Page 75 of His Holy Chaos

I transition to the belt. The first strike draws a gasp, his back arching, but Alfie holds him in place.

"Ouuuchhh, Daddy!" he complains, but that's how I know he's enjoying this. That, and the fact he's leaking like a faucet.

Jude breaks somewhere around the eighth stroke. Tears follow. They fall onto the scarred oak, darkening the wood in small, irregular circles, and Alfie's hand moves from his cheek to his hair, stroking, holding, his murmured words becoming a continuous current of comfort.

I deliver the last stroke, ten in total. The crack echoes. He moans, long and low.

I set the belt on the table.

"How are you, sweetheart? Are you okay?" I ask, running slow circles on his back. He nods, his eyes distant and soft, deep in subspace. "I need words, sweetie. Use your words, baby boy."

"Yes, Daddy. I'm so good. Thank you. Thank you, Alfie," he says. I beam with pride.

Alfie is still caressing him. "Such a good boy, thanking Daddy and me for your punishment," Alfie says, and he has the playfulness of a brat but the tenderness of a Dom at the same time.

I move to him. I help him stand and then hold him. Alfie appears at my elbow with a glass of water. He holds it to Jude's lips.

We migrate to the couch. Jude curled against me. Alfie settles on Jude's other side, his head finding Jude's shoulder, his arm draped across Jude's waist, and the three of us collapse into a configuration that no one planned and no one questions.

The laughter starts. They're both laughing.

"Do you remember," Alfie says, and his voice is wrecked and amused and alive, "the last Brat Court? I don't remember what it was about. I just remember you started pretending to be a real puppy, barking and saying you were going to pee on the floor if people didn't overturn your sentence."

"Fuck yes, and I should have peed on the floor." Then he looks at me, covering his mouth with his hand. "Sorry for cussing, Daddy!"

"I'm keeping the tally, don't worry. And Brat Court?"

"It's when we pretend we're in a court, usually the brats prosecuting their Dom for the most ludicrous reasons, like 'my Dom didn't let me eat chocolate for dinner every day this week.'"

"Yeah, Daddy. Watch out. I will sue you in Brat Court," Jude jokes, even after I just belted him. That little brat. I kiss his temple.

"Sure, baby boy. I'll watch out," I tell him. They both laugh.

They're safe.

Jude shifts against my side. I know these signals before he even knows he's sending them. The restless thigh pressed to mine, the way his hand traces circles on my knee, the hungry glance that flicks from my mouth to my eyes and back again. He's floating but not gone; his need is bright and insistent.

I let him squirm. I let him build the pressure. It's part of the pleasure for both of us.

Alfie notices too. His eyes gleam.

I clear my throat. "Jude. Do you need something?"

His face is flushed, tears drying in tracks down his cheeks, his mouth swollen from biting his own lip. He nods, then shakes his head, then tries again.

"I want…" He swallows.

"Use your words, baby boy."

"I want to please you, Daddy."

My cock is already half-hard, the discipline scene a steady, low burn, but now it surges. I look at Alfie.

"You okay with this?" I ask, because his consent is not a given. Not after tonight.

Alfie's smile is almost predatory. "Of course." His hand moves to his own crotch, pressing the outline through the denim. "Do you mind if I touch myself?"

"That's fine by me. Jude, what about you?"