Chapter 60: Maternal Guidance
The silence hung thick and heavy, pressing down on Pete where he lay sprawled on the cold marble. Every eye in the Grand Rooftop Restaurant bored into him, the panoramic city lights outside feeling like a million judgmental spotlights. His mother’s bewildered question echoed in the vacuum: "So... why on earth are you wearing clothes now?"
Sean Vance cleared his throat, the sound crisp and deliberate in the stillness. He stepped forward, his impeccably tailored suit a stark contrast to Pete’s disheveled state on the floor. He addressed Mrs. Riverton directly, his British accent smooth, projecting calm authority tinged with… concern? "Mrs. Riverton," he began, his voice carrying effortlessly. "My apologies for the potential misunderstanding. That directive," he gestured vaguely towards Pete, "originated from me." He offered a small, conciliatory smile. "When your son arrived earlier, he was... unprepared for the celebratory atmosphere. Given the unexpected nature of the cake centerpiece and the photographic display, I judged it prudent to instruct him to dress. My primary concern," he added, his gaze steady and sincere, "was avoiding any undue shock or discomfort for you, as his esteemed mother."
Mrs. Riverton blinked, processing Sean’s explanation. Then, her face softened into a warm, radiant smile. She waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, Sean, you sweet, thoughtful man!" she exclaimed, her voice rich with genuine affection. "But heavens, there's absolutely no need for that!" She turned her sparkling eyes fully onto Pete, who was slowly, painfully pushing himself up onto his elbows, his face a mask of dawning horror. "My Peter," she declared, her voice thick with maternal pride, "is utterly adorable in every attire! Truly! From his little farm overalls to those fancy purple suits..." She paused for dramatic effect, her smile widening into something mischievous and utterly fond. "...but particularly, completely naked! Just like a precious baby!" Her eyes misted over slightly. "It makes my heart sing! It reminds me he’ll always be my little boy, no matter how tall he gets or what fancy tags they pin on him."
Sean inclined his head gracefully, a picture of respectful deference. "If that is your preference, Mrs. Riverton, and causes you no distress, then I fully concur." His gaze shifted back to Pete, cool and expectant. "The matter is settled."
Mrs. Riverton beamed at Sean, then swiveled her full attention back to her son. Her expression shifted instantly from sentimental to firm, maternal command. "Peter Riverton," she stated, her voice losing none of its warmth but gaining an undeniable edge of steel. "Strip. Completely. Right this instant."
Pete froze. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale beneath the lingering flush of humiliation. His eyes widened, filling instantly with tears that welled up and spilled over, tracing hot paths down his cheeks. "M-Mom... please..." he choked out, his voice thick with desperation and shame. "Not here... not now... everyone..."
His mother’s smile remained fixed, warm, and utterly immovable. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t acknowledge his tears. She simply waited, her gaze unwavering, radiating cheerful, implacable expectation.
A fresh wave of horrified understanding crashed over Pete. There was no escape. No argument. The CEO had sanctioned it. His mother demanded it. The entire executive tier of Titan Headquarters, Nova Forge, and other partners, watched, their expressions a mixture of amusement, fascination, and detached curiosity. Karn’s gaze was intense, unreadable, but Pete felt its weight like a physical pressure. Silas vibrated with barely contained excitement nearby, his tablet already humming.
Pete’s hands, slick with cold sweat, trembled violently as they rose to the ornate buttons of his purple silk tailcoat. Each movement felt agonizingly slow, performed under the relentless scrutiny of dozens. The fine silk slid reluctantly off his shoulders, catching for a heart-stopping moment on his elbows before slithering down to pool in a shimmering heap on the cold marble beside him. The cool air of the restaurant hit his bare torso, raising instant goosebumps.
He fumbled with his belt buckle, fingers numb and clumsy. The metallic clink sounded deafening in the silence. He pushed the tailored trousers down over his hips, the fabric catching on his erection – already half-hard from the sheer, overwhelming cocktail of terror, humiliation, and the bizarre, unwanted stimulation of the situation. He kicked the trousers off his ankles, leaving them tangled near the tailcoat. Now clad only in thin, dark briefs that did little to conceal his state, he stood frozen, trembling from head to toe, tears still streaming silently down his face. The briefs tented obscenely at the front.
Silas didn't wait. With a gleeful chirp – "Visual documentation protocol: Full Riverton-Unit calibration!" – he raised his tablet. The large wall screen, still displaying the grid of Pete’s childhood naked farm photos beside the recent image of him naked beside the cake, flickered. Instantly, it switched to a live feed.
The image was startlingly high-definition. It filled the massive screen: Pete Riverton, Tier 2 Purple Tag, standing near-naked in the center of the glittering rooftop restaurant. The camera zoomed with terrifying, surgical precision. It captured every minute detail: the frantic pulse visible in his throat, the sheen of sweat on his collarbone, the desperate clench of his jaw, the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. Then, ruthlessly, it zoomed further. The trembling muscles of his thighs. The way his briefs strained against the unmistakable bulge of his erection. The fabric stretched taut, revealing the outline of the head, the curve of the shaft beneath.
Pete whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, unable to look at the monstrous projection of his own exposed vulnerability. But Silas wasn't done. With another tap, the screen split. One side remained the live, invasive close-up of Pete’s trembling, near-naked form. The other side displayed the chronological grid: the naked toddler grinning in the farmyard dirt, the muddy eight-year-old, the grease-covered sixteen-year-old… culminating in the recent photo of adult Pete, proudly, fully naked beside his cake twin. The juxtaposition was brutal: the terrified, tearful man trembling in his briefs beside images of his utterly unselfconscious, naked childhood self.
"Comparison matrix active!" Silas announced cheerfully. "Developmental progression analysis commencing! Significant volumetric increase detected in primary appendage sector! Fascinating!"
Pete’s mother watched the screen with rapt, affectionate attention, completely unfazed by the live feed or the childhood photos. "Oh, look at him," she murmured fondly to Victoria, who stood beside her, a hand covering her mouth, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. "Just like when he was five and refused to wear pants to feed the chickens. So stubbornly adorable!"
Pete’s hands, shaking so badly he could barely control them, hooked into the waistband of his briefs. He hesitated for one last, agonizing second, the fabric the only fragile barrier left. Then, with a sob he couldn't stifle, he pushed them down. They slid over his hips, down his trembling thighs, and pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of them, kicking the damp fabric aside.
He stood utterly exposed. Completely naked. The cool air washed over every inch of his skin. His erection, freed from confinement, stood stiffly against his belly, a traitorous beacon of unwanted arousal amidst the sea of shame. Silas zoomed the camera in even tighter on the screen, the projection focusing relentlessly on Pete’s groin – the flushed, fully erect penis, the tight sac beneath. Every vein, every twitch, magnified tenfold for the entire room.
"Secondary appendage status: Optimal rigidity!" Silas chirped, leaning closer to his tablet screen as if examining fascinating data. "Hello, Baby Pete! Operational readiness confirmed!"
Pete couldn't move. He stood rooted, tears flowing freely now, his body trembling violently, his hands instinctively moving to cover himself before freezing mid-motion, knowing it was futile. The silence was absolute, broken only by his ragged breathing and Silas’s soft humming.
Mrs. Riverton clapped her hands together softly, a sound like breaking glass in the stillness. "There we are!" she announced brightly, as if admiring a freshly bathed infant. "Perfect!" She stepped forward, completely ignoring her son’s nakedness and distress. With brisk efficiency, she bent down and gathered up the discarded purple tailcoat, trousers, and briefs. She shook them out neatly, folded them with surprising care considering the circumstances, and turned to Karn.
She held the bundle out. "Karn, dear," she said, her voice warm and trusting. "Would you be a lamb and keep these locked up safe and sound? Don't want Peter getting any silly ideas about covering up before the party's properly finished!" She winked. "We wouldn't want him catching a chill wandering about improperly dressed later, now would we?"
Karn’s expression remained unreadable, but his eyes held a dark intensity as he looked from Pete’s trembling, tear-streaked face to the bundle of clothes. He reached out and took them, his fingers brushing Mrs. Riverton’s. "Of course," he said, his voice low and smooth. "Perfectly secure. Until the celebration concludes." He tucked the folded clothes securely under his arm, his gaze returning to Pete, lingering on the exposed, trembling form bathed in the glow of the city lights and the harsh glare of Silas’s projection.
Karn tucked the folded clothes securely under his arm, his gaze returning to Pete, lingering on the exposed, trembling form bathed in the glow of the city lights and the harsh glare of Silas’s projection. Pete stood frozen, tears drying in salty tracks on his cheeks, his breath hitching in shallow gasps, the cool air raising goosebumps on his bare skin while his traitorous erection refused to subside under the relentless scrutiny broadcasted large. Silas’s zoomed-in feed ensured everyone saw the fine tremor in his thighs, the desperate clench of his fists at his sides, the way his Adam's apple bobbed convulsively.
"Now then, Peter," Mrs. Riverton announced, her voice bright and purposeful, cutting through the heavy silence like a cheerful knife. Before Pete could react, her hand shot out, surprisingly strong fingers closing like a warm, inescapable manacle around his bare upper arm. She tugged firmly. "Up you get, sweetheart! None of that slouching! Shoulders back! Head high! You've earned this!" Her grip was unyielding, pulling him upright with maternal force. "Time to thank everyone properly for celebrating your wonderful promotion! Such an achievement!"
Pete stumbled forward, propelled by her insistent pull, his bare feet slipping slightly on the polished marble floor. His other hand instinctively fluttered downwards before he snatched it back up, remembering her command. "M-Mom, wait...!" he stammered, his voice thick with panic, his face flaming anew as he was paraded forward, completely naked, towards the first cluster of executives. "I... I can't...!"
"Nonsense!" his mother chirped, giving his arm an encouraging squeeze that felt more like a warning. "Of course you can! Confidence, Peter! You're a Tier Two Purple Tag! Be proud! Show them the fine young man you are!" She beamed at the first group – Victoria Vongola and Nova Forge associate. "Look at him! Our special boy!"
Victoria’s eyes crinkled with warm amusement. "Oh, he certainly is a sight, Jenny," she chuckled, raising her glass slightly in salute to Pete. "Well done, sweetheart. Truly well done. Though," she added, leaning in conspiratorially to Mrs. Riverton, her voice carrying perfectly, "I do hope Karn saves me that lanyard. It’s simply too charming."
Laughter rippled through the watching crowd. Pete flinched as if struck. His mother just laughed along, patting his trapped arm. "See? They adore you! Now, thank Ms. Vongola properly, Peter."
"Th-Thank you, Ms. Vongola," Pete choked out, his gaze fixed somewhere near her shoes, his voice barely audible over the hum of the room and his own pounding heart.
"Louder, dear!" Mrs. Riverton prompted cheerfully. "And look her in the eye! Manners!"
Pete forced his head up, meeting Victoria’s kind, laughing eyes. "Thank you, Ms. Vongola," he repeated, slightly louder, the words tasting like ash. Another wave of giggles washed over the guests.
His mother steered him ruthlessly towards Sean Vance next. The Titan CEO stood impeccably composed, observing Pete's naked, trembling approach with detached interest, like a scientist examining a fascinating specimen. "Mr. Vance," Mrs. Riverton announced proudly, halting Pete directly in front of him. "Peter has something to say."
Sean’s cool gaze swept over Pete, lingering for a fraction too long on the lanyard at his throat and the visible evidence of his helpless arousal. He raised a single, perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Indeed."
"Th-Thank you, Mr. Vance," Pete stammered, the formal address feeling absurd given his state. "F-For the promotion. Sir." His voice cracked.
Sean inclined his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "The merit was evident, Riverton. Your… dedication… is noted." His eyes flicked pointedly downwards again before meeting Pete's. "Continue to demonstrate your value."
The implication hung heavy. Pete nodded frantically, a fresh bead of sweat trickling down his temple. "Y-Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
More laughter, sharper this time. Pete’s mother beamed, oblivious or uncaring, and tugged him onwards. "Good! Now, Silas! Come thank Silas for that marvelous cake and pictures! Such hard work!"
Silas practically vibrated with delight as they approached, his eyes fixed not on Pete's face but lower down. "Riverton-Unit expressing gratitude!" he chirped, his tablet still subtly angled. "Interaction logged! Baby Pete appears agitated! Optimal nervous system response observed!"
"Th-Thank you, Silas," Pete mumbled, wishing the floor would liquefy. "The c-cake was... detailed."
"Detail paramount!" Silas agreed enthusiastically, leaning closer, his gaze unwavering. "Fondant replication accuracy 98.7%! Congratulations on volumetric consistency, Baby Pete!"
Pete made a small, choked noise. His mother just squeezed his arm harder. "That’s the spirit! Now, where’s Karn? Ah!" She spotted him near the remnants of the cake, Pete’s folded clothes still held securely under his arm like a trophy. She propelled Pete forward again.
Karn turned, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes sweeping over Pete’s naked form with an intensity that made Pete shiver despite the warmth of the room. The possessive weight of his gaze felt heavier than the lanyard. "Karn, dear," Mrs. Riverton said brightly. "Peter wants to thank you."
Pete stood frozen before Karn, utterly exposed, feeling Karn’s gaze trace every contour, every tremor. The memory of the cake heart – PROPERTY OF K.T. – flashed in his mind, mirrored by the silk around his neck. "I... uh..." he stammered, his mind blank, his body humming with a confusing mix of terror and unwanted response under that stare.
"For what, exactly, Pete?" Karn asked, his voice low, smooth, and dangerously soft. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. "The promotion guidance? The celebration? Or perhaps..." His eyes dipped deliberately, slowly, down Pete's body and back up, "...the visual confirmation of ownership?"
Pete couldn't speak. He just trembled. The crowd's chuckles were a distant buzz. His mother nudged him sharply. "Well, Peter? Speak up! Thank Karn for being such a wonderful partner and friend!"
"Th-Thank you, Karn," Pete whispered, the words scraping his throat. "For... everything."
Karn’s smile widened, satisfied, predatory. He reached out, not touching Pete, but his fingers brushed the edge of the purple silk lanyard, adjusting it almost imperceptibly against Pete’s damp skin. "Always, Pete."
Tarn materialized beside Karn, grinning broadly. "Yeah, thanks, brother-in-law," he said, slapping Pete lightly on the back. Pete jumped, stumbling forward half a step, his balance precarious on the smooth floor. "Whoops! Still clumsy, huh? Even without pants!" The laughter roared this time.
Mrs. Riverton frowned, a rare flash of maternal scolding directed at Pete. "Peter Riverton! Mind your feet! Honestly, after all these years, still tripping over your own shadow!" She shook her head, exasperated but fond, tightening her grip on his arm as he struggled to right himself amidst the laughter. "So clumsy! What will Karn think?"
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of naked, trembling gratitude under the spotlight of ridicule, his mother completed the circuit. She stopped near their original table, surveying the room with satisfaction. Pete stood beside her, drained, exposed, utterly humiliated, his brief moment of floundering adding fresh fuel to the evening’s entertainment. He stared straight ahead, tears threatening again, focusing on a distant skyscraper light through the glass, his entire being screaming for cover that wasn't there.
"Excellent!" Mrs. Riverton declared, releasing his arm with a final pat that felt less like affection and more like dismissal. She gave him a little shove forward towards the empty space near Karn and the cake wreckage. "Now, go mingle properly! Head high, Peter! Be proud! Show them that Riverton confidence!"
Pete stood rigid, the echo of his mother’s command – Show them that Riverton confidence! – ringing in his ears like a deranged circus bell. Every nerve ending screamed under the cool air and the weight of countless stares. His erection, a persistent traitor, throbbed against his belly, mirrored grotesquely large on Silas’s relentless screen projection beside the childhood nudes. He focused desperately on a single blinking red light atop a distant skyscraper, wishing it was a teleporter beam.
Silas, vibrating near the cake rubble, suddenly froze mid-bounce, head tilted as if receiving a silent transmission. His eyes snapped wide with manic glee. "Progenitor directive recall! Forgotten emotional payload detected!" he chirped, fingers flying over his tablet. "Engaging playback sequence! Optimal sentiment saturation imminent!" He jabbed a triumphant finger at the main screen.
The grid of naked Pete photos vanished. The live feed of Pete’s trembling present self shrunk to a corner. The large screen filled with a shockingly clear, close-up video clip. It was Pete. Utterly, completely naked, just like now. But this Pete knelt on one knee on the cool marble floor of this very rooftop, the intact, life-sized cake replica of himself – complete with fondant cock and balls – standing proudly behind him. His body language radiated intense vulnerability, stark against the glittering city backdrop visible through the panoramic glass.
Pete’s voice, thick with emotion but gaining strength, filled the suddenly silent restaurant. "Karn," he began, earnest eyes locked onto Karn, city lights reflecting in their depths like scattered stars. "From the moment you saw something in me, when I was just a clumsy Red Tag drowning in cables and humiliation… You trained me. Believed in me. You fought for me." A hard swallow. "I put everything I had into getting here. Beside you. Not just as your partner at work." A shaky breath. "I love you, Karn. More than anything. Will you... will you be my boyfriend?"
On screen, Karn’s expression shifted from surprise to a profound warmth. A slow, genuine smile spread across his face. "I’ve been waiting for you to ask for so long, Pete Riverton." His voice, clear and resonant in the recording, sent a fresh jolt through the present-day Pete. "Of course I accept. Gladly."
The clip showed Karn stepping forward. His hands rose, cupping Pete’s face tenderly. He pulled Pete close. Their lips met – not tentative, but a firm, claiming kiss, deep and lingering. The image froze there, filling the massive screen: Karn and naked Pete locked in an intimate kiss against the backdrop of the city and his own edible, intact doppelgänger.
The silence in the Grand Rooftop Restaurant was absolute, thick enough to choke on. Pete stared at the screen, his own naked body forgotten in the tidal wave of mortification crashing over him. That. That private, raw moment – captured, edited, amplified.
Then, a choked sob broke the stillness. Pete’s mother. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks, but they were tears of pure, unadulterated joy. She clapped her hands together, a wide, wobbly smile breaking through. "Oh!" she gasped, her voice thick with emotion. She surged forward, not towards Pete, but towards Karn.
She threw her arms around Karn, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Karn! Thank you!" she cried, pulling back to beam at him, tears still flowing. "Thank you for accepting my clumsy kid! I'm so sorry in advance if he makes you tired!" She patted his cheek, her expression turning serious, almost businesslike, though still tearful. "And as Pete is your property now," she stated firmly, gesturing towards the frozen kiss on the screen and then the real, paralyzed Pete, "you just use him however you deem necessary. Whatever you need!"
Karn, his gaze still locked on the image of their kiss, slowly turned his head. His eyes met Pete’s across the few meters separating them. That same intense warmth from the video was there, but layered with something darker, possessive, and utterly satisfied. He didn't smile. He just looked. Pete felt pinned, utterly exposed, not just physically, but emotionally flayed open for the entire room to dissect. The PROPERTY OF K.T. lanyard felt like a brand against his throat. Karn began to move towards him.