Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Will
I wrote out a few more rules for him based on his list and our talk, and made a note that he’d have a list of his rules on the playroom wall, and we’d add them to it as they came up. If he disagreed with a rule the first time it was given, he could negotiate it at that time, but once he accepted it, he’d be punished in the future for not abiding by it.
I incorporated the rest of his list into the contract, made adjustments in all the highlighted areas, then went over my handwritten notes again and made a few more changes.
He would spend his entire weekends with me, from Friday when he got off work until time to return to work on Monday. He’d said he might need to go in on Saturday if he got behind, so I referenced the clause about his work obligations coming first. We’d deal with changes as they came up.
I added text to be clear there would be no piercings or other body mods during this temporary contract, and made a note that everything possible will be done to keep the public from figuring out who he is if we’re seen together in public.
I found it interesting that his objections had been more about the power exchange in general than about what happened during scenes. It concerned me, his lack of physical hard limits, and yet, I knew more of his history now so I felt certain it wasn’t a lack of understanding. He fully grasped the possibilities, and yet he wasn’t trying to limit me, other than scat play and permanent changes to his body.
Speaking of scat play, I went back and added, ‘other than enemas for either cleanliness or torture, or a combination of the two’ in the ‘no scat play’ clause.
I’d put the other chair on the front porch and told him to sit outside and wait if he finished before me, and that’s where I found him when I was happy with the contract.
And so, I sat him down at the table to read it, showed him how the track changes feature worked, so he could delete and retype, and then I could either accept or reject his changes later, and I went to the floor and started doing crunches.
I planned to run through the routine I’d given him, though I expected he’d finish before I managed a full circuit.
And I considered Davy’s tiny house. The stove was just wide enough for two eyes, one in front and one in back. The sink was maybe ten inches wide, and there wasn’t a sink in the tiny bathroom at all, just a toilet and a narrow shower, barely big enough to step into. Our tour bus has a small refrigerator, an electric kettle, and a microwave, but that area feels bigger than his kitchen, though I suppose it’s just a section of cabinet space, and not really a kitchen. No sink. Just bottled water in the fridge.
I’d need to give him the grand tour of my home this evening. He’d only seen the playroom, and had no idea it’s this sort-of-castle-looking manse behind twelve-foot walls.
When my ab muscles wouldn’t let me do another crunch, I went outside and sprinted back and forth. It works better for me to count every time I turn around, so I made it to ten before I came back inside and started with push-ups.
* * * *
Davy
Is it wrong that I was disappointed the contract wasn’t strict enough? I felt like I needed to make some changes, but nothing stood out. Everything was as we’d discussed.
Imagine my surprise when Will pulled a nine-inch-wide tube-shaped device he told me was a printer from his laptop bag when I told him I didn’t have any changes. He didn’t even have to plug it in, just turned it on and then went to the laptop and told it to print.
“We will each write our first initial on every sheet, but legally, it’s best we don’t sign our names. I will never give anyone a reason to try to have me declared mentally incompetent. It’s been done to other performers, so they lost the ability to handle their own finances, their business career, the kind of music they perform.”
I’d never considered that, but it made sense. Mostly, I was remaining silent until I could call him Master and Sir. I wanted to go to my knees and worship him, but we were supposed to still be equals.
“After we print this out and initial it, I’ll be leaving in the McLaren with one of my security guys. The other will bring you to me. I know you thought you’d be driving to my house, but we don’t want someone seeing your car coming and going from the property. All they have to do is look up your license plate and they’ll have your name. So, you’ll have a driver bringing you to me and back to work. Today, Ranger will open the garage for you, and you know the rules from there. Anything on the shelf where you put your clothes should be put on you or in you once you disrobe. The door going into the house will be unlocked, and the door to the playroom will be open. Stand in inspection pose over the grate and wait for me.”
The contract was three pages long, and when the third page started printing, he said, “This thermal paper says it lasts seven years, but I find it starts to fade at around four or five years. Or the stuff I used four or five years ago does. Maybe this is better. Either way, we’ll sign a long-term one well before then, and we’ll print it on normal paper. This is your copy. I’ll have another copy in the playroom so we can reference it, and as I said before, your rules will be posted on the wall.”
He glanced over all three sheets, wrote a W on the bottom corner of each, and then pushed them towards me and handed me the pen. I wrote a D on all three, then glanced over them, and looked at him in expectation. Surely he’d do something to memorialize the moment?
“Who am I, slave?”
“Master, Sir. You’re my Master.”
“I am. Put some jeans and a shirt on, and whatever shoes or boots you want, and then go outside. If you need to pack a bag for whatever you’ll need for the next week or so at work, do so. If you need any toiletries I won’t have — special soap or shampoo or whatever — those should be packed in a disposable grocery store bag. I assume you have at least one?”
“I do, Master.”
“Leave both in the garage. My house manager will retrieve your toiletries and take them to my bathroom. You’ll be in disguise over the weekend, and the security team will provide your clothes and probably shoes. Bring some sneakers in case those will work with whatever they come up with. You already know I’ve provided a toothbrush and comb. Is there something I’m missing?”
“Can I shower before I come to you, Master?”
“No. Anything else?”
“I can’t think of anything, Master.”
“What do your rules say about touching yourself?”
“Only as much as needed to shower and clean myself, Master.”
And with that, he turned and left, which was both disappointing and exciting. He didn’t have to explain himself to his slave. He could issue orders and leave since I was his property, but he’d have had to do more for a boyfriend.
And my dick was granite hard, throbbing in time to my elevated heart rate. I wanted to palm it, even if I couldn’t jack off, but the rules weren’t just that I couldn’t masturbate, but that I couldn’t touch it more than necessary to keep it clean.
I got a Walmart bag from my kitchen, climbed my ladder, changed clothes, packed what I needed in a duffel, tossed the bag down so it landed on the loveseat, and then put my soap and shampoo into the plastic bag, looped it over my wrist, and made my way down the ladder.
I’d taken my work boots off at the shop before I showered and then wore my sneakers here, and I’d probably keep doing that, so I’d make sure I had them at work. It meant I could wear the sneakers and only needed to pack enough clothes for work. I keep some extra shirts and a clean pair of jeans in my locker, but mostly, I change at home.
I supposed I’d be dressing for work in Will’s garage a whole lot.
* * * *
Will
Davy was magnificent, standing in the center of my playroom. He didn’t know it, but he’d be doing some damned painful ab work on a schedule, and the boy would have ripped abs in a few months. It’s important to me to find someone who can eroticize exercise, because I love using a whip or cane to ensure a few more reps than my slave feels is possible.
But now, even before I’d had a chance to do a little sculpting, he was near perfection. He was small, sure, but perhaps compact is a better word. Davy works for a living, and his sinewy muscles tell a story of youth and vitality. His hair was fashionably cut, but I knew from Ghost that Keisha cut his hair for him, or sometimes one of the biker’s ol’ladies. It’d seemed an oddity, at first. This young man who appears so oblivious to fashion, and who pinched his pennies — it’d felt inconsistent that he’d spring for an expensive, stylish cut.
I walked in a circle around him, looking him over. I checked all four cuffs to be certain they weren’t too loose or too tight, and I wiggled the butt plug I’d had him insert. This one was holding him wide open. I’d actually provided two of them, with instructions to put the other in, wait a few moments, and then swap it out for this one. If he couldn’t fit the larger one in, he was to put the original back in, but he’d managed the large one.
I’d moved the garage camera my security team has access to so it doesn’t show the section of garage where Davy changes, and I’d added my own camera to the area, outside of their network, so the stream is only available through an encrypted connection to my phone. It doesn’t record anything, it only streams, but it let me watch him put the plugs in, and he certainly struggled to get the larger plug in, but he managed.
Before I could fist him, I had to clean him out. I walked to the wall to begin gathering what I’d need, and I told him, “You’ve followed instructions well during your first hour as my property. Go into the jail cell and lean over the bed.”
The bed is the right height for me to fuck someone who’s leaned over it, and that meant his feet weren’t likely to touch the ground if his hips were all the way on it. Or, that’s the case with most of the women I’ve brought home. I have a step I can put down if necessary, but it looks better to keep the jail cell unadorned. Stark.
I brought a step in for him to stand on, and told him, “Step on the scales, slave.”
He stood, looked around, saw them by the toilet, and walked to them. I’d brought my own bathroom scales down earlier because I wanted to weigh him before I cleaned him out. The contract was clear I’d be keeping track of his physical stats, and weight is certainly one of those.
The display showed 134.7, and I made a note on my phone.
“How often do you weigh yourself? Did your previous Masters keep track of your weight?”
“My first Master weighed me all the time, and if I was ever over one hundred and twenty-five, I was punished, Sir. My second Master made me work out because he said I was a weakling, but I didn’t get to weigh myself until we were out of prison, and I weighed a few pounds more than I do now. I weigh myself at work every once in a while, but I don’t have scales at home, Master.”
“I’ll require you to weigh twice a week, for now. That could increase or decrease.”
He’d be working out a whole helluva lot, and I needed to be sure he didn’t gain or lose too much.
“Do you know how tall you are, boy?”
“Five eight, Master.” He sighed. “Technically, I’m nearly five seven and a half. I round up, usually, but it feels as if I shouldn’t with you.”
“Thank you for that.” I made note of his height, made a mental note to measure him to be certain of his exact height, and told him, “Back to the bed, and use the step this time to bend over the bed.”
He immediately obeyed, and I was pleased.
Bubbles had told me they were in dorm-type rooms, not cells, at the minimum-security facility, so I didn’t think being inside my kinky jail cell was bringing back bad memories, but I supposed we should talk about that at some point. Not today, though. He seemed fine, and I was right here with him.
I closed the clamp on the hose, put some soap into the two-quart can, filled it with room temperature water, and hung it high over his head. I filled nine identical cans and hung them on the same rod, all lined up. One with the same amount of soap, four with a little less, and the rest plain water with a little salt. He’d get two quarts with soap, then at least three quarts with less soap, and then a whole bunch of plain-water enemas to make sure all the soap — and everything else — was rinsed out.
The toilet was close, and he’d use it for all but the last, where I’d stand him over the grate so I could be double-dog sure everything coming out of him was clear and clean.
Enemas serve a whole lot of purposes in a power exchange relationship. It’s a reminder I own all of his body now, even deep, deep into his bowels. He has nothing secret from me, not even shitting. My guess was that’d been made clear by other masters, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need the lesson again from me. It’s physical and psychological, and I have to admit the sadist in me loves the ability to give painful cramps. Sometimes, it’s more fun with a bardex-type valve, other times it’s more fun to force them to hold it in or make a mess they’ll just have to clean up. Today, I went with the balloon valves for the first two enemas, so he had no choice but to endure the cramps.