The Butler - 26. Chapter XXVI

June 13^th, 2011, Greenwich, CT.

It was somewhat amazing how rapidly I adapted to this relationship and how good it all felt, like slipping into a nice warm bath, at once familiar and enveloping. I was fast becoming happy, a sensation I hadn’t expected due to my own preconceptions about Greg himself, D/s and the different implementations of it. I’d never heard of this version existing before, imagining an extension on regular D/s with possibly different usage of toys, equipment and frequency; nothing could be further from the truth save, perhaps, the frequency which was daily.

Greg’s guidance was new, patient and stimulating, which encouraged me to embrace his dominance and be more submissive to him. He didn’t degrade me, I wasn’t required to kneel but yes, there was always an erotic undertone throughout every day, suggestive and quite exciting. I myself was near constantly aroused around him. I think he deliberately made certain demands to make sure of that, such as asking me to wear jockstraps instead of boxers. It would enhance certain experiences, he answered when I asked.

I figured the excitement would wear off quickly once the novelty of it dissipated, but I found myself, some three weeks later, realizing I wanted more. I wanted him closer and to be closer, to connect deeper emotionally. Whenever he was near, I preferred him in my aura, aching for a touch, a kiss, wanting to feel his warm breath ghosting over my ear as he spoke, or over my lips. If he sensed that or preferred it himself, I didn’t know, but he always did such things and I responded to him so fully and completely, it blew me away because it felt so good and right. With him. Of all people.

To fall in love this hard was a surprise for me. I didn’t realize I had, at first, until the green monster reared its ugly head; I got insanely jealous and over nothing.

It happened when Greg left on a short trip to Sydney, four weeks after Cape Cod. I found myself restless, moping (without realizing) around the estate, growling at the new maid (yes, he’d agreed to finally hire a new one, who came in twice a week) and aching to talk to him. Having him in a plane and unable to communicate was wreaking havoc with my coping skills; I imagined a crash which resulted in binge-watching the news-cycle for half a day until I knew for sure the plane should’ve landed on solid ground by then. The first words I uttered, after hearing his voice when he called, mere seconds after landing and having a call log updating to his phone, were “thank fuck, where were you!” It pleased him to no end and he teased me with it incessantly. I blamed him for making me too dependent on him. It wasn’t fair. He loved it, including the silly tantrum. I felt ridiculous for it.

The next day, annoyed at my own behavior and his amusement because of it, I didn’t immediately respond to his messages, huffing and muttering; 7am sharp came the first. I called myself to order; don’t read it. Let him wait, his own fault for mocking me. But I was pathetic; I grabbed the phone and hungrily read. “Good morning, Chris. How did my worrying boy sleep?” Boy slept very badly, thank you. But I didn’t respond. Hah! A few minutes later a second, the third following with a sharp reminder that to not obey meant hell to pay. I was to call him. I didn’t, feeling wretched because of it. I lasted for five whole minutes, then I caved because I wanted to hear his voice.

I was too late. And he turned the tables on me then, by claiming to be having dinner (he had Alan message that) with some clients. An hour later, I tried again; Alan answered for him, saying Greg was unavailable, unless there was an emergency? No...well, yes. I needed to hear his voice! A half hour later, it went straight to voicemail. I did say I was sorry. Very sorry, sir. Nothing the next hour either. Then he called, and it was very late by then over there, and this one was the culprit; we were disturbed by Alan. Greg had barely said hello, when he excused himself when Alan came in, talking softly to him. And then he hung up! What the…

Alan, Alan, needy fucking Alan...I began to really hate that name, and angrily dialed again. Greg picked up and I didn’t even let him speak; a quite explosive jealous reaction (I never even experienced jealousy until then) that if he had no time for me, and so on and so forth and Alan was more important, I demanded he fire him on the spot. Not one of my finest moments and, rightly so, Greg hung up.

He flew back a day early, leaving Alan behind and his voice, when he called from the airport, betrayed there was gonna be hell to pay. Not angrily, just...a promise, darkly spoken. I awaited him with barely hidden excitement, looking forward to it; the longest day, that one.

His punishment was harsh but very just, and utterly satisfying, by making me pick the twigs for the birch he later used on me in the hallway, while I held on to the door post. I should have felt slightly disturbed at my own reaction. I didn’t. He was here, with me, exacting a well-deserved punishment. I had been a bad boy, yes.

“You were jealous!”

That triumphant look on his face; he was beyond pleased.

And he was right. I was. He was mine. Just as I was his. It was the second time that I silently, only in my head, uttered the words: I love you!

**********

I got a taste of jealousy on his part not too long after Cape Cod, though. That was about two weeks after. Until then, we’d spent the nights in my room until he proposed we move it down to the suite. Better amenities, closer to where he worked, yada yada. I refused because, well; that bed had been his father’s. It felt wrong to...you know, do the dirty there.

His solution: a new bed. Fine, I could go along with that. So we went to a furniture store, perused around and found one we both really liked; quite modern, nice proportions, had automated features for comfort, a really nice one. And then I recognized the salesman approaching us; Jethro Bennett. Oh crap.

Years ago, when I’d first started working for Mr. Montgomery, I’d dated a few guys. With some, I shared more than a meal, as was the case with Jethro. Many meals, actually, and quite a number of nights.

Arrogant, bossy (I guess I was drawn to the type), almost as tall as Greg, far younger and way more muscled, Jethro had been very stubborn about letting go, but once Mr. Montgomery had taken a turn for the worse, I stopped dating altogether. Even then he hadn’t given up, calling, showing up. It petered out after a long while; but to his credit it was a really long while. A handsome devil of a man, which he knew, and good in bed, which he also knew. Basically, he was Greg only far tamer. Quite innocent, compared, knowing what I did now, really.

As soon as he spotted us, and he laid his eyes on me, his face lit up. And right beside me, Greg stiffened like a guard dog; seconds later, his arm snuck possessively around my waist.

“You get two seconds to tell me who this is,” he spoke under his breath, his voice low and warning, “and why he is looking at you in that way.” Oh fuck. Not good.

“His name’s Jethro Bennett. Ex-boyfriend.”

“I see. And you couldn’t have told me this before we came here?”

“I didn’t know he worked here.”

Actually, that was somewhat of a fib. I could’ve known, I just hadn’t put two and two together. Bennett Furniture had been his father’s company. At the time we dated, he hadn’t worked here, though. His father had died some two years before. I could have expected it, I guess.

“Did he fuck you?” I closed my eyes. Nice.

“Greg...”

“This is not a Greg moment. Did. He. Fuck. You?” Quite frequently, yes.

“Yes, sir.” I groaned softly when his arm tightened.

“How long?”

“Seven months. Greg…”

“Be silent,” he replied, softly. “I’m not done with you.” Crap. “Leave. Now.”

“But…”

“Christopher!” Double crap; full name usage. That meant trouble. And dammit, this wasn’t fair. How the hell was I supposed to keep track of an ex I hadn’t seen in years?

I tried to send a warning to Jethro by way of shaking my head, to not come closer. He faltered in his step, frowning, but still kept on coming. And Greg noticed what I was doing. The reaction was pretty instant.

“Go. Now. Or find out a new meaning of the word jealousy.”

**********

He did buy the new bed. He somehow even made sure Jethro was present when the old one was removed and double sure to mention he was my current lover (quoted verbatim) when the new one was put into the suite; Jethro made a quick exit and the new bed was tested for endurance within the hour; extensively.

Sitting was somewhat of a challenge, that evening; Greg made sure of it. Where the birch failed, the flat of his hand succeeded.

My ass rivaled that of a baboon's in color, deliciously red and so sensitive the fabric of my trousers, sliding over it reminded me of it for a long time afterwards. I realized then why he had me wear jockstraps. Well, that and it was easier to fuck if he wanted to, I guess, which he did and afterwards, for good measure, marked me by rubbing his dick on my butt, leaving a clear stain.

I wished Jethro could see it. He’d definitely know I was off-limits now. I liked that thought. And that was the first time I softly whispered “I love you.”