Gilliflowers (20 page)

I managed to say a respectful, “yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” He stripped off my top wiping my wet snotty face with it before dropping it on the floor to join my jeans and pants, leaving me standing in my skin and socks. Slipping off his shirt he then slipped it on me and buttoned it, neatly folding back the over long sleeves. “You’ll be more comfortable in something loose, there’s no need to change for dinner.”

He left without offering a kiss or cuddle, but his shirt comforted me, embracing me from shoulders to mid thigh, smelling of his cologne and deodorant with a hint of musky body odour, which made the trouser pup come out from his hiding place and stretch a little.

I gathered up my clothing to put in the laundry basket, whimpering a little as the movement jarred my painfully throbbing bottom. It was so hot I wouldn’t have been surprised if the shirttail ignited. I rinsed my face at the kitchen sink and then got on with making dinner.

I was mashing potatoes when Dick came into the kitchen. He’d showered and changed. He looked good and he smelt good. He gave me a gentle, sympathetic smile.

“How’s my Gilli?”

It was impossible not to respond. “I’m sorry for being such a shit. Thank you for the flowers. Shane’s right. I don’t deserve them.”

He came over to me. Pushing aside the pan of potatoes he took my arms and wrapped them firmly about his waist and then locked his long arms around me and ordered me to hug. I hugged and then laid my head against his chest, sighing miserably. “It’s hard, Dick.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry, it’s just you look so adorably sexy in Daddy’s shirt I can’t help myself.”

Tipping back my head I glared at him and said he knew fine well what I meant.

He gave me a little kiss and apologised for teasing. “Listen, hun. I know from experience how difficult it can be to submit to a decision you
really
don’t want to submit to. Being the submissive partner isn’t easy, especially outside of the bedroom.

You were warned right from the start that the slap wouldn’t always be foreplay and twinned with a sexy tickle.”

“I mustn’t be a natural submissive, Dick. If I was I wouldn’t be finding this punishment so hard to accept and deal with.”

Dick gave a little laugh. “I’m not sure what you mean by a natural submissive or if there is such a thing. It suggests a person rolling belly up at the drop of an order from anyone, which to my mind isn’t natural. The desire to submit to an authoritarian figure during a play scene is one thing, Gil, but the reality of doing it 24/7 is quite another. It takes a lot of grit, commitment and strength to permanently relinquish aspects of freewill. As you’ve discovered, it isn’t always easy or comfortable.

Sometimes you just want to quit the whole damn thing and get yourself a regular boyfriend instead of a Daddy with a cane in his cupboard.”

“Did you struggle, Dick, when you were younger?”

“Of course I did. When Shane and I decided we wanted a discipline lifestyle rather than a series of scenes I thought it would be one big libido fun house. When we played he would push my limits and be as fucking mean as he could be. I’d take it and love it. When it came to everyday life things were far different. Having to bend to his will then was difficult, because the sexual component was absent. There were times I could cheerfully have poleaxed him.”

“I know what you mean. And you only have one Daddy bossing you about. I’ve got two.”

“Poor baby,” he teased and then sobered. “Thing is, Gilli, you enjoy having someone in charge of you, you need it, even if you don’t like how it’s panning out at the moment. It might help you cope better if you view our decision more as protection than punishment. Your mulish refusal to acknowledge your seizures worries us to death.”

“Sorry, Dick, it doesn’t help and,” I felt obliged to point out, “I don’t have seizures. I have small episodes of no importance.”

“No.” He spoke firmly. “Television soaps have small episodes of no importance.

You have seizures, and they have the potential to be serious.”

“I’d better get on with making dinner.” I tried to pull away from him, but he held me fast.

“You’re demoralising yourself by looking at the big picture instead of breaking it down into manageable day-by-day portions. It’s not like you have a drink every single day and you’ve had periods before of not being allowed alcohol privileges.”

“A few days, Dick, or a week or two, not six months and potentially more.”

“All you have to do is deal with it one day at a time, okay?”

“Okay.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“Because I’m not.”

“Then get convinced, honey.” He kissed the top of my head.

“Let the boy get on with his job, Dick.” Shane reappeared.

Dick gave me a final hug and released me, going into the dining room with Shane, while I finished off in the kitchen.

Dinner was a quiet affair. With my backside hurting I found it virtually impossible to sit still and kept shifting in an effort to find a comfortable position. Shane took pity on me when I leaned my forearms on the table and lifted my bottom to try and give it a few moments respite from being sat on. He asked if I’d had enough to eat and when I nodded he said, “get off to bed then. Dick and I will clear up this evening.”

I was grateful. Lying on my stomach in bed would be preferable to sitting on anything.

As Shane took delivery of my goodnight kiss he quietly told me not to take his shirt off, as it pleased him to see me in it. I felt an inordinate surge of pleasure at his words, pleased to have pleased him.

He came upstairs a little later on, as I knew he would. Sex was unadorned, a strictly no frills event. At his command I bent over the bed with my legs apart. He lifted the shirt up around my waist, easing lube-slicked fingers into my back passage, preparing me for his cock. He fucked me with slow and gentle precision so as not to cause further discomfort to my tender buttocks by banging his pelvis against them.

Only when his orgasm approached did he pick up speed, thrusting deeper, but even then his movements were controlled and didn’t inordinately jar me.

Afterwards he wiped the leakage from my bottom with the shirttail and told me to get back into bed. The fucking had aroused me. I was still sporting an erection like Cleopatra’s Needle, but was refused permission to relieve it. He went off to clean and I lay there trying desperately to think of anything other than the desire to touch my cock and jerk myself off.

After washing he returned to the bedroom and switched the TV set on, getting into bed with me. I gave him a pleading look, which he answered with a shake of his head.

Drawing me against his side he told me to be a good boy and go to sleep for Daddy.

I had to accept my sexual needs were not going to be served on this occasion. Sex had been for his pleasure and his alone, serving to back up his dominance. My emotional needs were better met. I experienced pure pleasure in his proximity and a kind of erotic comfort from the discomfort of his semen-dampened shirt touching my sore behind. It relayed images to my mind’s eye of him fucking me as I bent over the bed.

Before falling asleep I told him I loved him. He acknowledged my words by briefly tightening his embrace and murmuring, “thank you, my darling.”

I was more than compensated for my sexual deprivation next morning when he and Dick worked together to expertly pleasure me. I was a happy houseboy again and set about my duties with a lighter heart. Dick was right. When taken one day at a time the restriction wasn’t earth shattering. In fact it was irrelevant…until the weekend following Easter when I experienced aftershocks and some fallout from the ban.

The Sunday after the Easter weekend brought a complete change in the weather.

Winter finally yielded leaving spring triumphant. Snow and ice were replaced with balmy sunshine and a mellow breeze, prompting the daffs in the garden to do a Wordsworth dance and shake their booty. It was gorgeous.

Shane invited Leo to lunch with us. He duly arrived bringing a couple of bottles of wine with him, as he frequently does. Leo knows wine and he doesn’t spare any cost.

His vino isn’t picked from the three bottles for a tenner range in Asda. It’s top-notch stuff with a pedigree to match Dick’s. If it could speak it would sound like the Queen and demand you bow before drinking it. I knew the Brunello di Montalcino he’d brought on this occasion would be delicious.

I took the bottles from him, examining the labels. I was looking forward to sampling a luscious glass or two when it dawned on me. I couldn’t have so much as a thimbleful. The alcohol restriction hadn’t bothered me all week. The men folk had a glass of red or white with their dinner and I had water or fruit juice. It wasn’t a problem. Sunday was different.

Sunday lunch is an event. I’m paramount in bringing it into being by preparing, cooking and serving it. It can be hard work, especially when we have guests, but I don’t usually mind because I get to enjoy the fruits of my labour when I sit down at the table with everyone else. Only I would now be excluded from full participation in all the delights of the event.

I would have to drink plain old aitch two oh, while everyone else drank fine wine.

There was a threat I might never get to drink wine again, not even cheap wine from a bargain bin. Suddenly the restriction was very relevant again and boy did this boy resent it. My face must have fallen faster and harder than a bag of hammers down a mineshaft when Leo handed over the wine and it clicked I couldn’t partake, because Shane followed me into the kitchen.

He got straight to the point. “It’s no good fretting, Gilli. It’s tough, but you’re going to handle it. Think of this as a test hurdle to be gotten over.”

“One small glass won’t do any harm, Shane, just a taste.” I put the bottles on the table.

“If you so much as lick the end of a cork I’ll consider you to be in serious breach of discipline and I’ll deal with you severely. Is that clear, boy?”

I responded with a prompt, “yes, Daddy.” My backside had ached miserably for several days after the pasta paddling and I had no desire to put it through another ordeal.

Shane nodded approval and went to join Leo and Dick in the lounge. I finished making lunch and put it into serving dishes, which I set out on the dining room table along with a bottle of the wine. It smelled heavenly as I uncorked it. I called everyone in to eat.

Leo took charge of the wine, pouring Shane and then Dick a glass before pouring himself one and setting the bottle down. He made no attempt to offer me a glass. I guessed he’d been briefed on my zero alcohol status. I expected him to comment, but he didn’t. He’d probably been warned it was a sensitive subject for the houseboy and advised to steer clear.

Dick caught my eye and gave me a sweet little wink and smile in an effort to lend support and cheer me up. I gave him a small smile in return. Lunch was consumed.

Leo was complimented on the wine and I was complimented on the food. I’d have liked to add my compliments to the wine ones, but chance would be a fine thing.

Shane and Leo went through to the lounge to wait for coffee to be served. Dick helped me clear the table, carrying plates and dishes into the kitchen. It seemed a good opportunity to broach the subject of the ban again. He wasn’t pleased, reminding me it wasn’t up for discussion. It was done and I had to accept it like a man instead of whining. He offered to help wash up, but I declined, made huffy by his strict stance.

He went off to join Shane and Leo. I washed up and then made a large pot of fresh coffee, which I took through to the lounge.

Leo was talking about the bondage master classes he’d taught the previous

weekend and some of the friends he’d met up with. Shane knew a few of them and Leo relayed messages along the lines of
so and so sends his respects, love, etc
. The conversation inevitably led to talk of days gone by. My old mate Jealousy arrived on scene when they got cosy and began reminiscing about a favourite London club they had often attended, featuring some of the people Leo mentioned. They’d been a couple then and it was obvious they both had fond memories of their time together.

Prodded by jealousy and pique I launched a sly wind up campaign against Leo, finally succeeding in annoying him, something I rarely manage to do. He usually just grins and condescendingly pats me on the head or lightly pinches my cheek while calling me mon petit garçon jaloux or bébé brat, which roughly translates as my jealous little boy or baby brat. It drives me up the wall.

I was bloody lucky not to get a hiding. I think the reason I didn’t was because of the circumstances. I was being given leeway and time to adapt to the situation.

However, Shane’s patience only stretches so far and it twanged and snapped later that evening with my sarky Lord Sauron comment about Penny. He refused to accept it as a joke and trounced my arse.

He and Dick then took a vote and banished bébé brat to the single room for the night.

Dick had a few words with me before leaving for work on Monday morning. He said I had to get on with life as per normal without needlessly chewing on something that didn’t affect me for much of the time. I agreed and we parted on affectionate terms. He went off to work and I got on with things as per normal, or thought I did.

Looking through the eyes of retrospect I can clearly see my reluctance to accept the punishment played as white noise in the back of my mind. It affected my actions and attitude. Housework wasn’t quite as meticulous as usual, meals were lacklustre and I generally let things slide.

We were scheduled to attend a dinner party on Wednesday evening to celebrate Howard’s birthday. My stubborn streak set in. No way was I sitting through a celebration meal teetotal while others drank delicious chilled champagne. I laid claim to a headache and cried off the event, saying I didn’t feel up to it.

Shane was annoyed. He didn’t believe for a second I had a headache and said so.

He knew why I didn’t want to go and told me I was being immature. In a flash of temper I snapped that immaturity was natural for someone my age and I was sick of him and Dick constantly berating me for being childish. I didn’t berate them for being fucking senior citizens or accuse them of excessive maturity when they did something I didn’t like or agree with.