6:22pm.  “Not much time – better get ready, Mick,” Mike instructed, as Micky walked himself to the bathroom for a shower.  Another pair of ripped pajamas – god, Mike was into rough sex.  He removed the remnants that still clung to his body and turned on the water.  As he flung the pieces of torn cloth on the floor he glanced at himself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.  He was startled at first, thinking there was someone else in the room staring back at him.  But it was just him.  He hadn’t seen himself since before the big sleep.  Did he really look like that?  He didn’t know he was so skinny, and he was covered from head to toe with half-healed cuts, bruises, and welts, and he started to wonder what his “sickness” was all about.  His hair was so long, with dark curls that hung into his eyes – no wonder he couldn’t see, he really needed a haircut.  He got into the tub and ran the hot water over him to try to remove as much of Mike as he could.  He still didn’t know why he had let Mike do that to him.  But there was a part of him that enjoyed it so much that he yearned for more.  He couldn’t understand that either, it was as if Mike had put a spell on him.  Now, all he could feel was guilt and shame for what he allowed Mike to make him feel, and he wanted to be rid of it.

When he left the shower he felt almost like his normal self, but there was Mike standing at the door waiting with a clean towel and the neatly pressed clothes he had chosen for Micky to wear.  That brought Micky back to…reality.

“You look so good,” Mike said, as he wrapped him up in his readied towel.  He dried Micky’s curls and handed him his pants – black leather.

“What?  No underwear?”  Micky asked.

Mike just smirked as if to say ‘Are you kidding?’  and helped him on with his oversized white shirt as Micky finished zipping his pants.

Mike took great care in fastening each button, wishing he were ripping it off instead, but they really needed the money – business before pleasure.  They were desperate to collect enough cash for either the back rent, or the big move to New York.  Micky being out of commission couldn’t have come at a worse time.  At this point, they were lucky they weren’t living on the street.

6:57pm.  An anxious Micky was ordered to sit down and eat something by his commander-in-chief, Mike: cornflakes.  Some dinner.  Now he understood why he was so thin.  But he couldn’t get one spoonful past his lips.  His stomach was so knotted he knew the smallest amount of food was sure to come right back up.  He kept his eyes glued to the big clock on the wall.

7:09pm.  He’d have to leave to go to “work” soon – Butch was probably already waiting for him.  He stayed at the kitchen table pretending to eat, his leather pants so tight he could barely sit down as they crushed his balls together painfully into the seat of the chair; it only worsened his anxiety.  His palms were soaked with sweat as he tried to hold on to the spoon.

Peter gave an audible laugh from the couch.  Micky glanced at him, forgetting he wasn’t alone in the room, then he glanced at the TV Peter was watching – the TV?  Micky dropped his spoon and broke out into a new cold sweat.  What was it about the television that scared him?  It seemed so odd, so out of place.

“Okay, Mick – on your way.”  Mike brought Micky out of his stupor, and handed him the keys to the car.

“What am I supposed to do with these – where do I go?”  Micky asked, sweat trickling into his hair and down his clean white shirt.

“You OK, Mick?  Tell ya what – I’ll drive ya there.”  Mike took back the keys and led Micky to the front door.  His knees felt weak as if they could collapse beneath him, but his legs walked him to Mike’s new custom GTO as he convinced himself he was ready for whatever it was that was about to happen.  The problem was, he already knew; and the fear of that knowledge was penetrating.

7:32pm.  The car clock shouted the time at him as they made their way across town to a more respectable suburb of L.A.  “Don’t forget to smile a lot…Butch likes that.”  Mike gave some last-minute instructions.  “…and just let him do what he wants – don’t do anything unless he tells you to.”  Mike received no answer.  “Are you listening to me, Mick?”  he yelled.  “This is important, dammit!”

“Okay…I heard you, Mike,” Micky said quietly, staring out the window into blackness.

8:03pm.  The car slowed, and Mike brought it to a stop.  This must be his destination, Micky thought, eyeing the house and dreading what awaited him inside.

“Here we are.  Make me proud, shotgun.”  He leaned over to give Micky a little kiss as he opened the door for him.

“Are you gonna stay here, Mike?”

“You want me to?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine.  I’ll be here when ya come out, babe.”

Micky took a deep breath and stepped out of the car.  He wiped his sweaty hands on his leather pants before he knocked on the door.  One last look back at the car; he could see Mike stretch himself out for a short snooze, waiting for his return.  He’d never been so nervous in his life and he wished he were drunk, or stoned, or something.  The door opened.  It was Butch.  Just as he remembered seeing him in his dream – big, strong, beautiful, smiling Butch.  Not a word was spoken by either of them, and he walked inside, ignoring the surroundings, too taken with the vision of Butch before him.  This may not be so bad after all, he thought, and I’m his favorite.  He smiled proudly.  I wonder why?

The place was dark, with what seemed like large glass walls all around allowing the moonlight to settle on the white carpet and sleek modern furniture – obviously expensive, not like the pad, Micky thought.  No wonder Mike found this client so important.  ‘Make me proud’ he had told him; it was still ringing in his ears as he climbed the stairs with Butch leading the way – he didn’t want to disappoint Mike.

At the top of the stairs were four doors; they entered one.  He guessed it was a bedroom, and it was even darker than the room downstairs.  The moonlight here seemed to touch nothing but more blackness – leather, Micky could finally make out after his eyes adjusted.  Just like the pants Mike had picked out for him to wear – must be one of Butch’s fetishes.

“Mike told me you weren’t feeling well.  Is that true?”  Butch smiled, but with a patronizing tone to his voice.

“Yeah, I was sick…I guess.”

Butch walked up close to him and put one hand gently on Micky’s face, the other tangling in his curls.  “You guess?”  he questioned, a bit more serious now.

“Yeah, I…I…mean…I was.”  Micky was trying hard to hide his nervousness – he was supposed to be a pro, he remembered.

“Ah….I see.  But you’re all better now…aren’t you?”  Butch still smiled sweetly, but his grip on those curls were becoming painfully tight.  “I’m glad to have you back…I missed you.”  And he pulled Micky in for a sweet kiss.  “Now get undressed.”  He whispered his order into Micky’s ear.

Micky panicked for a moment, but kept saying to himself: ‘You’re a pro – Do what’s expected – Make me proud, shotgun’.  So, he decided to act the part.  He had no choice really; Mike was right outside, waiting.  He did what he was told slowly, and slightly embarrassed, but he did it.  Now naked, he couldn’t hide his trembling behind his clothing and he hoped Butch wouldn’t notice in the darkness.  He sat down on the bed trying to calm his nerves as Butch busied himself with something across the room, then turned on a bright light and aimed it straight at his naked victim.  Micky reacted instinctively: he was blinded, and tried to shield his eyes, while his anxiety peaked to a new high.  Then he felt Butch beside him.

“You seem awfully nervous tonight, little boy.”

“I’M NOT…I…I’M OKAY!”  Micky blurted out, only revealing his stress even more.

“I don’t want you like this,” Butch spat at him, annoyed.

Uh-oh, Micky thought.  Now what?  “I’m…I’m sorry, Butch – I’m okay…really,” he pleaded, hating the thought of what Mike would say…or do.

Butch went back to the other side of the room.  “It’s alright.  You must’ve been outta action too long, huh?”  He came back to sit on the bed next to Micky.  “I have a surprise for you,” he said, as he held onto Micky’s arm.  “I don’t do this for everyone…just my favorites…cause I want you to feel better….”  And in went that needle again – that familiar pinprick that led to the wonderful numbness.  “…and I want to enjoy you to the fullest.”

Butch finished with a kiss on Micky’s neck, and tossed the spent hypo on the floor.  “I’ll go easy on you tonight.  Will that make you feel better?”  Butch continued to talk as he kissed and prodded at the body on the bed.  “Tell ya what… no flogging tonight – no whips – no chains – just a nice straight fucking…would you like that, beautiful?”

Micky said nothing, just trying to enjoy his free high, till a hard slap across his face brought him back.  “I asked you a question!  Don’t make me regret what I did for you.”  The seriousness was back.

“I…I’m sorry…Yes – I’d like that.”  Micky put his hand up to his stinging cheek.

“Now, see what you made me do?  A red mark on that beautiful face of yours – you know how I hate that.”

“I’m sorry, Butch.  What do you want me to do?”

“Turn over.  I don’t wanna see your face now.”

Micky did as he was told and turned face-down on the bed, but couldn’t help feeling a little hurt that Butch no longer wanted to look at his face.  He called me ‘beautiful’, he thought, maybe that’s why I’m his favorite.  I should have paid attention to him and not made him angry.  Oh god!  What was that about whips and chains?!

Butch took Micky’s wrists behind his back and held them there tightly, easily done with Butch’s strength.  Then he stretched Micky’s arms as high above his head as they would go.  The pain was excruciating, and Micky felt like his shoulders were ready to rip out of their sockets.  He cried out – just once, but Butch put an end to any more by burying his face in the mattress.  “No screaming – you know the rules.”  Micky bit into the leather covering Butch’s bed, in an effort to silence himself.  He wanted to be obedient; otherwise he might get to know those whips and chains more intimately.  He was so concentrated on the pain in his arms and keeping quiet that he didn’t even notice when Butch plunged into him.  He wasn’t going easy as he had promised.  With each hard thrust into his body Butch leaned more onto Micky’s arms.  He must be trying to break them, Micky thought wildly, and he screamed in pain with each push, his face pressed firmly against the leather, drowning out his cries.  ‘Make me proud, shotgun’ was all that went through his head.  He could see Mike’s face as he said it, and he wished Mike were here with him now helping him get through his moment of torture.  He wanted to be home with Mike, like when he awoke this morning in his arms, and he was starting to understand the magic he and Mike had together.  Mike was the one that took care of him.  If he were here now, he would certainly save him from Butch’s cruelty.

Finally, it must have been over, because the pressure on his arms had ceased and he was able to move again.  His hands were free, though too sore to be useful.

“You can leave now,” he heard Butch tell him.  “But you can tell your boss he’s not getting his usual price.”  And he tossed a sealed envelope on the bed next to Micky, presumably his pay.

Micky lifted his head as much as he could without the help of his arms.  The leather underneath him was wet with his sweat and tears, and he could see the imprint of his teeth.  He slowly gathered his clothes and, with as little movement as possible, dressed himself and left the room.  Butch said nothing to him, and once again he couldn’t help feeling hurt; he knew he had disappointed him, and even worse he had disappointed Mike, who would be angry at not getting his full pay.  And for some odd reason he didn’t want to lose his high standing as Butch’s favorite, even after what Butch had done to him.  But it was too late to make it up to him now.

He could barely make it down the stairs after that attack on his body.  But as he left the house he was happy to see Mike still waiting for him in the car, asleep.  As he opened the door, he woke him.  “That was fast,” Mike yawned, a little surprised.  “Didn’t ya do anything in there?”

“Yeah, we did, but…”

“But what?”

“Nothin’.”  Micky thought twice about telling Mike of the lowered price for Micky’s services.  He was too tired right now, and too sore.  “Can we go home now, Mike?”

“Sure, shotgun.  I got a nice surprise for ya there.”  Oh great, Micky thought, not another surprise – he just wanted to sleep, and forget about the nightmare called Butch.

When they arrived back at the pad, Davy was locked in the downstairs bedroom doing what Micky could only guess, and Peter was out probably doing the same thing.  You’d think with the three of them prostituting themselves like this they’d have some extra money – where was it all going?  Micky couldn’t help wondering.

“Ya want somethin’ to eat?”  Mike offered.

“No, I just wanna go to bed.”  Mike smiled at that and helped lead Micky up the spiral staircase.

He stopped him in front of the bathroom door, “How ‘bout a quick shower first?”  Micky just shook his head and wearily proceeded to the bedroom.  Mike followed and spun him around to look him in the eyes, “What’s the matter, babe?  Did he hurt you this time?”  Micky just shook his head again and let Mike wrap his arms around him in a protective embrace.  He gave Micky a warm hug and stroked his back.

“Where’s the money?”  he asked, and Micky took the envelope from his shirt pocket and gave it to his boss.  Mike checked to see if it was still sealed and tossed it on the dresser, then returned his attention to Micky who was still in his arms, resting his head on his shoulder.

Micky still wasn’t acting his silly, smiling self, but Mike hoped it would pass.  “What can I do to make you feel better, Micky?”  Micky just gave a slight and painful shrug of his shoulders, not really knowing how to answer, or what he wanted.  No, that wasn’t true.  He wanted Mike to continue to hold him; he wanted Mike to take care of him; he wanted Mike to love him – just like in his dream – he wanted Mike, completely.

Micky was starting to accept his new reality, or at least understand his place in it, but he didn’t have to like it, and the only comfort he could find right now was with Mike.  He lazily draped his arms around Mike’s waist and looked up to him for a kiss.  Mike was never one to refuse those luscious lips and he closed in on them while trying to give Micky what he thought he needed.  He let his hands massage Micky’s back up to his neck and shoulders till Micky winced in pain.  “What?  The hand cuffs again?”  Mike asked.

“No,” was Micky’s quiet reply.

“I’ll fix ya up, babe,” he said as he helped Micky out of his clothes.  – Easier said than done – his arms were so stiff that he almost didn’t bother removing the shirt – good thing it wasn’t tight.  Micky laid down on his bed as Mike tried to smooth out his aching back muscles.  He rubbed oil into Micky's skin, giving it a glistening slick sheen that brought out his sun-bronzed tan.  Micky’s arms still hurt, but it appeared Mike knew what he was doing because each long stroke up his back brought a welcome release of knotted stress that had been building there, and Micky gave a grateful sigh.  “Does that feel better?”

“Uh-huh,” was all Micky could get out.  He closed his eyes, relishing Mike’s strong touch.  Mike smiled to himself: he loved Micky’s little sighs and moans, and he leaned over to kiss the back of his neck, bringing a smile to his lover's lips in return.  Every time Mike came to one of those bruised areas Butch had left him with he slowed his touch, not just for Micky’s sake, but so he could admire the new flaws marking that perfect flesh – such a beautiful contrast.

Mike worked gently on Micky’s black and blue wrists.  They still hurt, but Mike was so careful that Micky almost forgot about Butch’s tight grip that had turned them that color.  All he could think now was how wonderful Mike felt and how caring his touch seemed.  His caresses were so gentle, so warm.  This must be why he shared a relationship with Mike.  He really did care about him.  No wonder Mike was so pissed when he refused him yesterday – Micky must have loved him before – that must be it.

Mike slid his hands down with more oil to his bruised ass; still red from the pounding he’d taken from Butch.  Mike almost felt sorry for him, but those tight reddened cheeks seemed poised for a slow gentle fucking, and Mike convinced himself that was just what Micky needed right now, or maybe it was his own hard-on that convinced him; he didn’t really care.  He freed himself from his own tight pants and let his cock rest on the oil-soaked cleft of Micky’s ass, as he continued his luxurious massage on Micky’s arms and back.  Micky didn’t move; he simply basked in the wonderful sensations of Mike’s magic fingers working over his body.  It felt so good to be pampered like this after having to endure Butch; it was like the difference between night and day, and right now Mike was his angel.

Mike got to work on oiling the back of Micky’s thighs and massaged all the tightness away.  Micky couldn’t help parting his legs slightly, hoping Mike would massage a little further down to his balls as well, and again Mike smiled at his craftiness – he just wanted to get laid, but he also wanted to make Micky feel better.  So, rather than make him wait, he did what Micky asked, and slid his hands to his oiled balls and under to the hardening cock beneath.  That brought on one of those moans that drove Mike so crazy.  He slid one well-oiled finger inside him, which always drove his lover so crazy, stroking that spot as he stroked himself in perfect time.

Micky moaned again, and Mike knew he needed more than the thinness of his pathetic finger – his cock would be ample enough, and he slid inside with ease, never missing a beat, and keeping up his slow gentle rhythm, while trying to go easy on Micky’s battered backside.  Unfortunately, he had made such a mess with the oil that maintaining any friction was almost impossible (damn these satin sheets), and they practically slid off the bed.  But it only made the end appear further away, and both of them more determined to get there, and their mutual orgasm seemed bigger and longer than it actually was.  They shared a drawn-out shudder together as they finally finished and Mike moaned softly into Micky’s ear.

He rolled off of the oil slick that was Micky’s back to lie next to him.  Micky hadn’t moved; he just looked at Mike and gave him that familiar warm smile that had abandoned his face for so long: Micky was back, or so it seemed.