Christopher, Craig & Co.
Part 9: Marty & Nick—The Journeys Begin.
Sunday morning I knew what I had to do. I had to get Nick Phillips out of his state as monkeyboy. Today. No excuses. No procrastination.
Jose was dead. I couldn’t fix that now. Perhaps in my rush to avenge his treatment of Wade I had overreacted and allowed my disgust to cloud my judgment. But today I was clearheaded and could repair what Professor Edwards had done.
I wasn’t proud of the methods I was about to employ, but—as they say—desperate times call for desperate measures. I laced Nick’s water with a potent combination of drugs and walked downstairs to the cellar.
A short while later, once he had eaten and drank, his chattering stopped and he collapsed on the floor of his cage. I unlocked the door and hauled him out into the open. I struggled to lift his deadweight onto the nearby table, and lay him on his back.
I bound his wrists and ankles to the four table legs. If he should happen to awaken earlier than I’d planned I didn’t want to have him get loose. I set up a portable cd player near him and pressed play, leaving it on Repeat. It would perpetually repeat an induction until his conciousness was altered enough for it to penetrate his monkey behavior.
I walked upstairs and closed the door on the sound of my own voice. I picked up the kitchen extension and dialed Marty’s number.
“Frat Boy, come to my house now. 1...2...3.” I hung up, showered, and dressed for the day.
When Marty rang the doorbell I was at my computer checking my email. I answered the door.
Marty was a good-looking young man; there was no denying it. He was tall and reasonably fit, with neatly-styled dark hair and dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. He had also proven himself to be a good subject for hypnosis. Today I was going to work more on patching the holes in his memory.
Marty pushed his sunglasses up into his hair. “Hey.”
“Come in, Marty. How are you?” I stepped back and allowed him to enter the foyer.
Without thought Marty stepped out of his sneakers and stood in his white-socked feet.
I smiled. Such a little thing, really, yet it demonstrated just how easy it was to modify a boy’s behavior.
“I’m great, Christopher. How are you?”
“Not bad.” I led the way to the den.
Marty sat on the couch and leaned back. “Man, it feels good to sit and relax. This was a long week.” He propped his feet on the coffee-table, crossing them at the ankle. His long legs reached nearly to the far edge of the table.
Ordinarily I would’ve asked him to put his feet down. But I was enjoying the sight of his big feet propped carelessly as he made himself comfortable. He wiggled his toes, stretching his socks.
“Frat Boy,” I said, waiting for him to drop into his suggestive state. “Breathe in and out... Relax. Remember that you may only speak the truth here. How do you feel, Marty?”
“That’s good,” I said, smiling. “The last time you were here we were talking about your memories of school. We’ve also discussed your family. Today I want to focus more on you. I’m going to ask you some questions and I want you to answer honestly. Do you understand?”
“Let’s begin. Do you remember when you were a little boy what you wanted to be when you grew up?”
“I wanted to be a wrestler and be on TV.”
“Really. Do you remember the first girl you kissed?”
“Her name was Judy.”
“Do you remember the first time you had sex?”
“It was after the Homecoming dance. Junior year in high school.”
“Who were you with?”
“Don’t worry about it, Marty. It isn’t important.” I led him through a series of personal history questions for much of the next half hour. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the gaps in his memory. I was beginning to get restless, and a little bored. I also wanted to check in on Nick soon. I decided to spice things up a bit.
“What do you fantasize about, Frat Boy?”
“Fantasize?” he repeated.
“Yes, Marty. When you are masturbating, what do you think about?”
Color washed up over his face and neck, turning them pink.
“It’s okay, Frat Boy. You can tell me. Your secret will be safe. What do you fantasize about when you masturbate?”
“I-I see a woman all dressed in black leather. And she’s holding a whip. And she has me get undressed and kneel down. She makes me kiss her feet. Then she whips me if I don’t do what she says.”
The bulge in his jeans had grown immense.
“Marty, uncross your legs.”
He lifted his left foot and spread his feet on the table. His jeans tented over his obvious erection.
“Is your fantasy always the same?”
“No. Some-sometimes I’m wearing all the leather and I’m telling her what to do.” His face glowed bright red. I suspected he had never spoken of this fantasy before.
“Can you describe what you’re wearing?”
“Sometimes it’s chaps and a leather vest. Sometimes leather pants and suspenders. Sometimes I have on big boots and shorts.”
“Marty, do you own leather boots?”
Hmmm. I had never seen him with them on. “Why don’t you wear them?”
“Guys at school don’t wear boots. You gotta wear sneakers.”
“Marty, Frat Boy, you will start wearing your boots every day. They make you feel strong. They make you feel sexy. They make you think of your fantasy. You will wear your boots. Do you understand?”
“What will you wear?”
“That’s a start,” I said. “Of course, as always, when you come here you will wear only white socks. Now, judging from the bulge in your jeans you are ready to masturbate. When you go home today you will put on your boots and then you will masturbate. And you will find you cum more intensely than ever before while you are wearing your boots. Do you understand?”
Once Marty had left I made a note to myself. Next time I’d have to ask him if it was always a woman in the fantasy with him, though I’d bet the answer was yes. I did find it interesting that his first fantasy was about being dominated; not being the dominator. It seemed as though Marty would be happy to be a leather slave. That was a possibility.
I opened the basement door.
“...continue to relax, breathing in and out...hear only my voice...” the cd of my voice was droning on. I walked downstairs and shut off the cd player.
“Nick, can you hear me?”
His voice was a raspy whisper. “Yes, sir.”
I grinned. Success! “How do you feel?”
I walked around the table, untying his arms and legs. “Nick, raise your right hand.”
His right hand floated up over the edge of the table; up, straight up into the air.
“Lift your left foot.”
His leg straightened as his left foot rose perpendicular to the table.
“Good boy. Relax your body.”
His arm and leg lowered to their original positions.
“Nick, what is the last thing you remember?”
“Professor Edwards gave me a spandex suit to change into.”
“What happened before that?”
“He sent me into the bedroom.”
“I was sucking on a lollipop.”
“I cut the clothes off a guy on a chair.”
My eyebrows rose of their own volition. The lollipop was Marty. Nick had no idea what he’d done.
Since I was uncertain what his behavior would be when I woke him I was leery of making any suggestions. Instead I decided to wake him and have him bathe.
“Nick, whenever you hear me say,” I paused. Shoot, what was the trigger Edwards had used? “Beach Boy you will return to this relaxed state where you find it so easy to obey my voice. Do you understand?”
“Good boy. I will count to three and you’ll awaken. Then you’ll shower and I’ll give you some clothes. 1...2...3.”
Nick opened his eyes. He sat up and looked at me. Fear crossed his face as he glanced furtively around. “What are you doing here? Where am I? Where’s Damian?”
Nick’s head lolled forward on his neck.
“Nick, when you awaken you will find it very easy to trust me and feel safe with me. You will know Professor Edwards would want you to obey me as you would him. Do you understand?”
Nick looked up again.
“Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He looked at himself. “I need a shave.”
“No, you will not shave your body now. Do you understand?”
He trudged up the stairs behind me.
To be continued in Part 10...
Christopher, Craig & Co.
Part 10: Kampas with Krupke.
Since I had promised Wade I would visit him at Kampas I drove there after dinner. It was bitter out; the car heater wasn’t keeping up with the chill. Christmas lights flashed by on the streets as I rushed across town.
The heat inside Kampas was a welcome respite from the outdoors. I moved to the bar and sat on a stool, unbuttoning my coat.
Scott was working on a concoction at the blender, his back to me, his glossy black hair shining as he moved.
Wade hurried down the bar. “Chris! You’re here! What can I get you?”
“I promised I’d be here.” I smiled. “Soda’s fine. How’s your shift?”
Scott whirled around. “Tips are good.” He ruffled Wade’s hair. “And this one makes out like a bandit. Everybody thinks he’s cute.”
Wade’s ears grew red, his freckles even seemed to blush.
“If he worked in a gay bar he’d have a stack of phone numbers at the end of the night.”
“That’s why he won’t be working in a gay bar until he’s twenty-one,” I said.
Scott grinned. “Now you sound like a big brother.”
I shrugged. “I try.”
Wade set a soda in front of me on a napkin.
“So, are you all set for the holidays?” Scott asked.
“Not by a longshot. Still need to hit the mall again. I’m headed there from here. And Wade’s present should arrive in the next few days.”
Wade’s ears perked up. “Ooo. What is it?”
“You’ll have to wait and see.”
Wade frowned and moved down the bar to wait on two guys who’d come in.
Scott leaned his hands against the bar and flashed a killer grin at me. Something told me he wasn’t hurting in the tips department either. Why didn’t he work in a gay bar, come to think of it?
Scott was watching Wade pour beer from the tap. “Y’know he thinks you hung the moon, right?”
I waved him off. “Wade’s a good kid.”
“He was lucky you were there for him. He told me how you took him in and have been helping him get his life together.”
“He did?” I said in surprise.
“Yeah. Not all guys are so lucky.”
Not all guys are as unlucky as Wade started out, either...
“He’s been wanting me to spend more time with you because I told him nobody could be as perfect as he says you are.” Scott stopped, looking mildly embarrassed. I supposed he hadn’t meant to word it in quite that way.
I laughed. “I’m far from perfect.”
“Maybe we could get lunch sometime soon,” Scott suggested.
I stared at his glittering eyes. He was handsome. And silver-tongued. I glanced around. “I’m in a relationship, Scott—”
“Oh! No, not like that. I just meant I thought the three of us could maybe get together...”
My smile was back. “That could be arranged.”
Scott’s attention seemed to drift from me. “Oh, look,” he muttered. “Officer Krupke.”
I swiveled in my seat.
Standing in the doorway was David, the bouncer from Leatherman’s.
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s David Rivera. He’s been doing undercover surveillance in all the bars on the strip. First it was underage drinking, then it was drugs, then he was looking for some boys who were missing. He’s a real pain in the ass, mostly...”
I had stopped paying attention after ‘boys who were missing.’
Leatherman had done it again.
“I didn’t realize he was a detective. I met him last night at another bar.” I got to my feet. “Scott, let’s do lunch next week.”
I tossed a ten on the bar and waved at Wade. He grinned at me. I turned and strode toward the door. I walked past David and bumped into him. Horribly cliché, I know, but it’s tried-and-true and it works.
“David!” I cried in surprise.
He looked shocked to see me here.
“How are you? How funny to run into you here when you spend your time working at the Club.”
“It’s my night off.”
“Ohhhh. Are you meeting friends?”
He smiled and shook his head.
What was he playing at, I wondered. “Craig was going on about your interest in boys who serve other men. I was intrigued about your curiosity.”
He glanced around then flashed a bashful smile. “I want to know what it would be like to love someone so much you could serve them.”
“I suppose that’s very romantic of you, David. But it’s not always motivated by love. Some slaves serve Masters out of fear, some because they are forced to, and some are drugged.”
David appeared very interested in what I had to say. “You sound like you know a lot about it. Is Craig your slave?”
I laughed heartily. He should know I wasn’t born yesterday. I met him yesterday. “No, not at all. Craig is my lover. But I know people and I see what goes on. I could tell you stories...”
“Really?” he asked eagerly.
He had taken the bait. This was almost too easy. I smiled. “If you’re interested you could give me a call. I’ve a feeling after you hear the truth about serving men you’ll be less enchanted with the idea.”
He smiled broadly. “I don’t know.”
I didn’t know either. He was kind of cute for a Guatemalan undercover cop who was a little on the short side. Maybe he’d get to experience serving a man firsthand. No, I wouldn’t do that.
I pulled out a business card and jotted my home number. I knew he could get it anyway, but why make him do legwork? “Call me tomorrow. We could meet in the evening. I’ve loads to tell you.”
David’s eyes narrowed evilly. He thought he had me.
I strode toward the door. Sucker.