Christopher & Craig
Part 55: Latenight Cravings.
The doorbell rang.
It rang again seconds later.
I cracked an eye open and stared at the alarm clock in disbelief. 1:47 AM. Nobody would show up here at this hour.
I dragged myself out of bed and slipped on my robe as I staggered down the stairs.
The bell rang again.
I opened the front door.
Mike sagged against the doorjamb, sweating and panting.
I stifled a yawn. “Mike, do you realize what time it is?”
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he panted.
It was then I noticed his cheeks were wet. I gathered it wasn’t from sweating.
“Come into the den.”
He stepped inside, removing his sneakers mechanically. He padded to the den and slumped on the couch.
“Now, what seems to be the trouble?” I lowered myself into my chair.
He didn’t answer.
“Mike?”
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he repeated.
I sighed. It was time to expedite matters. “Queer Pizza Boy.”
He slowly began to clam and his breathing became less ragged. I waited for him to even out, trying to keep my eyes open. “Mike, why did you come here?”
“Had to get away.”
“Where were you?”
“Home. Marty had friends over.”
“Marty’s your roommate?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What happened? Tell me everything.” Hopefully everything wouldn’t take too long. I wanted to go back to bed.
“Marty had some friends over tonight. They were all in the living room watching TV and drinking when I got home from work. And smokin’. They were pretty high. Nick was there. He had no shirt on. Carm, too. They were all lying around in shorts just laughing and eating. I kept looking at them. I knew I shouldn’t. These guys are nice to me. They’re Marty’s friends. From his frat. I felt naughty. Marty handed me a beer. I tried not to think about them. But there was Nick’s chest and Marty’s long legs and—”
“What did you do?”
“I went to my bedroom to jerk off. But I couldn’t cum. My dick was sore. So I thought I’d go out running. I went through the living room. I really needed cum. Bad. And they were all asleep with the TV on.”
I leaned back in my chair. This might actually get interesting.
“So Marty was just lying there on the couch in his shorts. And I really need cum. So I was real quiet and I unzipped his shorts and pulled them back. His dick was right there. And I started stroking it. I was kind of afraid he’d wake up so went real slow and quiet. He got harder and harder. He seemed to be liking it. Some pre-cum oozed out and I licked it. And then—”
His voice broke.
“Breathe in and out, Mike. Remain calm. What happened then?”
“Marty woke up. He started yelling. What the hell are you doing? He pushed me away. I fell.” Mike’s voice grew louder and his words were rushed. “He called me a pansy ass. I didn’t know what to do. My dick was hard. I needed cum so bad. And Marty was yelling. He was really pissed. The other guys started waking up. Marty grabbed me by the shirt. I tried to get away. I ran out of there. And I kept running ‘til I was here.”
“Relax,” I said. “Breathe in and out. Let the peace and calm flood over your body. Marty isn’t here. It’s just you and me.”
In a way this was my fault. I had created this overwhelming desire in Mike, and I hadn’t taken his yearning for cum seriously. Every action has a consequence. I had hypnotized Mike into believing he needed cum to survive. But I hadn’t addressed that need when he came here looking for a hit the other night. Now he had tried to milk his roommate! Mike was going to need someone to supply him with what he needed...
I had an idea. But first I had a lunch meeting with Donald to prepare for. After that I could tackle Mike’s addiction. In the mean time Mike was going to have to find his own cum.
“Mike, cum,” I said.
His body convulsed. Automatically he reached in his pants and drew his hand to his mouth.
There was a noise outside the window.
I walked around the desk and raised the blinds. It was dark; I didn’t see anything. Probably just an animal. Ordinarily I wouldn’t be awake to hear this at this hour.
I settled back in my chair.
“Mike, perhaps your friends are not the best source for your addiction. You will continue to need more cum each time you’re naughty, and I’ll work on finding a solution to that predicament. Until then perhaps you can find another way to get what you need?”
Mike was licking his fingers clean.
“1...2...3.”
He opened his eyes. “I’m really sorry I bothered you, Christopher.”
“It’s okay. Do you feel better now?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you be able to get home okay?”
He nodded.
I walked him to the door. He put on his sneakers and jogged down the driveway.
I shut the door.
Bed!
Wade and Craig were eating lunch together in the kitchen when I ventured downstairs. My late night visit from Mike had thrown off my day.
Wade was in white sneakers, blue jeans, and a gray pullover sweatshirt which actually fit him. The new clothes had taken their desired effect: he seemed to hold his head higher. He had neatly slicked his hair.
“Wade, you’re looking very handsome,” I said, sweeping through the kitchen toward the coffee pot.
“Thanks,” he said through mouthfuls of sandwich.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good.”
“That’s good. Perhaps tonight we can have a talk?”
A look of nervousness passed over his face. Then he relaxed. “Sure.”
Craig cleared a place at the table. “Do you want a sandwich?”
“I’ve got lunch in an hour.” I sat between them.
“I know. I’m almost ready.” He crossed to the refrigerator with a plate of turkey and a jar of mayo. He squeaked.
I glanced up from my coffee cup.
Craig flashed me a grin.
I glanced down his blue T-shirt, jeans, and white sneakers.
“You bought sneakers?” I have a marvelous grasp of the obvious sometimes. He had told me that last night.
“Do you like them?”
I nodded. They did look good, but somehow I missed his socks.
He stooped down behind me and whispered in my ear, “Don’t worry, tonight it’ll be socks for you, Master.”
I smiled in spite of myself.
“Where are your shackles?”
“I didn’t think you’d want me to put them on to go out today.”
I shrugged. I think today is exactly the kind of day he should wear them.
“Tie me up tonight?” he whispered.
“We’ll see,” I replied.
Wade downed his glass of iced tea. “What should I do today while you’re out?”
“What do you feel like doing?”
“Can I look around the neighborhood?”
I nodded. “Just be careful.”
“I will. Are there any guys around here?”
I choked on my coffee. “What kind of guys?”
“I don’t know. To maybe play a game of Frisbee or something. I haven’t been able to play outside for a long time.”
“Wade, you’re doing so much better already. I’m really very proud of you.”
He set his dish in the sink and left the room. When he returned he wore a ballcap. “I’m gonna go, okay?”
“Have fun, Wade. I’ll leave the back door unlocked for you.”
He smiled and took off for the front door.
Craig sat next to me. “You like him a lot.”
I gave a facial shrug.
“It’s okay. He really looks up to you though. You should hear him when you’re not here. He really wants to please you.”
“He’s a sweet kid.”
“Is that why you’re meeting Donald?”
To be continued in Part 56...
Christopher & Craig
Part 56: Lunch With Donald.
I dressed all in black for my meeting with Donald, from my high-polished boots to my sunglasses. It was time to command power and respect. I was usually the first to dispense with clichéd props such as black leather and menacing looks, but based on what I knew of Donald it seemed appropriate.
Craig didn’t look a bit like a slave as we sped along toward Leatherman’s club. He resembled the college kid of days gone by. I decided to encourage him to enroll in classes again. It was time for him to round out his education. And who knows what fun might be found on campus?
I left Craig in the car and knocked on the private door to Leatherman’s office.
He answered it personally.
“You’re the first to arrive,” he informed me, granting me entry to his office.
I removed my sunglasses and hooked them in my shirt pocket. “Where’s Mitch?”
“He’s tied up at the moment.”
“Figuratively or literally?” I asked, immediately sorry.
“Literally, of course.” Leatherman chuckled.
I really should have known better. “Craig will help serve.”
“Where is he?”
“Parking the car.”
Craig entered at that moment, stripped to cutoffs and socks. I did a doubletake.
“How may I serve you, Master?” he asked in a distant voice.
I forced my eyebrows to lower. “Help Leatherman in the kitchen.”
“What are you drinking?” Leatherman asked.
“It’s early. Just a soda.”
He nodded and headed out to the club. Craig trailed behind him.
There was a knock at the door. I was alone, so I answered it.
The man who stood in the doorway was not what I expected. He was compact in size—no taller than 5′6—and trim, though probably built under his well-cut navy suit. He wore an elegant white shirt; diamond cufflinks at his wrists. He looked like a broker or a banker. This was not the man I’d imagined as Wade’s Master. He had sandy blond hair, neatly parted down the middle, and brown eyes. In most circles he would be classified as handsome.
“Donald?” I asked, thrusting out my hand. “Christopher Boldt.”
He pumped it firmly. I wondered if the strong grip was for my benefit.
“Donald Sullivan.”
“Leatherman is seeing to lunch.”
He nodded as he stepped inside. “It’s good to finally meet you. I’ve wondered about the man who’s training Wade.”
I kept my eyes from rolling. “You’ve done quite a job on him.”
“He needs a firm hand. He’s always testing limits.”
I nodded absently. Stay calm, Chris.
Leatherman returned with my soda. “Donald, you’ve arrived. I see you two have met.”
“We’re getting acquainted,” I said.
“What are you drinking?”
“Scotch,” Donald replied.
Leatherman exited.
I decided to proceed business-like. I hadn’t expected stylish and suave from Donald. I’d been prepared for crass and brutish. Pity, too. “Donald, I asked for this meeting to gain a stronger sense of what you want Wade trained to do. Why don’t we have a seat?”
We both sat on the leather couch. Donald unbuttoned his jacket and crossed his legs at the knee. His wingtips gleamed.
My eyes traveled up the navy socks, cuffed slacks, silk tie, to his square jaw. He knew how to dress. “What is it that you do, Donald?”
“I’m Vice President at First National.”
“Really?” I’d been right. Ha! “Nine to five type job?”
“Yes.”
“So a trained full-time slave will not present a financial problem?” “Is that relevant?”
I didn’t appreciate his tone. “Donald, if I’m going to train a boy to serve your specific needs I’d like to know that you’re in a position to support him.”
Donald sniffed. “I’m quite well off, thank you. I’ve been set at the bank for some time.”
He was certainly white-collar. He had what used to be known as polish—that sophisticated air that seems to come from old money. “So you’re looking more for a nighttime slave?”
Donald nodded.
“Wade was apparently trained as a domestic. What else would you have him do?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“Well, Leatherman wanted a bootboy. What special skills would you like Wade prepped for?”
“Oh. I actually have very simple requirements for my boy. His body should be an instrument to serve me.”
I’d seen the results of those simple requirements. “Could you be more specific?”
“He should serve me. Beyond the everyday cooking and cleaning. He should serve my body, whether that means worshipping my cock, rimming, or serving as a receptacle for my piss.”
I wrinkled my nose in distaste. “Has he done that yet?”
“Not yet. Though I look forward to it.” He laughed ominously.
Thank God, I thought. I pasted on a smile. “He appears to have been whipped. Is that a requirement?”
Donald nodded. “All boys need occasional punishments. He should be able to withstand a good beating. A good boy shouldn’t show pain or cry.”
“Really.” I ran a hand through my hair. “Do tell.”
“I’ve often thought fisting might be an interesting way to pass the time.”
Craig walked into the room, carrying a tray with Donald’s scotch. He went down on one knee and offered the glass.
“This is my boy,” I said. “Slave, this is Donald.”
“How may I serve you, sir?” Craig asked.
Donald’s smile widened. He sipped his scotch.
“Will there be anything else, Master?”
“See what’s keeping Leatherman,” I instructed.
“Yes, Master.” Craig left the room.
I turned back to Donald.
“He’s very polite, that’s good.” Donald downed more scotch.
“Craig was a real find. But I’m more curious about your requirements. Wade apparently was trained to not wear clothing.”
“A slave should be naked!” Donald snapped.
“And caged?” I asked. “I didn’t have one his first night—I was unaware of his sleeping arrangements.”
“He should be locked up until I come for him.”
I tipped my glass toward him then sipped my soda. “I believe I’m getting a clearer picture. I wonder what’s keeping Leatherman and lunch.”
Donald checked his watch. “I have time. Tell me how Wade is doing.”
“Well, he’s thriving.” That was true. “His body and mind are working toward one goal.”
Donald grinned. He broke into a yawn. “Excuse me,” he said. “Do we have a timetable for completion?”
“I’d imagine several weeks. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say.”
Donald yawned again. “The sooner, the better.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I apologize,” he continued, the soul of grace. “I don’t know why I’m so tired all of a sudden.” He set his glass on the nearby table.
I stood. “Perhaps I should see what’s keeping Leatherman.” I walked to the door. When I turned back Donald had slumped over.
I checked his pulse. Strong. His breathing was shallow and regular.
I picked up his scotch glass and walked out to the bar. I rinsed it in the sink and set it aside.
Craig poked his head out of the kitchen. “Is he—?”
“Out like a light.”
Craig grinned, holding up a tiny tape recorder. “You were right. Leatherman went under as soon as he heard the tape of your voice.”
“Good. Where is he?”
“In here.”
I nodded. “Clean up all the food. Toss it and meet me in the office.”
“Already done.” Craig stepped fully out of the kitchen, letting go of the swinging door.
“Terrific!” I smiled.
Back in the office I fished in Donald’s pants pocket for his keyring.
“Go get his car,” I said. “Back it up to the door.”
Craig nodded and left.
He returned moments later, wearing his jeans and sneakers. “It’s a BMW. New!” He pulled his T-shirt on over his head.
“Is the trunk open?”
“Yes.”
Between the two of us we hoisted Donald off the couch and carried him to the door. We placed him in the trunk of his own car. I bent his knees and shut the lid.
“Okay, Craig, I’ll meet you at home. Just as soon as I take care of Leatherman.”
Craig paused and kissed me.
I grinned.
“See you home!” he called over his shoulder.
I watched him drive off in the BMW then walked through the office to the bar. In the kitchen I found Leatherman standing at the counter, completely entranced.
“Follow me to the office,” I commanded.
He did.
I stood at the door. He stopped beside me.
“Leatherman, when I count three you will awaken. You will feel relaxed and happy. You will not recall Donald ever arriving here today. You’ll believe he never showed and you and I ate a pleasant lunch together. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Good. 1...2...3.”
Leatherman shook his head.
“Thanks for lunch,” I said, speaking rapidly. “I’ll talk to you soon. When you hear from Donald, let me know.”
“O-okay, um—”
“’Bye.” I strolled out the door to my car before he could say another word.