Something Different
Not sure where the idea came from but had it for a while so really hope it works. No zombies. A mild bdsm theme.
Only at the Weekend - 2195words
Thomas checked he had the essentials, his keys, wallet, the mobile phone his nephew thought was essential but that he could barely use. Deciding he was ready he slipped on his coat, there was a chill in the air and his bones weren’t as young as they had been. The door pulled shut smoothly behind him and he stepped out with a slight shiver. It was too early for anyone to be about so he kept his head down as he strolled down the street, crossing to the narrow alley with a heavy lean on his stick. Not as young as he was.
Looping around to the pleasant little street of houses, neat fenced yards and orderly flower beds Thomas made his way slowly to the end cottage. The gate could do with some oil and he stepped carefully over the broken paving stone on route to the back door. It took a little fumbling to find the right key but Thomas decided that at this time of year he could blame the chill. The door opened onto a small porch with used wellies drying in a tray and old coats hanging from a hook. He left his own things on the small bench tucked against the wall.
His uniform was in a box, on that same bench. There was a lock on it because the outside world had a habit of intruding, grubby fingers and curious noses poking where they weren’t invited. A lock saved awkward questions and uncomfortable glances. Only two people had the key.
His thick jumper was removed and folded on the rough bench, a tight white t-shirt pulled on in it’s place. His sturdy trousers followed, though he had to sit down to manage that, sighing at the creak of his knees. His uniform trousers were sharp pressed shorts to his knees, at one time he’d find leather in the box, but age detracted from that sly pleasure, and added effort into squeezing into those. Last the apron, a starched white affair with lace edging, it made him feel the part.
Stepping into the kitchen he found the tile cool beneath his bare feet and enjoyed the sensation as he moved around the room with familiar ease. The kettle was filled ready so he switched that on, readying a mug and placing a biscuit on a pretty saucer. Two slices of fresh bread slipped into the toaster and an orange quartered. The kettle boiled just before the toast popped so he poured water onto a pyramid bag then buttered with a low-cal, heart-healthy spread.
Head down he lifted the tray and walked slowly into the living area. His master sat in his favourite wing backed chair. The tray sliding neatly onto the small table at his side. Weekdays brought the use of the breakfast bar, blinds open early to welcome the sun. Weekends though were special. Weekends were when a man could relax in a favourite chair and be served.
‘You’re late’ were the first words spoken. Thomas glanced at his watch and saw the minute hand had edged just past the hour, he smothered a smile at his master’s irascibility, it signalled how the morning would play out.
‘You’ve left the teabag in’ he didn’t sound happy, spooning up the offending item and slopping it onto the saucer. The imposing man glared at Thomas waiting for him to raise his eyes. ‘And your making eye contact now? All these years and still you cheek me, impudent boy’
It had been a long time since the world considered him a boy but Thomas sank to his knees on the low footstool by his masters chair. It was a fairly recent addition after a fall had tenderised his hip. ‘Not good enough’ His master crunched a piece of toast. ‘It’ll be eight lashes after breakfast. Two for each minute you were late, two for the teabag and two for cheeking me’
‘Should I fetch your cane, sir?’
‘Two more for speaking out of turn. I’ll tell you when I want you to speak boy’
Thomas gave a little shiver but knelt with his head down, not speaking. After a few minutes wait his master gave him an approving tap on the head ‘You’re such a sweet boy when you behave’ He continued with his breakfast, absently feeding his crusts to Thomas who dutifully licked his fingers clean.
‘You may clear up’ His master watched him, not caring that he moved slower these days but tutting at the slight clang the dishes made when the tray was lifted. Thomas returned the breakfast things to the kitchen. Washing the crockery and towelling them dry, when he was done everything was replaced as before he’d arrived.
His master hadn’t moved from the chair, though the table had been pushed aside. Thomas hovered in the doorway waiting command.
‘Go fetch it boy, you know what happens now’
The cane was kept beside the hearth, hidden from view by a dried flower arrangement. No one ever noticed it sitting there and if they did, it alone held no power.
Thomas lowered his shorts at the curt order to ‘bare it’ and stood with them rumpled about his ankles. ‘Those are going to get creased’ was observed tersely and Thomas waited to see if that would mean an extra lashing. It seemed his master felt generous though. The man tapped his knees and Thomas obediently moved to prostrate himself, a hand steadied him without comment.
A dry hand smoothed over his backside, warm and gentle. ‘This pretty sight is one of the reasons why I keep you’ the words barely ended before the first sting of the cane. Not a hard lash, just enough for his skin to sing from the sharp smack of the blow, for his blood to rush and heat his skin, his breath to stutter.
‘Well?’ the hand was back, smoothing the rosy mark and spreading the sting.
‘Thank you sir’
‘You’re welcome boy’ the second sting was followed quickly by the third. Two more sharp slaps before his master waited for his breathless words.
‘thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you’ the cane was brushed over his reddened skin in a taunting caress.
‘Sir. Thank you sir’
Thomas’s head spun, blood rush making him dizzy and his backside sore now, sensitive to every light touch. A low hum escaped him when fingers dug into his flesh. The next two slaps were drawn out. The cane thrown aside for the smack of hand. Flesh meeting eager flesh. A pause after each for an impassioned ‘thank you sir’
The last slaps where delivered one to each cheek, the last hit hard enough to jerk his body. His situation by then was impossible to miss. A knowing hand explored the evidence without lingering.
‘You shame yourself boy. Deal with it’ Hands steadied him as he got to his feet, eyes taking in his flushed cheeks and skipping to the redder skin behind.
‘Stand there’
Thomas stood obediently, a hand going to cradle his erection.
‘Start, I’ll tell you when you can finish’ Thomas nodded starting a slow stroke.
‘Faster’ his hands sped up. This too took longer than in his youth and used more of the cream that was squirted into his hands, it was still the same feeling though. Still the absorbing dance under watchful eyes that followed his every move, his every expression, drinking in his whimpers.
‘Hold it’ His master’s voice was rougher and Thomas gripped tight waiting for permission to come.
Time ticked on, measured by the steady beat from the retirement clock on the mantle.
The neighbours left for work. Their car warming up and leaving the drive with a bip of the horn to whoever remained indoors. The milkman’s cart had started up the street outside, rattling as it made stops and glass bottles where lined on steps. His voice a wave of discordant rhyme.
‘You may come now’ decreed the only voice that mattered. The only voice that had ever mattered at a deep primal level. One stroke, two, and white bubbled over his moving hands, he kept up the movement until his body was exhausted.
‘Good boy. Now clear the mess’
Thomas raised his hands to lick up the evidence. Stooped to replace his trousers but getting ordered to remove them. He did the rest of his cleaning wearing only the fitted t-shirt and apron. The ties from the apron long enough to swing and brush against his punished flesh. He dusted the mantle, polishing the clock that timed him. Plumped cushions and hoovered around the floor, lifting his master’s feet to the foot stool that he miss nothing.
Cleaning materials got returned to their closet and Thomas stood again at his master’s side. A gentle ’Sir?’ requesting further duty.
The sigh that washed over him was pleased and the newspaper, dutifully brought but barely glanced at, was folded and handed to him. Thomas placed it neatly on the table.
‘You may have your reward’
Thomas moved the footstool and knelt between his master’s knees. He unzipped the man’s trousers and freed his erection. It needed a little encouragement, his master too was aging, though he was as tall and imposing as ever, his voice still firm with command. Thomas licked away the first glimmer of need before swallowing deeply, throat relaxing to accept more. He knew buy now, what moves excited, and what would draw out this treat. Where to lick and when to hint with teeth. His master’s hand fell to play with his hair, greyer now, but still thick. It was all the approval he needed, that fond absent touch that changed to a grip and faint pulling as his mouth gave pleasure.
The man came with a guttural roar, Thomas eagerly drinking down his reward. Licking his master clean before tucking him back in his plants, zipping up his trousers and checking that his clothing was back in order. His face was relaxed and his eyes kind as he regarded Thomas.
‘You lips’ Thomas quickly licked his lips, tasting missed drips of pleasure. ‘Wasteful boy’ the words were a tired purr. A hand gestured Thomas turn, then smacked his rump with more affection than heat. ‘Be on time next week or you’ll not get rewarded’ Thomas gave him a quick look at that and met eyes that narrowed in mock censor. They both enjoyed their game too much for certain things to be refused.
Lovingly Thomas replaced the cane and put the footstool back out of the way. Without raising his head he slipped back into the porch to dress in his casual clothes. He stuffed his uniform back into the box, not folding as he knew it would need laundering. Gathering his stick he lifted a basket that waited in the corner and let himself out of the cottage.
The sky had brightened now. A chilly day but bright and loud with birdsong. Strolling down the street Thomas nodded to the paperboy and greeted the few people he passed. Every step had the rough fabric of his trousers pulling against his sore rear, a physical memory of a morning well spent.
The market stall was busy and Thomas was greeted warmly, he spent time catching up on gossip, cooing over new babies and exclaiming over familiar scandals. Basket filled he took his time walking home, enjoying the freshness of the day.
His street was pretty in the daylight, mixed flowers offering a pretty backdrop. Children’s toys, chewed dog toys and manicured lawns. Variety and life being lived. The end cottage stood a little apart but was cheerful and the little table and chairs on the lawn were often used. The roses were in need of a prune and he’d have to ask his nephew to come help with cutting the hedge. He was an elderly gent now and that meant there were things he didn’t do.
Smiling, because he had hidden marks from what he did do, Thomas dug in his basket for the door keys. Opening the front door he stepped into his cosy home shouting out to his husband as he did so ‘Hey lazy bones, I got some more of those cookies that you liked, if you pop the kettle on we can have some’
Samuel blinked from where he was dozing in his old wing back chair. Raising creakily to his feet he yawned and gave a big smile, relieving his husband of the basket to take it out the kitchen. ‘You old softie, you know exactly what I like’ Samuel shared out the cookies as he filled the kettle. The washing machine was humming away, proving he’d not been entirely lazy. ‘As you do I’ Thomas winked, stealing a crumbly mouthful and feeling a hand smooth over his bum.
‘Hey, did you know Carrie-Ann on the corner is pregnant with her third? Young Mrs Jones’s son has run away with the boy next door, quite the scandal! and apparently old Mr Pickering has snuffed it’
‘You old gossip’ Samuel laughed ‘you’re incorrigible’ they grinned fondly at each other as the kettle blew steam between them.
^o^
Only at the Weekend - 2195words
Thomas checked he had the essentials, his keys, wallet, the mobile phone his nephew thought was essential but that he could barely use. Deciding he was ready he slipped on his coat, there was a chill in the air and his bones weren’t as young as they had been. The door pulled shut smoothly behind him and he stepped out with a slight shiver. It was too early for anyone to be about so he kept his head down as he strolled down the street, crossing to the narrow alley with a heavy lean on his stick. Not as young as he was.
Looping around to the pleasant little street of houses, neat fenced yards and orderly flower beds Thomas made his way slowly to the end cottage. The gate could do with some oil and he stepped carefully over the broken paving stone on route to the back door. It took a little fumbling to find the right key but Thomas decided that at this time of year he could blame the chill. The door opened onto a small porch with used wellies drying in a tray and old coats hanging from a hook. He left his own things on the small bench tucked against the wall.
His uniform was in a box, on that same bench. There was a lock on it because the outside world had a habit of intruding, grubby fingers and curious noses poking where they weren’t invited. A lock saved awkward questions and uncomfortable glances. Only two people had the key.
His thick jumper was removed and folded on the rough bench, a tight white t-shirt pulled on in it’s place. His sturdy trousers followed, though he had to sit down to manage that, sighing at the creak of his knees. His uniform trousers were sharp pressed shorts to his knees, at one time he’d find leather in the box, but age detracted from that sly pleasure, and added effort into squeezing into those. Last the apron, a starched white affair with lace edging, it made him feel the part.
Stepping into the kitchen he found the tile cool beneath his bare feet and enjoyed the sensation as he moved around the room with familiar ease. The kettle was filled ready so he switched that on, readying a mug and placing a biscuit on a pretty saucer. Two slices of fresh bread slipped into the toaster and an orange quartered. The kettle boiled just before the toast popped so he poured water onto a pyramid bag then buttered with a low-cal, heart-healthy spread.
Head down he lifted the tray and walked slowly into the living area. His master sat in his favourite wing backed chair. The tray sliding neatly onto the small table at his side. Weekdays brought the use of the breakfast bar, blinds open early to welcome the sun. Weekends though were special. Weekends were when a man could relax in a favourite chair and be served.
‘You’re late’ were the first words spoken. Thomas glanced at his watch and saw the minute hand had edged just past the hour, he smothered a smile at his master’s irascibility, it signalled how the morning would play out.
‘You’ve left the teabag in’ he didn’t sound happy, spooning up the offending item and slopping it onto the saucer. The imposing man glared at Thomas waiting for him to raise his eyes. ‘And your making eye contact now? All these years and still you cheek me, impudent boy’
It had been a long time since the world considered him a boy but Thomas sank to his knees on the low footstool by his masters chair. It was a fairly recent addition after a fall had tenderised his hip. ‘Not good enough’ His master crunched a piece of toast. ‘It’ll be eight lashes after breakfast. Two for each minute you were late, two for the teabag and two for cheeking me’
‘Should I fetch your cane, sir?’
‘Two more for speaking out of turn. I’ll tell you when I want you to speak boy’
Thomas gave a little shiver but knelt with his head down, not speaking. After a few minutes wait his master gave him an approving tap on the head ‘You’re such a sweet boy when you behave’ He continued with his breakfast, absently feeding his crusts to Thomas who dutifully licked his fingers clean.
‘You may clear up’ His master watched him, not caring that he moved slower these days but tutting at the slight clang the dishes made when the tray was lifted. Thomas returned the breakfast things to the kitchen. Washing the crockery and towelling them dry, when he was done everything was replaced as before he’d arrived.
His master hadn’t moved from the chair, though the table had been pushed aside. Thomas hovered in the doorway waiting command.
‘Go fetch it boy, you know what happens now’
The cane was kept beside the hearth, hidden from view by a dried flower arrangement. No one ever noticed it sitting there and if they did, it alone held no power.
Thomas lowered his shorts at the curt order to ‘bare it’ and stood with them rumpled about his ankles. ‘Those are going to get creased’ was observed tersely and Thomas waited to see if that would mean an extra lashing. It seemed his master felt generous though. The man tapped his knees and Thomas obediently moved to prostrate himself, a hand steadied him without comment.
A dry hand smoothed over his backside, warm and gentle. ‘This pretty sight is one of the reasons why I keep you’ the words barely ended before the first sting of the cane. Not a hard lash, just enough for his skin to sing from the sharp smack of the blow, for his blood to rush and heat his skin, his breath to stutter.
‘Well?’ the hand was back, smoothing the rosy mark and spreading the sting.
‘Thank you sir’
‘You’re welcome boy’ the second sting was followed quickly by the third. Two more sharp slaps before his master waited for his breathless words.
‘thank you sir, thank you, thank you, thank you’ the cane was brushed over his reddened skin in a taunting caress.
‘Sir. Thank you sir’
Thomas’s head spun, blood rush making him dizzy and his backside sore now, sensitive to every light touch. A low hum escaped him when fingers dug into his flesh. The next two slaps were drawn out. The cane thrown aside for the smack of hand. Flesh meeting eager flesh. A pause after each for an impassioned ‘thank you sir’
The last slaps where delivered one to each cheek, the last hit hard enough to jerk his body. His situation by then was impossible to miss. A knowing hand explored the evidence without lingering.
‘You shame yourself boy. Deal with it’ Hands steadied him as he got to his feet, eyes taking in his flushed cheeks and skipping to the redder skin behind.
‘Stand there’
Thomas stood obediently, a hand going to cradle his erection.
‘Start, I’ll tell you when you can finish’ Thomas nodded starting a slow stroke.
‘Faster’ his hands sped up. This too took longer than in his youth and used more of the cream that was squirted into his hands, it was still the same feeling though. Still the absorbing dance under watchful eyes that followed his every move, his every expression, drinking in his whimpers.
‘Hold it’ His master’s voice was rougher and Thomas gripped tight waiting for permission to come.
Time ticked on, measured by the steady beat from the retirement clock on the mantle.
The neighbours left for work. Their car warming up and leaving the drive with a bip of the horn to whoever remained indoors. The milkman’s cart had started up the street outside, rattling as it made stops and glass bottles where lined on steps. His voice a wave of discordant rhyme.
‘You may come now’ decreed the only voice that mattered. The only voice that had ever mattered at a deep primal level. One stroke, two, and white bubbled over his moving hands, he kept up the movement until his body was exhausted.
‘Good boy. Now clear the mess’
Thomas raised his hands to lick up the evidence. Stooped to replace his trousers but getting ordered to remove them. He did the rest of his cleaning wearing only the fitted t-shirt and apron. The ties from the apron long enough to swing and brush against his punished flesh. He dusted the mantle, polishing the clock that timed him. Plumped cushions and hoovered around the floor, lifting his master’s feet to the foot stool that he miss nothing.
Cleaning materials got returned to their closet and Thomas stood again at his master’s side. A gentle ’Sir?’ requesting further duty.
The sigh that washed over him was pleased and the newspaper, dutifully brought but barely glanced at, was folded and handed to him. Thomas placed it neatly on the table.
‘You may have your reward’
Thomas moved the footstool and knelt between his master’s knees. He unzipped the man’s trousers and freed his erection. It needed a little encouragement, his master too was aging, though he was as tall and imposing as ever, his voice still firm with command. Thomas licked away the first glimmer of need before swallowing deeply, throat relaxing to accept more. He knew buy now, what moves excited, and what would draw out this treat. Where to lick and when to hint with teeth. His master’s hand fell to play with his hair, greyer now, but still thick. It was all the approval he needed, that fond absent touch that changed to a grip and faint pulling as his mouth gave pleasure.
The man came with a guttural roar, Thomas eagerly drinking down his reward. Licking his master clean before tucking him back in his plants, zipping up his trousers and checking that his clothing was back in order. His face was relaxed and his eyes kind as he regarded Thomas.
‘You lips’ Thomas quickly licked his lips, tasting missed drips of pleasure. ‘Wasteful boy’ the words were a tired purr. A hand gestured Thomas turn, then smacked his rump with more affection than heat. ‘Be on time next week or you’ll not get rewarded’ Thomas gave him a quick look at that and met eyes that narrowed in mock censor. They both enjoyed their game too much for certain things to be refused.
Lovingly Thomas replaced the cane and put the footstool back out of the way. Without raising his head he slipped back into the porch to dress in his casual clothes. He stuffed his uniform back into the box, not folding as he knew it would need laundering. Gathering his stick he lifted a basket that waited in the corner and let himself out of the cottage.
The sky had brightened now. A chilly day but bright and loud with birdsong. Strolling down the street Thomas nodded to the paperboy and greeted the few people he passed. Every step had the rough fabric of his trousers pulling against his sore rear, a physical memory of a morning well spent.
The market stall was busy and Thomas was greeted warmly, he spent time catching up on gossip, cooing over new babies and exclaiming over familiar scandals. Basket filled he took his time walking home, enjoying the freshness of the day.
His street was pretty in the daylight, mixed flowers offering a pretty backdrop. Children’s toys, chewed dog toys and manicured lawns. Variety and life being lived. The end cottage stood a little apart but was cheerful and the little table and chairs on the lawn were often used. The roses were in need of a prune and he’d have to ask his nephew to come help with cutting the hedge. He was an elderly gent now and that meant there were things he didn’t do.
Smiling, because he had hidden marks from what he did do, Thomas dug in his basket for the door keys. Opening the front door he stepped into his cosy home shouting out to his husband as he did so ‘Hey lazy bones, I got some more of those cookies that you liked, if you pop the kettle on we can have some’
Samuel blinked from where he was dozing in his old wing back chair. Raising creakily to his feet he yawned and gave a big smile, relieving his husband of the basket to take it out the kitchen. ‘You old softie, you know exactly what I like’ Samuel shared out the cookies as he filled the kettle. The washing machine was humming away, proving he’d not been entirely lazy. ‘As you do I’ Thomas winked, stealing a crumbly mouthful and feeling a hand smooth over his bum.
‘Hey, did you know Carrie-Ann on the corner is pregnant with her third? Young Mrs Jones’s son has run away with the boy next door, quite the scandal! and apparently old Mr Pickering has snuffed it’
‘You old gossip’ Samuel laughed ‘you’re incorrigible’ they grinned fondly at each other as the kettle blew steam between them.
^o^