Chapter 12
Viktor
Decisions, decisions, decisions…
I know I should be thinking tactically.
But this morning just felt so good. All I want is to enjoy the peace.
The drive back from the village is quiet, the Volvo humming smoothly along the winding roads as the landscape shifts from quaint stone buildings to dense woodland.
Eddie sits beside me, his face pressed close to the window, bags of art supplies rustling in the back seat with every turn.
He’s still glowing from the outing—cheeks flushed, eyes bright, that squeal of joy echoing in my mind.
It's a rare sight, this unfiltered happiness, and it stirs something in me I don't want to examine too closely. Not now. Unless I’m mistaken, he’s adapting, or at least pretending to.
No more runs today, no defiance in his posture.
Just contentment. For this moment in time at least...
We pull up to the house, gates sliding open at the sensor's command.
Alexander is waiting on the porch, arms crossed, eyes scanning the road behind us like always.
He helps unload the bags without a word, carrying them inside while I escort Eddie through the front door.
His hand brushes mine as we step over the threshold. Accidental or not, I don't pull away.
"Where can I set up?" he asks, voice eager, already eyeing the supplies Alexander deposits in the foyer.
I consider for a moment. The house has plenty of rooms, most unused.
"Rear of the house,” I say, my voice colder because Alexander is within earshot. “Large empty space. Good light. It’ll work well."
Eddie follows me down the hall, past the study and kitchen, to the back room.
It's a sunroom of sorts—forgotten when I bought the place, but perfect now.
Large windows line three walls, flooding the space with natural light that bounces off the whitewashed walls.
The floor is polished hardwood, expansive enough for pacing or, in this case, spreading out art materials.
No furniture cluttering it, just open potential.
High ceilings give it an airy feel, like a studio waiting to be claimed.
Eddie's eyes widen as we enter. "This is... amazing. Perfect for an art room. The light, the space!" He spins once, arms out, laughing softly. "Thank you, Daddy."
I do my best to show no emotion to the D-word. But it’s out there now. Neither one of us can ignore it. I simply nod, watching him unpack. Alexander brings in the last bags, gives me a questioning look and I dismiss him with a tilt of my head.
“So…” I say, looking around, instinctively checking the windows.
Eddie wastes no time. He spreads the plastic sheeting across the floor, sets up the banding wheel in a spot where the sunlight hits just right, arranges his tools in neat rows like a surgeon preparing for operation.
His hands move with purpose, efficient and joyful.
He kneels, opening a bag of clay, inhaling deeply as if it's perfume.
"Earthenware first," he mutters to himself. "Base layer."
I settle into a chair I've dragged from the hall, positioned near the door—watching him, but also the windows, habit ingrained. He doesn't seem to mind my presence; if anything, he glances over occasionally, smiling shyly.
I watch as the clay yields under his fingers, shaping into a rough form—two figures, from what I can tell, intertwined but distinct.
He works steadily, humming under his breath, lost in it.
It's mesmerizing, this creation from nothing.
His focus is absolute, his whole world narrowed to the wet earth in his hands.
After a while, my own restlessness creeps in.
"Coffee for me. OJ for you?"
He looks up, clay smudged on his cheek like war paint. "Yes, please, Daddy."
In the kitchen, I grind beans for the espresso, the rich aroma filling the air. I then pour orange juice into a glass—fresh, pulpy, the way he likes from breakfast.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I glance at the screen…
Ivan: Word spreading on the street. Rumors that your position is under threat. Whispers of weakness. We know that you’re not weak, but when the streets start to talk, that’s when things get dicey. Need to move fast.
I stare at the message, jaw tightening. It's starting—the ripples from the gallery hit turning into waves. Traitors testing the waters, rivals sniffing blood. I know what this means: act quickly, decisively, or lose ground. I can't hide here forever, the family needs to see strength.
I reply…
Viktor: Plan forming. Keep digging. When the time comes, I’ll end this and any thoughts of weakness in a way that no one will ever forget. And your loyalty will be rewarded, my friend.
I hit send and pocket the phone. The espresso machine hisses, pulling a perfect shot. I carry the drinks back, schooling my face neutral. There’s no need to worry him—not yet.
Eddie is deep in his work, the sculpture taking clearer shape—strong lines, tension in the forms. He pauses when I approach, wiping his hands on a rag. "Smells good."
I hand him the juice.
He sips, nods enthusiastically. "It's coming together." A pause, then he looks up at me, cheeks coloring slightly. "Um... would you consider being a life model?"
I set my espresso down. "As in... naked?"
Eddie goes bright red, nods quickly. "Y-yes. For reference. The figure—it's, um, inspired by... well, strength. Proportion."
I study him, the blush spreading to his neck.
It’s tempting to tease the boy, but I’m intrigued too.
"Sure. I’ll do it. But if I catch you looking too lustfully..." I lean in, voice low. "Punishment."
Eddie’s eyes widen, but he straightens. "I'd never let anything get in the way of my art. Worked with life models loads of times. I’m one hundred percent professional."
I stand and wait for him to continue but he simply puts his hands on his hips like he’s waiting for me.
“Got it,” I laugh.
I strip—shirt, pants, boxers. I stand naked, unashamed before him, my cock hanging between my legs. From the off, his gaze is professional.
But as he sketches an outline to work from later, I see the flicker.
Heat.
And as his dick visibly hardens under his jeans, I can see that this sassy Little’s air of professional distance is quickly becoming nothing more than a mirage. And that means only one thing. It’s time to show this so-called artist who’s in charge…
“Remember what we said,” I warn, noting how dilated Eddie’s eyes are as he sketches.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Eddie sasses. “It’s not even that big.”
“Who, yours or mine?” I chuckle.
“Very funny,” Eddie sasses. “Not.”
I roll my eyes. This boy is pushing me. He knows what he’s doing and probably thinks because I spoiled him with all these art supplies that he can get away with murder. Hey, some of us can. But not this boy…
“Stand up,” I growl. “Put your pencil down, stand up, and remove your t-shirt right now.”
I take a step forward, my gradually hardening cock swaying in front of me.
Eddie doesn’t miss a beat as he follows my orders to a tee. Moments later he is shirtless, his soft but athletic chest on display and his nipples perfectly pink and small, asking to be tormented.
“Now let’s see how you work with a little added motivation,” I say, reaching over to the table and picking up two wooden pegs.
“You want to stare at Daddy’s cock, then you can wear these pegs to keep your nipples in check.
Hell, it might even stop those naughty thoughts you’re quite clearly having. ”
“Daddy!” Eddie gasps as I place one peg at a time onto his now clamped nipples. “I… I… I… I couldn’t help it. Your thing is just… too much.”
“Save the excuses,” I laugh. “Now back to work. But first, remove those jeans and briefs, I want to keep my eye on your lower half too.”
Eddie’s cheeks go bright red as he duly strips naked.
The boy is submitting to me. I can sense it. Gone is the disruptive, argumentative boy. In its place I’m finding a boy who craves to submit, someone who needs to be told what to do and how to do it.
I return to my spot and watch as Eddie continues to sketch, my cock hardening quickly as I see him squirm on the stool, his nipples clamped and his throbbing manhood quite clearly aching for my touch.
“Put on a show for Daddy, ” I command. “Touch yourself while you sketch. Not too much. But enough to keep that hard little thing standing to attention.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Eddie says, the quiver in his voice telling me all I need to know.
I’m going to keep him teetering on the edge for as long as I can. And when I’m ready—and only then—I’m going to give him everything he’s ever dreamed of and a whole lot more on top of that too…