No One Else Will Want You Now (Part 4)

It took Donny close to an hour to clean both boots to Walter’s satisfaction, from top to sole. Walter found himself transfixed, watching his boyfriend debase himself before him, how his initial disgust at his own humiliation had given way to the simple durdergy of the act, to a certain…pleasure, or perhaps pride and pleasure in his work. Once the muck had been removed, he shined them diligently with his tongue, his eyes slipping away from his task up to where Walter was looming over him, his heart fluttering, He’d always found his older partner so dull, both in the sack and out. He was always looking for an emotional connection which Donny found childish and idealistic. It was the material that mattered–your body, your style, your wealth. Walter had the last, and after a few years he’d increased his hold on the first two, but Donny always longed to slip away from the emotional wet blanket and just fuck someone like a beast for an hour. He’d always feared, irrationally, that if Walter had gotten an emotional grip on him, that Donny would find himself disappearing–physically, mentally, and spiritually. His cheating was a sword he used to sever that emotional tie before it could become too rooted in his guts, but here, kneeling on the floor, he could sense that his deepest fears had, in fact, been true. This wasn’t him. He could feel himself dying away, some other terrible version of him filling in his place.

“Put your head on the floor, arch your back,” Walter said. Donny took the position he thought was implied by the order, placing his head to the floor and curling into a ball. It must have been sufficient–Walter set his boots on his back–Donny could feel they still wet with his own spit–and Walter inspected them in the light, checking their shine. They could use a proper shining, certainly, but he’d done a sufficient job. “If you really want to stay here, with me, I’m only going to allow it under certain conditions. You realize that, right?”

“Yes sir,” Donny said. Walter crossed his feet, one heel digging in between ribs on his back, but he suppressed a flinch of discomfort. “I…Please sir, I’ll do anything. I fucked up, I ruined everything, I know that. I deserve this, I deserve…anything you think…” he swallowed, hard, trying to choke back his own, miserable words, but his mouth continued, that other him continued, without his consent, “anything, sir. I’ll accept anything. I don’t…deserve you, but I’m honored that you would consider keeping me somewhere in your life, even after my failure.”

Walter dug his heel in a bit further, but not as hard as he could have–implying that the begging was appreciated, but did nothing to ease the punishment that Donny was about to receive. “This is your last chance. Crawl out of here, if you want, but if you stay, you will accept all of these conditions.”

“What…are the conditions, sir?”

“That shouldn’t matter, should it?” Walter rocked his heel back and forth, “If you’re truly sorry, if you truly want to stay, then you should be willing to accept any condition that I put forth.”

Donny knew he was right. He fought–he tried to crawl out from under that heel as hard as he could. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be surrendering like this. Walter was the one who needed him, not the other way around! But that new him, the one who was meekly groveling under this fucker’s boot didn’t see it that way. He couldn’t see any way forward that didn’t have him at Walter’s side, no matter what that might mean. “You’re…right. I’m sorry sir, for asking. I’ll stay, and submit to any conditions you demand.”

He wanted to scream, he wanted to stand up and clock Walter in the face, he wanted to sob, but all he did was stay there in that position, while Walter smoked his cigar, pleased with himself, pleased with this curse, pleased with his newfound power. “As you can imagine, your actions have made it perfectly clear that going forward, our relationship can never take the form of equals, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what does that make you?”

“Your…slave?”

“Slave, I feel, is the wrong word. But I’m not sure I have a word that adequately communicates my utter disdain and disgust at your existence, but yes. As far as things are concerned, from this point forward, you are going to be my slave. That’s condition number one.”

There was a sudden constriction around Donny’s neck, something cutting off his airway for a moment, before it loosened–thought not all that far. With one hand he felt the steel collar secured there, tight enough against his skin to cause constant discomfort. There was a padlock securing it in front–a heavy one, but with his hands…he felt no lock. No keyhole, no combination. It was just a solid hunk of metal securing him to his new role. He yelped, as a sharp sting across his ass followed. At first, he thought Master had flogged him with something (no, not Master, he’s not my fucking master!) but something else was forming in his mind. A collecting of memories, of being taken to the tattoo shop, being marked, permanently, as property of his master, but that hadn’t happened, that had never happened! But if it hadn’t then how could he remember it so clearly? How the artist had laughed at him the entire time, his master leaning against the wall, watching his every move for one punishable offense. How he’d had to thank the man for marking him, how he’d had to offer to service the man as a tip, and he’d just looked at him…utterly disgusted at the sight of him begging in front of him…but this wasn’t him, it wasn’t him!

Walter removed his boots from his slave’s back, planted one foot on the back of his head facing him, and shoved him, rolling Donny over onto his back. “That’s the easy one, slave. Now we need to figure out what we should do with these,” he said, standing up from his chair, and nudging Donny’s balls with the toe of his boot.

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