Chapter Eighteen
Ishmael
Crichton gave a snort at Ishmael’s words, glancing away when Ishmael gave him a quelling look. Ishmael told himself to remember to have a word with him later. First things, first. The hood needed to go on his boy and he needed to be suspended.
Preferably without him panicking, too much that is.
Ishmael shook the hood out and turned it so Kris could get a better look at it. Kris’ breathing quickened, so Ishmael reached his free hand out and gave him calming strokes through his hair, his thumb lingering as it reached the base of his neck, rubbing gently at the tension he felt there. The second he felt the tension melt and heard Kris’ breathing even out, he pulled back, opened the neck of the hood up, and slid it over Kris’ head.
“Easy, just breathe normally. Feel how soft the leather is. Close your eyes and just be.” Ishmael pulled the trembling young man against him, stroking his head and shoulders. Crichton stepped forward, offering him the pads to insert under the eye openings. “I’m going to slide in some padding to protect your eyes,” he murmured. “No, don’t open them, you don’t want the fabric against your eyeball. That’s a good lad, now.” He slid the pads into place and zipped the openings closed. “That’s not so bad, is it?”
“No…o,” croaked Kris.
Ishmael pulled him close once more, this time rubbing his upper back and shoulders soothingly as he began to hum softly. He stood like this for several minutes, until Kris was once more pliant against him. “Okay, we’re going to suspend you now. I’ll tell you what is happening every step of the way. “ He grasped Kris by an elbow, urging him to stand. “Okay, take a step back, now move here to the left,” he said, guiding him into place. “There, perfect. Now, raise this arm.” Ishmael gently tugged the arm he held upward. “Crichton is going to fasten the cuff onto this arm. There, that’s done. Now the other arm. Yes, just like that. You’re doing so well. I’m so proud of you. Mow, you feel that? Don’t say anything. Just listen and feel. I’m going to guide you down onto the sling.”
Crichton tapped one of Kris’ ankles, which he lifted obediently. Crichton guided the sling seat between his legs, then touched his ankle to let him know to lower it. Kris misunderstood, wobbling precariously as he lifted his foot higher.
“No, you can put your foot down now.”
Kris followed his instruction, then followed his lead as Ishmael gently pushed down on his shoulders to get him to sit in the cradling hammock-like seat.
“Okay, now we’re going to fasten your ankles, then your knees.” That done, he reached his hand out to Crichton, who wordlessly handed him an ear pad. “Okay, now comes the part where you won’t be able to hear anything. It will probably seem scary, but you need to trust me. Nothing will happen to you.”
“Like an isolation tank, “ Kris whispered to himself.
Ishmael smiled softly. “I’m opening the ear area now and putting the muffs in. That’s one,” he said, slipping one in and closing the opening back up. “Now for two, but before I put it in, I want to let you know that once it’s in, we will be hoisting you, so you’ll feel movement.”
“Okay,”
“Your mouth area will be left open at all times. No gag or anything like that this time.”
“O…okay.”
Ishmael knew it really wasn’t, but it would be. He slid the second pad into place, closed up the opening, and signalled for Crichton to begin hoisting the boy’s legs while he did his upper body and arms. Moments later, the boy hung, splayed, like an offering, though not a mute one.
“Oh my God, oh my God, this is so freaky. Please, don’t drop me…”
Crichton snorted once more.
“Enough, Crichton. He’s young and new to this.”
“I’ve never seen you so gentle.”
“He’s not a passing fancy. He’s mine to keep. I want him to gift me with his trust, his fear, his pain, and to love me.”
Crichton nodded. “So, gentling him like a horse.”
“Or a terrified dog, yes.”
“I change my mind!” Kris cried out. “I think I’d rather get my butt paddled. Please! Ishmael!”
Ishmael began to run his hands soothingly down Kris’ flanks. “Shhh. So delicious.”
“Is that you, Ishmael? Sir?” Kris’ words came out as a broken plea.
Ishmael moved to stand by his head, stroking his cheek through the mask. “So beautiful. You make me so hard.”
He gave a gentle push, sending the swing into a gentle sway.
