I should mind. Idomind. “You may undress.”
It’s not a strip show for my benefit, but strictly clinical, respectful, quick and neat. He folds his clothes and stacks them on a nearby footstool, takes the cane from the cabinet, and then returns to stand in front of me, offering up the tool in his hands. I take it, and his arms drop gracefully, his hands curled at his sides.
I can’t stop my eyes from raking over him, taking in the smooth chest, brown nipples already tight in each well-defined pectoral muscle, dropping down the six-pack to the well-groomed thatch of hair that curls around his cock.
His uncut, mouthwatering cock that, under my gaze, begins to fill out.
And all the while, Oliver is completely comfortable in his nudity, comfortable under my gaze, while the mask keepshisexpressions secret from my prying eyes.
“Where would you like me, my lord?” he asks, when another few moments have passed.
Oh, God. “Bend over the end of the bed.”
I almost stop him as he does it. I should not have him anywhere near the bed; to ensure objectivity, I could have used any one of the footstools or chairs or thechaise longue—thechaise longuewould have been perfect—but it’s too late. He’s bent over the end of the bed, spreading his legs a little wider, his form excellent, certainly beyond any critique I could make, and I…
Iwanthim.
His body is smooth-skinned, muscular, but with enough flesh to make biting into that well-rounded ass a delight. His thighs flex slightly as I look him over, and I watch the muscles of his buttocks shifting as well, letting my eyes linger. I reach out a hand, hesitate, and then give in—I slide my palm over his warm skin, map the curve of his cheek, the dip where it meets the back of his thigh, feel the heat of him as I go off track, sliding inward, too intimately…
He lets out a soft sigh when I pull my hand back, and I take another step backward to help me resist if the temptation comes over me again.
“Ten infractions,” I tell him. “Ten strokes of the cane. I want you to count them out.”
“Yes, my lord.” His answer is steady and self-assured.
“Then let’s dance, Oliver.”
He only gets halfway through his soft laugh of surprise before I bring the cane down on him, sure and precise. I pause, letting him absorb the pain, and watch his skin redden in a stripe across those round, tempting cheeks.
And then I continue, slow and steady.
His counts, as I go on, become quieter, and I leave enough time between strokes for him to really feel each impact.
His ass is blooming pink by the time I finish, and I can’t help but take a moment to admire my handiwork. Did he know—but how could he—that the cane is also my favorite?
Did Niklaus tell him?
I frown a little at that thought. “You may stand,” I tell him, and he stands, only a little wobbly on his feet. “Well, Oliver? Do you have anything to say?”
His lips part, his eyes heavy-lidded under the mask, seductive in their dreaminess. “Thank you, my lord,” he murmurs.
He’s hard as a rock, although I’m pretending not to notice, and I’m not sure if he’s aware of it. He seems dazed. No, not dazed…
Subspace?
None of the other staff here have reacted like this, not during the traditional Sunday night punishment rounds. But then…I’ve never personally punished any of them in private.
“Oliver,” I say gently.
“Yes, my lord?” His eyes are trusting, soft.
I walk around him, around the bed, and pull back the soft sheets. “I’d like to hold you while you recover.”
Recover? It’s a strong word, but he doesn’t hesitate as I gesture toward the bed.
“Thank you, my lord,” is all he says, as he slides into the sheets.
I make sure he’s tucked in carefully, and then I strip off my dinner jacket and bow tie, cufflinks, shoes. I keep the rest of my clothes on. I don’t trust myself to take off anything further.
