Lost and Found: Erotic Pets Page 3

  Since the guys were full of how seriously they mean the foundation, they can hardly argue against their director candidate proposing to do a good job. They balk briefly at the clause saying new members need to be approved by the board and that we need a disciplinary review committee, but they shut up when I say, “Remember Jamie.”

  “And we really do plan to donate to shelters and violence programs, John,” says Greg. “It’s not just a front for anything. I’ll do the financial parts.”

  “But Charlie is your joint assistant,” says Ben. “That’s a deal breaker, John.”

  Twink smiles eagerly at me from his note-taking position.

  “Jesus Christ. All right. I can’t let something like working with twink block me from getting you guys off your privileged asses and turning your trophy wives into proper subs.”

  “So moved,” says Ben. “All in favor of accepting Dr. Fell’s counterproposal? The ayes have it!”

  Twink looks like he’s about to hug me, but he correctly interprets and obeys my glare for a change. His commitment ceremony to Ben is the next topic anyway, so he’s distracted from me right away.

  Some of the guys tease twink by marveling that they’d never thought he’d be worth it, but no one objects to Ben’s announcement that twink will be tattooed with his initials. There are some tough questions when Brin wants permanent bracelets on Luke. We’d assumed they’d be soldered on, but Brin says he has a different method in mind, and Luke knows and has said yes. Simon adds that he’s been consulted about the whole issue, and will be taking part. No one is quite happy, but we agree that if Mike will supervise then we’ll be okay with it.

  Gregorio says he’s ready to make Rory his partner, and has a brand selected. My heart gives a squeeze. I know Rory’s never going to be mine, and I’m reconciled to that. He was too hard on the heels of Jamie for me to withstand, and I’ve hardened my shell again since the double disaster of Jamie and Rory. It’s making finding a new boy hard, however willing to look I tell myself I am.

  “Anyone else?” asks Ben.

  Tony gives a heavy sigh, and says he’s ready to have Colby marked. He doesn’t look too enthused and I suspect that Colby’s the one more into this ceremony than Tony. For a moment I flash on Brad’s trapped look, but at least Tony’s in an honest relationship.

  We break up the serious shit for the evening and settle in to relax. The presence of Nick and Steve is a mild inhibitor, but the guys are loosening up around each other. Ben announces that twink is available to anyone who asks, and Brin, Simon, Bill, and Tony announce that their boys will take turns being on blow job duty through the week. Boys are getting totally naked and there are quite a few squeals and moans around the camp fire. Poor wee Owen is sticking close to Pete. I think so many Sirs and so many shameless boys are too much for him. Pete keeps a protective arm around his timid boy. Rinnie looks as bewildered as hell, and is positively jumpy by bedtime. Steve has kept him on his leash most of the day except for our first language lesson.

  There’s loud sex from many tents, and an enthusiastic beating keeps me awake for awhile, but the distraction has been good -- I’ve not brooded about my birthday at all, and I’ve trusted the guys to ignore it as promised. I forgot to include Chris and Mike in that promise, so I can’t growl in the morning when Chris gives me a framed sketch of Rob laughing and smiling, but I can swat twink for flinging his arms around me and hollering in front of everyone: “Happy Birthday, Dr. Fell, Sir!” and then giving me a present. And I can bitch at Ben for giving twink permission to spend his allowance on an iPod for me.

  Ben just laughs. “John, my boy wants you to join at least the twentieth century. Besides, try it. You’ll like it.”

  I stick the buds in my ears, and twink shows me which button to press. I am shocked -- I do like it. Bloody hell. Portable Purcell!

  I grudgingly thank twink, and he beams at me. “I can teach you to download, sir. And Ben picked the music, sir.”

  I look at the playlist, and snort. “He must have. There’s no Mariah Dion on here...”

  “Oh, sir,” sighs twink. “That’s...” Ben hustles him away before I can see what he says to “Judy Streisand.”

  Everyone else has the good sense to ignore my birthday. I take a long walk with my new iPod. I’m impressed at how well Ben knows my tastes, and at how much you can fit on to one of these tiny things. I have a deliciously maudlin moment by the creek listening to part of Mozart’s Requiem and conjuring Chris’s sketch of Rob in my mind. But it’s not truly grief any more. It’s loneliness and love. I can enjoy remembering him.

  When I get back, I see twink in earnest conversation with Chris, and I remember I need to have Mike warn Chris about sharing anything with twink. I may be too late. Twink has his puppy in the rain face on, and is trying to give me another hug. Chris plainly realizes what he’s just done.

  “Report to Mike, Chris. Twink, what the hell?”

  Chris hangs his head, and sets off, and twink is actually sniffling into my shirt. He boo-hoos his way through telling me that Chris told him how Rob’s family used his keys to clear out our home while I was still at the hospital. And how they burned Rob’s sketchbook and left the ashes in the sink.

  I pat twink’s back, and sigh. “Charlie, come on, stop it.”

  “But it’s so sad,” wails twink. “You had nothing...”

  I look around for Ben to rescue me. Nowhere. So I slap twink’s ass hard. “Behave yourself, brat. Don’t make me regret agreeing to fuck you later. Now go and do something useful.”

  That shuts him up, and he dashes off.

  Chris has confessed to Mike and is already strapped to the St. Andrew’s cross. Mike’s waiting to corroborate events with me, and when he hears my side, he hands me the crop.

  “You beat him, dude. It’ll do you good.”

  Chris is already mortified that he’s pissed us both off, and at being punished in front of the other boys. He’s been a little too proud of his status as a ten-year owned boy. He’s crying with shame.

  And I make it worse by giving him a single ceremonial swipe with the crop, and walking away.

  Mike comes with me. He’s known me for far too long to be surprised that I’m angry. He knows how I cherished the private nature of my relationship with Rob. But he also knows how long I’ve known Ben, and suddenly I’m worried that he might think Ben’s deeper in my confidence than he actually is. I need to make sure he doesn’t reveal anything about how he first met me to Ben.

  “Fuck, John,” he says, disgusted with me for thinking it of him. “I know Ben is your best friend, but I wouldn’t tell him that.”

  “Sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I walk back, and give Chris a proper ass whaling to make things right between us all. Chris gives me a hug when he’s released, and, from him, I accept it. In fact, I even squeeze back. I know he’s healing from Rob, too.

  Morning irritations aside, it’s my best birthday since Rob died. Chris makes me a steak for lunch, and I get a blow job from whichever boy it is assigned to the oral station. Bill’s boy Kyle, I think. I usually ignore him as he’s one of Laurie and Colby’s mean boy clique, but he can suck a prick just fine.

  I’m horny again in the afternoon, and actually look for twink since I’ve promised him a fuck, but he’s off somewhere in the woods playing hide and seek. I can hear his distinctive giggles even among the other boys yelling. I remind myself to have the boys check each other everywhere for ticks when they get back.

  It’s just as well I didn’t get off again, as to my mortification the guys have arranged a birthday “treat” for me. Part way through dinner, a hot pink Vespa shoots up the track, and a slender boy dismounts and heads towards the fire. Ben and Pete are both pointing at me, and the boy slinks my way.

  “You sons of bitches,” I say ungraciously as the boy wiggles and sings his imitation of Marilyn Monroe wishing Kennedy Happy Birthday. But that’s not the worst of it: music starts up and he begins to undulate.

  Damn it, he’s pee
ling off his jacket and is flaunting his ass at me. Actually, it is a nice ass.

  Ben gives me a cold beer, and says, “Kick back buddy. He’s yours for the night. Let him do his shtick. You’ll like it.”

  Well, he was right about the bloody iPod, so I take a pull of Sam Adams -- even Nick likes that beer -- and watch the boy. His boots and jeans have gone now, and the other guys and even the boys are hooting and hollering at him to take his shorts off.

  He spins in front of the fire, and his long black braid flies out behind him, and then swishes across his bare brown back, and sweeps his ass. Fuck, he has hips like a knife... Egyptian eyes... straight dark eyebrows... smooth cheeks... bugger, he’s lovely, and he’s not raunching it up either, just doing an erotic seductive dance...

  “All right,” I grumble to Ben. “I like it.”

  “There’s more.”

  The boy is using the fire light and dusk well, and his earrings glint and the turquoise and silver bracelets on his wrists enhance his motions. They clatter together suddenly and draw attention to the colored hankies he’s magically produced.

  The boy is doing a veil dance with bandanas. He twitches them and flips them around his ass and crotch as he eases off his shorts bit by bit. We get little flashes of silver to show he has some more piercings, but not enough to see exactly where they are.

  He’s making sure everyone enjoys the dance, but I am the main audience. All his best moves are directed at me, and I’m becoming increasingly appreciative.

  There’s a whoop from twink as the boy’s shorts go flying from the end of his toes, and I catch them before they hit my face. His hankies work expertly to hide full looks at his ass or cock and balls, but he’s now dancing just for me and getting closer and closer.

  “He’d better not offer me a lap dance,” I growl to Ben.

  “Better than that,” says Ben with an evil grin.

  The boy is circling his compass-rose tattooed navel just inches from my face now. The music reaches a peak and the boy gives a final flourish and kneels in front of me, hankies like a bouquet over his crotch.

  He has a sweet husky voice: “Sir -- your choice of a color, and I’ll submit to what you choose for the night.”

  I give Ben a quick look. “For real?”

  Ben nods. “Pick your poison, dude.”

  It doesn’t take a genius to know I’m going to pick the black bandana, but I run my fingers through the fabrics, and tweak at different ones. Ben and twink must have picked them because there’s not a single one that wouldn’t please me. I tug lightly at the red one to see the boy gasp as he focuses on my hands, and then I brush the gray, fuchsia, and dark blue in turn. I flip at the light blue, and deep pink, and pause on the purple to see his eyes light up. I laugh. “You think this one doesn’t let me do all the others if I want them?” I tug out the black, and he puts his head on my boots.

  The guys are applauding and whistling, and I wait until it dies down. I’m not one to like an audience, so I let the boy move to kneel beside me, and plan to take him to my room later. The boy has tied the black bandana around his wrist and the others are still crumpled in his lap. Very modest for a whore. Now he’s not dancing he looks a little tired, but not bothered by my choice nor the waiting. He shakes his head when I offer him a beer, and I don’t take another either. He eats a chicken drumstick when I let the serving boy offer it to him. I wait until the group starts drifting away from the fire before I take the end of the black bandana and lead him up the porch steps. Nick gives me a knowing nod, but no one else notices -- they’re all busy with their own boys. It feels a bit inhospitable to leave Nick solo, but damn it, this is my birthday present and I’m not sharing!

  I take the bunched up bandanas from the boy’s hands and look at his prick. He’s not shaved and his soft brown cock rests in dark curls. He’s uncut and the silver flashes I saw are a hoop in his foreskin tip, and a ring just behind his balls. He keeps his hands away so I can see.

  I move his hands behind his back and tie his wrists with the black bandana. He smells of wood smoke and faint musk from his dancing. My cock twitches.

  “You’ve truly consented?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Safe word?”

  “Silver surfer, sir.”

  I shake my head. Boys and their safe words. Still it’s not as bad as “banana.”

  “I know I’ve picked black, but is there anything off limits?”

  “Nothing so long as there’s no permanent marks or injury, and I can work next weekend.” He sounds as if he’s reciting.

  I lift his chin with my finger. “That your rule or your boss’s?”

  “My owner’s,” he says defiantly.

  I pause. I’m okay with him being a hooker, but I’m not sure I like his owner pimping him out.

  “Sir,” he says softly. “I knew the deal when I signed his contract. But thank you.”

  I nod and flip him over the back of the sofa and beat the back of his thighs with my belt so I can watch his ass squirm and buck and his bound hands flex helplessly just higher than the blows.

  It’s just a minor beating to warm us both up, and he knows it.

  I leave him kneeling, hands still bound, while I circle him. His thighs are rosy underneath the brown skin and he plainly doesn’t want to sit back on his heels. That’s okay -- up on his knees he’s the perfect height for my prick. He opens his mouth willingly and, while I know he’s a professional, I’m in awe at how smoothly he takes me in. I stand still, and he glides his head back and forth lips meeting my balls each in stroke, and tongue flipping my knob on every out. He doesn’t seem at all hampered by having his hands tied.

  It’s far too easy for him. There’s nothing worthy of a black hanky in some minor bondage and a blow job. And he’s far too much in control. I twine his braid around my hand, and tug until I have him immobile. I slide all the way into his mouth and stop. I stay in deep, my cock head against his uvula, and I feel his fight to control his gag reflex. His eyes widen as he realizes what I’m doing, and I see his shoulders lift as his hands try to break free.

  I ease off, and let him gratefully tongue around my glans. I don’t want to come yet, and I want him to understand the control I have, so I slide back down again and watch him work through his panic again as my cock blocks his airway.

  Man, I’ve never had such good tongue work as I get when I ease off again. The boy wants me to come, but it’s far too early for that. His prick is bouncing as he works, and I admire how the foreskin piercing has traveled back as his head has emerged.

  “Does your owner lead you by that?”

  I take my cock out of his mouth so he can answer.

  “Yes sir. He has a leash for both hoops. He uses my hair too.”

  I laugh. “Don’t volunteer information, silly sub.”

  He blushes. “I’m sure you’d have thought of it anyway, sir.”

  He’s right, but cheeky, so I tug him to his feet by his braid, and lead him to the bathroom.

  “I want you very clean.”

  He shudders, but steps into the shower and patiently stands under the spray while I scrub him down. It’s not a sexy fun shower and he looks downright pitiful by the time I’m done. As careful as I was to keep his hair held aside, his braid is dripping, and I squeeze it out in a towel. He wriggles his wrists in the wet bandana.

  “Is it too tight?”

  He’s an honest boy, and says no, even though I can tell he wants it off.

  “Well, I don’t want you getting the cabin wet.” I cut him free with the ER scissors I keep around.

  He rubs his damp wrists and I see they have chafed a little. I snap my fingers and he follows me to my study. The futon has a good frame for bondage and he looks succulent spread eagled on it with his ankles and wrists tied to the corners. He looks a little startled to be face up.

  I grin. “Oh, your ass is going to wait awhile, boy.” I fondle his cock for a moment and watch it come back to life, and then roll his balls in my pa
lm. I pull his braid diagonal across his chest, and tickle his prick with the end. He moans. The leather thong at the end of his braid puts an idea in my head, and I thread it through the two piercing loops and tie it back to the braid. He gives me a hurt look.

  “That’s not how I meant sir uses it.”