Moving On

Moving On

Fabian Black

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A visit to a Sunday morning car boot sale has unhappy repercussions for Andrew. He comes face to face with an object from his past, something he never thought he’d see again. Bad memories begin to resurface with a vengeance. 

Driven by guilt and self-loathing he leaves his authoritarian partner Thomas and takes flight in order to avoid confronting his fears.

Thomas sets out to find Andrew and make him face up to his demons. 

 

 
PUBLISHED BY: Chastise-Books
ISBN: 978-1-4092-2417-4
PUBLICATION DATE: 2008
WORD COUNT: 38656
SEXUAL CONTENT RATING: 3 3 3
EBOOK READER RATING:
CATEGORIES: ManLove, Contemporary, Erotica, Holidays, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fiction
KEYWORDS: manlove, mm, domestic discipline, gay romance, otk, spanking stories, gay fiction, domination, D/s romance, discipline fiction, emotion,
 

EBOOKS BY Chastise-Books

EBOOKS BY Fabian Black

 
EXCERPT
COPYRIGHT Fabian Black/2008

I felt suddenly overwhelmed by the whole situation, by this eccentric stranger’s kindness, and by my own undoubted weakness. Dangerously near to tears, which I fought to control, I rasped. “I don’t want to impose on you. Give me a night or so to pull round, and then I’ll get out of your hair, as well as your spare room.”


“Andrew, I will tell you when and if you’re imposing, until that time the subject is non existent.” He indicated the tray he’d brought up, “I’ve brought you some soup, nothing too heavy, just something to start building your strength back up.”


“Not hungry, thanks.”


“Just a few spoonfuls.”


I shook my head. “I’d like a drink though, I need one.”


He reached for the glass and carafe, which stood on the bedside table. I took a small sip of the water he poured, my hands shaking so violently the water was in danger of spilling onto the covers. “My bag, I had a holdall when you picked me up, where is it please?”


“In the wardrobe along with your clothes, which I took the liberty of laundering, its quite safe I assure you.”


“Please, would you mind getting me it?”


He gazed at me in an uncomfortably shrewd way. “If you want the bottle of brandy that was in it, then I’m afraid you’re out of luck. The top hadn’t been replaced properly, hence the need to launder your clothes. Besides alcohol is the last thing someone in your condition needs, especially at this time of the day. More importantly, the antibiotics you’re on specify no alcohol to be consumed during the course or for several days after. Now, let’s give your body something it does need, food.


“Was there any brandy left in the bottle, surely it can’t all have leaked?”


“Tell me, Andrew, are you an alcoholic?”


“NO.” I glared at him indignantly, feeling my face flush hot denial. I drank too much at times it was true, but I wasn’t an alcoholic, not yet anyway, though a small voice in my head whispered that I was well on my way to helping them out when they were busy.


“In that case forget the brandy, as I said the antibiotics prohibit alcohol. You need food.”


I felt as close to sulking as someone in my condition was capable of. “I told you, thanks for the offer, but no thanks, I’m not hungry.”


“You misunderstand,” he reached for the tray he’d brought up and balanced it on his knees. “I wasn’t asking you. I was telling you. You’re underweight. Malnourished was the word the doctor used. You need some meat on your bones. I know eating probably has little appeal just now, nevertheless, you will take a few spoonfuls.”


I felt myself flush at his peremptory tone, “what gives you the bloody right to...”


He killed my fledgling tirade. “You became my responsibility the moment you vomited all over my car, and me, after which you all but collapsed into unconsciousness. That responsibility will remain mine until such time as you are in a fit condition to resume it for yourself. Currently, you have rather severe pleurisy, the result of a long neglected chest infection, and as such you’re in no state to go anywhere, least of all to trudge damp streets or doss down in germ-laden hostels. I won’t have your death on my conscience, now that truly would be an imposition upon me.”


Scooping soup onto the spoon he held it to my lips, which I kept stubbornly closed. No one was going to force feed me, least of all some bossy espouser of proverbs. I studied him. He was, relatively speaking, a plain man, homely, except for his eyes which were housed under bushy brows. I looked more closely. I’d never seen human eyes such a vivid shade of green. He had nice hair too, dark blonde and expensively cut, it was obviously a vanity.


“Tell me, Andrew,” the bossy espouser kept both the spoon and his extraordinary eyes steadily focused on my person, “as a matter of interest, have you ever been spanked?”


My face flushed pink and I felt my eyes grow as round as the proverbial saucers. I was dumfounded by the sheer effrontery of the man. Who did he think he was, trying to intimidate me with the implied threat of a spanking? All the same, an inexplicable nervousness swept over me. There was something about the way he spoke that made me decide I had nothing to lose by at least trying the soup. I opened my mouth and swallowed the spoon contents. It was good and I was actually very hungry, but a few mouthfuls later I’d had enough, shaking my head as he scooped up another spoonful.


He nodded, setting the bowl aside. “Well done, Andrew, it’s a start. You’ll manage a little more next time I don’t doubt.”


Later I was to learn a proverb that summed up Thomas perfectly: gentle in manner, but resolute in action, in other words the iron hand in the velvet glove.

 
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