© 2023 Bostonleatherman
“Before you lock up, one other thing…”
You know what that means. You drop to your knees in front of him while he unbuttons his pants and takes out his cock. You automatically open your mouth; his cock goes in it and in a moment, you taste the bitterness of his piss – he hasn’t hydrated nearly enough today you think. In addition to being leather-clad all weekend, another absolute is you serving as his urinal, whenever he needs to piss.
That might mean being roused from sleep in the middle of the night to drink, or being greeted with a glass of stale piss upon waking if he doesn’t feel like getting up and unlocking the closet to feed you if he’s half-asleep. You let your mouth fill before each swallow. You’ve gotten this down – rarely spilling a drop. Sometimes he’ll make you suck his cock after he finishes pissing. But not this afternoon. He pulls his cock out of your mouth and tucks it back into his pants, zipping and buckling it away ‘til the next time he needs you.
“I’m going to take a little nap. Don’t let the chains rattle too much while you’re cooking.”
“I won’t, Sir. Sir, could I have a smoke before I get started cooking, maybe while I’m locking up?”
“You had one before you got home.”
“Yes, you’re right. Alexander offered me one as we walked back from the market.”
“I saw.”
“I kinda needed it at the time. But I was just wondering if I could have one now.”
Garrett folds his arms, raises an eyebrow as he stares at you, and purses his lips. You’re really hoping he says yes. A smoke after piss duty would be great.
“Alright. And I’ll tell you what, no points deducted for this one. It’s the least I could do after that nasty trip to the market.” Garrett reaches into his shirt pocket, fishes a Red out of the box – your box of Reds – gives it to you and places the pack back into his pocket.
“There’s a lighter on the desk. See you in a little while.” He turns, walks out of the room and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.
“Thank you” you call after him. You light your smoke and take a couple of deep drags. Ahhh… Just what you needed. And then you set about locking up. The padded ankle cuffs are the first to go on. You take a seat at his desk and bend over to fasten them. Once buckled tightly, the small brass locks go on each locking peg to ensure that you can’t take them off. Next, a length of chain. There are two sizes – 12” and 18”. You choose the 18” for your ankles. Less shuffling. The smoke from your Red is wafting into your eyes while you are bent over connecting the chain to each ankle with the larger Master padlocks and you blink against it. You sit up, fasten each wrist restraint in the same manner as you did the ankle cuffs. Ash falls from your smoke and lands on your shirt while you work on connecting your wrists with the 12” chain. You lock one end of the chain to your left wrist with a Master padlock and hesitate for a moment before fastening the other end of the chain to your right wrist. Why are you doing this to yourself? Because Garrett told you to. You put the padlock through the end of the chain and then the D ring on your right wrist and, thinking it’s not too late to turn back, snap the padlock shut. Your cock thickens at the sound and the realization of what you’ve just done to yourself – removing any freedom you might have had. It’s in Garrett’s hands now. Don’t fool yourself, your fate has been in his control the whole time. You couldn’t leave even if you wanted to – Garrett took your car keys and wallet the moment you arrived. Fuck. You now have a total hard on angled down your left leg.
Too bad you didn’t have another smoke and the time to play with yourself while in this semi-restrained position. But dinner prep awaits. Maybe there’ll be time after dinner. Or while the sauce simmers. Fingers crossed Garrett takes a long nap. You get up, brush the ash off your shirt and take two deep drags on your Red, burning it almost to the filter. You snuff it out in the ashtray on Garrett’s desk and shuffle-walk to the kitchen so’s not to make too much noise. Once in the kitchen, you shut the louvered kitchen doors behind you to help muffle any rattling as you set about cooking up your Bolognese.
The fifth bottle of Fiji is still on the counter and you crack it open. You didn’t realize how thirsty you were until you saw it. A few swigs and a third of it’s gone in a minute. OMG, you think, that’s good! And it’s not even cold.
You’re getting into the rhythm of sautéing, chopping, and stirring and you’re no longer bothered by the 12” chain connecting your wrists. To be honest, you like the restriction, the confinement, the extra work it takes to do what you’re doing with a limited range of motion. It reinforces the limited control you’ve been given. Or rather, given yourself.
You find yourself thinking about earlier this afternoon and your choice to go out in gear. Granted, you would have given up a lot of points had you chosen to change into street clothes, but you now know it was the desire to be exposed, to be humiliated, that was equally as important as the effort to keep your smoking and toilet privileges. Hmmm, you think, what was the driving force that caused you to make that choice? Forced you to make that choice…
Of course, you had no idea that things would go south, but somehow that was all part of the equation. Risk is exciting. Even giving up a little control by putting yourself in these cuffs and chains is exciting. Well, maybe what really excites you about that is the control that Garrett has in that regard – he’s the one who decides when you can move freely again. And there it is, that thickening in your cock at the thought of Garrett guarding the keys. Just like its thickening when you closed that last padlock in his study.
What makes you respond this way, you wonder, as you ritually go through the steps of cooking? You think back to feeling rudderless when you were younger… Your dad wasn’t present and your mom was struggling just to keep it all together for you and your brothers who were older and off doing their own things. There was little attention paid to you. Something felt lacking.
You saw how your friends’ parents were with them – always giving them rules to follow, telling them how to behave. Your friends often balked at this, and complained to you about how controlling their parents were, but you could feel the connection they had with them. And that must be it – somehow you conflated attention with control. Someone in control was paying attention.
You’ve been lost in thought while you cook and a splatter of hot sauce on your arm brings you back to the task at hand. You look down and see sauce splattered all over the stove and you move to quickly slide the pan off the burner but you pull your hand back from the cast iron handle just in time. You grab a dish towel to do it and start to knock over the bottle of olive oil in the process. You catch it, but not before some flies out and lands on the counter and floor. Motherfucker. You get the pan off the burner, the heat turned down, and find the cover in a cupboard below the counter. Fuck! How much noise are you making? Garrett’s still napping. You hope. You don’t want to wake him. You feel some sweat run down the side of your head; it’s getting hot in the kitchen with the burner on and the doors closed. And just as the sweat on the other parts of your body is dissipating… It could be worse you think; you could be out baking in the sun. But is that worse, really, you wonder? Not really you think, smiling to yourself… Leather with sweat is one of your jams.
You do a little tidying up – meat wrappers, produce discards, tomato cans, olive oil on the floor – but not too much so’s not to wake Garrett. You leave the Bolognese on a slow simmer and step out of the kitchen where it’s cooler. Oh, man, that feels good. As you head to the living room to sit down and wait for Garrett to wake, you see his pipe on the dining room table. It’s the beautiful Oom Paul that you like so much – he’s let you smoke it in the past. You inspect it, see there’s still some tobacco in it, and put it in your mouth. The aroma of the unsmoked tobacco fills your head and you wish there was a lighter or matches to be had. You could kick back and have a relaxing smoke while he finishes his nap. And play with your cock. Discuss the points payment after the fact. There’d likely be a premium charged because you didn’t ask first.
