Christopher & Craig
Part 47: New Subjects
Two weeks passed.
In that time Mike’s life underwent several changes. His pizza shop hired a new counter girl and he asked her out. They had already seen each other several times. After work he was becoming quite the dancer/exhibitionist in my den. He was also drinking his own cum numerous times a day. Soon he would need cum more often than he could provide. That’s when things would begin to get interesting for him.
Craig learned an incredible amount of hypnosis knowledge and I allowed him to practice to a limited degree on Mike. I forbade him to hypnotize me, and that was enough of a solution for the time being. Once he had gained enough skill as a hypnotist I would have to re-evaluate the status quo.
Leatherman called regularly to hassle me about going into the slave business. He became more of a thorn in my side with each passing day. I began to wonder why I let him take advantage of me on a regular basis. In any event, I had no interest in his business propositions, but I decided to trade on his greed for my own gain. Tonight was Saturday, the biggest night at his club. And tonight Mike would make his public stripping debut.
I had gotten dressed first, wearing my Leatherman’s Club standby—denim with leather boots. At a club of this sort, any man had to dress his part.
Craig walked downstairs in skin-tight cutoffs, a T-shirt that fit like a second skin, and socks. He looked delicious. I met him at the bottom of the stairs with a kiss. Then I fastened leather cuffs to his wrists and ankles. He was going to draw attention tonight, looking like this.
The doorbell rang and I let Mike in. I sent him upstairs to the spare room where Craig had laid out his clothes for tonight.
He reappeared shortly, looking better than I’d imagined. The black polyester shirt was open halfway, revealing a white wifebeater. The tight black jeans broke slightly over the black loafers, revealing a glimpse of white sock as he walked.
I sighed. What a creation.
I drove the three of us to Leatherman’s Club and parked around back. I knocked at the door to Leatherman’s private lair.
Mitch—I mean Bootboy—opened the door. He wore a blue singlett, with socks and boots. I knew Leatherman would go with the boots.
Leatherman sat on one of the leather couches, apparently watching the wall of video monitors. His club was under heavy surveillance at all times. Usually solely by him. He stood to greet me.
I introduced him to Mike.
He walked around Mike, checking him out from all angles, like an automobile. I half-expected him to try to kick his tires.
Mike looked nervous.
“Tight little body.” He patted Mike’s ass.
Did everyone find that as annoying as I did?
“You’ll go on at ten. So you have about an hour. Why don’t you boys go out to the club so we Masters can talk?”
Craig looked to me for permission.
I nodded. “You may.”
He and Mike followed Mitch through the door to the club.
“He’s quite a find. Is he any good?” Leatherman asked.
I walked to the wall of video monitors and followed Mike and Craig’s progress through the club.
“You’ll enjoy his performance.”
Leatherman nodded absently. “The boy I want you to meet is here tonight.”
I whirled around. “Leatherman, I thought we understood each other.”
“We do. Just meet him. I think you’ll like him. I know Donald sees potential.”
I glowered at him. I wasn’t going to do this. “How’s Mitch?”
“Insatiable.” Leatherman winked. “Bootboy’s amazing.”
“You’re not abusing him, are you?”
“Christopher, you have to trust me!” he said. “I’ve been thinking of having him tattooed.”
“Absolutely not! No permanent markings.”
Leatherman patted my ass. “Lighten up, Christopher. Frowning causes wrinkles. You look tense...”
That ripped it.
“So do you, Leatherman. In fact, I think you should try to relax. You want to relax, don’t you?” I didn’t pause for a reply. “Of course you do. You spend so much time and energy running this club and keeping things organized that you don’t have time to just stop and take a breath. You can do that now. Take a deep breath.”
“Wait,” he said.
“That’s it. Just wait. Take a breath. Breathe in and out... In and out... It feels good to just stop and take a breath, doesn’t it?”
“Christopher—”
“Let all the tension in your body begin to fade away as you breathe in and out... In and out... It feels good to just listen to my voice. Let the sound of my voice carry you along. So relaxed... So peaceful... Your eyes may begin to close. Or they may remain open. Whatever makes you feel more relaxed and comfortable.”
He was beginning to sway on his feet. I knew I had him.
“Leatherman, you like this feeling of peacefulness. You want to return here again and again. And you can. When you hear me say—” I paused. Suddenly I felt inspired. “’Don’t touch my ass’ you will return to this state. But only when I say don’t touch my ass. Do you understand? You may answer me. In fact, it feels good to answer my questions.”
“Yesssss,” he slurred.
“I will count to three and you will be completely awake and alert and feel refreshed and rested. But when I say don’t touch my ass you will return to this state of total relaxation. Do you understand?”
“Yesssss.”
“Good. 1...2...3.”
Leatherman blinked rapidly. “Did you say something?”
“Yes. I told you don’t touch my ass.”
He stared at me.
“Don’t touch my ass,” I repeated.
His eyelids began to droop.
“Don’t touch my ass. Breathe in and out. Let your eyes close.”
His eyes slid shut as soon as I said it.
“Leatherman, breathe in and out. In and out... Relaxing... Feeling peaceful again. You like this feeling even more than before. You want to stay here. And each time you hear me say don’t touch my ass you will feel even more relaxed and like it even more. Do you understand?”
“Yesssss.”
“Don’t touch my ass.”
His breathing was slow and even. He was only lightly under, but for an impromptu trance I was quite satisfied. I took him through several deepening exercises. Who’d have guessed Leatherman would be such an easy subject? There’s something to be said for catching a man off-guard.
“Leatherman, you will never again pat my ass. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Say it. You will never again pat Christopher’s ass.”
“I will never again pat Christopher’s ass.”
“Say it again. And as you say it you know it is the absolute truth for you.”
“I will never again pat Christopher’s ass.”
I sighed happily. “Very good. I’ll count to three and you will awaken. We have a show to watch. 1...2...3.”
I glanced at my watch. “It’s almost time for Mike’s show.”
“I sincerely hope he lives up to your promise,” Leatherman said.
“He will.”
Leatherman opened the door that led to his club. Pounding music greeted us. It was a packed house tonight. Assorted doms, subs, Masters, slaves, bears, and twinks filled the room.
Craig made his way through the crowd to my side.
“Are you having fun, boy?”
“Yes, Master! Can we dance?”
I pulled him close to me and thrust my hips. “I think that’s an excellent idea.”
Craig is a terrific dancer. We spent several songs on the floor. Surrounding men watched us; watched him move. I knew they wanted him, and I knew he was mine. Life felt pretty good at that moment.
We were both sweating when we returned to Leatherman’s table. He had ordered drinks. He also had a dark-haired boy with him.
Damn.
“Christopher,” he shouted over the music, “This is Wade.”
Wade turned toward me. He kept his head bowed, his eyes downcast. He wore sandals and shorts and a muscle shirt. He seemed small and fragile.
“He’s Donald’s boy.”
“You are?” I asked.
“Yes, sir,” he replied meekly.
I stepped forward to pull out a chair and Wade jumped back.
He cowered like a kicked puppy.
I hated to think what Donald had done to him to make him like this. My heart went out to him immediately.
“Why don’t you two talk in my office?” Leatherman suggested.
“Mike’s performance is about to begin.”
“Christopher, there are three cameras covering the stage alone. You can have a tape.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say don’t touch my ass. But this was neither the time nor the place.
Craig was watching me.
I smiled at him. “Enjoy the show.”
“Yes, Master,” he said.
I’d had several weeks of private performances in my den. I knew what the show would look like. Though I did want to see Mike’s face as he lived his fantasy. I shrugged.
“Follow me, Wade.”
He trailed behind me through the club. Inside Leatherman’s office I invited him to sit beside me on the leather sofa.
“Wade,” I said, “I want you to look me in the eyes.”
He slowly tilted his chin up. He was frail. And very boyish. His cheeks were freckled. There was fear in his deep-set brown eyes. And not a fear of me.
“Wade, what is your life with Donald like?”
The boy looked down.
“Wade?” I reached for his chin.
He jerked away from me.
“Okay,” I said reassuringly, “Let’s start with something easy. Is Wade your real name?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-one, sir.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Try again.”
“Eighteen, sir.”
“Really?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Be honest with me, Wade. I can make you tell the truth if I have to.”
“I turned eighteen last week, sir.” His voice cracked.
“Last week?” I repeated. Who the hell was this Donald?
“Do you go to school?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Master doesn’t allow it.”
I could feel the familiar tightening sensation in my chest. Stay calm, Chris. “How long have you known your Master?”
“A year, sir.”
An underage slave? Unacceptable.
“Look up, Wade.”
He picked his head up again. He kept his eyes lowered.
“Leatherman says you volunteered to be Donald’s boy. Is that true? Did you volunteer to come see me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“I-I want to be like Bootboy, sir. I want to not think about what’s happening.”
“What happened to you?” I asked.
“Sir?”
“Answer my question. What happened to you that you want to not think about?”
His voice was beginning to tremble. “I can’t tell you, sir.”
“If you want my help, you have to.” As soon as I’d said it I regretted my tone. Damage control. “Wade, I could make you tell me. But I’d much rather you did it on your own.”
He stared at the floor.
I took his hand in mine. It was thin and cold. He tried to pull away.
“Tell me.”
He was silent for a long time. When he began to speak his voice was cold and emotionless.
“It was the summer after my sophomore year at high school. I was walking home after work one night and two guys jumped me. They pulled me into an alley and—”
“Stop,” I said. Every protective urge in my body wanted him to not relive this story.
There was one thing I was certain of: I was not sending him back to Donald’s under these circumstances.
“Had you come out before that night?”
He nodded. “Kids used to make fun of me. I didn’t see their faces, but I thought that night they were kids from school just trying to scare me. Then they—”
I cut him off. “Wade, what does Donald want you to do?”
“He wants me to be like Bootboy. But he doesn’t care about the boot stuff. He wants to lock me in a cage at night and let me out when he wants me.”
I rolled my eyes. That was so not going to happen.
“What do you want?”
“I want my Master to be happy.”
“No,” I said. “What would make you happy? What would improve your life?”
He seemed to be thinking it over.
“Wade?”
“I want to not be afraid.”
That was easier said than done. He couldn’t just want something simple? I had no idea how to proceed with this boy. But it didn’t matter. He needed help.
“I’m going to help you.”
His voice rose. “You are?”
“Yes.”
I caught sight of Mike on one of the monitors. He was flashing a safety-orange G-string under his black boxer-briefs. He was really working the crowd. On another screen Craig sat watching with Leatherman. Bootboy knelt beside his Master.
Leatherman was going to hate what I was about to do. And something told me Donald would be an even bigger problem. I wished I’d thought to ask Leatherman for more information about his friend Donald. It didn’t matter. I had money, influence, and power if I needed it. I’d take my chances with Donald. I made a decision.
“Wade, you’re coming home with me tonight.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t worry, boy. Everything’s going to be all right.”
I led him back out through the club. Mike was just finishing his routine.
The crowd showed its appreciation with catcalls and whistles.
A boy blocked my path. He wore leather pants and a black leotard. He was toned. And somehow familiar...
“I knew I recognized those size tens, sir.”
I squinted. Shoe-store boy? “Andrew?”
He flushed.
I looked him over. “What have you done to yourself?”
He self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. It fell back into place. He gave a little shrug. “I come here sometimes trying to meet somebody.”
It was difficult to hear over the thudding music.
“Have you met anyone?”
“Only you, sir.” He flashed a toothy smile.
The shoe salesman was flirting with me again. I wondered if a shoe salesman would make a good friend for a man with an interest in socks.
“Andrew, I have my hands full tonight...”
His face fell.
I fished in my pocket for a business card. I had none with me. Come to think of it, I hadn’t planned on picking up anyone new tonight.
“I seem to have left my card at home. Do you have any paper? I’ll give you my number.”
I pulled a pen from my pocket.
The toothy grin returned. He held out his hand. “You can write it here, sir.”
I drew my number on his hand. “Leave a message. I’ll call you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Oh, and—” I glanced him over. “This is a good look for you.”
Andrew flashed a dazzling smile as I walked away.
Now, here was a boy with possibilities. Hot and interested. A winning combination.
At Leatherman’s table I sat between him and Craig. Wade stood on my right.
“So?” Leatherman asked.
“I’m taking him home tonight.”
“I knew you’d come around!” Leatherman gloated.
“We’ll see, " I said. “How about that tape?”
Leatherman headed for his office, with Bootboy trailing behind.
“Craig, this is Wade. He’s coming home with us tonight.”
Craig eyed him carefully. “He is?”
I nodded. “We’re going to help him. I’ll explain at home.”
“Yes, Master.”
Wade looked surprised.
“What is it, Wade?” I asked.
“Is this your slave?”
“Yes. This is Craig.”
“But he’s not like Bootboy.”
“No, he’s not. Craig has a mind of his own.”
Craig smiled at me.
Wade’s gaze fell to the floor again as Mike joined us. He had reassembled his outfit, though his black shirt now hung open over his wifebeater. His face was damp, but lit with pride.
He seemed to be waiting for a comment.
“You were magnificent, Mike. I was very proud. You’re a good boy. How do you feel?”
“Great, sir! All those men were watching me, looking at my body. They liked what I was doing. It made me horny.”
“Would you like to cum?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Cum, Mike.”
His head rolled back as he shot in his pants. He moaned softly.
Wade glanced up at him.
Leatherman returned and set a videotape on the table in front of me.
He addressed Mike for the first time. “Are you going to make this a regular gig?”
Mike looked shocked. “Could I?”
“The crowd seemed to like it. How much did you make?”
“I didn’t count it.”
I knew Mike wasn’t doing this for the money. But Leatherman wasn’t privy to our sessions.
“I think you could do a couple shows a night. Work up more of an act. I’ll call Christopher and work out the details. If you did four shows each Saturday you could make a tidy bundle.”
Mike’s eyes were gleaming. But it wasn’t dollar signs dancing in his head. All those men seeing his body...
Leatherman continued. “I called Donald. He’s thrilled. He’ll fax over a list of what he wants.”
I nodded.
There’s a world of difference between what we want and what we get. Donald, Leatherman, Wade, Andrew, Mike, and Craig would all discover that very soon.