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Mock, Where Art Thou?

Hidey-ho! It's your friendly, neighbourhood Mock here. I seem to have dropped off the face of the Earth. But I haven't. I have been up to a lot. In my personal life, well, there are sad things. I will talk about that at some point but not today. Know that *I* am okay. The sad bit involves someone close to me.

The other stuff I've been up to are new stories. I keep talking and no posting happens. This is because this story is going on and on and on. That particular one, I will post on my Ao3 account. For those of you who know it, you'll get the notification. For those who don't, I'm afraid you must be screened! Ha! But I'm serious. DM me on IG and if I feel comfortable, I'll give you the deets! The screening process isn't that strict.

For story ONE, I have art from my Sparkly Sparkle. In this story, Dean will have to wear a Kilt. "Mock," you say. "You've done this before." Yes, I know but it works for this story and I'm obsessed with men in kilts. I'm going to reveal the art in the story but for your perusal, Men in Kilts! I think one of them looks like "Michael."

For Story TWO. I already released the excerpt below in my newsletter first. If you aren't signed up, go HERE and you can -- it's not too late! But I'm going to include a second piece here so that the people who already read the newsletter are not bored.

And, here's the thing. As you can see, we're a long way from Kanas. Meaning, "Mock, you were writing about sexy men, getting together with other sexy men and now they are children. Which means two of the men aren't in part of the story. WTF?" I know. Believe me I know. But Silas wanted to tell the whole story of when they were young and once you get to know Silas, you'll see we do what he says.

The other thing about the story, I am getting scenes from when they are older too. I'm not sure how I'm going to put it all together yet. I'm kinda hoping Silas will tell me. Cuz right now it's a bit of a logistical nightmare.

Piece one is "Young Darius" and piece two is "Adult Silas" so you can see what I mean. I'll do a blog with some "Young Silas" another day.

One more bit of news that JUST happened today. I wasn't expecting this to happen for at least another month or two. Also a story for another blog (because it's a seriously cool story). But for now know this: TRISTAN IS GETTING AN AUDIO BOOK! I am stoked and the man who will narrate is AMAZINGLY talented. His voice is so smooth and he captured Tristan so well.

And, sorry to be a "review begger" but they're the hardest thing to get and they help me get "seen" as a needle in a very large haystack. If you've read any of my books, would love a review if you can! Thank you to those who have already reviewed.

Alright. Excerpts and hot men in kilts and more! Everything unedited. Warning for intense kink (in the Silas part) but probably not anything you haven't seen in my stories before.



When he pulled up to the house in that old Monte Carlo, I knew he had changed. The engine was as loud as the pain on his face. His perfect haircut was gone, in its place a shaggy blond mien. Silas had a thin beard on his baby face. It had only been three years, but he looked like he’d aged twenty. “Get in the car, Darius. Now.”

Young Silas

He sat in the driver’s side, not bothering to get out, expecting his will to be done. Oliver was in the backseat. He was a quiet little boy, his hair nearly white. When I last saw him, he was only just learning to walk. Now he was a full-grown boy. Thin but healthy looking. His eyes were wide, checking me out but he had to look to Silas to make sure everything was okay.
Silas stared out the window. His eyes dead. He’d never say it—he’s never said it—but I knew then he needed me more than Simon did. Besides, Simon had Shane.
I turned to see the aggrieved expression on Simon. Tears streamed down his face sluicing through the dirt and grime that was always there, leaving tracks. Shane held him back by his wrist and Simon remained frozen, not struggling. They’d always had that kind of effect on each other—grounding each other, making the other stand still.
“I’m sorry, Simon. I gotta go.” I fucking hate goodbyes so I didn’t bother to run and hug him or say anything monumental. Besides, I knew it wasn’t really goodbye. “Let me sort this out and we’ll be back for you.”
I’d somehow convince Silas to get them out too and we’d come back to get them.
I didn’t bring anything with me. I left with the clothes on my back.

Young Darius

Inside, the car was silent for miles. I’ve never been a person lost for words, but even I didn’t know what to say. Silas looked wrecked. He looked like he’d been through a meat grinder. He wiped away tears as we drove. It was the last time I ever saw him cry.
I didn’t look much better. I tried to keep myself clean at the Taylor’s house, but it was hard sometimes. They didn’t have much money for clothes, so it was rifling through a bin of hand-me-downs once a month. I was also scratched and bruised. Not from anything particularly awful. Every day stuff working around the farm, but he didn’t know that yet.
I turned to meet eyes with Oliver. “Hey kid. You remember, me?”
His eyes were round as quarters. He kept checking in with Silas, tugging on the strap of his car seat, rubbing his eyes, pointing his bare feet, and flexing. “Baba?” His eyes flicked back and forth between me and Silas. He looked ready to cry.
It broke Silas from whatever demons gripped him. His eyes got soft. My brother was still in there somewhere.
He reached back to grab Oliver’s little foot. “You hungry?”
Oliver shook his head.
“Pass me that bag, Darius,” Silas said in a tone I remembered. It was like Father’s. I passed him the bag. He pulled out a bottle even though Oliver was clearly past the stage of bottle drinking. “Drink this.”
“Noooo, Baba,” Oliver whined.
“Oliver.” Silas’s tone was deep and commanding. A man’s tone versus the boy I remembered. He was nineteen. He pushed the bottle toward him with one hand while the other remained on the steering wheel, his eyes faced front. “Drink your milk. I’ll get you something more filling soon.”
Oliver took the bottle and drank it.
The interaction had been interesting and indicative of the relationship that would grow between them. That had already grown between them. Silas says jump, Oliver says how high.
When we pulled up to the Motel, I was spent even though I’d been sitting in a car all day other than when we’d stopped for gas. I had to help Silas keep Oliver occupied—though he was quiet for the most part—and fed. We always made sure Oliver was fed. Neither Silas nor I ate much that day.
Oliver was wiped too, passed out. He didn’t stir when Silas pulled him out of the car seat, and he flopped as dead weight on Silas’s shoulder. I was unaware of the plan, following Silas to the registration desk. We got looks and there were too many reasons for the looks that day for me to guess why. We’re all ash-blond. We’re all striking. We look like porcelain dolls come to life.
We were also young and without a real parent. We had a four-year-old with us who wasn’t wearing shoes. Silas and I were dirty and scraggly. Silas pushed Father’s ID across the counter, with a fifty-dollar bill on top. He didn’t say a word. He commanded the confidence of a king and in that moment, I knew we’d be all right no matter what came our way.
That didn’t mean the scary shit wouldn’t be scary, but we would make it through.
The shifty man behind the counter was happy to accept the cash in exchange for not asking questions and gave us a room key.
The motel room was neat and tidy but nothing special. Two double beds, a small kitchen and a bathroom. I had nothing so I helped Silas bring in their stuff. He laid Oli on the bed and we sat at the small kitchen table. “What the fuck is going on, Sye?”
“It’s good to see you too, Darius.”
It had been three years but the car ride seemed to sew the distance time ripped apart. I had no idea what I’d missed. “I take it Father hasn’t missed me?”
He shook his head.
“You going to tell me what happened?”
“Father’s not himself,” Silas said. “We had to leave. I took Oliver and ran as soon as I found out where they’d placed you. I’m sorry it took so long.”
I always told Simon that Silas would come for me. I knew he would. Silas is a fucking, domineering prick sometimes but he’s never let me down. Not ever. “Is that all I’m fucking getting?” He’d left a lot out. Everything.
“Keep your voice down.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I’ll tell you what happened but then I never want to speak of it again. It stays here in this room forever.”
I nodded, thinking that maybe I shouldn’t know whatever he was about to tell me, but I was compelled. Then he laid it on me. It was more horrible than I could imagine. It twisted my stomach, my skin itched, I had to run to the bathroom to puke and then run outside to punch something. “Because you look like her?” I said in a hushed tone.
He nodded. His jaw firm and ready to cut glass. He tapped his pointer finger on the table. To this day that’s the only tell you’ll get out of Silas that he’s fucking uneasy. He’s got better at hiding his emotions over the years. “He looks like her too,” he said referring to Oliver. “I didn’t know what he’d do to him and I didn’t want to stay to find out.”
I knew how hard it must have been for Silas, despite what happened. He idolized Father like I idolized him. Just because your idol does shitty-ass things, it doesn’t mean the worship goes away. Not all at once anyway.
From that point on, we were on our own. We had nothing except for Dad’s credit card which Silas hated using but he wasn’t about to let us starve for his pride. There was the ever-present stress that it would stop working, that Father would cancel it, but he must have kept paying it because it always came through.
It was two months into our runaway that we got the call. We were just getting settled, already becoming less reliant on Dad’s money. Silas and I got jobs, we switched off care of Oliver between us.
Dad hung himself. Our Uncle called Silas’s phone, the one Dad was still paying for. We went home to find out that Silas would become executor to everything when he turned twenty-one but the whole thing was fucked up. We wouldn’t have access to a penny until then. Our uncle offered for us to stay with him. Dad’s brother. Dad’s twin brother. Silas refused and I didn’t argue or question him. We would return to our shitty apartment and make it on our own, but it was much harder without Dad’s help.
That was when I convinced Silas to collect Simon and Shane. With more of us, we could make it. Silas didn’t like it at first but unless he wanted to relent to Uncle Pax’s obsessive calls that we live with him he had to swallow his pride. “I just, I can’t look at his face,” Silas said to me one day about our uncle.
I understood. He looked too much like Father. “How do you stand me?” I asked.
Of the three of us, I look most like Aleksander Randall. “You have her eyes. It’s all in the eyes.”
The five of us lived in the small, shitty apartment until we could afford a larger, shitty house. It worked. But by the time Silas turned twenty-one, we were all established enough Shane and Simon wanted their own place. They moved back with us though. Silas didn’t trust anyone else with Oliver and we needed childcare. He paid Simon to be his childcare when I couldn’t and Shane in between.
I thought I’d seen my brother do some pretty amazing things by that point, but he was only getting started. He went to business school at warp speed, and he managed to be a father figure to Oliver. He took the family money and grew it to ten times what it had been. We went from having nothing to everything.


Lakshan pleads with his eyes. He can’t plead with anything else. His arms are tied behind his back. I’ve got a pretty red, silk scarf tied in his mouth. He’s naked on my office couch. And his cock is out. His cock being out is a big deal. I don’t let it out often. Even when I do, that doesn’t always mean good news for him. It often only means torture.
He loves it though.
“Oh baby, I know. I know it’s going to be hard. But Daddy wants to use your cock. After all, it’s mine to use whenever I’d like, however I’d like, isn’t it?”
He nods and attempts a “yes, Daddy” around the gag.
We don’t put our relationship in a box. I’m Daddy, I’m Sir, I’m Master. I’m whatever he needs me to be. And he exists to please me however I’d like. He’s good at following my lead. Wherever I take us on any given day, he follows with complete surrender.
The beautiful thing about Lakshan is, he’s not scared about what I’ll do to him if he fails. It’s hard to punish Lakshan with something tactile. He loves being spanked. He loves being humiliated. He loves being beaten the most. The more intense the better with Lakshan. He loves serving me in any way I wish.
The only thing he’s truly scared of is failing me.
At the same time, he’s got to do it. He’s got to try to give me what I want. He loves to be challenged.
The look of terror in his eyes fuels me. It makes my cock harder than it already is. I place a hand to each of his shoulders and sink down onto his cock, sliding easily with lots of lube to grease the way. “Uuuugggghhh,” he groans, eyes still pleading for me to go easy on him.
I card my hand through the longer hair on top and smile at him deviously. If he thinks I’m not going to make this torture just because his cock hasn’t seen daylight in two weeks, he wouldn’t know me very well. But he does. Which is probably why he’s so tense. “C’mon, baby. Relax. I have every faith in you.”
I’m kneeling over him, my legs spread wide, my large, bubble butt squeezing his dick. I move tugging up, sliding up his cock and then I make the decent slow and succulent. He releases a muffled cry that doesn’t reach beyond the gag. His muscles tense again, he’s already restraining. He’s told me before how much me naked arouses him. It’s a treat—I make sure. Often fucking him fully clothed, only my dick out. “You’ve been a good boy,” I praise. “Daddy’s naked just for you.”
His eyes shine with unspent tears. They smile.
I continue to fuck myself on him. He continues to writhe in anguish. I can tell he’s getting close, his cock thickening, his heavy pants coming desperate. “Don’t you wish you could touch my cock? It’s right there sliding against your chest.”
He moans. His body shakes. He nods. In his eyes is pure adoration. I’m a lucky mother fucker.
His cock in my ass is divine. He has a nice cock. It’s long and thick. Mine is bigger but his is still sizable. Thinking about how much he likes when I split him open on my cock has me fucking myself on him faster. I sink deep enough to hit my prostate while at the same time fucking my slick cock against his chest.
He cries out a muffled, “Please.”
I slap him across the face and keep going. He moans at the pain, his arousal spiking, him quivering as he fights to restrain the orgasm that wants to set itself free. He’s so beautiful when he serves me like this. “No. You’re going to behave yourself. Or Daddy’s going to spank you. No coming for boys, just for Daddies.”
I know that will do nothing to help his arousal. I enjoy that fact. It’s what sends me over the edge. I come in long, hot spurts on his torso. My cries are loud. I don’t care if the whole house can hear me. When I’m spent, I untie the gag so I can kiss him. He’s still hard and miserably aroused. He doesn’t complain. “Thank you, Daddy,” he says when I release his mouth. “For this. I just wish – I wish I could touch you.”
“I see. You want two rewards.” I use my most commanding voice. The one that pierces down the middle of him.
He bites his lip. “No, Daddy.”
My poor Lakshan and his haunted eyes. But unlike with other people, hearts and roses is not the way to help him. Not in this case. “You know that touching Daddy is a special privilege you haven’t earned. That’s why I had to tie up your hands—I knew you’d be too tempted. You’re going to sit here like this while I work and think twice about being such a greedy boy. You get what I give you—no more, no less.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
I kiss him again and then climb off of his lap, but I’m not done antagonizing him. His eyes pop wide when I kneel between his legs. “It would be nice of me to put this away, lock it back up as it should be but I’m not going to. I’m going to leave it out for you to suffer for me.” I roll his balls between my thumb and forefingers. He spreads his legs further, enjoying. Another tear trickles down his cheek.
“Yes, Daddy. Whatever you think is best.”
I slide a lone finger up his cock. He trembles. I smile.
He watches as I redress, licking his lips, longing to touch me. At least the haunting melody from his eyes has cleared. I would love to leave him like this all afternoon and then drag him up to the bedroom and fuck him until he sobs but we have that dinner tonight.
I have time now, so I do up the buttons of my shirt slowly and tuck it into my black slacks with precision. I make redressing as erotic as undressing was. When I’m done, I rake my hands through his hair and kiss him some more. I pick up the bottle of water on the small table beside the leather couch and press the end to his lips. “Drink.”
I leave him naked, his hands tied and a raging boner while I work. His erection never flags. It crosses my awareness again how lucky I am. I have that thought several times a day and every day since I met Lakshan. Many people “play” for fun. It’s a side thing they do, something to spice it up in the bedroom. It’s not like that for me and Lakshan. Being “normal” is how we spice it up. This is who we are, how we feel most authentically us. How we feel alive. There was a time I thought I wasn’t going to find someone who was my equal in this. But then I met Lakshan. Sometimes I worry I’m not his equal.
I think the only time he ever truly got mad at me about sex is when I “made love to him” vanilla style. He wouldn’t speak to me for days. It was the worst two days of my life. I was at a total loss. I’m not good at that kind of stuff. I don’t deal well with being ignored. For his sake, or so I thought, I resorted to the stereotypical things people do with their lovers. They didn’t have any, “Sorry I made sweet love to you,” cards so I bought him a large, expensive bouquet of flowers.
I found them massacred on my desk.
Finally, I’d had enough. I stormed through the house. He wasn’t exactly living with us yet at the time but he was always around, mostly because I wouldn’t allow him to leave. He was sitting with Darius and Oliver in the living room. I sunk my meaty paw into his hair and gripped his roots. Yanking him up, I ignored his cries of pain as I dragged him up to my bedroom. I threw him against the wall.
He fought back, making me work for it. He wasn’t going to submit to me again—not after what I’d done—unless I proved to him that I was the alpha male he thought I was. The softer sex scared the life out of him. That’s not why he chose me. He chose me for who I really was, not the version I thought I should be, the version I wished I was sometimes.
Lakshan is strong and he knows how to fight. My height did shit for me. If I wanted to subdue him, I was going to have to use all my strength and all my power. He was. He was going all out. If I held back I was going to lose and in doing so I would lose him.
There is no way I’m ever losing Lakshan.
I tore his clothes away, reducing them to shreds on the floor. It took all my strength but I was able to pin him face down on the bed and tie up his hands—we’re kinksters, I keep plenty of that kind of thing in my bedside drawers. I pulled off my belt and beat him with it. I lashed his back and his front. I enjoyed each howl, every tear, every plea for me to stop.
I whipped him until he was mine again. “Is this tantrum going to end?” I said.
He was crying. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” I tossed the belt down, pulled him so he was over the bed and fucked him hard.
When he was marked with my cum, welted, and bruised, then he could cuddle up to me. His hands were still tied. I put his head on my chest, he wrapped his leg around mine. “Later we’re going to get your stuff. You’re moving in here.” I didn’t ask. I didn’t want to ask and he wouldn’t have wanted me to.
He looked up at me with tortured eyes. “You’ll never do that again?”
He meant the soft, “vanilla” sex. I almost said never. It was on the tip of my tongue. Anyone in my position would have thought that’s what Lakshan wanted to hear. But the truth is, Lakshan wants to hear whatever it is I want to say. He’s always known when I’m me and when I’m being who I think people will like better. Lakshan has no preconceived notion of what he hopes to hear from me so long as it’s what I truly want to say.
His question was a test to see if I’d learned my lesson. Just because a sub-type person isn’t leading that doesn’t mean a dominant-type can’t learn from them all the same.
I responded in the way I wanted to. “If I want to fuck you hard, I’ll fuck you hard. If I want to tie you up and use you as my fuck toy, I’ll do that too. But if what I desire is to make long, slow love to you, then I’ll do it and you’ll take it. You’ll be respectful and grateful to get my cock in any way I want to give it to you. You won’t throw tantrums like this one or I’ll make you sorry.”
My heart was beating hard against my chest and so was his. Was he going to get up and leave me? Call me an abusive fuck? He’d be well within his rights. Instead, he melted into me, surrendering further. “I won’t like it,” he said, of course referring to the last part about softer sex.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to serve me to the best of your ability.”
He closed his eyes, nodding. “I love you, Silas. I’ll move in.”
“Wasn’t asking, baby.”
“I know, which is why I’ll move in.”
He rarely calls me Silas. Not because he can’t. He needs to call me Sir, or Master, or Daddy. He’ll refer to me as Silas when he’s chatting with the boys. “Silas and I went for a walk.” Or, “I don’t know, ask Silas.” Or, “Silas is going to have fit when he sees that Oliver.” Stuff like that.
To me directly, it’s always a moniker of respect. But every so often, a Silas will slip out. I crave the times he’ll allow himself. I never thought it could be so special to hear someone say my name, but Lakshan has made it a treasure.
I work and see him shiver, like he might be cold. Another way for him to suffer for me. Lakshan turned me onto that. But I can only enjoy that kind of suffering for so long. My need to take care of him overrides anything sexual. That’s the best thing about us. How dynamic we are. How many hats we wear on the spectrum.
I take an ice pack out of my bar fridge and bring it over to him along with his cock cage. His eyes sigh relief. As much as he might want to do for me, he’s human and his body has limits. I set about getting the erection to sag with the ice pack and locking his cock cage on. I untie his wrists and massage them for him. He watches me. “That was unreal, sir. We have got to do that again.”
“That’s what you said the last time and here we are.” I motion for him to stand and then pull him in for a kiss. “Shower, then dress in black slacks and the burgundy button up I like.”
When I move to unlatch his thick, black collar, he whines. I give him a dark look to cut off any further protests. He’s not a fan of his collar coming off for any reason. He doesn’t give a fuck as to what others will think. I don’t care much either, but I’ll do my brothers a favor and work the new guys in slowly. “You may wear your other collar. I’ll put it on you. You’ll bring it to me and present it properly.” He’s got several collars, but he knows which one I mean. There’s a particular white gold chain that could be a necklace to other sets of eyes but not to people like us.
“Yes, sir.”
I pick up his black, satin robe from over the back of the couch and I help him into it, tying the robe belt around his waist. I give a hefty smack to his ass. “I’ll be up shortly.”
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