'Not Our Fault' Part Two

'Not Our Fault' Part Two

by Randy Williams

I followed Peter to his corner and watched as he stripped down to just his briefs. He gave me a look and his eyes went all smoky with concern.

"Russ we didn't mean too..." Peter started the whine.

I was fading fast and didn't have the time, or right now with all the warm thoughts of what I wanted our welcome home to be, the patience to listen. I took his jeans with me and left him facing his corner.

Down the short hall, Alan was standing near his corner. His eyes filling, his face looking miserable.

"Russ..."

"Now, Alan!"

He too stripped down to his boxer briefs.

I gave him a curt nod and he turned to face his corner. I left the room with two pairs of still warm jeans.

I know, I know. Separate corners in separate rooms can seem to be a bit, well, excessive. However these were my brats and they were - if nothing else, besides that is, looking so damn cute and so hot - endlessly inventive. I had the pants and left them in just their briefs because it was what, just last month I caught them TEXTING while in the corners? No pants, no phones. That night a new rule was written in stone along with a warning they stop that nonsense or they would be doing corner time naked!

Grabbing my two- suiter in the other hand, I trudged up the stairs to our master bedroom. Frankly I just wanted to cry. I know. I know I'm a Top we don't cry. We maintain order. We hold crying brats. Hell, we make brats cry; I can, with just a LOOK, not to mention the paddle hanging on the back of the bathroom door. I was muttering as I stripped off my clothes, "I'm a Top. I'm a Top." That lasted until I was in the bathroom and had the shower running. The trouble is I don't feel like a Top right now. I let the hot water sluice over my head and sighed deeply, thinking back to my brat days. I loved my Top and he was good. We were good together. He took this confused kid off the junk heap. Showered me with firm, stern love. Let me rest. Let me become the man I am now.

Right now I was exhausted. I hurt and really, all I wanted to do was curl up in His arms. I didn't want to be the bad ass. Hell, I had thrown a few parties. Hell, I had been right where those two were! Standing on starting-to-ache legs; worried about the condition of their butts. Alan would be sure by now that I would become the ogre and throw him out. Peter would be outwardly stoic but I could mentally see him running his fingers though his dirty blonde hair repeatedly; a sure sign of inward stress. Do they know? Do they have any idea? Can I make them understand?

My life was so empty after Art died. We had been together for years. Then BAM! A damn drunk driver. My life was over.

I did good, I did. With help from a few other Tops and friends of Art I became what I am.

I am a Top. But what is a Top without his brat? Or in my case, as a grin flashed across my face, my brats? I leaned against the shower wall. I wanted just to stay there. But there were two men downstairs.

I turned the water to cold and stood there until I was shivering. Then I was out groping for a towel. I felt one and dried my head.

"Well boy, you have a small problem don't you!"

I dropped the towel to my shoulders and there was Art, standing there with that damn grin on his face. The first time this happened I thought I was going mad.

I resumed drying my chilled body. "Yeah, old man, I do and it's your fault!!" I snapped.

He chuckled. Bastard! He actually chuckled.

"Russell, if I were here and alive I would put the paddle to good use. Dead or alive, you don't talk to me like that. Now keep drying, you are going to catch your death. I have told you and told you, cold showers like that can really mess you up. Keep rubbing. Harder! Get warm, you idiot boy!"

Then he sat on the sink chuckling.

"You feelin' a bit sorry for yourself?"

"Why?"

"Those two butts, hmmm, to spank. Nosiree, I don't feel sorry for you one bit! Rub, boy. Get dry, they are waiting. I hope I taught you better than to keep a brat waiting too long."

"Art", I whined. Yes, I actually whined. God if those two downstairs knew I was whining to the ghost of my old Top...

"Russell, they are good brats, mostly. Hell boy, better than you were. Did you see what they did yet? They busted their asses to get this place clean. Yeah I know, mostly for their behinds but for you, too. Right now Peter is holding Alan who is sobbing in his arms. My boy, you do know how to pick good lookin' young men. Damn if you don't!"

When he said Alan was crying my arm reached for the door. It is automatic: my brat, my lover, was crying.

"You old softy!" he chuckled

"Now get some clothes on, make a cup of joe and settle those two men down! They love you, man. As much as you love them. Damn iffin I didn't raise a good one here."

I wrapped the towel around my waist and started for the bedroom.

"Russell, ain't you forgettin' something?"

Art said grinning at me with pure mischief in his eyes as he nodded toward the paddle hanging on the back of the door.

I reached up and took the paddle in my hand and headed toward the bedroom. I Am A Top.

As I left the bathroom I swore I heard a soft, "I love you, bub."

I turned quickly to see just an empty bathroom.

***

I Wish You'd...

Look at him, sprawled across the bed; those gloriously tempting dimples in the small of his back just made for my tongue…

"I wish you'd wear pyjamas to bed."

Tim twisted to face me, looking, well, slightly put out.

"Something wrong?" he demanded, before scurrying out the far side – awkward bugger- and wrenching open bottom drawer for those items kept on hand for when parents and siblings stop over.

"Happy now, M'lord?!"

"Yes."

I reached out, hooking thumbs in the waistband and doffing them to his knees in a move I just love.

"Nothing like undressing a naughty boy first thing."

Back to Normal

by Randy Williams

He bent me over his hard lap; his arm trapped me in that position at all brats love to hate. His deep dark voice rumbled above me about not cleaning the patio and going out with Chris instead. I squirmed as I felt his hands pull down my white briefs. Then felt the cool wooden back of the bath brush......

XY

"So", he purred, one heated hand easily pushing between my thighs and shifting my right leg off his knee and opening a new expanse of unblemished skin, "You were saying?"

Well, not much at that point, more an undignified but wholly meant gasping. Never, never, never again if this was the result, but oh my god- 

"Oh I like this", he murmured, that same hand reaching for me and feeling the weight of me, manipulating me back to hardness. "Very nice, but so very …naughty." 

He raised that hand, bringing it down with a fierce sting on my inner thigh.

WARNING MAY NOT BE YOUR THING

WARNING MAY NOT BE YOUR THING

by Randy Williams

My mouth kissing and nipping down from her oh so pretty navel.

Lapping at the crisp hairs guarding her pleasure points. Those hairs waving in the breeze of my breath as I lean in to lick and tease. Her right hand spanks down on my bare unprotected backside.

I rear back to see her grin, quickly overlay-ed by her Top LOOK.

Now she purrs in that silky dangerous voice. the one that sends chills up my spine.

"Did you go somewhere without asking your Top?"

Her hand cupping my stinging butt slowly sliding down toward the center and then in between my legs.  Her fingers brushing my mound her voice and the sting of her hand made my clit twitch as a gush of wetness and warmth spread though me.

"Not me,  my Lady"

I giggled hugging her and pushing her back into the bed.

'Not Our Fault'

'Not Our Fault' 

by Randy Williams

I sighed and wondered if maybe more Advil would help. So I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed again.

You see I am a Top. I have the usual aversion to over medication, the usual aversion to lying. I am morally upright and I have the eye brow. I can spot a lie or a shaded truth faster then a speeding bullet. Yet here I am standing here looking at two young men, well my young men, really my brats actually. I do have to admit they do look good. Wait, wait. Stop, rewind Not our fault. Hmmmm. 

You see I have been gone on a business trip for three days. Working and sweating to make a hearth and home for our little family.Well sweating if you call being trapped in conference rooms with stuff shirts work, and believe me it is and it can be a bit sweaty. So here I am jet lagged to hell and back. My back hurts from the lousy seats on the plane. Or any plane unless I get first class. I am suffering from airplane scotch, airplane meals and feel like my body has not showered in about a month. What has been keeping me going for the last leg of the never ending flights is thoughts of coming home. Home to my boys and the wonderful sexy raunchy welcome home sex that should ensue after this far too long absents. 

Now before you grab any phone to report child abuse, I call them my boys but they are of age. Really we all are of age. Believe me I am feeling everyone of my 40 something years. They look, well they look like they should be models. They both have that freshly showered look and well no shirt and those jeans.... Wait wait, rewind, rewind.

"Not our fault!"

Hold on to that, concentrate. Not our fault. Not our fault. Just keep saying that. Stop thinking about Peter's chest, stop looking at Alan's white brief line. Stop it . You're a Top, act like it. 

It is time to let loose the Top sense. I know people have heard of the Force. Well it is something like that or something more like a Spidy Sense if you read comics. 

So Peter has that look; chin out eyes look a bit sleepy body almost relaxed. Still there is something. Alan well his eyes are a give away, he looks guilty trying hard not to look guilty. With that head cock like it does when he is about to tell a whopper.

Taking in a huge breath of air.

"OK then Peter your corner, Alan your corner. NOW!", I snap. "I am going to have a shower then we can all discuss how it is not your fault that there is a beer keg floating in the pool. Now MARCH!"

*****

Bath Drabble

Listening to the fan hum overhead, I shut my eyes, trying to block out the day.

Hearing the slap of bare feet on the lino, I reluctantly opened one eye.

"Come on Tim, you've refilled that bath three times now. We're in a drought.  Time to get out and face it, love."

Rob reached past my wrinkled and water logged toes to remove the bath plug, and I drew my knees to my chest, hugging them whilst contriving a fearful look.

"Don't do that!"

A rare look of anger crossed his face and I felt, well, I felt like a right prick.