Adjustment
A loud gong jolts me out of a deep sleep. Damn it! It’s got to be the middle of the night. What the hell is this? The clock on my nightstand reads 6:01 a.m. And then it hits me - the annoying truth.
I drag myself out of bed, not without effort. My body still feels weak, and my cock is hard. In my head, fragments of a dream still echo... Kasper?
But I need to hurry. And I suddenly realize I really need to piss. The toilet’s in the hallway. I pull on a pair of briefs and stumble toward the door.
In the hallway, I run into Ivar, who greets me with way too much cheer. “Hey, Jelte! Morning. Looks like you had a nice dream.”
My head’s still foggy. What the hell is he on about? I’m not even fully awake.
Ivar’s voice turns teasing. “Let me guess - Kasper?”
And then it clicks. “Relax, man. It’s just morning wood.”
“Sure...”
But Ivar’s Dominant. Someone really ought to spank that horny ass of his. “Piss off, Ivar. I need to take a leak.”
Peeing with a semi is no easy feat. And thinking about Kasper definitely doesn’t help.
There’s no privacy in the shower. Just one big communal space. Dominant and submissive guys wander around naked like it’s no big deal. But the difference between them is obvious. The Dominant ones move with easy confidence, cracking loud jokes, flaunting muscles and swinging cocks like nothing matters. Some splash each other playfully, snap towels, or lean back against the tiled walls as they wash themselves without a trace of shame.
The submissive boys, on the other hand, are quieter, more guarded. Some turn their backs to the others, eyes fixed on the floor. A slim redhead scrubs his chest and stomach in a hurry, shoulders hunched like he’s trying to disappear. He holds his breath when a Dominant guy walks by and slaps his bare ass for no reason at all.
I try to stay neutral, not to stare. But when my gaze wanders, it lands on a gorgeous Dominant boy with chestnut brown hair. He’s soaping his erection without the slightest shame, muscles glistening under the warm water. His movements are slow, almost like a performance. He knows exactly how good he looks - and what it does to people.
He catches me staring. I try to look away, but it’s too late. His mouth curls into a cocky grin.
“Like what you see?”
My stomach tightens. Shit. Busted.
I step out of the shower in a rush and dry off quickly. I’ve got to hurry if I want to make it to breakfast on time.
------
Breakfast in the central hall takes place under enforced silence. Young Dominant boys patrol between the tables, their leather uniforms creaking with every step, their batons held with casual menace.
I’ve just swallowed the last bite of my bread when a shadow falls across my plate. A bod, -too close. I look up and see him: the chestnut-haired boy from the shower.
“You’ll clear the table in a moment,” he says. His voice is young, but firm.
I nod, my throat suddenly dry. Am I allowed to speak? The question must be written all over my face.
A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, softening his stern expression. “You may speak to me.”
“Yes, sir.” The words come out hoarse
He nods, satisfied. A strange warmth stirs low in my belly
Together with another submissive boy, I start clearing the table. The Dominant boy with the chestnut hair turns his attention to a latecomer across the room. I try to focus, but my eyes keep drifting to the way his uniform clings to his ass when he moves.
A glass slips from my hands. It doesn’t break, but the noise is awful.
His head snaps around. His boots tap sharply against the floor as he strides over to me. I freeze.
“That’s not how it’s done, is it?” he says calmly, not expecting an answer. “Submissive boys are to do their chores in silence.” He taps the leather paddle in his hand. “You know what this means.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he’s already leading me to a nearby room. It’s bare, just a table and a chair. He closes the door behind us.
“Take off your pants and bend over the table.”
I follow his instructions carefully. I’m still wearing underwear.
He steps behind me and yanks them down without ceremony. “Those too.” With one boot, he nudges my feet apart. “Stay just like that. Good.”
I feel completely at his mercy. To make things worse, I feel blood rushing to my cock. No. No. Not now. Not here.
“You’ll get ten strokes with the paddle. Bare ass,” he says, matter-of-factly.
The first blow lands square across both cheeks. It stings at first, but then melts into a pleasant warmth, deep and spreading.
Pleasant?
It feels like forever before the second stroke lands. He’s taking his time, letting the heat of each blow settle in. The rest follow the same pattern. Precise. Controlled. Evenly spaced. It stings, yes, but the glow in my ass feels... good.
“There,” he says at last. “That’s it. Stand up.”
I rise and reach for my pants.
“Uh-uh. Not yet. Turn around.”
Face burning, I turn. My cock’s fully hard. I try to shield it with my hands
“Hands at your sides.”
I wish the floor would swallow me whole. He stares at my erection with a wicked grin. Then slowly licks his lips.
“You shouldn’t hide something that beautiful,” he murmurs, letting the leather paddle brush lightly against my balls.
Our eyes meet. He sees my discomfort, and something shifts in his gaze.
“You’re new here, aren’t you, boy?” He places a hand on my shoulder. “There’s no shame in it. It’s a good thing when a submissive boy learns to enjoy correction.”
He steps back. “Pull up your pants.”
Clumsily, I tuck my hard-on back into place and fasten my pants.
He nods, satisfied. “Get back to your task, boy.
“Thank you, sir.”
As I turn away, I feel his gaze lingering, hot against my back.
------
Back in the dining room, I return to my task. I clear the table with care, my ass still tingling, my erection heavy and aching in my pants. Just as I finish, I feel the Dominant boy step up behind me. Too close. He places a hand on my right buttock - as if to press in the heat of the punishment.
“Well done, boy. You may go.
“Yes, sir.” My erection throbs mercilessly in my pants.
I’ve still got some time before my first class of the day. The textbook for it - Cooking for Your Dominant: A Culinary Guide for the Future House Boy - is still in my room. As I head back, I spot Kasper reprimanding one of the boys in his care. The boy kneels in front of him, head bowed in quiet submission. I catch his soft, respectful whisper: “Yes, sir."
My whole body tingles. A sharp pang slices through my chest. My stomach clenches, something heavy settling inside me.
Jealousy. Raw. Irrational. Burning.
The pressure in my crotch makes it worse. My cock’s so hard it actually hurts. I have to do something about this.
I break into a run, heart pounding - not from effort, but from something deeper. I need to get to my room. I need to be alone. I need to breathe. I need to jerk off, fast, before class starts. Before I lose it.
Almost there... I turn the last corner toward my room...
FUCK. Ivar.
He’s leaning casually against the wall, that same cocky grin on his face - half teasing, half indifferent. His leather pants gleam under the hallway lights, tight in all the wrong places. Or right ones. Either way, I look.
Of course he sees it.
His eyes travel slowly over me. He lingers on my face... then drops to my pants, where there’s no way to hide what’s going on.
“Well, Jelte. In a bit of a rush, are we? Tight schedule?"
I have to get past him. I need that room.
He doesn’t move. His stance is easy, but his eyes shine with the sharpness of a predator who’s just scented blood.
“Or are you rushing off to do... something else?” His voice is low, mocking. He knows. Of course he knows.
My cock throbs painfully in my pants. This is a disaster. A fucking disaster.
His eyes stay locked on my crotch. “What’s the plan? A little solo session in your room?” Then that grin - it stretches wider. More wicked. “Could’ve just asked for help.”
“Help?” My voice cracks.
Ivar steps closer. I can feel the heat of his body. His leather pants smell of tanned hide and the faint tang of sweat. He meets my eyes and says, almost casually: “If you think I’m so hot... why not get on your knees?”
His words hit like a whip. A joke? My lust-fogged body doesn’t think so. It understands it as an order. Before I even realize it, I’m on my knees.
“By Freya, that was easy,” Ivar laughs.
My hands are already at his zipper. He doesn’t stop me. I fumble with the button, my fingers trembling. When the scent hits - raw, musky, male - it’s overwhelming. The smell of a man who’s been wearing leather all day.
“So eager,” I hear him say above me.
My world narrows to the heat I’m holding. Ivar’s cock is thick, heavy in my grip, warm and alive - soft skin stretched over throbbing veins. My mouth waters. I lean in and take the swollen head between my lips.
“Fuck,” Ivar growls, resting his hands lightly on my head.
I moan at the first touch of my tongue to his shaft. The salty taste sparks something primal. All resistance vanishes. Instinct takes over.
I move. My lips slide down his cock, slow, hungry. My tongue presses against that thick vein, feels every pulse, laps at the salty precum. I breathe through my nose, determined to take him deeper
And then - a shock tears through me. Stomach, balls, everything clenches. Without touching myself, without warning, I cum. Hard. Warm stickiness floods my underwear. I shudder, helpless. Humiliated. I just came in my pants - just from sucking Ivar’s cock.
Ivar doesn’t realize it yet. “Mmm. Yeah. Just like that...” He holds still. Then pauses. “...Wait a second.”
His hands lift from my head. His hips draw back slightly. “Did you just...?”
I look up. Ashamed. Frozen
He stares down at me, eyes narrowing. “Unbelievable.”
“Boy,” he whispers, voice low and sharp, “you are the horniest little slut I’ve ever seen.”
My stomach caves in on itself. I want to undo it. Turn back time. But it’s too late. My body betrayed me.
Ivar studies me for a few seconds, then places a hand on my shoulder. “You needed that, didn’t you?” His voice has softened - no longer pure mockery, but something closer to understanding. He leans in slightly. “Don’t worry,” he says, almost gently.
His thumb brushes lazily over my lips - a quiet, damning confirmation of what just happened. His gaze drops once more to my crotch. “But go freshen up.”
He steps back slowly, tucks his cock away, zips up - casual, unbothered. Like this was nothing but a passing moment. And just like that, he’s the old cool Ivar again.
I’m still on my knees, stunned by what just happened.
“Hurry up,” he says over his shoulder. “You’ve got class, house boy.” He winks and walks off.
My pants cling to my skin. My legs feel like lead as I finally force myself to stand. His scent still lingers in my nose.
Part of me almost hates the idea of washing it off.
------
Thank Wodan! The communal shower is completely empty as I wash away the shameful traces of what just happened with Ivar. I scrub fast, hard, then dry off and slip into a clean pair of pants. My skin still glows from the hot jets as I hurry toward the kitchen.
The bell for the next period rings just as I reach the door. My breath is still uneven from rushing.
The kitchen is eerily quiet. The boys stand stiff as boards, lined up perfectly. Aprons smoothed, eyes fixed straight ahead. Knives laid out with surgical precision beside gleaming cutting boards.
A man in his mid-twenties - a crisp white apron and a tightly buttoned chef’s jacket - stands at the front. His gaze cuts through the silence. Sharp. Slightly irritated. But he says nothing. No correction. No reprimand.
His eyes pass over me as if I’m air. Then, barely perceptible, he nods toward an empty spot in the line.
I swallow and hurry to take my place.
“Now that we’re all here, I’ll introduce myself.” His voice is calm. Controlled. No rush. “My name is Simon. In here, you’ll address me as Chef.” His gaze sweeps the line. He pauses - not long, just enough to make us doubt ourselves. “I serve my Dominant. One day, you may be able to say the same. But here, in this kitchen, I decide what’s right and what’s wrong.”
His voice isn’t loud, but every word cuts like glass. His eyes rest on me a moment too long. “In this kitchen, anything less than perfect is unacceptable.” His tone is final. Icy. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, Chef!” we shout in unison.
He nods once. “Good. Let’s begin with the mise-en-place.” It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order
The others move instantly. Knives scrape across wood. Carrots and onions are diced with blinding speed into flawless cubes. Everyone knows what to do. Except me.
The Chef picks up a knife and demonstrates. “You cut the vegetables into equal cubes. Not roughly, not almost. Perfect.” His hands move like they were born holding a blade - quick, precise, without effort. “A house boy who serves his Dominant doesn’t plate sloppily. You’ll cut exactly as I show you.”
I glance around. Everyone’s already working. I follow - but I’m too slow. The knife slips across the skin of the carrot. Uneven. Jagged. Crooked. Not perfect.
“No, Jelte.” The Chef’s voice slices like the blade. Not loud. Not angry. Just cold. Exact. “That’s not how I showed you to hold a knife.”
My muscles tense. I want to say something, to explain - but he’s already in front of me, leaning over the board.
He takes the knife without a word. Shows me again. His hands don’t shake. They don’t hesitate. There’s no emotion. Just correction. Like he’s done this a thousand times. Like I’m just a detail to fix.
I nod. I try again. My fingers close around the handle.
Behind me, a snicker. “Look at him shake. Afraid of a carrot,” someone mutters. A few boys stifle laughter. I don’t look back. My ears are burning.
The Chef stops. The room shifts. Heavy silence. His eyes flick sideways. One second. That’s all. “I hope, for your sake, your knife work is as sharp as your tongue.”
The boy freezes.
“Continue cutting.” No raise in volume. No softness. Just finality. Silence. And then - the knives resume. Rhythm restored. As if nothing happened.
My fingers tremble less now. I force myself to focus. Perfect cubes. Exactly as the Chef showed me. My hands feel light - detached, like they’re no longer mine. I have to learn this. I have to belong here. The heat in my face slowly fades. But the tension stays. Deep. Solid. Lodged inside.
The Chef walks the line without saying another word. He doesn’t need to. His presence is enough.
I swallow hard and keep cutting.
------
After a day filled with my first lessons here at the Home, I join a stream of other boys heading toward the central dining hall. During the evening meal, I manage to stay under the radar of the Dominant boys who keep watch. Luckily, I’m not singled out for chores.
It’s not even half past seven, but I can already feel the weight of the day in my body. My head is still buzzing with rules, expectations, impressions. I decide I’d better go see Haukon and Ivar now. Maybe talking will help me make sense of it all.
Ivar raises an eyebrow the moment he opens the door. “Well, would you look at that. Jelte, the model student.” He smiles - warm, amused. “You’re early.” He steps aside and gestures toward a comfortable chair. “Sit down, boy. Want a cup of coffee?”
I nod. I can’t manage anything more right now. The smell of coffee already lingers in the room. I sink into the chair and only then realize how tired I am. My muscles are heavy. My thoughts won’t stop spinning.
“Long day?” Ivar’s tone is gentle, without teasing.
I exhale and nod. “Yeah.”
He hands me a mug of hot coffee. “Here. Drink.”
The warmth spreads through my fingers. Through my body.
The front door opens again. Haukon enters, his presence filling the room with quiet authority. He takes in the scene at a glance and nods to me. “Good to see you, boy.” He removes his leather gloves and places them on the table. Without another word, he lowers himself into a large armchair - calm, measured. His gaze rests on me, steady and free of judgment. “Talk to me.”
I don’t know where to begin. I rub my forehead and shake my head. “I guess… it was just a lot.”
Haukon nods. His presence alone feels like an anchor. “It is,” he says. “You’re doing well, Jelte.” His voice is low, reassuring. “You don’t have to understand everything yet. You just have to experience. And learn.”
Ivar gives me a mischievous look. “Did you get any special attention today?”
My face flushes. Does he mean… that I sucked his cock today.
Ivar goes on casually, though there’s a glint in his eye. “You just happened to come up with conversation at dinner.” He taps the rim of his mug. “Apparently, you had the honor of receiving the… special attention of a young, promising Dominant.”
Thank Wodan, no mention of the other thing...
My thoughts spin. Don’t get defensive. Don’t let anything show.
I raise my mug and take a sip, as if nothing’s wrong. “Oh, you mean the Dominant guy with the chestnut-brown hair?” I try to sound as innocent as possible. I nod slowly and sip again, grateful for the heat. “Yeah. I’m not entirely sure… what to make of it.”
Ivar grins and taps his mug again. “That sounds like someone trying to stay in control. Am I wrong?” He leans in slightly - playful, but probing. “No corrections today?”
My cheeks heat up instantly. He knows. Of course he knows. Stories clearly travel fast around here.
I force myself to stay calm and shrug. “Nothing special,” I say lightly, as if I’ve already forgotten it myself.
Ivar’s eyes sparkle. “Ah, but nothing special isn’t the same as nothing.” He smiles gently, tilting his head like he’s studying me. “You’re holding yourself a little tighter than before. And unless I’m mistaken, you had a… chance encounter with one of our Dominant gentlemen earlier?”
My stomach tightens. I know I can’t let anything slip. “Maybe,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “He seemed pretty enthusiastic about discipline.”
Ivar’s eyebrows lift, an amused smile spreading across his lips. “Ah, so that was him.” He takes a sip and throws a quick glance at Haukon. “That boy has good taste.”
Then, looking back at me, he adds - half serious: “I hope you enjoyed it.”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
Haukon shoots Ivar a warning look, though there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Leave him be, Ivar,” he says calmly, but with unmistakable authority. “Jelte has enough on his mind.”
Ivar raises his hands in an exaggerated gesture of innocence. “Hey, I’m just curious. We all want Jelte to feel comfortable, right?”
Haukon ignores him and turns back to me. “There’s no need to rush into anything, Jelte,” he says. His voice is softer than I expected. “This is a place for learning - not for understanding everything right away.” He pauses briefly, picking up his leather gloves and idly twirling them between his hands. “And not for proving yourself.”
I nod slowly and glance down at my mug. The warmth is still there, but it suddenly feels less essential to cling to. “Thank you,” I say, quietly. Sincerely.
Ivar taps the rim of his mug again and gives me one last look. “You haven’t said how it felt,” he says. His tone is no longer teasing - just thoughtful. “The correction.”
I open my mouth to say something light - to deflect - but the words don’t come. My thoughts flash back to the glow on my ass, the rhythm of the blows - calm, precise. To the moment I gave in completely. To the way he looked at me when he saw I was hard.
My face grows warm again. “I don’t know yet,” I say quietly.
Ivar nods slowly, like he understands exactly what I mean. And maybe he does.
Haukon looks at me for a moment, as if he’s about to speak - but he just nods. “Go to your room, Jelte. Don’t forget your journal. Tomorrow is a new day.”
As I set down my mug and stand up, I can still feel their eyes on me. Not forceful. Not disapproving. Just watching. As if they’re waiting to see which path I’ll take
I don’t know yet. Maybe I won’t until I write it down.
