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The House Boy
Part 2
I took a
longer shower than I really needed to, probably. Wasn't hard to explain why I
lingered. It had been a few days; washing off the accumulated grossness felt
good. The water pressure felt a little higher than normal, almost like a
massage. The heat soothed me, rejuvenating muscles that hadn't seen much use in
the last little while.
Oh, and
there was a teenager just outside my bathroom, in my apartment, planning to
stay here and be my servant, and calling me Master.
To many
others in my position, that last one would probably be a reason to hurry the
fuck up out of the shower, but I found myself rooted to the spot in my
bathtub. The fantasy is one thing. The reality is something else entirely.
There were
so many bad endings here, and for each of those bad endings, numberless
ways to get there. Of all of those, maybe out of self-preservation, my mind
retreated to the most practical one: I was a 25-year-old single guy. I was not
equipped to look after a teenager. I wouldn't even know where to start. Would I
have to take care of this kid forever? Or until he was 18? No, I thought to
myself, shaking my head. There was no way this would go on that long. But in
the meantime, what about food, clothing? I didn't have the kind of money I'd
need to support this kid and myself. And what about school? And if he
didn't go, what if the school tried to call home? They'd call his dad, I
supposed, but what if truant officers got involved? Or Children's Aid?
Come to
think of it, should I have be calling Children's Aid? That was the other
thing. The way I could see it, there were two possibilities here: either Adrian
was lying, and his dad had no idea where he was, or he was telling the truth,
and his dad literally "trained" him – the thought made me cringe – for this
exact scenario. I wasn't sure which scenario I preferred. If the kid was lying,
I'd have to call his dad and tell him where his son was, and that meant I'd
have to explain why he would have come here of all places, which would
mean explaining our sauna visits, which I did not want to do.
But if
Adrian was telling the truth, the next steps were no less uncomfortable.
I had to assume his mom didn't sign off on this, and obviously there was no way
in hell any layer of the legal system would have known about this, so I
had no choice other than calling up Children's Aid or the police. If I did
neither, let him stay here, and got found out, I was absolutely screwed. But –
I leaned on the wall as I thought through this bit – I might already have been
at that point, because I had invited him here. The kid asked if I'd
accept him, and I said yes. Of course the only ones who knew that were Adrian
and myself...unless Dad really was in the loop, which meant I'd have a harder
time denying it.
This is so fucked, I thought to myself.
I
eventually realized the water was going to go cold on me if I didn't finish up
soon, and I hadn't even properly washed yet. Hoping to distract myself a
little, I shampooed and lathered up my hair (and promising myself I would get
it cut soon), and left it in while I grabbed the bar of soap and started
getting the essentials: pits, ass, cock `n' balls. Just following my shower
routine helped calm me down, and I formulated the beginnings of a plan.
Whatever else I did, I had to talk to the kid's dad. Everything started there.
Once that happened, I'd have more information, and I could figure out my next
step. One problem at a time, I reminded myself.
I finished
soaping up my ass, scrubbing it clean and, as always, privately enjoying the
sensation of my fingers along the rim. Finishing up back there, I brought my
hand around to my dick and my balls, and out of absolutely nowhere, I suddenly
remembered Adrian's naked body, sitting there in the sauna. Every detail was
etched clearly in my mind: the beads of sweat along his skin, the tiny, perky
nipples and perfect collarbone, the flat stomach and completely hairless nether
region...the way his little cock sat there, just long enough for gravity
to tug it down, resting innocently atop those small testicles, still nestled
close to his body...
I had
already been braced against the shower wall and stroking my erection for
several seconds before I even realized I was doing it. I started to slow down,
will my dick to soften again, but then I thought of his quiet, sweet offer to
change into his "uniform," and imagined what it might be like to step out of
here and have that perfect, beautiful sight greet me. I grew even harder, my
cock straining against its very skin, the uncircumcised tip poking out from my
foreskin.
I closed my
eyes for a moment and sighed. Maybe it would be better to rub it out now, have
a clear head when I was done. Make sure I was thinking with the right
head.
I relented,
speeding up my strokes again. The soap made my shaft nice and slick, and before
long I was jerking off with abandon, administering my self-love just the way I
liked it. I steadied my feet against the sides of the tub, feeling my balls
shake with each downward stroke. The head of my dick slipped in and out of
view, disappearing over and over again beneath the skin of my closed fist,
peering out as my foreskin slid back.
At some
point I closed my eyes, and I imagined Adrian doing it for me, that captivating
naked body here in the shower. I imagined him standing there, or maybe even on
his knees, just out of reach of the cascading water, every perfect hair in
place, and the beautiful eye – maybe even both of them – staring adoringly up
at me while his hand expertly coaxed me toward climax. Even in my imagination,
I couldn't put any expression on his face besides the one I saw most often: the
soft, attentive gaze of one who fits exactly in his place, taking pleasure in
performing his duty, but keeping that pleasure hidden from view.
"Just
relax, Master Scott," he said in my mind. "Relax and let your boy take care of
you."
I couldn't
hold it back after that. I stifled a moan, my hips spasming involuntarily, my
load shooting out of me and splattering on the shower wall. Try as I might to
be quiet, I couldn't hold in a clenched "mmmph!!" as my knees trembled. One
last spurt left my twitching cock before it subsided to little leftover
dribbles, washed away by the stream of water.
I stood
there for a minute, panting slightly. I hadn't had an orgasm that good
in a long time. Hadn't had a fantasy that vivid, either.
Could be
more than just a fantasy, said a rebellious
part of my mind.
I mentally
shoved the voice down, allowing the several other voices of reason to take
over. Time to get out of the shower, Scott. Time to stop procrastinating,
face this mess you made, and fix it.
I let out a
resigned sigh and reached down to turn off the water. When I did, I realized
that I'd left the bathroom door open, and there was a sound coming from outside
the bathroom. Like a faint, sizzling sound. And there was a smell. A damn good
smell, actually. I pulled aside the curtain, hastily wrapping the towel around
my waist but still dripping wet, and poked my head out.
My
apartment was more or less one big room (aside from the bedroom), so from the
bathroom I had an unobstructed view of the kitchen. Adrian, still dressed in
the clothes he'd been wearing when he knocked on my door, was standing by a pan
on the stove, shifting something with a spatula. Whatever he was cooking
crackled appetizingly on the pan, and the aroma of peppers and onions and
spices wafted over to me. The toaster popped after another second, and I
watched as Adrian expertly positioned himself to plate and butter the toast
while keeping a watchful eye on the stove.
He was
cooking breakfast. He'd been here all of fifteen minutes and he was cooking
breakfast.
Somewhat
dazed, I slipped back into the bathroom to finish drying myself. Afterward,
hanging up the towel, I just stood and leaned on the counter for a second. My
first thought was of Lisa, standing in the kitchen, cooking breakfast just like
that. My second thought was the realization that I was comparing the boy in the
kitchen to my ex-girlfriend, which was a little fucked up. My third thought was
that I was starving.
But the
fourth one made me kick myself. Of course he's hungry. Should have been
the first thing I did: offer him something to eat. I barely even made him
comfortable at all, I was so wrapped in my own situation. I felt like a
jackass.
I hung my
head and started to get dressed again. When I stepped out of the bathroom a few
moments later, Adrian was walking to the table, toward a place already set with
knife, fork, and folded napkin. He carried a glass of orange juice, and a plate
with a perfect-looking, fluffy omelette, and a side of neatly-cut and
perfectly-buttered toast. Behind him, the pan and other cooking implements he
used were stacked neatly by the sink, waiting to be cleaned.
Give me 20
minutes and I could probably heat up some leftovers in a Tupperware, maybe.
Might even use a fork, if I'm feeling fancy.
I rubbed my
forehead and wandered over. "Hey, listen...I'm sorry. I should have, uh...I should
have gotten you something."
Adrian
turned to me, hands folded politely in front of him, and tilted his head. "Oh,
this isn't for me, Master Scott. It's for you."
I blinked.
"For me?"
"Of
course." He pulled out the chair, gesturing for me to sit. "I thought you might
have skipped breakfast."
I felt
myself walking almost helplessly to the chair, accepting it from him and
tucking myself in. I surveyed the mouth-watering meal on the plate, but forced
myself to turn back to him before started into it. "What about you? Did, uh...are
you having one?"
"Oh, no,
Sir." He shook his head slightly, making the neat lines of his hair wave
endearingly about his shoulders. "It wouldn't be appropriate for me to attend
to my own needs in front of you. I ate before I came here."
Jesus
Christ. I looked again at the plate, picking up my fork. I frowned at a new
thought. "I didn't think I had any of this stuff."
"No, Sir,"
Adrian replied. "I brought these groceries with me. It's my duty to anticipate
your needs, Master."
"You
carried all this in your backpack?"
"Yes, Sir."
"But what
about your clothes, your—you know, your stuff?"
He tilted
his head again, curious, and said, "as I mentioned when I arrived, Sir, I
imagined that I wouldn't be wearing anything while serving you, so I didn't
bring any other clothing."
"Right,
your uniform. Of course." I sighed, still staring at the omelette. It looked
like a perfect model photo out of a cookbook.
I noticed
Adrian shifting slightly out of the corner of my eye. "Master Scott," he
prompted, "Do you not want an omelette this morning? Did I make a mistake with
my choice?"
I shook my
head, snapping out of it. "No, no, God. It looks delicious."
I swear I
heard the tiniest sigh of relief before he said, "well, please eat up, Master,
before it gets cold." He left my side, and a moment later I heard the tap
running in the kitchen, and the slight clatter as he began to wash up.
Well, what
was I gonna do? I speared a forkful of the omelette, gazing at the tantalizing
egg, spinach, bright red peppers, purple onions, the ropy strands of melted
cheese. I tentatively lifted it to my mouth and felt myself go suddenly weak
for a moment. "Oh, my God," I muffled.
The sounds
behind me briefly stopped. "Is something wrong, Master?"
"Wrong?
Fuck." I swallowed. "This might be the best omelette I've ever eaten. Jesus."
There was a
brief moment before he replied, "I'm pleased you like it, Sir."
I glanced
back at him, busily resuming his work at the sink, and said, "where'd you learn
to cook like this?"
"It was
part of my training, Sir," he said, as if the question was self-explanatory. "A
good house boy can't care for a home without knowing how to prepare meals."
"House
boy?" I repeated.
"Yes, Sir."
I paused
for a second, feeling a small pit in my stomach, then said, "come sit down. I
want to hear more about this...training stuff."
"Oh, but..."
He looked from me to the pan he was rinsing, conflicted. "Sir, I need to—a-and
it's not my place to sit at the—"
"Look," I
interrupted, "I'm your Master, right?"
"Yes, Sir.
Of course."
I jerked my
head toward the spot at the table to my right. "Then do as I say. Sit down with
me."
I swear, I
had never once seen this boy blush. I didn't think he was capable of it. Yet, a
slight rosy tinge appeared on his cheeks as he gently set the pan down in the
rack to dry and obediently, if a little meekly, came to take the seat. He said
with his eyes respectfully downcast toward the table, his hands folded in his
lap.
I took
another bite of the, frankly, heavenly omelette and savoured it before I
swallowed and looked at the boy, thinking about what I wanted to ask him. "So,"
I finally said, "what is a house boy, exactly?"
As I
finished the question, Adrian sat up straighter, and the way he answered
reminded me of a child reciting at school. "The position of house boy is a
time-honoured tradition, Sir, from as early as the British Empire. A house boy
cares for the home, and for his Master, and sees to it that all his needs are
met."
I bit into
a slice of toast and chewed thoughtfully. "Sounds like a servant," I said.
"Yes, Sir."
"Servants
are paid," I pointed out.
His dutiful
composition faltered for a second, and I could have sworn he looked offended.
"With due respect, Master, a house boy doesn't want or need that."
"Why not?"
He shifted
uncomfortably. "Money is...is..." He squinted for a moment before he found, or
maybe remembered, the word. "It is status, Sir. Status is a thing for the
self-directed and self-governed. A house boy shouldn't think of himself that
way. He should think of himself as the property of his master."
Property. God, that was a loaded word. I ate another bite of the omelette
before I continued. "And when you say `all his needs,' you mean..."
"All, Sir.
A house boy should be able to anticipate and satisfy anything needed of him by
his household, be those needs domestic, personal, or intimate."
"Intimate?"
I repeated, though I had a feeling I knew what he meant.
"Sex, Sir,"
he said simply.
My dick
twitched in my jeans. I tried to ignore it. "That...doesn't sound like something
a servant would normally do."
His gaze
shifted straight ahead for a moment as considered his answer. "I...I'm sorry,
Sir, my dad can explain better than I can, but...in my family, a house boy is a house
boy, and not a servant, for a reason. And actually, it's not just...my
family, but..."
His eye
twitched a little bit, and I could tell he was trying to find the right words
for what he meant. I thought I was starting to understand, and I asked, "are
you saying there's other people out there like you and your dad and your
grandpa?"
He was gratified,
I think, that I understood. He nodded. "Yes, Sir."
"Like
an...organization of house boys, or something?"
At that,
something almost like a wince crossed his face. "I'm...not supposed to say, Sir.
I'm not even supposed to know, myself."
That was
troubling, but I held up a hand in surrender. "It's all right. I won't make
you, uh...break the rules." Yet. I wasn't going to drop this completely;
it was equally intriguing and horrific.
His relief
was a touch more obvious this time, though he simply nodded. "Thank you, Sir."
His eye flickered over to the remaining items in the kitchen yet to be cleaned,
and to my nearly-empty plate. "Is there anything else I can answer for you,
Sir?"
Anything
else, fuck, I thought. We'd barely scratched the
surface of all the things on my mind. But somehow I got the sense that I wasn't
doing the kid any favours. He was working very hard to stay poised, dignified,
and respectful, but I got the sense that he was absolutely straining on the
inside, and for what? I looked from him to the kitchen and back, picking up my
last slice of toast. "You genuinely want to go back to work, don't you?"
He shifted
his eyes slightly, just avoiding eye contact. "I want whatever you want
from me, Master Scott. No more and no less."
I leaned on
my elbow. "And if I said I wanted you to just...relax? Have fun, do whatever
makes you happy? What would you do?"
His eyes
met mine again, twinkling. "I'd go back to work, Sir."
"Why?"
"Because..." He
almost smiled. I think. "Because serving you makes me happy. Like I knew it
would, Sir."
I nodded.
Somehow I'd figured as much. The whole notion was patently bizarre to me (and
not a little concerning), but seeing him now, hearing him speak...I thought I understood
him a little better.
"All
right," I finally said. "Back to work, then, if that's what you want."
He stood,
folding his hands in front of him, and bowed slightly. "Yes, Master." His
confident stride and posture returned almost right away as he stepped to my
side and cleared my place at the table. As he did so, he glanced sidelong at me
and said, in a comforting, reassuring tone, "don't worry, Sir. You'll get the
hang of it soon." That said, he strode past me, heading back into the kitchen.
I shortly heard the clatter of the dishes in the sink. Back to work, indeed.
I sat there
for a few moments, looking at the spot on the table where once had sat the best
breakfast I'd eaten in years. There was still more to do. I definitely needed
to speak to his father, find out more about this...house boy organization. Or
cult. Whatever it turned out to be. And I really wasn't much closer to a way
out of this mess.
Right then,
though, none of that seemed to matter as much. In fact...
I stood up,
stretching, and turned around. "Adrian?"
"Yes, Sir?"
I put my
hands in my pockets. "Working in your, um...uniform. Would that make you happy?"
His mouth
twitched a little. "Due respect, Master Scott...all you need is to ask yourself
if it would make you happy, and you'll know my answer."
We stood
there for a moment, each appraising the other. I felt a slight smirk cross my
face. "Get changed, then," I told him.
Something
flickered through his uncovered eye, a mix of satisfaction and maybe amusement,
and he set the plate back down in the soapy water. "Of course, Sir."
I watched
him undress. My eyes lingered along every inch of skin as it was revealed to
me, starting from his abdomen and navel as he lifted his top, past his nipples
and up along his neck, then his back as he briefly turned it to me while
swiftly folding the shirt and setting it to the side. Then, the supple, round
flesh of his butt, the slender legs as they stepped out of his shorts and stood
strong and taut while he folded those, too. And finally, as he turned around and
presented himself to me with his hands behind his back, that absolutely perfect
penis and the adorable testes, soft and...dare I say, inviting.
His eyes
met mine, his face the same calm mask of dignity and respect, and he said, "is
this satisfactory, Master Scott?"
I smiled a
soft, but probably lecherous, smile. "Yes," I told him with a nod. "Definitely
satisfactory."
"Thank you,
Sir. Should I return to my duties, then?"
I took a
deep breath. Down, boy, I told myself. "Yes, Adrian. That would...probably
be best."
"Of course,
Sir."
I tore my
eyes away from the vision in front of me and started toward the bedroom and
change out of my own sweats and t-shirt. As terrified and paranoid as I was
about this whole thing, I had to admit, there was a growing part of me
realizing that I could go another dozen lifetimes and never again have an
opportunity like this fall into my lap...and I'd be crazy not to make the most of
it.
As I laid
my hand on the handle of the bedroom door, I glanced back to the kitchen, and
the naked boy in it. "Uh, one more thing."
Again, he
looked up at me. Those eyes. I could completely lose myself in those eyes.
"Yes, Master Scott?"
I cleared
my throat. "That kitchen had better be spotless when I come out."
In that
moment, between the two of us, we both realized we—or, really, I—had crossed a
bridge. As I spoke, I felt myself stand a little taller, and the words
felt...right, somehow.
And Adrian,
for the second time since I'd met him, actually smiled, just for a moment,
before his veneer of quiet dignity returned and he simply said, "yes, Sir. Of
course."
I nodded.
"Good boy," I murmured, though I'm not sure if he heard it.
Then I went
into the bedroom to find myself some clothes. I had a feeling that the day
wasn't done throwing surprises at me yet, and I intended to be ready for them.
* * * To Be Continued * * *