Trust Me | MxM | BDSM

35. Safeword

The men sit down on the couch, and with a single glance upwards, I could easily lay my suspicions to rest - or prove them right. Gulping, I try to clear the lump that has formed in my throat. A feeble attempt that does no good. If anything, I'm now threatening to choke on my own spit.

Calm down, I cite over and over again until it becomes a prayer. The constantly repeating words manage to calm my heart. It eases into their steady rhythm, and soon enough, I can at least come up with some orderly thoughts. Before I worry too much, I have to make sure.

My fingers curl apprehensively, only slightly but yet I can already feel my nails digging into my thighs. I take a deep breath, then dare a quick glance upwards, immediately taking in all their faces. Three men, each with their own submissive at their feet, and in the middle sits my father, laughing openly at something Gravilo just said.

My eyes widen in shock, but at least I'm able to tear them away from the familiar features, hopefully without attracting attention. I want to know what he's doing here, and I want to know right now, but that's not going to happen. Except for an emergency line, there's also no way for me to contact him after he's gone, and I'm not going to risk my cover for that. There's probably a very logical explanation; there must be, it's only eluding me because I'm stressing myself out.

No matter what, he's here now, and that means he not only knows but sees with his own eyes what kind of work his son is doing. How proud that must make him; me on my knees next to a man like Gavrilo Kemp, stripped off clothes and dignity. I'd lick his boots if he asked me to - and my cock would get hard from doing so.

I wince as Gavrilo pulls my head back, fingers clasping at my hair. His grip is firm as he rips at my scalp. Despite knowing better, I can't help but glance towards my father. He's watching the display with an amused smirk.

"You aren't paying attention, Mike. Why aren't you paying attention?"

"I'm sorry, Master Kemp."

"I didn't ask if you were sorry." He shoves my head forwards before letting go of me. I squint at the lingering pain. My cheeks are burning as hot as my scalp, and I wish I could disappear - or at least put on some clothes.

"Fetch us a whiskey, and quick."

I almost jump to my feet and flee from the booth. There's too much eagerness to my movements, but I don't care about any punishments I might be earning myself with every step I take. For now, all that counts is that I can get away from my father's gaze. My fingers are shaking when I reach the bar.

So much for calming down.

I hiss a string of curses as my sanity slowly slips away. The walls are closing in on me, and the urge to run away is simmering hot. I glance back at the four men in their expensive suits, making conversation as if nothing was amiss. My father's eyes snap up, and I freeze to the spot. He frowns at me before gesturing in my direction. My head turns away instinctively when I notice Gavrilo stir.

"Everything alright?"

The barkeeper steps over to me, though his gaze is locked on our booth. I nod with the obedience of a beaten dog. My breath is coming short and shallow, yet all I can do is tell myself to keep fucking breathing. But I really don't want my father to see me like this, like some mindless slave who's just crazy for cock.

I rub my eyes, knowing that's not how it is, though it doesn't change that I'm certain it's all my father is seeing. Another fact is that I have to return, despite the nauseating knot my stomach has turned into. So much for calming down.

The barkeeper steps closer to me, then slowly reaches out for me. His fingers on my shoulder make me flinch, and my gaze snaps up immediately only to find his tense features. "You okay? You're shaking."

"I'm fine." I gulp. "I just, I need some whiskey. They want whiskey."

"Okay, I'll get you some. Just stay here, take a deep breath. I'll take my time so you can calm down." He's using his voice at a soft pitch as if he were talking to a frightened child. My fingers are still shaking, so I ball them to fists and heed his advice.

Get your shit together.

Too soon, the barkeeper hands me a tablet with four cooled glasses and an artfully crafted bottle of whiskey. It looks more expensive than anything I ever owned. So when I suddenly have to carry it over on my weak legs, the iron grip on my heart becomes so tight that I can barely breathe. I focus on the floor, expecting each inch that is illuminated by the club lights before placing my feet.

When I arrive at the table, my heart is beating so loudly that it drowns out the strong baseline from the first floor. I pray that no one has said anything to me while I pour the glasses.

Since I'm staring at my hands, I can't judge whether my strange behaviour has been noticed. I'm also unable to get reassurance from Gavrilo, so I'm left to fend off the dreadful uneasiness myself while I long to curl up in his embrace. As I step back from the table, my white knuckles account for that. My fingers are clutching at the tablet that I'm holding at my side.

Gavrilo rises to his feet. My breath catches in my throat as I await whatever he has in store for me. While the silence stretches, I feel the eyes of the other men on my naked body, and I can't help but think they're probably staring at my shrivelling cock. Gavrilo leans down towards me, bringing his lips so close to my ear that I can feel them moving against my skin.

"I didn't intend to punish you in front of everyone, but if you're begging me like this, you're not leaving me much of a choice," he whispers. My face heatens with a scarlet blush as the rest of my body becomes dead cold. I wish I could clear that misunderstanding, but there's no chance for me to talk back, especially not in front of these men. "Bend over."

My body moves on its own, propelled by the simple command. It's like I'm watching from afar - as if I wasn't part of this, as if it wasn't my own father watching me place my hands on the table while Gavrilo loosens his belt.

"Five hits for not paying attention. Five hits for inappropriate behaviour. Another five for idling about. Does that sound fair?"

"Yes, Master Kemp." My voice is shaking, and disgustingly weak. The belt slashes across my skin. I flinch, whimpering.

"Speak up. Fifteen hits, sounds fair?"

"Yes, Master Kemp," I say louder, staring straight at the table. My eyes are looking back up at me, frightened like a deer in headlights. This is worse than being run over, I conclude - right before I realize that I can't do it. My eyes burn with the threat of tears as a weight settles on my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs. My breathing is suddenly shaky.

"Matthew," I mumble desperately as my gut sinks with the utter shame of admitting defeat, yet I can't help it. Suddenly, everything seems silent around me. Even the noise from downstairs doesn't reach my ears or at least, I'm not registering the sounds anymore. I stumble to my feet, looking aside at Gavrilo who's standing frozen. A mixture of emotions flashes across his eyes and when I take a step back, he reaches out for me.

He probably wants an explanation, and I wish I didn't have to do this to him, to ruin our relationship. But he left me no choice.

"Matthew," I state more firmly now and bolt.