Weekend Reading!

6/27/2025

Sometimes, one simple act could change your life.

For Ian Groden, one simple act was a recurring event.

The sound of the garage door closing barely registered while he sat in his car and reread the small greeting card in his hand. He started when the alarm on his watch went off. A few seconds later, the auto lock on the door leading from the garage to the house engaged with a click that echoed through the garage.

“Fuck,” Ian spat and crumpled the card in his fist.

Ian shoved out of the car, grabbed his briefcase, and slammed the door shut. “Just fucking perfect!”

He dropped his briefcase next to the two steps leading to the door, sat down, and banged his head against the door.

Ian tended to be a workaholic. His husband, and Dom, Taren Murdoch had rules about a healthy work/home balance. One hard and fast rule was that Ian had to be home by 5 p.m. sharp, any later, and the door locked. If Ian wasn’t inside the house by the time the lock engaged there would be repercussions. If there were an emergency, he could override the code and get in, of course.

Ian preferred not to use the override. In truth, repercussions, discipline--punishment—were things Ian normally looked forward to, and if the mood struck him, he would linger in his car until the lock engaged. Tonight, this was not the case. His home was his sanctuary, and he wanted to get inside.

He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt before fishing his phone from his suit jacket and called Taren.

“Murdoch.”

“The door is locked,” Ian blurted out.

Taren drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Hold on.” Ian heard Taren moving and then he said in a muffled voice, “I have to take this; it’s Ian.” Someone asked if Ian was all right, and Taren’s response was, “Yes, I think so.” A minute later Taren asked, “Are you okay? Was there an emergency at work?”

“N-no. Emergency, I mean.”

“Ian,” Taren spoke slowly, drawing Ian’s name out. “Boy. Are you okay?”

Being called ‘boy’ immediately dropped Ian into his sub role. “Yes. No. Maybe. Sir.”

“Well, that clears everything up.” Taren paused for a minute. “Go inside, get settled, I’ll be home in about an hour, hopefully a little less. Pick out what you’d like to use later this evening if you’re in the mood.”

As if Ian was never in the mood for Taren’s skillful attention.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir,” Ian said softly. The lock clicked and Ian opened the door. They both had an app on their phone to lock or unlock the doors remotely. Taren must’ve used his to save Ian from having to override the lock code.

After depositing his briefcase under the table by the door, Ian went to their bedroom. He was relieved Taren hadn’t given him any instructions and left whatever intimate interactions they’d have that night up to him, which left Ian free to make requests.

He tossed the notecard onto his dresser and shed his clothing, then removed the thick, leather codpiece he wore and dropped it onto the bed, leaving the plastic cock cage he wore daily. Cranking the shower on, he stepped under the hot spray and washed the day away. Once the hair gel he wore to slick back his dark hair was gone, and his body was clean, Ian dried off, already feeling better. Tossing the towel into the laundry basket, Ian went back to the bedroom.

Their bedroom was large. When they bought the house, it’d been two rooms. Cutting out an archway created one large space with the bathroom door in the middle. One half of the room was a normal bedroom. Bed, dressers, closets, night tables. Simply looking at the other half made Ian’s heart rate speed up and his groin warm. Even with the cock cage on, his dick tried to swell, creating luscious pressure. He took a few deep breaths to steady and center himself.

The other half was their dungeon. They’d added to it over the years and were always on the lookout for new and fun equipment and toys. The Saint Andrews Cross was their first big purchase. One wall was lined with a peg board to store a variety of whips, cuffs, restraints, gags, hoods, and harnesses. On the adjacent wall was a cabinet. Ian opened the doors to reveal shelves and drawers.

He didn’t give his selection much thought but went on raw emotion. Before he could think rationally about the message carried in the card, Ian needed to hurt, and feel the pain which eventually brought pleasure and, ultimately, clarity of thought.

Ian pulled the e-stim kit from one of the drawers and tossed it on the bed. Next, he grabbed a hood and harness from their resting place on the wall and set those on the bed beside the e-stim.

He scooped up the crumpled notecard and wandered to the kitchen, spreading it out on the kitchen table. He smoothed it with both hands until it lay flat again and stood staring down at it. Barely aware of Taren coming into the house, Ian started when one of Taren’s big, warm hands came to rest on his shoulders.

“Sorry, I thought you heard me,” Taren said softly. He leaned over Ian’s shoulder and kissed his cheek. Reaching around Ian, Taren flicked at the notecard. “Is this what has you so worked up? I got one, too. I didn’t think you’d be upset.”

“It was delivered at work,” Ian mumbled.

He felt Taren shrug. “It’s addressed to both of us and is only an invitation to dinner. That’s not really what’s bothering you, is it?”

“I…” Ian blew out a frustrated breath. “He knows our address. He could’ve just sent one here or emailed,” Ian spat.

Taren pulled a picture postcard from his back pocket and tossed it on the table beside Ian’s notecard. “True. For a guy that works in online gaming tech he sure likes pen and paper.” He paused and pulled out a chair, sitting at the table. “He probably thinks this is more personal, or alluring and mysterious, or just plain fun.”

Ian met Taren’s gaze for a few seconds before focusing on the tabletop. It’d been almost a decade since Ian lost control of the car he was driving during a blizzard and ended up in a ditch. He worried his parents would be angry with him for totaling their car, even though he was the only person who’d driven it for years. Maybe it was he who was more upset because he’d taken the old Buick to college. The thing was built like a tank, and it saved Ian’s life.

In reality, Ian’s parents had been grateful. The worst thing he suffered was a few scrapes and a bruised knee. They’d been equally grateful to the county sheriff who’d pulled Ian from the car, got him food and water, and taken him to the hospital.

Taren Murdoch was kind, soft-spoken, and incredibly capable, with broad shoulders and a quick smile. He’d stayed with Ian until his parents arrived, despite Ian’s protests that it wasn’t necessary. Not wanting to let on how frightened he’d been waiting in the cold and dark for help to arrive, Ian tried to brush off the experience. Taren would have none of it and stayed with Ian for the hours it took his parents to make their way to the hospital.

Taren made Ian feel safe. He was darn nice on the eyes, too. They’d started dating not long after and had been married for nearly eight years. Ian loved Taren, heart and soul. Never once did Ian doubt Taren felt the same way.

“You know it’s your choice. You’re in control of this situation. I’m happy either way. Kevin is…a nice distraction from reality. But I love you. I married you. No one, and I mean no one, comes before that.” Taren swept up both cards and tore them up. “It’s great to help you experience something I was able to, but Christ, Ian, if this is going to cause you so much anxiety, I’ll tell him never to contact us again.”

“It’s not making me anxious,” Ian retorted.

Taren laughed and cocked his head to one side. “Boy, please!”

As when he was on the phone, Taren uttering the word, boy, immediately sent Ian into sub role.

Ian’s gaze dropped to the floor, and he studied his toes. “I’ve laid out some choices for you, Sir.”

“Do you want dinner first?”

Ian shook his head. “No, Sir.”