Sub encounter: Plumber

On Sunday after breakfast, Steve and I made our way down to the garage. It was a crisp morning, but thank goodness the weather had started to warm. I bent to one of the drawers, and took out a paddle, it had the words ‘attitude adjuster’, burnt into the handle. As part of the frat initiation, when I was at uni, each pledge had to make their own paddle, then had to inscribe the words given by the members. Each pledge then took one strike to the arse per member. That night I took fourteen.

"Well,” I started, “you know what happened, how many Strikes do you deserve?" I asked, letting him make his own bed.

"Six," he said doubtfully.

"I think we have to be realistic," I replied, "this thing fucken hurts," I said, as I looked down, paddle to my palm.

"Let's do three, that way you'll remember, but we won't do any damage."

I pointed to the bench, as he assumed position.

The first strike immediately caused him to stand straight up.

"See, I told you it fucken stings." I smiled, he resumed his position.

“Thank you for doing this sir,” he acknowledged.

 I delivered two more blows without further resistance.

I didn't really get off on paddling subs, I know some owners really get into it, but it's just not me.

"Catching up with your mates this afternoon?" I asked, letting him know the matter was closed.

He nodded he was. "No one from the share house then?"

"They're not mates," he replied, with a degree of conviction. I raised an eyebrow, but left it at that.

"Sir?" he asked, "do you think I can have some time out of the cage?"

"Are you full?" I asked, knowing he had to be bursting. He nodded vigorously.

"Yes Sir, I'm so full I'm trying to have wet-dreams, but nothing’s happening of course." I smiled broadly.

"Go up to the bedroom, and bring your dildo back down." Less than a minute later he had returned with his magic marker thick, butt tool.

In his absence, I had laid a thick paint splatter sheet, down across the top of the workbench.

"Up here," I directed, "on your back," he scrambled up, not really knowing what was going on.

"OK, just so you know, you never do any self arse play, with anything bigger than the smallest dick around.” I paused, “it’s not your place to stretch your arse.” He nodded, getting it.

“Now, bring your knees up to your chest, and start working your hole with the latex." I instructed.

He arranged himself, but still looked awkward.

"See if you can hook your arms over the top of your legs, arch your back, that’s it. You'll end up folded like a pretzel, but you'll give yourself great access."

As I watched him struggle, with the concept, he could almost do it, I was surprised. He could definitely do one leg, with the other close.

"This is a good body stretch for you to work on going forward, I hadn't thought of this before, but it makes a lot of sense. Got that?" I quizzed.

"Yes Sir," he replied, keenly. The idea must have appealed to him.

He lubed the dildo, then set about working his hole. Just simply in and out in the beginning, progressively getting deeper. It was a great visual, very hot! After three or four minutes, of watching on, I pulled him to a stop.

“You need to let yourself get into this, this is your new masturbation,” I said, setting the scene.

"Think about what you're doing," I guided gently, "you're working your hole, so you can nut." He nodded, carefully. "Concentrate on the physical sensations you're feeling, the latex stretching the sides of your chute, your ring pushed and pulled, your prostate nut being nudged, all of this stuff."

"Relax your mind, get into your headspace, you're a fuck toy, a fuck toy for real men to use at will. Picture cock after cock stretching your hole, using you to get themselves off, making you their dumb fuck cum dump!” I watched on as he took my words, and made them real. He zoned out, closing his eyes and making the dildo almost a natural extension of his body.

He did a great job, taking on everything I had suggested. He wasn’t going to be getting off today, but he'd get the hang of it, sooner rather than later.

I praised his efforts, then released him from his cage.

"Come upstairs when you're done," I suggested, heading back into the house.

*

Seeing Steve downstairs, I realised how completely out of control his mop of hair had become. I decided that before he went out with his friends, we'd zoom down town, and get a quick haircut.

When we walked into the barber, it turned out we were the only customers. I had been here before many times, had even bought my sons here. He gestured for Steve to sit, while I took some time to explain what I was looking for. He initially thought it odd, I was the one giving instructions, but as he got into the possibilities of such a lot of raw material, he quickly adjusted. Five minutes in, he produced a couple of magazines, pointing out different hairstyles, that would probably fit the bill.

I was really keen for his haircut to match the shape of his head, be easy to maintain and set off his good looks. When we settled on a style the cutter took to the task like a duck to water. I suspected it was going to be his hair highlight for the day.

Forty-five minutes later the floor was covered by an absolute pile of hair. Steve had watched on with fascination. I could tell he was excited. When the cutting, trimming and more cutting was done, Steve looked more mature, more classically good looking. I was impressed. The Barber spent some time guiding the boy on how to maintain the look, and how to keep his hair in good shape.

*

The next few weeks flew by, initially people had been shocked, then pleased with Steve’s new look. But as is the nature of such things, everyone got used of it quickly. The second Thursday after his cut, I had him knock off work early, and meet me at home.

“Clean up and wash out, we leave in twenty,” I said as he dumped his kit in the laundry.

“Dress code Sir?”

“Clean work gear.” I said simply, then went down and fucked around in the garage until he appeared.

As we pulled into the NesPlumb home base, he was confused. Why were we at his work? He didn’t make a peep.

The building was one of a dozen medium sized factories, all side by side. I knew they’d been here for years, but at the rate they were growing, they’d have to take next door, or look for something bigger.

I saw Boss Carl’s truck parked just inside, I knew Thursdays were his paperwork night, so I was pleased my plan to catch him on his own had worked. I stepped out, grabbed my kit bag and wandered in. The front door buzzer announced our arrival. As usual, the place was spotless. Amazing for a plumbing business.

Carl poked his head out of his back office, wondering who the fuck was calling at six in the evening. He relaxed when he saw it was me, with Steve in tow.

“Simon, scared the fuck out of me!” he declared. I made a show of looking back.

“Really? it’s your buzzer?” I replied, making sure I looked confused. Grinning underneath.

“Come in,” he welcomed, “Stevie boy,” he greeted, “did you get that tank done at Thornton’s?” he asked.

“Yeah, fixed the pump, but it won’t last, it’s fucked.” They both nodded, knowingly.

“Understand you’ve got this bum renting at your place?” Carl quizzed. I nodded. “Good, he needs a bit of guidance, this one,” he grinned broadly.

“What can I do for you fella’s?” he asked, “I take it, it’s not just a social call.”

“Well, I wanted to get a picture of how tight your team is?” I asked, diving straight in. Carl paused, a little taken aback, then he indulged me.

“You know yourself, how much care I take in running a solid crew.” He took a breath. “Takes time and miss-steps, but to be honest, I don’t think we’ve ever been tighter.” I could hear the pride in his words, I nodded as if that’s what I had expected. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Well, I’ve watched you for years, tight teams don’t just happen, they take strong people managers, like you.” I stated, telling it how I saw it.

“Yeah, so you going to tell me what’s this all about?” he pressed, not being swayed by flattery.

“Well, I’ve taken a shine to this boy, and I’d want you in his corner.” I answered.

“You can count on that without thinking!” he replied briskly, “but,” he paused, and turned, “what did you do that you need a corner?” he asked Steve directly.

“Um, I don’t know exactly sir, but,” he stopped.

“Speak freely boy,” I encouraged.

“I’m feeling nervous.”

Carl’s eyebrows were stuck in the stratosphere. I again, smiled to myself.

“Sir?” he questioned.

I decided to step in.

“Steve’s going to be very brave.” I started. “He has to find his own way, but I’d feel better if you were ‘informed’,” I suggested, “you know, keep an eye on the reactions.”

Quiet, rained down.

“Well, I have no idea on what the fuck is going on?” Carl confessed, “But I do know this, no one in my team gets to disrespect anyone else.”

“Steve, it’s time to spit it out.” He pressed, again.

Steve didn’t know what was expected. I spoke up.

“May be better to show you.” I said simply, reaching into my kit bag, retrieving his collar and leash.

I handed them to him.

“Lose it all,” I directed. “On your knees.”

Finally, with clear instructions, Steve relaxed, and went to work.

Fifty seconds later he was collared, leashed, naked and on his knees beside me. As a last gesture of submission, he handed me the end of his lead.

He was in full sub. Carl couldn’t put two words together.

* * *

“Um,” Carl uttered, unable to compute what was before him.

I realised, this would be the likely reaction from the wider team.

“Steve’s a submissive personality.” I spoke.

“I know what a fucken sub is,” Carl barked back. I shut up.

“Sorry,” he apologized, after an extended moment. “I’m just surprised. Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.”

I nodded it was all ok.

“One of the guys I bunked with at trade-school was a sub, I used him for head, every fucken day!”

“You’re a sub?” he asked Steve directly.

“Yes sir,” Steve replied, gaining a little voice strength. “It’s who I am.”

“Stand up,” Carl instructed, surprising me. Steve got to his feet, after a subtle check with me.

Carl gripped him in a bear hub. Sincere and genuine.

“Thank you for telling me, trusting me,” he gushed. Steve patted him back.

With Carl’s release, Steve returned to his knees.

“Why are you telling me this?” asked Carl, suddenly turning to me.

“Boy’s going to service you, and the team, at your Friday drinks,” I revealed, unveiling the plan.

“Holy fuck!” declared Carl, gob smacked. “You fucken legend!”

“Head only, respected, and kept in team.” I added, limiting his exposure.

“Well I can tell you now, the respect thing won’t be an issue.” Carl assured. “I fucken mean it!” he added with conviction. I was more pleased than I could have believed. “He’ll never be equal to a man, but as a plumber, a mate, and a team member, he’ll never be looked down on.” He laughed, deep and hardy.

“You fucken legend!” he patted the boy roughly on his head.

“Who knows, might actually push Justin out of the closet!”

“Justin?” I asked.

“Third year apprentice under Tom, the whole crew has been waiting for the big reveal, for more than a year.” He laughed again.

“Thanks for telling me,” he said, then looked down to again acknowledge the boy.

I realised Steve was sobbing, almost uncontrollably. Huge tears were streaming down his face.

As I had done days ago, I placed a hand on his shoulder, moving to the back of his neck. He sobbed a little harder. He was going to make it.