Tag: bed time

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

The kitten mewls. “What is it?” I ask, looking up. Every time a droplet hits the window, her eyes dart to it. She looks silly, and I giggle. I scoop her up and cuddle her. “Your first rain huh?’

The droplets double, then triple, their tempo increasing as they patter down on the glass and on the roof. The sky darkens from a dove grey to sheet metal, and a black shadow looms from the north. This may look like a rainshower, but it’s going to be a storm. I scoop up the kitten and go to tell the houseboy to bring the outdoor plants in the garage and check the outside of the house before it gets worse.

Even as I’m giving him instructions, he nods and acknowledges me with that same mechanical aloof attitude of his. He’s always been kind of distant and formal with me, which is fine, because I hired him primarily for work. Even having sex with him is like a formal act. Get on, go through the motions, ejaculate, slide off. It satisfies him. Cumming for me, in that situation, is more of a biological response than anything.  I get my rocks off with my other partners.

My houseboy notes my instructions with a final nod, then goes back to rolling out dough for savory pies that I love. I make sure to tell him I love them, just for good measure. He gives me a pleased smile, responds with a “Thank you, Sir, I appreciate that,” then turns back to his work. See? I’m pretty sure he’s a robot.

Thunder rumbles. We both look toward the window. Rain splatters on it. The boy makes a soft exhale, and goes to wash his hands. “Better do it now.” I agree this is a good idea, and feeling bad that I’ve sent him out into the rain, I put on my housecoat and help him drag the big planters into the garage. The others we put into the sun room closest to the backyard.

Soon as that’s over, he’s back to the bread. I go back to my writing, and I wait.

I’ve never brought it up after it happened the first time, and he never looks like he expects me too, but I know it will happen. Around 1:30 am the next morning, it does. I hear the footsteps. I hear the door creak ever so softly. I feel someone moved the sheets, and a body slide in. I feel his warmth against me, and I can smell his shampoo from his recent shower. He always thinks I’m asleep, but I’m a light sleeper. I let him think that.
He’ll be awake before me, slide out, and pretend he was never there – even go so far as to adjust the sheets to cover his presence.
The first time he did tried to climb into bed with me, I woke up and harried and ruffled. I was completely baffled and demanded an explanation. His sullen, embarrassed face told me we were very close to that Line that he doesn’t like to cross. His eyes looked pained. I rubbed my face, as he stood there shifting, but eventually I just lifted up the blanket and invited him in.
No more questions.

Now, I look forward to inclement weather and his mysterious visits. This storm was particularly bad, and he was early tonight. I was glad my smile was hidden in the dark.

You can’t imagine how astonished I was to wake up and find him still in bed with me. I stared at his sleeping face in complete fascination, doe-brown hair fanned around the soft lines of his face on the pillow. With intense caution, I moved his arm off of me, and slid out of bed, doing my best to be in ultra stealth mode. It took me a full minute to tip toe to the bathroom. God, why did I wake up to pee at 5 am? I never get up to pee this early. The light of dawn was just coming through the window. I do the deed, and hurry back to bed. It’s chilly out here!

Climbing back in is just as agonizing as getting out was. By some miracle, I don’t wake him up. He barely stirs. I reset myself, then praise myself for my incredible accomplishment. I spent the rest of my time awake, staring at his beautiful face, listening to the weakened rain pitter-patter on my window until I doze off again.

When I wake up again, he has already escaped.

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Captions are fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“God that was off the hook!” Josh exclaimed for the sixtieth time that night.
“I’m so glad we got tickets,” Morgan agreed.
“Nice of you to come out with us, Morg, we don’t see you much anymore.”
“Sorry dudes, I’m just so busy with my job ‘n school ‘n all. I’ll try and make an effort to get out more.”
“I think we’re gonna try and scrap together a beach volleyball game if you want in on that,” Rob notes.
“Sounds great, sure,”
“Hey,” Rob speaks up again, “Why do you keep rubbing your neck? Did you get new ink or something?”
Morgan is glad no one can see him blush in the dark car. “Oh um, my boyfriend got me this silver necklace that I’ve been wearing a lot and it feels weird to not have it on. I didn’t want to lose it at the show.”
Rob makes a ‘huh’ noise.
“Ah,” says Josh, “Was wondering that too. Well, we’re here.”
“Awesome. Thanks for driving, Josh.”
“No problem. Bye Morgan, see you ‘around.”

Morgan exchanged farewells and fistbumps with his friends and then got out of the car. He looked fondly at the house in front of him, with its neat lawn and well kept gardens, then turned and waved the car off.

Morgan went inside and shut the door quietly. He turned on the overhead light and sat down on the landing to take off his shoes. As he worked the laces, Morgan noticed that the kitchen light was on. He smiled. Out of the humid summer air and into the cool place, Morgan was suddenly aware of how sweaty and gross his shirt was and so he peeled it off with great relief. The clicking of toenails announced their little French bulldog waddling into the room.
“Hey Porridge. Aw, you’re a sweet girl. Hello, did you miss me?” He gave the dog a few pets, amused at her excited snuffling.

After removing his shoes, Morgan stuffed his socks into his balled up shirt and left it on the landing. He stood up and reached for his collar on the table by the door. When his fingers touched the cool metal accents on the leather, he felt the nagging sense of loss he had carried all night melt away. It was satisfying to hold it in his hands again, to know he was close to returning to his proper place.

“Boy, are you home?” said the voice from the kitchen. Morgan felt an additional sense of peace at the low, velvety voice. He knew that the kitchen light had not been left on by accident.
“Yes Sir, I’m home.”
“Did you put your collar on yet?”
“No, Sir.”
“Bring it here, after you take off your shoes.”
“Yes sir.”

Morgan clutched it with both hands and strolled into the kitchen. He could see the scene before he even stepped foot in the dimly lit kitchen – his Master in his old, worn blue bathrobe, hunched over the kitchen table drinking tea out of a mug emblazoned with fading letters spelling out “Oingo Boingo”. He’d had that mug since he was a teenager, and Morgan lived in mild fear of dropping it.

In one swift motion, Morgan knelt at his Master’s feet and offered his collar with both hands up above his bowed head. Internally, he was begging for his Master to hurry up and just put it back on him already so he could feel right again. He heard the sound of the mug being set down on the table and the swish of the bathrobe fabric as Master Buford turned in his chair.

“Did you enjoy the concert?”
“Yes Master, thank you very much. I cannot …I cannot even put into words how incredible it was. The production, the sound, their stage presence! So much energy. Franz Ferdinand’s bass player is very talented.”
“I’m pleased to hear you enjoyed your reward.” Master Buford said, without a hint of displeasure. He yawned. Morgan tried hard not to smile at that yawn. 
He knew if he ever brought this up, he’d likely be spanked for it, but it didn’t make it any less true. The blogs and industry mags called Master Buford ‘the Bull of BDSM’ for his broad figure and gruff nature, but the fierce exterior hid a deeply sentimental man who hated to sleep alone. Buford loved to cuddle and hold his boy close in his thick arms as he slept. Bucroft scoffed at the old-fashioned idea of having your slave or sub sleep on a cot in a disused part of the house. God, did he love waking up horny and being able to have Morgan in arms length.
It wasn’t just a preference, it was engineering at this point. There’d be no sleep for Master Buford without his slave in his rightful place. Morgan loved knowing his Master had been waiting all night for his safe return.

The boy realized he’d been waiting for the familiar sensation of the soft leather and metal band to be strapped around the neck, but nothing happened. Instead a hand caressed his check. “Stand up. Go sit in the chair across from me. Get yourself a mug.”

The boy was confused and slightly alarmed. My collar! he thought. Still, he rose and found himself a less important mug and joined his Master at the table. It felt odd to be sitting across from him as an equal. To offset this, Morgan refilled his Master’s mug from the teapot before his own. He sipped at the hot liquid filling half his mug.
“Look at me, boy.”
Morgan raised his head. “Sir?” He didn’t understand the expression on Buford’s face. He seemed a tad perplexed, lost in thought.
“God, how bizarre,” Buford said after a long moment of reflection.

Morgan looked down at himself.
“What’s wrong Sir?”
Buford kept talking as if Morgan hadn’t said a thing. “It’s amazing to me how different you look without your collar. It frightens me a little to see you like this, to see you looking so …normal. I know we signed a little contract together, and you live here, but when I see you sitting there like a normal person, in your shorts and all, it scares me a great deal, because you could just be any normal person. You could decide you never want to put the collar back on again and walk away, and there isn’t a damn thing I could do. I would never again lay eyes on your tattooed form in all its naked beauty.”
Morgan stared at his beloved Master wide-eyed, feeling deeply privileged to be hearing his inner thoughts. “I would never–!”
“But you could,” he interrupted. “I mean, when I gave you permission to go to this concert tonight, you were just a normal guy hanging out with your friends. You went not as my boy, my sub, but as Morgan, a normal young man who has a job and a boyfriend like any other person. It’s bizarre to think there’s almost two of you.”
“I don’t – I don’t understand Sir, I’m …I’m just me.”
“Yes, you are you,” Master Buford agreed, sipping tea. “It’s like a magic spell. Don’t you agree there’s some magic in your collar? Like it’s enchanted or something?”
Morgan leaned over the table and put his hand on it. “Yes. I absolutely feel that. I miss it when it is apart from me. I feel that it connects me to you when you’re not here.”
“And if we broke the spell, then what? You’d be gone from me forever,” Master Buford said mournfully.
Morgan felt a bit caught off guard. Plus, the adrenaline from the concert had crashed, leaving him tired and blurry headed. “Sir, what inspired this? I am not leaving. I couldn’t wait to get back here and put the collar back on. Rob mentioned, in the car, why I kept rubbing my neck.”
“That…pleases me, a great deal actually. But I don’t understand why a boy of your age would choose this life over his friends.”

Morgan suppressed a yawn and took a big sip of tea. “I can have both, in proper doses. I like winning your attention and approval. The discipline and patience I’ve learned here has helped me so much in life. You’ve taught me how to respect other men, older men, and it’s improved my relationships with my teachers, bosses, even my father.”
Master Buford eyed Morgan over his cup. “Really? I did all of that?”
“Yes,” Morgan insisted, wondering if he’d fallen asleep and was dreaming this. “And you have more to teach me, I just know it.”

Master Buford was quiet. He then yawned so hard his eyes watered. “You flatter this old man. I think it’s time for bed.”
“You’re not o- …Yes sir,” Morgan replied, quickly drinking the rest of his tea. “I’m exhausted. I need a shower too.”
“Take one in the morning after I’ve fucked you.”
“Mnn yes Sir.”
Buford stood up, holding his boy’s collar. Morgan fixed his eyes on it as his Master walked toward him, polishing it on the hem of his bathrobe sleeve. He abated behind Morgan and strapped the collar around his boy’s thick neck. Morgan exhaled in relief. “I missed this so much.”
Buford cupped Morgan’s chin, then ran his hand down his boy’s neck, over the collar.
“Yes. It belongs here. A place for everything, and everything in its place. Good boy. Come on, it’s bed time. You can tell me more about the concert tomorrow and what reward you want to work toward next.”

Morgan nodded. He rinsed the empty pot and cups, carefully handling his Master’s mug with two hands until it was safe in the drainage rack. He then dried his hands on a towel. He detoured to the entryway to pick up his damp shirt bundle, then followed his Master upstairs, turning off the lights as he went. Porridge trailed behind, and the family of three went to bed.

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Text is fictional.

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by ccallenreese ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

“I can’t sleep,” he said, messing with his toes. “I dozed off but I had this bad dream and now I can’t get back to sleep.”
I exhaled through my nose and sit down on the edge of the bed. I awoke due to his cries, which echoed through-out the entire house.
“I’m really sorry to disappoint you,” he added in that soft, delicate tone of his, sweet as treacle and fragile as the skin on top of cocoa.
“It’s quite alright, Caleb. I expected there to be a period of adjustment.”
He looked down and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t quite believe me. After a moment, he spoke again. “Everything is different here. The bed is higher, the night sounds are strange, the sheets smell different.” He sniffed. “I miss home.”
“Oh sweetheart,” I murmured. “Are you homesick?”
“Yes,” he replied, big crocodile tears sliding down his pale cheeks. “I want to sleep in my old room again. I’m so far from home!”
“Caleb…” I scooted across the bed and opened my arms. He crawled to me, sitting half in my lap, legs all over the bed. I enfolded him in my arms as he cries into my bathrobe. I rocked him, soothing him.

“I know it’s scary. But you have to be brave.”
“I don’t want to be brave!”
“I’m sure in the next couple of days you will learn a lot about my house, you’ll adjust, and discover Yellow Ridge is not a terrible place to live and I’m not a terrible person to live with.”
He sniffled again. “I’m not going to be a good husband to anyone.”
“Oh that’s not true, that’s not true. Shhh… relax. Breathe now.”

I continued to rock him, feeling more that I was rocking a little boy than the young man who was betrothed to me. It was, on paper, a good match. My family blood line is one of the upper seven or so distinct names, a historical name of wide influence in society and business. Caleb was from a lesser family line. Heterosexual marriage between blood lines is not encouraged amongst our people due to blood mixing. The only way for a family to gain a higher standing is to be lucky enough to have a gay son or daughter to offer to an upper family for their own homosexual son or daughter to marry. From the perspective of Caleb’s parents, he was a golden child. They were eager to abide by even the most conservative traditions. They had insisted Caleb be sent here to be my houseboy until the wedding, when he turned 18.

Even calling it a wedding was a broad term – it was more of a political ceremony. I had heard about wedded couples that each kept their own lovers; I however was a traditionalist, and hoped my bride and I would be true to each-other and monogamous.

I began to suspect that Caleb wasn’t going to be ready at 18 though. His parents had mollycoddled him and babied him. Freshly 16, he was still very much a sheltered child. I glanced down at the bundle in my arms. It was difficult to imagine that in two years, I was expected to consummate that marriage. Our five year difference suddenly felt wide as a chasm. His parents had likely taught him nothing about sex. I wondered if Caleb ever played with himself at all before his chastity device was affixed. He was still probably adjusting to that too. I pondered if it would be better to have it removed and let him explore.

More than anything, I felt pity for my bride. Thrust into a strange world, into strange arms, at a time when his body and its hormones were transforming in the most awkward ways. I also felt a bit of anger and disgust that the temple elders had clearly not sensed Caleb was a vulnerable creature – if I had been a man of lesser morals, I could have violated Caleb terribly. I made a note to call the Temple Counsel in the morning to file a complaint.

I would not send him back though. It would not benefit Caleb to go back into the womb at his age. As he got older, this behavior would be more difficult to correct. He was going to be a man soon. There were going to be expectations of him. I hoped keeping house and receiving home schooled lessons would keep his mind occupied. I kissed the top of his head and tried to remove Caleb but he’d worked his fingers into my bathrobe.

“Are you going to send me back?” he whispered.
I wondered if the boy could read minds. “No,” I said firmly, “You need to fledge from the nest. Every duckling and songbird falls a little when learning to fly. You’ll get used to things. You’ll find happiness in your work. Once you turn old enough, I will teach you the most wondrous pleasure your body is capable of. Are you feeling pain in your device?”
I felt the heat of his cheeks through my clothes. “No,” he says. “It’s snug, but it doesn’t hurt.”
“Ok, let me know if it does.”
He nodded.
“Will you try to sleep now?”
Caleb eyed the bed warily. “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
I thought. “Just this time, duckling”
He seemed satisfied with that. I cleaned his face, made him blow his nose, and have a sip of water. I then tucked him in lovingly and then spooned up next to him, me on top of the covers. Caleb had exhausted himself and was asleep within minutes. I lingered a moment, watching his eyes move under his eyelids, marveling at how long his lashes were. His face still possessed some of its babyfat, especially in the cheeks. He was going to be stunning all grown up.

I just had to make sure he would grow up. I was sure once he got a taste of his new found freedom he would thrive. Tomorrow would be a most interesting day.
“Good night, duckling,” I murmured, as I turned off the light and went back to my room.

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Text is fictional. This is model Graeme Metz photographed by Cecilie Harris for Boys by Girls magazine issue 6, titled “The Truth About Boys”. The T-Shirt by American Apparel and Underwear by Calvin Klein. This caption is not a projection or assumption of Graeme’s personality or sexuality.