New Beginnings

By Marc Murrey

John Burnette. Wealthy. Successful. Handsome. Sexy. Human. And a dominant top who likes to discipline younger men. This is the first full length part in a multi-part saga which recounts the story of how he goes from being single, to having a gaggle of willing young subs living with him, all of whom sample his particular methods of discipline. In part one, we meet his new 'sub in the making'.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marc Murrey
• Release date: Jul 9, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476361628

Marc Murrey

Born in Edinburgh, Scotland of an American father and Scottish mother, Marc has written several short stories but only published his first full length novel in 2010.He lives with his partner and 2 dogs in an isolated cottage in the scenic serenity of the Scottish Borders.

Book preview

NEW BEGINNINGS

By

Marc Murrey

Published by Marc Murrey at

Smashwords

Copyright Marc Murrey 2014

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual people, events or locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead however, is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

Thank you for respecting the work of the author.

AUTHOR’S NOTES

All characters in this work of fiction who indulge in sexual acts are aged over eighteen.

This book is intended for ADULT READING ONLY. It contains many erotic, sexually explicit and male/male discipline scenes, as well as graphic language, some of which may be considered offensive by some readers.

If this type of content upsets you, please do not buy this ebook!

Please store your e-books where they cannot be accessed by minors.

Marc Murrey asserts the right to be recognised as creator and owner of

‘New Beginnings’ and its characters.

PROLOGUE

This is the first in a series of full length and ongoing stories, about a man who thinks he’s just an ordinary guy. Except John Burnette is no ordinary man.

The year is nineteen eighty-six and John is thirty-four years old. At six foot three inches tall, with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and equally narrow hips, he is muscular but slim. He is dark haired, with deep blue, sparkling eyes. Clean shaven, his body is also smooth, only having a little hair on his forearms, thighs and calves, and a narrow line of soft, downy dark hair that runs from an inch or so below his navel down into his soft, straight pubic hair, which lies above his genitals like a small, furry scarf.

Soft, his penis is about four inches long, fairly thick and sits on top of a pair of large testicles, so that when he wears tighter clothes or speedos, he shows an ill-defined but intriguingly large package. Hard and erect, it’s over nine inches long and thick enough that his long fingers can only get a little over half way around the shaft, until just below its pink, uncircumcised head, which is normally hidden beneath his loose foreskin.

As we will discover in the following story, John worked more than hard to get where he is and is not scared to get his hands dirty doing mundane, and not so mundane, day to day tasks.

But John is now not just wealthy, but has more money than he could ever sensibly spend, and in an age when interest rates are running at between eighteen and twenty-three percent his income from the interest alone guarantees him a more than comfortable lifestyle, yet he is content to live modestly. Most of the time that is!

In other words, John Burnette is not just wealthy and handsome, he is filthy rich, oozes sex appeal, is incredibly masculine, and has a dominant, ‘do as I tell you or else’, personality.

But John has a kink.

Apart from a liking for leather for furniture and bedding, and preferring to wear leather jeans, jackets and waistcoats rather than more ordinary clothes, his previous partner, Nick McKenzie, who was killed in an accident two years before this story begins, enjoyed being disciplined, so John quickly learned not just how to use a belt or strap to inflict both pain or pleasure, but also to enjoy using a belt or strap on his younger partner. Nick, who collected belts and straps, buying new or second hand ones on an almost a weekly basis, also liked, and suited, the various leather jeans and jackets he bought for himself and John.

So John has an interesting cupboard full of implements, ranging from lightweight tawses, through to a British prison strap, as well as a collection of so many trouser belts that he could stock a shop, ranging from narrow dress belts, to wide jeans and working belts, and all of them made of thick, dense leather. Every single one of them is quite capable of being used to give someone a hiding that will sting at best, and really hurt at worst!

But John, far from looking gay or ‘poofy’ in leather clothes, is one of these people who really suits black or brown leather jeans, which he wears almost daily. He has also ridden motorbikes since he was seventeen, using a bike firstly as a cheap mode of travel, then getting into larger bikes for touring as he got older and could afford to by them, so also has a collection of leather wear just for use on the bikes he has, although he also has a couple of large cars, one of which is a large, old classic Jaguar Mark X.

But despite being dominant, wanting, expecting and demanding that any younger person he is in charge of behaves the way he determines they should, and inflicting serious punishments should they break any of his rules, he is also extremely caring, considerate and affectionate.

He’d have made a good teacher as he tries to lead by example, and mentors and guides his younger charges with care, consideration and skill, dangling rewards for good behaviour and achievement, as well as punishments for serious failures or rule breaches.

He is so good at this, that one of his nephews, Shane, who had his sixteenth birthday a month or so before this story commences, idolises his ‘Uncle Jay’ and frequently asks to come and live permanently with him.

But John isn’t ready yet for full time company in the house again.

Or is he?

CHAPTER ONE

My life had settled into something of a routine now. I would work in my office at home most mornings, only going into the office in the city on a Monday each week. I had lunch the rest of the week with my friend Jean in her café and would spend some time chatting to her, any members of her family or the staff who were serving, and any of the regular customers I recognised. Most of those I did know were elderly, but some were around my age or a little older. Apart from Jean’s youngest son, Pete, I rarely spoke to any of the teenagers who knew either him or my nephew, Shane, who stayed most weekends with me, other than to nod a hello to them.

My afternoons were spent sketching random ideas onto paper for my architect’s practice, or doing odd jobs around the house and garden. The evenings were spent either visiting friends, very occasionally, or, much more likely, watching movies at home.

On my own.

I still missed Nick, but almost two years had passed since that awful night and I was beginning to get accustomed to being on my own, except when Shane was with me at weekends, which were now a highlight of my life.

Always classed as my favourite nephew, simply because we shared the same birthday, Shane, who had just turned sixteen, came to stay with me from Friday afternoon after school, through to Monday morning. He would get the bus from his school in Edinburgh to my village near Coldstream, in a particularly scenic part of the Scottish Borders, and I would drive him to school on Monday mornings.

He had begun to stay with Nick and me many years before, both during school holidays and for odd weekends, but when his behaviour deteriorated a year or so after his Dad had left home, my sister insisted he come to me every weekend. Her unfaithful husband had left her and her three children, and Shane, being the oldest by quite a few years, had gone completely off the rails. He had always responded well to my treatment of him though, giving him treats for when he did well, or punishments, sometimes serious, for when he went too far into bad behaviour.

Over the last eight years or so, from being the wicked uncle who was either telephoned to ‘come and deal with this boy’, or to whom Shane was sent ‘to get dealt with’, it had gradually evolved that he was an almost permanent fixture in my home, so much so, that he frequently asked if he could move from his home in Edinburgh to live with me permanently.

With the death of my ‘partner’ Nick still weighing heavily on me, despite almost two years having passed since that awful night, I didn’t really feel ready, or emotionally equipped for that matter, to have a teenage boy living with me full time. I loved Shane as if he was my own son and part of me would have been ecstatic at having him around all the time. The other part of me however, thought it would be a total disaster.

The fact that he had been adopted by my sister and her husband as a baby was completely irrelevant as far as I was concerned. I’d always treated the lad as an individual in his own right, not just as my nephew, whether he’d been adopted or not. But to have a teenager live with me, to be responsible for him and his actions, was something I wasn’t prepared to let myself get lumbered with, even though I really cared for him and worried constantly about what he got up to in the city where I couldn’t supervise him.

During his weekends in the village with me though, Shane had made some friends among the local youngsters and as he didn’t have his younger siblings around all the time to argue or fight with, he was always much more relaxed when he was with me. He was certainly more focussed, much better behaved, the majority of the time anyway, and much more attentive to the instruction and guidance I gave him.

Shane had a bright and cheeky personality and seemed to make friends easily. He was fully aware both of my rules and the consequences of breaking them, not just regarding his general behaviour and attitudes, but also about whom he could and could not spend his free time with, either here in my village, or in his home area, and for the last two years he had rarely broken them as far as I was aware, but when he did, it was sometimes in a big way as he could be led into trouble by his friends. His usual infringements though, were over sleeping, untidiness, or sulking and being moody to the point of rudeness. Typical traits of any teenager!

There was one local lad however, with whom he was totally forbidden from spending time, and that was one Roy Wilson, who had the reputation of being at the cause, if not the actual perpetrator, of any and all vandalism and trouble in the village. Unemployed, and by all accounts, unemployable, Roy had vandalised my front garden in the early spring of this year, breaking a stone fountain I had erected as a tribute to my late partner, Nick McKenzie, during one of Roy’s late night drunken rampages through the village.

I had been vaguely aware of him before that, but had never known, or realised, that the skinny, pawky, but attractive lad, that I sometimes saw in the streets, was in fact the infamous Roy Wilson, the pain in the village’s neck, until the local police identified him from the video tapes of my security camera system, which had caught him in the act of vandalism.

My late partner Nick and I had pretty much kept ourselves to ourselves in the village, not even throwing the parties we had intended to, due to both of our work commitments. I had possibly only got to know Jean because the area at the front of her café was the largest of the local shops. She stocked an amazing range of both groceries and hardware, as well as every other household item one could need or want, and I had frequently bought pencils, artists brushes and water colour paints, as well as Nick and I getting odd groceries and packs of cigarettes from her. She was a large and garrulous woman who had made the point clear, very early in our acquaintanceship, that she had no problems with gay people.

But as a result, I knew very few of the younger people by name, except the two or three that Shane had made proper friends with during his weekends with me, and my friend Jean’s four offspring, three of whom were not exactly children.

As a gay couple of not too disparate ages, who had moved from the city into a small village in the Scottish borders, it would not have been a good idea to publicise ourselves too much amongst the local teenagers. Especially when one of us was a minor, albeit rising star in films, I was a well-known and well paid architect, we had won the jackpot on the football pools, and we had bought one of the largest, oldest, and most ruinous properties in the area, to rebuild and refurbish!

Over this summer though, I had noticed that every time I went into the local shop-cum-café, if Roy was already there he would hide behind a display until I left, or would almost trip over himself to turn around and go out again if I was in it first, when he would linger outside until I left, retreated into a doorway further along the street to try and hide from me as I walked past.

Once I became aware of his actions, I teased him, by chatting to Jean for longer than either of us needed to whilst I was in the shop, to surreptitiously observe him. It was quickly obvious to me that the lad was petrified of me, and as time had passed, he seemed to get more and more scared of me.

At eighteen, Roy was almost as tall as me, being a little over six feet tall. Although slim, skinny in fact, he had the reputation of being an aggressively tough guy and apparently had no hesitation in getting into street brawls with people of his own age or older, so I found it really comical that he should be so scared of me. I sometimes wondered if he was scared because he had discovered I was gay, or just because he had been caught, and despite having been subsequently prosecuted for vandalising the fountain, was worried I might exact some sort of revenge on him. I knew it wasn’t unknown for the locals to do that sort of thing!

But, since Nick had died, Jean Renton had been my saviour. With two daughters and two rugby playing sons, the younger of whom, Pete, her youngest child, was only a few months younger than Shane, she was a hard working woman with a no nonsense attitude to life and who had a huge soft spot for anyone with a problem. With the shop and café to run and cook for, as well as her family to care for, she was busy for a good eighteen hours every day, yet always seemed bright and cheerful.

She had taken me completely under her wing after Nick’s death. In fact, her shoulder was the first one I had cried onto after the police had come to me that morning. A natural mother, she fussed and worried over her family, and now over me too. Usually polite and quite well spoken, Jean was the type who would call a spade ‘a fucking shovel’ if she became seriously over-stressed, but she also had an earthy and very dry sense of humour that I loved.

Jean was also observant, and soon spotted the way that Roy behaved whenever I was in the shop or café, and began to join in with my harmless teasing of the lad. She had no problem whatsoever with me being gay, not even around her under-age, extremely physical son, who seemed to really enjoy play fighting with and being tickled by me, and who sometimes stayed over at my house when he’d been out particularly late somewhere with Shane and me. He even came to visit me some evenings during the week, just to sit and talk when Shane wasn’t here, when he would kneel on my thighs facing me as I sat in a settee or chair, and tell me about his problems, his dreams and aspirations, or even just the events on his day to day life, just as Shane often did at the weekends, although being taller than Pete, Shane usually sat sideways on to me, his bum between my thigh and the arm of the settee and his legs sprawled over the empty seat cushion beside me.

But Jean’s café was at the back of the shop and extended out into the garden, where, in summer with the doors spanning the full width of the Café’s back wall opened up, the café almost seemed to be outside. With tables and chairs on the partially covered patio in the garden, half of it was and it all had a very Mediterranean style to it.

A games room, where there was a pool table that local youngsters played on along with four or five video arcade machines, was opposite the serving counter at the front of the café. Outside, there was a gate at the end of the long, sloping garden, which led onto a former service lane. The lane was now little more than a narrow path lined with wild bushes and trees on each side, that meandered between the back gardens of the North side of the unimaginatively named ‘Front Street’ and the southern side of ‘Back Street’, as the two main parallel roads in the village were called, so I often used this back way from my house in ‘Back Street’, ‘our country estate’ Nick and I had called it, to get to the café in ‘Front Street’, both during the better weather, and indeed, if it was pouring rain.

Today, it was this route I’d used, and Jean’s younger son Pete had made my regular ‘double’ Espresso coffee as soon as he saw me walk down through the garden, arriving at a table with it just as I did.

He grinned at me and I smiled, saying Thanks, to him, then we hugged firmly before I sat down. I made as if to poke his tummy to make him flinch and giggle, which of course, he did, then grinned at me and moved to closer again to stand beside me. Pete, a little younger than Shane, had become something of a virtual nephew to me over the last four years or so because of his friendship with my nephew, although his sisters and much older brother hadn’t got quite so close to me.

His friendship with Shane though, meant that he was more than just a frequent visitor to my home too, often staying over, as I said before. I had even, on odd occasions, had to discipline him in the same way, and at the same time as Shane, doing so with Jean’s complete blessing, on the occasions when he and Shane had got into trouble together.

He chatted for a moment about the weather, and asked me how I was, before returning to the counter. Pete and the rest of the staff knew my routine, a double espresso first, which I would drink whilst smoking a cigarette, then I would go to the counter and order a meal. I was usually one of the last to order, which let Jean leave the kitchen as I was finishing eating, to come and join me for an after meal coffee, when I would have a latte and we would chat about anything and everything for a while, and try to set the world to rights.

I lit a cigarette and sipped the piping hot espresso, which was really strong, just the way I liked it, then leaned back into the chair to glance around the decking, then round the inner part of the café, idly curious to see who was there. There was no one I recognised, with most the customers looking as if they were tourists who were just passing through, so I looked through the glazed partition into the games room.

As it was still the summer holidays, there were several youngsters playing on the machines with a small group, who all had their backs turned towards me, also just hanging around in the room. Having established that there was no one I knew in the café, I turned my chair to watch the birds feeding in the garden and to enjoy my coffee and cigarette at a leisurely pace.

Once I finished my coffee, I went to the counter inside and ordered a light meal. It was too hot on this late July day for a hot meal, so I opted for an open tuna sandwich with side salad. I was thanking Pete for taking my order and turning from the counter when someone coming out of the games room bumped into me. We both turned saying ‘sorry’ to the other.

When I saw who it was I smiled with spiteful glee. It was none other than the infamous Roy Wilson. He looked as if he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him right there and then. His face blushed deep red, then he turned his head to look at the floor as he took a step back and began to mumble his apologies for bumping into me.

I instantly decided I had to sort the situation out. I had never had anyone be scared of me, and I didn’t want this lad going through life feeling guilty or whatever it was he felt, because of what he had done, despite the fact that I had thought his actions had been indescribably awful at the time.

I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder, gripping it firmly whilst pulling him towards me a little and ordered him quietly, You! Outside! Now! I want to talk to you.

He recoiled from me as if I had struck him, then plunged his hands deep into his baggy, over-sized tracksuit bottoms and began to move, his shoulders hunched and his head down, as I guided him over to my table by gripping his elbow tightly, and with pressure on his shoulder, told him, Sit!

He almost fell into the chair I had pointed to. I pulled another chair alongside him and sat on it, moving fairly close to him, so that I could talk quietly and directly to him without anyone else hearing, not that the were any other customers all that close to me, and there was enough noise in the café to cover quiet speech.

Looking at him close up, I saw that he had pale blue eyes, almost grey, framed with light blonde lashes, which on a girl, would have been long, never mind on a boy. I knew his hair was strawberry blonde, almost ginger, although it was hidden by his baseball cap, and he had a smattering of small freckles on and around his nose.

I sat back, then reached over for my cigarettes and took a couple out and studied him whilst I lit them, and handed one to him. I had learned a lot about him over the last few months and I actually felt quite sorry for him. I wondered at that moment how Shane would have turned out, if he had lived Roy’s life, instead of the one his mother and I had given him.

I could see that Roy was shaking nervously even before he pulled his left hand out of his tracksuit bottoms and took the cigarette from me, when I saw his hand was actually trembling. His shoulders were hunched down and he looked as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible.

I let him take a drag of his cigarette before I spoke, whilst studying him intently. He was skinny, obviously underfed, yet the skin on his face was clear and glowed with ruddy good health, which was at odds with his reputation for taking all sorts of drugs. His white tracksuit bottoms might once have been fashionable for a city ‘football casual’, but they would have fitted someone twice, or even three times his girth. The ends of their legs were crumpled well over his worn, once white trainers, where they were frayed and torn from dragging on the ground at his heels.

Apart from that, although they were grubby from being well worn and had several small tears in them, they were otherwise clean. His white t-shirt was also torn at the neck seam on one side, but was spotlessly clean, as indeed, were his face, hands and arms. The obligatory Abercrombie baseball cap, worn, unusually for someone his age, the right way round, was the only thing he was wearing that looked both new, clean, and well fitting.

I’ve been meaning to speak to you for a while now, Roy, I said quietly but firmly to him.

He nodded without looking at me and I heard him swallow with a loud gulp.

I told him, I want you to know, that I don’t hold grudges. You did something stupid that I still don’t forgive you for, but you weren’t to know how much your stupidity would upset me, or indeed, upset my family and friends too. At least your mate apologised to me for his part in it.

I’m sorry, Roy mumbled, half lifting his head.

I don’t accept that, I told him, feeling a little annoyed at his feeble attempt to sound apologetic and worm his way out of this situation, but one day, I hope that you will both want, and have the courage, to come to me and apologise properly for what you did, I paused before adding, when you will not only mean every word of your apology, but will put yourself at my mercy.

He looked at me, surprise and curiosity registering on his face. He had been smoking his cigarette nervously, puffing on it as if he couldn’t finish it quickly enough, his head turned down. I wasn’t even sure what I would do to him if he did come and apologise, although I knew what I’d like to do, and that involved his backside and one of my heavy leather straps! I decided to let him know exactly what I would do if he ever did get the courage to apologise properly.

I don’t want you to be wandering around, petrified I’m going to beat you up or something, every time I see you. I know you were given some community service by the court, which I also know you think was a joke.

I paused and he glanced at me with what looked like a little smirk on his lips.

I will say this though, I continued if I’d got hold of you at the time, I’d have given you an old fashioned hiding and leathered your backside till you couldn’t sit down for a week, I told him.

That comment made him raise his head a little and he looked at me, with what I thought was a little sneer twitching his lips. I silently chuckled at his insolence. I suspected that no one had ever said anything like that to him before, and he was probably thinking ‘let him try’ or something like that.

I said calmly to him, As far as I am concerned, you were stupid. I don’t forgive you for smashing the fountain, but it’s done and it’s in the past. I’m not going to jump out of an alley and beat you up for what you did.

I paused to let that sink in, then told him, but I will warn now. You will keep away from my nephew Shane, or I will do something to you that you’ll regret for a very long time.

I knew he was scared enough of me not to ask what my threat implied, and he nodded his acknowledgement.

Now get out of my sight and don’t bother me, my friends, or my family, ever again. I don’t ever want to see you again until such time as you’re ready to apologise properly to me, I told him firmly.

He jumped out of the chair, almost knocking it over, his face as red as a beetroot, mumbling ‘sorry’ as he quickly pushed the chair back into position, then almost ran back inside the café, heading straight through it to the shop. I heard the bell on the front door tinkle as he left. I chuckled quietly to myself.

Pete brought my meal over and as he set it on the table, looked at me with an eyebrow raised and asked, What was that all about with Roy, Uncle John?

I smiled at him, Nothing, Pete, I was just talking to him about the fountain and getting rid of some angst.

Pete smiled at me and said, sounding surprisingly adult, If anyone ever needed to be on the receiving end of one of your straps, Uncle John, it’s Roy. He’s not nearly as bad as folk make him out to be, and I reckon he just needs a leathering or two, to sort him out.

I looked Pete in the eye and smiled as I nodded and chuckled my agreement then gave him a firm smack of affection on his well-rounded backside, which was hard enough that I knew it would sting. It certainly made my hand sting!

Enjoy your meal, Mum will be with you in a minute or two, he told me with a smile and a wink, then he walked back to the counter.

He usually winked at me after I smacked his cheeky backside like that, and I always took it just as an acknowledgement that he knew what he would get if he did step out of line.