The Orange Grove

The Orange Grove Cover“So.”

“So?” Bad looked up from his end-of-shift report. “You know, I feel like we’re seeing too fucking much of each other, Sue. You got some kind of problem at home I should be aware of?”

“If you want to interpret me taking extra classes and working extra shifts as a sign I’m pretty sure divorce is imminent and I want to be ready when it goes down, Bad, I’m not gonna stop you. Heard you were taking a Saturday shift this weekend.”

“You got money put away somewhere? Because it’s a community property state.”

“I didn’t know you knew about such things.”

He shrugged. “My mom got screwed pretty badly when I was a kid. You gotta put it in an account that doesn’t have your name on it, Sue.”

“How d’you know that, if your mom got screwed so bad?”

“Because that’s how my dad screwed her.”

The muscles around Sue’s eyes tightened. “Well, this is a fuckin’ peach of a conversation now. And yeah, I got it in an account with my sister’s kid’s name on it. As long as no one notices my nephew’s got two college funds, I have a nice little bit saved up.”

“Good. The hell do you want?”

“Just heard through the grapevine that you’re taking a shift. Saturday night.”

“So fucking what? You’re the only one who can work overtime?”

You don’t work overtime.”

“John needed cover, and he got Sara to do the midnight to four stretch, so it’s an easy four hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He tried to re-read his EOS, but couldn’t focus. “The fuck do you want, Sue? I’m trying to get out of here.”

“I thought you had a guy.”

“So what?”

Sue assumed the tone of the patient teacher, trying to get through to the very dull student. “So, when you have a guy, you don’t ever take weekend shifts. You don’t ever take night shifts. You eat all that shit you used to talk about being stuck in the booth all day and sign out the second the clock ticks over.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “Five minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I don’t know if you noticed, but this fucking cunt I work with is yammering on at me right now and I can’t finish my shit.”

“Fine. Finish your shit. Go home to your guy.”


“Except I don’t think you have a guy at home. I think you have a guy on campus, and that’s why you aren’t in a fuckin’ hurry.”

“Jesus, Sue, what’re you, Gossiping Gerty? What the hell do you care who I’m fucking?”

“Gossiping Gerty. Nice, Bad.” She stood up and clocked in, dropping her gym bag full of books under the desk. “I don’t care. Except you smile more and I want to meet him. Is it the new guy in Student Activities?”

“I’m leaving now.”

“You gonna see your guy?”

He glared at her. “You shut your blabbing goddamn mouth, Sue. I swear to god.”

“Okay, well, for the record, I’m not even a little bit intimidated by your act, Bad.”

And she wasn’t. It was one of the things he liked about her.

“Whatever. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. See ya.”

Bad slammed out of the booth and pulled out his phone to cancel with Little Red, who was supposed to meet him later at the north entrance. This whole goddamn thing was too risky. Too foolish.

Red sent back Somewhere else?

Christ on a bloody cross. Bad turned his fucking phone off and went home. Maybe today was the day he managed a fucking handstand. God knew he had all night to work on it.

* * *

Saturday shifts could get gruesome, but his half of John’s shift was tame as a goddamn kitten. It was so tame, it was boring.

“Great,” Sara said, double-checking the batteries on her radio. “You got kittens and roses and I’m gonna get seven alcohol poisonings and a roommate altercation that ends in felony property damage.”

“Sounds like fun. Have a good one.”

“Yeah, you too, Bad.”

Sara wasn’t so bad. If you’re gonna have two women working security, they should be Sue and Sara. Hard workers, bitches when they needed to be, didn’t take shit but also didn’t pull that kumbaya female bullshit, either.

He’d fire the rest of the security staff and clone the two of them any day.

Bad pulled off his official shirt and didn’t bother putting anything over the black T he wore underneath. Midnight. Too late to catch Red, probably, which was for the best. They’d played the camera three game every day this week, but he hadn’t seen the kid outside of work hours.

He had to pull back. That fucking scene in the goddamn garbage pit had been too much. Red kneeling, kissing his hands—shit. He didn’t want the kid to get the wrong idea. He sure as hell didn’t want the kid to get the right idea.

Keep it fucking hands-off. That was good. Plus, the shit he could make Red do to himself in the mail room? Fucking binder clips. Binder clips were gifts from the gods of perversion, just for Bad.

Summer session started in a few weeks, and Red had no place to stay, which meant he couldn’t take classes. Why the fuck you’d close the dorms and hold summer classes, Bad didn’t goddamn know, but it was a pisser for Red, which meant it was becoming a pisser for Bad.

He waved to a few other guys from Campus Safety, taking their break at the Commons deli, and grabbed his truck. Driving the horseshoe wasn’t exactly out of his way, and it’s not like he expected to see the kid.

Until he did.

Little Red and a little group of his little friends. Fucking college kids ran in packs.

Campion slowed the truck to watch. Maybe a little tipsy, but the kid wasn’t toasted, like a few of the others walking back across the grass. Maybe because his friends were way over the limit, Red was more vigilant than Bad expected, and caught him watching.

The kid froze in one place, then laughed, his laughter carrying across the quiet street. He waved to his friends and jogged over, leaning in the window on the passenger side of the truck.

“I can’t fucking believe you’re spying on me.”

“I’m not. I just got off.” When the kid’s eyebrows rose, he added, “Work, Red. I just got off work.”

“Huh.” One of the kids called to him, but Red waved them off. “You going to Spark Plug? We’re just coming from there, but it’s pretty dead.”

“I can see that. How much did you drink?”

“Only one beer, daddy, please don’t be angry.” Red turned and waved both hands at his friends: back off. “God, they’re so needy.”

Bad’s hands tightened on the wheel. “Get in.”

No, not too drunk. Not too drunk to look at him like maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t.

“You’re not worried seven people are watching us right now? I guarantee Polly’s already memorized your license plate number.”

“I’m not planning to kidnap you, so I’m not too concerned.”

“Too bad,” Red mumbled, glancing over again. “Yeah, okay. Hang on.”

The kid ran back, tight leather pants restricting his movement. Was he hard right now, telling his friends he was getting in the stranger’s truck?

Probably not, Bad decided, watching Red wave his arms around. Not unless he got off on fighting.

He could throw the truck in reverse, drive back there, and give Red’s tall dykey friend a business card with his cell number on it. That would shut down any reasonable complaints she could possibly have.

Christ, what was he thinking? He didn’t want Red’s friends to know his name. Did they already? No, he bet not. Because Tall Dykey Broad looked pretty fucking righteous, and the best way to piss off a lesbian was to withhold information.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he mumbled, tapping the wheel.

Red finally had enough and stalked away from his friends. He got to the truck, wrenched open the door, jumped inside, and slammed it. Hard.

Kid had a temper. Bad had only seen flashes, but it was fucking awesome up close.

“Fucking drive,” Red said. “Please.”

“Got it, Little Red.” Because it was so fucking entertaining to hear Red this irritated, Bad didn’t even correct him. He started driving, not quite sure where he was going, but figuring his night just got a lot better than a TV dinner and Xtube.

“She isn’t my fucking mother!” Red deflated back into the seat. “Sorry. Okay, I guess she’s actually pretty similar to my mother. Except how she, you know, actually likes me. Sometimes, anyway. Fuck, I’m sorry. You’re, like, probably not obsessed—never mind.”

Slightly drunk, angry-verging-on-morose Red was compelling.

Bad cleared his throat. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Just not the Spark. I can’t go back there tonight. Sometimes it’s just all so fucking depressing, you know? Like I look around at these guys and fuck, is that, like, what it’s all about? Sitting there with a beer, hitting on fucking eighteen year olds with fake IDs? Oh my god, I’m so sorry I keep talking like this. Ignore me. Or gag me. Whatever.” He threw an arm over his eyes. “Seriously, I’m sorry. This is fucking humiliating.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Red. I think I’ve humiliated you more than you running your mouth.”

“I wish that was true, man, because—never mind.”

Bad bit back a smile. “I want to take you somewhere.”

“Yeah, sure. Wherever. We gonna go to Room 111? Because I keep thinking about that, and Polly said—fuck, never mind what Polly said. Anyway.”

“Red, cool your jets.” He looked over, at the kid’s dark profile. “You want me to cool your jets for you?”

Red laughed low. “Am I gonna regret it if I say yes?”

“Don’t think so.”

“Then yes. Cool my jets, Big Bad Officer Campion. Because I am completely fucked right now.”

“Your housing thing?” 

“What? Oh, uh, yeah, my housing thing. Yeah. I am completely fucked by my housing thing.”

Bad pulled into an unlit driveway, shielded by bushes.

“Ooh, sex in the truck, risqué.” Red clamped a hand over his own mouth. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just—I’m sorry.”

“Go on and talk shit, Little Red. Give me more reason to punish you.”

Red moaned, crossing his legs. “I’m so stupid.”

“Nah. Reckless, maybe. But no, you guessed wrong. Not in the truck.” He cut the engine and turned. “Not planning to go easy on you, like I said. You really only have one beer?”

“Not even the whole thing, which is dumb, since I paid for it. I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re asking. I wish.”

Maybe one day I’ll buy the beer and you can have as much as you want. “That’s what I’m asking.” He reached out, pinching the kid’s chin in his fingers, turning his face. “Red. I ain’t gonna fucking go over this again. You let me do something you don’t want me to do, and we’re done. For good. You say ‘stop’ if you want me to stop, and we can keep playing. You clear?”

Red’s eyes were dark. “I didn’t want you to stop. If I had, I would’ve said so.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me if your recent bitchy silent treatment hasn’t exactly impressed me regarding your honesty.”

The kid’s jaw clenched. “Though you already punished me for that.”

“I did.”

“So you gonna keep bringing it up, or is it over?”

I punished you for being a dick to your fuck buddy. Now I’m gonna punish you for hurting my fucking feelings.


Big Bad leaned in real close. “You’re gonna follow orders tonight, Red. You trust me?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Say it again.”

Red sucked in a breath. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You make another crack about me bein’ your daddy and I’m gonna take you over my knee.”

“Take me over your knee any fucking time you want. Sir.”

The kid smelled like beer and cigarette smoke, and Bad halfway wanted to kiss him just to see how he’d taste.

He let go. “Get out and follow me. Stay close, it’ll be dark until we get to the orange grove.”

“Orange grove?”

The campus owned many properties, but this was his favorite. Most of the year, the house stood empty; only visiting famous alums stayed in it, and when they did, most of them still didn’t know the grove was there. An acre of oranges, in the middle of town, surrounded on all sides by eight foot tall hedges kept nice and thick.

Bad liked to finish his morning run here, slipping in where the hedges met the driveway and sprinting through the trees. He figured he could always say he worked for the school, and just liked the place. That was actually true.

No handy excuse for what he was gonna do here right now.

There was a bench in the center of the trees, old wrought iron, sturdy as hell. Cemented in a rectangular patch, but the cement had been mixed badly and was chipping at the edges. (A demand by some former Mrs President, maybe? A nice place to sit and watch the day, fifty years ago, before the hedges, when the view in all directions was orange trees instead of houses?)

Bad didn’t fucking know why there was a bench in the middle of the grove, but he knew where to find it. At least he thought he did, leading Red through the trees in moonlight, their footsteps making all manner of noise on the ground.

“It’s pretty fuckin’ spooky in here. You’re, uh, kinda dark, sir, huh?”

“Dark?” It was right here. It should be right here. How the hell did his count get off? Was this the fifth row, or the sixth?

“Yeah. Life’s not all rainbows and roses, right, Officer?”

“Jesus Christ, Red, what the fuck are you—” There. “Take off your clothes.”

Red stopped walking. “What, here? I mean, aren’t there—couldn’t someone driving by—um—” He cleared his throat. “So we’re both in agreement about the whole me not getting arrested thing, right? I just mean, you know, yeah, I trust you, as long as your goal is for me to not get arrested.”

Nervous Red now.

Bad walked up to him and spoke very low as he unzipped Red’s hoodie. “We are not doing anything that might fuck up your future. Cars will not be able to see us. The hedge around the grove is eight feet high and at least four feet thick.” Hoodie, on the ground. Vest, on top of it. T-shirt, on top of that. “You can trust me not to get you arrested, Red. I’m leaving your clothing, and my kit, right here. There is a bench right there. Do you see it?”

Red swallowed. “Uh, yeah. And yeah, I’ll just shut up now. It’s gonna totally ruin it if you explain everything.”

“Take off your fucking pants, Red.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lines were more blurred than usual. Bad didn’t like blurred lines. He liked nice, clear, black and white lines. I make the rules, you shut the fuck up and follow them. Hadn’t he been clear about that? But if he had, then why was he standing here, reassuring Red about the thickness of the damn hedges?

Because Red’s different.

Bad stalked over to the bench and waited there, eyes scanning nearby trees for a likely switch. He’d never beaten anyone with a switch before, but he was pretty fucking excited to do it now.

The kid ambled over, sneakers pulled on with no socks, and stood there, hands behind his back, head down.

“Kneel on the bench, backwards.”

He did, shivering, trying to save his knees by finding the right position, the right slat. Pretty soon he wouldn’t even be feeling his knees. In fact, Bad thought he’d do Little Red a favor and move things right along.

“You ever taken a whipping, Red?”

“No,” Red said softly.

“What’s that?”

“No, sir.”

Twenty-one years old. By the time Campion was twenty, he’d done almost everything he could think of (and he’d found people who thought of a whole bunch of other things). Red wasn’t timid, but he was careful.

Which made Bad the first. Fuck.

He walked to one of the trees and pulled out his knife, stripping off one of the low, thin branches. Yeah, that’d sting like fucking hell coming down on Red’s ass. He inspected it, making sure it was smooth enough to do the job without breaking the skin too fast. The sound it made when he swung it through the air turned him on, and he walked back to Red.

Then, one more vicious idea occurring to him, he reached up for a leaf.

“I’m gonna whip you hard, boy. You’re gonna cry like a whiny little baby, that’s how fucking hard I’m gonna whip you.”

Red gulped, looking like he was about to cry right now.

“I wish I had a big fucking spot light trained right on your ass, because I’m gonna wreck you tonight, Red.” He squatted down, nice and close, and Red’s eyes followed him. “And every shower you take for days is gonna burn, and every fucking time you’re gonna pull on your little pink clit and get off, thinking about this. Aren’t you, Red?”

“Y-y-yes, sir.”

“But I can’t risk you yelling and someone outside hearing, can I, boy? So this”—he held up the leaf—“is gonna be my insurance policy. Open your mouth.”

The kid opened his mouth and Bad placed the leaf where it would be in contact with all of Red’s teeth.

“That’s right, hold it in place, just like that. Keep it right there, nice and secure. But don’t bite down, boy, because if I see a single bite mark on that leaf, I’m gonna whip you all over again.”

Red looked away, then shifted and awkwardly raised his hand.


He carefully removed the leaf. “I need a different word than ‘stop,’ sir. I might say it when I don’t mean to.”

“All right. You got an idea?”

“Orange. Red’s my name, but orange can be the thing I say when I mean it.”

Had little Red given this some thought? Bad thought it sure as hell seemed like he had.

“Okay. Orange. You want to beg me, boy?”

“I don’t want to screw this up on accident.”

Which was something Bad understood. Grudgingly.

He took the leaf back. “Open your mouth. Do not drop this fucking leaf, and do not bite down. Got that?”

Red nodded.

The switch was just long enough to be useful. Longer might have been better, but since it was new, and Bad wasn’t exactly practicing, shorter was more manageable.

He swiped it through the air a few times in front of Red’s face, grinning when the kid looked scared.

“Yeah, it’s gonna cut you up. Your ass is gonna be in ribbons, kid. Stick it out, now. No, farther out than that. I want a big, pale bubble for a target.” Bad took a minute to adjust his cock. He really wanted at Red’s balls, but that would be a bit much for a first whipping, and he’d rather have a ruler or a paddle, something he was used to, for that.

Still, just for the mindfuck of it, he tugged on Red’s sac.

“I bet this would be a good target.”

The kid’s whole body went rigid.

“Christ, that’d be like lighting your balls on fucking fire, Red. I bet you’d scream like a little girl. Or a cat. Cats scream something fierce.” He tucked the heavy sac and made certain Red’s legs were pressed together, keeping it safely on the other side of his body. With his weeping little clit, waving around, even in the cold air.

Don’t even think of beating that in the dark. No, you wanted to show a guy what you were doing when you started torturing his prick. You wanted him to fucking watch.

Bad ran the switch up and down Red’s white damn thighs, then put his hand on the boy’s back so he could better feel his responses. “Yeah, you like that? You like feeling it right there?” Up over the bulb of his ass cheeks, then back down. He pulled one cheek out wide so he could slide the tip of the switch right down Red’s crack, making him jerk away.

“No, no, no. This is my playtime, Little Red. Don’t try to take away my toy. Stick it out again.”

This time he pulled back one cheek and poked the little hole, not trying to penetrate, just reminding Red he could. (Even just a flashlight, fuck, but he wasn’t gonna risk drawing attention, not even for a better view of the switch poking Red’s pussy.)

“Nice and tight, just how I like my hole.” Bad straightened up and found a decent stance, where he’d be able to whip Red’s thighs and ass without reaching. He ran a hand up the back of the kid’s hair. “Nod if you’re ready for your whipping, Red.”

Hesitation. Nod.

Good enough.

Oh, Christ, beating Red with a switch was a fucking holy experience. He didn’t know where he was or when, all he knew was the sound the switch made when it snapped against Red’s skin and the painful little twitches and muffled sounds he made. Bad stopped twice to tell him to stick out his ass again, and the second time he thought Red might back out. He waited a long goddamn time before relenting and giving Bad his target back.

And such a fine fucking target it was. Sure, moonlight wasn’t the greatest by which to appreciate the stripes on a boy’s ass, but he could see some shading, and it didn’t fucking matter, because he was gonna beat this ass until he was done.

Poor Red. His back was shaking with sobs and he kept sniffling.

Bad gave his cock a few good squeezes, promising it more later, and went around to squat in front of Red again.

“Moment of truth time, boy,” he said, staring into those drowning eyes. Crying, yeah, real crying, but Red still looked at him, still connected. He’d seen a scene go bad once, when the top thought his boy was blissed out, and really he was just—gone. Red was present as hell.

“Let’s see how you did.” He pulled out the leaf, and Red opened and shut his jaw, working it back and forth.

The kid was good. That had been a hard goddamn beating, and for a second Bad thought he’d done it. What the hell are these leaves made out of? Lead?

But no. Right there, in one corner, a little, tiny tear. Truth: he hadn’t really inspected the fucking thing. That tear could have been there for weeks, ripped by a bird, by an especially windy day.

“Too bad, Red. You were so close.”

The kid startled. “What? What do you mean? I was careful! I didn’t bite down once!”

“There’s a tiny rip, right here. Just tooth-sized. Hey, Red, don’t be so hard on yourself. No one could have taken that without biting down.” Bad stood up and swung the switch again. “Damn. My arm’s tired, too.”

“Please—please don’t do this. Please don’t do it again. I can’t—I can’t take it again, sir, please don’t—I tried so hard, and you said yourself, it was so—so bad, please—”

“No, Red. I’m Bad.” Swipe, swipe. “Stick it out so I can hurt it, Red.”

“No, please—please—I’ll do anything—”

Bad reached under the kid’s body and grabbed his balls. “You’ll stick out your ass so I can hurt it, Red. Now.”

The kid was fucking blubbering, but he obeyed. Begging, pleading, crying, shaking, but he stuck out his ass so Bad let go of his balls.

“I think I’ll switch arms,” he said, and started all over again.

God, there was nothing better than hearing cries dissolve like this, when a man realized he just had to take it and stopped fighting. Nothing in the world better than this. By the end, when Bad was really losing steam, Red was just whimpering, crying into his elbow, sway-backed and broken.

Bad set the switch aside where he knew he could find it again and knelt behind Red’s body, smoothing his palms over the kid’s burning ass, making him tense and twitch.

“Shh, Red. Shh. You took that real well, little man. You took that real fuckin’ well, and you’ve earned yourself a reward.” He brought his hands down to Red’s thighs, never losing contact, and pried them apart. Red wasn’t fighting him so much as he was locked in place. “Good boy, Red. Go on now, trust me.”

Red moaned, stifling it in his arm.

“Good boy,” Bad said again, because it seemed like Red wanted to hear it. He kept his hands running up and down Red’s thighs, keeping alive the burn on his tore-up skin, and leaned all the way in to blow over Red’s crack.

He jerked away.

“Whoa, boy, you get back here.” Bad tugged Red’s cock and balls down, resettling them in space before pulling his ass cheeks as wide open as they’d go. “Little hole, little hole, little brown pussy hole.”

Red would be expecting a dry finger, maybe another branch. He’d be expecting to get fucked in the orange grove but not to come, because that’s how Bad had laid it out.

Yeah, fuck Red’s expectations.

Bad licked all the way up Red’s crack, going slow enough to give him a nice ride.

Oh my god,” Red whispered.

He did it again, then returned to Red’s tight little pucker, swirling his tongue around it.

Red began to shake, thigh muscles straining.

Bad ran his thumbs up either cheek, parallel lines, stretching Red’s ass crack open even wider. He got a nice good glob of saliva going and spit it straight against Red’s hole.

Oh my fucking god.”

Just wait, Little Red. He went in again, smearing his spit around, spearing his tongue at Red’s hole, but the little fucker was tight as a goddamn drum and wouldn’t let him in. Bad slapped one tenderized piece of ass meat and snapped, “Relax, Red!”

He spat again, and this time used a finger, pushing in until his second knuckle, then pulling out.

That was better. His tongue worked inside, lapping at the crinkled skin of Red’s hole, trying to push in deeper.

Little Red was moaning a lot now. And saying things like, “Oh my god, oh fuck, oh my fucking god, oh, oh, oh—”

Bad didn’t have to ask if this was his first time being rimmed. It was obvious as all hell that it was.

He worked his finger in again, playing with Red’s other ass cheek to open and close his hole over and over again, with a finger inside it. If he moved his head just right, he could catch the moonlight at just the right angle; the view was fucking amazing. Little brown hole, sucking in his finger. He wiggled it and Red moaned, humping back.

Bad took his time, using all the saliva in his mouth to fuck Red’s ass, telling him to relax again and again as he undid all the tension and pain, working Red up to begging before he so much as touched the kid’s cock. When he did, he said, “Come,” mercifully, and vowed to do this one day and not let Red come, make him cry from holding back.

Someday. Sure. Someday when he had a nice rug under his knees, and climate control.

Red sprayed the bench with spunk, and Bad pumped him until the well ran dry. Maybe a little longer. Then he pulled the kid up and dropped him to his knees on the dirt, feeding Red his cock like he was a baby bird, and Bad’s cock was all the sustenance he needed.

Which, hell, Red seemed to be thinking, too, judging by the tricks he did with his tongue, and how hard he tried to take the whole thing down his throat. Less gagging this time, but Bad wasn’t even trying. He’d done his fucking work; Red was trying to pay him back in kind, like he’d forgotten the entire whipping already.

Bad rolled back on his heels and held the kid’s head, blowing his load directly into Red’s guts, and when he finally pulled back Red bent over, sucking in breaths.

“Sorry,” he said, not thinking, and then froze in horror. What the fuck was he doing apologizing? This was the fucking deal, and the kid agreed to it, and Big Bad didn’t apologize to fucking anyone, least of all a little punk he’d just generously allowed to come.

“’S okay. Hot. Just. Breathing.”

Bad zipped up, trying to control himself, and picked up the switch. “Get dressed.”

“Yes—sir—” Red inhaled, then exhaled. “Yes, sir.”

He found his way to their pile of things and dressed himself, straightening his vest, making sure the zipper of his sweatshirt was aligned straight down his chest. Then he came back to Bad and knelt. Again.

“Look at me.”

Too dark to see eye color, or gauge how bloodshot they were from crying. Still, Red’s eyes twinkled in the moonlight and Bad found himself momentarily unable to form his next words, nearly not-speaking them at all.

Then it passed, and thank fucking god for that.

He held up the switch. “Open your mouth.”

Red swallowed, then obeyed.

“You will carry this back to the truck, where I will keep it. When you’re in need of punishment, I’ll have it on-hand. Do you understand?”

The kid stared up at him, not blinking, like he was trying to hear a whole bunch of shit no one was actually saying. Then he nodded, mouth still hanging open.

“Good.” Bad put the switch in Red’s mouth, and waited for him to close it. “Get up. You can walk behind me.”

He picked up his kit and trudged back to the truck, never turning to see if Red followed. Not that he needed to; seconds after he opened his own door, Red opened the passenger side door and waited.

Right. The switch. This was more of an impulse thing than anything else. He had no plan for it, so he took it from Red and laid it on the dash, making sure it was trapped enough by the vents to not roll around.

Perfect. Red stared at it as he winced, every bump, every pebble, raking his skin against his oh-so-tight pants.

Bad pulled into the horseshoe and reached back for his gym bag, rummaging around before he found the little container he hardly ever used. He took Red’s hand, and closed his fingers over it.

“Aloe. Use it. Buy a bigger bottle and use that, too. It helps.”

“Okay,” Red said, voice no louder than a radio heard two apartments over.


The kid looked up and something deep inside Big Bad Charles Campion relaxed.

“That was fucking incredible. Thank you.” Eyelashes batted Red’s cheeks. “I mean, I’m not saying I want to do the whipping part again any time soon, but—but the overall effect was—yeah. Thank you, Bad.”

“Welcome. Go home. And take a hot, soapy shower. I mean it.”

“Yeah, okay. Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Little Red.”

Fuck, watching Red walk all stiff legged and shaky back to his dorm made Bad want to jerk off in the truck. He made sure Red got inside, then drove the fuck home.

[olympus_box color=”green” float=”center” text_align=”left” width=””] Stay tuned for next week! Jump to Room 111 for the discussion![/olympus_box]