Next morning, Mike rolled over onto his side to watch his sleeping Micky, who hadn’t moved all night from the position in which he had gotten laid.  Micky was Mike’s favorite.  He put up with so much, and never complained, Mike thought to himself, and smiled as he gingerly fingered the bruised wrist where Butch must have held him down, and then lightly touched the remnant of a slowly healing welt still visible on the back of his arm and running gracefully across his shoulder blade, careful not to wake his sleeping beauty.

These were Mike’s happiest moments.  He loved what Butch would do to his lover, but never dared do it to Micky himself.  He relished every new and exciting mark Butch would leave on that delicate skin – it brought Micky’s beauty to its finest, almost untouchable in the perfection of the scarred skin.  Mike couldn’t resist running his hand over every new bruise to feel the contrast with the flawless flesh beneath, remaining hidden till healed.  It was so erotic, that touch, so arousing, especially while Micky was peacefully asleep.  And in Mike’s mind he pictured the tortures Micky had been put through only hours before to receive such wonderful wounds.  The thought drove him wild with desire, his cock hardening rapidly.  He teased himself gently against Micky’s thigh, and then rubbed against the reddened ass cheek.  Micky stirred.  Not wanting to wake him, Mike pulled away and finished himself off, slowly, enjoying the feel of his own hand as he used the exact spots and pressures that only he knew for the ultimate fantasy orgasm.

As much as Mike loved to admire Butch’s handiwork, though, he never felt the desire to inflict such pain on his favorite lover.  He didn’t really want to know what was done to him, he only liked to fantasize about it, and the physical proof made his imagination run wild.  He often wondered why Micky put up with it, and then he would get his answer with one of those soft gleaming grins and nothing but love in Micky’s eyes, and he knew that Micky did it all for him.  It was the same way he sang Mike's songs – with all his soul, and love for his songwriter – his boss.

It was all part of the game.  He had Micky exactly where he wanted him, and all the hard work to get him here was worth it when he could gaze upon such splendid beauty.  He would force Micky to endure Butch’s bizarre sex habits, yet always be there for him to come home to.  It made him look like the good guy, like he cared.

But he needed Micky more than he would admit to himself; not just for the sex, though that was always good, but he needed a foil for his strong personality to really shine, it’s what kept everyone else in their place.  Using Micky as an example was more than enough to let the others know where they stood.  And over time, it became more than just that petty need or simple lust – what would he do without his Micky?  He loved him like he would love a puppy; always training and rewarding for good behavior, punishment for bad, and keeping him on a short leash.

Too bad he could never get the other two as involved as Micky.  Oh, the fun he could have then, with the four of them rolling around together.  But Mike didn’t find them as exciting anyway.  Davy would fuck or get fucked by anything or anyone – he didn’t care what he had to do for a buck, except when it came to someone like Butch.  The first time Davy encountered Butch was the last, and he had had the nerve to refuse Butch on the spot.  Davy was much better for a quick lay then a long drawn-out S&M scenario.  And as for Peter, he was too stoned to even feel anything, so Butch wasn’t interested, nor was Mike.  Peter was best at giving head – that was his forte.  But Micky… he was something special.  And Mike demanded top dollar for his services.  Too bad there weren’t more rich clients like Butch; they could all be living in luxury if there were.

He brushed a long curl out of Micky’s face so he could get a better look at him.  Micky's eyes squinted open and he greeted Mike with a smile on his lips.

“Mornin’, beautiful.”  Mike said.

Micky widened his smile, “Morning, Mike,” he yawned and rubbed his eyes.

Mike leaned down for a kiss.  “How ‘bout a shower?  We’re still covered in oil.”

“OK,” Micky breathed, still smiling.

It wasn't until Micky tried to get up that he realized his shoulders were even more painful today, so Mike wrapped him in an oil-stained sheet and helped him into the bathroom.  He turned on the hot water and led Micky under the spray, abandoning the dirty sheet to the floor; then soaped him up, creating a luxurious lather over his still aching body.

It felt so good, Micky thought, but this time he wasn’t going to stand there and let Mike do all the work.  This time he wanted to show Mike his appreciation, and his love.  After Mike pampered him so passionately last night, he felt it was the least he could do; and he wanted Mike to know that his old Micky was back and ready to show the proper kindness he deserved.  He ignored whatever it was Mike was trying to do and leaned into him for a long forceful kiss on his lips.

Mike’s response was half shock – Micky never kissed him like that, at least not until Mike took the initiative, but he allowed Micky to continue, just to see how far he would have the nerve to go.  Actually, he had a lot, as Mike felt his flesh being nibbled and sucked down his body.  But as much as he enjoyed it, this was unacceptable behavior, even from his favorite.  His control-hungry self took over when Micky’s mouth reached his swollen cock.  He grabbed a handful of Micky’s curls at his groin and gave them a quick jolt up, almost breaking Micky’s neck in the process.

“Whadaya think you’re doin’?”  he growled calmly at his unsuspecting shower mate.  He lifted Micky up by his wet hair to his full height; the disapproving glint in his eyes told Micky immediately that he had done something wrong.

“You’re hurting me, Mike,” he squeaked.  “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?”  Mike asked back with a frightening combination of calm and anger.  “Just what the hell do you think you’re doin’?”

“I don’t know…just trying to please you.”

Mike gave him his most menacing stare.  “I don’t want you to please me unless I tell ya to – you understand?”

“No, Mike.  Why?”

Mike really had no answer for that, at least not one he was willing to admit to Micky; so with his tight grip still on those wet curls, he forced Micky’s face into the hard gush of hot water.  Micky squeezed the water out of his closed eyes, but it filled his mouth and nose forcing him to choke on the harsh spray attacking his face, and threatening to overtake his lungs.  He clawed at Mike’s arms at his hair holding him in place, but couldn’t get himself out of the line of the bombarding shower.  With one blinded and desperate flail of his arms, he managed to break free, pushing Mike back into the tile wall.  Micky recovered with anger and before Mike could get to him again, and before he knew what he was doing, he punched Mike in the face, and then quickly left the shower for his room.

Mike was left alone with the spray of warm water washing over him.  He looked down at the blood that washed away with it.  “Son of a bitch,” his voice echoed in the stall as he got out to examine his face in the mirror.  “God dammit! That little fuck gave me a bloody nose,” he said in disbelief as he continued the conversation with himself and the mirror.  He couldn’t let something as serious as this go by without some kind of punishment.  Then again, he really didn’t want to piss Micky off anymore and risk losing his favorite.

“What the fuck happened?”  he repeated through the thick steam in the bathroom.  Just when did Micky grow some balls?  He thought about the position he was now put in – this was serious.  His control threatened, his power taken away with one bloody nose!

“No way.  No fucking way,” he reassured himself, and started to think of a way out of this that would save his position and dignity without forcing Micky further into rebellion.  But first he had to make sure there were no physical signs of anything wrong.  So he sat there with half a roll of toilet paper pressed up to his face and didn’t leave the bathroom till he could stop his nose from bleeding.

When he finally opened the door, he found Davy and Peter lined up outside waiting.

“What you doin’ in there so long, Mike?  And alone?”  Davy couldn’t help commenting as he rushed into the bathroom.  Mike just rolled his eyes while trying his hardest to hide his nose and proceeded to the kitchen for coffee.

Peter protested by holding the bathroom door open and trying to squeeze himself in, “Hey man, I was here first.”

“You were not,” Davy yelled back, annoyed.

“Fuck you, Davy.”

“OK.  We’ll save water that way.”

Mike sat his still damp body out on the veranda in his robe with his coffee.  Looking out over the breaking waves he thought how everything would be perfect right now if that bitch hadn't ruined his day.  But he had to think carefully about how to approach this problem.

“Mike!”  The shriek came suddenly from inside the pad.  Mike was up in a flash to see what had happened.

“What’s wrong?”  shouted a frantic Mike into the bathroom.

“The bloody toilets overflowed!”  Davy told him.

“What?  So whadaya want from me?”

“There’s a ton of bloody paper in here.  What did ya do in here, Mike?”

“Me?  Nothin’.  Why?  It's just some toilet paper, for Christ sake.”

“No, it’s bloody toilet paper.”  Davy insisted.

“Well, that’s where it’s supposed to be.  What else did ya expect to find in there?”  Mike said as he went back to his chair outside.

“I don’t think he gets it,” Peter told Davy as they both tried to clean the mess.  “Wonder what happened in here?”

“Maybe Micky finally bit his dick off.  That’s why he ran upstairs like a scared puppy.”  They laughed at the image Davy had drawn, both thinking what sweet revenge that would be and how badly Mike deserved such a fitting act from his best boy.

“You know – Micky doesn’t give such great head.  I don’t know what Mike sees in him.”  Peter remarked, nonchalantly.

“Oh yeah?  You can do better, I suppose?”

“Than Micky?  A thousand times better.”

“Really?”  Davy’s interest was piqued, as he continued to clean up the bathroom floor.

As soon as Mike sat down to finish his coffee he suddenly realized what Davy was trying to tell him regarding the clogged toilet, and he felt his face drain of any blood that was left in his head.  Shit!  he thought, how stupid to try and conceal his secret with one flush of blood-soaked toilet paper.  This would only make things more difficult to explain.

He emptied his cup quickly on his way back to the bathroom where he peered into the small room to the sight of his two “roommates” on their knees cleaning the toilet.  “Oh, that mess…I cut myself shaving.  Sorry guys.”  With that out of the way, he made his way up the stairs to settle things with Micky.  He wasn’t sure how, but he knew it would come to him – his sharp mind hadn’t let him down yet.

He swung the door open, and in he walked with every intention of showing Micky who was boss.  Micky was lying on his bed staring at the ceiling and wearing nothing but the towel he had left the shower with.  That was almost enough right there to force Mike into apology, but he kept his cool exterior – he had another purpose, he reminded himself, and he made sure his gestures showed some kind of anger or disapproval.  He slammed the door shut and leaned against it, folding his arms across his chest.

“OK, Mick.  So, what’s all this about?”  Micky didn’t stir; to Mike’s shock, he just laid there, still staring at the ceiling.  Mike wasn’t sure what to make of this strange behavior – Micky had never ignored him before. Was he getting tired of the old routine?  Was he getting tired of being the favorite callboy?  Was Micky getting tired of *him*?  Mike couldn’t afford to let that happen.  They needed the money, and besides…Mike needed him. “Micky.  I’m talkin’ to ya.  I’d like an answer.  Or are ya gonna sit here an’ sulk all day?”

“What, Mike?”  Micky asked, simply, still staring at the ceiling.

Ah, an answer.  Finally.  That put Mike at ease.  “What the fuck was that all about?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.  You’re the one that’s fucked up.”

That stung, and Mike was grateful that Micky wasn’t looking at him to see the shock and hurt on his face.  He cleared his throat and walked over to the bed.  “It’s not me, buddy, you haven’t been the same since you woke up.”  His voice started to take on that menacing tone again.  “…and if you don’t snap out of this, I’m gonna have to take ya back to the hospital – let them deal with ya.”

That got Micky’s attention.  “Hospital?”

“Yeah, ya begged me to get ya out, and now I’m gonna have to re-commit ya.”

“I was in a hospital?  How long was I there?”

“Long enough to wanna get out.”

“Wh…what kind of hospital?”

“The kind for nuts like you,” Mike answered him coldly, and he saw Micky’s expression change from anger to worry.  That did it, Mike thought, he’d found the right button and Micky would go back to being his old submissive self…or else.

Micky sat up and looked at his roommate.  “Would you really do that, Mike?  Send me back?”  he whispered sullenly.

Mike stood up and opened his robe, completely ignoring Micky’s question.  “Why don’t you finish what you started?”  It was not a suggestion, but a command.

Micky looked up at him, surprised by the sudden change in direction the conversation had taken.  He was going to say that he didn’t feel like it anymore, but when he saw the threat in Mike’s eyes he decided otherwise.  He looked back to the rising structure he was supposed to finish off, but his heart wasn’t in it.  Not like this.  This was worse than Butch; now he had to actually do something – this was humiliation.  Why didn’t Mike just let him do it when he had offered?  That would have been so much better, and then they both could enjoy it.  He wished he could force himself to say no, if he only had the nerve.  Instead, he forced himself to give Mike that blowjob, and maybe redeem himself for what he'd done.

Still on the bed, he raised himself to his knees and gave a little sigh; he knew he was beaten and he leaned his head forward on Mike for just a second till he mustered up the energy to proceed with his task.  He tried to put all thoughts from his mind as his lips softy kissed the head of Mike’s cock.  As he went further, so did his thoughts.  He licked his lips and opened his mouth to allow Mike in, and all he could think about was how he had managed to get himself in this position.  A useless thought, because here he was.

“You can do better than that.”  Mike bellowed from above, jolting him back to what he was doing.  Could he do a better job?  He couldn’t remember ever doing this before, yet it didn’t seem unfamiliar.  So Micky tried harder.  He curled his arms around Mike’s legs and steadied himself as he inched further down to mouthe the balls that had waited so patiently for some attention.  He heard an airy sigh from above and figured he must be on the right track.

Micky put himself on autopilot, trying not to think too much about what he was doing.  His body seemed to know better than he did anyway.  Instead, he thought about the situation and what to do about Mike.  The assumption of being on equal terms in this relationship couldn’t be further from the truth.  But it was worth it, wasn’t it?  He had something with Mike, or he did once.  He couldn’t remember anything else but Mike, and Mike was the only one that loved him in that thing he could only recall as a dream.  Besides, Mike was all he had right now.

Mike had what he wanted: he stood proudly with his power, his control, and his Micky between his legs sucking him off.  Life just didn’t get any better than this; not when he had that beautiful mouth at his crotch, teasing him to a pulsating hard-on.  “Come on, Mick,” Mike urged, and he held Micky’s head in place as he forced himself inside that hot, wide mouth – enough playing, he was ready to come, and was intent on doing it his way; after all, this was supposed to be a lesson in obedience, a punishment for that bloody nose.  He thrust forward, throwing Micky off balance, but keeping that strong grip on him so Mike could fuck his mouth properly.  Deeper and deeper; harder and harder until he heard Micky gag – that’s what he wanted to hear, and then he came deep inside his throat.

When he finally let go of Micky, he stood back to watch him fall to the bed, still gagging and trying to catch his breath.  “That was the sloppiest head you’ve ever given, Mick.  You need some work on your blowjob skills.”

“Fuck you,” Micky choked out.

“No, but maybe later, babe, if ya play your cards right.”  And Mike turned with a smirk and left the room, content that he had made his point.  He basked in that glorious thought as he headed downstairs to find Davy on the couch receiving some good head from Peter, of all people.

“What has gotten into everyone in this house?  Since when are those two an item?”  Mike said to himself.  Then loud enough for the couple to hear him he announced, “Hey, you two do have a room, ya know.”  That didn’t stop them, so Mike stood there leaning against the stairs and waited till they were finished.  He wasn’t particularly interested in the scene, but he did notice Peter’s excellent technical skills – perfect timing; he played Davy like he were playing an instrument.  And when Davy finally came he hit a note he never had before and loud enough to crack the glass – well, almost.

“OK, Peter…you win.”  He barely got out between big gulps of air.

“Told you so.”  Peter said, as he smugly wiped the corners of his mouth in satisfaction of a job well done.

“What the fuck is goin’ on here?”  Mike interrupted.

“Davy just lost a bet.”

“Now wait a minute.”  Davy objected, “I ‘ave to sample both sides first.”