Lost and Found: Erotic Pets

by Syd McGinley

  I laugh. “No? Well tough -- I like it.”

  Every head motion pulls on his genitals just a little, and even if he loses his hard on he’s going to be kept on display.

  “That’s just an embellishment. This is why I wanted you clean.”

  He yelps as I get out Mike’s play piercing set. I’ve respected twink’s genuine fear of needles, but I’ve been longing to use them again ever since Mike gave me a tutorial on Chris last week.

  I stroke and lick the boy’s chest, and map out a spiral starting from his nipple. He moans as I swab his chest with an alcohol pad. I start inserting the needles from the outer edge in and he matches his breathing to each penetration. He’s gorgeous as the spines shiver with each lungful, and on the other side of his chest the braid shifts and makes his prick lift.

  I’ve finished the spiral except for the center.

  “Big breath in and hold it, boy.”

  He obeys as I run my fingers over the ends of all the needles, and then push the last one through his nipple.

  He releases his breath with a cry of “oh fuck!”

  His prick is leaping, and I place a calming hand on his braid -- his genital piercings are pulling a little.

  I’m not much of one for photos, but I wish I had twink’s phone to take a few snaps. Then I remember -- Chris left his digital camera inside with Mike’s supplies.

  But when I point it at him, the boy blurts out “No!” and I pause.

  He squirms. “I don’t mind sir, but my owner likes to control images of me. I’m sorry I said no.”

  “If I leave your face out?”

  He nods gratefully, and is surprised when I show him the shots to reassure him.

  “I’ll use the crop on you later for that ‘no’.”

  I undo his hair bondage because I want to play with more of him, and he is soon trying to thrust his hips into the air as I suck on his unpierced nipple. I fuck his tattooed navel with my tongue and then add a star burst of piercings to the compass points decorating it. I take a few more photos. He’s making a high thin whine by the time I’m done, and his cock is oozing.

  I consider the matter. I’m not likely to see the boy again, and he won’t be chatting to the boys, so no one will know if I blow him. I lean forward and indulge myself. I like giving head. Poor little boys all vulnerable in my mouth and weeping when I torment them with my tongue. And tied down so their pricks can’t thrust in.

  I stick the point of my tongue into his slit and tickle, and then find his foreskin piercing with my lips and tug on that, too. He’s begging for mercy by the time I start finger fucking him. I find his little walnut ridges and probe.

  I may like giving head, but I sure don’t swallow, and I’ve moved my face away before he starts to pulse out. His navel is full of his own come, and it floods over his belly piercings.

  “Stings!” he wails as his orgasm fades.

  He lies still weeping while I wash my hands, then take out his stomach needles and swab him clean.

  I think he may need some endorphins back before I remove his chest needles.

  I feed him a glass of water while I consider my next move. He looks pretty lying there exhausted and still bound.

  I want this to last, so I find the cock rings Ben bought me in the spring. The kid groans as he watches me slide one on myself.

  “I thought you were experienced with black hanky tops?”

  He smiles ruefully. “I am sir, but most of them don’t go all night, and most of them don’t make me come so early.”

  I pat his thigh. “Don’t worry boy -- we’ll get you in the zone again.”

  I spend a few minutes checking his bonds and letting him rest, but then I slowly turn the checking and stroking into tweaking and pinching and his breathing changes again into his calmer sub state, and I remove his chest piercings one by one. He groans as I take out the nipple one last. I clean his holes, but then kneel astride his chest. I make sure I’m not touching his wounds, but I am cruel with the throat fucking.

  He’s diligent in his attempts to use his tongue even when I thrust deep, and I’m impressed. I briefly wonder how much he cost the guys as he’s really taking this performance seriously.

  I climb off him, and give his returned erection a quick fluff. He is swallowing convulsively as if my cock were still there.

  “Are you all right, boy?”

  He nods and politely asks for a little more water. I untie him and help him sit up. His hands are clumsy as he takes the water, and I frown.

  “Did they go numb? You should have told me when I checked.”

  “They’re fine. Sir. Just stiff.” He sips his water, and smiles at me. “Honest -- I don’t let myself get damaged.”

  The dots of blood on his chest and belly notwithstanding, I believe him.

  “Ass in the air, boy. You have the crop due for that ‘no’ earlier.”

  He’s in position before I even finish the sentence. God, he’s spoiling me for the group’s boys. He’s not annoyingly perfect though -- he’s still whimpering and trembling as I work the crop over his butt. His tears are genuine, and that pink flush across his face can’t be faked. His head droops by the time I’m done, and he butts it meekly against my arm as I check on him.

  I squash an impulse to kiss his shoulder. He’s giving me a mighty wicked look, and my prick jumps in response.

  He knows better than to ask to be fucked, but every inch of his body is begging. And since I’m more than ready, I oblige. He’s efficient without being a turn off as he gets the condom on me, and although he’s clearly used to getting fucked, he still moans as I enter. He’s working hard to make me come, but he’s not trying to shortchange me. He’s a damn good fuck.

  I’ve never once wished for air conditioning in my cabin, but tonight I do. The sweat is pouring off me as I pound his ass, and I realize the heat may defeat me if I don’t come soon. The boy is shaking underneath me from effort, and doing his damnedest not to beg me to finish.

  “Just say ‘please, sir’... just say it, boy, and I’ll be done...”

  He bites his lip for a second, and then a torrent of pleading bursts from him.

  Jesus, I think I’m going to lose my mind as I shoot out into him. He’s bucking and writhing to keep my sensation going and I roar. His knees give way and we fall forward on to the cushions. It takes a while before I can even hear properly -- my blood is pounding in my ears. I’m sprawled on him with his ass still nestled against me. I move carefully to withdraw, and remove the condom and cock ring. He rolls on to his side, and gives me a serene smile.

  “Did that please you, sir?”

  I smack his ass. “You know it did, boy. Don’t fish.”

  I check the time. It’s 2 a.m.

  “You’d better stay the night, boy, unless your owner will be worried.”

  He grins. “You’ve got me through noon, sir. And my owner only expects me back on Friday. We don’t live together, and I mostly work weekends.”

  That sounds mighty strange to me. When does his owner ever use him? I start to suspect his owner is more of a pimp than a real sir, but it’s none of my business. The kid seems okay.

  I stand and stretch. “Okay then, boy -- you can stay on the futon. Come and wake me up with something smutty in the morning.”

  He doesn’t pout about not sleeping with me like the boys do -- I’m starting to think there are plenty of advantages in a hired sub -- and just curls up on the futon.

  I flop on my clean cool sheets, and drift to sleep, content. I can’t even be pissed that my “no surprises” request was ignored.

  The boy wakes me up with a mouth on my cock and coffee by the bedside. I let him do as he wants with the blowjob to see what his unforced skills are like. They’re so good that I wonder if I can claim that black really did cover all the other hankies and claim the unused red and fuchsia for this morning.

  Pushing your luck, John. I look at the clock -- I only have him another hour, and a good fisting done my way takes ho
urs. I settle for dragging him across my lap and giving him a spanking. An affectionate one. I end it by rolling him over on my lap and jerking him off -- it takes just a few strokes. He lies there in my arms for a moment, and I brush his hair away from his forehead. His braid needs some repair.

  He was worth whatever he cost -- I have a feeling that the bills left in my money box would be an insulting tip. I invite him to stay for lunch instead.

  I take some joshing from the guys because I’ve slept through the workshop Mike gave on whip repair and maintenance. My birthday present cheerfully blends in with the other boys, and I see him after lunch joining in their so-called soccer game. Owen has finally plunged in and is playing midfield, and Rinnie has his leash wrapped around his wrist and is proving to be a deft dribbler.

  I get my stuff together for the afternoon workshop on practical D/s carpentry. I know the other guys are far too white-collar to ever really build anything, but they all like to pretend they can use tools. Steve sneers because all my tools are hand tools, but to my surprise, it’s Nick who makes an appreciative comment about true craft being manual. Shit. Even when he’s being decent, he annoys me.

  The guys can’t do woodwork for shit, but I find them all minor tasks to do, and by the end of the workshop we’ve built a fine sling. It’s Mike’s leather work, Chris’s design, and my carpentry.

  The boys are all eyeing it nervously. Chris has merrily tied the red bandana from the boy’s dance to the frame.

  “I’m off the clock,” my present says pertly.

  Chris shakes his head. “Stop freaking out, you babies. The rest of the demo is on me.”

  “Later,” says Mike. “I want you to have the afternoon off, baby, and prep well. Relax.”

  Chris has been working hard -- he’s taken on a bunch of the catering so the boys can play -- and he more than deserves the break. Especially if he’s taking Mike’s bear paw up him later.

  The boys scatter back to their playing now they know nothing’s happening, and the guys break into small groups to shoot the breeze and sleep in the sun. I beckon Rinnie and Luke over for the language lesson, and we claim the porch.

  Rinnie and I play a flashcard game that finally has him giggling, but I notice he keeps looking around as if he expects to be in trouble. Luke is writing out some phonetic Spanish for me with translations so I can help Rinnie better. My academic languages were French and Latin -- more relevant for my era. At the end of the hour, I send Rinnie off to play, but keep Luke.

  “Boy -- I want you to let me know how he’s doing. Learn what you can from him.”

  “Yes sir. Do you think...”

  I give Luke a “don’t criticize an owner in public” look as Nick just walked by.

  Luke flushes, and says, “I’ll pass on anything I can, sir.”

  I’m in a tough spot -- I don’t like Steve and I don’t trust him, but I can hardly say that to Luke, but how else can I find out what’s going on with Rinnie? The boy still looks far too sad, and isn’t being allowed to join in as much as the other boys. This is meant to be a vacation for them as much as for us.

  Brin is beckoning Luke away -- he wants to take him into the woods -- so I am saved from saying more.

  The boys have wheedled some of their owners into playing softball with them, but I’m feeling lazy and hang out on the porch swing just watching. Wisely, it’s not tops against bottoms, or there could be some repercussions -- and as it is, Steve gets pretty pissy when Colby catches him out. I stifle the thought that most of the boys are in better shape than their desk-bound owners.

  The losing team’s boys have to wash the cars of the winning team, and soon naked sudsy boys are everywhere. It’s silly enough that my pang of “Rob” that always happens when I smell Armor All passes quickly. A flailing hosepipe starts soaking anyone close. The boys are artfully concealing who is actually wielding it, but it doesn’t save them when Mike gets drenched. He has them lined up contrite and shivering as they wait their turn under his belt. Not one owner said ‘no’ to his punishment request. Kyle is sprawled across the hood of his owner’s car wailing as Mike finishes up. He sends them all to polish his beloved truck, and joins me on the porch. He looks like a grizzly emerging from a salmon stream, and I tell him so.

  “You want your secrets kept, Johnny-boy, then mind your manners.”

  There’s just enough real edge in his growl that I take him seriously. I offer him a cigar as a peace offering, and we watch the losing team boys obediently buffing his Ram.

  The boys on dinner duty are starting up the grills and lighting the bonfire. Mike summons Chris from where he’s been sunbathing all afternoon, and sends him to prep for the sling demo. I give him permission to use the shower instead of the hose. With as many guests as I have, the hot water is at a premium, and the boys have been limited to the creek and hosepipe.

  I spot a flash of pink among the parked cars, and frown. I only invited the boy to lunch, not to the whole damn retreat. I think I see a long braid flying out of the flock of boys trying to keep playing in the gloom.

  The after dinner entertainment tonight is Chris getting slowly fisted by Mike in the new sling. They make a fine sight in the firelight, and the mood is mellow and lazily erotic as Chris’ sighs and Mike’s encouraging murmurs blend with the snaps and sparks of the fire. Most of the boys are worn out from their playing and are curled by their owner’s feet. I pretend not to notice a boy sneaking along and nestling down by my boots.

  After a bit, I tug his braid, and say, “Still here? We can’t pay for a second night you know.”

  “Can I just hang, sir? I really don’t have to be anywhere until later in the week. And you’re all having so much fun. I won’t be any trouble.”

  He sounds so lonely that I relent. Shit. Nick is giving me a supercilious look. He thinks he’s caught me being a wuss, but it’s my fucking cabin, and my bloody hooker.

  “You’ll have to sleep in the store room or the back porch.”

  I see dark eyes looking up imploringly. “I’ll share with you for free, sir.”

  “I don’t share,” I say abruptly. “If you’re staying, I want you off limits. To me and the others. I don’t want you in trouble with your owner.”

  He bites his lip, and I suspect he was giving away his owner’s profits with his offer.

  “Okay,” he whispers.

  He’s undergone a puzzling mood shift -- he was confident being on display as a dancer and at ease with my torture before. Now, he seems shy and wistful. He’d said he was okay with his owner, but I have to ask.

  “Are you afraid to go back?”

  He twists his bracelets. “Not afraid, sir. I just...” He trails off, and stares into the fire.

  I take pity. “I’ll ask again tomorrow, boy. But for now I want to watch Mike’s technique.”

  He snuggles his arms around my ankles. I’m pretty sure no one can see except Nick, and fuck him, so I let the boy stay there.

  In the morning, he’s making himself useful to Chris with breakfast prep. He gives me a sunny smile, and I’m suspicious right away.

  I’m right to be. He trails me all day like a lost pup, but he’s never in the way. He brings me lunch and beer, and anything I want before I even know I need it.

  I send him away during Rinnie’s lesson -- the boy doesn’t need an audience as he struggles with English. I regret it though -- I see the boy across the yard talking to twink.

  “One boy problem at a time, John,” I mutter, and turn my attention to Rinnie and Luke.

  Rinnie is neatly writing some vocabulary down. Luke says Rinnie is sad because Steve calls him stupid for stumbling with English.

  “But he’s not stupid, sir! And Spanish isn’t even his first language. He says it’s kesh something?”

  I frown and take a closer look at Rinnie’s face, and its wide cheekbones. “Rinnie?” He looks up. “Quechua?”

  He bursts into tears and nods and nods.

  I gamble and ask “Bolivia?”

&nb
sp; He shakes his head, and I manage to understand “Peru, sir” through his sniffles.

  “What the hell is Steve playing at?”

  Luke gives me a look, and mutters “Nothing play-- ”

  I grab Luke’s wrist as he’s attempting to sidle off.

  “If you know something, boy...”

  Luke squirms. “He’s Brin’s friend, sir. I can’t.”

  Shit. Sometimes I hate this. Luke and I both want to help Rinnie, but ownership and loyalties complicate things.

  “Just translate a little more today, boy.”

  Luke sits down, and we learn from Rinnie that, far from being stupid, he is really here on a student visa with Steve as his sponsor. He’s meant to be starting an English language program in the fall to prepare him for his engineering studies the next year. Steve owns his own small engineering firm, and Rinnie expects to be his intern once his professional studies start.