Sun and Surf

Sun and Surf

“Milton, please can I?”

Somehow Milton had missed a critical special feature in the guide book; this stretch of beach was frequented by nudists. He studiously kept his eyes on the fishing pole while his mind kept playing over the insanity of nude fishing. A couple, the wife with gray hair winding around her face in the light breeze and the husband with almost no hair, were ambling along the wave line picking up shells and tossing them back into the water.

“Please.” Austin was already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Boy,” Milton growled, catching Austin’s wrist in a tight grip.

“I don’t see a sign that says no shirt, no service.”

With no regard to Austin’s privacy, Milton landed his hand hard across Austin’s rump. Austin’s thin shorts would provide little protection, and in the quiet of the beach the noise was sharp and deafening.

“Milton.”

Milton gritted his teeth against the whine. This was one of those times that Austin reminded everybody that he was still very young. “Boy, present.” Milton snapped. It was time to remind Austin that he didn’t whine and moan at his dominant without consequences.

Austin struggled into position, his shoulders square, his wrists crossed behind him. His eyes were properly lowered to the ground, but Milton could see both anger and perhaps embarrassment hovering behind those lowered lashes.

Milton ran his finger down Austin’s bare neck. He spread his left hand and caressed Austin’s naked abdomen. “So you want to show everything?”

“Yes, sir.” Austin swallowed hard; most of his early bravado gone. This was a sweet boy, an obedient submissive. Only he was young and sometimes didn’t think.

“Do you have permission to share with the world what is mine?”

“No, sir.” Austin’s voice was soft now, deferential; he was a boy who hadn’t been looking for trouble.

“You didn’t think, did you?” Milton asked, keeping his voice gentle. Austin was a wonderful submissive, but he was still a long way from maturity. Milton wouldn’t crucify him for this.

“No, sir.” Austin hesitated and licked his lips. “Are you going to punish me?”

Milton tangled his fingers in Austin’s hair and forced his boy’s eyes up. “Should I?”

“Probably,” Austin said after a long hesitation, “but I’d rather you didn’t.”

Milton smiled at Austin. It wasn’t his nicest smile; it had a touch of calculating cruelty, and he saw the look register on Austin, the slight flush of his cheeks and the quick catch of his breath.

Milton reached for the edge of his own shirt. It was ragged and twice rescued from the trash in Tilden’s attempts to clean the closet. Milton tore a thin strip of cloth off the bottom and tied it around Austin’s neck.

“Strip, boy.”

Austin’s hand went to the thin strip of cloth. He touched it almost reverently, and his eyes shown too brightly in the sun.

Milton caught Austin’s shoulder and pulled him roughly toward his chest. “I wasn’t about to let you walk about for all to see and admire without at least some small mark on my property. You are far too valuable. Don’t forget that. Now I believe I gave an order.”

Austin scrambled out of his shorts and boxers. His skin was northern pale against the sun and the sea, and his cheeks were a lovely red. Naked at his dominant’s order wasn’t as easy as the innocent nudity of the wandering tourists.

“Thirty minutes. I don’t want all your important bits burnt to a crisp. Now go play. I want to watch my boy frolicking in the surf and the sand the way nature intended. My beautiful boy playing for my eyes alone.”

“Milton…” Austin’s fingers traced the strip of cloth again.

“When you’re ready.” Milton smiled and kissed Austin’s forehead. “I know it feels like forever, but you, my boy, are very good at wearing down my defenses. Now go play before I give you a red ass you can’t hide.”

“Yes, sir.” Austin skipped toward the water.