Unwholesome Things - Part 2

Beta by LP, all remaining mistakes are entirely my fault.

“What do you think you're doing?” Oren said, his vision narrowing to what was sitting on Norman's lap.

“It's 9 o'clock, sir, I always check my email at the end of the day.”

Norman's fingers continued to move across the keys. A game of solitaire was minimized at the bottom of the screen.

“I can't believe this.” While Oren was being savagely beaten, Norman had been idly playing cards.

“Is there something else you require, sir?”

“Did you even call the police? Are they lost somewhere on the way to the house?”

Norman slowly pulled his fingers away from the touch pad, finally shifting his focus to Oren.

“I was under the impression that you wanted to avoid their involvement.”

“My safety was seriously at risk. You have no idea what he did to me.” Oren hated the way Norman was looking at him, as if he was the one being unreasonable. “And it's your fault so…” Oren paused to give the next words proper emphasis. “You're fired.”

Norman didn't seem shocked or outraged by his termination.

“I will advise your father of your recommendation when he returns. Anything else, sir?”

“You're fired now.”

Norman barely even paused. “Of course, sir. I will notify your father to send a replacement. Although it is the middle of the night where he—”

“This is an emergency.” Oren ignored the brief look of amusement that crossed Norman's features. He wouldn't be so happy when he was jobless and no one else would hire him. Oren would make sure his father gave him a terrible reference.

“Of course, I'm certain your father will understand why I woke him.” Norman pulled his phone from his pocket. “It was a serious incident, considering how you were blackmailed for leaving explicit drawings of teen boys at a bus stop.”

Oren frowned. “You can't tell him that.”

“It's true, isn't it?”

And unfortunately something his father would believe. “I order you to make something up.”

“I would, but you see…” Norman shrugged in manner that was entirely unprofessional. “I'm no longer in your employ.”

Oren searched his mind for anything he could use as leverage against Norman. He had nothing.

“Sometimes I hate you.”

Norman smiled and slipped his phone back in his pocket. He would never get away with this behavior if Oren's father wasn't the kind of terrible parent that would take an employee's word over his own son's.

“You're even worse than Diaz. He didn't actually try to blackmail me.”

Norman closed his laptop, apparently giving up on finishing his game of solitaire tonight.

“What did he want then?”

“Revenge. Eye for an eye and all that crap.”

“Eye for an eye? So he drew dirty pictures of you? Even if I'd called the police, I'm not sure they would—”

“Of course he didn't draw dirty pictures of me!”

“Then—”

“He…hit me.”

Norman carefully took Oren's face in his hand to examine him for bruising. “You appear unharmed.”

“Well I'm not,” Oren said, pulling away from him.

“Well, where did he hit you? I don't see any marks.”

“He didn't punch me he…” Oren searched for a less embarrassing way to phrase it. “Beat me.”

Norman's demeanor suddenly became serious. “What do you mean by 'he beat you'?”

“He…” Oren omitted the word, in the way some people omit words regarding sex, “with a hairbrush.”

“With a hairbrush? Oh.” Norman relaxed and a look of comprehension spread across his features. “You mean he spanked you. You're a little old but that's not surprising considering—”

“It is surprising! People don't go around settling their differences with paddles.”

“I suppose not.”

“It was really horrible. He made me write apologies and promise not to do it again.”

“That must have been terrible for you, sir.”

“And he was looking around in my room and touching my stuff.”

“Always unpleasant.” Oren had a suspicion he was being mocked.

“Norman, you're not taking me seriously.” Oren projected as much reproach as he could at Norman. “He moved my binoculars.”

Norman laughed.

Oren was stunned, usually Norman was always in control of his reactions.

“Forgive me,” Norman said before Oren had time to reprimand him. “I know it must have been an ordeal for you. Mr. Diaz was quite unreasonable. Especially since you were cooperative and willing to settle the matter.”

“I was cooperative.”

“Absolutely, with only the slightest delay in meeting with him.”

“So I made him wait a little. That's all I did.”

“And you were more than willing to apologize.”

“Exactly. Maybe I did hesitate at first, but it was a shock him barging in here like that. Even if I did tear up his stupid paper and if I did say…” Oren decided to keep what he'd said to himself. They were discussing Diaz not him. “Still he's the one that got violent.”

“So it wasn't until after you did all these things that he decided to spank you?”

Oren was quiet for a moment.

“What are you implying?”

“Nothing, sir, I'm agreeing with you.”

“Are you trying to suggest I was asking for it?”

Norman's expression implied a lot more than that. “You do seem to have an interest in—”

“I don't!”

“Of course not, sir.”

* * *

That had ended the conversation. Really it was pointless to discuss anything with the help anyway. They never understood anything. Which was why Oren was standing on his chair removing the sketches from his walls himself, instead of ordering Norman to do it.

And because it was four a.m and Norman had some strange notion of work life balance that involved him not being willing to assist Oren outside of business hours. Even though he was still being paid.

At one point his artwork had been not only an expression of his personal fantasies, but a private world in which he could escape. Now when he looked at his drawings all he could think of is how they must have laughed when they read his apologies.

Even worse, Oren was completely confused about his sexual preferences. He had thought he was some kind of masochist, but obviously that wasn't true. Maybe he liked the same kind of vanilla sex everyone else did. Or maybe he didn't like anything at all. His imagined future of a lifetime of debauchery, as well as his aspirations to be an artist had been destroyed. His future seemed blank and empty.

After he put the last of the sketches in a box with his sketchpads, he stuffed them into his closet. He didn't quite have the will to throw them away. Not yet.

Trying to distract himself he grabbed his ereader and settled into bed. He scrolled through the available selections. Definitely nothing with sex, or athletic men. Or art. Nothing that inspired introspection. It took a while to find something suitable.

The Sorority Zombie Slaughter. Perfect.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, for the next time he looked up his ereader had slipped into hibernate and the sun was well into the sky.

The next day passed slowly. Oren felt paralyzed. Anything he wanted to do reminded him of something he wanted to avoid. It was even worse than when Diaz had been waiting downstairs for him. At least then he had thought the invasion was temporary.

Something had to be done about this.

* * *

Oren watched through his binoculars as Diaz exited the bus. It was almost a perfect repeat of the time that everything went so terribly wrong. Diaz seemed to be staring at him again. Oren watched him fold his arms and shake his head. Then he drew a single finger across his throat.

It had its desired effect. Even though he'd wanted Diaz to come, Oren was filled will dread. Part of him wanted to reconsider. But it was Friday and there were no more classes until Monday, so it had to be now.

Oren had carried only the binoculars into his bedroom, so they would be easy to put back. He was wearing a thick long sleeve shirt and jeans just in case things went badly. Pajamas had entirely too little padding, as he'd discovered last time. Not that he expected to end up over the edge of the bed again, but it didn't hurt to be cautious.

But maybe that wasn't enough. His room was full of things meant to make an impression, even through jeans.

Oren replaced the binoculars, and then he threw anything that even remotely resembled a spanking implement into his closet.

He was just finishing when he heard heavy footsteps in the hall. The knock made him feel as if he'd been eating icicles.

“What?” Oren called, as if he didn't know who was knocking.

Diaz opened the door without bothering to answer the question. He was alone.

“Where's Norman?” It was amazing how after only two days Oren had forgotten how intimidating Diaz was. His dark eyes locked onto Oren like crosshairs snaring a target.

“You broke your promise.”

“No I didn't.”

“I told you not to spy on the bus stop or I would be back, and that is exactly what you did.”

“I promise you I was not using my binoculars for any sexual purpose today.”

“So what non-sexual purpose where you using them for?”

“I just wanted to check and make sure you didn't forget to go home and come here by mistake. That's it.” Which wasn't true at all, but he said because it would probably aggravate Diaz more.

“I told you the only way I would come back was if I caught you spying on the bus stop again.”

“I wasn't really spying on you. I wanted to talk to you and I didn’t know how else to do it.”

“You could have come down to the bus stop. Or the park.”

“I wasn't sure what your reaction would be and I thought it would be better if it happened in private.”

“My reaction to what?”

“I have a question for you.”

Diaz looked leery. “This isn't something weird like—?”

Oren interrupted him before he said something that made him want to hit him.

“If I can't people watch then what am I supposed to do with my time?”

“You made me come all the way up here for that?”

Oren ignored Diaz's tone. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“There are lots of things you could do.”

“Like what?”

Diaz looked wistfully toward the door. “I can't believe I'm even having this conversation.”

“You're the one that disapproves of my lifestyle, so tell me, what do you think I should do?”

“I don't know…what are your interests?”

Oren smirked.

“Never mind.” Diaz put a hand to his temple as if he suddenly had a headache. Or as if he was trying to push away unpleasant thoughts. “You could go hang out with friends.”

“I don’t know anyone around here.”

“There are plenty of people you could meet. You could look online. Network or something.”

“I can't go online.”

“You can't go online?”

“You don't have to say it like that. My parent's blocked me from their network.”

“Why would they…” Diaz frowned as if he was imagining Oren's online activities. “Never mind, I'm sure they had a good reason. But there are other ways you could meet people. You could take a class at the college.”

“Maybe. Still, life seems kind of empty without—”

“That's ridiculous.”

“You have no idea what it's like to be trapped in this room all the time and have nothing to—”

“How often do you get out?”

“What? I don't know. Not much.”

“It isn't good for you to stay inside. No wonder you're such a voyeur.”

“I'm not a voyeur.”

“It's like any other compulsion. Which is why we need to take care of what you did today.”

Oren didn't approve of the sudden change of topic. “No we don't, I told you why I did it.”

“Your motivation isn't important. Like with any addiction, you have to stop completely.”

“That's not true at all. People don't expect heroin addicts to just stop. They wean them off slowly over time. Otherwise it can be dangerous, people have died—”

Diaz rolled his eyes. “I think you'll be fine. Consequences are here to help you.”

“I don't need consequences. I wasn't spying on you, I was only trying to get your attention.” The slightest whine crept into Oren's voice.

“And you got it.”

“I won't try to contact you that way again. It was just this one time.”

“Then this will be the only time you have to be spanked for it.”

“No.” Oren shook his head from side to side as if the word needed an additional visual aid.

“Where's the brush?”

“I don't know.”

“You're a horrible liar. Doesn't matter. I can manage without it.”

He pulled out the desk chair and sat down. Oren had chosen it specifically because it didn't have arms. He needed to stop picking furniture designed to cause injury.

Diaz patted his knee. “Come here.”

The suggestion was almost funny. Did he think Oren was going to voluntarily go lie across his lap? He wasn't even going to come within arm's distance.

“It's only been two days.”

“You'd think that would have deterred you from misbehaving again.”

“You have no soul.” Oren looked around the room for something to help him. He would not allow himself to be subjected to this treatment.

The problem with arm's distance is that it has a tendency to change. Especially when the arm is attached to someone mobile.

Oren found himself jerked to stand in front of Diaz. He would have liked to think if he fought hard enough he would win and get away, but he knew it was highly unlikely.

“Your jeans are too thick.”

“What?”

“They're going to have to come down, or you can find the hairbrush. Those are your choices.”

“Why can't you just go away?”

When Oren didn't make the decision Diaz did it for him. Feeling Diaz's hands on his fly had an unexpected effect on Oren's libido. He felt himself stiffen from the sensation of another man removing his clothes, despite the reason. He knew it would be impossible for Diaz not to know what he was thinking.

“Don't worry. You won't like this and that will be gone in a moment.”

Drawing attention to it only made it worse.

“Are you capable of getting in position or do I have to do it for you?”

“You really are a dick,” Oren said as he lowered himself into position.

“Careful.”

His shirt wasn't long enough to prevent Oren’s erection from directly pressing against Diaz’s jeans. It felt so awkward lying across another man’s lap. He was far too big for this position, he must have looked ridiculous. At least Diaz was tall, although he was still an inch or two shorter than Oren.

Oren closed his eyes as if he could shut out the experience as the other man pushed the back of his shirt out of the way. The air in the room felt cool against Oren's exposed skin.

The first blow stung horribly. It hurt differently than the hairbrush, but he wasn't sure if it wasn't just as bad. The rest of the blows continued to cloud the issue.

This time Oren resolved to be stoic. At least all the blood rushing to his head would cover up how red his face was.

Diaz was methodical, striking each spot three times before moving on to another only centimeters away. Oren found himself shifting just a little bit in an attempt to find a less sensitive place for the blows to land.

It wasn't long before he really started to struggle. It wasn't his fault. Diaz seemed to be doing his best to make sure there wasn't an inch of undamaged flesh left.

Squirming didn't necessarily mean he was failing to be stoic.

The problem was the inescapable stinging. It was a serious problem that needed to be stopped. If he didn't get respite soon he was going to do something to embarrass himself.

“Stop.” The word escaped entirely with out permission.

“Why?”

Why? What kind of response was that?

“Please.”

“Getting closer.”

“I'm sorry, I won't do it again.”

To Oren's surprise (and intense relief) Diaz did stop. He helped Oren back onto his feet and placed the chair back under the desk.

Still in a lot of pain, Oren winced as he put his pants back in place. He tried to rub some of it away even though he would have rather waited until Diaz was gone.

Diaz seemed to notice for the first time how empty the room was. “I see you've cleaned up. It looks better.”

He didn't actually expect Oren to make polite conversation after that?

“It wouldn't hurt to keep some of your drawings up, but it's better to keep the really sexual ones somewhere private. Like in a book or folder or something.”

“Is my room not private?”

“Not lately it hasn’t been.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“What did you do with your sketches? Did you destroy them or just put them up?”

“I boxed them up because you ruined them for me.”

“Maybe it's time you learned to draw something else.”

“There's no point. I may as well not draw at all.”

Diaz sighed. “What am I supposed to do with you when you say things like that?”

“You've already done enough.”

“I know...” Diaz had that look he got just before he decided to do something dreadful to Oren's backside. Oren began to back away. Diaz must have decided to go looking for the brush after all.

“Give me a piece of paper.”

“Paper?” Oren was confused, that wasn't an implement of torture…was it?

“Yes, paper. I need to write down some instructions for you.”

Instructions?

Despite how much he didn't like the sound of that, Oren tore out a piece from a note book in his desk and handed it to Diaz.

Diaz's small, neat handwriting quickly formed several lines. When he finished he folded it in half and handed it back to Oren.

“I don't have classes over the weekend, so I'll stop by Monday when I am done with school to check on how you did. See you later, Mr. Gilby.”

Oren didn't bother to answer as Diaz left. He was too busy reading:

Oren Gilby’s Weekend Plan

1. Wake up early and go for a walk every day.

2. Read at least 100 pages of a book.

3. Draw 3 still life sketches.

The consequences of not following

these instructions will be dire.

The only thing the instructions inspired Oren to do was to wad them into a ball and throw it against the wall.

He had asked for advice on how to spend his time, not for a school assignment.

What he'd really wanted was to complain and then be allowed to go back to the life he'd been living. Except that Diaz was going to come back, so that hope had been completely and utterly annihilated.

Oren never wanted to look at a pencil or a sketch pad again. The very idea made him sick to his stomach. How was he supposed to draw three things by Monday when he felt like this?

Instructions indeed.

Chapter Three
Master List of Chapters