Christopher & Craig
Part 51: When Wade Met Donald...
The next evening I returned home from work later than usual. I stopped in the den to check my messages. Andrew and Leatherman had both called.
I dialed Andrew’s number. “Andrew, this is Christopher Boldt.”
“Hello, sir! Thank you for calling me back.” He sounded nervous.
“How are you, Andrew?”
“Good. You?”
“I’m good. I’ve been thinking we should have dinner together.”
“Really?”
“Yes. How’s tomorrow night for you?”
“That’d be great!” His voice was bubbling with excitement.
“I’ll look forward to it. Seven o’clock at my home.” I gave him the address and hung up.
Next I dialed Leatherman.
“Christopher,” he said, “Donald faxed his list of specifications for his boy to my office.”
“Oh, really?” I should have covered my lack of interest better.
“Yes,” Leatherman affirmed with a little more force than I appreciated.
“Leatherman, what do you know about Donald?”
“He’s a friend. Why?”
“How did you meet him?”
“We belong to the same gym.”
Something was missing from that answer. “And one day over squat thrusts you mentioned wanting a slave?”
“Don’t be idiotic,” he said.
“Watch it, Leatherman,” I snapped.
“He shares my passion for well-disciplined boys.”
“I see. What does he do?”
“He’s a higher up at one of the banks. I don’t recall his exact title...”
That didn’t surprise me. Once the conversation turned from Leatherman or his interests he invariably stopped paying attention. “He works at a bank?”
“Yes. Very white collar.”
I rolled my eyes. Except when he was beating the hell out of boys. “I’d like to meet with him. Do you think you could make that happen?”
“I don’t see why not. Is there a reason?”
“If I’m making Wade over I’d like to discuss the details in person. Set up lunch at your club one day this week.”
“I knew you’d come around, Christopher. It was just a matter of time before you realized I was right. If we can speed up turn around time we could make—what? A slave a month? We could charge a bundle...” Leatherman had the self-satisfied tone I loathed.
I cut him off. “Just set up the meeting and call me with the details.”
“Will do. ‘Bye, Christopher.”
I hung up and followed the sound of conversation to the kitchen. Craig met me at the door with a kiss. “Dinner will be ready soon.”
I looked him over. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and socks. I smiled. He was gradually splitting the differences between Craig and slave. The reintegration of his two selves had been somewhat less debilitating than I’d feared.
“You look good,” I said.
“Thank you.” He returned to his cooking. “I smell good too.”
I stepped up behind him at the stove and nuzzled the nape of his neck. “You do,” I whispered in his ear.
He laughed softly.
I tore myself away from him. “How are you tonight, Wade?”
“Good, thank you.”
He sat at the table, clad in his oversize gray sweat suit.
“We need to get you some clothes that fit. Craig, tomorrow night I have an associate coming for dinner. How would you like to take Wade shopping?”
“That sounds like fun. I could use a few things, too.”
Wade wore a look of uncertainty.
“Something wrong?”
“You don’t have to buy me clothes, sir. A slave should wear nothing.”
I slid into the chair opposite him at the table. “Wade, we’ve talked about this. You call be my by my first name. And you are not my slave.”
He forced a weak smile.
“Can you tell me anything about your Master? Who is he? Where does he work?”
“Master’s name is Donald. He gets all dressed up in a suit and tie to go to his office. When he comes home he ties my hands with his tie and beats me with his belt for being bad...”
“Enough,” I said, more harshly than I’d intended. Wade looked wounded.
Craig caught my eye. He raised his eyebrows.
“Wade, why don’t you go upstairs and wash up? We’ll eat soon.”
“Yes, sir.” He stopped and flinched.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Scoot.”
He turned and raced out of the room.
“You know, he’s been talking like that all afternoon, Chris.” Craig opened the oven door and checked his roast. “It sounds like he’s beaten almost daily. He flinches every time I get near him.”
I frowned. “I’m meeting Donald this week.”
“Is that your dinner tomorrow night?”
I shook my head.
“Oh.”
“This is just a friend.”
Craig walked over and sat on my lap. He wrapped his arms around my neck. “What kind of friend?”
“Not that good a friend,” I assured him.
“I’m glad to hear that. All this talk makes me realize how lucky I am.” Craig drew his lips to mine and kissed me passionately. His hands began unbuttoning my shirt.
The buzzer on the oven went off.
He pulled away.
I grasped his wrist and tugged him back into my lap.
“Dinner’s ready,” he said. “To be continued.”
“Dessert better be worth the wait.”
“Yes, Master!” He laughed.
After the clean up from dinner I settled into my chair in the den. Wade was seated on the couch, looking anxiously at me. Swaddled in the oversize sweats he looked even smaller and more fragile than usual.
“Did you have enough o eat, Wade?”
“Yes, thank you,” he replied in his soft manner.
“I feel like you’re especially nervous tonight, Wade. Is there something wrong?”
“Oh, no, sir!”
“Are you certain? I get the distinct impression you’re waiting for me to start beating you. And I will not lay a hand on you. I only want to be your friend. Okay?”
He nodded slowly.
“Try to relax, Wade. Let your guard down a little. It’s okay. Did you have a good day here with Craig?”
He seemed to light up. “Yes! It was fun. We went outside for awhile and ate lunch and watched TV and all sorts of stuff.”
That sounded pretty routine to me. But after living with Donald, I supposed Wade’s notion of fun was a bit different from mine.
“So you like being here so far?”
“Y-yes.”
“I’m glad. You’re safe here, Wade.”
I paused. He slipped under and began to breathe evenly. I waited a few moments before continuing.
“Wade, are you comfortable?”
“Yes, sir.” He sounded sleepy.
“Do you remember when we talked about what you should call me?”
“Yes—”
“I’d like for you to stop calling me ‘sir.’ Call me by my first name. Okay?”
“Yes. Christopher,” he added.
I smiled. “Earlier we were talking about your Master, Donald. How long has he been your Master, Wade?”
“A year, Christopher.”
“A year?”
“Yes. We had out anniversary last month.”
I crossed my legs and leaned back. An anniversary? Could Donald have redeeming qualities? “How did you celebrate?”
“I cooked dinner for Master. All of his favorites. He even let me eat some. But the coffee was cold and he said I had to be punished. He threw me against the wall and started hitting me with his belt. He told me I was a bad boy and bad boys have to be beaten so they won’t be bad anymore.”
This was an anniversary celebration? He was beaten over cold coffee? Donald was a raging sociopath. I took a breath. “What happened after he beat you?”
“Master said he had a present for me.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“He didn’t give it to me. He said bad boys don’t deserve presents.”
I could think of a bad Master who wouldn’t be getting a present. I sat up straighter. “Is that all?”
“Then he told me to grab my ankles and he...”
“I get the idea,” I said, interrupting him. Beatings and rapings. Seems like a way of life for Wade the past year. No boy should be treated like this. “Wade, how did you meet your Master?”
“One night he picked me up. He has a nice car. He took me to his house. It’s big. When we got there he was nice. He put on music. I blew him. He liked it. Then he grabbed my hair and said I blew pretty good on my knees.” Wade paused. He seemed to tense.
“Breathe in and out, Wade. What happened next?”
“He said when you find a boy who can blow you should keep him. I said I had to go back. And he slapped me. Hard. I asked him to please let me go. He kept hitting me. I started to cry—” His voice broke.
“You’re safe here, Wade. Take your time. It’s okay. Breathe in and out. Feeling more relaxed with each breath. Why did you stay with Donald?”
“I don’t know what else happened. I think he must’ve hit me until I blacked out. The next thing I knew I was locked in a cage.”
Kidnapped? I forced my eyebrows back down. Donald had abducted the boy! Son of a—Calm , Chris. Stay focused. “What kind of cage?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“Small. I couldn’t stand all the way up. I could sit. I had to lay down in a ball.”
When I got my hands on Donald he was going to pay for what he’d done to this boy. “What did he do then?”
“He kept flashing the lights on real bright. On and off. And he’d play really loud music. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Did he feed you?”
“No. I was awful hungry. And thirsty. And tired. It was cold, too.”
“You were cold?”
“Yes. I didn’t have any clothes on.”
You had to hand it to Donald. Between the starvation, sleep-deprivation, and humiliation from being caged and naked any boy would be susceptible to conditioning. These were old torture techniques. Barbaric. Inhuman. Donald would be sorry.
“What happened after that?”
“After that Master let me be his slave.”
“He let you?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes, Christopher.”
I was biting my lip. “Wade—”
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
To be continued in Part 52...
Christopher & Craig
Part 52: Mike’s Addiction.
The doorbell rang again.
Craig poked his head in from the foyer. “Should I answer that?”
I shook my head, springing out of my chair to join him in the foyer. I pulled the door to the den shut behind me. “I’ll get it.”
Craig shrugged, then turned and climbed the stairs, his shackles clanking as he moved.
The doorbell rang again. Whoever it was was certainly persistent.
I opened the front door. Mike stood there, looking a bit haggard. His shirttails were sticking out, and he was panting.
I glanced past him. His car wasn’t in the driveway.
“Mike, I didn’t think you were coming here tonight.”
His brow furrowed. “I needed to see you. Can I come in?”
“Of course.” I backed out of the way for him to enter.
Mike walked in and kicked off his sneakers. He appeared to be covered in sweat.
“Where’s your car?”
“Home.”
“How did you get here?”
“I ran.”
“Oh.” I looked at him more closely. The workouts appeared to be making a difference. Even under his shirt his arms and chest looked more defined. But why had he run here tonight?
Mike was a bundle of raw energy. He fidgeted and twitched and rocked on his heels in the foyer.
We needed to sit and talk. And the den was occupied. “Let’s go into the kitchen,” I suggested.
He followed me down the hall, slapping his hands against his thighs. I gestured to the table and he sat at it.
“Would you like a soda? Or water?”
“Water, please,” he said.
I grabbed two bottles from the refrigerator and sat opposite him at the table. His socked feet tapped absently on the linoleum, with a series of rhythmic dull thuds. He twisted the cap off his water and downed half the bottle.
“So, Mike, what brings you here tonight?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
I took a sip of my water, waiting for him to continue.
“I always feel better after I talk to you.”
“That’s nice to hear. But I’m afraid I’m rather busy this evening.”
His right leg bounced up and down under the table. “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Yes, Mike.” I offered him my warmest smile. “I can always make time for you. And I’m glad to see you.” It wasn’t really his fault I had been working with Wade when he showed up. He needed help and was turning to me for it. Now if I only knew what kind of help he needed...
“Thanks.” He began drumming his fingers on the table.
“What did you do today, Mike?”
“I worked.”
I nodded. “Did something happen there?”
Both legs were bouncing now. Between his foot-tapping and finger-drumming I was getting a percussion solo in my kitchen. This nervous energy was out of control. It was time to get to the bottom of it.
“Queer Pizza Boy.”
Mike’s hands collapsed on the table. His legs stopped moving. In fact, he became very still. The change was so sudden it was almost eerie.
“Mike, why are you here?”
“I need cum,” he said.
That was simple and direct. “Why?”
“I’ve been naughty. I need cum.”
“You were naughty?” I could only imagine what he was talking about. “I thought you were able to jerk off when you were naughty and drink your own cum.”
“But I can’t cum anymore!” His face twisted in pain.
Poor Mike. He was an addict in need of a hit. I almost felt sorry for him. He hadn’t asked for this. “How much have you cum today?”
“Five times.”
“Wow. No wonder you can’t... Mike, how were you naughty?”
“Last night I went to the video store. I got a porn movie.”
“So? Plenty of college guys rent porn. Why is that naughty?”
“It was gay porn. When I went to leave the guy at the counter said ‘Have a good night, ma’am!’ I felt so embarrassed. My face felt hot and I wanted to hide. I ran out of there.”
The kid at the video store is a homophobic brat. That pushes my buttons. But since humiliation pushes Mike’s buttons this time it didn’t strike me as too terrible. “Then what?”
“I was hard. So I jerked off in the car. Then I didn’t feel naughty anymore. So I went home and watched the movie. And I had to cum again.”
“Did you enjoy the movie?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You liked watching the men have sex together?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you picture yourself doing those things?”
“Yes, sir! I wanted to be with a man and try what I saw in that movie.”
I nodded. “Go on. What happened after you watched the movie?”
“I fell asleep. I kept dreaming about the movie though. I woke up real hard this morning.”
“That’s good.” I shrugged. “You said you worked today?”
“Yes, sir. Today at work I kept thinking about taking off my clothes. Like I’d be making a pizza and then I’d see myself hopping up on the counter and ripping off my clothes. So I went in the bathroom and jerked off twice.”
“Was your girlfriend working?”
“Yes, sir. She was running the counter. And she would have seen me up there taking off all my clothes.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Kind of excited. But nervous. I don’t think she’d like it if she knew I stripped last weekend.”
Probably not. She’d like it even less if she knew he stripped at a leather bar. Something didn’t add up though. Once in the car, once with the movie, twice at work—that was four. “What happened after work?”
“I had history class. The professor is really boring. But the guy who sits next to me usually makes faces and stuff. Today he smiled at me. And I started thinking about that movie and how he and I could try what was in the movie. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what he would look like without his clothes on. And I wondered what his dick would look like. And what it would feel like. And what it would taste like. And I had to jerk off before I drove home. It took a long time, too.”
I would imagine so. He must not have had any cum left by this point. He must be feeling pretty sore right now.
“Okay, so why do you need cum again?”
“When I got home my roommate had a bunch of his friends from his frat over. Marty’s not usually home. I spend most of the time there by myself. He has this friend Nick who’s really hot. He looks like one of those California guys who’s always surfing or something. Anyway Marty asked me to hang out with them. And we were all sitting around, drinking and watching TV and I kept thinking if only Nick would let me suck his dick... I was sitting on the floor trying to look up the leg of his shorts. I thought he knew it and I felt really bad! But he just grinned at me. He’s so hot. I had to get out of there before they knew what I was thinking! So I said I had to go for a run. And I ran here.”
My cock twitched in my pants. The sheer power that the mere suggestion of an addiction to cum had in Mike’s life was exhilarating to behold. I could’ve satisfied him right then. But what would that accomplish? No, Mike would have to work for his cum.
I sighed. “Mike, my boy, you had a bunch of frat boys in your apartment and you ran here for cum?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That was unwise. What do you want from me?”
“I need cum.”
“I can’t help you this time, Mike. Your body isn’t ready to give any more cum tonight.”
His breath seemed to catch.
“Breathe in and out... In and out... You have a problem. You need cum. But I’m not going to supply you with any. You’ll have to find cum somewhere else. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think you’re ready to awaken. 1...2...3.”
His eyes popped open. His legs began to bounce. The tension returned throughout his body. I knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight until he’d scored some cum.
“Are you going to be okay to get home, Mike?”
He nodded vigorously. “I better get going.”
“It was good to see you. Why don’t you come by in a day or two?”
“Okay.”
I walked him to the door. He laced up his sneakers.
“Let me know what happens.”
He nodded and ran off into the night.
Hopefully he’d be reasonable enough not to do anything too stupid in his quest for cum. It wasn’t like he’d gone for days without it. It’d been a matter of hours at the most!
I sighed. Where was I?
Wade!
I flung open the door to the den. Wade sat peacefully on the couch, completely unconscious of the world around him. It was the least tense I’d ever seen him look.
“Wade, can you hear me?”
“Mmmm,” he said.
“Wade, you feel relaxed and at ease. You’ve never been this relaxed before. And each time I say ‘you’re safe here’ you will become even more relaxed. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“We talked about your Master tonight, Wade. Donald.” Even his name made me feel violent at this point. “You’re not going back to him, Wade. You are no longer his slave. You are a free man, Wade.”
“Free,” he repeated dreamily.
“That’s right. Free. Donald can no longer hurt you. I won’t allow it. He has no power over you anymore. No power over your life. Your time spent with him is growing hazy. It feels distant and shapeless to you, like a dream. All the time you spent serving him, living in fear, being beaten and raped, held captive, sleepless and starving; all that time is now as elusive and detached as a simple dream. It is not your reality. You never served a Master named Donald. You never slept in a cage, naked, cold and alone. You were never whipped and beaten.”
Wade’s breathing had slowed to nearly nothing. It was time to wake him.
“Wade, you must continue to eat and sleep and get stronger. Your time with Donald was a dream. And like most dreams, you will be unable to remember it once you awaken. Do you understand?”
“Mmmm-yes.”
“1...your breathing is slowly returning to normal. 2...all memory of time with Donald is fading. 3.”
Wade straightened up with a start. He looked around uncertainly.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah.” He seemed a bit unsettled. “Yes. I think so.”
“You dozed off,” I said.
“I did? I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. How do you feel?”
“I’m okay.”
“You sure?”
He nodded. “I think so.”
I grinned. “I think so, too.”