20 June 2011

A Top's Tale

The following story is a prequel to a series called The Jack and Danny Chronicles. The Chronicles are basically an alternative sitcom series, which in the best tradition of sitcom employ a good deal of artistic license.

Whereas Danny almost exclusively narrates The Chronicles, it’s Jack who narrates this particular story, which tells of events that take place shortly after he and Danny begin living together.

A Top’s Tale

How Jack struck a blow for sanity (his own that is)

Ding Dong Bell, poor Jack’s in hell
He’s fallen in love with a Macintyre
Now the cat’s up a tree- the kitchen is on fire.
Danny’s antics have got to stop,
It’s time for Jack to become a top!


The recovery trucks pulled away and someone from the dairy arrived to collect the stranded milkman. The policeman who had taken details of the accident took his leave and I climbed into the front passenger seat of Den’s car. Running my hands through my hair, I took some deep breaths, “thanks, Dennis, thanks for coming, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“You’re more than welcome, Jack,” he smiled in that calm way of his. “I’ve got some time to spare this morning, so it’s no problem at all.  I’ll take you home and make you a nice cup of tea, and then, if you feel up to it, I’ll run you into work.”

I nodded, “tea sounds fine, but I think I’ll ring the office and tell them I’m working from home today. I still feel rather shaken.”

“Hardly surprising in the circumstances. Have you any idea why it might have happened?”

“It’s a total mystery,” I blew out a small breath. “Dennis, you have no idea of the shock I suffered when that engine dropped. I thought a bomb had gone off. I uttered a few of Danny’s favourite words and phrases I can tell you.”

“Well,” he patted my shoulder sympathetically,  “in the circumstances I think you’re allowed. It’s bad enough when you lose a hubcap, never mind your entire engine.”

“I’m just so grateful that no one was hurt, Den, what if that poor milkman had actually been in the float, or what if there’d been a kid on a bike behind me, or someone crossing the road. I would have killed them. And thank heaven I took the train to London at the weekend, I shudder to think of the consequences if the engine had dropped while I was cruising down the motorway.”


“Forgive my saying so, Jack,” Dennis, having insisted that I sit down, glanced around the kitchen as he filled the kettle with water, “but this place is a bit of a sorry sight.”

“I know. I haven’t had time to do anything about it yet.” I sighed, leaning an elbow on the table. “I don’t think Daniel washed so much as a cup while I was away at that seminar over the weekend, in fact the whole house is a tip. I hope you don’t need to pay a visit to the bathroom, because I’m warning you, it isn’t pretty, in fact I’m expecting a visit from the hygiene police at any moment. I had no idea he was this untidy.”

Dennis washed two cups, popping a teabag into each one and pouring on boiling water. “Where is he by the way?”

“Still in bed probably. He was up until gone five playing some computer game.”

Dennis set a steaming mug of tea before me and sat down, “you should insist that he keeps reasonable hours, because believe me, a tired Danny is bad news, very bad news. His common sense is suspect enough when he’s had his full quota of sleep. Honestly Jack,” he glanced around at the Wreck of the Hesperus that had replaced my kitchen, “ he’s manipulating you for all you’re worth.  He’s lived with you for barely a fortnight and already he’s turned your house into a pigsty. I’m surprised at you really.”

“I have tried having words with him about the mess, only…” I shrugged.

Dennis dryly completed the sentence on my behalf, “he gazes at you from those pretty blue eyes while making all kinds of promises and you capitulate.”

I smiled a little ruefully, “so I’m fatally smitten, I know it’s ridiculous, especially for a man of my age.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being smitten, Jack, I’m rather smitten by a pair of beautiful blue eyes myself, as for age,” it was his turn to shrug.

I took a sip of my tea, watching his face carefully, “does it bother you, Dennis?”

“Does what bother me, the fact Danny is gay, or the fact that he’s living with someone much older?”


“Well,” he sipped his own tea, then set it down. “I’m insulted that you’d think Danny being gay would bother me.” He suddenly smiled, a teasing light in his eyes, “that’s the trouble with you gay people, you think you’re totally unique and special and ought to be treated differently, well I’m sorry, you’re gay, so what. I offer you the same respects and courtesy I’d offer any man, or woman, and expect the same back.”

I laughed, and kicked him gently on the ankle, “in that respect you’re sadly in a minority. Anyway, mister straight man, stop pontificating and tell me, does it bother you that I’m a lot older than Daniel?”

“Does it bother you, Jack?”

“Trust you to turn the question round, and the answer is no.” I was silent for a moment then I admitted,  “yes, sometimes it does. A few people have made certain comments about cradle snatching and even some nasty remarks along the line of paedophilia.”

“Listen, Jack, I, less than anyone, have the right to pass judgement. I fell in love with Alison when she was barely eighteen. Some people were scandalised by our relationship. Frankly, I ignored them, and I suggest you do the same. Danny is nineteen. He’s well above the age of legal consent, and he has the right to make choices about the person he wants to be with.” Dennis leaned forward, clasping a hand to my shoulder, “does it feel wrong to you?”

“No,” I spoke without hesitation. “I’ve never felt more right about anything in my life.”

Den smiled, “there you are then, that’s all that matters. To tell the truth, Jack, I’m delighted actually, really delighted about your relationship. I was beginning to worry about where Danny would end up, he’s hard work, not that he ever intends to be, he just is, the same as his sister. Someone of his own age just couldn’t handle him in the way he needs, and wants. I believe you’re the right person for him, once you stop letting him beguile you that is.”

The man in question suddenly made an appearance, padding barefoot into the kitchen. My stomach performed a somersault. He was adorable when he’d just gotten out of bed, tousled haired, dressed in just a t-shirt and boxers. His face lit up when he saw Dennis. “Hiya, what are you doing here, have you come to check up on me?” He unselfconsciously perched himself on his brother in law’s knees, putting his arms around his neck for a hug.

Dennis hugged him affectionately, and then winked at me, “actually Jack invited me over to view the mess you’ve made of his house.”

“Jack, you didn’t?”

He turned those eyes on me and I smiled. “ No, he’s turning your key. I had a slight mishap with the car...”

He was off Den’s knee and on mine in seconds, “what kind of mishap, are you hurt, what happened, tell me?”

I described how the car engine had suddenly dropped out of place after I hit a pothole while driving up a steep bank, and how the powerless car had consequently crushed a milk float as it rolled back down the bank. He went strangely quiet afterwards. I was touched by his obvious concern. “It’s all right, love,” I kissed his cheek reassuringly, “I got a fright, but I wasn’t hurt. Thankfully no one was hurt and the garage should be able to deduce why it happened. I’m sure the damage will be covered by insurance.”  He sat quietly on my lap, as Den and I drank our tea and talked. 

“Come on, Danny,” I decided I needed to get on with the day's business. “I have work that needs to be done, get up, it’s high time you were dressed anyway.” I turned to Dennis, “Do you mind dropping me at the office. I think I will go in after all.”  I knew that having Danny at close proximity all day would mean getting little or nothing done, we’d end up tumbling around in bed, which was very tempting, but, I did have responsibilities and a rather pressing deadline to meet.

Before we left, Dennis wagged a finger in Danny’s face, “get this place cleaned up, you lazy little devil. Jack has enough on without tidying up after you.”

“Don’t bloody nag, Dennis. I’m not living at home now, so get off my case,” Danny scowled, suddenly seeming out of sorts.

“No, and for that, young man, you ought to be extremely grateful,” Dennis frowned at him. “Because if you were, I’d turn you over my knee and I’d tan your backside red raw for this mess, and then I’d tan it again for speaking to me like that.”

“Sorry, Dennis,” Danny coloured slightly. “I’ve got a headache and I’m still tired.”

“Yes, and that’s another thing,” Den wagged the finger again, “you know perfectly well that late nights don’t suit you, and you should act accordingly.”


Buckling my seat belt, I glanced at Dennis, “would you really have put him across your knee if he’d made a mess like that at home?”

Dennis checked his rear view mirror, then the side and pulled out, “I think you already know the answer to that question,” he said plainly. “But I’ll confirm it. Yes, I most certainly would have.” He smiled slightly. “Perhaps you ought to consider it yourself.”

“I must confess it’s crossed my mind once or twice,” I licked my lips, steeling myself to ask him a question that had been on my mind for some time. “Dennis, may I ask you a deeply personal question, you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to?”

“I won’t,” he grinned, “ask away, Jack. We’ve been friends for long enough now.”

I cleared my throat slightly, “do you spank Alison?”

“Yes,” he said steadily, “upon occasion I discipline her, it’s been an aspect of our relationship from the beginning. I’m her Top, her dominant, as well as her husband. Some people need an element of discipline in their lives, Jack. For whatever reason, they’re unable to generate it from within themselves; it has to be imposed from another source.

At the risk of sounding immodest, if it wasn’t for me, Alison would never have survived her teens, she was a mixed up, messed up junkie and her life was on a timer that was about to run out. 

Danny may not have the same kind of problems she had, but he too needs an element of discipline, a framework, rules, call it what you will, to keep him, and you, safe and sane. As I told you when you first started dating him, he’s a charmer, a beautiful, kind hearted young man and I love him dearly, but if you let him he’ll wind you round his little finger and take you both to hell in the process. He’s all verve and impulse, but not a single atom of common sense. He needs a firm hand.”

I frowned slightly, “I must admit he tends to have an uncanny gift for finding trouble.”

Dennis gave a knowing smile, “part of Danny’s trouble is that he revels in mischief, consciously or not, he thrives on it, and on being the centre of attention.” He parked the car, “and I’ll tell you what else he has a gift for. He has a gift for thinking up excuses as to why he did, or didn’t do something, and moreover, he really believes them himself.”  He grinned cheerfully as I got out of the car, “I almost feel sorry for you, Jack. You’ve been fated to fall in love with a Macintyre, you need to start learning how to handle it properly, or you’ll end up completely insane.” With that encouraging remark he waved and drove off.

The conversation with Dennis buzzed around in my mind all day. By mid afternoon I was beginning to develop a severe headache. After completing only the most necessary work, I called for a taxi to take me home. I only hoped Danny had made some effort to tidy up the house. I don’t consider myself to be overly fanatical on the domestic front, but I do like a little bit of order, and besides, Danny wasn’t working or studying at the moment, so it was only fair and reasonable that he pulled his weight on the domestic front. It was obvious that we needed to talk some things over.

I sensed that all was not well as soon I inserted my key in the lock and opened the front door. Usually Danny, Mistoffelees, or both came to greet me, but on this occasion the only thing wending its way up the hall was a huge ball of fire, marginally preceded by a large square metal object. As it roared towards me, some instinct that had hitherto lain dormant, call it the Bruce Willis gene, suddenly kicked in, and I hurled myself backwards and to one side, just seconds before the oven door, for such it was, exploded out into the open air.

I gawped as it spun tardis like through space, finally coming to rest with a resounding crash on top of a car parked on the opposite side of the road. The car’s owner, key in hand, stared at the foreign object smouldering on his roof rack and then gracefully keeled over backwards in a dead faint, key pointing skywards.

My shock quickly gave way to a fear so powerful I almost vomited.  Scrambling to my feet, and abandoning all recommended safety advice about never re-entering burning buildings, I dived back into the smoke filled house calling Danny’s name. He was standing in the modestly blazing kitchen with a bemused look on his face, and what appeared to be the ragged torso of a pre-stuffed, oven ready, ‘Chukie’ chicken in his hands. It’s legs had been blown clean off and were obscenely embedded in the kitchen wall, along with the parson’s nose, while the stuffing resided in greyish patches across the ceiling. I shuddered to think where the giblets might be.

“Hello, Jack, you’re home early,” he turned a sooty countenance towards me,  “I think there might be something wrong with the oven.” As if to confirm this theory, the door-less oven suddenly belched forth a crackling sheet of flame, which billowed up towards the ceiling, filling the air with the scent of scorching sage and onion.

Dragging him quickly to safety, I then phoned the fire brigade. They did sterling work, putting out the fire, rescuing the traumatised cat from the tree top he’d taken refuge in, removing the oven door from the man over the road’s roof rack, administering first aid to the man himself, and declaring the chicken dead on arrival.  They also told Danny that he was lucky not to be the same.


“You fell asleep?” I stared at him, as he tried to explain the sequence of events leading to my oven door vacating the premises and doing a low flying impression of Halley’s comet around the neighbourhood.

“I was just trying to make you a nice dinner, Jack,” Danny’s lower lip trembled slightly, “you keep saying I ought to take a turn at cooking, and not the boil in the bag variety.”

“You-fell-asleep,” I repeated the words, unsure as to whether I was asking a question or making a statement. “You fell asleep in between turning on the gas and pressing the ignition switch?”  I just couldn’t believe it.

“I was tired,” he said in his own defence. “I only meant to sit down for a second or so, but I nodded off. It wasn’t my fault, you should have made me come up to bed earlier last night.”

Ignoring the accusatory turn of the conversation, I continued in my quest to make sense of what had happened, speaking slowly and concisely. “You turned on the gas, didn’t light it, then decided to have a little nap, after which you ignited the gas that had been steadily building up…yes…have I got that right?”

“There’s no need to hark on about it,” he sounded reproachful. “I told you. I was tired and not thinking as well as I usually do. I woke up and I thought I could smell gas...”
“It’s a wonder you woke up at ALL!” I interjected, my blood pressure beginning to build in similar fashion to the gas fumes.
“…so, being sensible,” (he fielded, caught and totally ignored the incredulous look I threw at him) “I opened the back door to let the fumes disperse, but it never occurred to me about the gas having built up inside the oven itself. I didn’t think of turning it off and opening the door. I just pressed the ignition switch.” He brightened, reiterating the point, “but at least I opened the back door to clear the worst of the gas in the kitchen.”

“Yes, and according to the fire officer that’s probably what saved you and the entire house being blown into outer space.” I folded my arms and looked at him sternly, “why?”

“Why what, Jack?”

“Why turn on the gas and not light it in the first place?”

“Because,” he said in a tone of voice suggesting I was being wilfully dim, “it doesn’t always light straight away. It’s best to let the gas build up a little touch, then it lights first time you press the switch,” he gave an engaging smile, “and it makes a nice popping noise too.”

“Popping noise?” I swallowed, “it makes a nice popping noise does it?” He nodded, and gave me another sweet smile. For once it didn’t work its magic. The enormity of the situation crowded in on me. He could have been killed for the sake of not wanting to press a switch more than once, and for liking a popping noise. To my mind, this went beyond a lack of common sense and entered the realm of borderline insanity. All in all, I was really rather cross with him. After lecturing him heavily and at length, on the proper and responsible use of gas appliances, I sent him upstairs to shower and change into something less smoke damaged.

Pouring myself a small restorative brandy, I sat and mused on the prophetic words spoken by Dennis earlier: ‘believe me, Jack, a tired Danny is bad news.’  Yes indeed! Danny himself had a point; I should have made him come up to bed at a reasonable hour. I was failing him. I was letting him get away with things detrimental to his health and safety and consequently that of the public at large. I clearly needed to review some aspects of our relationship.

Finishing my drink, I got up, splashing across the water-drenched floor to the sink. Hopefully the insurance would cover the cost of replacing the most badly damaged items. In the meantime, I could at least make a start on a clean up operation; all of the surfaces in the kitchen were covered in a sooty residue from the gas blast. The activity would be beneficial in calming my mind down. Rolling up my sleeves, I opened the door of the cupboard under the sink, reaching for the bucket just as the phone began to ring.

“Hello,” I spoke vaguely into the receiver, my thoughts puzzling over the contents of the bucket I still had clasped in my hand. Puzzlement gave way to enlightenment as the voice at the other end of the line told me why the engine had so mysteriously fallen out of my car. “Mount brackets...tampered with...bits missing…vital bits…amazing that the engine has stayed in place this long...hard to believe?” I stared mesmerised into the bucket, “not really.” I put the phone down.

Little wonder Danny hadn’t done a thing about the house all weekend, he’d been too busy removing vital bits of my car engine and hiding them in buckets under the sink. I stood for a few moments, trying to quell the muscle that was rapidly twitching under my right eye.

Danny, freshly showered and attired, hair still fragrantly damp, descended the stairs at that moment. He looked angelic when in actual fact I now knew him to be a product of hell. He paused on the bottom stair, “you okay, Jack. You look a bit pale?”

“Daniel,” I asked bluntly, “are you trying to kill me?”

“That’s not funny, Jack. I told you, the oven blowing up just as you got home was a coincidence.”

“I’m not talking about the oven blowing up, though lord knows that was bad enough.” I thrust the bucket under his nose and shook it, “I’m talking about this.”

The blue eyes grew big, round and innocent, “I don’t think you can kill a person with a plastic bucket, Jack. At worst you might be able to stun them.” 

I mentally acknowledged the beauty of the eyes, and the fact that I loved the young man they belonged to, and then I steeled myself. Daniel was a sweet natured, charming...irresponsible menace. Dennis was right. This boy needed a firm hand and it was time for me to supply it before he killed one or both of us with his lunatic actions.

The menace in question gave a squawk of protest, as setting aside the bucket I swatted the seat of his jeans. “Don’t play games with me, Daniel Macintyre, you know perfectly well what I’m referring to. You’ve been tampering with my car. Have you any idea how serious an accident could have resulted from this?”

“I didn’t mean to do it, Jack. I just couldn’t get them to fit back where they were supposed to go and they didn’t really look important.”

“Just as lighting the gas with due care and attention didn’t seem very important. Well, on both counts you seriously misjudged. It’s obvious you need a lesson in responsibility.” I swatted him again, only much harder.

“Fucking hell, Jack, that hur...HEY!” He stared at me uncertainly, as I landed yet another spank to his backside.

“That’s enough bad language from you. You’ve got a mouth like a sewer and I’m sick of it. Things are going to change around here, we’re going to put some strict guidelines in place.” Taking his hand I towed him back upstairs.

“Where are we going, Jack?”


“Sweet,” he beamed happily.

He was in for a disappointment. Closing the door I led him over to the bed and sat down. Pulling him between my knees I unbuttoned his jeans and lowered them, then, turning him sideways, I drew him across my lap and curled an arm about his light frame to anchor him.

“What are you doing, Jack?” There was slight anxiety, as well as puzzlement in his voice, but it didn’t prevent his habitual cheekiness from kicking in. “We haven’t done it like this before. Have you been reading the Kamasutra again, you’ll get banned from Smith’s if they catch you thumbing it during your lunch hour?”

“That’s enough of your lip,” I tightened my hold on him, “what used to happen when Dennis put you in this position, Daniel?” There was a small silence as he digested the implications.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious, Daniel,” I quickly raised my hand, pulled it back, then swung it forward contacting the seat of his briefs. He gave a small gasp.

“This isn’t funny, Jack.”

“You’re quite right,” I swung my hand again and he bellowed, far louder than the strength of the spank justified, “it isn’t funny, but then, it isn’t meant to be. I’m going to give you a spanking you won’t forget.”

He let out a howl as I lifted him and quickly lowered his underwear. “Bastard, Jack, let me up, you total big bast...Ow!”

He yelled, kicking his jean-tangled legs, as I walloped my hand into the centre of his bare bottom with a resounding crack. “What have I just said about swearing? Curb it, or I’ll wash your mouth out.”  After thoroughly smacking both cheeks and turning them a bright pink, I paused, my hand was stinging slightly and I needed to rest it. I soothed my palm and his bottom by rubbing the former in little circles around the latter. “Why did you do it, Daniel?”

“Can I get up now?” He sulkily tried to lever himself off my lap, but I was having none of it.

“We are far from finished here, young man. That was the warm up. I asked you a question, please do me the courtesy of answering it.”

“Fuck off.” He folded his arms in front of himself, a gesture of defiance that on account of him being bent bare bottomed across my thighs, didn’t quite come off.

“Not the reply I was looking for, still, we can always talk later.”

Twisting his head he glared at me angrily, “what makes you think I’m ever talking to you again? You can fu...AGH!”

He bellowed as I cut him off in mid profanity with a tremendous slap to his backside. “Okay, let’s get this over with,” I pulled him closer against me. Lifting my hand, I brought it down hard, spanking the same spot on his left buttock several times, before moving to the equivalent position on his right buttock and matching it up. I worked this method across the entire surface of his shapely little bottom several times over, until it was a uniform shade of crimson. 

His outraged yells and shrieks eventually gave way to real sobs and he stopped struggling, concentrating his energies on crying as I raised the temperature of his backside to boiling point, paying closest attention to the lower curves of his buttocks where the muscle was thickest. Once I’d decided he’d been sufficiently punished, I stopped the spanking and helped him to his feet, pulling up his pants and jeans. There was a brief silence as we surveyed each other. The deed was done it couldn’t be undone.

“That really hurt,” he finally whispered, his face awash with tears, his nose dripping. He reached his hands back to cup his hot bottom.

Taking out my handkerchief, I gently wiped the secretions away. “You deserved it, Danny. You could have caused a series of fatalities as a result of your behaviour this weekend. I love you too much to allow you to continue endangering yourself and others with your thoughtless antics.”

Suddenly his arms were around my neck, “I’m sorry...Jack...I didn’t think...I wasn’t trying to kill you, I promise...I wasn’t trying to kill anyone. I’m not a killing people on purpose sort of person.”

Wrapping my arms tightly around his waist I pulled him against me, cuddling him until he calmed down. “What possessed you, Danny, to mess about with my car I mean?”

“It was because of what you said, remember, after I lost my job at the garage? You said not to worry, cos you suspected I wasn’t cut out to be a mechanic. I wanted to prove I was. I thought I’d practice on your car while you were away, especially after you mentioned the engine was juddering and you were thinking of booking it in for a service. I thought you’d be dead impressed if I located and solved the problem. So I got a book out of the library and it suggested several reasons for engine shake and it made them all sound so easy to fix. Only it wasn’t easy at all. I took some bits out and I couldn’t get them all back in. I don’t want to be a mechanic anymore, Jack, it’s dangerous and it’s hard work.”

“You should have told me what you’d done as soon as I arrived home.”

“But you’d have been mad at me,” he gazed up at me from eyes that though red and swollen from crying, were still meltingly lovely.

“I’m not exactly pleased with you now, am I, Danny?” I held him at arms length, “from now on, you conceal nothing from me, is that understood? I want to know everything you do, before you do it, or at least shortly afterwards. You need to learn to think before you act, or suffer the consequences.” 

His hands crept around to rub his sore bottom, “you wouldn’t really spank me again, would you, Jack?”

I gazed at him steadily, “yes, I would, if the situation warranted it. If you won’t control and moderate your own behaviour, then I’ll do it for you.”

Angelic Danny surfaced again; all he needed was a harp and a halo. “ I’ll think before I act in future, I promise. You’ll never have cause to punish me again.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I leaned down to kiss him, “now get ready for bed.”

“Bed,” he cocked his head on one side, looking slightly nonplussed, and adorably sweet, “but it’s too early for bed, unless you’re planning on joining me?”

“No, I’m not, you’re going on your own and the only thing you’re going to do is sleep. That business with the oven was down to you being tired, so it’s time for you to catch up on some sleep.”

Danny the angelic vanished. “For fuck’s sake,” he stamped his foot, “it’s bad enough that you do a Dennis on my rump without sending me to bed as well.” He glared at me, “I’m not putting up with it, Jack.”

I raised my eyebrows; “I suggest you refrain from both the cursing and stamping kind of behaviour in future, because I don’t care for it.” The next words tripped off my tongue as if by magic,  “I’m going to count to three and by the time I do so I expect you to be undressed and in bed.”

 “I’m not going to bed, so you can count until the cows, the chickens AND the sheep come home for all I care!”

I folded my arms and towered over him,  “one...two...” By the time I reached three he was undressed and under the covers. I was impressed. Obviously there was some kind of mystical influence exerted by that numerical phrase. I’d probably be using it as a device again.  “Thank you, an early night will do you the world of good.”

He scowled, looking like a disgruntled pixie with his red hair sticking up all over the place and his bottom lip thrust out in an undeniable pout. “You didn’t tell me your seminar was about how to turn into a sadistic, fascist dictator overnight. Who was fronting this seminar?  Hitler and Dennis?”

I smiled sweetly and bade him goodnight.

When I came up later that evening he was sound asleep. Climbing in beside him, my nerve endings sent messages to my brain, informing it of my delight that I had someone like Danny to climb into bed with.  You can’t choose who you fall in love with,. It just happens. I certainly wouldn’t have chosen to fall for a handful of trouble who was almost fourteen years my junior, but fallen I had and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Some instinct within his sleeping consciousness alerted him to my presence and he rolled over, hooking an arm and leg across my body, snuggling close against me. Wrapping my arms around him I kissed the top of his head and settled happily to sleep.  While I suspected living with Danny wouldn’t always be easy and we’d probably have our little altercations from time to time, I very much doubted I’d ever have to spank him again.

The End.

Copyright Cat/Fabian Black 2011


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My stories focus on M/M relationships, the main slant of which is on consensual discipline between loving male partners. It’s quite difficult to define this kind of fiction. It doesn't quite fit into the category of straightforward M/M erotic romance and nor can it be regarded as BDSM fiction in a classic sense.

Domestic Discipline Romance might be a fair description with still more sub categories under that umbrella with keywords such as: original character slash, domestic discipline, discipline partnership fiction, romantic fic, hurt/comfort fiction etc.

To be honest I don’t really think it’s necessary or even advisable to attempt to classify and define it too closely, because to do so is to risk confining both writers and readers by binding them with rules and regulations about what’s right and what’s wrong in a story that features any kind of power exchange.

I don’t personally think there’s a right or wrong way to write this kind of fiction, it all depends on personal taste, need and interpretation of interest, one size definitely doesn’t fit all and that’s how it should be, we’re all individuals and variety is a good thing.

Some of my stories are written from a tongue in cheek perspective and have elements of madcap humour and parody while others take a more serious look at the role consensual discipline might play in adult relationships.

Cat/Fabian Black


all material copyright Cat/Fabian Black unless otherwise stated.

Please note: I'm British so my stories are written using U.K. English and grammar. Please check the default setting on your reader devices.

None of the stories on these pages are public domain works. They are the intellectual property of the indie writer known variously as Cat, Fabian Black, Tarn Swan, Ester Phillips. They are not to be copied, passed on or reproduced in any way without the prior written consent of the owner and copyright owner