by M. Rode
"Such bold claims,” I whispered on his lips. “Yet I know your weaknesses."
"Mm, then I suppose we should get on with testing my limits, don't you think?"
I began looping the leather around his cock and balls once more. “Aye, Mr. Christian, I do."
A Short Leash
By Syd McGinley
I stretched in the dawn light and set off for my jog around the perimeter of my property. A hint of frost lingered in the shade of the trees, but the vegetable plots were almost ready for planting. This was my first spring in the cabin, and I felt embarrassingly hopeful. I'd survived the winter. Better yet, I had privacy and independence.
I picked up the pace and ran into the woods. The cabin is surrounded by rough lawn and I own enough woodland to feed the fireplace through a winter. My heart pounded as I cleared a fallen log, ran alongside the creek for a bit, and then turned back uphill through the woods to the road.
I felt alive.
"I think I'm ready, Rob,” I said.
I had a habit of talking to him as I ran. Odd, as we rarely talked when he was alive. I'm a quiet man, and Rob thought chatty owners were irritating. He'd rolled his eyes once about Micro-Manage-Mike, his friend's owner. “He kibitzes Chris to death, sir,” he confided. I'd given him a perfunctory swat for his rare sass. My memory of companionship overwhelmed me for a second as I finished my full-out run. I could see him in our old kitchen, giving me a shy, cheeky look as he ventured a tease about another sir.
I moved into my cool-down phase—a brisk walk over a rougher woodland section and then a loose jog up the track to the cabin. I wished Rob could have seen the cabin. He had longed for a home with me—not a rental or shared space. I had teased him about his nesting behavior, but he was a domestic boy. He was house proud, a good cook, and dreamed of growing his own veggies for me. It would be hard to bring another boy here, but it was best that Rob had never visited the cabin. I'd met him out of state when I was an undergrad, and we'd moved yet again for my master's degree. I shook off memories and made a note to e-mail Mike, and perhaps I'd call to see how my winter trainee had settled. Then I'd make plans for my next visitor. Tony, one of Ben's dom friends, had booked his boy in with me. He'd be here in three days. Such a pampered pet; he set my teeth on edge. I'd lost respect for Tony: his boy had no job, his own car, and maid service. He spent his days at the spa and gym, and told twink his job was to stay perfect. I longed to see him filthy, sweating, and toting wood.
I was surprised to see a car heading away as I emerged from the woods onto the road. Few drove along here at this time of day. I shrugged and turned up my track. As always, the curve that revealed the cabin made me catch my breath; Rob should be here, because this is home.
Today, I paused for a different reason.
A shivering boy sat on the steps next to a duffel bag. Not Tony's boy. He'd be sure to have a set of matched luggage. Besides, this boy had dark hair.
It was little Rory, Gregorio's boy. Also spoiled, but sweeter-natured about it than Tony's boy. Much more the ‘puppy dog eyes and easy tears’ type. Gregorio could ask much more of him. He stood up when he saw me, and bowed his head.
"Good morning, boy."
"Good morning, sir.” His voice shook.
"What's going on?"
"Sir couldn't stay. He called you, but you were running already. His mother is ill, sir. He asked if you could watch me. He'll call when he lands. He had to make his flight.” He fought a sob, and added, “Sir."
His distress was genuine, if disproportionate. I beckoned him into the cabin.
"Make coffee, boy, while I shower. We can talk while you cook breakfast."
He'd put his bag by the door, and I liked that he didn't place it in my bedroom. Still, I was annoyed Gregorio left him here, emergency or not. I don't like surprises and I don't like not knowing what an owner's rules are before I board their boys. And I'd expected three more days of solitude before I had to deal with people.
"It's not the boy's fault,” I muttered as I showered. “Suck it up, John."
He'd made the coffee, and begun breakfast. He was one of the better trained boys, but none of them were up to scratch. Rory was still shivering. It was cold out there, but he should be warm by now.
"What's wrong?"
He dropped an egg. It rolled, unbroken, on the counter, and he caught it before it hit the floor. He was terrified. I hid a smile. Poor kid.
"Well?"
"Sir,” he gasped, and was off in a torrent of sobs.
I turned off the burner, and sipped coffee.
"Done?” I asked when he was down to gulps.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"So what's wrong?"
"So scared, sir. Please don't hurt me. I didn't..."
"Didn't what?” I rested my hand on my belt buckle.
He blurted out: “Consent. Sir promised he'd never send me to you without consent. He knows I'm so scared of you. Sorry, sir."
I smothered an unbecoming-to-a-dom snort. Poor brat! I felt more pissed with Gregorio.
"So you didn't consent to being left here?"
"No, sir. But he was so worried. His mom is very ill so I couldn't fuss, but he forgot to ask me, and..."
He gave me full-on puppy eyes. His nose was red and spoiled the effect, but I was immune anyway. A contrite, brown-eyed, dark-haired, pale boy, like Jamie for example, hits all my Rob buttons. A spoiled boy, even scared, rouses my sir side to new levels. However, I doubted the boy would lie to me.
"Very well. Until I hear from Gregorio what his wishes are, you'll be my house boy. I'll record any misdemeanors against when we know your status."
"Thank you, sir.” He gave a pale smile. “Sir said he'd try to call soon. But I think his mom might be dying. He might not be able to deal with me. And I don't want to bug him."
"Of course not. If he doesn't call, we'll manage."
Rory eyed me warily. These boys always seem to think I'm fragile about my dead boy and dead mom.
"You'll earn your keep."
* * * *
Gregorio didn't call, but sent a brief text: “Mom dying. Please look after Rory.” We were none the wiser.
Rory settled, though, once he was reassured I wouldn't touch him. He's a good house boy, although worried about his owner. Once he understood there was no puppying me, he became a pleasing presence. If only Gregorio didn't indulge him so.
I labeled a notebook “Rory—punishments."
He sighed when I made entries, but made no complaints. The night before Tony's boy arrived, I saw him pat an old book from winter labeled “Jamie—training."
"I'd have tried to say yes, sir,” he said, curling up on the floor by my bed.
"What?"
"If Sir had asked for my consent. I'd have done my best to say yes. I want to please him and make his life right.” He swallowed. “And, now I've been here for a few days, I wish, I mean, I'm not so scared."
"Ah, boy. You should be. If Gregorio asks and you consent, then you have punishments coming."
"I know. I deserve them."
He was a good kid—he'd earned minor stuff, but he seemed to think he needed to set the balance right.
* * * *
Tony's boy did have matched luggage. He also had a world class pout.
"Rory, take him to the storeroom—clear off the old bunks so you have somewhere to sleep."
Rory knew bunks were a step up from the floor—in comfort, at least. Rob and Jamie, and even twink, knew the floor by me was an honorable spot. Blondie sneered as he looked around the cabin. My palms itched to spank him, but Tony and I needed to talk first.
"Fuck,” muttered Tony. “John—we need this break. I know I dug this hole for myself and I like him looking good, but shit, it's hard to step back."
"So, what are my limits?"
Tony revealed his boy was a massive pain slut, but Tony also wanted better ordinary service.
"Fisting and suspensions are fine, but I want my breakfast made and my drin
k brought to me. Even with the maid service, he's sloppy."
I overheard blondie say the storeroom must be for Rory, not him. It's not much more than a closed-in porch where we used to sleep as kids. The empty bunks work as shelves for bulk supplies.
I cleared my throat. “The maid has to go, Tony."
"My place will be filthy."
"Not once he's finished here."
"Great. I can't tell you how I hate having a stranger clean my home."
Tony was pretty sour on his boy right then. A cute ass and good blowjobs don't stack up long-term against an obedient boy. But that's what kept me in business. He shook my hand. He looked for a moment as if he'd leave, but he called for his boy.
Blondie sauntered out, still impeccable. Rory followed, rumpled and grubby.
Tony pecked him on the cheek, and paused. “Be good, baby; if Dr Fell gives me a good report, perhaps we can discuss the branding."
I saw a glimmer in the boy's eye.
After Tony left, I sent Rory to clean up. I ignored blondie. His exasperated huffs became more and more intrusive.
"I'm reading the paper, boy. Be quiet."
"But I'm standing here! You're ignoring me!"
I glared at him over my paper. Oh, God. A pain slut acting up. I returned to my reading. He still had the nerve to sulk when I looked up an hour later and said, “You can stay there until I say otherwise."
I left him there through the day and into evening. Rory worked around him giving me half-amused, half-scared looks.
By the time Rory served my dinner, the boy was crying.
He hung his head when I stepped past him to the porch for my after-dinner scotch and cigar.
I kicked his matched luggage still sitting there.
"Get out here."
He almost overshot and stumbled on the top step. He tried not to jiggle.
I pointed to the bush at the base of the porch.
"Water it."
He unzipped and held himself, but couldn't piss.
I clipped the end of my cigar and he whimpered.
I lit my cigar. When he still didn't piss, I snick-snacked the cutter.
An amber stream shot out. He peed a long time. Before he shook off, I said, “leave it out and wet."
Drops landed on his designer jeans.
"Take them off."
He kicked off his shoes and stepped out of his jeans.
"And the rest."
He removed his briefs, socks and t-shirt.
"Turn."
Tony wasn't exaggerating. The boy was in superb condition, with healing suspension wounds on his chest. His rump had fresh lash marks. Tony had given him a farewell whipping. A shame his attitude was back in place before their parting.
I smoked and sipped while the boy shivered in the chill. What an unexpected pleasure to have a pain slut to discipline instead of just a spoiled pampered pet. I decided he wouldn't be beaten or fucked until Tony returned.
I pointed to his luggage. “Take it inside. And pick your clothes up."
He was compliant, but did it because he must, not because he knew his place.
I finished my cigar—one of my precious Cohibas Gregorio managed to acquire. The guys send host gifts with their boys, and leave a discrete check when they collect them. I have scotch and cigars far beyond my humble means.
He'd put his bags in my room. Rory was bold; he made an uh-oh face at me from the kitchen. I snapped my fingers.
"Rory—bring me your punishment log. Now! And a blank book for the new boy."
"I'm Colby."
I wrote “training” on his book.
"Boys have to earn their names. Rory, another five swats. Tell the boy what he did."
"Your stuff doesn't go in sir's room. It's his space. And he told us, the bunks are ours."
"It's all my space, boy. But you're right. The boy was presumptuous to assume he was to sleep in my room. Especially since there's a senior boy already here. If anyone is alone in the storeroom, it's him."
The new boy went scarlet with rage. “Rory's not my senior! He's just Greg's little puppy! I'm Tony's sub!"
I almost abandoned my no-beating-him decision on the spot. I also noticed Rory's pleasure at being senior was crushed in a second. I ignore inter-sub rivalries unless they affect performance, but I am well aware the boys jostle for position and bitch at each other about their owner's status.
"Not here, you're not. Rory is my house boy. You are here to be retrained. You have no status until you earn it. Now, get your bags out of my room."
He hauled them out.
"Unpack necessities."
"I only brought necessities."
My hand twitched.
"Are there any prescriptions in there?"
He shook his head and then wailed when I had Rory lock his luggage away in my study. As directed, Rory returned with the luggage tag and a basic drugstore toothbrush from my supply closet. I pulled the address card out, wrote in block letters with a black marker “BAD BOY", and slid it back into his nice leather tag.
He scowled, but still wasn't worried enough. Rory had caught on and was trying not to laugh. He's a happy little sub under his puppy-dog tears and genuine worry about his master. The other boys do pick on him, so perhaps he's not as spoiled as I thought.
I made a show of examining the tag's leather loop.
Blondie squeaked when I cupped his balls and placed the leather around his cock base and balls. His cock twitched, though, when I tightened the loop and buckled it closed. I bounced his balls in my palm and watched as his cock swelled.
"Fuck,” he muttered because he knew me well enough to know he was not hard for his pleasure.
The clip end of the strap dangled on his thigh. The label poked his balls.
"You're on a short leash, boy. Where you need to be."
"You can't leave it on me."
"Then you'll have to be very good for the rest of the evening to earn its removal, won't you?"
I had the boy kneel in position—hands behind his head, legs spread—while Rory and I spent the evening in our usual manner. I read on the sofa and Rory made food for my freezer. He's a decent little cook.
Whenever I passed by the boy, I fluffed him a little. He'd stayed hard, though—my improvised cock ring had worked well.
I released his prick at bedtime, but tied his hands to the bunk head. Rory had the top bunk and I ordered him to look out for the tied boy during the night.
"No releasing him even for a drink or pee. If he tries to jerk off, stop him. Get me for an emergency. Otherwise he toughs it out. Got it?"
Rory nodded—enjoying his monitor status—and blondie pouted. I snapped out the light.
Perhaps Rory wasn't spoiled, just insecure. I suspected he needed confidence to stop begging from his owner.
I heard Rory's funny little snorts soon, but the new boy stayed awake for awhile, sniffling.
* * * *
I checked my messages in the morning. Nothing new from Gregorio. Rory sighed when I told him.
"I'm worried, sir. He needs me and I can't serve him. His family..."
"I know, boy. Believe me. I know."
I gave Rory a quick squeeze, handed him his punishment log, and told him to write in Gregorio's rules.
"I'll trust you to write them down. Since I'm in place of your owner, I need to know. No peeking at my notes."
He looked all puppy-eyed.
"Rory! Stop it. I won't ignore your consent issue, but I have to know if you break your owner's rules. I won't touch you, but I will record it."
"Sorry, sir, I panic sometimes. You do scare me."
Blondie made a crack under his breath. I heard “Rory” and “wannabe."
Rory looked back and forth as if he couldn't decide who was meaner. I grabbed blondie by the scruff of his neck and marched him outside.
"I need clothes—shoes—fuck..."
He stumbled over the rough ground and fell when I shoved him onto the nearest vegetable plot. They'd b
een ploughed, but nothing more.
"Hands and knees, boy. Clear the stones out. I see you walk like a human and I'll show you who the fucking dog is."
He asked for breakfast first. And for gloves. And his sunscreen. And his sunglasses.
He yelped as I attached his short leash. His rigid dick, trapped by the luggage tag, slapped against his stomach as he crawled. The longer he worked, the more dirt stuck to his sweaty belly. It made a mud with his drooling precome. Rory brought me an iced tea and handed me his log. I let him sit by my feet while I read it, and he watched blondie crawl and sob along the earth.
While I read, I stroked his head as a deliberate reassurance. I let it appear absent-minded since I knew simple affection would mean more to Rory and sting blondie worse than a planned jibe.
Rory had neatly written out Gregorio's rules and preferences, and I trusted they were correct and complete since he knew Gregorio would see them. According to these rules, he was not spoiled at all.
I looked down. Rory was staring at the boy.
"Something to say, boy?"
"Sir,” he said very slowly. “Sir, can I consent without my sir here? Please, Dr Fell. I've told you all sir's rules. I didn't skip any. And he wants me to consent. He's asked me before if I'd agree to be trained by you. Please. It'd be good for him to come back from the funeral and I'm re-trained. I'll have got this brat out of myself."
He still stared at the crawling boy. He wasn't aroused himself. Fascinated, yes, but more than that. He wanted to be Gregorio's trained boy. I hid my pleasure, and frowned. I had Rory turn to face me. “Not without his permission, boy. I won't touch you. And his mom's not dead yet, boy. Don't bury her too soon."
He squirmed at his slip. He wanted his owner back and healing, not away still facing loss.
"Can we e-mail him, sir? He'll only check his mail if he's able, and if he doesn't check then we haven't bothered him."
I ruffled Rory's hair.
"I'll e-mail him. But you know you've a whipping coming to get you a clean slate."
I flipped his book open to show that his logged riding crop swats had accrued to where they rolled over to a whipping, and he gasped, but nodded.
"Yes, sir. I still want to. Please. I love sir. I want to be better for him."
