Teddy got to work late.
As he passed Mr. DaPonte's desk in the front office on his way to his cubicle, he saw Mr. DaPonte look at him. He didn't say anything, but he looked, and a rush of anxiety and then a flame of impotent fury rose in Teddy's gut and quickly sputtered into a burning pain of self-pity and resentment.
Was it even five minutes later that Gloria, smelling of her lavender powder, high heels clicking on the tiles lining the corridor outside the cubicles, looked in and, with no precedent good morning, said, you need to see Mr. DaPonte in the conference room at 11:45 this morning?
The statistics were late, the reports were badly organized, the information wasn't analyzed, his attitude often seemed lackadaisical, as if he were really some place else and not there.
Mr. DaPonte spoke slowly, making sure the traces of his southern drawl came through his crisp speech. He was a well-built, good-looking young man, in his late twenties, not very much older than Teddy. He had jet black hair, strong eyebrows and a sharp nose. He wore his hair short, slicked back with gel, but standing up, not flat; it gleamed in rows of thick strands.
He carried his suits well, like a model in a men's clothing magazine. His dark sideburns were cut low and square. When he smiled his whole personality gleamed, but he only smiled to confer approval, as a reward, hardly ever expressing his own open-hearted enjoyment. His eyes were cobalt blue, not the brown or green you would expect them to be. When he did not smile, which was most of the time, his expression was stern, forbidding, unnerving, suggesting that you'd be wise to reconsider something (it was up to you to figure out what) and shape up.
Across from Mr. DaPonte sat Teddy staring at his own bare hands resting on the conference table, so different from that man's long, strong fingers graced by several imposing rings. Head bent slightly, he nodded as his superior outlined his failings, wishing the ground might open beneath him and he might drop from sight, preferably falling into his own bed where all this would only be a dream from which he would soon wake into a world where he could find himself at ease, unthreatened, a different person from the one he was, someone more like Giovanni DaPonte and less like Teddy Blum.
There'd be a performance review in three months, not six, and the company needed to see real improvement or, well, that was pretty obvious. Meanwhile, Teddy would have to come in early every Tuesday morning to meet with him to see how he could improve his work performance. You might call it an informal probation he'd be on until the three-months review.
How does that sound? Mr. DaPonte asked, and Teddy understood how he was expected to respond, and answered, It ought to be helpful, inwardly resenting that an hour of his sleep was being taken from him willy-nilly so that this smug bastard could satisfy his need to assert his self-importance and his power.
I hope so, Mr. DaPonte said. I'm rooting for you. I want to see you succeed.
Teddy looked sheepish and didn't say anything.
Look, Teddy, Mr. DaPonte said, his voice softening and a tone of camaraderie and care entering into it, it seems to me you have some problems with concentration.
I try to pay attention to what I'm doing, but...
But?
But my mind keeps blanking out.
Inwardly DaPonte was pleased, but he didn't show it. The look on his face suggested he was skeptical. Teddy's palms were moist.
Do you sleep at night?
I sleep, said Teddy, his head swimming.
It's discipline, fella, Mr. DaPonte said with a wink, surprising in its intimacy. You lack discipline, discipline and self-control. It makes a world of difference when you can discipline yourself and accomplish the tasks you set yourself. It's a good feeling to be in control. I bet you're unfamiliar with it.
Teddy was silent. He was looking at the pale plum colored handkerchief in the breast pocket of Mr. DaPonte's charcoal gray suit.
Am I right? Mr. DaPonte's jaw was square and his voice quiet.
I don't know said Teddy.
I do, Mr. DaPonte said, and I want to do something about it. I said I want to see you succeed, and I meant it. If you work with me, you can.
But you'll have to give yourself to it. What do you think? More than just this job is riding on it, you know. It's your own sense of self-respect.
Teddy wasn't sure exactly what his boss was talking about or what was expected of him, but he understood that if he didn't agree, he'd be out of a job. In addition, Mr. DaPonte was exercising, as he always did, a subtle power over him. He was, he realized, afraid of this man; he felt small in comparison to him and was afraid of his disapproval. He shot a glance at the man's eyes, but lowered his immediately.
Mr. DaPonte continued. You know that the company is instituting some new policies to improve office morale and workplace discipline starting in the fall. Male employees will be required to wear jackets and ties, no more jeans, and a twice weekly workout in the gym will become mandatory for everyone.
I know, Teddy said.
Let's begin now.
He was being told, not asked. Teddy knew that.
Ok, he said, not quite sure of what they were going to begin.
Do you have any questions? Mr. DaPonte asked.
I don't think so, Teddy said because he was beyond even being able to know what he was supposed to be asking about.
Giovanni DaPonte knew that. That was good.
Tuesday morning at eight, and Mr. DaPonte put out his hand and Teddy had to shake it, embarrassed at the strength of the man's grip, and completely unable to meet his gaze.
Why don't you take your lunch now?
Ok, Teddy said.
All afternoon, Teddy was sleepy at his desk and kept having to pull himself out of the vortex of half-conscious images that swirled into his mind as he read the reports he was synopsizing for Mr. Farrell. Finally, however, he was finished. He saved the work onto disk, labeled the disk Mid-East Oil Resources and Logistics: Administration, and gave it to Gloria on his way out.
Doing anything special this weekend? Her tone was familiar rather than friendly.
Not particularly, he responded.
Always full of enthusiasm, she said.
2
Teddy's mother's apartment on the Upper West Side was larger than she needed, but she hadn't moved after she divorced his father and after he himself had moved out and gone to college.
As he set out for Waltham six years ago come September, Teddy knew in his heart, even then. He remembered the last night at home in that apartment, as he was packing the last things. Already there was in him the sinking feeling that it was vanity, that he would never amount to anything, that he was fatally flawed, fatally floored. If it had only been indifference! But it wasn't. It was desire that was the fatal flaw, a desire that burned hot and charred him, inside out, until there was only the coldness of ash that remained of him, nothing that could again be kindled. That was it. The warmth of liveliness could not come from him, was only a memory of what once was his. Now to feel a living warmth the warmth had to come from somewhere else. And why should anyone bring their fire to his frigidity?
His mother's chicken had been dry, the potatoes mealy, the brown betty soggy. She finished her cigarette. The sun was falling below the Hudson and the sky was ablaze.
I did resent you after that she said pulling a deep drag and exhaling slowly. Did you think I should be dead to the world just because I was your mother? I'd had enough of that, for years, first with your father, then worrying about you, being embarrassed by you. You made scenes, couldn't look people in the eye, didn't go out to play like the other boys. Always in the house, lost in a comic book or watching television. When you did go out, it was to go to the movies.
That's why you threw away my collection of Marvel comics.
That was not good reading for a growing boy.
They'd be worth a hell of a lot of money today if I still had them.
If you'd apply yourself and go on to law school as you'd planned, she retorted, you wouldn't have to talk about money all the time.
I don't ask you for any.
What makes you think I have it to give?
She looked at the clock.
Good gracious, she cried. Look at the time. Lou will be here in half an hour.
Lou?
Yeah, Lou. We're going dancing. Is that alright with you or do I need to get your permission first?
Don't start with me, Mother.
I shouldn't start! You can't even be polite when he's around.
Don't worry. I'll leave now. I won't be here when he gets here.
You resent that I should enjoy myself.
I resent being involved in this.
I wish you'd grow up already.
So do I.
Aren't you going to kiss me good-bye.
Good-bye mother, he said, complying.
Good-bye, Teddy. Call me during the week.
3
The office was closed Monday for Easter. Tuesday morning Teddy woke up early from fitful sleep, showered, shaved, but didn't get his cheeks, chin, or the skin on his jaw really smooth, took a vitamin, drank a cup of instant coffee and ate a raw muffin dipped in honey, standing up. Remembering he had to wear a jacket and tie, he rummaged through his closet for the only jacket he had, a beat up, olive corduroy. He wore a short sleeve white shirt and a brown paisley tie. Slacks were a problem. He usually wore dungarees, but he found a pair of khakis he figured would do. His gray Nikes were probably ok. It was warm enough to go without a coat. He combed his hair but it still looked unkempt. He was on the subway platform at seven fifteen and stood at Mr. DaPonte's desk at ten to eight.
Good morning, Ted. You're early. I'll be with you soon. Sit down.
Ok, Teddy grunted, a hint of resentment sounding in his voice.
Mr. DaPonte looked at him with what appeared to be a certain amount of disdain.
If we're going to do this right, he said, and get a good sense of self-discipline, he said, and self-respect, we're going to have to be more formal, more dignified, more respectful. Let's start with the way we address each other. "Teddy" isn't appropriate. It's Ted from now on. And as long as I'm mentoring you, you'll call me Sir
Sir? Teddy said.
Yes, Mr. DaPonte said. Sir.
Teddy didn't believe this nonsense was actually transpiring, but he felt trapped.
Sir, Teddy said making a face. He realized immediately he oughtn't have.
Are we serious or are you fucking with me? Mr. DaPonte said icily.
Teddy was jolted silent, hit by a chill of fear.
Look, guy, if you want to continue your employment with us, you have to be here. You're on probation. If you don't want to do this, you don't have to. I'll speak to personnel and they'll prepare the necessary termination papers.
I need this job, Teddy said.
Then face it, fella, you need this training, too. So, one more time. Are you seriously going to cooperate with me?
Teddy had lost the force to resist. Beaten and without irony he answered, I think so, Sir.
Better, Mr. DaPonte said. Now speak with decisiveness. It's yes or no, not I think so. Do you understand?
Yes, Sir, Ted answered.
Good, Mr. DaPonte said, becoming less threatening. Let's get down to business.
Yes, Sir.
I'm going to show you how to focus your attention and how to concentrate.
Mr. DaPonte stood up and shut the overhead light, and, since there were no windows in the conference room, even though the full light of morning was now flooding the air outside, it was entirely dark.
Shining the pin-point beam of a small, pen-shaped flashlight in Ted's eyes Mr. DaPonte said quite slowly, and deepening his southern drawl, Now Ted I want you to look at this point of light and as I wave it about in front of you I want you to concentrate on following the light with your eyes, without moving your head. Focus on the beam of light. Concentrate all your attention on following the path of the light as it waves back and forth, slowly back and forth.
Feel your eyes getting heavier. Feel how heavy your head is. It would be so easy to let your eyelids flutter and shut. But you don't want to. You want to discipline yourself. You are concentrating on resisting the pressure to shut your eyes.
Ted struggled to resist, and stiffened the muscles around his eyes until he succeeded, and his eyes became fixed, wide open with a glazed intensity.
4
Ted was scanning his computer screen searching through his e-mail at eight-forty-five with no memory that anything had happened earlier that morning beyond a meeting with Mr. DaPonte. It had left him feeling a lot better than he had expected to, primarily because he had gotten through it, criticisms and all.
The primary criticism Mr. DaPonte had made was about his physical appearance. He had resented being told, but he finally had to concede, even to himself, that Mr. DaPonte was right. He was lazy and it was beginning to show in his bearing. He didn't stand tall and proud in his body. He lacked firmness, strength, tone, dedication. He was soft. And that contributed to his inability to focus on his work and to his lack of concentration in general.
He had not wanted to face it because getting into the shape, getting the hard, lean muscled body he knew he wished he had seemed like such a far-fetched dream to him, so unlike his sense of himself, that he felt embarrassed. He covered up the embarrassment and the need to look for its cause by assuming defeat and saying it wasn't even worth trying. He gave up without a fight. He felt ashamed of that now. And as for the way he dressed it showed no respect for anyone else or for himself, either. Mr. DaPonte told him that, and he was right. He had no self-respect. And anyone could walk all over him. He wasn't anchored.
When Mr. DaPonte criticized the way he was dressed Ted objected that he had done what Mr. DaPonte had told him to do, wear a jacket and tie and not jeans, and he knew he was weaseling. Mr. DaPonte became angry, and Ted felt cold fear and a sticking pain in his shoulder. He knew he'd done the wrong thing. There was no excuse. He'd been disrespectful. He still felt pained when he thought about it now, and he felt embarrassed that he was dressed inappropriately. He stayed in his cubicle all day, burrowed in his work, trying not to be seen.
Almost in tears, but afraid to let his boss see him cry, he had apologized to Mr. DaPonte and promised it would not happen again. Mr. DaPonte was unbending, but ordered Ted to meet him after work at the gym where they would begin body training, and afterwards he told Ted he'd take him over to his place to see if they could find some appropriate clothes for him to wear to the office.
5
Giovanni pulled down his black speedo and pushed the boy's face to his crotch. He was broad shouldered and muscle powerful under his high fashion suits.
Do you know what you are?
No, Sir, Ted answered, but it sounded like begging.
You worship cock. You're a cock worshipper. What are you?
I'm a cock worshipper, Sir.
Whose cock do you worship?
I worship your cock, Sir.
Giovanni was pleased to hear complete obedience in the voice. His power excited him and his cock stood hard in front of him.
Gently on command Ted closed his lips around his superior's cock and began to ride up and down on it with his mouth taking it all the way to the back of his throat. His glazed eyes were closed.
Giovanni saw the boy's broad, square, naked shoulders and his trim body. He'd have no trouble fashioning this one into iron in a matter of months. He felt the pride of ownership, the exhilaration of mastery and the power of his cock.
He slept with Ted that night and in the morning sent him to work properly groomed and attired and without any memory of not having slept at home.
6
I am pleased with you, Ted, Mr. DaPonte said, giving him his interim evaluation report to sign.
Thank you, Sir, Ted responded, with an imperceptible bow.
Your performance is greatly improved. Mr. Farrell was impressed with the quality of your report on natural resources in the Fertile Crescent. The information you gathered is going to be very useful to us. You know that, but I'm glad to tell it to you. I can also see a great improvement in your concentration and in your ability to apply yourself to what you have to do.
You've gotten addicted to being obedient, and it's become a craving for you. Congratulations! It shows in your work. And your physical appearance has greatly improved; so have your pride and self-possession.
Thank you, Sir, Ted said.
Indeed he was a different man. He stood square and straight in front of Mr. DaPonte's desk, almost like a soldier at attention, but easily, while his supervisor sat in the rich leather swivel chair behind it.
Ted was wearing a three button, worsted Armani suit Mr. DaPonte had taken from his closet that night and given to him to wear.
It was a pale brown with a blue-gray chalk stripe. The trousers fit tight but flowed gracefully to their cuffs. His shoes were teak colored wing tips. His tie was a royal blue and copper brocade with dials and flowering paisleys swirling against a field of satin, navy blue. The knot was a tight Windsor. There was a silk khaki colored breast pocket handkerchief, too, to match his shirt and socks. He wore an unobtrusive pewter ring on his left pinky and a band of titanium threaded with jade on his right index finger. His hair was cut short and combed like a junior executive's. He had lost a few pounds and stood lithe and loose. His chin and cheek bones had become prominent and his jaw more set. His lips were broad and full, and the bend of his nose kept your eyes riveted to his face.
But you still have quite a way to go before I can say I'm satisfied with you.
Yes, Sir.
You want me to be satisfied with you, don't you, Ted?
Yes, Sir, I do.
Good, Ted. You were made to obey.
Upon hearing his trigger phrase, which Mr. DaPonte had implanted during the first session and had used in the many training sessions in pride and servitude since, Ted went deeply into trance.
Ted, we're going to advance to the next stage in your training. Tell me, what are your feelings about me?
I admire you, Sir.
Why?
Because you are powerful, Sir.
What else do you feel?
Ted was silent.
I am attracted to you, Sir.
Why, Ted?
I don't know, Sir. Perhaps because you are my superior, Sir.
What else do you feel?
I am afraid of you, Sir.
Why, Ted?
I just am, Sir.
Can you hear me, Ted?
Yes, Sir.
You will continue to admire me, only your admiration will grow stronger. You will continue to be attracted to me, only the attraction will become stronger. It will be full of desire and longing which you will not be able to satisfy. You will continue to be afraid of me, only the fear will be greater.
You will think of me all the time and daydream about being my slave, serving me and submitting to me.
You want me to be your master. It excites you to realize I own you.
You will fantasize about obeying me without thought. You will be afraid not to because I can cause you pain. You cannot resist me or avoid me.
Become aware of your shoulder, your right shoulder, Ted. Now begin to feel the pain at the center of your shoulder emanating from the very bone itself. It is an agonizing scream of pain locked in your bones.
Ted writhed in sudden agony.
That is your punishment when ever I choose to administer it. I will administer it or another punishment just as strong whenever I am displeased with you or whenever I choose to discipline you. I have this power because I own you. When I tell you what to do, you must obey. You have no choice because my choice is your choice. My will is your will. Your only desire is to please me. It is not about you. You don't matter. I do. Do you understand?
Yes, Sir, Ted gasped in pain as the incessant stabbing tail of pain beat in his shoulder and threatened to take complete possession of him.
I can stop the pain, Ted. Do you want me to stop the pain?
Yes, Sir, Ted cried. Please, Sir. I do, Sir.
But I won't stop the pain. Not now. It feels even worse now, doesn't it?
Yes, Sir, it does.
Thank me for causing you pain.
Thank you for causing me pain, Sir.
And even while you are suffering from pain I am casually inflicting, you still are my slave and must obey me and, in fact, long to please me. Is that not so, Ted?
Yes, Sir, Ted responded.
It pleases me that you are in pain. It pleases me that my power is that great over you, that I can dominate you so completely, to the point of making you favor my desire over your own. You know that is true, that you have surrendered yourself to me. I want you to feel this pain, Ted. What do you want.
I ...want...to feel...this pain...Sir.
Ask me to make the pain stronger.
Please...Sir...make the pain stronger.
Ted writhed as his shoulder burned and stung as if a pincher were clipping his nerves.
Are you angry with me for causing you pain?
Ted could not reply.
You must answer me, Ted.
I wish you wouldn't, Sir. I wish you would stop.
But I won't stop, Ted. Does that get you angry at me?
No, Sir. I dare not be angry at you, Sir. I am afraid to be angry at you, Sir. Whatever you wish, Sir, must be. He gasped as a spurt of pain inside the pain jolted through his shoulder.
I want what you desire.
Do you desire your own pain, then, Ted?
Yes, Sir.
Say it.
I desire pain, Sir
Unbuckle your belt and take off your shoes and your trousers.
Ted obeyed.
Down on your knees.
Ted obeyed.
Mr. DaPonte made sure the conference room door was locked, removed his suit jacket, his shirt and undershirt.
Look at me, he commanded.
Ted, still on his knees raised his head in obedience.
Mr. DaPonte approached. Take off the rest of my clothes.
Still on his knees, and though the pain in his shoulder made movement intolerable, and the kneeling position strained his calves and thighs, Ted obeyed, untying his shoe laces, undoing his belt, removing his trousers.
His master stood naked before him, more powerful than ever he had appeared in his power suits, tight, hard, solid, with muscles like rocks. His cock was a bar of steel.
With great solemnity Ted took hold of it and put his lips around his master's holy cock and despite the pain stomping in his shoulder, his own cock, too, was rock and his throat pulsated like a cunt; he sucked slowly, his eyes closed, lost in adoration.
Rub your own as you suck, Ted. You will remain at the edge of cumming, stay at the verge of cumming without being able to come but only getting more frenzied.
Ted was writhing in a paroxysm of pain and pleasure, which gripped each other so furiously that it became impossible to distinguish them from each other.
He was pulsing with the energy of two cocks. There was his master's cock in his mouth and his own cock, rigid, a blood-filled and rich-veined branch straining with sap to bursting. The whiplash of orgasm transported him to the glowing golden spiral nebulae and his skin split him inside out
7
Afterwards he slowly became aware again of the intensity of his pain.
Mr. DaPonte stroked his head as if he were a prize borzoi.
You are beginning to notice that the intensity of pain is decreasing, he said slowly. The sensation of pain is blurring. The pain is gone.
And it was.
Ted knew that what he had feared had happened and he was thrilled and terrified; he had been entirely enslaved, physically, sexually, intellectually, and emotionally; he was to be defined entirely by this bondage from now on, and his will lay entirely in submission; his master's will was his own; it was that that had penetrated him; and this bondage was liberation. The enormity of his master's power, the force of his mastery, the immensity of his own devotion and the irreversibility of his own surrender made him swoon. And he awoke in front of his computer screen, fully dressed, back in his cubicle, to the sensation of Mr. DaPonte kissing him on the mouth.
8
No, I'm not...I have a date...it's not a her. His name is Giovanni....You always knew it, mother....It's my life....I know that's trite. But it's also the way it is....Work's been going very well. I got a promotion and a raise....Forty seven....I'm not sure. I may be going away for the week with Giovanni....Don't put labels. It is what it is....Because when you define it you take it away from me....Yes, you have. More than once....I'm not going to get into this trap. Anyhow I have to go....You know it is about time you grew up, mother....Yes, yes. Good-bye. Yes, I will. I'll try to, but don't pin me down. Ciao.
9
Teddy looked out the window of Giovanni DaPonte's penthouse apartment on Riverside Drive at the blazing sun dropping behind the Hudson River. The evening air was cool and September brought with it a hint of the oncoming autumn. He wore a tight-fitting snow white wife-beater over a chest Michelangelo would carve and a pair of tight jeans through which, at the crotch, the outline of a proud cock alive with its hunger could be seen. He wore a small silver band through his left ear lobe and a wide silver band around his neck. He was barefoot and there was a silver ring on the first toe of his right foot. His arms were long, tapered, and muscled.
Malcolm Farrell and Ben will be over in about twenty-five minutes, Teddy, Giovanni called from the shower. Got everything ready?
Yes, Sir, Teddy called back sharply, a soldier answering his commander.
When Teddy answered the door Malcolm Farrell gave him a greeting kiss all the way to the back of his throat as he pinched his nipples and finished him off with a slap on the rear. Ben and Teddy looked shyly at each other and gave each other delicate kisses on the cheeks, secretly feeling the hardness of each other's chests. A powerful unspoken bond had grown up between the two of them because they felt an excitement for each other whenever they had met that they both knew they were not free to express or even acknowledge unless it served their masters' pleasure.
Malcolm was older than Giovanni, probably in his forties with a dismissive and commanding attitude, a hypnotic voice of great gentleness that suggested an iron will that no one would wish to defy.
Ben was his own age, in his early twenties, slightly taller than him with green eyes and blonde hair. He had a rugged athletic build and moved with the grace of a panther. He was dressed in the same uniform as Teddy except for the black leather jacket that hung open and motorcycle boots.
They sat on the terrace as the moon rose picking at canapés and strudel, talking, drinking champagne from fluted crystal and smoking marijuana from a tall, intricately wrought jade and copper hookah Giovanni's father had brought back from Katmandu in the mid 1960s.
He was dodging the draft, Giovanni said.
A Conscientious Objector, Malcolm chuckled.
Actually, Giovanni said, it wasn't that formal. He said he simply had no taste for the army and that jail seemed even worse. Either way, he said it was a crime against nature for a young man to go to war or to jail when he was, according to him, directed by nature to be fucking, traveling, meditating, and just being free to taste the whole world.
How did he make money, Joe?
He did a million things, carpentry, brick laying, waiting on tables, hustling.
He told you that?
That and a lot more.
And then his book.
Yup. You see the fruit of it even in this penthouse, and that's where the start up capital for Universal Information Systems came from. He knew how to touch a nerve.
Did he practice?
Hypnosis?
Yeah.
He didn't need to.
He believed in love instead.
You're right, he did.
Those were funny times. People tried to deny that love is about power. They tried to think of them as two separate things. They're not. Love is the response people have to power.
Giovanni smiled as if he knew better but wasn't interested in pushing a point.
What about our business, Mal?
It's all done, Joey. He's yours. Malcolm Farrell snapped his fingers and Ben stood to attention.
Ben, as you are mine I can do with you as I wish. I am giving you to Mr. DaPonte. He is your master now. He owns you and you are his slave and you will serve him exclusively. As a sign of which, we perform this enslavement ceremony. Take off your jacket.
The boy removed his jacket and revealed a well muscled physique, a carved chest, stiff nipples pressing against the cotton of the wife beater that clung to him. It was cut short and exposed the rippled muscles of his abdomen.
Take off your shirt, Ben.
Slowly the boy pulled it over his head.
Teddy watched in awe, wishing he were Ben and wishing also to run his tongue along Ben's torso and flick it over his hard nipples, press his own against Ben's magnificent chest and lock his mouth upon his until their breaths became one and indistinguishable.
Ben stood at attention, stripped to the waist. Then Giovanni inserted a silver ring into his already pierced left nipple, just like the one Teddy had, and gently brought Ben's lips to his and with a long and gentle kiss made the boy swoon in his arms. He backed him away and said, Now you are my slave to do with as I wish. I own you.
Ben bowed his head and lifted it. Yes, Master, he said.
Turning to Teddy then, he said, indicating the jade threaded titanium ring, Give me the ring.
Knowing something terrible was happening, but with no will to resist, Ted removed the ring from his finger and handed it to his master with a dip of obeisance.
Handing it back to Teddy, Giovanni DaPonte said, Now put it on Ben's finger and bow to him.
After he had done so, his master addressed him again with a coldness that was unfamiliar to him, You will sleep in the maid's room.
Teddy felt an icy metal bar turning in his gut.
What are you waiting for? his master said.
Am I...have I...? he stammered.
Since when, his master cut him off, do you discuss an order? Time is running out, mister. And without saying another word, he pointed to the steps.
Like a whipped cur, Teddy turned and left the room and slowly -- with each step wishing to turn back and beg for something he couldn't find the words to say -- he climbed the stairs until he came to the tiny servant's room with the iron bedstead and the small dormer window that looked out onto the dirty brick walls of a narrow air shaft. His cock, despite the constraint of his jeans, was as hard as concrete, and as insensate. His eyes were open, dazed, glazed, immobile, uncomprehending.
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