Like many old institutions, Dunstun College was founded on a plot of land adjoining a lovely neighborhood of professionals and well-to-do retired folk. Unfortunately, times have changed and as the city grew, Dunstun found itself on the border of a depressed and dangerous part of town. In fact, students are cautioned never to go walking around off campus alone at night, and preferably not at all. It was necessary several years ago to fortify the college's boundaries with high fencing and its gates are locked after dark and patrolled by security officers. It's become a quasi medieval fortress. It they could have, the Trustees probably would have voted to put a moat around it; that had even been jokingly suggested even though zoning laws obviously would have forbidden it.
Q, cold, frightened, and distraught, responds to the driver's kind voice and gets into the car with him. This could have ended badly, to be sure, but the boy's better angels were obviously looking out for him. His host turns out to be a middle-aged man with black hair gradually turning silver, who, as it turns out, happens to be n Dunstun alumnus on his way home from a meeting with college officials that had run far too late. When he saw Q stumbling along, obviously upset and clearly underdressed yet collared, his immediate impulse was that the collar was not merely what they're calling "a fashion statement" but most likely a slave collar—otherwise, the kid probably would have cast it off had he been able. No. The collar is locked, he suspects. That means only the boy's Master would be able to remove it.
He was aware of this because one of the deans had been talking about how there are a growing number of gay men on campus getting involved with what he called "Dom/sub and Master/slave shenanigans," obviously not pleased with what's going on the past couple years and getting more popular for some reason he could neither understand nor appreciate.
Adrian Weeks knows better; He knows the score. He dabbles in the Scene himself from time to time. He's been to the Inferno; knows it well. He's seen neophyte sub boys bewildered, unsure whether or not to cross a line and what the consequences might be. He sees the same look on the boy's face now.
(Author's note: How convenient is this? Pardon the Deus-ex-machina, if you know what I mean, but I had no intention whatsoever to let the boy be harmed by some nefarious character and then have to figure out how to come up with an exciting rescue! It's bad enough that Q will have to face the consequences of his outburst and foolish escape into the dankest part of the city when he finally faces Craig, who's back in the dorm right now growing increasingly frantic because the boy's been acting out irrationally and hasn't come home yet and it's after 10.)
Coincidentally enough (!!!!!), Adrian had heard that this is the first time a freshman had gotten so deeply involved in the whole scene that he's become the youngest of the "slaves" known to the administration because Larry shared the information with them.
Adrian suspects right away that this must be the boy they were talking about. How did he end up all the way over here and how did he manage to lose his jacket? So anyway, he called the boy and tried to invite him into the car in the least threatening voice he could use and fortunately, the poor kid didn't run away but accepted his invitation.
Adrian was right; it is nice and warm in the car. Q didn't realize how much he was shivering until Adrian closes the window to stop the cold from coming into the car. He turns up the heat. He wants to rub the boy's shoulders and arms but doesn't want the frightened kid to think he's making any moves on him. So instead, he does what he does best. He speaks softly, trying to comfort the trembling confused boy—holy God, he's just a child!
"I was on my way home from a meeting with Dean Wainwright. Someone mentioned that some of those silly dog collars the boys have been sporting lately were something else all together. Slave collars, said the Dean, contemptuously. And then what do I see? An obviously distressed lad sans coat making his way down the street in the most squalid part of town sporting a collar he's been unable to remove. It must be locked, I concluded, and that means the poor shivering boy must be running from someone or something that's frightened him. Am I mistaken, son? And what am I to call you?"
"Q, Sir. Just Q. That's what they call me. And yes, to what you said. All of it."
"Well then, Q, I'll just make my way back to campus by a roundabout way so you have time to calm down and get ready to return to whomever you belong to. I dare say that someone must be very worried about you. Terrible things might have happened to you out here."
Q sighs and tears fill his eyes. "I've been very foolish, Sir. Stupid. I'm going to catch hell for it," he mumbles.
"We can all be foolish when we find ourselves in a hell of our own making, Q. I dare say that the hell you might catch is no worse than the hell you were in when I saw you there on the street."
Q nods his head. Time passes, then he says "I deserve whatever he'll do to me."
"I may be wrong, Q, but perhaps he'll be so relieved that you're safe that he'll be willing to overlook any foolishness. After all, you're wearing his collar, whoever he is. That means there is someone you've trusted to take care of you, so much so, that, well, you're . . . "
"...his slave, Sir. Yes I do trust him." All of a sudden, Q realizes that he forgot how much he loves Craig, how much Craig loves him. "oh, dammit! I'm such a stupid idiot. I panicked over something dumb."
"Well it didn't seem dumb if it caused you to flee into the night, Q. Besides, this man who collared you did so because you obviously need collaring. That means you need direction, not only discipline, I might add. Listen, Q: I'm no stranger to Alphas and Doms and Masters and the boys they "take under their wing," so to speak. Boys like you who are actually quite courageous."
"Courageous? I'm a fucking coward!" Q slaps his own face because of his language.
"Cowards can only play games, Q. Cowards go after cheap thrills without having to pay the price the way you have. Cowards could never do whatever you've been doing. Cowards are never honest with themselves. Cowards don't get collared."
"I really messed up, Sir."
"You're allowed, Q. Don't forget this: Boys like you make mistakes. Boys like you aren't perfect. Boys like you mess thing up. Boys like you don't have to have all the answers. Boys like you don't have to clean everything up on their own. That's why you have a Master. That's why you've been collared. That's why you knew you needed to be a slave to someone who is much better at cleaning things up than you could ever be yourself."
Silence again. Q reaches up and wipes the tears from his face.
"You are very wise, Sir. I'm lucky that you're the one who found me."
"Yes, indeed, Q. Things could have turned out terribly for you tonight. But all that is past now. You're safe, and I'm sure you will be when you're ready to go back to the one you ran from. You have to trust that he'll know the right thing to do. After all, that's why you're wearing his collar, isn't it? In the last analysis, it's all about trust, Q."
"And love, Sir. He loves me so much!" Fresh tears flow.
"Well, my boy, I think it's time to bring you back where you belong." says Adrian. Soon he's at the main entrance to campus. He shows his ID to the guard who opens the gate. "Where should I drop you off? Where do you belong, Q?"
Q chuckles. "that's what I'm finding out. Where I belong. Freshman dorm, Sir, please?"
Adrian pulls up to the dorm entrance. "My name is Adrian Weeks. I'm on the alumni council. Drop me a note, please, once things are settled for you. I'd appreciate hearing from you, or from your Master if he prefers."
"Yes, Mr. Weeks. I promise. thank you for rescuing me. Thank you for saving me."
Adrian holds out a hand for Q to shake. Instead, however, Q leans over and kisses it before getting out of the car and heading back into the dorm. Back to where he belongs.
. . . . .
Q's pulse is racing as he clicks in his code to unlock their door. All the lights are on. Craig is on the phone but almost drops it when Q comes through the door.
"He's back. Gotta go, Larry," he says and throws his phone on his bed as he jumps up and grabs Q into his arms.
"What the fuck? Are you okay? what happened to you?" Craig is almost in tears as he runs his hands up and down Q's arms trying to warm him up. "I was so fucking worried. Should never have left you alone in Larry's office. Stupid, stupid, stupid."
"Stupid me, stupid me, stupid me," confesses Q. "Freaked out and couldn't think right. Forgot what I am. Ran away. Sorry, so sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."
He won't stop saying it. "I get it, I hear ya! Shut up!!!!!" Craig brings him up short. "Me and Larry were going to go out looking for you. Everyone here was asked to look out for you. Some fucking asshole called me and told me that they know what they'll do to you if they find `the faggot' themselves. Security got involved. So much shit. All I care about is you're back. Not hurt."
Q's face is covered with tears as he kicks off his boots and starts to strip.
"Wait," says Craig. "You don't have to. Let's just talk."
"Need to," says Q through his tears. As soon as he's naked he throws himself down on the floor at Craig's feet and hugs his legs while kissing his sneakers. "Need to."
Craig looks down at this boy he loves so much, this needy, needy, naughty, naughty boy. "Well then you need to get my sneaks and socks off and show me what you need, faggot." He hopes this is the best way to act right now, considering.
Q unties Craig's laces—Craig always insists on this--- and pulls off shoes and socks all at once. Buries his mouth in the sole of Craig's right foot.
"There you go, baby," Craig practically coos, "you know what you need to do, boy. Show me." Amazing, he thinks, how needy Q is that this is the way he gets himself calmed down again after all the turmoil he must have been going through. "Glad to see you know your place. Get the toes, motherfucker." A little bit of anger comes through this time.
Q frantically eats Craig's feet, feeling more rooted. Craig raises one foot, and Q is lifted until he's kneeling up, keeping his eyes lowered, afraid to look at Craig, afraid how angry he must be. But instead, Craig just lightly slaps the boy's face then leans forward to kiss his forehead. Craig is the parent now and Q is the boy. Bad boy. "What do I have to do, dammit, what will it take for you to learn how to trust me?" He slaps Q's face harder. "Look at me."
Craig holds both the boys cheeks in his hands. "You used your safeword—no, safe words!! You called yellow and then RED---first time you ever called RED. What did you think I'd do? Ignore it? That I'd get pissed off because you were so scared you used RED? Didn't it ever occur to you that I would do everything you needed, or even nothing at all if that's what you needed? It didn't matter what. You were really desperate, and you let me know. I just gave you space so you could do whatever you needed to. I TRUSTED YOU that you'd come back to our room after all that. But you fucking bolted, Q? Really? Did I somehow become some sort of freaking monster? Did you forget that I fucking LOVE YOU?!!!"
Craig was struggling to keep his anger in check. He promised himself that he would do nothing to frighten the boy if he did in fact manage to show up. He's determined to keep his promise, but he needed to say what he just said.
Q is crying loudly now. He leans over and before Craig realizes what he's trying to do he manages to drape himself over Craig's knees like he's going to get spanked. Craig is almost afraid to touch him. Gingerly, he lays both hands on Q's backside. "need to, need to, sorry, Master, so sorry, please?"
"Is that what you need, baby. Do you need a spanking?"
"Please, Craig, please?"
Craig doesn't move for a while. All that is heard is the sound of the weeping slaveboy, waiting, waiting, needing so much.
"Baby, if I spank you now, it's really gonna hurt. I'm not in the mood to spare you. You sure?
"Please, Master, please. Spank me good and hard."
Craig knows he'll not be able to handle spanking his slave's ass with his bare hands right now. "Go open my bottom drawer. There's a strap in it. I got it for a special occasion. Get it and bring it to me."
I roll off his knees and crawl to the dresser. I pull the drawer open. There it is. Black, thick, about 18 inches long with a carved wooden handle on one end. I take it out of the drawer; rub it with my face. Oh my. This is serious. Craig got it because he knew he'd eventually need to use it on me.
This is something that only gets used on a slave. It has no other purpose than to punish a slaveboy. It's designed to hurt, to get a message across that a slave hasn't been able to learn any other way. It says more to me about what's happening between us than either of us can say out loud. This draws a line that I realize I'm willing to cross. It's time. All the other stuff I was getting all bent out of shape about, about how Larry changed my program to something meant to educate a slave, about what Craig has decided about our relationship, about who I'm in the process of becoming, about how limited my freedom is now, about what they're stripping from me, about how my life is about submission now, not self-determination, all of it.
I fought it like a toddler having a temper tantrum, I wanted to shake it all off the same way I tried to shake off the cage around my dick. My resisting the inevitable was futile, foolish, foolhardy and dangerous. That boy I gave my jacket to, the one selling his body so he could get something to eat, he was showing me what my future would be like if I refuse to accept what's been offered to me, if I forget every good thing that's happened between Craig and me since we met back in August, if I deny his love for me and try to obliterate my love for him.
The strap represents the alternative. The strap represents a way of life that both frightens me and draws me in. The strap will help me face reality. My reality as the slave I'm meant to be. Craig's slave. The strap will guide me. The strap will break me of my own stubborn stupidity for once and for all. The strap will set me free from the type of pride that someone like me cannot afford to indulge.
I could still back away from this, I think. But could I? No. I want everything it represents. Larry was right: I do get to create my own universe. I do have a choice.
I want to live in the universe where I am Craig's slave, the universe where Craig will punish me because it's the only way I can ever discover my own identity. It will hurt. A lot. But Craig will be here to help me bear it. Craig will be here to make sure I thrive because of it. Craig is here to make sure I learn my lessons well.
I get up off the floor and close the drawer. I walk over to Craig with the strap in both my hands. I look into his eyes and see nothing there but love and determination. I kneel again. I put the strap into his hands and bow my head in total submission.
He takes the strap and lays it across his lap. "Go take a shower. I'll whip you wet right there in the bathroom. The sound won't carry as much there as it would here. Steven will hold you down while I swing the strap at your ass. Larry will film it. I'll want others to see it, when I need someone to understand what you are, so there will be no doubt about you any longer, and so you'll have no doubt about what you are any longer."
Ulp!
SO MUCH FOR THIS CHAPTER
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