way off for at least a month. I don't remember exactly. It would fly about two and a half feet below the basket and hit the garage door."

"But you didn't give up. Why?"

"If it worked for the big guys, it would eventually work for me."

"You weren't discouraged?"

"Not much. I knew it would come."

"Who coached you in this change in behavior?"

"No one." He paused. I could see the teeth of the cogs falling into place. "I did it myself."

"Sound like a dumb jock to you?"

"I wasn't a jock then," he snickered.

"Oh, we're going to tussle over this, are we?" I thought.

"Let me tell you what I see. I see a little peanut who refused to play "Fisher-Price basketball." Even before his time, he moved onto the real court where he, of course, experienced failure. Didn't faze him. He met the challenge. Even more than that, he had been observing how big guys shot baskets. He even began to focus finely on where they placed their hands on the ball. He adopted the basic pattern he observed. Even when he wasn't initially successful, he remained committed to his plan of attack on the problem. Eventually, he hit the basket, grew up into this tall galoot who moves like a ballerina on the ball court and racks up a reputation as a leading scorer in the league, and has the temerity to overreach himself and fall in love with an exciting, beautiful, really special woman."

He laughed.

"What am I telling you, Troy, my man?"

"You're telling me that I all I have to is look back in my life at the challenges I successfully met, study the people who are working successfully in those areas, focus on what they do to achieve that success, and modify my behavior."

"Bingo. Give that man a can of OJ!"

"But it took me years to build a skill level in basketball."

I lowered my chin, glaring at him through the top of the lenses in my glasses.

Silence ensued. He laughed again. "Okay, I'm bigger now, older, have more experience to draw on. It doesn't take that long to meet goals."

"Does that sound like a dumb jock to you? In the meantime, let me suggest some strategies to jumpstart your leap to success in winning the heart of the woman of many men's dreams," I stated as I observed Susan drive her car sedately into the lot. "Figure out a game plan for improving your academic performance in all your classes. Figure out how you and Susan can work together to complement each other, academically and in other ways. Prepare for big academic events in a way similar, cognitively, to the way you prepare for a big game. Don't be proud. Talk through your assignments with Susan. Given the complex ways we think, talking through ideas, plans, processes is a powerful way to focus on what is essential-even for old people like me [I infused the word "old" with attitude. He blushed again.]. Draw on her strengths and share yours with her. "

"Okay. So what was your sport?"

"Trying to stand upright on two feet without stumbling."

"What?"

"I wasn't a jock. I had three brothers who were so far ahead of me in sports that I would never catch up with them. I'm a klutz, not well-coordinated."

"Yeah, I've noticed," he giggled.

"Gee, thanks."

At this point Susan was about within earshot. "So you think I have a chance?"

"Unquestionably. I saw Susan looking at you during that group work. She doesn't look that way at just any man."

"Chance?" Susan asked.

"Oh, we were just talking about making the grade," I replied with a smile. Troy looked relieved as though he had thought I would divulge our conversation.

Perhaps not enough time had passed since the day I broke down in front of Susan, for I knew I didn't want to accompany them to the building. I glanced at my watch, exclaiming that I had better hustle; I had a few chores to take care of before classes began. I moved off with a "Later, guys."

As I moved down the long second-floor corridor to my shorter hall, Lo and Behold! There was Jarod Paine with Valerie Cunningham on his arm. "Hm-m-m-m-m," I thought, "smart guy. Knows how to draw back from the precipice." Jarod smiled and blushed. Valerie beamed at me. "Ah-h-h-h-h-h," I thought. He had related our conversation. Scratch that. She drew it out of him. Who cared? The man was blessed with Valerie on his arm and in his heart.

When I arrived in my classroom, there was another envelope on my desk. Since Rosalie Rodriguez, Wendy Fielding, Jeremy Wilder, Paul Hartford, and Matt Townsend were chatting quietly with one or another, I opened the envelope and pulled out the note inside. "Tonight. Your house. 7:00 p.m. Leave the front porch light off and the front door unlocked. Be ready." My eyebrows rose, and my cogs shifted into high gear.

I slid the note into my attache. After students had taken their seats and while I was taking roll, I had heard talking and then sharp laughter back in the area near Jeremy Wilder. I looked up, smiling. Since Matt had been the last to talk, I asked him what was so funny. He looked around at those close to him. Then he said, "Jeremy was just telling us about the endowments of short people."

"Ah-oh. Jeremy was moving back into his role as class clown," I observed to myself.

I wasn't going to bite on that "endowments" stuff for any reason. "Really?" I asked skeptically. "How did you become such an authority on that, Jeremy?"

"Well, Mr. Halsey, it's well known that modern men have grown taller than their ancestors. But some men aren't any taller than our ancestors. Makes one think about throwbacks-about little people, that is."

"Was he trying to bait me?" I wondered, he six feet tall, I, by all accounts, short. "Jeremy, consider the atom. As essential as it is to existence, it is so 'little' [more attitude here] that you cannot see it with the naked eye. Yet if you suddenly release its energy, it will blow your butt back two centuries!"

The room erupted in laughter. I'd met his "raise," "called his hand" and was raking in my winnings. The students loved it. Their loud, long laughter drew Kathleen Burge from her room to peek around my door. Little nervous Kathleen probably thought they were tying me to a stake and preparing to pillory me.

"Since we have put that matter to rest, let us turn ourselves to issues of the mind," I stated as we moved to the day's lesson.

....... After classes, I rushed home, worked out for an hour, and had a bite to eat, showered, and waited. I couldn't imagine why the script had changed, but I followed my directions. I left a dim light on in the living room and pulled the drapes. Left one light on in the family room, the stove light on in the kitchen, and a dim light in the bedroom. I didn't know what "be ready" meant, so I had on a pair of running shorts. Nothing else.

At 7:00 I heard a light step outside the front door. Almost immediately the doorknob turned and the door swung open. A lone, tall figure, face hooded in the same ski mask cut off below the nose, entered the foyer. He looked around, spying me sitting there leaning back on the sofa. "Hello, Evan."

"Master," I greeted him.

He walked in and stood before me. "The Little One suggested that he and I had gotten to know each other very well, but we two barely know each other at all. He insisted that I come alone this evening. I wanted you to know that he's okay with this."

"Thank you for explaining," I said. "How do you feel about it?"

He smiled. "Little One possesses a deep compassion for others. He wants this to work between us."

"Oh," I thought. "I think there have been some ramifications about my being brought into the mix, and this is Little One's attempt to work it out. It also tells me that what transpires when we are together, as strong as it is for us, does not carry over for Robert to the same degree as for Kenny and me," I silently deduced.

"And why would you want this to work between us, Leader of the Pride?"

"Let's discuss that in the bedroom."

I rose. "This way," I led him down the hall, standing aside at the door to allow him to enter. He walked to the foot of the bed, turned, and said, "Undress me."

I moved to him, dropping to my knees, untying the laces on his Nike's, slipping them off his feet, and pulling off his socks, rolling them and depositing them in one of the shoes. I leaned down, licking the tops of each foot as I slid my hands gently up his strong, shapely, hairy calves. I looked up at him. I could see his dark eyes shining at me as he looked down on me. "I wonder if it turns him on to see me at his feet?" I thought. I reached up, unbuckling his belt.

Then I stood, moved around behind him, and pulled his jacket gently from his shoulders. I placed it over the back of a chair. Still from the back, I moved my hands up his arms to his shoulders, pausing to squeeze his muscles every few inches, not quite a massage but sending good feelings flowing through those muscular arms. I moved my hands up over his shoulders. I clasped them and placed the side of my face on his back in a slow, worshipful hug, which I held for a few moments.

Moving back around in front of him, I fell to my knees, running my hands up his calves, his thighs, and his ass. At the same time, I leaned gently into his crotch, running my nose over the bulge there, sniffing but smelling little beyond the material of his jeans, and slowly opening my mouth and gently teething the hard bulge. He didn't make a sound, holding quite still. "Weird," I thought.

I unbuttoned his jeans, moved my hands to the sides of his hips, and gently pulled his jeans down. Slowly, his hairy, sculpted thighs emerged as I slid the jeans down his strong legs. They were so beautifully shaped that I could feel my breath catch. Again, I looked up at him, but I could discern nothing from the glint in his eyes. I looked at his black briefs, bulging in the front with his cock.

I slowly rose, moving my hands up the sides of his hips caressingly as I pushed them up under his tee shirt, sliding just the tips of my fingers ever so lightly up his ribs, pushing the shirt along with backs of my hands. At this point, he reached out to pull the shirt over his head without dislodging the ski mask. "Does this mean he hasn't figured out that I know him?" I wondered. "Not even when little Kenny slipped and called him 'Robert' at the last ambush?" He tossed the shirt on his jacket.

His broad shoulders were rounded with muscles at the ends, but he wasn't a muscle god. He was an Adonis. His lats fanned out, accentuating his narrow waist, perfect hips and squared ass cheeks. His brown nipples were bigger than quarters. I could see dark hair curling out from his pits. I took my hands and ever so gently moved them over his pecs, up into his pits where I let the black hair tickle the ends of my fingers, back down to his nipples, which I ever so gently pulled out from the muscle so that the tension was borne entirely by the nipples. I released my hold on them, moving my flat palms up over those bundles of muscles rounding off his shoulders, down his muscular arms, down to his wrists, which I pulled out to me as I looked down into the palms.

I knelt down, looking up into those inscrutable black depths in his eyes, brought each palm to my mouth where I gently kissed it. Then I pressed it against my forehead in an ancient act of obeisance. I moved my mouth to the ends of his fingers and daringly nibbled on their ends, running my tongue around the tips sensuously. I dropped his hands, again sliding mine up the outer sides of his thighs, moving back to his ass, running my hands under the elastic and over his hairy, warm cheeks and into his hairy crack. I allowed one middle finger to gently caress his pucker. I pulled my hands out, stretching the legs of his briefs as I pulled them down his legs.

His long hard cock popped out, waving in front of me. I saw a drop of precum immediately begin to form upon his cock's release from the briefs. I leaned forward and ran my tongue slowly over the head of his dick in a long, oral caress. Only a faint trace of saltiness registered on my tongue. The drop of precum was the first indication I had had that any of my efforts were turning him on. I put my hands on the outside of his knees and moved them slowly up, grazing just the hair on his legs. I spread my thumbs ahead and up his inner thighs. I noticed that his cock hardened more, and began to keep time with his heart. I took all my fingers and gently moved them over the hair on his balls to tickle them. I slowly moved forward, burying my nose in the luxuriant grown of hair in his crotch. I caught his musk with my nose, the scent of perspiration too, while his hair tickled my nose and face.

Holding my thumbs at the back of his balls, I moved the tip of my tongue back there and slowly drew it forward over and up his balls to the point where they joined his cock, then across the underside of his cock, over the head, and down the back. I still couldn't read him, still didn't know if my ministrations were welcome, particularly after our odd beginning in the living room. I felt as though I were losing a battle.

My fingertips traced the route my tongue had taken. When they reached the tip of his cock, I leaned forward, licking the head of his cock, then kissing it wetly, the moving it into my mouth. I slowly moved my mouth down his cock, swirling my tongue around the sides, top and bottom. I tried as much as possible to take him all the way, but I really had next to no experience giving head. Rather than being clumsy about it, I moved my hand around the base of his cock and ever so slowly and gently started jerking him off, keeping my mouth over the front half of his cock. I used various degrees of suction on his cock to complement the good feelings my hand was creating as I moved in and out over his cock. I moved my mouth back to the head, ministered to it, hummed rather loudly while my mouth was tightly clasped around it. I started a powerful suck and I slid my finger tips out and around to his cheeks and then into his crack. I was beginning to think he was regarding me as a failure when I felt one of his hands reach around my neck, not quite cutting off my air, and pull me strongly up. Whatever he was feeling, I was certainly turned on.

I looked into his eyes. He gently removed my glasses. Then he knelt down and pulled my running shorts down, waiting for me to step out of them. He stood and resumed his strong grasp around my neck. Then he leaned forward to brush his lips over mine, using his strong grip to move my mouth over his. After a second brush, his tongue traced my lips. Then he kissed me gently, maintaining his tight grip on my throat. He broke the kiss, moved my head gently back, and then slowly but strongly clamped my lips between his teeth. At the same time, he reached down with his fingertips and began lightly teasing my cock and balls. Was this also Domination with a Velvet Glove, the strong grip around my throat, the gentle caresses to other parts of my body?

Other than my laying my head on his back, our bodies had not touched.

Well, if after all my ministrations he wasn't going to betray any reaction, I knew how to get one out of him. "You don't like it that I was brought into the pride, but you grudgingly went along with it because you didn't want to diminish the Little One's ardor for you," I managed to croak through the strong grip on my throat. But with my statement, the grip tightened noticeably.

"Seems to me I was the recipient of quite a bit of ardor from you," he claimed.

"Yes, you are the Lion at the head of the pride." His grip on my throat loosened, and he gently slid his hand slowly up and down my throat.

"Why is the Lion/pride motif important?"

Was he testing me, challenging me? I couldn't tell-anything, really. Major frustration. No, major torment!

"I was a literature major: metaphor turns me on, as it does most people who have studied in the arts and humanities. It is a universal code. There are other universal codes, but metaphor is glorious, exciting, stimulating, more powerful, timeless, integrative, intellectual, colorful, elevating. It is a building block for ritual, our attempt to bring powerful, competing forces into some kind of juxtaposition so that we can attempt to harness their energy. As our Lion, you led us into ritual at our last meeting. You did it so naturally as though it were wired into your nature. You have taken three individuals, each with strengths of his own, but have caused two of them to want to be submissive to you as they wish to be. You have the ability to unite us so that our differences do not keep us separate. You have the power to lift us up. You have the strength to save us from our ruinous impulses."

I paused. He moved forward slowly, moving his hand from around my throat and up to the back of my head. He pushed my head toward his lips. He began kissing me. Slowly, the kiss gained in intensity. His tongue slowly but strongly entered my mouth, sliding around inside as though taking a measure of what he was about to conquer. When he released the long kiss, I had to quietly gasp for breath.

He reached down to his jeans and pulled out his belt. He placed the belt, buckle first, in my hand. Then he walked over the bathroom door, reached up and clasped the frame with his hands, spread his feet wide, and said, "Strike me with the belt."

I couldn't believe it. Nothing this evening was happening as it should, not that I knew exactly how it should happen. I couldn't see how I was getting to know him, just his body. I knew I wanted more than just his body even though I might not be able to articulate what that was. I just stood there dumbly.

"The Lion commands you to strike him. Remember the bond. Honor it."

I paused, then slowly walked to his side, raised my arm and brought the belt down on his back. Even I knew it was a feeble effort.

He snorted impatiently. "I didn't want you with me and the little one. I was always jealous of you when he spoke of you. I wanted to be his hero, and I didn't want to share that role with anyone. You were just this uptight, anal, compulsive, controlling, little, nothing authority figure who couldn't make it anywhere but a school. What good were you to us?"

It was just reflex action, but I raised my arm and struck his back HARD! A red stripe began to appear on his flesh.

"You weren't attractive or sexy enough to make it with any man. So you were weaseling your way in with us!" he shouted.

I lashed him hard across his ass and then his back.

"The Little One didn't really like you; you just made him feel sorry for you so that you could get in with us. You are so pathetic."

Three hard lashes came in quick succession beginning on his back and moving to his ass and then legs.

What was I doing? What had gone wrong? How had I lost control? I dropped the belt and backed up, horrified that I had struck Robert. Evan striking the Lion? A teacher striking a student? I began backing away, running into the chair and falling over it backwards. He had turned and was walking slowly toward me. I just stared at him, my mouth agape. He was so beautiful as he strode toward me, but he had to be angry too. I was going to be demolished. He came and stood over me.

He reached down, grabbed me around the neck, and yanked me up. He mashed his mouth on mine in a hot, probing kiss. Then jerked us apart. "Well, I guess that's a good conversation opener, wouldn't you say?"

He released his hold on my neck and I immediately fell to the floor in a sitting position, looking stupidly up at him. I was shocked. Disoriented. Tears began to fill my eyes. I hung my head. I felt humiliated, off base, despicable for the beating I had given Robert. I didn't like this. I wanted out, away. He was making me into something I hated. I didn't want to hurt others, especially him. Why was he doing this? Was I going crazy? At the moment, with all the ups and downs of the past few weeks, I wondered if I was headed toward a nervous breakdown.

He walked back to the bathroom door and turned to me. "Evan, come here." I just sat in shock. More loudly: "Evan, I said come here!" I slowly looked up. His figure was distorted by the tears in my eyes, just as reality seemed distorted. He walked over, put his hand around my throat again, and yanked me up. I gulped loudly, my eyes wide with terror. He marched me over to the bathroom door, released me, pushed me to the door, took my hands and planted one on each side of the door frame, and kicked my feet to the sides of the frame. "Don't turn around," he said.

It was my turn. I knew what was coming. I clamped my eyes shut. The least I could do was not cry out, for he hadn't. I heard the belt slicing through the air. It hit. Pain radiated out from the point of impact. I kept silent. It hit again, again, again, again, again, again. Up and down my back, my ass, my legs. It kept coming harder and harder. It was my nightmare again. Finally, it stopped. At least I knew I hadn't cried out. I sank down in the doorway, a heap of shame, pain, confusion.

I felt an arm sliding gently around my back and under my arms, and another under my knees. He lifted me and carried me to the bed. Before he placed me on it, he pressed his lips gently to mine. After placing me on the bed, he went into the kitchen and came back with a glass of water. He raised my head, placing the glass gently at my lips. "Drink," was all he said. After I had a gulp of water, he raised the glass to his lips and drew long from it. He placed the glass on the nightstand. The he piled the pillows up against the headboard and leaned back against them and then pulled my butt in between his legs with my head resting on his right shoulder and my legs over his left leg. We lay like that for what must have been five minutes as he gently stroked my legs with one hand and ran his fingers through my hair with the other. I was feeling empty, dead as though I had shut down inside. I felt his warm lips press onto my cheek with a kiss.

"We must talk to each other now. We have cleared away the defenses, the subterfuge, and cut down to raw feelings; we can talk honestly now. I'll start. I liked the way you started making love to me this evening. It was very erotic. I reveled in it. You turned me on to the max. But I could tell that it wouldn't work for us, given where we had to end up. So I pushed you to behave as you did. I knew the buttons to push. You performed on cue. All anyone has to do, Evan, is study where you establish your controls. Those controls point directly to your fears. I learned that from David of the Alpha Males: look where someone is focusing his energy and attention, for it points to whatever is significant, positively or negatively, for that person. I won't say that I haven't thought some of the things I said-not all of them-just the ones about not wanting to share the Little One with anyone. But you have been anything but subtle in your perception of yourself, at least to those who take the time to see. The Little One told me about your breaking down in school a few days ago."

I started to arise, for I didn't want to revisit that event. But he pulled me back and said sharply, "NO! You are not running this time, Evan." A few moments passed, but my body was still taut, poised for flight, in his arms.

"I had to make you face your fears and get them out in the open. So I taunted you, knowing how you would react. In order not to cloud your mind with guilt about pushing you to whip me, I had to retaliate by lashing you. By the way, I gave you double the number of lashes you gave me. So you won't be feeling guilty, will you?" I just lay there, trying to see where he was going. "Will you?" he said insistently. I shook my head in the negative.

"You will never really believe someone loves you, Evan, until you love yourself. But you hate yourself. That's why I could so easily drive you to anger this evening, drive you to violate your peaceful, caring standards. I simply stated what you are afraid is true of you. You were a pushover."

I started to flee again, but he held me tight. He planted another passionate kiss on my mouth, moving off only when I felt as though I was about to pass out for lack of oxygen.

"Why do you want to believe such bad things about yourself? Do you actually believe everybody sees you the way you see yourself?"

"I have evidence they are true," I whispered quietly. "No man has ever wanted to be with me."

"You avoid men. You close yourself off. You push men away. Even tonight when you made love to me, you didn't cut loose. You didn't open up to me. You didn't let me in. Why?"

"Fear that I would disappoint you," I said softly, tonelessly. "Belief that I had to have it all planned in order to satisfy you."

"Why didn't you let me take the lead?"

"Why would you want it? Besides, you are the Lion. You might not want to do all those things to me."

"But I have done many of them to you. And notice that I am here with you. I want to be with you. You think it isn't exciting being with a man as knowledgeable as you, as caring as you, as powerful as you? A man of your reputation? A man as hungry for me as you are? A man as sensuous as you? I hate to say it, but even a man as otherwise self- contained as you? I can only hope to accomplish all these feats." As he had talked, he had begun to caress me, my limbs, my nipples, my cock, my balls, my hole. "I ask you again, why wouldn't I enjoy doing those things to you?"

"I'm not beautiful like you. I don't have your strengths."

"If I were in a wreck and my face emerged scarred, I hobbled with a cane, would you, given your feelings for me this very moment, consider me ugly?"

"No, you'd be the same inside." Now I knew how Troy had felt this morning as I led him through his self- catechism.

"You spend so much time thinking about how others see you that you are rigid inside. Do you really think people spend that much time thinking about you, thinking those things you fear?"

"You are right. They have pressing matters in their own lives. I'll spend more time looking at their 'rigidities' so that I'll spend less time thinking about mine. Maybe I can help them as you are helping me."

He leaned down and kissed me as he ever so slowly jerked my cock. "Tell me that you are beautiful, Evan."

I moved my head back to look into his dark eyes. "Tell me your beautiful, Evan, and mean it," he said as he moved his hands around my balls and gripped them tightly nearly to the point of pain.

"I am beautiful," I said softly. "Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h," I exclaimed in pain.

"Try again; you can do better."

"My own words to Jarod coming back to haunt me," I thought. He waited. "I am beautiful because you and the Little One find me so."

He chuckled a bit. "We'll have to work on that one. Tell me how you are beautiful, Evan."

Silence. I felt the grip on my balls tightening.

I let my answer tumble out. "I am a storehouse of useful knowledge. I really care about people. I want to see them happy. I want to see them fulfilling their potential. I can help them be successful in some ways. I can help them self-activate. Certain parts of my body look okay."

"Sit up and stretch your right leg out." I did as he commanded. "See the muscles in your legs tighten, separate into bundles." He lightly used his fingertips to point out the features. "Look at this little depressions between the muscles. It makes my dick harder to see it and run my fingertips over it."

"Tell me how you know you are beautiful, Evan."

"I work hard at making those attributes firm, genuine, productive."

"Tell me you are worthy of my love, Evan."

"I can't. You have to tell me that."

"No, Evan. Until you say it, you will never believe it if I say it. I want you to mean it."

"I try to be worthy of your love, Master. Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h." A maelstrom of pain swam around me and through me. "I am worthy of the Lion's love."

"Give me your hand, Evan."

I placed my hand in his bigger, warm, strong hand.

"Give me your heart, Evan." Again, I was struck by the ritualistic nature of our interaction. It was as though I was taking an oath of fealty, vowing my love for him.

"You have had my heart ever since I first saw you, Master."

"Give me your love, Evan."

"It came with my heart, Master."

"Give me your ass, Evan," he chuckled.

"Uh, I think you've had that several times. I, on the other hand, have never had yours."

He chuckled. "It's possible, if you are worthy. If I conquer you, will you be truly, wholly mine, saving only the love you give the little One? No more controls. No more dodges. No more self-loathing. No more self-obsession?"

"Yes, to be best of my ability and strength."

He lifted me, depositing me beside him on the bed. Then he rolled over on me. Our hard cocks were side by side. He laced his fingers into mine, moving my hands above my head, tightly clasping his legs around mine. He kissed me deeply, soulfully, and I returned his kiss every bit as much. There followed the most intense love-making I have ever experienced. He was in charge, but it was clear that I was his focus. Our love- making was for me. He was drawing every bit of my power to himself and filling the empty spaces with pleasure and love.

Just before he slid his hard dick into me, he said, "I am vanquishing all the bad, Evan, by conquering you. You are mine now."

As he slid into me, I convulsed with an orgasm, shooting cum into the space between our stomachs. But he kept moving in me, kissing me, long-dicking me, then taking short strokes over my prostate. But he was enjoying himself too, for I could feel his accelerating heartbeat through my pecs. I could hear his breathing growing more rapid. I knew we were going to cum together. And with one, deep downward plunge into me, we both shouted our release.

I think we lay there 15 minutes. I slowly moved my hands over him, caressing him as he did the same.

"Why did I conquer you, Evan?"

"Because you love me."

"And why do I love you?"

"I don't honestly know."

"But you do believe I love you wholly and completely?"

"Yes, wholly and completely."

"Good. We can work on the other."

(To be continued.)