MasterSlave, Chapter 1 (Patreon)

“Aww c’mon, stick around a little more and have another one with me!”

“No can do. I told ya that was my last one.”

“Ditto. Unlike you, we’ve both got work in the morning.”

I give Ken and Dion an exaggerated pout, but I know it's no use. Not that I blame them. It’s probably a good thing that we’ve all gotten more responsible as we’ve gotten older, our late nights at the bar becoming a rarer and rarer occurrence. Honestly, I should probably call it a night soon too, but I’m feeling restless - and since I’m retired, there's no job to worry about in the morning.

You might be wondering “but Rob, you’re only 44 years old (and you look great), how are you already retired?” That’s just what happens when you start your own business at twenty-five that you turn around and sell fifteen years later for a lot of money. I wouldn’t say that I’m rich, but the company designed touch screens for phones and tablets - and those still seem to be pretty popular, so I’ll let you imagine what my bank account looks like.

I haven’t properly introduced myself, have I? I’m Robert Hogarth, but most people call me Rob. Well, that’s not true - a lot of boys just like to call me Daddy. I’m 44 years old with black hair that turns greyer by the day. I stand at about 5’10”, and weigh a solid 240lbs. I’d like to think that’s mostly muscle, but I know I’ve got a bit of a belly - the boys seem to like that though, so I don’t mind it.

“Suit yourselves,” I tell my friends as I signal to the bartender for another beer.

“Shouldn’t you be headed to bed soon anyways, old man?” Ken, who is only two years younger than me, jokes. “Or are you on the hunt for a new boy again?”

"Whatever happened to the last one?" I’m almost offended by how incredulous Dion sounds. “What was his name? The blonde twink.”

“Connor, and you know how these things go.” I shrug after naming the boy. “He found someone shiny and new.”

“I thought you were really into him,” Ken points out helpfully. “You even brought him here a few times.”

“I was.” I nod. “But apparently he wasn’t interested in me.”

“Aww, papa bear,” Dion says, rubbing my back with a sympathetic frown.

“Save your ‘papa bears’ for someone else,” I wave off his concerns. “I liked him, but it’s not like I had a collar picked out or anything.”

“You’ll find your boy one day,” Ken encourages me nonetheless. “We all will.”

“Well all I'm looking for at the moment is someone cute to tie to my bed for the night.” The mood suddenly feels a little too serious, so I try to lighten it. “So if you two spinsters are finished, you should get out of here. You're cock blocking me with all this blubbering.”

“Uh huh. Have a good night Rob,” Dion tells me as we hug goodbye.

“Talk to you later,” Ken says right after. “Try not to stay too long, people might start thinking you’re just a dirty old man.”

I give them both the bird as they head out the front door of Randy’s. Randy’s is our local gay bar, or at least the one I prefer to visit. It's not the biggest or busiest place - plenty of gay bars in the city that’ll claim that. Randy’s appeals to more of a rough-trade crowd - lots of bears and leather folk. It’s not strictly a leather bar, but you'd be hard pressed to not see a guy or two in a harness on any given night. On the weekends it can get pretty packed, but tonight is a quiet night, which is what you’d expect for a Wednesday.

Despite my words to Ken and Dion, I’m not actually on the prowl tonight. I’m just not quite ready to go home yet. Truth is, I’m a little more bummed about Connor not coming around anymore than I let on. It’s not about him specifically; we had great chemistry and a lot of fun, but I wasn't surprised when he moved on to someone else. I'm just tired of things not working out in general.

If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been here before. It feels like everyone I date, all of my almost-relationships - or situationships to whatever they’re called these days - end the same way. Things start out strong, but then that passion burns bright and fast, and a few weeks later, fizzles out entirely. I'm starting to feel like every boy's starter daddy.

But I’m not here to dwell on that, I’m here to forget about it. So with a fresh beer in hand, I turn around and see what else is going on tonight. Not much inside. A few regulars by the bar, a couple of guys are playing pool in one corner, and a few people at some of the high top tables. So let’s see what's happening out back.

Randy’s backyard is one of its best features. You walk out into a nice open patio with plenty of seating, right next to a very well-manicured lawn. Things are usually busier out here as it’s more open. On the weekends they'll even open up a little mini bar to give the guys inside a break. But the thing that really draws people back here is the small path that starts at one end of the patio, wraps around the lawn, and leads to a set of wooden booths at the back of the property. That's where the real “magic” happens.

I wasn't planning or expecting to hit the booths tonight though. All I really wanted was to get out of the house for a bit and clear my head. Finding some cute boy to drag back there (or back home) would just be a nice bonus.

I spot a few familiar faces but no one I'm particularly close with. I give a couple of polite head nods while I find a nice spot to lean back against the tall fence that surrounds the property and nurse my beer.

It’s a warm night, but thankfully not so muggy that I’d want to go back inside. The half moon hangs above in the night sky, the stars twinkling in the distance. It’s a nice sight, but after about twenty minutes of that and not much else, I figure this might be my last drink and It’ll be time to head home soon.

Then he walks outside. A man who’s basically sex on legs. Someone I’ve never actually talked to, but have seen around, both here and on the apps. Middle eastern, somewhere in his late 20’s to early 30’s, with a nice beard and fur in all the right places. He’s muscular, but not to the point of seeing his abs through his shirt or like he spends all his free time at the gym. And he has an amazing ass.

Like I said, he’s a good looking man. He’s also a dom like me, which is why we’ve never spoken before. If he’s anything like me, he knows there’s no need to go knowingly barking up the wrong tree. Two doms don't make a sub. Still, I’m not mad when he takes up a spot next to me at the fence.

“Quiet night, huh?” he asks in that “just trying to make small talk” tone.

“Yeah, but it’s Wednesday,” I reply with a shrug, drinking a swig of beer.

“Fair enough.” He nods, and I watch as his plump lips wrap around the mouth of his own bottle before he holds out his hand to me. “I've seen you around before, but I’ve never introduced myself. I’m Omar.”

“Rob.” I reply, taking and shaking his hand and not letting on that I already knew that. “Nice to meet you.”

“You as well,” he gives me a nod. “So what brings you out tonight, Rob?”

“Not much.” I decide to play it cool. “Didn’t come out for anything in particular. Mostly just didn't feel like staying home tonight.”

“Same here, I think.” He chuckles and leans back. “It’d be nice if a cute boy came along, but I’m really only here cause staying home was boring.”

“This your usual haunt?” I ask, looking around at the rest of the patio.

“For the most part.” He nods and wipes some beer from his mustache. “Sometimes I’ll hit up Screwballs, or The Rhino, but I almost always end up here by the end of the night anyways.”

“Those places are alright.” We’ve got a lot of gaybars in town to choose from. “Of those two, I prefer Screwballs, though I swear they keep hiring straight bartenders because those boys are so light on their pours when making a drink. The Rhino doesn’t even have a backroom.”

“A man with his priorities in order.” He taps his beer bottle to mine. “I agree with that assessment. I tend to find the crowd at Screwballs more to my taste than at The Rhino.”

“Same here.” It's always nice to meet someone you have plenty in common with. “But even though this place isn’t always the busiest, it just has that nice ‘seedy’ feel to it, you know?”

“I do know.” He chuckles and goddamn if that smile isn’t charming. “So what kinda guy are you usually looking for, Rob?”

“I don’t really have a body type or age in mind.” The question catches me off guard, and not just because I was checking him out. “It’s mostly about personality. If we click well, then I just want my boy to be eager - like a puppy.”

“Who doesn’t love training puppy boys?” he replies with a wink.

“Pups are always a good time.” I pause to gesture to my graying hair and beard. “But, because of, you know, my age and all the grays, I tend to attract a younger crowd. Lotta boys in their twenties looking for a daddy.”

“Believe it or not, I know the type.” He chuckles but looks almost embarrassed to continue. “The first time I got called ‘daddy’ in bed was by a boy who was only two years younger than me.”

“At your age?” I bark out a laugh.”Shit, I don’t think I got my first ‘daddy’ until my 30s at least.”

“And he wasn’t the last.” He grins, his bright teeth on display. “It took some getting used to, but who am I to deny a boy in need of a daddy? What was even weirder was the first time I got it from an older guy - he was almost twice my age.”

Standing to him so close, it’s almost impossible to not stare at his body. He must run warmer than me, because I can make out the lightest sheen of sweat on his brow. Then on his chest are a few damp spots, and I can just imagine the way the body underneath shines with sweat after a workout.

“I bet that caught you off guard.” I take a swig to remind myself to stop staring.

“It did, at first,” he agrees. “But just like with the younger guys, once I got used to hearing it, I loved it.”

“Oh yeah?” Can't help but be a little intrigued by that story. “That happen a lot?”

“These days, yeah. I’ve always been more into older guys than those around my age.” He gives me a little wink, and I’m glad it's a little dark out here so he can’t see the blush I'm surprised to have. “I mean, older subs and bottoms need daddy’s too.”

“I suppose they do.” I quickly agree - I mean, I’ve been with older subs myself - yes even older than me - I’m just not usually who they go for. “And I bet you have no problems finding em, do ya?”

“I do not.” He shakes his head a little cockily. “But there always seems to be mro subs than doms to go around.”

“It is definitely a dominant’s market out there.” I like the way he laughs at my dumb joke.

“So then, my fellow dom, what kinda stuff do you get into?” he asks next.

“I like a little bit of everything,” I give the non-answer out of habit. “I have a pretty well-stocked playroom. I’ve got a sling, a fuck bench, and St. Andrew’s cross. All sorts of bondage gear, paddles, floggers, you name it. I tend to let the boy tell me what he’s looking for and tailor our session around that.”

“That sounds like quite a collection. I bet you know how to show a boy a good time.” He approves, which for some reason I like hearing. “I’m still building up my own toy collection, but I’ve got a few nice things in my closet.”

“It takes time, and unfortunately a lot of money,” I commiserate. It took me quite a while to get my playroom to where it is today. “So, your turn: what are you into?”

“Your standard fare,” he replies before he starts to list them off. “Bondage, impact play, puppy play. I can get into some humiliation with the right boy, but it’s not forever everyone. And lately there's been this one thing I’ve been really into doing.”

“What’s that?” Like I’m not already hanging on his every word.

“I’ve got this one regular sub who's really into scents,” he starts explaining. “Sweat, musk, that sorta thing.”

“Right.” That's a common kink that even non dom-sub people are into. “I’ve had a few boys like that.”

“Well, it sounds kinda cocky, but lately he’s started asking me if he can meet me at my place after I get home from the gym.” He smiles as he continues. “Because of him, I’ve actually started showering before I work out, and then don’t bother changing until I get home.”

“And he’s already there waiting for you so he can bury his face in your pits, huh?” I dont hide my grin, I’ve been there. I can even start to picture it.

“Oh, he does so much more than that.” He wears another cocky expression on his face. “He uses his mouth to worship from head to toe - both sides. And I’ve never been that into foot stuff, but fuck if I don’t love feeling that tongue there.”

“Sounds like heaven.” I visualize his words, a tongue traveling over his hairy muscles.

“That’s not even the end. Then he gets out a bottom of massage oil and gives me a rubdown, focusing on whatever spot I worked out that day.” My vision continues with his description, his furry body now slick with oil in my mind. “I get so relaxed by the end of it that I can’t even move enough to fuck him - he has to ride me.”

“Fuck, that does sounds like a good time.” A really good time - but why do I keep picturing myself as the one doing the massaging?

“Yeah. I’ve never been into that kinda worship before, but I guess once you find the right boy it really makes you wanna...” he takes a moment to flex his muscles. “Start showing off more.”

“To be young again,” I joke, ignoring the half chub in my pants as I briefly reminisce about my own youth. I’m still a good looking guy - but put me and Omar in a room together and people wouldn't look twice in my direction. “How long have you been domming?”

“Going on five years now, I think?” He answers as I finish off my beer. “I was still new to the kink world and just trying a lot of different things out. I found I enjoyed a little bit of everything, but I leaned more strongly toward the dom side of things. Then I had a very specific encounter that fully flipped the switch for me.”

“What was that?” This man knows how to tell a story. God, I bet he smells amazing...

“I dommed another dom,” he replies as a bead of sweat rolls down his face.

“Really?” I cock an eyebrow when I hear those words.

“Yeah. Though he didn’t tell me he was a dom at first.” He pauses to take a sip of beer. “It was through an app. Scruff I think. He wasn't using his regular profile, but one he had set up for him to explore his subby side without anyone knowing. I just thought he was a shy sub looking for a good time.”

“So how’d you figure it out?” I ask, wondering where he’s going with this story.

“So, we made plans for him to come to my place,” he continues. “We were having a pretty good time but I could tell he wasn’t really relaxing. He also had a lot to say about my technique when it came to me tying and spanking him.”

“Trying to top from the bottom?” Some subs don’t even realize they’re doing it.

“Exactly.” He continues. “When I called him out on it, he tried to backpedal, but I already had him tied up at that point. A little bit of spanking and tickle torture later - he never used his safeword - he told me all about his normal life as a dom and what exactly he had been doing with me. Which I'm pretty sure is what he wanted to happen.”

“Probably.” People aren’t always willing to be honest with themselves and they like to take the long, complicated route, putting themselves in a difficult situation that will force them to deal with it.

“He wasn’t trying to just scratch some itch, he really wanted to be taken down and put in his place by another dom.” He looks even cockier than before. “He needed it to be a stranger because he didn’t want who he was in his normal life affecting how he was treated.”

“That’s a tall order,” I’m starting to get a funny feeling the longer this tale goes on.

“Yeah. I was a little unsure of myself at first,” maybe he senses the same weird feeling as me, because he pulls back on the cockiness. “But in almost no time it was like a switch flipped in my brain - I wanted nothing more than to put that man on his knees. Show him who he really was, his real place in our dynamic.”

“Well woof.” I am once again pictureing the scenario, but there is something that bothers me. “...but that’s not what you're trying to make happen here, is it?

“What? Oh god, no.” He holds his hands up like he’s been caught. “Sorry, I can just get a little too into my own stories sometimes. That's all, I swear.”

“Right.” I nod, though between his “I like older men” comments and that story, I can't help but start to wonder about his intentions for telling it to me. “Well, it's been real nice chatting with you, Omar, but I should probably start to head home.”

“Ah. Well it was nice meeting you too.” We shake hands again and I can't help but notice the slight disappointment on his face. “See you around?”

“See you around.” I bid him goodbye and walked back inside, leaving my empty bottle on the counter on my way out the front door.

I live close enough to hear that it's just a short bus ride up the road. And lucky me, there should be one coming in about five or ten minutes. While I wait (and sober up some) I keep thinking back to Omar and his stories.

That was an odd conversation. Not necessarily a bad one, but I dunno, there was something about it that made me feel weird. Off. Was he trying to pick me up?

The fact that I’m still thinking what he was saying isn't helping either. I’m a dom through and through, but it's not like I haven’t been on the sub side of things before, especially when I was still new and learning things. But it’s been a long time since I’ve done any subbing at all - so why do I keep picturing myself as the one giving Omar a tongue bath?

Visions of me worshiping Omar’s fill my mind on the bus ride home. Thankfully sitting down helps to hide my erection, and by the time I’m disembarking I’m willing to chalk the whole thing up to the alcohol. I’m just horny and it's been over a week since my last roll in the hay - which is a very long time for me!

I make it home and manage to get into the house without stumbling, stopping in the bathroom on my way to bed. Yeah, that has to be it, I convince myself as I brush my teeth. Just a lil too much to drink. 

But as I crawl into bed and shut my eyes, more images of me serving Omar begin to float by, and as I drop off to sleep, I find myself wondering what he smells like after a workout... And I bet he tastes even better.