Chapter 2 

 You could learn a lot from a man during a twenty minute drive across town. It all came down to the way he carried himself. Did he fumble and fidget? Did he keep up mindless chatter or try to fill the silence with small talk? Did he gaze through the window with his chin propped in his hand or did he put his legs up on the dash and make himself comfortable?

It also all came down to the words he spoke. Was it intelligent conversation or was it simply about the weather? Did he speak about himself or did he want to know about your life? There was a reason for everything a person did, no matter how small and no matter whether they knew it or not. Your actions in close proximity to another person for any period of time housed aspects of your personality even if it was just in some small way. Your manner could exude confidence, anxiousness or even uncertainty and no matter how hard you tried to cover it up with a façade of nonchalance or seemingly easy banter, I could read you in a heartbeat.

I could read people. It was something I did as a game when I was a kid and it was something I did without thinking as an adult. It helped to know those around you. It helped to understand them, because that knowledge could be advantageous in more ways than you could imagine.

The night before we'd been so eager and desperate for release that I'd overlooked a lot about him. There was no time to just observe, but now in the silence, I only had my mind to dictate my actions—so I observed, and ten minutes into the ride, what I'd learned about Cam was significantly less than I usually did with others during the same length of time.

He bit his lip often and kept his hands locked together firmly in his lap, which spoke of his nervousness and of course his anxiety, but his shoulders contradicted my conclusion. They were too relaxed with not an ounce of tension. His breathing was also under control and not once since he'd strapped on his seat-belt had he glanced through the window. Instead, his eyes were on me.

He watched me with the focus of a hawk on his prey; but it wasn't with thirst, hunger or even desire. It was just bald curiosity—nothing more, nothing less. He spent a time watching just my face—his eyes roaming over every inch of it as though he were taking in my every expression; even where there was none. Then he watched my hands— he watched them on the wheel, he watched them on the gear-stick and he watched when I ran one through my hair.

I think what surprised me about his staring wasn't necessarily the fact that he stared, but the fact that he stared without caution. He didn't sneak glances or take a quick turn in my direction. Instead, he was completely relaxed against the seat, with his head turned boldly my way.

It completely went against the profile of him I'd already built in my mind. This wasn't the shy boy from the bar. Now that we were far away from prying eyes, he was bolder and I was intrigued.

He was like a child, watching with abandon—his big eyes taking everything in without judgment. What was even more uncharacteristic was the way his cheeks dimpled whenever I glanced over at him. There was no quick averting of his eyes or blood rising to his cheeks, he just watched and smiled and bit his lip and crushed his hands together and I just couldn't read him.

I frowned. The boy was an enigma. Then I smiled; this should be interesting.

Ten minutes later we were standing in my dining room as I watched him look around; he hadn't had much of a chance to do it the night before after all. 

"You want anything to drink or—"

He shook his head before I could finish—his curls rearranging themselves around his face.

I took a step closer so that I was standing directly in front of him and when I brushed a lock out of his face, he looked up at me.

"First rule." I began. "You don't shake your head when I ask you a question."

He turned red—eyes darting away from my face and to the floor. "Yes sir."

I didn't get the opportunity to ask the night before, so I took the time to do it right then. "How long have you played in the scene?"

His gaze skittered to mine and away again. "Um...almost three years?"

"Are you asking or are you telling me?"

"Almost three years." He said firmly. "...sir."

I nodded and took a step back. "Strip."

There was no hesitation as he reached up and pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it to the floor by his feet and his fingers were sure as he bent to pull off his shoes then free his belt.

I was learning about him; trying to understand what I couldn't on the ride over here and so I watched him carefully, taking note of his flushed skin and his red face.

He blushed a lot. It was something that had been on my mind ever since he'd woken up in my bed this morning and it just wouldn't go away. He was shy; I understood that. But three years of playing the scene should have at least erased this particular shred of innocence shouldn't it?

When he stood naked before me I swallowed hard. God he was beautiful. I'd learned every inch of his body last night, but seeing him like this again was like seeing him for the first time—smooth and soft and perfect.

I felt the tightening in my pants as my eyes skated down his body and I felt myself go hot when they passed over his already turgid member.

"On your knees." I ordered and he went down without a word. He placed his hands on his slightly parted thighs and kept his head down the way he'd clearly been taught. I circled him slowly, taking in every naked inch of his body in my scrutiny and he didn't make a sound. There were marks on his hips where I'd gripped him the night before and others on his upper arms and thighs. His skin displayed my marks well; a fact which I'd delighted in the night before.

Again I wondered why he was here and not tied up and collared in some adoring dom's bed. He was a catch to all the men out there looking to settle down with a boy like this, so why was he visiting bars every other night looking to get laid by a bunch of strangers.

Here he was kneeling right in front of me, ready to take whatever I wished to give him and this was what was on my mind.

So I asked him. "Is this really what you want?"

"Yes sir." Came his hurried reply and I smiled despite myself.

"No." I said, moving to stand before him. "I mean is this what you want? Hanging out in bars every other night, letting strangers take you home. Never settling down?"

"Look at me." I commanded and when he did, I watched the uncertainty and indecision cross his face. His brows furrowed and he took his time thinking about it before he finally gave me his hesitant answer.

"Um...Yes sir?"

I frowned. "You sure about that?"

More hesitation. "Yes?"

My frown deepened. There was rarely a time when he gave an answer that wasn't phrased as a question. It was as if he were trying to give the answers he knew I wanted to hear. Like he was trying to please me rather than tell me what he was really feeling.

I ran a hand over my chin and watched him as he watched me. I decided to test my theory.

"What are your hard limits?"

Again he seemed to think about it, then when I raised a brow in question, he took a shaky breath. "I can do anything." He said. "It doesn't matter what you—"

His answer was more upsetting than I thought it would be.

"What. Are. Your. Hard limits?" I asked firmly and I watched him practically shrink right in front of me and I felt like a jackass for being harsh with him.

"I can do anything you want sir." He mumbled with his eyes firmly planted to the ground.

I looked toward the ceiling as a chilling thought occurred to me, then I ran a hand over my face and shook my head.

The next time I moved it was to pull out a chair which I set right beside him. "Sit."

Without a word he was off the ground and seated in the chair I'd offered. He sat hunched over with his hands clasped tight in his lap, right over his now flaccid penis.

I stood before him. "Haven't you ever talked about your hard limits with the other's you've been with?"

He began to shake his head, then seemed to think better of it and spoke instead. "No sir."

Jesus.

"Do you like to feel pain?"

He nodded. "Yes sir."

"Do you like being whipped?"

"Yes sir."

"Flogged?"

"Yes sir."

"What about breathplay?" I questioned, though it was something I never practiced on my subs.

That was when the hesitation came and his answer was less sure. "Y-Yes?"

I closed my eyes and released a slow breath. Answering with a question again, which meant the boy would say anything as long as he thought it was what I wanted to hear. He was too eager to please. In fact, he was desperate.

I knew the answer to the next question before I asked it. "Have you ever used your safeword with anyone before?"

"No sir."

Which probably meant that the scars he was so embarrassed about, were there because he'd failed to use them? That, and the dom had been inept enough to think Cam could handle it.

"Why not?" I questioned him further. "Hasn't anyone ever reached the point where you just wanted them to stop?"

"I can take it." he was quick to reassure; his eyes wide and beseeching.

"That's not what I asked Cam."

This time he didn't answer. I watched as he twisted his hands together, squeezing them tighter and tighter, but he didn't respond and with a curse, I pulled out another chair and dropped into it.

He might have had a submission nature, but the man sitting before me was not a trained submissive.

I ran a hand over my eyes. How the fuck did I get myself into this mess?

We sat there for ten minutes in complete silence. My mind was reeling. Yesterday he'd told me what he'd liked and I'd given it to him. There had been no reason to discuss his hard limits then because we had both been too rushed and eager to get into anything heavy. A few slaps here and there had been the extent of our play and I hadn't planned on seeing him again anyway, but now...now... I didn't even know what now.

He was an untrained man, so eager to please his master that he would willingly take any abuse. How fucked up was that?

A sub like this was trouble. He would be too easy to take advantage of and two damn easy to hurt. A sub like this needed to be trained by a skilled dom who understood his way of thinking. A sub like this needed to be protected...at least until he understood just what it all meant and Cam didn't understand...not by a long shot.

Had it been anyone else I'd have told him to give up the scene, the lifestyle and everything that went with it before he really got hurt, but if I knew anything about Cam (and I knew enough), then it wasn't something he could just give up. It was a part of him and because of who he was, it was something he needed.

"I should take you home." I said into the silence and when he glanced up at me, his expression was of such devastation that for a second I could only stare.

I should, but it wouldn't be right. If I let him loose without some instruction there was no telling what kind of problems he could get caught up in. He had to be taught that bdsm was not just about how well one party could submit and how well the other could dominate. It was a give a take relationship and each dom had a duty to see to the needs of his sub. The sub decided what he could handle and the dominant had the responsibility of keeping within his limits. This is what Cam didn't understand and this was what he needed to be taught.

"It doesn't matter who your dom is Cam, it's your choice what happens to you. It's your choice how far you take it and if whoever is responsible for you can't live by your choices then it's not a situation you want to stay in." I told him and while he watched me, he didn't respond positively.

This was a boy who'd had three years on the scene with no one to explain it to him. Whatever he'd learned in that time wouldn't be easily erased.

I sighed.

"Do you want me to take you home?"

He shook his head. "No sir."

I nodded. He'd chosen me to take the lead and I'd accepted, so knowing what I knew now meant that I had the duty to see to it that he left my care with understanding. It meant that I couldn't let him go without making sure he would never be taken advantage of again.

It meant I had to train him.

"Look at me." I commanded and he did.

Look at him. How did you hurt somebody so sweet? Somebody who only wanted your attention?

I shook my head. I wasn't looking for anything serious, but that didn't mean I couldn't help him. I would train him and when he was ready to be thrown back out into the world of bondage and discipline and all the other wonderful perks, I'd let him go with the knowledge that I'd done some good.

I stood and held out a hand. For a brief moment he only looked at it and then with just the slightest hesitation, he took my hand and allowed me to lead him across the room—where I turned out the lights—and finally up the stairs.

The first thing I would teach him was that sometimes having someone be gentle with you was okay.    

                                                                                  AUTHOR'S NOTES

THANKS FOR READING!

KEEP SWEET!

-DoUbLe.A

-unedited.