Voir Dire

            The elderly butler took his brief case as soon as he stepped through the door. 

            “He is in the study, sir,” the butler said. “He is waiting.”

            Miles nodded.

            “However…I could tell him – “

            “That’s fine, Cedric.  Please see to it that we are not disturbed.”

            A pause and an uncharacteristic frown deepened in the wrinkled face.  A slight nod and the butler shuffled through the door toward the left wing of the mansion, toward where the domestic help usually remained until they were called.

            Miles straightened his jacket, took in breaths to calm his palpating heart and ascended up the spiraled staircase, to the third floor. 

            The door was ajar, waiting for him to come through when he reached the door.  He gave the door a soft knock anyway, and pushed the door wider open.

            “Miles,” von Karma said.  Miles couldn’t read the voice nor his mentor’s face; the usual cold demeanor on the thin face and the tightly drawn mouth that always seemed to be smiling a cruel, knowing smile.

            He closed the door softly behind him, pressing his back against it for a moment before he made his way across the ample study, toward the antiqued desk where von Karma sat.

            “Mistrial,” von Karma said, closing the manila folder that had been spread open.  “It’s not a win.”

            Miles refrained himself from replying, “it was also not a loss.”

            “There were high expectations from you,” von Karma said, opening the side drawer and shoved the folder into it.  The slam of the drawer rattled the glass lamp on the corner of the desk.  “Even though I allowed you to keep your name, people knew you are from this family.”

            “I’m sorry, sir.”

            Miles stood before the desk, centered.  A familiar sensation was returning to him then.  He had stood there before, long ago, his hands curled into fists and hung at his sides as he listened to von Karma’s harsh words.  Then something worse would always follow, emphasizing his mentor’s anger.

            “Take off your coat and shirt,” von Karma said.  “I would like to see something.”

            No arguments were given, although Miles had wanted to say ‘no’.  If he had more nerves, perhaps he could have also turned and walked away.  Something in him refused.  It wasn’t fear.  It was something else.  Something that he had never been quite able to name, since that first time, only months after he had been taken into the von Karma home eleven years ago.

            He was surprised his fingers were not trembling, as the coat was shrugged off and the cravat untied.  The linen shirt came next, the cold of the room made him shudder as soon as it was slipped from him.

            Von Karma pushed himself away from the desk and circled around, until he was standing behind Miles. 

            “Hands on the desk.  Don’t remove them unless I give you permission to.”

            The flats of his hands pressed down on the polished surface of the desk.  Von Karma kicked his feet a little wider apart, taking away some of his balance. 

            “It has been awhile, hasn’t it?” von Karma said, his tips of his cold fingers tracing the pale lines that criss-crossed, nearly invisible against the pale skin along his back.  “Perhaps you’ve forgotten?”

            A knock at the door saved him from his uncertain reply. 

            “Where shall I leave this, master von Karma?”

His face felt hot, suddenly flushed when he heard the voice of a young servant speak.  Miles didn’t look up, even as he heard the footfall came toward him and then a silver tray covered with the white linen was placed on the desk.

            “Anything else, master von Karma?”

            Miles could almost picture the smug grin on the servant’s face.  The young man who was only two years older than him but he had known since he lived in the von Karma home.  And Miles had always hated him for all those years, although he can’t place an exact reason why.

            “Would you like Johnston’s help, Miles?”   Von Karma laced his fingers through his hair, combing through the strands with affection.

            “No.”

            The reply was soft, but it came too fast.  He heard von Karma chuckle.  Soon, the servant’s footsteps led away and the door shut with the quietest click.

            “Reflections of me, comes through you,” von Karma said.  His voice soft.  Miles could not read it.  “Years of giving you my everything…amounted to your abysmal premier trial.”

            “I’m sorry…” the words came out even before Miles had meant to say it.  “I’m sorry that I have failed you.”

            “What would others think of me now?”  The fingers left his hair.  “About my failure?”

            Another uttered apology, the words becoming more meaningless as he said it.   

            A laugh he didn’t understand answered him.  From the corner of his eye, he saw the white linen being pulled off the silver tray.  He couldn’t quite tell what it was on the first look.  Then von Karma picked one up and held it in front of him.          

            “I spent last night walking through the garden after I received news of the verdict,” von Karma said.  “I had considered the Willow, but I think I still liked the Birch.”

            A pencil thin length of birch that was nearly three feet long.  It was wrapped in damp gauze.

            “The bark from the branches were stripped and soaked in salt over night so it would retain its resiliency…for your visit.”

            The wrapped birch was pulled from his sight.  Miles could hear the slight sounds of the gauze being unwounded.

            “Since this would be more severe than before, I will only deliver twenty strokes.  Ten from each length of the birch, so what you will remember would remain fresh in your mind.  For awhile anyway.”

            The long strip of the gauze was tossed back on the silver tray.  There were sounds of the birch whistling through the air, as von Karma snapped them.

            “You should thank me now.”

            As if someone had stolen his voice and spoke it, Miles whispered, “thank you.”  He startled as he heard himself speak.  Had he been programmed to utter those words so casually, after all these years?

            A tap on his shoulder with the tip of the birch made him flinch.

            “If your hands leave the desk, one more stroke would be added to the count, understand?”

            “Yes, sir.”

            The palms of his hands were dampened. He kept his head low and squeezed his eyes shut. He breathed out.

           He heard the shrill hiss of the birch. The distinct, familiar slash of pain cut across his back, from his shoulder diagonally toward the small of his back. He let out a cry. He had not expected the first stroke to come so quickly. The pain was different. Sharp at first, then a slow spreading burn.

           Another came, ripped close to the first. He had bitten back the scream that wanted to work its way up from his throat. He drew in a breath and held it. It was longer than he wanted when the third lash came down, harder and deeper. The pain pulled tears from him.  They rose to the corners of his eyes and he blinked them away. After the sixth stroke, his tears were dotting the surface of the table.

            The four that followed, one harder than the next, made him quiver. His back burned, the pain wrapped around him and he had to lean most of his weight against the ledge of the table. He opened his eyes. His vision was speckled with white spots.

            “I am not sure if I should be pleased with your silence,” von Karma said. “I am not certain if you understood why you are being punished.”

              The spent rod was laid carefully down on the table, inches from where his hands still lay flat. Specks of blood colored the pale surface of the birch.

              “Do you understand?” Von Karma whispered into his ear, the gentle voice hid the malice behind the words.

               “Yes.”

                Miles flinched but didn’t resist when an arm wound around his waist. The index finger rested on the belt buckle and tapped, as if he was contemplating. Miles’ body stiffened.

                 “Do you think this is what it’s like to break a pact with the devil?”

                 A thumb clicked the buckle open. Miles nearly pushed himself back and away from the desk. Instead, he steeled himself, willing himself not to move.

                 A hand cupped his chin and pulled his face up until he was looking at the ceiling.

                “What do you think Miles?” Von Karma purred. A kiss was planted on his shoulder. “Shall I forgo the rest of the punishment?”

                 Fingers traced a line along the zipper and paused at the end of it.

                 “Ask for it.”

                 Miles’ fingers curled inward. Another kiss on his shoulder.

                 “No.”

                  The answer had been expected, but it did not lessen von Karma’s abrupt flare of anger. Miles was shoved away and the warm presence that had pressed against him was suddenly gone. The remaining birch was snatched from the tray and the gauze binding was ripped from it hastily.

                  His body jerked as the first swing layered the newest injury over the others. The hurt that had been ebbing, however slight, was renewed. The slashes of pain came fast, cruel. The shrieks of the birch that had been made resilient by the salt were louder than the blood pounding in his ears.

                Then there were nothing but silence that was filmed in white noise. He felt as if his back had been skinned, the flesh shredded. Miles finally sank down to his knees, when the second rod, coated with more blood, was laid next to the first.

               “Stubborn boy…” von Karma said. He grasped a handful of hair and pulled Miles upright. “You will never learn.”

               Miles stared up, confused at first and not understanding, even as von Karma lowered the zipper of his own pants and plucked out the erection. Miles shook his head and pulled back, even as the thick, veined flesh pressed against his pursed lips.

             “Be a good boy,” von Karma said, his voice heavy with arousal. “You wouldn’t want me to take you to the basement now…”

              Miles parted his mouth slightly and the cock slid through. The taste of bitterness and salt lingered on his tongue, even as he swallowed. Miles placed his hands on von Karma’s hips, bracing himself against it as von Karma moved.

             Von Karma moved slowly, pacing himself to prolong his erection. Miles knew he liked to watch himself. And von Karma could never last long, looking down at his cock easing in and out of his mouth. Sometimes he pulled out in time. Most of the time, he didn’t try.

             He felt the thick vein against his tongue quiver. Von Karma pulled back half way so the crown of the cock rested against the center of his tongue. The warm thickness that spilled out stung. He would have Miles taste him then allowing him to swallow when he was given the permission to.

             The shaft that had finally lost half of its firmness slid out. Von Karma traced the bows of Miles’ parted mouth, covering them and one side of his cheek with a warm gloss.

             “You still defy me,” von Karma said, his voice reduced to a whisper. “But I think…”

              Von Karma didn’t finish the sentence. Instead, a thin smile stretched over his mouth and then he laughed.

             “You may swallow,” von Karma said, tucking himself back in and taking care to straighten out the interrupted creases of his slacks.

             Miles coughed, the thickness lodged in his throat.

             “You may not believe me now,” von Karma said, brushing the wrinkles from his sleeves. “…but I never want you to fail. This is why I do this. Understand?”

              Voice lost, Miles only nodded as he wiped at the corner of his mouth with the heel of his hand.

             “I’ll send Cedric up to tend to you,” von Karma said. “I still expect you for dinner. We have important guests tonight.”

              Another nod answered him.

              Von Karma bent down and brushed aside the locks of damp hair that had fallen over Miles’ forehead.

            “I love you very much,” von Karma said, the crooked smile still hung over the thin mouth.

             A kiss was pressed over Miles’ forehead then von Karma was gone, the door shutting him to his misery. It was then Miles allowed the exhaustion to take him as he fell forward. He was glad for the cold tiles embracing him and slowed his palpitating heart.

           Then Miles laughed.