Cat's M/M Discipline Fiction


 

Jon and Kit Stories

7. Saturday Confession

 

Kit groaned as he came to wakefulness and moved. His entire body ached from the exertions of the evening before and not just because of the bike ride. A severe spanking didn’t just take a toll of the muscles in the buttocks. His arms and shoulders ached as a result of tensions accrued from being bent over the back of the couch and bed. He sat up, wincing as his bottom made contact with the mattress. He got up and inspected it in the wardrobe mirror. It bore little surface evidence of the punishment it had taken. There was a faint dusky blush to the fuller part of the lower cheeks and a hint of bruising, but the soreness was more in the muscle than on the surface and was probably due as much to clenching as to the action of hand and paddle. He’d be a little tender for most of the day, but it could have been far worse and it was nothing compared to the fierce ache in his overworked knee.

After paying the bathroom a visit, he pulled on some boxer shorts and headed downstairs. Jon was in the kitchen rinsing breakfast dishes at the sink, while listening to the radio news. Kit padded over and wound his arms around his waist pressing his face against his back.

Jon started slightly as Kit’s arms came around his waist. He’d been engrossed in current affairs and hadn’t heard him come into the kitchen. He smiled, twisting round to envelope him in a warm hug. “You could have coughed or something, you scared me creeping up like that. How are you feeling, love?”

Kit knew the enquiry wasn’t concerned with how his backside was faring after the previous night’s punishment. He was expected to accept both disciplinary consequences and their aftermath without complaint. “I’m fine, apart from a bit of a thick head.”

“I hope you’re not expecting sympathy on that score,” said Jon tartly. “Because you’re not getting any. You’re too fond of resorting to drink when you descend into one of your moods.”

“I didn’t resort to drink, you make me sound like an alcoholic. I was hot and thirsty and had a couple of pints of cider that’s all. It was pouring them onto an empty stomach that got me.”

“You shouldn’t have been having them at all, empty stomach or otherwise and I notice that you don’t deny you were in a mood.”

“You’d have been in a mood if you’d had to work with Diane all day. The bitch hardly spoke to me all.”

“And you blamed me for that?”

“Yes,” said Kit bluntly. “I did.”

“Kit, you can’t seriously have expected me to blithely okay you staying overnight at the surgery under the circumstances?”

“One night, Jon, that’s all I was asking for. I’d have made it up.”

“That’s not how it works, is it?”

“No.” Kit sighed.

“No indeed, and all else aside, it’s her job to do it, not yours. She’d have taken any glory for things going well and been first to point the finger and complain if anything went wrong, with the result of you chewing yourself inside out over it for days.” Jon pulled Kit closer and kissed him. “I love you. Sit down and I’ll make you some fresh tea. Do you want toast?”

“Please,” Kit settled himself at the table, wincing as the action forced a protest from his injured knee. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’ve buggered that knee again, just as it was starting to improve.” Jon frowned, “don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t wear your support when your went cycling into the wide blue yonder. How bad is it?”

“Its stiffened up overnight. It feels a bit inflamed,” admitted Kit ruefully. “It’s throbbing. I was an idiot for not wearing my brace, I’m sorry.”

“It’s your body you need to apologise to, you may have disobeyed me yesterday, but you totally abused it.” He tipped Kit’s chin up, gazing at him unsmilingly. “I’m not happy, kitten, not at all. We’re going to have a talk about a few things this morning, but first things first, breakfast, and then a shower for you after which I’ll give your knee a massage.” 

Jon filled the kettle and then slipped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster, “by the way, Kelly and Michaela phoned this morning. They’ve finally worn Christie and Tam down about getting a puppy, they’re going out to view some tomorrow afternoon. They want you to go with them and help choose.” He looked over his shoulder at Kit, “are you up for it?”

“Definitely,” Kit smiled. He liked Jon’s twin nieces, “what breed is this prospective pup?”

“Heinz 57.” Jon poured boiling water into the teapot, “as far as I could gather anyway, the girls were too excited to be specific about details. They gave me my orders. I was to tell you they required your services in a puppy choosing capacity, not even the prospect of a new baby cousin could outshine the prospect of a new puppy.”

“Julie’s pregnant! When did you find out?”

Jon set the teapot on the kitchen table, “this morning. She was at Christie’s house breaking the news to her and she told me shortly before the brats demanded my ear for the really important news.”

“Aw, Jon, that’s fantastic,” Kit beamed. “I hope it works out for her this time.”

“Me too, love,” Jon poured two mugs of tea, pushing one across the table to Kit.

Kit grinned, “guess what Jan will say when she hears the news?” He and Jon chorused in unison: “not another flaming Christmas and birthday present to shell out for. Haven’t this family heard of contraception. Thank God for a gay sibling, at least neither Jon nor Kit is likely to fall with child.”

“Where is Jan at the moment?” Kit picked up the mug, sipping his tea.

“Somewhere in India the last I heard, researching for a documentary, though exactly what the subject of the documentary is I have no idea. You know what’s she like, she’ll turn up at some airport sooner or later looking like she’s lived rough for months and demanding one of us pick her up and fill her in on all the home news she’s missed while travelling around.”

Once Kit had breakfasted, Jon’s manner became business like and he sent him off to shower, after which he carefully massaged anti-inflammatory gel into his swollen knee. “You’ll make an appointment with your physiotherapist first thing on Monday morning,” he glanced up at him. “No cycling, no running until further notice, not unless she advises it. Is that clear?”  Kit nodded and Jon continued by concluding the business of the night before. “You can record two demerits for neglecting to wear your brace in a fit of spleen against me. Hurting yourself, as a form of perverse payback is not something I will ever accept, nor is taking needless risks, so you can also record another two demerits for not wearing your cycle hat. You’ve suffered one head injury as a result of being knocked off your bike. I don’t intend for you to suffer another. I’m not going through that bloody agony again, certainly not just because you’re in too much of a strop to wear a hat. ”

Four! Kit swallowed. He was only three days into a thirty-day block and already he was halfway to a dose of the dreaded tawse. At this rate he’d have to take Holy Orders and live in a monastic cell in order to escape it, though with his luck he’d end up in an order that practised compulsory flagellation. It wasn’t fair. As if in practice for the monastic life he remained silent on the subject. There would be no point in comment or complaint, it would only risk further penalty.

Jon stood up, “I’m going to wash my hands. You get dressed, then come into the study, bring your punishment book with you.”


Jon silently contemplated his dark haired partner as he sat at the study desk and recorded the demerits and their reasons. Once Kit was done and the pen put aside, he folded his arms, asking quietly, “what’s going on, Kit, and I’m not referring to yesterday. I’ve worked out the pattern for yesterday’s events. You’ve been out of sorts all week. I want to know what the underlying impetus is. What are you feeling so upset or guilty about that you feel driven to engage in confrontational situations that you know you can’t win?”

Kit picked up the pen he’d recorded the demerits with, twisting it in his fingers. “I don’t feel guilty about anything. Why would I?”

“You tell me,” Jon removed the pen and set it firmly on the desk. “I want an answer, Christian. There’s something bothering you and you’re going to tell me exactly what it is instead of courting punishment for it by proxy.”

Silence ensued. 

“Very well, have it your way.” Jon tapped a finger on the punishment book, “you’ve got five minutes to start talking to me, otherwise you can record another demerit and you can record one for every subsequent five minutes of obstinacy after that.”

Kit stared at the book and pen in dismay. He knew Jon meant what he said. In less than twenty-five minutes he could easily be cashing in ten points and not for a nice set of china mugs and matching coasters, but for a very painful strapping. He turned his eyes from the book and pen to Jon’s face, blurting, “Sam, I saw Sam, that night at the restaurant. It was after you and Colin went outside. I told him that we’d discovered the truth about what a leech he was.” It was a relief and a release to get the words past the blockade he’d built around them all week, he just wanted rid of them.

“So,” Jon’s face darkened. “You lied to both Colin and I. You not only saw Sam you actually spoke with him?”

“Yes,” Kit flushed a hot deep red. “I told him that Col said he never wanted to set eyes on him again and,” he swallowed and the flush deepened with shame. “I threatened to punch his lights out if he didn’t clear off quickly.” He clutched at Jon’s hand, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jon. I thought I was doing Col a big favour, saying what he would have said himself in the circumstances, but I wasn’t. He’s so miserable and it’s all my fault.”

Jon held Kit’s hands, “what the hell possessed you?”

Kit shrugged miserably. The initial relief he’d felt in giving up his guilty secret was fast abating. “I was really angry. I hated Sam for making a fool of Colin and for taking a lend of him. I thought Col would soon realise that he was better off without him. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Are you honestly telling me that your actions were motivated purely by concerns for Colin?”

Kit hesitated, and then taking a deep breath he finally fully admitted something that he’d been trying to deny to himself all week. “I felt that Sam had spoiled everything. Colin wanted to spend more time with him, and when he wasn’t talking about Sam, or actually being with Sam, he was talking to you about him. I felt like he had less time and less need for my friendship.”

“It’s normal for someone to want to spend more time with a new boyfriend, Kit. You know that from your own experience, and as a consequence day-to-day relationship patterns do tend to get disrupted and neglected, but they reform in time. Would you really begrudge a good friend the pleasure of building an intimate relationship with someone?”

“No,” Kit’s eyes flashed vivid resentment, “but why did it have to be with someone like Sam? He’s repulsive!”

“To you possibly, but very obviously not to Colin. He’s pining his heart out for that scrap of trouble.” Jon grimly contemplated his partner for a few long moments. “You lied to me, Christian, more than once. I gave you several opportunities to reveal what was on your mind. You lied to Colin and you’ve kept quiet for six days while he’s agonised over the events of that night. I don’t believe I’ve ever known you to act with such utter selfishness. I don’t care for Sam either. The boy’s a pest, but then he’s not mine to care for, he’s Colin’s and why Colin cares is Colin’s business and his alone. You can’t dictate whom another person falls in love with. Sometimes you can’t even dictate whom you yourself will fall in love with. You’ve caused hurt and confusion as a result of your self-centred meddling. It was for Colin to decide how he would react to the information passed on by Sam’s so called nephew. It was not your place to put words in his mouth, am I making sense?”

“Yes, Jon. I’m sorry.” Kit chewed on his lower lip, “are you going to tell Colin?”

“For heaven’s sake of course I am. I have to tell him so at least he’ll know that Sam didn’t run out on him purely because he thought his nephew had pulled the plug on some nasty scam and a game was up. I’m deeply disappointed in you over this, Christian. You’ve deceived me and let me down badly, and the same for Colin.”

“Jon, please, I’m really sorry.” Kit fought back tears at the harsh words.  “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just got carried away that night and then I didn’t know how to tell you the truth.  I was ashamed of myself, especially when I saw how upset Col was. Everyday I intended to say something to him, to let him know that Sam hadn’t disappeared without trying to see him, but I just couldn’t find the guts. I kept telling myself that he would soon be over it. I wanted him to be over it and for things to be as they were before.” 

“You had absolutely no right to interfere.” Jon stood up, pacing the room.

“I know, it was wrong of me. I regret it more than I can say and I deserve to be punished. I was horrible to Sam, a real bully. He kept trying to tell me something about his nephew, but I wouldn’t listen. I told him that Colin despised him and had instructed me to tell him to stay away. I wanted him to stay away, but I didn’t really believe he would. Every time the phone rang I expected it to be Colin saying Sam had turned up and told him what I said at the restaurant.”  Kit’s underlying anxiety, which had grown over the course of the week made itself fully known and he gave way to tears. “It seems out of character for him to stay away, what if he’s dead, Jon? What if he’s committed suicide like Suzie did, and that’s the reason he hasn’t come back. He’s like her isn’t he?  He has the same thing? It’ll be my fault if he’s dead.”

Jon walked briskly back to the desk, pulling Kit to his feet he gave him a shake. “Stop the hysteria and listen to me. I’m certain that Sam isn’t the suicidal type, he’s got an instinct for survival that Suzie never had. Bipolar disorder is a complex condition every bit as diverse as the individuals who are unfortunate enough to have to fit their lives around it. I’d lay a bet on him being out there somewhere, wreaking his particular brand of havoc.” He located a tissue in his jeans pocket and roughly wiped Kit’s eyes and nose with it. “Can you, with any kind of honesty, deny that you manipulated an unpleasant situation in order to suit your personal agenda?”

“No,” Kit shook his head miserably. “I took the opportunity to pay Sam back for all his nasty bitchy remarks and to vent my dislike and jealousy of him. I never thought for a minute about the affect it would have on Colin.”

“Is it appropriate to deceive me under any circumstances?”

“No, Jon, it isn’t.”

“Do you agree that you’ve been deceitful?”

“Yes and I’m sorry.”

Manoeuvring Kit back onto the desk chair, Jon opened the punishment notebook and handed the pen to him saying quietly, “six demerits, one for every day you withheld the facts about what happened last Saturday night. Write them in please.”

Kit’s body tensed and his mouth went bone dry, but he took the pen and obediently recorded the demerits, a set once again completed and another one already underway. It had never happened before and it was that bastard Sam’s fault. He moistened his lips, or maybe not. He closed the notebook and waited.

“Go into the bedroom. Remove your jeans and underwear.”

Kit stood up and walked across the landing to the bedroom with Jon following. His fingers shook as he undid his jeans and pushed them down and off along with his underwear. His penis was again hard, reacting to atmosphere and the interplay of their respective roles, if only this was prelude to a sensual, play spanking, but it wasn’t. It was prelude to a plain punishment spanking and the outcome most definitely would not be orgasm.

Jon opened the chest drawer and Kit’s bare flesh goose pimpled. He felt slightly queasy as he waited for him to withdraw the thick two tailed leather tawse, an uncompromising instrument fitted with a wooden handle to give greater control to the user. Kit had only had the tawse once and he wasn’t too keen on a repeat performance. He’d barely been able to sit for days afterwards. To his surprise, Jon picked out a stiff leather paddle.

“I warned you that if you collected ten demerits for the second month in succession you’d be punished with the tawse, and I meant it. However,” Jon walked back towards the bed.  “I don’t think your knee is up to the tensions you’d impose on it as a result of assuming and holding the correct position for a heavy strapping, so I’m deferring it this time.”

Any relief that Kit felt was quickly dispelled.

“However, I think you’re more than fit enough to take a paddling while lying down.” Jon placed two pillows in the centre of the bed,  “position yourself please.”

Kit did as he was told. Climbing on the bed he lay forward across the pillows, resting his head on his arms, his upper body and legs comfortably supported by the mattress, his bottom raised. He closed his eyes tightly. Comfort was not a state of affairs he expected to continue, not for his backside anyway.

There was no build up, and no words. Jon simply placed a hand on his back and began to apply the paddle with hard precision, covering his cheeks with stinging blows before concentrating on the sit spot, first one side and then the other until Kit was sobbing. He might not have been strapped, but the burning pain in his buttocks left him in no doubt that he’d been punished, as did Jon’s pronouncement at the end of the spanking that he was assigned ironing duties for a month. Kit loathed and despised ironing with a vengeance. It was a horrible repetitive, achingly tedious chore that ought to be classified as a form of purgatory requiring the prayers of the pure to release one from the agony.

“I’m going over to see Colin,” Jon dropped the paddle back into the chest drawer and closed it, then turned back to the bed where Kit lay crying. “You’ll stay in bed until I get back.”

As soon as Jon left the room, Kit curled on his side and cried harder. His backside hurt, but nowhere near as much as the cold disapproval still evident in Jon’s manner. Time dragged, and in his mind Kit played out a scenario where Colin dismissed him as a friend and refused to speak to him ever again.

The sound of Jon’s return made his stomach turn and his pulse race. He stared at him silently as he came into the bedroom, too afraid to ask in case what he feared was confirmed.

Seating himself on the bed, Jon pushed off his shoes and then lay down next to Kit draping an arm over him. “Don’t look so tragic. Colin isn’t too pleased with you, he’d appreciate you consulting him before you stick your nose into his affairs in future, but he said to say he still loves you.”

Kit burst into tears of relief mixed with fresh shame at the way he’d put his own needs before those of a much loved friend.

Jon gathered Kit into his arms, cuddling and kissing him. “I know you’re ashamed and embarrassed, but it’ll be fine. Colin was glad in a way that you were responsible for Sam fleeing. He’s going to have another go at tracking him down. The boy has to be somewhere around.”

“I hope Sam’s okay,” Kit snuggled into Jon’s body. “And I really hope Colin finds him, but I’m not going to pretend I like him.”

“Well, no one can force you to like or love Sam, but as long as Colin does, that’s all that matters.”

“He does. He really does love Sam. You should have seen his face when he was holding that scruffy old teddy that belongs to him. It made me want to cry. I felt so bad about what I’d done.” He tipped his head back to look into Jon’s eyes, “have you forgiven me, do you still love me?”

Jon’s kiss told him all he needed to know.

 


Copyright 2010 Cat/Fabian Black

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