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The House Boy
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. karabük escort 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?”
“But what about your karaman escort 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.
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.
“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.”
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, n..anization 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 kars escort 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.”
“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?”
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 * * *
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