by Randy Williams
I followed Peter to his corner and watched as he stripped down to just his
briefs. He gave me a look and his eyes went all smoky with concern.
"Russ we didn't mean too..." Peter started the whine.
I was fading fast and didn't have the time, or right now with all the warm
thoughts of what I wanted our welcome home to be, the patience to listen. I took his jeans with me and left him facing his corner.
Down the short hall, Alan was standing near his corner. His eyes filling, his face looking miserable.
"Russ..."
"Now, Alan!"
He too stripped down to his boxer briefs.
I gave him a curt nod and he turned to face his corner. I left the room with two pairs of still warm jeans.
I know, I know. Separate corners in separate rooms can seem to be a bit, well, excessive. However these were my brats and they were - if nothing else, besides that is, looking so damn cute and so hot - endlessly inventive. I had the pants and left them in just their briefs because it was what, just last month I caught them TEXTING while in the corners? No pants, no phones. That night a new rule was written in stone along with a warning they stop that nonsense or they would be doing corner time naked!
Grabbing my two- suiter in the other hand, I trudged up the stairs to our master bedroom. Frankly I just wanted to cry. I know. I know I'm a Top we don't cry. We maintain order. We hold crying brats. Hell, we make brats cry; I can, with just a LOOK, not to mention the paddle hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I was muttering as I stripped off my clothes, "I'm a Top. I'm a Top." That lasted until I was in the bathroom and had the shower running. The trouble is I don't feel like a Top right now. I let the hot water sluice over my head and sighed deeply, thinking back to my brat days. I loved my Top and he was good. We were good together. He took this confused kid off the junk heap. Showered me with firm, stern love. Let me rest. Let me become the man I am now.
Right now I was exhausted. I hurt and really, all I wanted to do was curl up in His arms. I didn't want to be the bad ass. Hell, I had thrown a few parties. Hell, I had been right where those two were! Standing on starting-to-ache legs; worried about the condition of their butts. Alan would be sure by now that I would become the ogre and throw him out. Peter would be outwardly stoic but I could mentally see him running his fingers though his dirty blonde hair repeatedly; a sure sign of inward stress. Do they know? Do they have any idea? Can I make them understand?
My life was so empty after Art died. We had been together for years. Then BAM! A damn drunk driver. My life was over.
I did good, I did. With help from a few other Tops and friends of Art I became what I am.
I am a Top. But what is a Top without his brat? Or in my case, as a grin flashed across my face, my brats? I leaned against the shower wall. I wanted just to stay there. But there were two men downstairs.
I turned the water to cold and stood there until I was shivering. Then I was out groping for a towel. I felt one and dried my head.
"Well boy, you have a small problem don't you!"
I dropped the towel to my shoulders and there was Art, standing there with that damn grin on his face. The first time this happened I thought I was going mad.
I resumed drying my chilled body. "Yeah, old man, I do and it's your fault!!" I snapped.
He chuckled. Bastard! He actually chuckled.
"Russell, if I were here and alive I would put the paddle to good use. Dead or alive, you don't talk to me like that. Now keep drying, you are going to catch your death. I have told you and told you, cold showers like that can really mess you up. Keep rubbing. Harder! Get warm, you idiot boy!"
Then he sat on the sink chuckling.
"You feelin' a bit sorry for yourself?"
"Why?"
"Those two butts, hmmm, to spank. Nosiree, I don't feel sorry for you one bit! Rub, boy. Get dry, they are waiting. I hope I taught you better than to keep a brat waiting too long."
"Art", I whined. Yes, I actually whined. God if those two downstairs knew I was whining to the ghost of my old Top...
"Russell, they are good brats, mostly. Hell boy, better than you were. Did you see what they did yet? They busted their asses to get this place clean. Yeah I know, mostly for their behinds but for you, too. Right now Peter is holding Alan who is sobbing in his arms. My boy, you do know how to pick good lookin' young men. Damn if you don't!"
When he said Alan was crying my arm reached for the door. It is automatic: my brat, my lover, was crying.
"You old softy!" he chuckled
"Now get some clothes on, make a cup of joe and settle those two men down! They love you, man. As much as you love them. Damn iffin I didn't raise a good one here."
I wrapped the towel around my waist and started for the bedroom.
"Russell, ain't you forgettin' something?"
Art said grinning at me with pure mischief in his eyes as he nodded toward the paddle hanging on the back of the door.
I reached up and took the paddle in my hand and headed toward the bedroom. I Am A Top.
As I left the bathroom I swore I heard a soft, "I love you, bub."
I turned quickly to see just an empty bathroom.
***
No comments:
Post a Comment