Tag: houseboy

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brief12h:

Relationship goals.

“Breakfast is served Sir!”
“Holy crap, look at that.”
“Waffles, poached eggs, blueberries and cream.”
“That looks delicious as it is unhealthy.”
Roland laughed. “That it is.” He sat the plates down, then put the cream down, and went to refill his boyfriend’s glass.
Tyge smiled  “I never used to look forward to breakfast until I started dating you. Especially after hot nights…”
Roland beamed. “Thank you. I love to please. I also like those hot nights”
Tyge took a big bite and groaned. “Mmnmm. Damn good.” He took a drink. “Speaking of your need to please…”
“Hm?”
“I like having you around,” Tyge began. “I’d…like you to stay around more. Like, in my house.”
Roland was paying attention now. 
“It feels stupid that you don’t live here. I’d like you to move in with me, and take care of me like you do now. I’d take care of you, if you continued to cook like this because damn I love your cooking. Also well…I have to admit, I’m falling in love with you and I want to see your smile every day.”
Roland blinked, his jaw slack. He put his fork down and bit his bottom lip hard. “Tyge Clay Daniels.” He held up a finger to get his emotions in check. “You continue to be the sweetest, most considerate boy I have ever had the joy of dating. And what’s the best about this is, is that you get me. You understand me. You don’t make fun of me that I like domestic stuff, you even encourage me, and you just make me feel so good about myself. I would love to move in with you. Oh god, I’m going to cry.”
Tyge chuckled. “There there, it’s ok.” He leaned over the table, cupped the back of Roland’s head and kissed him. “Don’t get tears on your waffles now.”
Roland laughed. “Yeah soggy waffles are gross.” He dabbed his eyes with the napkin. “Oh this is exciting! We can sleep together every night, and I can bring you tea in bed .. maybe not wearing anything..”
Tyge raised an eyebrow. “I would be very open to that idea.”
Roland smirked. “I bet you would. It’s going to be a long process to move in here but…I’m really happy Tyge. Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“No, Roland, the pleasure is mine.”
“More waffles?”
“Yes please!”

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Text is fictional.

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Bobby put the pasta sauce in the cart, finding room for it with the condoms and shampoo and groceries and seltzer water and other things. It had been a long shopping list, and it had been hard to resist temptation. He was not allowed to deviate from the list at all. Bobby texted his Master and let him know he had been a good boy, gotten everything, and was headed to the cash register now.
Bobby made it two aisles before his phone binged. Had his Master forgotten something?
“Hey boy. Forgot to put something on the list.”
“Yes Sir, what is it?” Bobby texted back.
“Halloween candy.”
Bobby gasped.  “Oh Sir you mean it?” He had never been allowed to buy it for the holiday before. Only after, when it was on sale, and two bags only. 
“Yes boy. It is our first year in our new house. You have kept it so spotless and organized. I can’t wait to show it off when we open our door to trick or treaters. So stock up! I want to be The Good House. So have fun shopping.”
Bobby made a happy noise and smiled. “I will Sir! Thank you Sir!” He put his phone back into his bag and turned the cart toward the orange section in the back of the store, trying not to rush. Sometimes a houseboy could be a really fun job. Oh my god there was just so much candy! Bobby took all the time he wanted making the perfect selection. 

Roger burst out laughing when he saw how much Bobby bought. It was clearly too much but Bobby’s excitement was adorable, and Roger thought it would be too mean of him to spank his houseboy for overspending. At the very least, there would be candy in his lunch box until Christmas. 

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Text is fictional.

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“How are you doing?” Daniel asks gently. “Great! I’m almost done peeling these carrots. Everything else is measured out and ready.” I nearly take my finger off when I feel a slight touch on my ass. 
“Looks great. Can’t wait to taste this cake you’re making. Going to be delicious.”
“If I don’t forget an ingredient. Or mix up the sugar and salt. Or burn it.  Or burn the house down.” Daniel chuckles, then kisses my cheek. “You’ll be fine. I look forward to dessert.” He gives me another ass pat and then strolls back into the living room where the game has returned to the television.

I watch him go. His mildly possessive touches have left me feeling warm and smiley. For the first time in my life, I’m really, truly content. I had been so unhappy in previous relationships and I never knew why. Daniel understood though, more than I ever could. I just liked to please a man, make his meals, fold his socks, be there when he needed to rut… it was a bit simple, if not a bit of an outdated mentality, but it was more rewarding than any office job I ever could hold. Spending a Sunday afternoon inside, making a nice carrot cake for after Sunday’s dinner was so fulfilling. Plus, I could put the cake pieces in Daniel’s lunchboxes for the week and he would love that.

The best thing though was that Daniel really appreciated me. His supportive comments were so natural, so casual, as if this is just how it was supposed to me. Me, him – us – in our effortless roles. Most alphas I have met are rather aggressive bastards. Daniel  is unbelievably chill. I’m sure if some man tried to take ownership of me in a club, a beatdown would occur, but it would take a lot to provoke him into such a state. No, Daniel was a laid back-guy. He was just happy to appreciate the simple things in life – a cute boyfriend, a football game on the screen, craft beer – a nice middle class life. Plus, home-cooked food, made with love.

I wondered how he would feel if I started baking wearing only an apron.

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Text is fictional.

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I step out onto the porch. “What is it boy?”
”There heteros are breeding on our lawn Sir,” he says acridly.
“What…?” I walk over to where he’s standing. “Ew. Damn, I hate how our property backs up to the field on in that park. We really need a fence. HEY, KIDS GET OFF OUR LAWN.”
My boy looks at me. “You know, you really sound old when you say things like that.”
I watch in amusement as they bolt like scared rabbits. “Oh shush. I’m only ten years older than you. YEAH YOU BETTER RUN. GAY SEX IS ONLY ALLOWED HERE,” I call after them.

My boy chuckles as he watches them until they disappear into the tree line. “They’re gone, Sir.”
“Very good.” I turn to go back inside.
“Hey Sir?”
I turn to face my houseboy. “Yes boy?”
“You said gay sex is only allowed here right? So why haven’t we fucked on the lawn?”
I stop on the stairs. “Well, I dunno.”
“You own this property right Sir?”
“Well…yes.”

My boy looks at me, hopeful. “I did all my chores.”
I chuckle. “Are you ever not horny?”
He looks down at the underwear i make him wear as part of his home uniform. “No. Especially now that you’re the only one that can touch my cock. I’m just horny all the time.”
“Well, at least you’re honest. Why don’t you make us a late lunch and we’ll enjoy it on the lawn? Pack the lube with the condiments?” 
His face lights up. “I would love that Sir.”
I lift the corner of my mouth. “Well, go then.”

He bows and shoots up the stairs of the porch toward the house. I watch his butt bounce as he runs. I am going to enjoy fucking him on the lawn, but little did my boy know he was about to get fucked over the kitchen counter too…

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Text is fictional.  

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Terry heard the noise from the other room. He finished polishing his glosses with the little cloth he carried, then put them back on his face before he went to investigate.

I noticed the young man in the doorframe and the intense look of focus on his face at the officeboy he had bent over the table. “Oh Terry. You want a learning moment? Come here.”
Terry approached. “What’s going on?”
I gave the boy’s ass another swat. “Our officeboy here shredded a time stamped copy of an important document I needed from that medical office. And now I have to get another made and couriered from Downtown, but because it’s after 3 pm there’s going to be a surcharge. So he’s getting a spanking.”
“Is that so?” Terry asked, unable to tear his eyes off the bare curves of the officeboy’s back and ass.

I considered Terry’s reaction. I generally liked Terry. He worked here part time as a paid intern. Smart as he was handsome, Terry was 17 and already half way through university. Although the legal age of consent was 16 here, I purposely kept Terry sort of away from our officeboy as not to distract him so much; however, I could not pass up a lesson on education.

“Do your parents have a houseboy at home, Terry?”
He shook his head.
“So you’ve never had to discipline. Come here. I’ll show you. Come here, put a hand here on his shoulder, stand there…good. Now, when you strike you want to use an open hand and a flat palm. You want to strike here on the fattest part, too high or too low. If you strike the thighs, they can’t sit down and it’s uncomfortable to walk. You want to strike right in the middle and leave a lasting sting so…”

I trailed off. Terry wasn’t paying attention. He was gently caressing the supple curve of the boy’s already pink ass. I looked at his face, and that’s when I knew I had awakened something in there. Terry’s eyes were narrow and focused. He was feeling the heat of the early half of the spanking under his hand. Whatever Terry was thinking, he wasn’t saying anything, but I could tell by the small smile that was growing into a smirk that he liked it very much. He was still young, but he was getting the first inkling of what was his early alpha instincts. Terry was bright. No doubt he was sensing the power and thrill of having a boy under his thumb that needed guidance and direction. What Terry saw, no doubt, was raw material. Beautiful, golden, raw material. I was wondering what I had started when Terry spoke.

Terry was trying hard to keep his voice under control. “Can I try?”
“Try…?” I began. “Oh, you want to finish his spanking?”
Terry looked at me. “May I?”
“Mm I don’t see why not. How are you doing boy?”
“I’m – I’m fine, Sir,” he said meekly. He knew he was lucky to only be getting a spanking for destroying that document.
Terry licked his lower lip. “What a cute little ass. Ok, right in the middle…” He gave the officeboy’s ass a swat, making the boy squeak.
“A little lower,” I said gently. “And a bit harder.”
Terry tried again, and got a sweet cry from the officeboy.
“That’s it Terry. Good. Now give him fifteen of those.”

I stood back and watched with a knowing eye as Terry delivered. He had a knack for it, just as he did for business and math. Was there anything this wunderkind couldn’t do?

When Terry finished ten, he shook his hand. “Ow.”
I chuckled. “Forgot to tell you about that.”
After five more, Terry was done. “Looks good. Great work. Now, don’t forget aftercare.”
“Aftercare…?” Terry repeated.
“Yes. He’s nearly crying, you should say something.”
I purposely put Terry on the spot, to see what he would do.

Terry thinks, then pats the houseboy on the shoulder. “Sorry to have to cause you discomfort, but you made an error that was caused by not paying attention. If we can both learn from this, we won’t have to do this again soon. Now, how about I get you some tissues, and you can take a little break, drink some water  perhaps?”
The houseboy nodded, sniffling. “Ok. Thank you young Sir. I appreciate you taking time to re-educate me.”
“Good boy,” Terry said, the words slipping out of his mouth as natural as they could be. “Also, when you’re ready to return to work, let’s go over the shred pile and make sure nothing is mixed up in there that shouldn’t be destroyed.”

The officeboy stood up and nodded, wiping his tears with a tissue Terry had given him. “Good idea, Sir.”

Terry looked at me. I was astonished. I was sure my jaw was on the ground. Did I just let a teenager displace me? “Well done Terry. That was impressive,” I admitted.
Terry beamed.
I nodded toward the officeboy. “Don’t worry,  Remi, you’re still the best office boy we’ve had. You’re dismissed for a short break.”
The officeboy bowed his head. “Yes sir.” He pulled his shirt down and shuffled off. He was not permitted pants in the office, just his chastity device.

Then, it was just Terry and I.
“It seems you liked that,” I noted.
Terry shrugged sheepishly, adjusting his pants. “I dunno…I thought it was going to be awkward but when I got into it, I was just in this groove. I felt kind of connected to him. Does that sound weird?”
I shook my head. “Not at all. If it’s awkward, then you don’t have self-confidence, which means you’re not in control of your houseboy. Or officeboy. or whatever.”
Terry nodded. “I’m really glad you guys hired me for this internship. I’m learning more here than I’m learning in college.”
I raise both eyebrows. “Wow, why thank you Terry. We’re happy to teach here at Dunham Law.” I couldn’t help but thinking though that if we armed Terry too well, he would come back as a lawyer and crush us until oblivion. I made a note to offer him a job when the internship was over. I also made a little note to still keep him away from our officeboy for now. That was only cemented when I noticed Terry took a long bathroom break not an hour later.

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Text is fictional.

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dijkstra0:

BWAHAHAHA, a trick every Sir should use on their house boy.

Norton sighed. He was really supposed to clean the house today. He just didn’t feel like it. He liked being a houseboy, but sometimes he just came down with a case of the lazies. It didn’t help that his chastity cage was bothering him. Tonight was the night he was supposed to be milked and cleaned in the bath, and the minutes were just dragging on until his boyfriend came home from work. A part of him suspected that if the tub wasn’t cleaned, he wasn’t going to get relief, but he just didn’t feel like cleaning it. Norton sighed. Having the perfect life was so problematic sometimes.

He scratched an itch on his side. Norton was allowed two snacks a day to keep his weight down, and he decided to take one now, although it was early. Where were the rice krispy treats? Marshmallows and sugar would make him feel better. Perhaps he’d just watch some TV until the sugar kicked in and gave him some energy.

Norton found the box in the pantry, but frowned when he picked it up. It was light. How could that be? It was half full yesterday. He peered inside and that’s when he found the note.

“Oh goddammit,” he muttered, cross that Adam had outsmarted him. Adam had been so good for him, but Norton couldn’t deny that sometimes the things he did for Norton’s own good, he kind of hated. He loved having shed the extra pounds, and a part of Norton was touched that Adam made him did those hard things because he cared for him, but it was hard to feel endeared when you were feeling lazy, horny, and denied junkfood.

Norton grumbled and tossed the box in the recyclebin. It was overflowing, and the box slid to the floor.
“Goddammit,” Norton said again. “Well, I guess I should at least take the recycles out. That’s really not hard.” He hefted the plastic bag out of the bin with a grunt. When it slid free of the container, Norton realized there was something at the bottom of the bin, under the bag. There it was, in its shiny blue wrapper, was a rice krispy treat.

“No way… he didn’t.“ Norton picked it up and examined it in his hands. It was real. He tore open the packaging and took a big bite. “Oh my god,” he moaned. “These are so fucking good. Why are these so good?” As he ate it, Norton eyed the bag of recycleables. The box of treats in the pantry had been empty. So where had they all gone? “Oh…don’t tell me….”

On a hunch, Norton padded over to the kitchen sink and opened the double doors to the area where the cleaning supplies were kept. Wedged between the Windex and the 409, was another rice krispy treat.
“Oh Adam, you clever, clever bastard!” Norton heard himself laugh. “He knows me waaay too well.” He recalled a series of books he read as a little boy, about a Victorian family, and in one story a mother hid pennies around the house to make sure her children cleaned in all the right spots. It was just like that, except delicious delicious junk food.

And it turned out, it wasn’t just rice krispy treats. On the top of a pile of towels, he found a bite-size Mounds bar. In the washer in the laundry room, he found a Toostie Roll pop. Behind the dusty television, he found a small packet of M&Ms. Norton tore the house apart, and in the end was rewarded with a nice pile of candy to horde away for frustrating days.

When Adam came home to a clean house and a nice meal waiting for him. Norton greeted him with affection and love. He gave lots of kisses and was assured he would get his bath after dinner.

After dinner though, Adam asked Norton to polish his shoes before they took a bath. Norton was exhausted, but agreed since Adam put the dishes in the dishwasher. Norton went to the garage and was a tad disappointed when he pulled out the shoe cleaning box and found nothing fun inside of it. He polished the right shoe first, as he’d been taught. When he went to polish the left shoe, he heard something rattling inside. Norton turned the shoe over onto his hand, and onto his palm, fell the key to chastity device.

It was just then that he heard Adam turn on the bath water upstairs.

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Text is fictional.

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I go to our small fridge and kitchenette to start on breakfast. We’re just two college kids in a joint dorm room, but I liked to pretend I was keeping a neat apartment. I’ve been George’s official ‘companion’ since I was 13, since he had become too old for a governess. Even though he was passed 18 now, there was no way I was going to let him go off to university alone. I pull open the refrigerator door and blink.
“Oh Georgie,” I chuckle to myself. I pick the television remote out of the spot where a bottle of diet soda used to be. The plastic is cold. I walk back to the bedroom area, where George is sitting up but struggling to stay awake.
“Georgie, love?” I set the remote on the nightstand.
“I’m awake, I’m awake,” he mutters in his Hampton accent. He then yawns so hard his jaw cracks.
“No you’re not. Honey, I’m ordering you to go back to bed. You’re exhausted, pushing yourself so hard.”
“Nnnn can’t. I got class…” George fumbles for his glasses but knocks them off the table. He stares at them on the floor. “Damn.”
“I’ll call your friend Amy to take notes for you. You’re taking a huge class load this semester, you can miss English literature. Now come on.” I guide him backwards by the shoulder and he uncurls. “Come on. Into bed with you. Come on.” George grumbles, but he’s malleable under my direction. “That’s it now. Here’s your pillow.”
George latches onto his pillow and nuzzles back down to bed. “Aw yis, it’s still warm.”
I smile. “Now you rest. I’ll wake you for your chemistry class.”
“Mmmnnf. Dorian?”
“Yes Georgie?”
“Come snuggle with me.”

I smile. “You want me to snuggle with you?”
“You have to replace Bearington,” he slurs, nearly asleep.
I cluck. Poor lad, he’s losing it. Bearington was a large stuffed bear from his childhood that had not only fell apart, but was discovered that over one spring a mouse borrowed in and gave birth in it when Georgie was 14. We burnt it and buried Bearington’s ashes on his family estate.
“Well, I guess I can replace Bearington.” I don’t get under the covers because George tends to latch on, so I sit on top and stretch out next to him. George throws an arm over me and pulls me close, so my head is tucked under his chin.
“I’m glad you came with me,” he confesses, before falling back asleep.
I blush deep, even though he doesn’t see it. I don’t think George’s father would have let me go off to university with him if he knew George was gay. If only he knew how close we were…and how close we were becoming…  I felt very lucky indeed to watch my young charge grow up into a man. It would be a sad day when I handed him over to another man to marry, but some tiny private part of me hoped the one walking down the Georgie would be me.

I ended up not getting up after George dozed off. I just laid there, and thought about growing up with him, and what the future held. For the first time in years, I lost track of time, and when we both woke up, George was late for chemistry. 

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Text is fictional.

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mastera6:

A young pet.

“Aww, you look so frightened. My poor pet. The first few days are always so scary. Don’t you worry, I’m not going to torture you and lock you in a cage downstairs. That is, unless you want me to.” His eyes go wide. I try not to laugh at how easily he scares.
“You must be hungry. That was a long trip to my home from the auction center wasn’t it? Ah, you nodded. Haven’t found your voice yet hm? We’ll work on that. Well, lucky for you I made some pork congee last night. You probably don’t know what that is. It’s like Chinese comfort food, but once you add bok choy, it’s also perfect pet food – protein, vegetables, rice.“ I take a portion out of the fridge and put into his bowl, then pop it into the microwave. “Now some Masters don’t heat up their pet’s food, but honestly cold congee is disgusting and I wouldn’t wish that anyone, not even a pet.”
Out of the corner of my eye I see a teeny smile. “Thank you Sir,” he says oh-so-softly.
“Good boy,” I say gently in return with nod. He shifts. It must be hard for him to sit on the floor, with how boney his butt is. I make a note to get him a pillow so he can sit on the floor next to my chair at breakfast. “After you eat, I’m going to groom you – bath, hair, nails. You desperately need a haircut. Then, I’ll give you your wardrobe, show you your quarters, give you a tour… so much to do.” The microwave beeps. I take out the congee and stir it, then pop it back in.
“Maybe we’ll go on a walk so you can stretch your muscles. I’ll guide you through dinner, and then perhaps if you’re not falling asleep we can start on your first Mandarin lesson?”
He blinks owlishly.
“You were told I live in Shanghai and Hong Kong December through February right?”
“No Sir,” he responds.
I raise an eyebrow. “Huh. Well, I do. And I expect you to be able to communicate with my guests and serve their needs there too.” The microwave dings again. “Ah there we go.” I set the bowl down and fill a matching tin cup with water. I can hear his stomach growl from here. “Now you will have to earn your silverware, but you knew that. Let me get a cushion from the living room for your knees though. I don’t want bruises on you.” I fetch the flattest one I can find from the sofa.

I crouch next to him and set it down, then unlock his hand cuffs. “There you go. Eat up boy. Don’t worry about a mess. You’re getting a bath when you’re done anyway.”
He licks his lips. “Thank you Sir.”
I pat him on the head. “Good pet. I like that you know respect and manners. Saves me from having to break you in. Now, eat, eat. You don’t want it to get cold.”

I stand back and watch him bring the bowl to his face and eat. I then fold my arms. “Hm, now to come up with a name for you…”

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Text is fictional.

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When you move into a new building, every face is a new face. When you see a face again, you assume they live there, as opposed to being a guest. You make snap judgments about people, cause you only see them for a second. Oh, this person is cranky, this guy talks too much, that girl is always covered in cat hair, this dude never leaves the building…. etc. Struggling families. Single guys. Ambitious corporate types. Lonely old people. Every building has them. I began to notice this young man that lived on my floor. I normally saw him taking out trash or fetching mail. I never saw him with a school bag, but grocery bags, or baskets of laundry. What I found to be odd though is that he never looked at me. He always looked down, away, as if he couldn’t see me, I couldn’t see him. When we got stuck in an elevator together, he would always move far away as possible.

I didn’t know much about this guy, not even his name. I could see he was young, in his late teens maybe. I knew he lived with an older man, a real stern guy about ten years older. Maybe in his 40s. Ramrod straight posture, ice grey eyes. He was well on the path to be the quintessential old-white-guy stereotype: loud, angry, and racist. And his voice – he had a big, booming voice he used to scare anyone who didn’t agree with him into submission. It was also the voice he used to yell at Obama on the TV. At least, that’s what I thought he was yelling at, until I started listening. Then, I realized it wasn’t the TV the old guy was screaming at – it was the young man.

The more I began to pay attention, the more I saw things I don’t think I was meant to see. Or maybe I was. I assumed the kid was kind of a klutz, but I slowly realized that I never saw him without a mark. He always seemed to have a bruise on him. Once it healed, it’d be replaced by a split lip, then later with another bruise. A cut on his hand. A limp to his walk.

About seven months after I moved in, I came home one night and found him sitting outside their apartment door, naked, all crouched up into a ball. I begged the kid to tell me what was going on, but he refused and insisted I leave. My noise caused commotion, and the old guy came out and threatened to call the cops on me. He dragged the kid back into the apartment and slammed the door.

I didn’t see the kid for like a week, and when I saw him in the elevator that next Saturday, he had white bandages under his shirt, all up his neck.

It was a strange situation, because you know something bad is happening, and you know you should say something. But you also know reality, and you know the cops will come, the old guy will say nothing is a matter. He was fighting with his grandson or something, trying put his “mouthy” troublesome grandson in place. Without a complaining witness, the cops would leave…and that kid would probably get hurt more.

I began to dread seeing that kid around the building, because it was just a reminder that I couldn’t stop what was happening to him. I finally hit my breaking point after the kid got the bandages off. I spotted him in the laundry room in the basement in this old white T-shirt. Where the bandages had been now revealed fresh, pink skin. He’d been burned. White heat coursed through me. We were alone, I had to say something. So, I did. I said, “If you need me, I’m in apartment 10J. Don’t let anyone hurt you again.”

The kid furrowed his brow at me, then looked away, his face a mask of shame. He gathered his things and left the laundry room without saying a word.

I hadn’t expected him to take my advice to heart. I expected to come home one day and find cops in front of the door, the door blocked off with yellow crime scene tape. I learned to not hear the screaming or the fights.

One spring night, about a year or so after I moved into the building, there was a knock on my door. It was just after dinner time, and I was headed to the kitchen for ice cream when the knock came. I figured it was the lady in apartment 10K telling me she had my mail again. I was surprised to find the kid standing there, white as paper. Blood was pouring out of his nose, marring his handsome face, and pooling in his hand.

“Jesus, shit,” I gasped. The kid was too frightened to say a word. We both heard the old guy turn the knob and come out of his apartment. I grabbed the kid’s sleeve and pulled him into my apartment, then slammed and locked the door. The old guy began to beat on my door, accusing me of “kidnapping his houseboy” and that I should “give him back so he could take his punishment”.

Instead, I called the cops. The rest of the evening melted together. The old guy was arrested, the kid had to be taken to the hospital. He told the EMTs his name was Trevor.

I made sure Trevor got a good lawyer. I later found out that I was the only one that visited him in the hospital. On one of these visits, Trevor told me everything one night. He grew up in foster care. His last foster family used to “loan” out the kids as maids, essentially, for money. When Trevor turned 18, he was turned out of the foster care system with no GED (missed too much school), no money (not allowed to work), and no family. So, when his family offered him an opportunity to be a live-in houseboy for Mr. Erickson, Trevor felt he had no other choice.

Trevor broke my heart when he told me he didn’t leave at first because he assumed the abuse was normal. It was only seeing an article in the newspaper about a Filipino woman kept as a sex slave did he realize what was happening to him, but he was completely trapped.

I told Trevor he was not going to be alone anymore. I stood by his side the whole time. When my lease in the building came up, I declined it, and Trevor and I moved into a new building together.

I was worried though that Trevor would think of me just another man wanting to monopolize and abuse him, so the first thing I did was give him a promise gift. Inside the box was the key to the front door on a chain and a new cell phone. He would always be a free boy now, but I was offering him a home if he wanted one. Someone needed to love and take care of Trevor. If he trusted me, I
promised myself I would do that and more. I would never let him feel
unwanted again. 

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Text is fictional.