Bringing Up Boy

Part Two

from Scix' private Journal:
Oh, my GOD, he showed up! I thought for sure he'd chicken out. I know I almost did. I came that close to calling him up and calling the whole thing off.

But there he was, standing at parade rest by my desk…wearing the suit I'd asked him to wear. He'll be naked, or nearly, for the rest of his stay, I wanted his last taste of clothing to be formal. Besides, I might want to take him Out some time in the future.

His form was PERFECT. His suit was a deep burgundy with a faintly pink band-collar dress shirt, not a color I would picture him in. The Boy is straight, after all.

I gave him the once-over: his hair, beard, nails were all immaculately trimmed, shoes shined, and he was wearing the wide leather band of the watch I'd given him. By contract, he was getting room-and-board in exchange for service, but he was also going to be getting "gifts" like this throughout his stay.

He looked stunning.

"Remove the jacket," I ordered, holding out a hanger. "Belt. Shoes. Shirt. Undershirt." His right nipple was pierced with a silver captive-bead ring. "Pants." Nothing weighted his pocket. His wallet and cash were to be in his bag. "Boxers." The plain white boxers I'd requested dropped quickly and joined the folded pile of clothing, and he resumed parade rest. The leather cock strap he'd purchased for the occasion snugged around the based of his shorn cock. He was semi-erect.

Straight he may be, but he was getting something erotic out of this, even if I was a man. Perhaps even BECAUSE of it.

I left him in position and put his things into the cabinet I'd cleared for him.

"Have a seat," I said, and we talked like gentlemen, his attire, or lack thereof notwithstanding. We agreed on a three-month trial period with option to renew.

"I will fall in love with you," I told him, "and you will leave as soon as you're trained, to find the perfect dominatrix, who will not deserve you."

He blushed at that, but did not deny it. "I'll work you, punish you, reward you, but mostly I'll TRAIN you. You'll perform for me sexually not for my benefit so much as for your training. I have women you'll need to learn to please as well." I knew Anastasia, while not into the "scene", would dote on him as much as I. Likely I wouldn't need to call in any favors to get her to assist in his training.

My household is a unique one: seven of us, all types, living together in an apartment too small for that many. What made it possible was that we were more than roommates, we were family. And while for the most part they never understood my … proclivities, they always supported it, and never copped a "TMI" attitude when I discussed it. Having Boy around the house would be odd for them, but they'd get used to it. And I'd never have made the offer to Boy if I didn't think he'd fit in with us after all.

After he signed the contract, we had dinner (the rest of the clan was out that night, at my request), joking and talking as friends. We finished with a little celebratory champagne, the last alcohol he'd taste for three months.

I told him what I was going to wear the next day and went to bed. Once he was done setting out my clothes and washing up the dinner dishes, he slept on the floor at the foot of my bed. As much as I dearly wanted him as a bedwarmer, he needed to spend the first night or three on the floor, so I could use a place in bed as reward for the good behavior I knew he'd bestow on me.

I slept soundly, though I awoke many times to the odd rhythm of his breathing. The night sounds of the house were different with another body staying here. The rest of the family came in around midnight, quietly, as instructed, and at some point I stopped waking up, as the snores and creaks of a full house, even with the stranger in it, comforted me.

The next morning it took me a surprisingly long time to realize what was happening, when I felt the velvet stroking against my lips. I was a bottle baby, and before I quite understood, I'd opened my mouth and Boy's cock slipped in, smooth and natural. I sleep on my belly, so he couldn't perform the other part of his wakeup task for a minute or two, when I finally woke up and remembered what MY part of the show was. I rolled over and gave him access, and he reached out and pulled the quilt back and grasped my cock firmly. It was NOT an expert handjob, but it was a good one. I'd spend some time training him when the time was right. Moments later, when I was lying there on my back, my belly sticky and my cock throbbing gently, detumescing, saliva smearing my chin, he bent and pulled up a pan of warm water in which a dark washcloth floated limply. He wrung it out and wrapped my cock in its warmth, and gently, gently cleaned it and my belly. Yes, this was much better than an alarm clock.

We emerged from my dark bedroom and he led me to the bathroom, where I shaved and brushed my teeth while this beautiful, naked man stood at parade rest behind me. He started the shower and the water was hot before I stepped into the spray, and he took care of me, wetting my hair, lathering it with a fruit-scented shampoo belonging to one of the women of the house (I'd have to show him which was mine later), and scrubbing every inch of me gently with the nylon shower puff. Moments later he'd rinsed me and I turned off the water. He hopped out onto the mat and grabbed a large bathtowel and wrapped me in it. Damned if it wasn't warm. I'd have to ask him how he did that sometime, I had just thrown that in to test his ingenuity. When I was dry I dressed in the clothes laid out for me -- black utility kilt, cream-colored poet shirt, black socks, combat boots -- and slipped behind my computer and started my morning ritual of internet browsing. It seemed mere seconds had gone by when he was at my elbow, a cup of fresh coffee and a plate of eggs and bacon in his hands. The watch, which he had removed for the shower, was back on his wrist.

"Thank you" I said, and motioned for him to set them on the table next to me. I munched breakfast distractedly while reading webcomics, and eventually he settled at my feet and ate a breakfast similar to the one he'd made for me. I'd have to make sure I didn't eat like this every morning, or I'd be putting on weight fast.

At ten-thirty exactly he was there with my cloak and bag. From beginning to end his performance that morning was perfect. Later, at work, I plotted ways to get him to mess up, so we could establish the rules of punishment early on.

But certainly, it was a good start to our relationship.

To Be Continued...